Icy black waves of the North Sea crashed loudly against the dark stone of an ancient castle. The castle towered over a desolate island creating a haunting, malicious atmosphere that was intensified by the screams and moans constantly pervading its walls.
Night was falling on Azkaban; this meant the few wizards stationed as guards would be deserting the bleak island and returning home, leaving Dementors as the sole guards of the prison throughout the night. Once the guards had left, the dark specters would congregate around the cells that contained the newest of the prisoners, abandoning their other charges as they feasted on the new minds of the freshly convicted.
However, this particular night would be different than any other. Tonight, a child would be born on Azkaban.
Unnoticed by the guards there was a young woman whose stomach was swollen with child. Her pregnancy had been hidden easily; the human guards avoided the high security cells and the Dementors did not inspect the prisoners, they only insured they didn’t escape.
The woman knew that her child would be coming soon and was determined to keep the birth hidden from the guards. No one would take her child from her! It was hers, not anyone else’s!
The woman hissed slightly as a contraction tightened painfully around her stomach. Breathing shakily, she clutched a pale white hand over her protruding stomach. The contractions had been happening all day and were steadily growing stronger as night fell. Realizing what this meant she had dragged her flimsy and dirt stained cot to the cold stone floor and sat down gingerly.
She gasped in surprise and anticipation as she felt liquid rush down to pool between her legs in a large puddle. Panting as a tight band wrapped ever tighter around her stomach, she clenched her teeth into a determined smile and she reached down to remove her undergarments. Throwing them to the side of her cell she began to lower herself onto her side. A breathless laugh escaped her as she waited for the true excitement to begin.
As the sun rose the next morning a single beam of light managed to pierce through the dark clouds that shrouded Azkaban. The beam shone dimly through rusted bars into a cell in the high security block.
Blood and other fluids soaked a thin, flimsy cot that lay on the floor in the center of the cell. The woman – healing rapidly as was typical for witches – was curled up against the wall on the raised stone platform her cot had previously rested on.
Her dark curly hair hung in limp tangles around her face and stuck to her sweaty neck as she gazed down at the child she was cradling – her child. It was a girl. She slept soundly against her mother, wrapped snuggly in a strip of her torn shirt. The girl was only a few hours old and already she had a dark tuft of thick hair on the top of her little head. Her eyes, when not shut in sleep, were a beautiful blue.
Leaning back against the cell wall, the woman ran a shaking finger across her daughter’s face. Her mouth split into a smile and her eyes sparkled in triumph as she drew her child close. “You’re my child. Mine.” Her eyes glittered. “And no one will ever take you away from me.” Placing a possessive hand along her daughter’s cheek, Bellatrix gazed at her. “You are mine, mine, mine, mine, mine,” she cooed softly.
She had been so absorbed in giving birth and then tending to her child that she had failed to notice the dark shadows collecting in the hallway outside her cell. In her state of bliss, she couldn’t feel the coldness and despair that the Dementors were able to provoke. Cooing softly at her baby she never noticed how large the crowd of Dementors around her cell had become.
The dark specters stood silently outside the cell, viewing the first birth on Azkaban soil in a millennium.