My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.
Chapter 66: The Prison
Black Lake, Scotland, April 7th, 2006
"So the records were successfully exchanged?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied. "My Switching Spell worked perfectly." She put a sheet of parchment down. "I've also checked the original - our altered copy should hold up under every scrutiny."
"Good. Then, after a small delay, we can proceed with our plan to make the Ministry abolish Azkaban."
Hermione nodded. "And I can focus on finding ways to eliminate any possibility of Azkaban being restored. Which means destroying the Dementors - a challenging task."
"We best wait until the Ministry has cleared the island, though, before we grab a test subject," Ron said. "Otherwise, they'll go on a hunt for the missing monster."
"No one's gonna miss a Dementor," wizarding Fred said.
"They would," Hermione retorted. "Since a missing Dementor generally means it is loose in Britain."
"And the average bureaucrat will care just because they want their inventories in order," Harry added.
"Have you seen Larry? He's a Dementor, slightly used, likes to cuddle." Ron chuckled.
Hermione frowned at them both. "It's not a subject to joke about."
"Sorry," Ron apologised. "But we tend to joke about anything dangerous and disgusting."
"Comes with the job," Harry said.
"But your job nowadays is to guard our little sister's counterpart, isn't it?" Wizarding Fred grinned. "And you have to joke a lot?"
"Ha ha," Harry replied in a deadpan voice.
"Perhaps we should have the two Ginnys meet," Ron wondered aloud. "Have them compare notes."
"Perhaps we should focus on our task," Hermione cut in.
"We were - Ginny's got such a fiery temper, two of her might be enough to burn a Dementor," wizarding George said. "Also, did the Death's-head Drop Box work as planned?" He grinned. "Just for our secret notes, mind you."
"As far as we know, it worked a little too well," Hermione said. "People panicked and used curses on them - quite damaging to their surroundings."
"Oh." The twins looked taken aback for a moment. "Did anyone get hurt?"
"I don't think so," Hermione told them. "But I don't know."
"Ah." Wizarding Fred nodded. "Well, Harry and Ron aren't here yelling at us, so it can't have been too bad."
"If it had been 'too bad', they would still be too busy helping," Ron pointed out. After a large-scale incident, it could take hours before you could leave the scene of a crime. Unless your superior sent you away because you annoyed them.
"Good point," the wizard admitted. "Slightly disturbing and worrying, but good point."
"Do Patronus Messengers travel across dimensions?" his brother asked.
"No, they don't," Hermione said.
"Ah."
"Such a spell would have greatly facilitated matters, I believe," Dumbledore said.
"Yes. I could've created a ritual to cast it, and let my friends know I wasn't dead," Hermione replied.
Ron pressed his lips together. That would have likely resulted in the other Ron waiting for her. And in Ron never meeting her. "Well, it doesn't work," he said. "So… how long until I'm supposed to bribe the Ministry into doing the right thing?"
"I would say a week." Dumbledore nodded at his own words. "That should be enough time to avoid suspicion - though it will take more time for the goblins to decide whether or not they want to unseal the records to check."
"Sooner if they have copies of their own," Ron pointed out. He would, in their place. "They might want to throw suspicion on us anyway."
"I doubt that," Hermione retorted. "Claiming that sealed documents they have kept safe were altered? That would significantly damage their own reputation."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Just as many firms prefer to pay off extortionists rather than admit that they have suffered a security leak in order to avoid losing the trust of their customers, I don't believe, after my interaction with Gringotts, that the goblins would risk that. However, I do think they'll suspect us - or rather, you, Dr Granger."
"They already hate me, so I don't think that will change anything," she replied. "In any case, we should focus on Azkaban now - and the Dementors."
"So… a lot of people have tried to find ways to destroy Dementors for centuries," wizarding George said. "Do you really think you can find one?"
"My backup plan is to find another dimension empty of life and send them there," Hermione said. "One way or the other, Dementors will be gone from our world. But I don't believe that they cannot be destroyed. If they were truly immortal, they would have overrun Britain long ago. They certainly wouldn't have agreed to stick to the island and feed on a few prisoners if they could have fed on all of Britain instead. So, they can be destroyed. We just have to find out how. Even if it means starving them."
