The prisoner rubbed her cheek against the rough stone wall of her cell. She let out a soft moan as she felt the wind seep in through the iron bars that faced the outside of the prison. Her only look at the outside world was through those bars, and even when she looked through them, they mocked her. The sunlight that she could see in the distance was never enough to warm her face. The wind that slipped through the bars and the cracks in the walls made the ends on the rags she wore flutter. Her entire body was dirty in one way or another, but she could barely see in the dismal cell she had spent so much time in.

"You are being released."

She shut her eyes tightly when she faced the unusually bright light of the silver patronus, so she couldn't see what it was. It repeated itself again.

"You are being released."

Her gasp was followed by the clacking of her chains as she moved around for the first time in hours, she stood and shielded her eyes as she looked into the dark distance that for once was lighting up with the dim fire lanterns that they used to light the hallways. She slowly crept towards it, the dragging sound of the chain on her left ankle following behind her. She looked at the guard and flinched when he spat at the ground at her feet, some splashing against her bare toes.

"Follow me," he said gruffly, crouching down in front of her and unlocking the cuff around her ankle. She jerked her knee forward slightly but disguised the sudden movement with a twist of her ankle; in reality she was almost ready to knee the guard in her face and escape, but she had to keep her instincts contained. She still had her survival instincts intact, she realized gladly.

A spark of hope lit her face as she looked at the hallway that she had barely seen in the last five years. She was twenty two now, but she had the slow, sluggish movements of an old woman. Her hair was longer than ever, reaching past her waist in different hues of brown and sometimes gold. Her eyes had dark circles and her pupils were still huge, slowly decreasing as she became more accustomed to the light. Her body which was once slim and limber was now terribly skinny and often boney in some places. The guards made jokes of her getting dragged around by the wind with how small she was.

"Why – why am I being released?" Hermione whispered. Her voice was husky. She had lost her sense of hope but she didn't lose her sense of time and awareness – she knew he was still at large, why would he let her be released?

The guard ignored her and led her through the winding hallway and finally they reached a dead end. "Alohamora," he said quietly, pointing his wand at the lock. Hermione murmured the familiar spell under her breath and enjoyed the feeling of familiarity. She looked at how he poised his wand and noticed how easily she could take it in that instant – if she just grabbed the wand and punched him once in the gut and the other in the face, distracting him for a moment; she could slip through the door and escape with the wand. But she didn't. She surprised herself with these quick tactics that kept coming to her. Had these thoughts been the result of the war five years ago?

He grabbed Hermione's arm roughly and pulled her through the door, kicking it shut behind them followed by the click of the lock sliding shut. She vaguely recognized the room they were in as the office she had been in five years ago when she first came here. It looked a lot like the Ministry offices, with a series of desks arrayed throughout the room with piles of paper on each one, and a few doors lining walls on either side of her with golden plaques with signatures on them. The walls were a dark blue, and it was lit with enchanted lamps in every corner. The guard dragged her to one skittish man's desk. He shoved her into the seat opposite the man and stood behind her with his arms folded across his chest.

The man took one look at Hermione and sighed inwardly. The young woman he had come to known through newspapers just years ago looked nothing like the one he saw now. Hermione felt his scrutinizing gaze and shyly met his eyes.

"State your name and number," he demanded.

"Hermione Granger, sir, number 731H."

"Reason for arrest?"

"Treason, murder," she nearly snarled. Her eyes turned dark and she turned them to the ground to keep from alarming the man.

The man, Al, caught onto this and glanced quickly at the oaf standing behind the frail young lady to see if he had noticed the change in her demeanor also. The guard was obliviously looking around the office, obviously uncomfortable in the more regal part of Azkaban. "Who is giving permission for her early leave?" he asked the guard.

The guard looked down at a piece of parchment in his hand. "King Voldemort," he responded. Hermione's eyes snapped back up immediately. Voldemort wanted her out of prison? But it's only been five years, she was sure she would end up rotting in there if it had been up to him. She had gotten off easy, actually. She could have very well died there on the spot, but instead she had been tortured and spared, if rather cruelly, still. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the title though – she could see his greed for power seeping through his name.

Al scribbled the forbidden name down with heightened interest. "What is their reason?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice keen.

"Arranged marriage, apparently."

Hermione squeaked. "Excuse me? Excuse me, what did he just say?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair towards Al. Her brown eyes were wide with fright and her pale cheeks were beginning to flush. "I'm supposed to have an arranged marriage? That's impossible! I'm – I'm a…," she didn't want to say the word but she knew it would help her case a tad more. "I'm a convict!"

