Her bare feet, blackened from dirt and grime, swept across the cell in a patterned circle, her hair, curled and matted, inky against her pale and hollow face, bounces gracefully as she dances around. Her cheers set off a wave, and suddenly it seems as though all of Azkaban have been revived. Their voices and jeers move through each hall. They bring forth the dementors, and not even the sickly, chilly cold makes them stop.