"How do you propose to starve them?" wizarding George asked.
"Not feeding them prisoners would be a great start," she said.
"And it seems that they cannot cross water," Ron added. "That means they can't leave the island without help. We don't know, though, what happens if they are forced into water."
"That will be amongst the first things to test," Hermione said. "Salt water, fresh water, running water, for starters."
"Oh, if we're talking testing…" Wizarding Fred grinned widely. "We've never been able to test our products on a Dementor."
Ron blinked and glanced at Hermione, who met his eyes with a surprised expression.
That was… well, it actually sounded like a good - or at least decent - idea. Or entertaining, if dangerous.
Black Lake, Scotland, April 8th, 2006
"So, the distraction didn't go entirely according to plan," wizarding Harry said in the lab's lounge. "The swarm was a little larger than expected."
"A lot larger," wizarding Ron interjected. "It was bloody huge - I think it could've filled an entire floor if it hadn't split up and hit three floors."
"Well, you opened it and then left it for some time," wizarding Fred said. "That's not covered by the warranty."
"We offer warranties for our products?" his brother asked with exaggerated surprise.
"Well, no, so since there is no warranty, it certainly can't cover anything - but most definitely not user error." Wizarding Fred nodded. "I say we blame Harry. And Ron."
"But we always blame Ron, don't we?"
"So there's no reason to stop, is there?"
"Very funny," wizarding Ron said with an eye roll.
"Can we get on with this without the comedy routine?" wizarding Harry glared at the two wizards. "So, when the moths filled the rooms, people started to panic. A few started casting Vanishing Charms, but many others ran - or used other spells, like curses. Fortunately," he added with a grimace, "no one was seriously hurt, and the damage to the Ministry could be repaired."
Ron winced a little - wizard standards for 'seriously hurt' were a lot laxer thanks to magic. He should've thought of that. Wizards weren't less likely to panic than muggles just because they could do magic.
"Well, St Mungo's treated more people with Calming Draughts than with healing spells," Ron's counterpart said. "Worst panic since the war, the Healer in charge told us."
Hermione winced. "Sorry. That wasn't the idea."
"Well, perhaps now they'll value Aurors a little more," wizarding Harry said.
"Or Hit-Wizards," wizarding Fred added with an innocent smile.
"None of them were there," Ron's counterpart told his brother. "By the time the greycloaks arrived, we were done with the 'attack'."
"It's considered an attack?" Hermione sounded concerned.
"Technically, it was," wizarding Harry pointed out. "Kingsley thinks it was meant as a statement against the Ministry and the Weasleys, seeing as someone broke into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and then into the Ministry. Obviously, anyone able to steal from you would've been able to get past the Ministry's wards."
"Obviously," wizarding Fred said with a wide and entirely too-proud grin.
"So you've been tasked with tracking down the culprits?" Ron asked.
"Until further notice," his counterpart replied. "Too bad we can't frame anyone for it - I know a few people who could do with some prison time."
"Ron!" Hermione gasped.
"I'm joking!" The wizard chuckled. "Don't worry."
She huffed in return. "I can't tell any more."
"Anyway, we'll investigate the usual suspects for a while and wait until something more important pops up, at which point the investigation will be shelved," wizarding Harry said.
"So when will you bribe Kingsley to abolish Azkaban?" wizarding Ron asked.
"We'll offer to finance a more humane prison in about a week," Hermione said primly.
"It's still a bribe," her friend insisted.
She huffed again.
"Say, where's Dumbledore?" wizarding Harry asked - whether he really wanted to know or merely wanted to change the subject, Ron couldn't tell. But he knew where Dumbledore was. "He's handling a board meeting." Grindelwald had been insisting, or so Ron had heard.
"Ah."
"He'll be back meddling in Wizarding Britain soon enough, don't worry." Ron grinned, even though it wasn't that funny.
Then again, neither was Azkaban. And since the wizarding twins and the Lunas were about to meddle with this world, turnabout was fair play.
