I'm sitting in my cell. What little light there is is fading slowly from the evening sky. My head aches, as it always does these days. My chest pains me; every breath is a trial and nearly impossible. The taste of the Polyjuice Potion is turning sour in my mouth. It is probably the last time I ever have to drink it. It was easy to sneak it in past the Dementors. Why should they suspect anything? Not very many people go willingly into Azkaban. But I, wife of Barty Crouch and mother of his son, did it. And not a moment goes by when I don’t half regret it. It is worth it, I tell myself. Better me than Barty. At least now he will not suffer – as much. I have to keep telling myself this. I have to remember them, no matter what.



Behind prison walls

My head is screaming



I’m lying in my cell. My strength is failing; I can’t sit up. The prison is dark now, the only light being a flickering candle a few feet down the hall. I smile to myself, though I do not know why. What is there to smile about? I answer myself, Barty. Barty is a good boy. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know it. He would not hurt anyone, not a fly, not anything. I know that too. He did not deserve this place. No one does.



Behind prison gates

My love lies bleeding



The person beside me is moaning. I can imagine it. Sobs wracking a wasted body, dull eyes brimming with unshed tears. I can imagine it because that is how I want to feel. That is how I want to be, but I cannot. I have to be strong. For all our sakes; for my sake, for Barty’s sake, for my husbands sake. My husband is not a bad man, either. I love him, but it doesn’t change what he did. What he had to do. I can still hear his shout echoing around the cold courtroom. I can still hear Barty’s screams. That is the day our family died, broken apart and left hanging, on our own, without support. Barty hates his father. He always has. It is hard, loving two people who despise each other. Nevertheless, I have to. I cannot stop. I have to keep us together, no matter what.



Behind prison keys

My hands are shaking



The person beside me is screaming. He says he did not mean it, says he is sorry, but it doesn’t change anything. His pleas fall to deaf ears; no one cares. I feel the Dementors abandon their watch over me as they crowd around the prisoner. He will stop soon. They always do. Except for that woman. She talks, every day, in her quiet, cruel voice. She says how the Dark Lord will rise again. How they will be rewarded, they who were willing to brave and suffer the horrors of Azkaban for him. Rewarded beyond any of their wildest dreams. Though how wild I do not know for the thoughts this prison inflicts upon us are those of maniacs. However, every day more people join in on her mutterings. They expect me to say it too. But I will not. I know Barty would not. I am sure he would not. But now my thoughts have no time to rest upon these affairs, affairs that do ot concern me or my family. For I am dying; I can feel it. The Dementors know too. They wait outside my cell all day long, like vultures ready to attack a carcass. But I won’t die to please them. I will stay strong in mind, even if I am weak in body. His body. I will last until the final breath is ripped from my tired lungs and my heavy heart ceases to beat. I will survive, if only to stay alive for another second. I will not succumb, no matter what.



Behind prison doors

My heart is breaking



My breath is ragged, my heart rate too fast. Darkness is creeping towards me. It surrounds me, alone in my cell. A dank, clammy darkness, in which all sounds are muffled. Someone is laughing. It takes me a moment to realise that it is me. How is it I can laugh when I hardly have enough air to breathe? I always loved Barty’s laugh. Always happy and full of life. Now it rings sinisterly against the stone walls, empty and humourless. I try to block my ears, covering them with thin hands. It makes no difference. The laughter is inside my head, insane and cruel. This isn’t Barty’s laugh,I think desperately. Oh, please, don’t let it be his laugh.



Behind prison walls

My eyes are crying



The darkness has changed. It is no longer creeping. It washes over me. It feels good. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation. I hardly realise I can’t open them again. I smile, an expression of pure joy, and I can see myself as my son, as my baby boy once was. Round cheeks with dimples, baby blue eyes and straw coloured hair. Like mine. Oh Barty, I think, still floating blissfully in this darkness. My baby. I love you more than I could ever tell you. I love you both. More than you’ll ever know. I will love you forever, no matter what.



Behind prison bars

My soul is dying

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AN: I do not own this poem. It is called Prison by a Mountjoy Prisoner and is an extract from the Copping on Resource Pack (produced by Copping on National Crime Awareness Initiative.)



Also, I want to say a huge thanks to my brilliant beta, dory_the_fishie, for all her help on this fic. Thanks!!!

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