Azkaban.
The dungeons were cold and damp, the air thick with a suffocating stench.
There were now more Goblin prisoners in Azkaban than human ones. All the Goblins involved in the rebellion had been locked up here.
In one of the cells on the right side.
The wizard in the cell lay flat on the floor, his limbs spread wide.
Suddenly, frost began forming over the cell walls and iron bars, and the temperature rapidly dropped by more than ten degrees.
The wizard shuddered all over and scrambled into the corner of his cell.
He knew the Dementors were coming out to feed. He wanted to stay as far from the door as possible, hoping he might somehow escape another encounter with a Dementor.
He curled up desperately in the corner, continuously recalling painful memories in an effort to avoid drawing the Dementors' attention.
"Professor Lockhart?"
The gentle, vaguely familiar voice made his trembling body freeze.
Lockhart looked up, disbelief flashing across his face. "Matthew!"
But he quickly recovered, crawling over to clutch Matthew's leg. "Matthew... even Azkaban can't hold you back. I knew it—you would become a Great Wizard! Just like Dumbledore... no... you will be even greater than Dumbledore..."
By the end, Lockhart had begun using honorifics. He did not believe Matthew had come to see him without reason, and there was no deep enmity between them.
Lockhart knelt on the ground and asked in an extremely humble tone, "What are your orders?"
After the Ministry of Magic reclaimed Azkaban, Lockhart had also been imprisoned here. However, since he had not taken any lives, he had only been sentenced to ten years.
But Azkaban was no ordinary prison. Dementors were everywhere, and anyone whose will was not strong enough would go mad before lasting ten years here.
Matthew