Azkaban. Typical gothic architecture. He could smell the creatures inside. Humans mostly. Was she here though, Lady Bolovnik? Why did he care? It wasn’t as though she could clear his name. He hadn’t done anything wrong. When he was a mortal he was born the second son to a wealthy family. When he was born into his new family he was also born second. An heir and a spare. He was the spare and like most well to do sons who hadn’t a chance of succeeding into getting the family lands he had been without much responsibility and was thought of as positively “wild”. His youth was many centuries ago things are different now. He reminded himself. No longer are obligation and responsibility drummed into young heads of nowadays. No longer does the Sun circle round the earth and it was proven that what goes up does come down.

Azkaban. The snow falling silently and gently. The Baron delighted in this small spectacle. Human he could pass for out here. Pale and gaunt they would see him, stung and bleached by the cold. It was inside where he couldn’t pass for one of them, the fire would hurt his eyes and he would be warmed by it. He would look like death warmed up. Not a lot of comfort to the strangers who foolishly, naively offered such compassion to a stranger. 

No one had ever got out of this Prison. Azkaban was a fortress built of stone so securely and snug that not even the wind could howl through its courtyards and mazelike corridors. No one had ever broken in either. To the Baron the answer was simple. Why would anyone walk through miles of treacherous wasteland of snow and ice to an unreachable hold such as this? The Baron looked up at the wall and made the impossible leap up to it’s top. No mortal could have done what he just did.  Impenetrable walls? For them perhaps. He jumped down into the courtyard, cursing as he almost slipped on the ice.

There it was staring at him. He grinned at it careful to flash his teeth. It was not impressed, nor was it bothered. It looked at him its black cowl sweeping along the floor silently. This of course was what really stopped the prisoners escaping and anyone breaking in.  It glided toward him silently. Vladimir looked at it without moving. They called these creatures Dementors. In his day they were known merely as demons. Demon, that was what he was essentially wasn’t it? Big mean vampire and nasty dementor faced each other.

“Your povers do not affect me demon!” Vladimir said with a smile. The dementor said nothing.

“And mine vill not affect you.”   Still silence.

“You cannot feed off me and I can not feed off you.”

Neither can really harm each other it is a perfect stalemate.” Still the dementor stood there in silence.

“ I vant to knov if the Lady Bolovnik is in? The Governess if you vill.” Still no reply. It was what he expected such creatures were beneath him.

“Not that it matters of course.”  I am Hunkry. Vill you allov me to join you fvor dinner?”

Without waiting for a reply he stalked up to the door and pushed it aside. His acute hearing informed him of many prisoners wailing upahead and down below. They were everywhere; somewhere empty most had been used. He stalked along the corridor in between the cells. Pitiful creatures, caged and broken, the prisoners were. Not recognising him for what he was. The Dementor followed him along and was joined by another; soon a host of them were escorting him through the cells.

 It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. A cell in the depths of Azkaban where not even the moonlight could find. Michael Dimitri - Forst, age 38, imprisoned for the use of the three unforgivable curses. The Baron opened the cell door and peered in. The man sat huddled in the corner babbling away.   The dementors could sense death. They fed off him his despairing wails which in turn caused only other prisoners to wail.

Michael fell into a numb comfortable blackness. When they had finished he woke again to see a gentleman dressed in the old cavalier style of an ancient England most but history books had forgot, step forward to claim his meal. The shell of the man was too despairing and too weak to resist. As Vladimir began to feed he used an old vampire trick to reach into his victims mind to give him hope, pleasant visions, memories of Michael’s family were stirred up and it gave Michael hope, until the dementors descended again. Michael fell into blackness that he would never wake from again.