A/N: Just a strange little idea that popped into my head. Assume most of the events in the books have happened, except Hermione wasn't taken to Shell Cottage after her torture and some of the character deaths (such as Tonks and Bellatrix Lestrange) did not occur.
Unsure if I will continue, or if I do, how it will go... So I am open to suggestions :)
Hermione grinned brightly as she stood, surrounded by her friends, at a Gala celebrating the anniversary of the wizarding war.
Ron and Harry stood on either side of her as they were approached by friends and strangers alike, congratulating them on their immense efforts during the war. They were heroes.
The trio had returned to Hogwarts and completed their schooling and were now finally at the part where they could choose their future. Harry, predictably, had already sent in an application to become an Auror. Ron had also sent one in, but seemed more unsure about what he actually wanted to do with his life. As for Hermione, she hadn't the foggiest. This was the first time since she was eleven where her life wasn't revolving around mortal danger.
"Reckon they'll make a statue of you three and put it in the new atrium of the Ministry," Ginny was saying. Harry laughed, but Ron looked a little excited at the prospect.
Hermione was in the middle of talking to Luna. Luna used to drive her crazy with her vague, circular and quirky conversations, but since the war, Hermione had come to appreciate the dreamy girl.
Nymphadora Tonks gently stepped through the crowd, standing out not just because of her bubblegum pink hair, but because she was in her Auror gear. Her leather boots and khaki pants stood out amongst the elegant gowns of the gala.
"Oh, hello Tonks," Luna greeted, cocking her head to one side, "I love your boots."
"Hi Tonks, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked with a friendly smile. Tonks didn't return her smile, her face was startlingly serious.
"Tonks, mate, I think you're a little underdressed," Ron commented as the others noticed the young Auror.
"Hermione, I'm really sorry to have to do this here," Tonks murmured quietly.
"Sorry…? What?" Hermione asked, still smiling, but confused.
"Hermione Granger, you're under arrest for the murder of Susan Bones," Tonks said, "If you come quietly with me I won't have to cuff you in front of these people."
"Excuse me?!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up. Harry and Ron's mouths were agape in shock. Hermione's brows knitted together as she tried to process this sudden turn of events.
"How?" Hermione finally uttered, "I haven't even seen Susan since we finished up at Hogwarts… Why would anyone think it was me?"
"Considerable evidence at the scene… Including your wand, on which the last spell cast was the Killing Curse," Tonks said in her quiet tone. She looked eager to minimise any attention that might be drawn to them.
"My wand? That's preposterous," Hermione scoffed, "Its right… Erm… It should be…"
Hermione searched her clutch and the wand holster under her dress but couldn't find her wand in either place.
"This is ridiculous," Harry cut in, "Hermione's a war hero, she would never kill an innocent person,"
"I'm sorry," Tonks repeated, holding out her hand to Hermione. Hermione, beginning to panic a little now, looked helplessly at the others.
"This has to be a set up," Ron said, stepping forward.
Tonks' lip tightened and she said nothing, simply leading Hermione discreetly out of the gala to somewhere they could apparate from.
Hermione felt the cold shiver fall over her as she was led into Azkaban at wandpoint. She didn't know why they bothered, her hands were bound and she was wandless. Not to mention the flurry of Dementors circling above the prison.
As Hermione was led through the cells, many of the inmates who had been rounded up in the last war began to call out at her, hissing and shouting threats. They blamed the Golden Trio for them being in prison.
The two prison guards leading her in smirked a little, clearly amused by the Golden Girl's public fall from grace.
"Don' worry, love," one of the guards said, baring his teeth in what he must have thought was a comforting smile, "Murderers get their own cells. Ya won' have ta share."
Hermione gritted her teeth, inwardly relieved at one small silver lining of the terrible situation she was in.
Finally, they reached the block containing the single occupant cells. Hermione cringed at the faces in some of the cells. Many were war criminals. Fenrir Greyback. Lucius Malfoy. They continued on until they reached an empty cell further down the block.
"Here ya go, love," the prison guard grunted, opening the door to let her in.
Hermione walked into the depressing cell, looking around her surroundings with displeasure. The door rattled shut behind her as the guards locked it.
"Sleep tight, Golden Girl," one of them said with a laugh as they walked off again, joking amongst themselves.
Hermione looked around the cell. It was three walls of plain grey cement blocks and one wall of bars. In the wall across the room from the cell bars was a pitifully small window, also heavily barred. There was a small army cot style bed against one wall and a bleak looking metal toilet in the corner. A small desk and chair were against the wall across from the bed.
Hermione sighed, the reality of her situation setting in, collapsing onto the pitiful bed, letting exhaustion finally overtake her.
Hermione awoke to a loud clanging on the cell bars. She opened her eyes groggily, confused at her surroundings. She had fallen asleep in her grey sweatshirt, grey sweatpants and grey sneakers. She felt like she was already becoming a part of the grey cell.