Ministry of Magic, Whitehall, London, Wizarding World, April 15th, 2006
"I was under the impression that you weren't wealthy, Mr Weasley." Shacklebolt frowned as he stared at Ron and Hermione. They had expected that - he had been an Auror before becoming Minister, after all, and any cop would be suspicious of sudden influx of money.
"I don't like to brag," Ron said. "But I was raised by my uncle, who was quite wealthy - and I am his sole heir."
"And you want to spend your wealth on… reforming Azkaban?" The Minister looked at them even more suspiciously.
"On abolishing Azkaban," Ron corrected him. "And it's not all my wealth, rest assured. And even if it were - if it makes Hermione happy…" He beamed and wrapped his arm around her waist. "I agree with her that such a crime against humanity is a stain on the country's honour, and if Wizarding Britain cannot afford to remove it, then it behoves concerned citizens to step in."
Shacklebolt glared at him, then stared at Hermione. "What's your game?"
"I don't play games, Minister," she retorted. "But my goal is to abolish Azkaban and see a humane prison system established instead. No matter what it takes." She huffed. "I trust you won't refuse our generous offer, will you?"
"Think of it as an investment - you'll need more employees to run the new prison, and constructing it will inject money into the economy as well," Ron added.
Judging by the glances Hermione and the Minister sent him, that wasn't as good an argument as he had thought.
But he could also see that Shacklebolt would be giving in - even if it went against the former Auror's instincts. As a politician, he had no choice and knew it - refusing such a generous donation without a compelling reason? That would cost him a lot of political capital and popular support. Especially with Hermione involved.
Ron leaned back with a smile.
North Sea, Wizarding World, April 20th, 2006
"A ferry." Ron shook his head - not for the first time.
"Yes. We're on a ferry. We have been on it for an hour," Hermione replied. "What a surprise."
"Sorry." He grinned at her, despite the cold wind and light rain hitting his face. "I just can't get over the fact that with brooms, the Floo network, Apparition and Portkeys, you'd use a boat to get to Azkaban. It's just so… muggle."
"It's an enchanted ferry," she told him. "You don't think a muggle ship this size would make it through rough weather on the North Sea?"
He didn't think so - the ferry was barely twenty feet long if you counted the rudder. And the waves were often higher than the deck - or railing. Yet water never reached the deck, waves never crashed down on the ship as she cut through the water. But… "I'd be more impressed with the spells on this if they also kept the rain out."
She snorted in return. "That was by design, or so I hear - to have most prisoners arrive wet and cold."
"What about the guards?" He nodded at the two wizards in grey cloaks standing at the stern, one gripping the tiller.
"Azkaban is widely seen as a punishment detail."
"Ah." That made some sense.
"Or they're expected to provide their own spells to keep dry and warm."
That made more sense. Still… "Sounds like fertile ground for recruiting traitors," he said. "If the Ministry sends them to guard the prisoners, and if the prison is as nasty as we've been told…"
"...worse."
"...then that's a recipe for bonding amongst the inmates and guards." He still couldn't see the island, much less the prison.
"The Dementors supposedly kept the guards honest. Until Voldemort turned the Dementors," she told him.
"And the traitors are back guarding the prisoners?" He shook his head once again.
She shrugged. "You know what I think of that decision."
"Yes, I…" he trailed off. An island had suddenly appeared in front of them - out of nothing. A rocky, ugly island, barely more than a jagged mass of stone sticking out of the sea, with a massive tower on top of it.
"We've passed through the wards," Hermione explained - unnecessarily.
He nodded, then shivered - the temperature had just dropped by several degrees. At least his GPS receiver would have logged the exact position of the island before it stopped working.
One of the Hit-Wizards spoke up for the first time, her voice slightly distorted by the privacy charm Hermione had cast on them. "Welcome to Azkaban."
Azkaban, North Sea, Wizarding World, April 20th, 2006
If anything, the actual island was worse than the trip across the North Sea. It was wetter and colder - they had to climb a narrow stairway carved - or cast, he reminded himself - into the cliff, with the wind battering at them and covering them with foam from the waves breaking against the rocks below. But they made it to the top of the island.
