Challenged Love

Chapter 1

An icy-cold drizzle fell upon the atmosphere, a frosty shiver crawling down her spine. This sharp coldness ran along the moldering walls, a daily reminder that she was never alone... that she was always being watched. Only a dementor could cause such a frigid feeling of devastating effect. They floated around the prison, sucking away the happiness of those who had acquired the dreadful fate of being locked away behind the bars of Azkaban. A dreadful fate it truly was- the prison reeked of decay, and a malodorous scent continuously reigned throughout the surrounding air. Once one spends quite a lengthy time in Azkaban, their eyes will begin to be sensitive to any exposure of light, and they will soon realize how small they are truly becoming. Again, a seriously dreadful fate it is.

The gloomy night had completely submerged the clear, blue sky, cursing the heavens with an inky, black aura. However, Florence Rosewood could never really tell the difference between the hours of day or night. Each hour passed by the next all the same, and the prison lacked very many windows. A crack within the walls may occasionally let her know if the sun has risen, but she could hardly rely on a piece of hope so little. Most of her hopes lie elsewhere, though these certain hopes are not particularly reliable either. So Mrs. Rosewood lays in the dark for the majority of her days, the smell of sea salt filling her senses. At first, she might have considered begging for a glimpse of sunlight, but now she has grown accustomed to the lack of light around her. Why have any light rather when you can hide your face in the shadows from the dementors, which roam around your prison cell daily, longing for a kiss. Not a friendly kiss, but one which will suck the life out of you.

Mrs. Rosewood remained on the floor in the middle of the contaminated prison cell, groaning in excruciating pain. However, if she did not do her best to keep her groans under her breath, she feared she would mistakingly attract the dementors. Therefore, she bit back any uneasy noises, blood dripping from her lips. She did everything to relieve the aching hurt which heavily pierced her arm. She was curled up in a ball and doubled over in discomfort. The suffering was to continue on, however, for the mark was permanent. Absolutely nothing could be done for the throbbing pain which stung her arm.

Mrs. Rosewood then began to sob to herself, letting her tears fall onto her Dark Mark. All she wanted was for the sharp pain to cease, or at least a bucket of cold water to ease the burning. Almost as if her wish was granted, rain began pounding against the prison, and water seeped through the crack in the ceiling. It graciously dropped right onto her arm, feeling to her as a gift from Heaven. The rain drops did not cease all the burning sensations, but it did relieve some of the torture which she was enduring.

She knew the stinging on her arm meant one thing and one thing only. The Dark Lord had finally returned to greater power, and was more determined than ever to conquer the world. It also meant that the Dark Lord was calling his followers to reunite. Florence looked up to the ceiling, revenge tasting sweet on her tongue.

Heavy rainfall proceeded to pour from the sky throughout the tormenting hours of midnight, causing Mrs. Rosewood to lay awake on the cold, stone floor. Then suddenly, a thunderous boom sounded from the outside. The cell in which Florence dwelled in was violently shaken, frightening her almost to death. Just outside, part of the prison had crumbled down to the ground, only a few cells away from where she was. The harsh winds rushed through the black night, and lightning struck the waters in which Azkaban was surrounded in. A terrible soul had awaken from its captivity, rejoicing in the fact that they were finally freed.

From inside the cell, Mrs. Rosewood witnessed the sound of a psychotic cackle, filling the air with its deafening audio. This laugh echoed into the night, a laugh belonging to no other than Bellatrix Lestrange. Mrs. Rosewood could recognize that wicked howl from a mile away for a reason she did not quite understand. Bellatrix had successfully escaped Azkaban. Florence Rosewood's heart sank. Why could it not have been her? Why did she have to be stuck in a devastating state of solitude?

You may remember the story of how she got to the position she was in at that very moment, but Mrs. Rosewood will admit that she does not quite remember anything, except she does recall how she gained the Dark Mark in the first place. The same could be said for Mr. Benjamin Rosewood, who was in the cell next to his wife. All day long, he would ponder upon a most dreaded subject to the point of insanity. He would pace back and forth across the soggy floor with bare, numb feet, doing everything he could to recall times that resembled now to be dreams than actual reality. The loud boom had shaken his cell as well, causing him to fall to his knees. He held out his hands directly in front of him, using them as a pair of eyes since his broken glasses were of no use to him. That was when he heard the unmistakable cackle of Bellatrix sounding from a distance. An eager thought pricked his mind. Would today be the day he would escape as well? Was there still a glint of hope buried underneath the roaming darkness?

Shortly after hearing the victory of Bellatrix, two other cackles sounded from two different individuals, chilling the air with a murderous desire. Both Florence and Benjamin shuddered at the sound, which was all too familiar to their ears.

The Norman's and Bellatrix had escaped torture together, leaving the Rosewoods to rot alone in agony.