Hermione lay on the floor of her cell curled into a half fetal position. She did not cry. The time when she could have pretended that tears would make any difference was long gone. She wouldn't even speak to Draco, until even he stopped trying and fell silent.

When she was first brought back, she had screamed and cursed and fought. She stopped fighting and screaming the moment the heavy metal door slammed behind her.

It was somehow worse than before. The dementors may have been gone from Azkaban, but something of them had stayed behind. The walls and floors and stones had absorbed some of their ability to suck the life and joy out of a person. She'd had hope, and for a moment, she had known freedom again, then it was mercilessly crushed out. If she had been left alone in her cell, if she had not had the hand of freedom extended to her for that brief moment, she could have held on. As it was, she knew she was going crazy and she almost welcomed it.

Draco Malfoy had not said a word to her or tried to get her attention for almost two days. A part of her knew that this was odd. That he might have decided not to speak to her for a couple of hours, but that in the end, he just wouldn't have been able to help himself. But her cell was silent, and so was his.

When the key jangled in the lock of her cell door, she shifted her eyes to it and watched it open without much interest.

"Get up," the guard barked. It was a different guard. It was always a different guard. "Get up, woman. You have visitors."

She closed her eyes for a second, then forced herself to get up. When the guard put the cuffs on her, she didn't protest. She didn't even flinch when they pinched her skin.

When she entered the room, Moody was already sitting at the table. He looked agitated, which was unusual. Not much got to Moody.

"Hello Alastor," she said.

"Granger," he said in his raspy voice. "Good to see you. You alright?"

She smiled faintly. "No, she said, then saw his expression and relented. "I'm fine," she lied.

"Well you don't look fine," he said.

She didn't say anything.

"They try to give you veritaserum?" he demanded.

"Yes, once," she said.

"You didn't let them, did ya?"

"No. I refused."

"Bet they didn't like that, did they?"

"No."

"Good, good," he muttered to himself. "Damn Ministry sods."

"It doesn't matter," she said serenely.

He gave her a sharp look, both of his eyes focused on her face. "Don't be stupid Granger, of course it matters. You did some pretty nasty things back in the war, we all did, and they're fine with 'em as long as they don't have to see or hear the specifics. You think they'd be so understanding if they knew you and the rest used the Cruciatus Curse on our captives all through the second half of the war? I don't bloody well think so, Granger. Even if they are grateful that you saved all their sorry little asses, now that it's over, they might just conveniently forget that part."

She smiled a little. "Yes, you're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," he grumbled. "Constant vigilance, Granger, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

She didn't jump. "Yes," she said, then, "But not you, Moody."

"What's that?" he stared at her across the table. His blue eye was still on her, but she could see it tremble just a little as though it were trying to swirl erratically against his will. "What's that, Granger? Speak up."

"You never used an Unforgivable Curse," she said. "Never."

"No, I didn't," he said, but there was no pride in the statement. "I have my reasons, Granger, just like you had your reasons for doing it, I imagine."

"I did it because it was easier," she said. "I did it because sometimes I just wanted to. It felt good, you know. You can't imagine how powerful it can make you feel." She took a deep breath. "I'm not a good person, Moody."

"None of us are, Granger," he said gently. "We all do things we regret. It's human nature."

She laughed humorlessly. "But I don't regret it," she said. "I know I should. I know it was wrong, but I don't feel it. Do you understand?"

She could tell from his expression that he didn't. He wanted to understand, and that helped, but he didn't. Whatever it was that kept him from using Unforgivable Curses even in the direst of times, he regretted it, and he could not understand someone who felt no regret or remorse. Especially not her. With the things she had done, regret should have been obligatory. It should have been stamped in her eyes and scrawled upon her headstone, but it wasn't, and he could not understand that.

"Did they try anything else on you?" he asked her finally. "Legilimency, or—"

"No." She still had that faint, disturbing smile on her face. "No. Someone told them that I am a skilled Occlumens so they decided it wasn't worth the trouble. I wonder who could have possibly given them that idea."

