A huge thank you to CatherineMorgenstern who gave me endless support and help throughout the writing of this fic. Mwah.

Even without the Dementors' presence infecting the air, Azkaban prison was everything Hermione Granger had been told it would be; bleak, forbidding and soul-destroying. It was the kind of place that hovered over you, just out of reach, bathing you in its sinister aura that stuck to you like a stain on your soul and followed you into your dreams. This was what also made it the perfect place to imprison what was left of Voldemort's Death Eater army. It was just a pity it didn't contain all of them.

If it did, she wouldn't have to be here waiting for the guards to open the heavily warded door. She could be at Grimmauld Place grieving with Harry, Ron and the rest of her friends. Not on some godforsaken rock in the middle of the North Sea, getting soaked by the never ending rain, which the wind threw at her with brutal force.

A few moments ago, a wave had crested the rock she'd taken shelter behind and splashed her with what felt like half the sea. It had been so strong that it had almost knocked her off her feet. Now she was sure that the salt water had affected the charm she had cast to keep her cloak dry. In fact, she knew it had because her clothes were pasted uncomfortably to her skin and she was shivering, which meant the warming charm was gone as well. Not that she was surprised, neither of the charms had been particularly strong to begin with, but there was little she could do about it right now.

Hermione was tired; physically, mentally and magically. Not just tired, that seemed too weak of a word for what she felt, but more of a bone-weariness that saturated her body. It made everything feel like such hard work. Even simple things like eating, or on really bad days, breathing. The final battle had drained the magical core of those who'd been present on that awful night. It was only now starting to replenish itself, albeit slowly. Too slowly for her liking.

The battle might have been won but the war was far from being over. Too many Death Eaters had escaped Hogwarts after Harry defeated Voldemort. But the truth was that the majority didn't worry Hermione all that much. The Order would catch up with them eventually and they would soon find themselves visiting Azkaban on an extended holiday. No, random Death Eaters didn't keep her awake at night with her skin bathed in sweat.

But Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew did.

They were supposed to be dead. Everyone else believed they were. Their bodies were in the Ministry's vaults after all. But only Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hermione knew the truth. They also knew that with those two free in the wizarding world to spread their poison, Voldemort's vision for Wizarding Britain would always be a threat. Even if he was no longer alive to see it.

That was why Hermione was currently being buffeted by the wind and spat at by the churning sea. Her fingers and toes were numb from the cold and she'd long since given up trying to keep them warm. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the door to Azkaban swung open.

"About bloody time," Hermione muttered, stomping towards the opening and the sour-faced guard who stood in the entryway.

His eyes slowly swept over Hermione. It was the kind of look men did when they wanted to let a woman know they thought they were only good for one thing.

"I'm expected," she said as she jutted her chin and dared him to say something, anything, she almost wanted him to.

The guard grunted, perhaps seeing the glint in her eye that spoke of someone who had been pushed to the brink and was more than ready to push back. After a few tense moments, he indicated that she should follow him.

Having no other choice, Hermione did. She fixed her gaze on the guard's stiff back as they walked through the dank hallways. Their footsteps echoed around them in an ominous way that she refused to think about. Hermione had the feeling the guard didn't want to be here any more than she did. Not that she could blame him. It wasn't exactly a happy clappy place to work after all. A quick glance around showed the inside was just as depressing as the outside. Grey, roughly-hewn walls, floor and ceiling met her eyes at every turn. Damp, stale air filled her lungs and when she sniffed delicately, fish and salt and shit assaulted her senses.

It was a little while before she noticed any other sound besides their staccato footsteps, shallow breaths and the rustling fabric of her cloak. But when she did, she wished that she hadn't.

Screaming.

Desperate, panicked screams that floated into her ears and quickened her heart. She stumbled, but managed to keep her feet moving, although she couldn't do anything about her gasping breaths.

They were the screams of Death Eaters. She told herself that they deserved to scream. They deserved to suffer for what they'd done to innocent people. But the screams sounded the same as the ones that had been forced out of her friend's throats and out of her own. Surely they shouldn't sound the same. Death Eaters were evil. They should have evil screams. Or none at all. Hermione rolled her eyes at her own ridiculous logic and quickened her steps.

