Summary: Harry is accused of murder and condemned to Azkaban. And even if he dies in that filthy hellhole, he'll get his revenge on those who backstabbed him. As a specter what remains of his spirit leaves Azkaban with the fall of night to torment those who betrayed him.

Today we get to see how Hermione is doing. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hermione Granger

Hermione signs the last form with a flourish and sets it aside, rubbing her eyes. A quick look at the grandfather clock tells her she's once more worked way past her office hours, and she wonders if it's worth it, going home, or if it's better to just conjure a bed for the night. It wouldn't be the first time, but her boss is starting to throw odd side-glances at her when she comes in to find her already stationed at her desk, hair in disarray and hands spotted with the ink that flows freely from her carefully brandished quill.

Hermione is very efficient, but the department has about three years worth of pending paperwork (two years and fifteen weeks, at her current rate) and she's the only one who takes it seriously enough to work through it all. She has already dug her way through three cabinets with expanding charms on them, but there's always more; always one more file, one more paper that requires research, another hoop to jump through and yet another old, dry tome to peruse for law changes and inconsistencies and exemptions. She's starting to hate the sight of her parchment-covered desk.

She used to like this. The thought of research used to fill her with excitement. She remembers walking around dusty shelves, fingers poised above spine of whichever book caught her fancy, falcon-like eyes focused on finding the best of the battered tomes that filled Hogwarts' library. She remembers fondly entire days burning through books the way Ron worked his way through breakfast, her notes cramped in the tiniest writing she could manage, filling rolls of parchment with quotes and ideas and cross-references and all kinds of data.

When did research become a chore?

She can't quite pinpoint the day, but it was long before she left Hogwarts. Long before she buried herself in work in a cramped office in the recesses of the Ministry of Magic. And just a little bit before she broke things off with Ron.

Maybe she can pinpoint the day, down to the exact hour when she'd stopped loving what she did. But she doesn't want to. She has promised herself she'll keep those thoughts confined to her personal time. She knows she'll pick them up again, like a cloak, as soon as she leaves the office, but that kind of thinking has no place during her work hours.

She should go home. It's Tuesday, after all, and Teresa is always particularly chatty and inquisitive on Wednesday mornings. Hermione doesn't know why –there must be something in her boss's routine that drives that change- but the fact remains that she is much more likely to be reprimanded for working late on Wednesdays.

A quick flick of her wand removes the ink spots, a swish sorts the rolls of parchment into a semblance of order, and with a little twirl that resets the wards over her desk she's ready to go. The walk to the Atrium doesn't take long, although her ministry-issued floo password takes almost fifteen minutes to clear. It's not uncommon, since service is always slow this time of the night, and while it's a necessary precaution it's still annoying.

The minute she steps into her living room the doubts come back. She ignores the thoughts circling her head while she heats her dinner. When she first set up her apartment she'd chosen a distinctly muggle kitchen, partly as defiance to the more conservative wings of the Ministry and partly because she isn't all that comfortable around magical kitchens. She still thinks wizarding kitchens are a bit overrated –case in point, unless you enslave house-elves there really isn't a way to instantly prepare a meal the magical way, a feat muggle microwaves are perfectly capable of.

She eats mechanically, not really tasting the food, and this time there is no excuse to hold the thoughts back.

Hermione Granger, the so-called smartest witch of her generation, probably the smartest witch to set foot in Hogwarts in decades –she wonders how she could have been so stupid, so blind.

She remembers with mixed feelings her first year at Hogwarts, recklessly trying to save the Philosopher's Stone before it was too late. "Brilliant," she had said, brain working in overdrive. "This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."(1)

And yet, she'd failed. She'd always prided herself on being rational, on being thorough; she'd always thought herself so smart for checking several sources and taking all possibilities into account, no matter how distasteful they may seem. Even when that had provoked her friends' anger –a certain polished firebolt comes to mind- she hadn't stopped. And yet… she had failed. She had let herself be fooled. A part of her had wanted to believe that Harry hadn't betrayed them, that the boy she had grown to love like a brother wasn't capable of turning his back on them –on her- that she hadn't been wrong about him. And that wish had clouded her mind and made her blind to the truth. She hadn't seen the signs. She hadn't wanted to.

And once she'd realized that he had, her surrender was quick, brutally so, and she'd given in without a fight, possessed by a quiet, desperate sort of fury. How could he?

Were they not good enough? How could he lie to them, and deceive them, and betray them? Why? Why would he do that to her?

The rage had carried her through the trial, through the verdict, through the empty weeks that followed.

And then… then she'd been consumed by the voices that whispered in her dreams and eventually made their home inside her head.

Did she choose wrong? Was Harry a traitor, had she been blind to it from the start, too happy and hopeful at finally having a friend that she'd chosen to disregard everything else?

Or was she the one to betray a friend?

Because when her mind descends into the misty reality of dreams she can't help but think she was wrong. Can't help but know that Harry doesn't have blood on his hands. Can't help but realize she'd committed not one, but two errors of logic: she had not supported Harry, she hadn't believed him.

