A/N thank you to everyone that has already reviewed or added to lists, advance warning this chapter will contain Yaxley :)

For those of you that read Pictures of You, I have a new story up called 'The Mixtape' which will feature a series of song-prompt one-shots. The first chapter is Antonin x Hermione and from the POY universe.

Alpha love to Kreeblim Sabs!


HPOV

Hermione stared up at the prismatic stone building dominating her vision, even with her head tipped almost all the way back she still couldn't quite make out the very top of the structure. She blinked several times at the heavy cloud coverage if she hadn't been so resolutely practical she would have called it ominous. The atmosphere around the imposing rock made her feel like she had apparated into a different world entirely, the late autumn day she had left behind had been perfect. She had opted to walk to a further apparition point, just to enjoy a few more blissful moments of leaves crunching under her booted feet, and, she could admit to herself, to put off this visit a little while longer.

Hermione didn't know why she was helping, not really, she had chewed the Malfoy's proposal over again and again. She had meant what she said when Draco had pushed her, she really didn't owe them anything, not one little thing. She couldn't dismiss it entirely, she knew herself too well, if she had of ousted their plea out of hand it would have played on her conscious, but that wasn't what was really making her discomforted.

It was what they had said about the law itself, she kept thinking about the Death Eaters she had seen at the Department of Mysteries, all of those who had only been out of Azkaban a few months. Their faces hollow and vengeful, they had all looked half mad some totally unhinged. Was keeping them here going to make them better? What if they got out again?

It was nothing she could pinpoint but a weighted feeling settled into her gut and she knew she was going to go. She had dropped a single line to Malfoy and said she would visit, nothing more. The postscript had told him not to respond as there was a good chance anything he said could have led to her changing her mind. To his credit, he had listened.

There were no leaves here, no signs of life at all, everything was an eerie blue-grey as far as the eye could see. The building itself stood on a small patch of jagged rocks, not much wider than the prisons foundations, she could have walked around the entire island in less than five minutes. Remembering Narcissa's impromptu history lesson she sidestepped a few metres until she could see a barren patch of land that must have been the graveyard.

Hermione stood silently for a moment regarding the turned earth in front of her, there were no markings anywhere that she could see, how many souls laid beneath the blank soil. In that moment it felt like an unbearable cruelty to have them left here, in this place of nightmares. Hermione had not been raised religiously, but she had enough understanding of church proceedings to know about the sanctity and importance of hallowed ground, there was no chance of eternal peace on this rock. The wind whipped around her and she pulled the light jacket she had put on that morning around her tightly her, her fingers seeking to close the sleeves around her wrists.

She turned away from the expanse of turf and made her way to the entrance, as she rounded the corner she spied a very familiar auror waiting to greet her.

"Hermione?!" he called.

"Cormac?! What are you doing here? You never mentioned you were stationed in Azkaban" she suddenly felt so much safer, like the cool grey darkness that had been threatening to seep into her skin had been held back by the brightness of his smile, his familiar face and comforting presence set her nerves at ease, the way they had all those years ago.

He beamed at her "I only started a couple of weeks ago, most of the guards are full time here but the rest of us do relief work every now and again, I haven't had to do a rotation before"

"How long will you be here?" she asked conversationally, amazed at the calmness she felt, she had been worried about facing Cormac again after all this time and even more concerned about coming to Azkaban, and yet somehow both happening at the same time seemed to cancel the fear she felt for each situation out.

"Six months" he answered with a roll of his eyes, Hermione was sure this wouldn't have been top of her list of places to be either "anyway what are you doing here? I saw your name on the docket to see Lucius Malfoy of all people" he asked, he didn't harangue, he didn't accuse, he just asked.

"It's a long story" she said with the air of the long-suffering, she looked up into his face, the last three years had been good to him, he still looked much the same and yet different somehow. Still tall and slim, though his textured blond hair was now clipped closer to his head, she imagined the programme had not cared much for his lustrous curls, his eyes the same soft sea green, though they held a little less mischief than she remembered "It's good to see you Cormac"

His eyes raked over her and she felt a momentary diluted thrill "good to see you too Granger" a smirk stretched across his face "really good"

She felt herself flush under his attentions and sought to divert the conversation "will you be escorting me?"