Al's eyes softened and when he noticed the guard wasn't listening he whispered, "I'm so very sorry, Miss Granger. This happens very often here, actually. King Voldemort promotes pureblood breeding, and encourages arranged marriages based on character traits of either person. Someone must have found you an admirable character to want to have children with you. Reputations mean nothing to anyone anymore, it's all about their blood line, and although yours doesn't prove to be too, err… respectable, in the eyes of the King, your traits do," Al explained, his voice struggling to stay formal. He wanted so desperately to help this poor girl in front of him.

"Will I be married to Voldemort?" she whispered. Her eyes burned with intensity and her vision began to blur as tears pooled in her eyes. She expected Al to say yes, that she would be married to the 'King', and that she would bear his kin and live under his command. But instead he smiled softly at her seemingly immature question and shook his head.

Hermione held her face in her hands and let her body take control and answer the rest of the questions in this interview. Her mind was racing. She was supposed to be a wife to someone all of a sudden. After being locked up in a cold dark place for five years and having only just experienced sunlight and a glimmer a hope, she was not in the loveliest of mindsets. She could kill Al right now. She held herself back from glaring at him, as if this was his fault. He wasn't the one who arranged all of this, he was just the messenger. Her anger boiled through her viciously and she wanted to claw at something, to scream and fight and stun everything in sight. She almost gasped at the dark thoughts she was having, since she was never one to let her dark emotions get a strong hold of her.

Her mind went back to the battle scene, how the death eaters attacked the students and professors at Hogwarts. She remembered the spells being shot everywhere, how many wands were being pointed this way and that and how many people were crumbling under the pressure. She remembered the casualties and felt her stomach clench when she thought of Fred's lifeless eyes.

"Miss Granger?" Al asked, he was right in front of her now, prodding her arm gently with his finger. She snapped out of her daze and stared up at him with doe eyes, and Al recognized the beauty that he once saw in her. He knew she would go back to her normal self and become someone that the world needs and he was excited to watch her come to it. He reminded himself to keep a close eye on the newspapers for the next few years. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded slowly, knowing that any other answer wouldn't be satisfactory.

"I can take it from here, Vincent," he said to the guard, who thankfully nodded and walked away, happy to be relieved of his duties for a moment. Once he left Al led Hermione to the only door without a plaque on it. It was fairly nondescript with the same dingy and used look to the wood that the rest of the room had. Al unlocked the door using a nonverbal charm and led Hermione down a long hallway quickly. She realized the path was getting narrower with every step she took, and she grew weary of her surroundings. She looked behind her and could still see the office space and she let out a thankful breath.

Looking around her, Hermione gasped. On either side of her were shelves and she felt around, desperate for the familiar feel of the worn fabric spine of a book, but was surprised when she felt a cool metal tin box. She felt multiple actually, and as she opened her eyes wider and focused, she could see the light glint off of hundreds, millions of tiny tin boxes! She noticed small labels on each with names and numbers and opened a random one up, realizing that they were wands. She looked behind her and saw the same sight, and realized that these were all the prisoners' wands. She felt a shudder run through her as she imagined the curses that these wands could have cast and then she remembered that crime was probably no longer punished but glorified.

"Hermione," Al breathed.

Hermione flinched as she heard her name being said affectionately for the first time in years. Compassion was not something she was accustomed to anymore. She let Al grasp her hand for a moment and even let him plant a kiss on her fingers before pulling away slowly. She gasped and was ready to fight for her life when she felt Al pull her against him but he shushed her and patted her back comfortingly but Hermione remained tense in his arms. "What do you want?" she hissed. She was in no mood for this.

"I know you will amount to something amazing," he whispered in her ear, his breath was hot against her lobe and she shivered against his heat, "even in this world. You were destined to. Take advantage of your resources, and you will succeed, I can promise you that. The world has changed drastically in the last five years, more than you could ever imagine, and I know that if you get the right help you will be able to overpower King Voldemort and save us all. The wizarding world is no longer a happy world, but a dismal and disappointing place to live in. I look to you for hope, and I know you will make me proud. Good

luck."

Hermione felt herself blush and she felt a small hint of courage for a moment. She pulled away awkwardly and realized that Al had slipped her wand into her hand. She left it there for a moment, enjoying the familiar pressure against her palm, before holding it out and looking at it gratefully in her hand. She felt her knowledge rush back to her, everything she thought she had forgotten had hit her again and she remembered every spell and potion she's ever conjured. She smiled to herself and turned her back to Al as she examined the wand as if she had never seen it before. "Eleven inches, veela hair and dragon heartstring," she remembered, murmuring it to herself.

"What was that, miss?" Al asked, peering over her shoulder nosily.

Hermione was slowly becoming annoyed by Al, but she tried to continue to appreciate his hospitality. "Nothing," she murmured, her voice not entirely back yet.