Or had she trusted him too much? Had she given him too much of her trust? Was she simply shying from the truth of his betrayal because it hurt too much to think she'd been wrong?

Her mind, once organized and sure, perfectly balanced, has turned into a tangled mesh of confusion, guilt and rage.

Because at night, when remorse consumes her and she can't avoid the vicious gnaw of guilt, when her mind can almost see Harry's innocence… she can't help but doubt herself.

Where's her loyalty now? Her sharp intellect?

She has betrayed, in the worst way she can imagine, the one who not so long ago saved her life. The first person to offer his hand in friendship, to value her, looking past the off-putting know-it-all exterior to see the real Hermione, all of eleven years old, eyes scared and awed and full of things and thoughts and words.

But… what if she hadn't?

At night she couldn't help but believe in Harry, and that cut her more deeply than anything else could have. Because, if Harry was innocent…

What had she done?

She holds back tears as she cleans up after herself and gets ready for bed.

She feels caught, like she's still struggling with the inner fight she should have fought years ago. The fire that once burned in her soul, the ambition that spurred her on, her conviction, all of that had banished into smoke.

She lies awake in bed, unable to quiet her mind long enough to go to sleep. It's nothing new.

She'd managed to hate Harry, for a little while. Long enough to get him locked up. Dumbledore had guided her through the trial, and overwhelmed and worn down she'd testified against him. Dumbledore was a wise man, the most intelligent wizard in Great Britain. The greatest wizard in Britain couldn't be wrong, could he?

But then the days passed, and as weeks went by she just couldn't do it. Couldn't hate Harry.

And she'd gotten scared. Frozen by a paralyzing, profound fear. Doubt rose in her mind, and the very thought that Harry might be innocent terrified her.

Because… what if she was wrong?

That thought, the light and yet somehow profound intuition that whispered Harry might have been unjustly accused and imprisoned, crushed her.

She couldn't endure her then boyfriend's heated rants about "that filthy traitor". Couldn't bear to hear another word from Ginny about how she'd always known Harry was dark, evil, the too much like Riddle she would mutter vindictively. Couldn't take another of Dumbledores' wise and piercing gazes, which now seemed empty and fake.

And, above all, she couldn't stand herself.

Couldn't take the guilt, horrible and throbbing, eating away at her insides like acid, tearing her every thought apart and ripping the fabric of her reality.

So she'd run, withdrew, hidden in her work as she'd done as a kid, borrowing coping methods from the muggle world that had seen her grown. But she knew it hadn't been in the muggle world, or in her classes at Hogwarts, that she'd grown and became the woman she is; it had been next to Harry, fighting against chance and insurmountable odds, from the very moment they'd become friends. Every time she'd scolded her friends about their studies, every hour she'd spent researching to solve a mystery on which their very lives might depend, every second she'd felt alive…every moment when she'd managed to glimpse a small grain of transcendence.

And she owed it all to Harry.

That thought wouldn't leave her alone. She couldn't think around it, couldn't set it aside. She owed Harry her very life, everything she was, all she had achieved.

And how had she repaid him?

With mistrust and accusations, helping the ones that were trying to lock him away.

Hermione doesn't need accusing dreams, ghostly fingers pointing at her in the silence of the night. She doesn't need otherworldly cold or magic tricks.

All you have to do is appeal to her logic, rouse her intelligence. And they'll do the rest. Nothing could hurt as much as knowing, even if only for a second, that she'd betrayed Harry. That she'd been wrong.

For four years she's been trying to find in her heart the answer her mind is incapable of living her.

Was she wrong?

Four years she's been fighting a quiet but fierce battle against herself. Isolated, subdued, it feels like the world is holding its breath and time itself doesn't dare interrupt her, all waiting for the end of the merciless war taking place inside her.

And then, still sleepless at three am, she makes a decision.

Was she wrong?

It doesn't matter. She owes Harry her loyalty, come what may.

And even if it's not worth much now, he'll have it.

There's an old spark in her eyes as she leaves the bed, a familiar kind of fire inside her. It's time for her to do what she does best: research.

She can't leave Harry to rot in Azkaban.

And she knows who can help her find a solution.

Solving impossible problems, mysteries, traps, trials, secrets most of the world think legend, that's nothing new for her. It's like her whole life has been preparing her for this moment.

She has a goal.

And Hermione Granger always achieves her goals. Anything else would be unacceptable.

There's a quiet sound in the flat, the scratch of the quill against parchment, but for once her mind is silent. She'll go back to bed soon, to get her strength up before tackling the Ministry archives.

She has a feeling she won't have any trouble falling asleep.

(1) Quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

I'd love to hear any feedback you have on this story, and please feel free to share any ideas and/or request you may have for further punishments. Any ideas will be really appreciated!

There's a poll in my profile where you can vote on the next chapters and since I've used up all the original material I will now start posting completely original chapters. Which I'm not nervous about, no sir. Riiight. Anyways, if you have any suggestions, as usual, I'll be happy to hear them :)

Have a nice day!