Yet things didn't improve. The temperature dropped even more, and it seemed that even the low light of the sun peeking through the fog and clouds surrounding the island dimmed with every step he took. He felt as if the cold had seeped into his bones. What was he doing here, anyway? He was just a stupid muggle. Unable, unworthy, to do magic. Hermione was probably just staying with him out of pity. Once it wouldn't look bad, she'd drop him and pick a wizard. And he would be all alone, his career ruined, forced to...
"Expecto Patronum!" Hermione yelled, and a translucent white otter appeared that glowed brightly - and shot forward as if it were swimming through the air, chasing fish.
Ron laughed, suddenly feeling warm again. And happy.
"Blimey," he heard one of the Hit-Wizards behind them mumble. "A corporeal Patronus."
"Look at them flee!" the female Hit-Wizard exclaimed.
And he realised that he had met Dementors without seeing them. He would have been helpless. Killed while wallowing in self-pity, surrounded by invisible monsters preying on his memories, sucking out his soul...
He shuddered again.
The actual prison was even worse than the island. As cold and wet - or so it seemed - and it didn't just look like a medieval dungeon from the outside, it was a medieval dungeon. There was a portcullis, for heaven's sake! A magically lowered and raised one, but still!
"Ah, Miss Granger." A heavy-set wizard in grey robes greeted them in the middle of the small yard inside the tower with the hint of a nod and a much more pronounced sneer.
"Hit-Wizard Parkinson." Hermione didn't even bother nodding. "You're our guide?"
The man's sneer turned into a scowl. "I'm the Head Warden of Azkaban. I'm not a tour guide."
"Then who will be our guide? I'm here to inspect the prison, not to stay out here and engage in chit-chat until the Dementors return and I have to chase them off again." Hermione scoffed.
"Inspect? You want to close the prison down!"
"Exactly. This place is a stain on Wizarding Britain, and it needs to be closed down." Hermione glared at the man.
"You've got no idea what we do here. Without us, the most dangerous dark wizards would easily escape - and the Dementors would roam free!"
"I honestly doubt that. Now tell me who's going to show us around - we don't have all day."
Parkinson looked like he'd rather curse her, but he jerkily nodded towards another, younger Hit-Wizard. "Runcorn."
This wizard, at least, was smiling when he greeted them. "Hello."
"Hello." Hermione simply nodded at him, though Ron returned the smile. He didn't know if the friendliness was genuine, but it didn't hurt him any to return it. And it might make the wizard underestimate him.
"So… what do you want to see first?" the Hit-Wizard asked, glancing over his shoulder - apparently to check if Parkinson was watching or leaving.
"The cells," Hermione told him. "From the ones where criminals with lesser sentences are imprisoned to those with the inmates serving life sentences."
"Ah." Runcorn grimaced for a moment. "It's not an official divide, you know? We just lock the ones who won't be here forever in the upper cells." He nodded towards the door to the side. "Please follow me."
"I thought they would be less exposed to Dementors," Hermione asked as they followed.
"Ah, that is sort of true. The Dementors generally spend most of their time in the lowest dungeons. I've been told that they rotate the island patrols, but…" He shrugged. "Who can tell one of those monsters from another? Even after five years here, they all look the same to me."
"You've been stationed here for five years?" Hermione inhaled sharply.
"Yes, ma'am. Well, half and half - we get rotated through the Ministry, Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade half the time, the rest we spend in Azkaban."
"All of the Hit-Wizards?" Hermione asked. "Or merely those from certain families?"
"Uh." Runcorn grimaced again. "All of the younger Hit-Wizards. The higher ranks aren't part of the rotation."
"And why's Parkinson here?" Ron asked. That wizard was far too old to be a new recruit or rookie.
"I don't know for sure…" Runcorn shrugged. "Some say it was this or getting fired. Others say he's here to either torture the Death Eaters or help them."
Those didn't sound like trustworthy sources to Ron. But then, the rumour mill in any department was generally to be taken with a grain of salt.
They entered the tower proper, and Runcorn pulled out an amulet from under his robes, letting it dangle like a necklace. "This will keep us safe."
