A/N: Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter. Now, I wrote this while I was suffering from writer's block with my other stories. I don't know if it's any good but here it goes…..

Day One:

They threw me into the cell. Although I can't say that I'm surprised. Warhero or not, I'm nothing compared to the Great Harry Potter. Not that I envy him. That boy had a whole litany of problems that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Still, it's ironic that I, Hermione Granger, the goodie two shoes,would end up in Azkaban. For three years. That's my sentence. My heart twisted with familiar grief as I recalled the sullen faces of my friends at my trial.

They should have been celebrating. Not watching their comrade be carted off to prison. In nothing more than a shapeless, grey shirt dress and shackles around her wrist. Despite the obvious humiliation, she had held her head high. Defiant. But this wasn't fair to them. Voldemort had finally been defeated. They should have been cavorting around Grimmauld. And they would have, had I not used the Time-turner; or rather, had I not been caught using it. She had more than enough experience stepping into different times. She was probably one of the best at it. When she was planning a longer trip, she did more research than most would care to do. That was her way, and everyone knew it.

This time round, Hermione didn't get to research.

But that was in the past now, as they say. The deed was done. Sighing, she sagged against the cold, damp stone that made up the confines of her new home. It certainly was very bleak, she could see why men have gone mad in places like this. It was a good thing that the dementors had been banished from this place. Otherwise three years would be a lot longer than it already seemed.

Day Two:

When she first awoke, Hermione had almost forgotten where she was. That is until the lids of her eyes creaked open and her first sight was the shadow cast by light slipping through the iron bars of the prison. What a welcoming sight, she thought snidely as she sat up moving to relieve herself in the small toilet located in the corner of her cell. If there was one thing she most disliked, it was the lack of separation between her living area and the bathroom. It made her uncomfortable, eating the tasteless food inches away from where it would eventually end up.

She frowned. This would be her life. For three years. One thousand ninety-five days. Well, one thousand ninety-three days now. She squeezed her hands into tight fists, eyes shut, fighting the chill that seeped into her very being. She would take this one day at a time. After all, it wouldn't do to fall apart after only two days. She needed to hold on to the hope that at the end of this she'd be free. Free to live out the rest of her youth. She supposed she was lucky. A mere three years was merciful considering the twelve she likely would have served. In all honesty, Hermione was surprised they got it down to this amount. Besides, she would have gladly served all of those years, especially if it meant….

If it meant that he was alive.

If there was another thing she'd hate about her time in Azkaban, it was the isolation. Her friends, God bless their souls, had not visited her. Not yesterday, and as the sun hung lower in the sky as the hours dragged on, she knew they wouldn't come today either. She didn't blame them. In all likelihood they were eager to forget about her. About the trial and the pain. Most of them probably still didn't understand her decision. Even Harry.

She shifted on her cot, determined to drive away the nightmarish thoughts that scraped at the edges of her subconscious with happier ones. Unfurling her hands she ignored the blood the seeped from where her nails had bit through the skin of her palms. The pain was minor compared to what she felt in her heart. She thought of him. Her dark haired saviour. It was pitiful she knew, to harbor such tender feelings for someone who'd never see her in that light. Who was she really? She didn't have Ginny's silken fiery hair. Or Tonks patience. Nor did she possess Luna's perceptive talents. She was just Hermione, the brainiac. She, was not desirable in the least.

Still. It didn't prevent her from daydreaming.

Days Three through Six:

Passed into obscurity. She was beginning to develop a routine. Her time of servitude would become a cycle of eating, sleeping, and trying to maintain her sanity. Not necessarily in that order. 'Oh well,' she thought with a shrug. There were worse ways to spend three years.

Day Seven:

She was shaking again. It would seem that the cold was no good for a body still recovering from the prolonged infliction of the Cruciatus. Hermione had ignored it the first few days, chalking it up to the stress and the fear brought on by her new living quarters. But, after her relapse this morning, she knew it was the after effects of nearly being crucioed to the point of insanity. Too bad she wasn't the one that had killed Bellatrix. Such a memory might be comforting as she rotted here.

She heard the heavy doors slide open and knew it was the prison guard coming to deliver her lunch. She didn't bother glancing up, not wanting to see the man's leering face. It made her nervous. Silently, she prayed that he'd get reassigned to some other area of the prison. The last thing she needed was to add rape to her list of trauma. Hearing the tray clatter as it was deposited on the table she expected for him to leave. Instead, she heard the guard clear his throat. "You have a visitor."

The words seemed to carry weight, as the sound of his voice landed in the room with a thud. She twisted and was startled to see someone she believed never would have visited her. "Professor Snape?" she asked wincing at the weakness in her voice.

Said man, tossed a dismissing glare at the guard before gliding into the cell. It wasn't until they could hear the door lock behind him that he spoke. "Miss Granger," he greeted in a gravelly voice. Hermione presumed it was due to his vocal chords not being fully healed yet. He coughed, and then proceeded to speak in a voice much smoother than before. "I'm told that I owe you a substantial amount of thanks." The words seemed foreign, as if they didn't belong to him. Hermione was having none of it.

"Sir, if you're here under the misconception that you are in any way indebted to me, you are mistaken." That set him off. He charged towards her, eyes blazing and voice dripping with vitriol.

"Foolish girl! The only misconceptions I'm under is why on earth a reputedly bright person like you would risk everything on something so rash, so stupid, and so irrespons-"

"I did it for you!" She snapped, unable to bear his criticism for much longer. She was weaker here, in this place. He looked into her eyes. The obsidian pools threatened to drown her in their depths. It was then that she remembered he was a skilled Legilimens. She tore her gaze away, unwilling to let go of her secret. Not yet, anyway.

His shoulders sagged, and Hermione watched with wide eyes as he sat next to her on her bed. "Why?"

She didn't know what it was. It could've been the brokenness in his tone, or how vulnerable he seemed in that moment, but it made her want to open up to him. "It didn't feel right," she answered softly. "The wizarding world was finally free, and yet, you were dead. Not only that, but you had died alone, and I…" She let out a shuddering breath, "I couldn't let that happen."

She flinched. Not expecting the gentleness of his hands wiping tears from her cheeks. She didn't even know she'd been crying. One hand trailed up the side of her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. The other hand cupped her cheek, forcing her to look him in the eye. "But why, Hermione?" The insistence in his voice made her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest. It was as if he already knew….How could he possibly have known? "Tell me," he murmured. "Please."

She steeled herself, knowing her confession would change the entirety of her world forever. "Because I love you, Severus."