"No" he answered, and she regarded him with some amusement as he slipped easily into his auror mode "come with me, Johnson is on today he will be taking you up to DER"

"DER?" she asked lightly, following him through the vast doors without looking back.

"Death. Eater. Row it's what we call it, there's a bank of cells where they all are, up pretty high in the building"

And just like that, all the happy feeling was gone, she nodded conflicted about how she should feel and eager to get this over with.


Aiden Johnson was a kindly man in his late fifties, about average height with dark hair and smiling eyes, he made Hermione feel like she was in capable hands. As Cormac introduced them, Aiden, as he had insisted she call him, explained how he had taken the option to switch to full-time guard duty after the war. He told her he had felt he was no longer fit enough to complete the consistent drills and raids required of him as an auror but hadn't wanted to leave the DMLE totally. She waved goodbye to Cormac as the older man led her to an ageing lift that was all open, the cage surrounding it made out of hardened metal.

While they streamed upwards, with surprising fluidity given the rust on the ancient looking contraption, she despaired at the view she had of the prison from the inside, it was true there were no dementors here anymore, she could only imagine the horror of being here while they were present, but the air itself was oppressive, dank, dark and filled with decay and squalor.

The further they ascended the worse conditions seemed to be, Hermione shuddered at some of the brief sights and smells she detected as they moved up, attempting to brace herself for when she got out. When the lift finally came to a heavy stop Aiden moved back the creaking metal doors with a groan of effort and they stepped into the corridor.

The hall was almost airless, the light barely existent, Hermione took a moment to breathe in through her mouth to steady herself, the lack of oxygen tricking her brain into thinking she was on the verge of a panic attack.

Aiden moved to step next to her and led on, the first real shock she got was the lack of bars on the cells, her legs momentarily stiffened as her head whipped from side to side, at first she considered there was some kind of mistake but as she robotically stepped forward to look as close as she would dare she noticed a shimmer of magic in the corners, there was some kind of magical barrier there. The discovery didn't do much to allay her increasing fear, while she was sure the barrier that had been constructed was more impervious to corruption than the metal of the bars the optical illusion of the bare space set her heart racing.

All of a sudden a strangled noise sounded from her right, already in a heightened state of awareness Hermione pivoted on her heel, as she darted around she located the noise, in the cell she had just walked passed one of the inmates was stood right by the mouth, repeatedly hitting his head against the unforgiving stone wall. Her eyes widened as she heard the second muffled thump, she closed her eyes as the third impact had a distinctly wet sound.

When she turned Aiden was a few steps away from her, obviously he had not stopped when the pained cry had sounded "Aiden, what should we do?" she asked gesturing towards her right.

The old auror turned and glanced back to where she was looking "ignore him, does it all the time" he replied casually, Hermione started at his tone and the expression on his face when he regarded the prisoner, suddenly his breezy tone from earlier didn't make her see him as a fatherly man, one that would keep her safe, it seemed cold and out of place. He turned back around abruptly and continued down the corridor "nutcase" she heard him mutter under his breath.

Realising, to her growing discomfort, that the guard intended to do nothing she stepped hesitantly towards the front of the cell "please stop" she said, hating how thin and weak her voice sounded, when her words predictably did nothing she tried again, louder this time "please...sir, please stop"

The dark figure paused and moved his head to face the cell opening, he straightened his body slowly as if the movements were practised, once his head had risen from its hunched position Hermione could take in his frame, he was tall and wiry with a long, dark, blood mattered fringe covering one eye. As he shifted the dim light from the corridor fell across his face and Hermione found herself face to face with Rabastan Lestrange.

Despite the blood and the manic look in his eyes being familiar to her, screwed up as that was, he looked so different from when she had seen him at the final battle, she had heard stories of this wizard for years but had never stood so close to him before, not that she knew of any way. He tilted his head to regard her but there was no flash of recognition from his face, Hermione was grateful, she didn't imagine him realising he was inches from the most famous muggleborn of their age would improve his disposition.

She took a gentle step back as he continued to study her, his gaze shifted to accommodate her movement, she didn't know if it worried or soothed her to find he still had some level of awareness, they never spoke but she felt something pass between them, though she wasn't sure what it was.


