𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Thorfinn Rowle sat in the dim, wretched confines of Azkaban Prison, surrounded by the hushed whispers and bitter grumblings of fellow Death Eaters. The air was thick with despair and regret, and the Dementors' presence seemed to sap away every last ounce of hope. It was a place where time stood still, and the horrors of the past lingered like a never-ending nightmare.

For years, the inmates of this forsaken place had only heard fragmented rumors, spoken in hushed tones by passing Aurors. Those Aurors made their checks twice a day, ensuring that the Dementors did not feed as voraciously as they wished. Among the fragments of conversation that reached their ears was the story of Halloween night, the night that changed everything. The legend of Adhara Potter, known as "The Girl Who Lived," had become a haunting specter within the prison walls. It was said that as a mere baby, she had somehow defied the Dark Lord himself, surviving the unforgivable killing curse. For some Death Eaters, it was a source of burning rage and a vow of vengeance against the one who had thwarted their Dark Lord. Others, however, couldn't help but exhale a small breath of relief, knowing that Voldemort was no more.

Over the years, tidbits of information about Adhara had seeped into the prison's grim atmosphere. Many of the Aurors couldn't resist sharing whispers about her appearance. They spoke of her beauty, unlike any they had ever seen, with long, wavy raven hair and vivid mismatched eyes—one blue, the other green. A few freckles, they said, were sprinkled lightly across her nose and upper cheeks. And then there was the infamous scar, shaped like a lightning bolt, etched onto her forehead, a visible mark of her fateful encounter. But for all that they knew, much more remained shrouded in mystery.

The Death Eaters inside those prison cells were curious creatures, their thirst for knowledge insatiable. What had truly transpired on that Halloween night? Was their Dark Lord truly gone? How does one survive the unsurvivable? Then came the day when a new prisoner was brought in, and the whispers spread like wildfire. She was younger than any of the others there, unconscious and fragile, but there was no mistaking her identity. Right there, on her forehead, was the legendary lightning bolt scar, the mark that had come to symbolize her. Adhara Potter, "The Girl Who Lived," was among them.

The Aurors tossed her unconscious form into a cell across from Thorfinn Rowle, and the once-quiet prisoner couldn't help but feel a surge of mixed emotions. Here, in the depths of Azkaban, a living legend had arrived, bringing with her a cloud of unanswered questions and an air of destiny that clung to her like a second skin. Thorfinn Rowle, like the others, couldn't help but wonder what secrets she held and what role she might play in their dismal future.

Thorfinn's gaze remained fixed on Adhara's still form, a mixture of curiosity and concern swirling within him. The rumors, it seemed, had indeed underestimated her beauty. Yet, her presence in Azkaban, unconscious and vulnerable, left him with a gnawing sense of unease. As he continued to watch, his keen eyes noticed the subtle, involuntary twitches in Adhara's hands. It was a telltale sign, one he knew all too well—the aftermath of the Cruciatus curse. But what troubled him even more was the fact that she remained unconscious despite the recent torment inflicted upon her.

The other prisoners, the die-hard Death Eaters who had remained loyal to their dark cause, wasted no time in reacting. Their initial shock at her arrival quickly gave way to anger, and they began shouting threats and curses at the unconscious girl in the neighboring cells.

Thorfinn clenched his jaw, torn between conflicting emotions. He had no love for Adhara Potter, but what he had just witnessed raised questions that demanded answers. Why was the savior of the Wizarding World brought to Azkaban? Who had subjected her to the Cruciatus curse, and why had it left her in this state? He knew he had to find out more, not just for the sake of his own curiosity, but because the dynamics of Azkaban had just shifted in a way no one could have anticipated. The arrival of Adhara Potter had brought an unsettling uncertainty to the prison's dark and desolate halls, and Thorfinn Rowle was determined to uncover the truth lurking behind the legendary scar on her forehead.

Thorfinn watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as Adhara Potter slowly stirred from her unconscious state. Her movements were deliberate, and as her eyes blinked open, they held an unmistakable glint of awareness. She took in her surroundings, her gaze sweeping across the grim, cold cell, the rough stone walls, and the iron bars that confined her. For a moment, confusion clouded her features, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face. Then, in a way that surprised Thorfinn, she seemed to grasp her situation. There were no cries, no pleas, and no tears—none of the typical reactions he had come to expect from those who found themselves imprisoned in Azkaban.

Instead, Adhara slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and sat there in solemn silence. Her gaze remained fixed on the prison cell's stone wall, as though she were lost in deep thought, or perhaps just trying to come to terms with the harsh reality of her circumstances. Thorfinn couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in her mind. He had expected defiance or fear, perhaps even a display of anger or frustration. But Adhara's calm and composed demeanor in the face of Azkaban's darkness left him intrigued and, in a strange way, impressed. He knew that whatever had brought her to this wretched place, there was more to Adhara Potter than met the eye. The questions continued to pile up, and Thorfinn was determined to uncover the truth behind her enigmatic presence in Azkaban.

Adhara Potter's silence was unyielding, her composure unwavering, even in the face of the venomous threats, taunts, and vile words that were hurled at her. She remained as still as a statue, a quiet presence amidst the chaos of the other prisoners. Hours crawled by, and the prisoners' cries and shouts began to lose their vigor, replaced by the persistent hum of resentment that filled the prison. Then came the second round of the day, the arrival of the Aurors who patrolled the wretched place.