"I'll chase away any Dementor that dares to approach us," Hermione said, brandishing her wand.
Ron didn't feel too reassured, despite her impressive demonstration outside, and Runcorn grimaced again. "Well, I, for one, am looking forward to the prison closing down," the Hit-Wizard said. "If only to be able to sleep peacefully again. Here on the island, the nightmares are the worst."
"One would expect Mr Parkinson to feel the same," Ron not-quite-asked.
"He's got the topmost office and quarters; he rarely leaves and so he rarely encounters Dementors," Runcorn told them as they reached a spiral staircase. "But if Azkaban is abolished, he might lose his position."
"Won't he get to be Head Warden in the new prison?" Ron asked.
"He's got too many enemies in the corps," Runcorn said.
"Typical." Hermione muttered something about short-sighted fools as they descended the stairs and found themselves in front of another portcullis, a smaller one this time.
"Behind this is the cell area. The portcullis keeps the Dementors from entering our part of the prison," Runcorn explained.
"You don't trust them," Ron said.
"No." The wizard shuddered. "The brass never confirmed that the Hit-Wizards who vanished on the island were killed by the Dementors, but… whether they were or committed suicide, it's the fault of those monsters."
"And Parkinson wouldn't want people to think he can't control the Dementors," Ron said. It was far colder here than just a flight of stairs above. He could almost see his breath.
And this was the top level of the dungeons.
"So… here are the first cells for first offenders. Uh, sorry - kind of an inside joke." Runcorn knocked on a wooden door, peered through the barred opening at eye level, then opened the door. "Shelby. Six months for repeatedly endangering the Statute of Secrecy."
"I'm innocent… I was framed." The voice sounded raspy. Rough.
"That's what they all say," Runcorn replied, flicking his wand and causing a light to appear in the middle of the cell.
The wizard in worn but decent robes sitting on a thin mattress threw his arms up, like a vampire in a movie, and cried out. The cell looked clean, Ron noticed. There even was a desk and chair, with a few books and parchment, though the bucket in the corner looked rather ominous.
Ron saw Hermione tense. "How long have you been here, Mr Shelby?"
"He's been here for…" Runcorn trailed off at her glare.
"I… I don't remember. W-who are you?" The prisoner coughed several times, then spat out some phlegm on to the stone floor.
"Hermione Granger." After a moment, she added: "I'm here to check up on the prison. We're building a new prison, without Dementors."
"A new prison?"
"You'll be out before it's finished," Runcorn said.
Shelby started to laugh, then coughed. And didn't stop.
Hermione glared at Runcorn. "He needs a Healer."
"They get weekly visits," the Hit-Wizard replied. But he wasn't looking at them, nor at the prisoner, as he spoke.
Hermione pressed her lips together. "Show us the other floors."
Runcorn swallowed before nodding.
The next floor was worse. The cells were the same - identical, actually, down to the desk and bucket - but the prisoners…
"Malcolm Geerson. One year, robbery," Runcorn said as he opened a door. He hadn't knocked or called out to the prisoner, Ron noted.
And when he saw Geerson, he knew why. The wizard was staring at them with unfocused eyes. And the stench…
"Sorry," Runcorn mumbled, before waving his wand. The stains on the prisoner's robes disappeared. "He doesn't use the bucket any more."
Ron clenched his teeth and breathed through his mouth.
"Hello, Mr Geerson," Hermione said.
The prisoner didn't react - he just kept staring at them.
She stepped closer, waving her hand in front of his face. The eyes didn't track her fingers. "He looks like he's been kissed," she spat, turning towards Runcorn.
"No, no! He wasn't kissed! Honest! He just… A few months ago, he stopped caring. And talking. A Healer said he was lost in his memories, or something like that." Runcorn shrugged. "Can't do anything about it."
"That's…" Hermione shook her head, then stomped out of the cell.
Runcorn followed her with a grimace. Ron took a last look at the prisoner, then left the cell as well. Bloody hell!
"So…ah… Marigold Merryweather. Two years for casting a dark curse at her neighbour."