"You will arrive at the Ministry by floo network, I'm sure you remember how to use it?" he paused, waiting for Hermione to nod and then continued. "There you will be met by an auror who will draw up some paperwork, including your marriage license, and from there you will travel to your new residence."

Hermione nodded again, slowly coming to terms with the idea of being someone's live in wife. The small romantic inside of her hoped for a prince charming, someone who would prove to be her light in this new dark world. She was afraid of who she would be married to, of what he might be like. He could quite literally be anybody – anything, actually. Voldemort could marry her off to Fenrir Greyback if he very well wanted to. She shivered at the thought. Her thoughts began to get darker and darker, looking for the worst case scenario. He could hit her, force her to succumb to his every whim and need; he could force her to become a housewife, only cleaning and cooking, with no time for her. He could make her use dark magic, or force her to torture others. There were many worse things in the world than her being someone's wife, she realized with a roll of her eyes, but this was the only thing on her mind.

"Goodbye Hermione, good luck," Al told her, handing her the pot of floo powder.

She thanked him with a cautious smile and she threw the handful of powder into the fireplace, shouting, "Ministry of Magic!" After five years of being stuck in Azkaban, she had very nearly thrown up by the sensation of travelling through the floo network. Next thing she knew, she had dropped to her knees on the cold black tiled floor of the Ministry. She looked up, her eyes wide as she took in the vaguely familiar surroundings. She recognized the statue that was mounted in the middle, and she shivered as she saw the tortured stone faces of the muggles underneath the wizards. She slowly stood up, suddenly very cold in the tattered prison uniform.

A young woman a tad older than her walked up to her and smiled tightly. "My name is Willa Shake," she said, shaking Hermione's small hand. "I'll be drawing up your release paperwork. If you have any questions just ask me." She led Hermione into an elevator and pressed the fourth floor button. When they arrived she led her into one of the private office rooms, where there was a large dark green wooden table, with bookshelves lining both walls, and one large portrait of the dark lord himself. Hermione's eyes widened when she looked at the portrait. She moved closer to it, eyeing it with interest. Voldemort's head was held high as he looked out of the portrait, and it looked as if he was sneering. She saw Nagini curl around his cloaked shoulders like a shawl, and hiss.

Willa watched Hermione curiously and noticed with discomfort that you could very well see the girl's bottom through the tattered robes she was wearing. She searched for a quill and called for Hermione to join her at her desk. "You'll be getting married to Blake Wright. He is the youngest son of the Wright family, who is a pureblood family and are very close to the dark lord. Their family is considerably wealthy with many philanthropic relatives. They have many famous authors, athletes, and Minister Officials in their bloodline, as well." As Willa continued on with the family description, she couldn't help but feel as if she were listening to a personal ad then to the description of her future family in-law.

"Blake went to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, where he completed all required seven years and received E's and O's. Afterwards he trained to become an auror and eventually, also to become a healer. He sometimes, rarely, goes on Ministry missions as an auror, but drops by St. Mungo's quite often when needed. He has no recent criminal activity.

"Blake is the second son of Alyssa Shea and Cornelius Wright. His older brother, William, lives in Scotland with his wife and kids. Blake has never been married or bared children and is twenty three at the moment," Willa finished. She looked up at Hermione from the file on her desk to see if she had any questions. Hermione's eyes were completely dry and blank, just two bottomless, emotionless brown eyes. Willa immediately felt uncomfortable and turned back to the file. "The King believes that the two of you can breed an exceptionally brilliant young man and expects nothing less from the two of you," she said, her voice a threatened warning.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione demanded, her eyes narrowing. The 'King' was able to even control what kind of child she has now, too?

"You will have a boy or else the King will be very disappointed," Willa clarified. She sifted through some of the papers on her desk and handed Hermione the quill and paper, telling her to sign here, here, and here.

Hermione's hand was shaking so badly she knocked over the ink pot, and made quite a few ink blots around her name whenever she signed. She took one last fleeting glance at Willa, then at the portrait that seemed to judge her from across the room, and she sighed resignedly. There was nothing else she could do about this. It was better than Azkaban, she told herself. And besides, this Blake fellow seemed better than she imagined. It still frightened her how quickly a baby was demanded of her, though. She didn't think she was ready to be pregnant and carry a baby inside of her. She didn't even want to think of what would happen if it turned out to be a girl instead of a boy. But the more she thought of it the more she enjoyed the idea of a little girl to hold and put ribbons in her hair or to have a little boy to be rowdy and free in such a small confined world. She almost smiled before realizing when she finished signing her name that she very well might as well had signed all her freedom over to a stranger.