❝ My whole existence is a scandal. But I do not think I should be charged with creating a scandal by continuing to live: though I am conscious that I do so. ❞ — Oscar Wilde, in a letter to Robert Ross, 1897

"Shower time. Shower time. If you are not awake within the next five minutes, your next chance to shower will be in a week."

I jolted awake at the sound of metallic banging on the bars of my door. The room was still pitch black, which only meant one thing: it wasn't six am yet. I glanced at the door of my cell and found Samuel's flat, unfriendly face glaring at me.

"You getting up or not, boy?" he growled. "Or are you gon' sit there and stink till next week?"

Needless to say, there were plenty times I chose that option instead. Second day of arrival I was told the rules for showering: once a week at five am, water and soap only—and brisk cold water at that, three minutes long, all guys in one shower room, guards watching as we undressed and dressed. Shower day was also the only day we got to wash our jail uniforms. So it was kind of a lose-lose thing if we missed it.

Once a month we were allowed a razor for shaving needs. Samuel told me it used to be every shower day, but after one too many prisoners tried to attack the guards with a razor to the throat, rules changed. I had been so used to shaving twice a week that after the first month of having no choice but to watch the gradual growth of a horrendous beard, I decided that was the end of my relationship with mirrors.

Kinda crazy to think I have no clue what I've looked like for the past four months now. I'm too scared to find out. Mainly because I can see what my friends look like and it keeps me up at night when I think back to how they used to look before.

I'd say Matt was the person who Azkaban had been least kind to (but then again, I hadn't seen myself yet, so that wasn't the fairest judgement call.)

When I first met Matt, his hair was long and always poking under the colorful beanies he loved wearing. He had a whole section of his closet dedicated to beanies. He was shorter than me, on the skinnier side, and wore rimless glasses that brought out his animated eyes.

On September, beginning of our sixth year, his eyes started losing that animation, but now they were completely bleak, like the life had been sucked out of them. And when before, I didn't think it possible for him to get any skinnier, now I tried to avoid even glancing at his topless chest when we undressed before showering. Azkaban had hollowed out his cheeks and shrunk his arms and torso to a thin sheet of skin, just enough to cover his skeletal structure.

September was also around the time he abandoned his rimless glasses for a pair of thick-rimmed frames, which, despite making him look like a nerd, was one of the very few intelligent decisions Matthias Finley has ever taken. The other being when he shaved off his head the moment he got hold of a razor.

I considered doing the same, seeing that my hair now was as long as Matt's pre-Azkaban, but I didn't have a beanie to hide my bald head under, so I couldn't bring myself to. Meredith would call me a baby if she was here. I guess some things never change.

"See, this is what I don't get," Matt had said to his guard on our first month. "What's the point in waking up so early to shower? I mean, 5 am, c'mon dude. If it's only a three-minute thing, might as well get it done after breakfast or something. Do y'all really think we don't go back to sleep after this and then have an even harder time waking up after two hours for breakfast? Is this how those 'early birds' do it? Or do they just not go to sleep at all afterward? I mean, it's not like that cold ass water isn't enough to wake you up. Would it hurt y'all to warm it up just a little? I mean, we're in jail, man, we're already suffering. You could at least spare us hypothermia. Besides, we don't have wands. You guys, on the other hand—"

"Will you shut your mouth and keep it moving, boy?" His guard grumbled. I was so used to Matt's constant ramblings that it felt strange when they stopped.

We showered in three minutes under a faint, icy cold jet of water dripping from the rusty shower head with the guards behind our backs. I stared at my feet the whole time. My toenails needed trimming.

"Joining us for breakfast today?" Matt asked when we got back to our cells. There were still two hours left. My body felt like an ice statue.

"Nah. Got drawing to do."

"You say it like it's a job." I could picture him scoffing from his bed on the other side of the corridor. "You're lucky, you know. I wish I had something to keep me busy. Still, you gotta eat some. You're starting to look like me, dude."

This time I scoffed. "Awful thing to say about yourself."

"Only thing that's awful is that I had to let go of my fabulous hair because I didn't wanna catch lice. Maybe you should-"

"Do the same? I've thought about it. Can't do it."

"Whatever levitates your feather." Silence. There was a lot of that here in Azkaban. Even Matt, who never used to shut up, had grown quieter now. I didn't think I'd ever want chatterbox Matthias back, but here I am. "I heard the guards talking last night. The Aurors are coming next week to bring in new Dolphinuses."

"Did they say from which school?"

"Hogwarts. They found two of them."

I wondered how old they were. Two more innocents lives to be ruined for good. What a shame.

"So we're still top of the leaderboard, huh?" I said. "Four in one school. I mean, what are the odds?"

"If you asked me four months ago, I'd say lower than the odds of you getting a girlfriend, but somehow both happened, so now I can say I've seen it all."

"Oh shut up, Matt."

Silence. I was still freezing.

"Speaking of, how's Zoë?" he asked.

"Not good. Barely talks to me."

"Barely talks to anyone. She's started to follow your lead and won't come out for breakfast anymore."

I knew she'd do that. She didn't tell me she had, but it sounded like the type of thing she'd do.

"I don't blame her," I said.

"Me neither. I'm just worried."

"I'll try to talk to her tonight. I don't expect much of a response, but I reckon it won't hurt to try."

"Don't take it personal."

I closed my eyes. "I don't. Just wish I could get her out of here, you know. Wish we all could."

"We will," he said. "When we die."

"Don't say that."

"But am I lying?"

My bottom lip trembled. If this were a verbal conversation, I was almost positive my voice would break. "I said don't say that, Matt."

What he said next reminded me so much of something my sister Meredith used to tell me all the time. I thrusted my palms against my ears, as if doing so would make me unhear it. I wished so darn bad to unhear it.

"You're too much of a believer, Theo. I hope this place doesn't kill you."