"Don't you use silencing charms?" she asked the sour-faced guard.

"Yeah," he said, leading her up a staircase.

Hermione frowned. "Then why do I still hear them?"

The guard halted at the top of the stairs, causing Hermione to almost bump into him.

"You can hear them because the charm can only contain so many voices." His face twisted into a leer. "The louder they scream, the less likely it is to hold."

Hermione clenched her jaw in anger, but nodded in understanding. She couldn't get into this now. There were more important things to worry about than the welfare of Azkaban's inmates. But she didn't like it. Not one bit.

The idiot guard sneered and spun away, leaving Hermione to either stay or follow. She followed. He led her to a windowless room with a threadbare brown carpet, pointed to a desk and left. Behind the desk sat a thin, bespectacled woman, whose face was almost as sour as the guard's. Maybe it was an Azkaban requirement or something.

Hermione stepped forward ignoring the woman's pointed glare at her dripping cloak and said, "My name is Hermione Granger. Mr Simbleton is expecting me."

The woman's lips did the impossible and puckered even tighter, but she climbed to her feet without comment and disappeared behind a door to the left of her desk. While she was gone, Hermione took the opportunity to collect herself by taking a huge lungful of musty air, holding and then releasing it. She noted absently that her hands were shaking, as was the rest of her, but oddly she didn't feel cold. She didn't feel anything, only a delicious numbness that she embraced gratefully. It made breathing a little bit easier.

The door behind the desk swung open and the woman stepped out. "Mr Simbleton will see you now."

Hermione nodded politely and walked past her into the office of the warden of Azkaban. Mr Simbleton suited his plain and tidy office perfectly. His short, grey hair was neatly trimmed and matched the colour of the walls. Pale blue eyes looked out of a round face which sat atop a round body. Dull, brown robes tried valiantly to disguise just how fat he was, but, in the end, failed. Her eyes caught on the large stack of parchment that was squared up and in line with the edge of the desk. Her fingers twitched with the urge to nudge it out of place. Just to see what would happen.

When she looked back up at Simbleton, he was watching her. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Hermione strode forward and took the seat opposite him. Honestly, she just wanted the whole thing over with.

"Mr Simbleton, I assume Minister Shacklebolt has brought you up to speed?" she asked, forgoing any niceties.

Simbleton's lips thinned with displeasure. "He has and I have to say that I disapprove."

Hermione sighed. "I know it's unconventional but there really is no other way."

Simbleton frowned. "No other way? Are you quite sure?"

"Yes," she answered, closing her tired eyes.

And she was. This was the only idea they'd come up with that had any chance of working. After all, what better way to catch a Death Eater than with a Death Eater? More specifically, the Death Eater that had managed to catch her, Harry and Ron.

Scabior.

He was reputed to be the best Snatcher alive and they needed the best if they wanted to catch Bella and Pettigrew.

"Well as long as the Ministry and the Order are fully behind this," Simbleton said, eyeing her closely.

Hermione nodded so she wouldn't have to lie outright to him. In truth, the only people who knew about the plan were herself, Shacklebolt and Simbleton. She hadn't even told Ron or Harry, not wanting to argue or fall out. Ron was almost as tired as she was and poor Harry was dead on his feet. He could barely get out of bed most days and the rest of the Order were no better, still taking stock and burying the dead.

Yet, she knew that this was the only way. Bellatrix and Pettigrew were a huge threat and they needed to be found. Quickly. The Ministry was in chaos with everyone scrambling to save their own jobs at the same time as trying to push the newly appointed Shacklebolt out of his. That was why it had to be now, before Shacklebolt lost his power to grant Scabior his freedom and before anyone looked too closely and thought to object. And they would. Nobody wanted a Death Eater released from Azkaban, especially not the one who had turned the Golden Trio over to Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione shifted forward in her seat. "I'd like to speak to him alone before we complete the paperwork."

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Simbleton said, folding his chubby hands atop the desk.

Hermione scoffed. "You're right, but I'm going to do it anyway."

He stared intently at her face, gauging whether or not he could change her mind. Whatever expression he'd seen on her face made him shake his head sadly.