This time, as the Auror approached Adhara's cell, he stopped in front of the bars, his expression a mixture of anger and disdain. "Diggory's a good friend o' mine, he is!" the Auror hissed at her, his voice dripping with anger. "You've got some nerve, pinning that poor boy's death on a ghost!" He shook his head in disbelief and let out a heartless, disbelieving laugh. "Voldemort! As if! He's gone, and you're nothing but a murderer!" The Auror spat in her direction, the venom in his voice palpable. But Adhara Potter remained unmoved, her gaze never leaving the prison cell's stone wall. Her silence in the face of the Auror's accusations was both baffling and infuriating to those who witnessed it. There was something about her stoic demeanor, her unwavering resolve, that seemed to defy the horrors of Azkaban itself.

Thorfinn Rowle continued to watch, his own curiosity now mingled with a sense of unease. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of person could endure such torment, such accusations, and still remain so composed. Adhara Potter's presence in Azkaban had brought an unsettling calm to the chaos, and it was a calm that Thorfinn knew held more secrets than anyone could imagine.

Night descended upon Azkaban, casting the prison into deeper shadows and hushed whispers. The other prisoners begrudgingly settled down, their harsh voices muted as they drifted into restless slumber or sullen contemplation. Adhara, however, remained as she had been throughout the day—immobile, her gaze fixed firmly on the cold, unforgiving stone wall before her. Thorfinn Rowle, though tired and drained from the day's events, found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the enigmatic girl in the neighboring cell. He positioned himself in such a way that he could maintain a clear view of her, curiosity and a strange sense of concern gnawing at him.

As he watched, he couldn't help but notice something unsettling. The Dementors outside her cell window seemed to have multiplied, an eerie congregation of shadowy figures that hovered with an intensity he had never witnessed before. They were drawn to Adhara, their ghastly, skeletal forms practically pressing against the bars, as though they were captivated by her presence.

The Dementors' icy breath seemed to linger in the air, and their hollow, wraith-like eyes were fixated on the young woman. It was an eerie and unsettling sight, one that sent a shiver down Thorfinn's spine. He knew the horrors of Azkaban all too well, but this was different. Adhara, however, remained transfixed on the wall, seemingly unaffected by the sinister attention of the Dementors. Her unyielding composure in the face of this new, ominous development only deepened the mystery surrounding her. Thorfinn couldn't help but wonder what unseen forces were at play, and what secrets this silent girl held within the depths of her soul.

Thorfinn Rowle had fought to stay awake through the night, his curiosity and concern for the enigmatic girl across from him keeping his senses on edge. However, exhaustion had eventually claimed him, and he had drifted into a fitful sleep. The prison cell was an uncomfortable place to rest, and he awoke with a start as the metal tray clattered into their cells with a grim reminder of their morning "breakfast." Blinking away the remnants of sleep, Thorfinn quickly adjusted his posture, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in. His gaze immediately turned toward Adhara's cell, his interest in her unwavering. To his surprise, she remained just as she had been the night before—unchanged and unmoved, her gaze still fixed upon the unyielding stone wall.

With a resigned sigh, Thorfinn pulled his own breakfast tray closer to him, the contents as tasteless and bland as ever. He had grown used to the meager rations they were provided, and he began to eat slowly, all the while stealing glances at Adhara. Curiosity gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but wonder if she would at least acknowledge the food. However, much like her unwavering silence, she didn't even spare a glance in the direction of the tray. It was as though she existed in a world of her own, untouched by the grim reality of Azkaban and its harsh conditions. Thorfinn couldn't shake the feeling that there was something profoundly unusual about Adhara Potter, something that set her apart from anyone he had ever encountered in this wretched place. As the prison's daily routine resumed, he remained determined to uncover the secrets she held within the depths of her silent resolve.

Days stretched into a relentless procession of torment within the bleak walls of Azkaban. The other prisoners continued to taunt and jeer at Adhara, while the Aurors passing by did little to hide their contempt, their threats growing more venomous with each encounter. But through it all, Adhara Potter remained an island of silence amidst the chaos.

Inside her cell, the trays of untouched food accumulated, a silent testament to her steadfast refusal to acknowledge even the most basic of human needs. Her unwavering composure, her unyielding silence, and her complete indifference to the world around her only deepened the sense of intrigue and unease among the other inmates. Outside her cell window, the Dementors continued to gather in numbers that were unprecedented. Their shadowy forms pressed close to the bars, their hollow eyes fixed upon her with an unsettling intensity. It was as if they, too, were captivated by the enigmatic presence of the girl who had become the center of attention within the prison.

Thorfinn Rowle watched it all unfold with a mixture of fascination and growing concern. The dynamics of Azkaban had shifted in ways that defied explanation, and Adhara Potter's presence had become an enigma that continued to puzzle him. He couldn't help but wonder what inner strength or despair allowed her to remain so stoic and unmoved amidst the relentless onslaught. As the days dragged on, Thorfinn knew that the mysteries surrounding Adhara Potter ran deeper than he could have ever imagined. And he couldn't shake the feeling that the answers lay hidden within her unwavering silence.