Hermione approached Lucius Malfoy's cell with more trepidation following her recent inmate encounter, any thoughts she may have had about her preparedness had been dashed in the last thirty minutes, from the moment her small feet had landed onto the island she had been out of her depth.

Whether she liked Lucius or not, if such a trivial assessment of her feelings towards the man could be made, became irrelevant when her eyes fell on the wretch at the back of the cell. His white blond hair was flecked with silver strands hanging limply around his face, ageing him long before his time. His face looked sallow and his eyes sunken, it was hard to look at the wizard that had once possessed such an innate aristocratic air in such a depleted state.

It appeared to her unschooled eye that he and his healer were correct, Lucius Malfoy was certainly very sick. As she stood at the mouth of his... Well, 'cell' was probably the appropriate word but as she observed it closer she was sickened by how much it resembled a cage. Her eyes ran over the unbroken brick of the back wall, even animals have air holes drilled into their temporary boxes, her mind supplied. That was what they were, temporary holes to shove them all, out of sight until they died, one by one, far earlier than they ever should of.

She could hear the rasping sound of his heavy breathing, it sounded familiar to her, her Grandmother had pneumonia many times towards the end of her life as well as fluid on the lungs, the laboured movements of his chest and the grating of his throat sounded the same.

When he finally looked up at the figures blocking his limited light it was clear he had recognised her, he sneered but it was a poor parody of anything she had seen on his face before. She hadn't seen him at the final battle, not up close anyway, but she remembered the way his face had lit up when he had seen her in his home, seen the hunger he had to hand her over to Voldemort, to accelerate his position with her flesh and blood.

"Miss Granger, you'll forgive me if I don't stand" he drawled and despite herself, she almost smiled at his acerbic tongue snapping at her.

"Of course Mr. Malfoy" her voice saccharine, his face snapped to hers, he recognised the challenge in her tone, her utterance of sweetness doused over the flames of his bitterness.

"Why are you here?" he drawled "some kind of petty 'I told you so' mission or are you just completing the grand tour of the establishment? Well look to your heart's content Miss Granger, I'm not sure even you could pollute this place with your filth"

"Less of your attitude Malfoy" Johnson threatened.

"Please give us a moment" Hermione requested, her voice had lost the jovial tone she had shared with him before, she was polite but there was enough bite in her tone for her to impart that this was not a request.

The auror raised his eyebrows at her but she persisted and met his incredulous stare, she was sure Draco wouldn't want what they were doing broadcast, irritating as she found Lucius she didn't want to add to his misery. They may have no code of honour, but she did, she would never kick a man while he was down.

She waited until Johnson had moved reluctantly out of earshot "I am here because Draco sent me" she answered without preamble. Somehow his derision had made the bizarre situation more normal, it allowed her to think, to act, more like herself.

He looked momentarily surprised before the expression disappeared, she could see his brain processing for a moment before he looked back up at her "Ah"

She nodded, not sure what else she could say, how did you confirm that you were there to make sure you would be able to take his body without obstruction when he died? Which according to all sources was due to happen imminently.

"Well, then Miss Granger I find I am... grateful for your...assistance" the words sounding as if they had been dragged from his throat.

Hermione smiled wanly, the idea of Lucius being in any way grateful to her was almost enough to tip her over the edge after the events of the day.


She hadn't stayed talking to him long after that, there didn't seem to be much point, it hadn't been a social call. The idea of her having tea with Lucius Malfoy was ludicrous in the first place, through in the location and it was just plain barmy.

No she had visited, she could tell Draco she had done it, she had done what she had agreed to and now she didn't have to think about it until she was notified of his death.

Except…

She apparated back to London, back to the fresh air and muted sunshine of her normal life, she trudged to her favourite local cafe and slid into a seat by the window, needing the distraction of the passing people traffic to clear her mind.

Her brain flashed images at her over and over on a loop, a chilling pastiche of life within the damp grey prison walls. She couldn't help the questions that poured through her, now she was in a peaceful spot she didn't even try. One thought shouted louder than all of the others; What was the point?