The witch inside the cell was sitting in a corner, hunched over, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around her shins, slowly rocking back and forth. And mumbling something under her breath.
"We're coming in," Runcorn announced.
And Merryweather started screaming, turning towards the wall, hitting it. No, trying to claw a hole into it.
"Uh… it's one of her bad days," Runcorn said. "She usually doesn't scream until the Dementors make their rounds in the evening."
"Don't let her hurt herself!" Hermione snapped.
"Ah… alright."
A moment later, a red spell hit her, and the witch stopped moving. Stunner - Ron recognised the spell.
"Are there any prisoners who aren't…" Hermione glared at Runcorn, then gestured at the two cells they had visited. "...like them?"
"Ah, well…" Runcorn coughed. "Maybe Karl Travers."
"Travers?" Hermione asked,
"Not the main family. Cadet branch. He was given two years for using dark magic on muggles," Runcorn said. "He's been here for nine months, over there."
The wizard walked past a few cells - ignoring the moaning and wailing from one of them - and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway. "Travers! You've got visitors!"
"Vi-visitors? Mum? Is that you, Mum?" A sniffling voice asked.
Ron saw Hermione wince. "No, Mr Travers, I'm not your mother." She glared at Runcorn, who quickly opened the door.
Travers was still sobbing when they entered. "Mum…"
"Hello, Mr Travers."
The man looked up at them. "Who're you?" He blinked at Hermione. Then he spotted Ron and started screaming. "You bastard! You bastard!"
Ron saw the prisoner rush towards him with outstretched hands and reacted without thinking. He ducked to the side, grabbing one of the man's arms in the process, then used that to throw Travers to the ground, ending up with the arm in a joint lock.
"You bastard! I remember you! I...AHHHH!"
A little more pressure on Travers's arm made him stop struggling and start sobbing again.
"Ah… He was arrested by Autor Weasley," Runcorn explained. "You look a little like him, and after months here, his memory isn't the best any more…"
"Mum…"
"And he's one of the prisoners in better shape," Hermione said in a flat voice.
"He cursed a muggle family. A neighbourhood dispute," Runcorn said. "Crippled one of them."
"And that makes it OK to torture him?" Hermione shot back.
Runcorn's surprised expression left no doubt that his answer was obviously 'yes'.
"Show us the others!" Hermione spat.
After half a dozen more cells - filled with prisoners in various degrees of mental degradation, as far as Ron could tell - Runcorn led them down a flight of stairs to another portcullis. "And this is the area for the lifers - those prisoners who were sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban. Death Eaters, basically."
"How many are there?" Ron asked.
"Half a dozen, if you count Skeeter;" the Hit-Wizard replied.
"Skeeter."
"Yes. She doesn't have the mark, but she was helping them in the war."
"I'm aware of her actions," Hermione said. "I fought in the war."
"Of course! Sorry!" Runcorn flushed. "Do you want to see her?"
Ron saw that Hermione hesitated for a moment before she nodded. "Yes."
"The Dementors patrol three times a day here," Runcorn explained as the portcullis was raised. "So…" He shrugged.
Ron had a decent idea of what awaited them, and he wasn't wrong. The prisoners here were either catatonic or mad. It was far colder than upstairs, too. And the stench…
"We clean them and the cells once per day," Runcorn said. "But…" He shrugged.
Hermione scoffed. "Where's Skeeter?"
"Ah… this way. You know, as an animagus, she posed a bit of a problem for the Warden," Runcorn said. "Especially as a beetle. Hard to keep a bug locked up, right?" He opened a door.
Keeping a bug locked up wasn't very hard, Ron found - provided it was stuck in a glass jar.
"You're keeping her in her animagus form?" Hermione asked in a clipped tone.
Ron noticed how tense she was - and how tightly she gripped her wand. Runcorn, fortunately, couldn't see that from where he was.
"Err… It was deemed the best solution," the Hit-Wizard said. He grimaced, so he, too, had realised how angry Hermione was.
"Who decided that? And why?" She glared at Runcorn with narrowed eyes.
