Promesse Aveugle
Summary: It's a promise that she hadn't agreed to, but can't forget.
It's been awhile since I've written something for the HP fandom... you better savor it.
The floor beneath her was swaying with each push from the waves, making the ship tilt back and forth as it held against the storm, on it's way to the only wizard prison in England. It took nearly two years after she had gotten the idea to be here, going to a place that most wizards and witches feared having to step inside.
It was just a few days after she learned the truth about Sirius that she began to investigate the prison and it's inner workings. How it's only guards were the Dementors that feasted on the happiness of others, making them live through the worst parts of their lives again and again. Which, was really common knowledge, but it shocked her to learn that most people in the wizarding world were so accepting of the prisoners' treatment here. She had talked about it with Sirius before, stating how inhumane it is. It's like they were still in the dark ages, giving the prisoners a single piece of bread - thrown on the floor, - and some water - deposited in a thin slot of the door, to travel down a rusty pipe into a two inch deep basin - every two to three days.
They were kept in a state near death constantly, with the Dementors feasting on them. And it's not like their food and water was even that consistent. Sirius had let it slip that sometimes they weren't even given those bare essentials for a week or more due to their wardens 'forgetting' to feed them. Wardens that got a fair amount of money for the highly undesired job they had. So it's not like they could say they weren't being paid enough to do their job.
The Department of Mysteries had even created a small charm for the wardens, to keep the effect of the Dementors very presence at bay. That knowledge was not something the public knew about, of course. If there was an easy way to not suffer they would want it, some wizards - like Malfoy - would capitalize on such a product. But the wardens had to sign all kinds of documents and make vows to keep such things silent, along with just what happened in Azkaban.
Something she would be looking into first hand very shortly.
The rocking of the boat had stopped moments ago, and Hermione didn't move from her spot as she heard the captain and his men begin to take down the sails within the port. They were here to make a monthly delivery of supplies for the prison today, and would be gone before night fall.
She had looked into the schedule herself, waiting for it to line up in a time slot that she could use. It hadn't been easy getting the information, but she managed it. There was a delivery happening in the middle of autumn break, and all she had to tell her friends is that she was going to stay with her family for the time being - if they hadn't been away for their own vacation that is. She had told her parents she was staying at the school, not wanting to have to tip toe around them to get to the ship without any trouble - and especially without the assistance of magic, being underage.
Hermione had spent some time brewing a small potion that would just allow her to do transformation and cosmetic spells without being detected by the Ministry. Being an unregistered animagus by itself didn't stop them from noticing her casting the spell otherwise.
The concoction had tasted foul, but afterwards she was able to tame her wild hair within a few seconds rather than hours, apply eye liner without poking herself in the eye, making the lighter shade of brown in her eyes really pop. She had gone ahead and applied some blush and lipstick as well, removed her freckles for the time being, even got rid of her birthmark along her inner thigh, all to mask her identity in case someone saw her sneaking around. Not that she had any intention of being caught, the soft pads of her feet didn't make any noise when she got up off the wood crate, jumping down with her lithe body to touch upon the dock.
With a flick of her ears to make sure everyone was still busy getting the ship settled she set off, disappearing into the shadows like a snake, keeping close to the wall as she made her way up a twisted staircase. She made it to the prisoners' cells rather easily, but beyond the Dementors and so few wardens that she could count their numbers on one hand she hadn't expected much resistance. It was the natural barriers that kept people out - and the Dementors - not an exceedingly tight security system. Very few people were allowed to visit those locked in Azkaban, and when they did they were accompanied by a warden. Besides, no one expected anyone to break in to Azkaban, especially for a tour.
At this height though she couldn't see much of anything. Her ears on the other hand picked up on every little sound, so she would know if a warden happened to be on the floor and could get out of the way before they actually saw her. She wasn't sure how the wardens felt about animals wandering the halls, Hermione had figured some animals had slipped into the cargo of the ship before - mainly rats - and would sometimes be seen in the prison. But she wasn't entirely sure if their first conclusion upon seeing a cat would be animagus or 'dumb cat.' Possibly the latter, but she didn't want to take any chances.