In the muggle world, sentencing and imprisonment were built on the foundation of rehabilitation, the system had its faults but at least that was the intended basis. What of the wizarding world? Was Azkaban a punishment, a threat, to ensure the obedience of the population or merely just a physical manifestation of the desire to sweep complicated issues under the carpet?

She hadn't expected to be so affected emotionally, which seemed stupid to her now. Hermione knew her predilection for justice, though she possibly just hadn't fully anticipated what had stirred within as she had assumed it had been done. Those people had committed terrible, ugly, unforgivable crimes, they had been sent to prison, an improved version of the building she had heard about before.

Nothing was ever as it seemed in the world, delinquents they may have been but the image of Rabastan Lestrange rebounding his head off the grey brick came back to her when she considered that they deserved their fate, his haunted eyes when she asked him to stop. She closed her eyes and shook her head as if that would change anything, she had promised herself earlier today that if she went through with the meeting Draco had requested she would buy herself a cake, the assumption that the small reward would make it all better seemed so foolish now. She glanced over at the counter, she had no appetite in any case.

She ordered a coffee and sat in silence while watching the world go by, ruminating on her predicament.

Something had to be done.


YPOV

Reuben Yaxley shifted onto one side, on the uncomfortable cot he had called a bed for the last four years, longer than that if you counted his previous stay in Azkaban, but he didn't like to think of such things. He repositioned himself, alleviating the persistent pain in his right leg but only succeeded in granting himself a moment's reprieve before the new position made him more aware of his ribcage shooting tight pains across his torso. Sighing heavily with resignation he sat himself up, rubbing his large hand over his face, in an attempt to banish away the last of the lingering shadows from his dreams lurking behind his eyelids.

The aches were getting worse, though he refused to accept it was purely down to age, for starters his ego wouldn't allow it but more practically he knew that his magic should have meant he would live until he was around a hundred and fifty, meaning he wasn't even middle-aged.

He had often wondered, when he ran his mind over his predicament if prolonged periods without being able to perform magic affected the ageing process. He hoped not, he had plans for when he got off this rock, plans that definitely required his body to be in top working order.

Rising from the bed fluidly, despite his protesting limbs, he stood to his full height before reaching his arms above his head to connect with two of the metal rings anchored into the ceiling, raising himself up onto them. The rings had been placed there years before, when regular torture to extract information was the norm, well that was what they had called it, though he didn't remember many questions being asked. His long stint in Azkaban after the fall of The Dark Lord the first time round had been brutal and bloody, many of the scars that littered his body had come from that time.

There had been no guards at Azkaban then, they had not been needed, but there were regular visitors from The Ministry. He had never broken, never given them any satisfaction as much as he could help it, he had remained impassive in the face of continued torture. Rather than making them seek another target, his lack of outward reaction angered them, he got more visits than most. Not that it mattered, if he hadn't broken under punishment from the Dark Lord he wasn't going to do it then, it had been the only control he had left, he had been raised to never back down.

In comparison to being shut up in a dark box, patrolled by dementors, being routinely beaten by a bunch of arrogant idiots had been nothing, he had almost welcomed their visits as a break in the monotony, if he was in pain he had something to focus on, having a focus meant keeping his mind, keeping his mind meant keeping alive.

When he had been broken out of the stone fortress he had fallen on his knees before his master and requested he be placed within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a request which was happily granted. It took him three days to remove all of the most frequent attendees to his cell, their deaths had been quicker than they really deserved but the looks on their faces as he walked into their offices had stayed with him much longer, as had their screams.

He continued raising himself from the ground and pausing till he could feel the tension build in his arms, pushing himself till sweat beaded on his forehead. He had just lifted himself for the twelfth time as he heard footsteps coming from further down the corridor. He was so much more aware in the prison this time, with no creatures distorting his mind and the changes to the cells themselves he felt more present than he had before. For inmates like him, this was vital, it allowed him to maintain his health and his sanity, for others, well… some people had welcomed the freedom the slide into insanity gave.

The cells had the whole of the front overlooking the corridor removed, there were no bricks or bars but a veil of magic that hummed slightly if you got too close to it, despite its slight pearlescent sheen he was certain the result would be much more than a stunner if you did attempt to break through the impediment.