Moody grinned. "Had to do something, Granger. Can't have them walking around in that brain of yours. They might find something that's none of their damned business. Several somethings, probably."

"And if it hadn't worked?" she asked. "They would have found that I am a mediocre Occlumens at best, and stomped all over my mind. You might be in here with me then, instead of sitting on the other side of that table."

"Not me, Granger," he said. "Not Potter either, seeing as he's their little saint and savior. But George Weasley would be, and I know you wouldn't want that."

No. No she wouldn't want that. Poor George had gone more than a little crazy with grief after Fred was killed, and he'd taken his revenge the only way he could. She couldn't let them hurt him for that. She wouldn't. But sometimes, like now, she wished she weren't so fucking loyal.

"How is George, Moody?" she asked.

"The same as always, Granger." Moody said sadly. "He walks around that big house of theirs talking to the walls and any of the house elves that get too close to him. Poor little blighters. But they won't leave him, even when he throws socks at them and screams the damn house down."

"Any word on Lupin?" she asked him.

"Nothing."

She hadn't expected there would be, but she had to ask.

"Are you sure you're alright, Granger?"

"No, Moody," she said. She hadn't been joking when she said it the first time. Her sense of humor had recently taken a monster beating. "No, but I'll live."

"You haven't asked me about your case or what I've been up to," he pointed out. "Just seems odd to me is all."

"How's my case, Moody?" she said automatically. "What have you been up to?"

He rubbed his hands excitedly and leaned forward, as though the walls had ears and they were listening. "I checked the records on the floo network. Looks like someone came to see you the night Weasley was killed. One person visited your house, and less than ten minutes later, two people left your house. I figure, it could have been you and this other chap. What do you think?"

"I think you should go home and lay off the firewhisky, Moody," she said.

"I'm serious, Granger."

"So am I."

He stared at her contemplatively for a long minute until his blue eye couldn't stay still any longer and began to wander. "I heard about that bastard Draco Malfoy," he said at last.

That got her attention. "What about him?"

"Your lawyer, that Zabini bugger, found out he was in here," Moody said.

Well, yes, she knew that, as she was the one that told him. "And?" she prompted.

"And he got the little ferret out, that's what," Moody snapped.

Moody continued to talk, raging about justice and injustice—God she was getting sick of those words—but she wasn't listening anymore. There was a slight ringing in her ears and she was shaking.

"You alright, Granger?" Moody asked. "You're looking a wee bit peaked."

"I'm fine," she said again. She was enraged. Zabini hadn't gotten her out, he had lost his precious case, so he had turned away to something better. Something easier. It must have been no problem at all getting an accused ex-Death Eater out of prison. Nothing like trying to free an accused murderess. Damn him. Damn him to everlasting hell. Her fingers curled into claws. She was going to scratch his eyes out the next time she saw him. Ruin that pretty dark face of his so he would never be able to forget her. She might rot in Azkaban, but she would not do it quietly. Oh no.

"Well, I better get going then, Granger," Moody said, suddenly getting to his feet. "I told that man Skimble about what I found in the floo records. He says he'll look into it. He will to, you can count on it. Good man, Skimble. A fair man. He'll do right, you'll see."

"Yeah," Hermione said. She remembered the way the Chief Warlock had looked at her though, and she didn't feel much better. "Goodbye Moody."

"Goodbye, Granger," he said, limping across the room and pulling the door open. "And remember, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Yeah," she said. She was getting another headache.

The door didn't close behind him. Someone else came in after him, muttering excuse me Professor Moody, how are you? You're looking well.

Hermione looked up at the sound of Moody's cackling laugh being cut off by the cold finality of that closing door and the sound of soft footsteps on the stone floor approaching the table.

"Hello Hermione," Lavender Brown said. She was smiling.

"Hello Lavender," Hermione murmured. "Come to gloat?"

She laughed in a tinkling bells sort of way and settled into the chair. She smoothed her pretty pink and white robes down with her hands, then folded them together in her lap. "Only a little," she said.