"The Head Warden, after talking to Skeeter." The man coughed. "Err… he said - he, I'm just repeating his words - that this way, we didn't have to worry about her escaping the cell when we entered it or fed her. And the prisoner wouldn't suffer as much from the Dementors," he added quickly.
"Was that also a concern for the Head Warden, or did you just think of it?" Ron asked.
The man stared at him as if he had forgotten Ron was present. "Uh… In any case, it's true."
Hermione scoffed. "Keeping an animagus for years in their animal form! That's… that's…" She shook her head again.
"Sirius Black did it, and he was fine," Runcorn pointed out.
"He was anything but fine," Hermione retorted. "And he didn't spend the entire time in dog form without a break - and he certainly wasn't kept in a cage for dogs!"
"But…" Runcorn pressed his lips together.
"Did anyone verify that Skeeter agreed to this?" Hermione looked at the glass jar again. The beetle inside didn't seem to have reacted to their presence at all.
Runcorn didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Ron eyed the jar. "Do we get her out and ask her?" He wasn't exactly serious - he was a police officer, well, a former police officer. You didn't just take a prisoner out of their cell. Although this situation might be an exception.
And Hermione was considering it - he could see her bite her lower lip before she raised her chin slightly. "No. We have no idea about her state of mind. And she might try to escape - especially if she has lost her mind."
Ron nodded and tried not to grimace. To be stuck as a bug for years. Living, sleeping, eating like a bug. Stuck in a jar. Which was in a damp, dark cell. Nothing to read, nothing to do but think - if you could still think. He had read stories about people stuck in animal form. Fictional stories, but still… He shuddered as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
And he kept shivering. Wait… "Are there Dementors nearby?" he asked.
"No - they only come by three times a day, on this level," Runcorn said. He blinked. "It can't…"
"It feels like the Dementors," Hermione said, already raising her wand. "Expecto Patronum!" she yelled.
Once more, a silvery, translucent otter appeared and floated in the air for a few seconds before shooting out of the door into the hallway.
Ron thought he heard some faint hissing, but he wasn't sure. The cold receded, in any case - not that it felt at all warm. And the bug was scrambling up the walls of the jar. "That got a reaction," he said, nodding at the beetle.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped, then took a step closer, peering at the beetle. "Did she recognise the spell? Or is this just an instinctive reaction to a bright light? Do you understand me, Miss Skeeter?"
The bug kept flailing its legs against the glass and flaring its wings.
"Inconclusive," Ron commented.
Hermione frowned at him for a moment before she nodded in agreement. She turned to Runcorn. "We've seen enough. The conditions in this prison are appalling. And it seems that you don't have as much control over the Dementors as you think you do, either, if they can roam the prison without your knowledge."
"Ah… we're not actually supposed to be in the hallways when the Dementors patrol," Runcorn replied.
"You mean when they come to feed on and torture the prisoners," Hermione corrected him.
Runcorn opened his mouth, then closed it again, pressing his lips together.
"Look, we know it's not your fault," Ron told him. He ignored the huff from Hermione. "But you're the guy leading us around, so you get to hear our comments. So don't be afraid to speak up."
Runcorn still hesitated for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath. "These are Death Eaters and other dark wizards. People who've tortured and murdered others. Why do you care so much about them? They tried to kill you, didn't they? And they killed your friends."
"Yes, they did," Hermione said. "Though Skeeter's guilt is somewhat in dispute. But that doesn't mean we should treat them as they wanted to treat us. We're supposed to be better than them."
Ron nodded, though if he was honest, then he couldn't say what he'd be feeling if those Death Eaters had gone after his family - or had murdered friends of his. Though he hoped that he'd draw the line at torture.
No one deserved Dementors.
The monsters appeared twice more on their way back to the tower above. Not that Ron ever saw them - he only felt the cold, felt his thoughts turn dark, then saw Hermione recast her Patronus Charm, which drove the Dementors away.
"I can see you have the Dementors under complete control," Hermione commented once they were finally past the portcullis that separated the dungeon from the rest of the prison.
"They… this has never happened before," the wizard replied. He looked quite pale and was still shivering a little.