It was one of the many changes that were made to the prison following the last war, they were told it was to prevent them from further psychological damage. He had snorted at that, the Ministry official that processed them had told them in a nasal voice how being kept in the dark and in total isolation for the rest of their imprisonment would have been detrimental, he had not suppressed the eye roll.

Really Yaxley believed that the new boundary was less for the benefit of those behind it and more to do with those on the other side. It made them little more than freak show exhibits welcome to Death Eater row.

The visitors that came to the prison now didn't carry pipes or bats but sneers and upturned noses, witches and wizards that he had never seen during the course of the war were very brave now the Dark Lord's most faithful were safely behind a shield unable to intimate them. Not that it stopped him trying.

He tried as much as possible to stay true to himself, he survived this last time would survive it again, despite how futile it felt. When the war had ended there had been no trials, much like the last time they had been shut straight in here to presumably live out the rest of their days, rotting out of sight, pushed to where they could not besmirch the image that the Light presented.

Reuben had looked around in the holding room, at what was left of his marked betherin, there hadn't been many of them left. So many would probably never survive the first five years, wizards like Lucius Malfoy were not accustomed to the hardships here, the near year he had served after the fiasco at Department of Mysteries had nearly killed the blond Death Eater, indefinite confinement had a way of extinguishing hope.

The aurors that now guarded the place told them their trials were coming, held up by the administrative process or the long list of things that had to be done to rebuild. He had never really listened, he wasn't sure if they actually believed their own words or whether it was a particular brand of mental torture they were employing to keep them subdued.

Subdued was one thing he was not, while he was awake he was as active as he could be, he paced the small cell like a caged tiger, all barely restrained aggression, there were days when he ached to run, to exhaust his muscles, to feel his heart lurch to beat out his chest, he did what he could to tire himself.

He kept his mind engaged by verbally sparing with the guards whenever possible, they made it easy for him. He may not have had a lot of respect for the aurors he battled with in the good old days but they were certainly worthy opponents. Alastor Moody, pre-magical eye, and slide into paranoia had been a formidable foe, and tactician, his death had clearly impacted on the training of the new recruits.

Within the cells there were two slim slots of the same magical veil found at the entrances, replacing bricks in the walls that separated one inmate from another. It meant he could see into the cell next to him on either side. As he let himself down from the rings he dropped his hands to rest on his knees to catch his breath. It was more ragged than he would have liked considering the relatively small amount of exercise he had completed. He shifted slightly to look into the next cell, Antonin Dolohov was laying back on his own cot staring blankly at the ceiling. Reuben held in a sigh.

He had known the wizard lying prone in the neighbouring cell since he was a boy, Reuben had gone to Hogwarts just a year after the death of his younger brother, the bond he had shared with Sebastian was unlike any he would go on to experience in his life, his tragic death had hit his family hard. It had been the latest in a long line of steps that had shaped him into the man he became, he was hard-nosed and had a tough hide, he had seen some of the worst scenes a person could see and come out the other side still wearing a wry smile.

His relationship with Antonin formed quickly, he would never replace his brother, but he became someone he loved equally. Like most of the purebloods he had been raised with Reuben believed in the importance of family and Antonin was all that was left, and the Russian was struggling.

While they were outwardly fairly similar, both tall, imposing and stoic in company, that was where the similarities ended, as Antonin had grown he had become introspective and cold, it was to be expected, they had all changed, it was a coping mechanism. Where Antonin had picked contemplation and firewhiskey Reuben had buried himself in humour and witches.

That silence was not helping the Russian now, he was becoming despondent and unresponsive, with no one lining up to visit either of them Yaxley knew it was up to him to bully his friend into surviving long enough for them to get out of here. It was a sad state of affairs, how many trapped within these walls were the last of their line, how many names would die out with these forgotten men?

He was shaken from his assessing gaze by the sound of chatting at the end of the corridor, a guard walked passed with a short witch with unruly curls walking along side him. He tracked their progress down the hall until they stopped outside Lucius' cell, she was probably a healer, Malfoy didn't seem long for this world.

Antonin shifted sitting himself up and Yaxley forgot about the activity in the other cells and focused all of his attention on his brother.