Hermione kept moving through the expansive prison, glancing at the structure and noting that it looked solid. It was obvious that they put more thought into making sure nothing was degrading or rotting on the building rather than the prisoners. There were the wards she had read about to. That kept prisoners from casting spells externally within their own individual cells, they could only cast internally. Which meant if they knew how to cast wandless magic they could do so on themselves, but not the building, a warden, or one of the many Dementors.
She had seen one floating further down another hall, had felt the cold along her fur, but it didn't force any else of its unpleasantries on her. If you were an animal the Dementors left you alone, one of the many reasons Hermione took the time to commit to becoming an animagus. Harry and Ron must be rubbing off on her even more than she had thought as well, since she didn't plan to ever register her animagus form. It was an easy way to disappear from trouble if she would ever need to.
Her ears flicked nervously when she heard a scream in the distance, along with cackling laughter that made her body go cold even though she couldn't hear the harsh breathing of a Dementor nearby. Between the cries of pain were shouts - requests - to stop, and she could hear someone else shouting back after each cry.
Hermione flattened her ears against her head, not wanting to listen to the abuse a prisoner was suffering at the hands of a warden for much longer. It only took that first scream for her to know that Sirius hadn't told her everything that happened to those trapped here.
She hurried down another hallway, twisting her way up a few more staircases and slipping along the halls, until she couldn't hear anything beyond breathing from the prisoners around her. Hermione stopped in the hall, shifting back to human form, knowing there was no wards in the hallways and even if there had been a hole in a cell that she could have looked around in it would have been fine. It was internal magic after all.
While she was still crouching on the dirt and dust covered ground she checked that her cosmetic spells had held up with her hands before standing fully. With no one in the hall - and the windows to the cells at her shoulder height, she didn't have to worry too much about anyone seeing her naked. Summoning clothes was a spell she couldn't do at the moment, not that she would want to. Hermione would rather not leave evidence of her being here, like a pile of clothes when she transformed back into a cat.
She tip-toed to the first door on her left, peering through the bars to see it was empty of any occupants. It was smaller than she thought it would be, long enough for someone to lay down fully in, but not much else. There was an impression in the stone floor, the 'basin' she guessed, and a bucket for... well, the unique smell in the air. Her nose wrinkled at just the idea of using one to do her business in.
Hermione moved over to the next door, this time spotting a body within, covered by a tattered robe and a dirty shirt and pair of slacks beneath it. It was clearly the same clothes they first had when thrown into the cell. The fabric was thin and stretched, rotting; she could see strips of pale skin beneath the clothes. There was always a storm hovering over the prison, the sun never peered through, all of the prisoners probably looked just like this one. Dead. If not for the rise and fall of his chest she would think she was staring at a corpse, and that the wardens had just been to lazy to remove it - now that she thought about it, she didn't doubt that they didn't care to move the bodies unless the smell bothered them.
Her gaze slipped upwards and a gasp escaped her lips upon seeing a pair of green eyes staring back at her. For a second her heart was beating so loudly in her ears she was sure the sound of it was echoing down the hall. Then she told herself to relax, remain quiet. She had changed her appearance in case something like this happened, and really, what was the chance that the prisoner believed what they were seeing? With the way they were treated here he probably thought he was hallucinating, had probably done so many times before.
Just as her breathing began to even out the man raised his head, keeping his eyes locked on her the whole time. "Who are you? I don't know any little girls." All at once her heart beat quickened, her eyes widening as she realized he knew she wasn't a hallucination, was expecting an answer, and... she was sixteen, not ten; just how was she a little girl? For a second there she felt insulted, before he spoke in that silky voice once more. "What are you doing here little girl?"
Her blood ran cold as she was reminded that most of these people here were murders, rapists, not the sort one wanted to converse with, especially with that gaze in his eyes. He hadn't meant little girl as an insult, more like a juicy steak cooked to perfection.
Well, she wasn't going to just give him her name. Perhaps she could convince him that he was dreaming this whole scenario? Unlikely with Dementors about... but it was worth a shot.
"Celine Lyon," she added on a heavy french accent when she spoke, rather grateful to the tournament from last year. Hermione had heard Fleur - among others - talking so much with the accent that she could replicate it pretty well. So it was the easiest for her to pick a french name, not to mention that this was Rabastan Lestrange she was speaking to, who would have extensive knowledge of Pure-blood politics in Britain, she needed to pick something foreign that he didn't recognize. If he knew she was a muggleborn... well, it wouldn't be good, even if he was currently behind bars. "I wanted to see for myself what secrets Azkaban 'olds."