"Rise 'n shine Golden Girl," a prison guard crowed from the other side of the bars, "Yer Golden Trio mate Weasley has sprung for a lawyer for ya,"
"Thank Merlin," Hermione murmured, getting up and stretching. Hopefully the entire misunderstanding would be cleared up and she would only have to spend another night or two in Azkaban.
The prison guard opened the door for her, withdrawing his wand to bind her wrists together again. Hermione rolled her eyes. This entire situation was ridiculous.
She was led back along past the cells, ignoring the hoots and hollers from prisoners watching her pass. Thankfully, she was led into a hallway and then taken to a door.
"Yer lawyer is in there," the prison guard explained in a bored tone, "We lock the door behind ya. When yer done, or if you act up, we'll pull ya out early at yer lawyer's signal."
Hermione nodded her assent and the prison guard opened the door for her, holding it open. Hermione entered and heard it lock behind her. Hermione raised her eyebrows, walking slowly across the room and sitting on the other side of the table from her lawyer. Fleur Delacour-Weasley.
Fleur was just as beautiful and regal as ever, even as she sat in the midst of the rat nest that was Azkaban.
"Fleur? You're the one that Ron called? When did you become a lawyer?" Hermione was surprised. She was also a little disappointed. Fleur, or Phlegm, as she often referred to her when she was with Ginny, was notoriously arrogant and selfish.
"When did you become a murderer?" Fleur retorted, examining the pastel pink nail polish adorning her nails. She was stylishly presented, as usual. Her platinum silver-blonde hair was plaited over one shoulder and she was wearing a matching grey skirt and blazer.
"I'm not a murderer," Hermione replied heatedly, "I've clearly been set up."
"Why would anyone do that?" Fleur asked, still inspecting her nails. Hermione slapped the table impatiently.
"Why wouldn't they? Half the people in here are here because of me, Harry and Ron," Hermione responded.
"Yet you are the only one in here," Fleur replied, "Harry and Ron haven't been accused of anything,"
Hermione exhaled in frustration. Why the hell would Ron have got Fleur as her lawyer?! As blinded as Ron was by Fleur's looks, he was still well aware that Hermione couldn't stand the blonde.
"Are you here to help me or here to set me up further?" Hermione asked irately.
"Help," Fleur answered silkily, finally looking up from her nails to look at Hermione. Her eyes were the most startling azure.
"Well, can you start helping then?" Hermione asked waspishly. Fleur sighed, drumming her fingers on the table in a restless fashion.
"I can't help if you can't tell me who set you up or why," Fleur replied, "You're supposed to be the brightest witch of your age."
"Are you serious?!" Hermione screeched, "I was dragged out of a gala, processed and thrown in a cell. You expect me, in amongst that, to have put together a case for you?"
"Hermione," Fleur said, in an infuriatingly calm tone, "You must have seen how full Azkaban is right now. The justice system is so full with war cases that it could take months, or even years, for someone's case to be tried. I need you to take this seriously."
That silenced Hermione. The severity of her situation hit her like a tonne of bricks.
"I… They can't leave me in here… What about innocent until proven guilty…?" Hermione murmured, paling. Fleur was watching her carefully.
"I'm working on that," Fleur said in a clipped tone. Her French accent had lessened over the years but was still prominent.
"I don't trust you," Hermione said darkly. Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"I don't think you have a choice right now," Fleur said, rising from her chair. She flicked her wand. "I will see you again soon."
"Fleur!" Hermione called out. But the door had already been unlocked and Fleur was clipping her way out in high heels.
Hermione dried her hair in her cell. She didn't mind not having a wand, if anything it made her feel more in touch with her Muggle background. What she did mind was having to watch her back constantly in the showers, surrounded by women bearing Dark Marks that were shooting glares at her.
A guard strolled past, whistling to himself and spinning his wand in his fingers. He stopped at Hermione's cell and banged on the cell bars. Hermione rolled her eyes. The prison guards treated her like a side-show.
"What is it?" Hermione growled. She was growing irritable being stuck in a plain cell all day with nothing to read or do.
"Your mate just dodged a Dementor Kiss yet again," the guard chirped. This one was the youngest of the guards. Hermione thought his name was Greg, but she couldn't be sure.
"What mate?" Hermione asked, suddenly worried that perhaps Fleur had it wrong and Ron or Harry had somehow ended up in Azkaban too.
"Lestrange," Greg replied, leaning against the bars, "She's getting transferred back to this block any day now. Reckon you two will have a fun reunion?"
"No…" Hermione's blood ran cold. She had run into Bellatrix several times during the war. She had even tortured Hermione for hours during one run-in.
"Oh, yes," Greg laughed, standing back from the bars and resuming his walk.
"Hey!" Hermione called out, "I want to see my lawyer!"