Chapter 3: Freedom and misery

A man in a grey suit and a greyish face came waking down the passageway. He looked very much like a muggle, but couldn't be. He had brown sleek hair brushed sideways, and a brown toothbrush mustache. He was escorted by two dementors, and as they came nearer, it got colder with each step. Quirrel felt the misery take over again and backed away into the corner.

The man looked in to the cell through the sprinkles. He saw a short thin man, curled to a ball and sobbing silently in the corner. He wore a striped sweater and striped pants, like all the prisoners in Azkaban did. His hair was brown and long, but it looked as if it was short before he came here. The man opened the cell door and coughed. "Mr. Quirrel?" he asked. Quirrel opened his eyes and looked at the man in wonder. What did the man want with him? He did not look like a person who would torture someone. He nodded slowly.

"My name is Barty Crouch, and I work with the wizard cops. Judging by some evidence given at Voldemorts death, you are free of all charges. You can leave whenever you want," he said in a dry bored voice, and then he left without another word. Quirrel just sat there, perplex. He knew he should be happy, but the only thing he could think of was that Voldemort was dead. Was he, really?

Quirrel ran out of the prison, almost senseless, without knowing where to go or what to do. The moment he was outside he disapparated to a lake not far off. He fell down, and just lay there in the grass sobbing, for a long time, until he cried himself to sleep.

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