She had no reason to lie for her reason for being there, it's not like she was going to break someone out, and even if she was... would Rabastan have even cared? Beyond requesting that he got her out as well, possibly? He couldn't really threaten her from inside that cell.
A thin smile had crept up his face, his eyes glittering. "Only dirty secrets I'm afraid."
She didn't miss the innuendo in his words, but rather ignored it. "Yes. I 'ave noticed zere are no maids 'ere. It is absolutely filthy."
The smile disappeared from his face, but then he sat up, keeping his gaze on her. As if she might just disappear like a mirage if he looked away. Rabastan stood up, smirking a moment later. It took her a second to realize that he could probably tell she was naked from her bare shoulders. "Is that it?"
Hermione locked her knees into place, not about to let him unnerve her just from standing up. He couldn't do anything to her from within there, she reminded herself of this repeatedly. Even as she tried to converse as if she were sitting in her living room having a pot of tea rather than speaking with a murder in a prison she had broken into - just to see how inhumane the treatment of such prisoners were.
It's not like Rabastan himself was very intimidating at the moment either, it was more the fact that he was leering at what little of her he could see, that he had known the moment he saw her that she wasn't a hallucination. Through those holes in his robes and shirt she could see bone stretching sickly pale skin.
"Your nutritional plan is lacking."
A laugh split the air, startling her enough that her foot shifted back against the stone floor. In the same moment Rabastan took two steps forward, looking more like a dragon caught in a cage than a whimpering mess - the way Sirius had described most other residents when he did speak of such things.
He chuckled, evidently having caught the movement from her upper body language. Even though it was softer in tone this time she still couldn't help comparing his amusement to a glass of whisky. The liquid was smooth, crisp; given how long it must have been since he used his vocal chords that way, she expected it to have been more jagged. Not low and tantalizing to her ears. "Would you like to help with that?"
Her ears burned at the implication. With his hungry gaze and suggestive words... her knees nearly shook from the warmth that had crept up her legs.
She glanced down - a mistake in hindsight - pretending she held a clipboard. "I'm afraid I am rather busy with my inspection. Perhaps later-"
When she looked back up he was standing right beyond the small window of bars that separated them. His lips twisted, eyes dark. "I could help with your inspection by calling a Dementor over. Then you would get to see the inside of a cell for yourself."
What sense of humor she had in that moment was lost. "What do you want?" He wouldn't be threatening her if it was something she couldn't do.
His smirk widened. "Come closer, so I can see your pretty face better. You hide in the shadows for a government worker." He evidently hadn't forgotten his own sense of humor.
Hermione weighed the pros and cons within seconds. She had no desire to be caught by a dementor, and she had prepared for someone seeing her; so that they wouldn't be able to recognize her as Hermione Granger. Especially a Death Eater who wanted Harry dead and probably wouldn't hesitate to call for a warden if he knew who she really was. Of course, being locked up he didn't even known what Harry looked like, let alone herself; he had probably never even heard of her - yet.
She took a step forward, so the flame along the wall danced across her face. Her cheeks felt cold an instant later as Rabastan struck out like a snake, his blunt nails pressing against her skin, the pads of his fingers rough on her cheek. Hermione froze in place, eyes wide, heart beating wildly in her chest as his fingers moved over her skin, pressing down so hard she thought he might leave bruises all along her cheek and jaw.
The text she had read up on the prison said the prisoners couldn't cast externally from inside their cell, but his hands were outside. And she was reminded that there were no barriers to keep that from happening, as evidenced in The Daily Prophet photos of those imprisoned here grappling with the iron bars. It seemed like an oversight if that was the case, and the Ministry was nothing but cruel to those here so she couldn't imagine them overlooking something like that. But her skin prickled as his cold fingers grew warm on top her skin, soaking the warmth of her own flesh into them.
She didn't know what his personal skill was with magic, if he could cast non-verbally and wandlessly. If he could... if the security wards didn't hold up around this small loop she could be falling to the floor in the next second, body wracked with the pain of the cruciatus curse.
However, his fingers slipped from her skin in the next second. That laughter ran over her once again, leaving her skin prickling as if he had poured the golden liquid over her body. "You should run along now. I'll see you again, Celine Lyon."