"Very well, Miss Granger, I'll take you to him," Simbleton replied as he used the desk to lever himself to his feet.

"Don't you need to do the paperwork?" Hermione asked, pointing to the stacks of parchment on his desk.

"Oh, that's not the paperwork. Minister Shacklebolt has already taken care of that, all we need to do is sign." He flicked his hand at the parchment pile in a careless gesture. "Those are requests from witches and wizards seeking employment."

"Well, I suppose you'll need them now, what with the influx of prisoners. I didn't see anyone aside from the guard who let me in," Hermione said, wondering just how understaffed they actually were.

Simbleton gave her an odd look. "Azkaban is at its full capacity of guards. We don't need any more."

Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "But I didn't see any."

"That's because they were taking care of the prisoners."

Ice trickled down her spine and she fought the urge to vomit. Taking care of someone usually didn't involve screaming. Especially those kinds of screams. Her eyes flicked back to the pile of employment enquiries as the reality of what was happening hit her. The inmates weren't screaming from nightmares or memories. They were being tortured.

"A lot of people want revenge, Miss Granger," Simbleton said quietly, seeing her expression.

She closed her eyes as if that could somehow make it all go away. It didn't work. It never worked. They were Death Eaters, she reminded herself, they had done awful things to innocent people and they would have continued to do awful things if they hadn't been caught. She told herself that. Again and again.

But torture was wrong no matter who was on the end of it. Why couldn't they see that it was wrong?

"Miss Granger?"

She snapped her eyes open and glared at Simbleton. "Allowing that to happen makes you no better than Voldemort himself," she hissed.

"What would you have me do? My hands are tied in so many knots that I'm surprised I'm not mistaken for a piece of rope!" he bellowed back at her, chin wobbling in his fury.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" she yelled, letting all of her frustration flow out into that one sentence.

Then she promptly burst into tears. Simbleton sighed and ambled over, he hovered for a moment before awkwardly patting her shoulder. Hermione ignored him, trying desperately to suck back her tears, horrified that she'd lost control in front of him. She never lost control.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, struggling to come up with an explanation that wouldn't let him know how close to the edge she was. "I'm just so tired."

"Of course, of course. We all are," he mumbled with a surprising amount of sympathy. "Take a moment."

Hermione nodded but continued to stare at her clenched fists. They were red and raw from the wind. It took three minutes for her to sink back into the blissful numbness of earlier and when she did, she immediately pulled away from Simbleton and his clumsy back patting.

"I apologise, Sir, that shouldn't have happened," she whispered.

Simbleton cleared his throat. "Yes well, shall we pretend it didn't?"

Hermione nodded her head in gratitude. "Thank you."

Simbleton shifted, unease written in every line of his body. "I don't encourage what the guards do here, Miss Granger, but I do try and manage it," he said with a hint of shame.

"I understand," she answered. And she did. She really did. The war had made monsters out of them all. At least he knew what they were doing was wrong. So many others didn't, or did, but didn't care.

Hermione decided right then and there that she liked Simbleton. He was in an awful situation and he was doing his best not to let it get any worse. Plus he hadn't given into hate and that was something she could respect. Of course, she'd speak to Kingsley about the torture which was going on. There was no way she could just pretend it wasn't happening. Not after hearing those screams.

"I'm ready to see Scabior now."

Simbleton grimaced. "Then let's not keep him waiting," he responded wryly.

Hermione gave him a genuine, but small smile. She could well imagine what kind of prisoner the Snatcher would make. The insolent, mouthy man could very quickly get on anybody's last nerve.

When Simbleton waddled out of the door, Hermione followed closely behind. His secretary was there, offering them both a pinched look. They didn't go back down the stairs, but turned right and down a narrow corridor. She counted five doors on either side and another four when they turned a corner. Finally, they arrived at a heavy-looking steel door.

Hermione took a deep breath, hoping to calm her fluttering stomach. It took a second for it to register that she was nervous and she blinked, bemused with herself. In front of her, Simbleton raised his hand and spread his fingers across the door's smooth surface and murmured a word that unlocked the door. He pushed gently and swung it open.

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