"Did the prisoners complain about the Dementors visiting whenever they want?" Ron asked.
"They always complain about the Dementors," Runcorn told him. "So… we… it's usually assumed that they lost track of time. After a while, they become incoherent, anyway…" He grimaced.
Hermione huffed again. "Of course they would… if they are constantly being fed upon."
Runcorn flinched. "We didn't know that. We had no idea about that."
"Do you even have a headcount for the Dementors?" Ron asked. "Or did you just count the ones outside?"
Once more, the sudden silence was enough.
"Great," Ron muttered. "It's Jurassic Park all over again."
Hermione snorted, but Runcorn looked confused. "Pardon?"
"A movie," Ron explained. "Where a similar lack of oversight and control led to disaster." And to a box office hit.
"It doesn't matter. It's a good thing that the prison is going to be shut down - the conditions of the prisoners are appalling, and it's obvious that no one has a clear idea of what's actually happening here," Hermione said.
And Ron had a feeling that the lack of accurate information extended to other areas as well. Especially areas where an enterprising guard could skim money. He wasn't a wizard, but some things were the same whether you had magic or not.
But that was a matter for another day. For now, he wanted to leave the island. News of Hermione's assessment would spread quickly, and he would prefer not to find out the hard way whether or not the Head Warden was willing to arrange an accident to cover up his negligence - or even worse crimes. "Let's leave," he said. "I'm freezing."
Fortunately, Hermione understood what he meant and didn't argue. "Yes. Let's leave."
"Err." Runcorn was wincing again. "I think the Head Warden wanted to see you afterwards."
"Really? He didn't say anything to me," Hermione replied. "And I don't want to see him right now. I fear I might lose my temper and curse him."
Runcorn smiled weakly. "I understand."
"Do you?" Hermione cocked her head. "Better late than never, I guess. Lead us to the pier. Expecto Patronum!"
Escorted by the otter swimming through the air, they weren't bothered by any Dementors on the way and, one climb down a very steep set of stairs later, they were back on the ferry.
As they left the pier, Ron studied the cliff again. Scaling it would be hard, but they could take the stairs - he was sure that the guards didn't post anyone at the pier, especially not at night. And they knew the Dementors roamed the island, not just the dungeons.
Yes, capturing one of the fiends shouldn't be too hard.
He glanced at Hermione, who was glaring at the island. "Just like last time," he heard her mutter. "I expected better of them."
Ron had an idea who she was talking about.
"No! You can't just assume that everything's alright!" she yelled, slamming both her palms on the table. "That's not how things work - that's a recipe for corruption!" Why didn't her friends realise that?
"But, Hermione…" Ron started. "How would elves be corrupted?"
Oh, for the love of… "Not elves! Their masters!"
"Dumbledore?" Harry asked, cocking his head with a puzzled expression. "I don't think he'd let the elves be abused."
"And how much do you think he would know? You've met elves; they're even worse than you."
"What?" Harry blinked.
"They would never complain to us," she explained. "If you ask them, they'll say they're fine." They had said so to numerous inquiries from her. "Just like you."
"Oi!" Ron protested as Harry blushed. "You can't compare Harry to an elf."
"In this area, yes, I can." She nodded firmly, then glared at her friends. "And that's why we have to observe them secretly, to find out the truth."
"You mean… spy on them?" Ron asked.
"Observe them," she corrected him. "It's for their own good. We can't help them if we don't know what they need."
"Sounds like spying to me," he grumbled.
She huffed. "Well, it's not!"
Then she turned to Harry. "We'll need your cloak, and we'll have to work in shifts. I've made a schedule that will allow us to observe them without cutting into our homework time." Ron opened his mouth, and she quickly added: "I've also taken the time needed for Quidditch practice into account." Grudgingly, of course. But some things her friends wouldn't budge on, no matter how important their task was.
"Alright. But I'm telling you, they're fine."
"We shall see. Trust, but verify," she quoted.
Not that she had a lot of trust left for this particular part of Wizarding Britain. To think the elves were forced to have their memories wiped if they ever left a wizard's service… They could be abused horribly, but wouldn't even remember it!