There were no guards in Azkaban, none were needed, and anyone stationed there would slowly go mad from the dementor's presence. Perhaps more surprising was the solemn and quiet atmosphere, one might expect the rattling of bars and pleas for help from the incarcerated, but as Albus walked past each cell, he encountered only despair or craven indifference. Albus expected that when he found the cell he was looking for, its captive would need some encouragement to speak. The eerie silence was only interrupted occasionally by the dripping of rain onto the wet stone and the Lord's own echoing footsteps. Eventually, he found the cell he was looking for; as a cruel joke, the cells were left unlocked, so Albus was able to step inside. The jail was dark and cold. Only a small shard of silver light was permitted to enter from a slit in the wall. There was a curled-up man in the corner. The prisoner had barely registered Albus" presence and did not even deign to look up at him. In fact, he refused to change position and remained with his head curled up in his arms.