Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Azkaban is cold and damp. There is no light in the cells, only darkness and silence. At the beginning, there was screaming and begging down the corridor of cells. That was weeks ago or perhaps it’s been months. Hermione has lost track of time. Since the day she was brought here, she makes marks on the wall but she can’t feel them and it’s too dark to see them. The days blur so she doesn’t know just how long she’s been here but she remembers that it was a warm summer day when she was caught and now it’s even colder so she thinks it must be winter.

There is no longer screaming and crying from the cells around her. She knows that means people are dead or broken, but she tries not to think about it. There has to be hope that others are also strong because she refuses to surrender. They can do anything to her that they want, but they’ll never break her mind or hear her beg. The pain from the curses eventually fades, after all, and she’s too important to kill so she’s relatively safe. They never touch her with anything but magic or blades yet she awaits the day when they try to use her body to make her submit. Perhaps her Muggleborn status will keep her safe from that degradation but she prepares for the worst so she’ll be ready in case it comes to that.

The silence is the worst part. There are times she even misses the screaming because at least then she knew she wasn’t alone. Now, she lies on the cold stone floor with her worn blanket and hears nothing but footsteps. It’s the only noise that disturbs the quiet save for the occasional scampering of rats or whistle of the cold wind as it blows through the prison. They never tell her what’s happening outside the walls of Azkaban. She doesn’t know if Harry is alive, if Ron is alive, or if everyone is dead and they’re simply keeping her alive for some twisted form of entertainment.

Footsteps echo in the corridors. She listens intently as they walk back and forth, going to other cells. She tries to hear names mentioned in their taunts and to keep track of where people must still be kept. She hoards the small amount of food they give her during her one meal a day. The cell is so dark that they never notice the crusts of bread that she piles carefully on a loose brick to keep the rats from getting to it. Water is a commodity that they use as a means to get her to talk, but there is an alternative that disgusts her even as she does whatever is necessary to survive. If necessary, she knows she can survive for weeks if they forget about her.

They may think they’re wearing her down, may believe she’s close to giving them all the information they want, but they’ve underestimated her like so many others. The Mudblood is weak and easily broken is what they believe. They fail to remember that she’s had to be strong since arriving in this world, that she’s had to be tenacious and learn everything she can to try to fit in, that she’s not weak despite her faults. There are times when she thinks how easy her life might have been if she’d never received the owl from Hogwarts, but those thoughts never last long. She’s helped Harry keep this world safe and wouldn’t trade that for anything. If her life is a necessary sacrifice, she can accept that, but she refuses to think that this is how her life will end.

Her body is wearing out, scarred and sore from hours of torture, but her mind is active. She remembers books she’s read and keeps her mind active by thinking of ways to try to escape should the need arise. It’s the only way she can endure this existence. Harry will save her soon. She believes in him, has faith that he and the others will win even if she’s not there beside him, and knows she has to stay strong so she’s ready to stand up and walk back into the sunlight one day. Until that day, there’s nothing she can do except stay strong as she sits in her cell and listens for footsteps.

End