Rated M for some language and abuse (The latter only in this post)

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1…2…3...damp ceiling... crumbling stone...4… damp ceiling... crumbling stone…

Devlin wasn’t a ‘physical’ person. He rarely ran unless someone was chasing him and he didn’t play sports, he bet on them. Though few people looked far enough past his smarmy, happy-go-lucky exterior to see the quality of the brain within, Devlin was indeed a Ravenclaw at heart. He preferred to be challenged mentally than physically and had always wondered why the prisoners in movies were always portrayed as exercising rather than doing something more mentally stimulating to pass their days.

So why, you might ask, was he currently topless and doing sit-ups on the cold and damp floor of his tiny cell?

The answer was simple enough: He had been tricked. Specifically, he had been tricked by muggle media into believing that jail wasn’t all that bad. Muggle jails had libraries, gyms, cable TV and Internet access, as well as sport leagues and schooling. Sure there was the threat of beatings, gangs and all sort of unsavory things, as was apt to happen when you got a bunch of ne'er-do-wells in a confined space, but someone guilty of a relatively minor crime like himself could expect a fairly easy couple of months. Thanks to this extremely misguided belief, Devlin had been in for a nasty surprise when he was sent to Azkaban.

Muggles were more progressive than wizards in many areas, in clothing, technology, racism, but especially in their prisons. Azkaban was more medieval torture dungeon than maximum security penitentiary, and the fact that magic kept the prisoners at bay made escape look mockingly easy while being literally impossible. Here there were no amenities, not even the basic ones like decent nutrition and clean clothes, let alone things like books and television.  Aside from the letters he occasionally got from his family and friends, Devlin had nothing to mentally stimulate him. He might have written a book but paper was another novelty that was rare and he kept it for writing letters.

So this being said, after a couple of months in Azkaban, Devlin found himself resorting to anything that passed the time and incited even the tiniest rush of adrenaline and/or endorphins. Thus, sit-ups and push-ups had become his new source of entertainment. It became his day to day. Wake up, eat, exercise, eat, write letter, exercise, eat, exercise, sleep... day after day. Four more months of this and he would be solid muscle and probably a bit insane. He supposed that was better than the other possible alternative. He could have found God.

10... ceiling... stone...11... ceiling... stone... 12... ceiling... stone... 13...

This thought droned through his head until it became a mantra and Devlin found himself drifting into a trance of sorts, where the pain from the exercise disappeared and left only the euphoria.  Maybe he would hit number 20 today. A new personal best.

17... ceiling... stone...18... ceiling... stone... 19... ceiling... sto—CLANK CLANK THUNK

His trance was shattered by the sound of his cell door sliding open, a rare sound this time of day. Though the drizzly winter sky gave little to go on, he was sure that it wasn’t time for another meal quite yet. Pausing, Devlin settled into a seated position and eyed the guard at the door. The guard, who Devlin refused to call by name out of spite since they didn't offer him the same in return, sneered down at Devlin. It was clear he thought that the filthy floor, down there with the rest of the vermin, was the best place for him.

“Good Morning! How may I help you?” Devlin replied to the sneer with an ingratiating grin. He had always been the type to hide bad emotions behind a veil of light-hearted, sometimes snarky, humor and had quickly learned that acting cheery about the abuse really pissed the guards off. Sure, sometimes that meant he got a good beating in response, but he found he actually, kind of… enjoyed the adrenaline rush it brought. It made him feel alive. Besides, after the torture Kingstreet ordered for him, the guards beatings felt like a tickle party.

“Piss off and stand up, Prisoner.” The guard snarled and Devlin felt a giddy little snicker in his belly.

“Wait… do you want me to piss off or stand up… Because I don’t think I can do both in such a little room…” Devlin replied innocently as his eyes flicked towards the wand hanging from the mans belt. He hadn’t taken it yet, so Devlin figured he had a few more good ribs before the abuse started.

“Listen you little shit. Get up and shut up before I hex your mouth shut.“ the guards ears were a bit pink now, but he still didn’t draw his wand. Devlin suspected that he kind of liked this banter they had going. Either that or he wanted Dev to push him to a point where he snapped, so he had a legitimate reason to beat him senseless. Against his better instincts, Devlin continued.

“Wait, are you threatening me or flirting with me? If its the latter, don't you think it's a bit early for that? I mean… at least wine and dine me first.” Devlin grinned as he stood and went over to a small stone basin imbedded in the wall. There he splashed some brownish water on his underarms and dried them rather ineffectively with a small, somewhat crusty towel. He glanced towards his captor, adding cheekily “Oooh or a show. I love shows. I hear Cats is good…”

“The fuck is Ca—“ The guard, who was apparently not a muggleborn, caught himself and snapped back “I mean, shut up and get dressed. You have a visitor.”

This caught Devlin by surprise and he suddenly sobered up. “Visitor? Who?” He asked, his grin faltering a bit. Visitors were few and far between, and not always pleasant. Especially those in crimson robes.

The guard noticed this and his own frown of irritation turned into a wicked grin “Don’t know. She’s pretty fit though. Maybe I should go and chat her up, yeah? Since you don’t seem to be in any rush…”

Devlin didn’t need to be told more. There were only three or four people that would visit him and only two were female, and as much as he despised the guy, Devlin didn’t think the guard was creepy enough to refer to his 11 year old sister as ‘fit’. That meant only one possibility: Maeve. The mere suggestion of the idea of seeing her filled him with so much joy that Devlin found himself back at the basin, splashing water all over himself in hopes that he could clean up at least a little bit better.

It didn’t, however, keep him from throwing one last bard his captors way, “No need, I’ll go.” He said, somewhat muffled by the pulling of what could only loosely be called a ‘shirt’ over his head. “Besides…” He smirked as he ran a hand through his thick, wild waves in a failed attempt to tame them. “You will need a lot bigger wand than that to impress her…”

He probably should have left that bit off. Apparently, suggesting a deficiency in a man’s ‘wand’ size was the trigger the guard needed to finally draw his and draw he did. Before Devlin knew it, he was thrown back into his bunk by a blast of cold water that soaked him to the skin and chilled him to the bone. “Missed a spot…” The guard leered as Devlin glared at him from behind his dripping mop of hair.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Devlin tried not to let his fury, and more importantly, his shivering, show as he stood and slicked his hair back. “Now I smell much better, thanks mate.” He retorted, his smile much more strained as he stomped past the guard, wringing out his shirt and leaving a trail of grimy, icy water in his wake.

As they neared the green curtained room, Devlin’s anger faded and he felt his heart racing for another, very different, reason. Behind those crackling green pain curtains was the one person he had longed to see the most these last couple of months. He knew he couldn’t touch her or kiss her or even smell her soft perfume, but at least he could see her face and hear her voice. That alone was more than enough.