A/N: This chapter is much darker than the previous ones. But it was bound to come up at some point, right?

Sorry for the delay. It's been a difficult chapter to write. I had to do a lot of visualizing, and some research, and none of it was pleasant. And please don't beat up poor Sirius. There will be explinations.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're awesome. I think I got back to those who left questions, if not let me know I'm an idiot.

Enjoy!


"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything." -Nietzsche

Sirius hadn't mentioned anything else of a proposal, and Hermione was more than content to leave things the way they had been before their fight. Well, not exactly. Now that she had shown Sirius where the head dorms were and gave him the password he was visiting at least every other night, and often spent the night in her bed with her. But nothing else about living their lives together.

She was sitting in the Great Hall the Friday before the school would empty of most third-years and older making their way to Hogsmeade. There seemed to be little talk of anything else at breakfast, from what sweets they would buy at Honeydukes to, much to Hermione's irritation, a couple fifth-year girls talking about going to ogle Sirius. But he had visited her the night before and she was very secure in their relationship. She had set ground rules when it came to visiting her- he had to wait until after curfew to come into the castle and he had to leave before the halls got crowded with students going to breakfast, always moving as Padfoot.

So it was surprising to her when she saw his tall figure striding through the Great Hall, dressed warmly in a traveling cloak. He didn't look in either direction, making a beeline for her.

"Morning, love," he smiled down at her, but didn't offer any signs of affection, despite most of the students craning their necks to get a show.

"Good morning," she replied, sounding confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I made a promise," he shrugged.

"A promise?" she was now even more confused.

"I promised to take you to Azkaban. I talked to McGonagall, and she said today would be the best day for such an outing. You're excused from your classes."

"Oh!" she said, her stomach tying in a knot. She wanted to go, but she had been counting on a couple days to prepare herself.

"If you don't want to go today, we could try another day," he said, reading her face perfectly.

"No, we can go," she said, standing. "Let me get my cloak."

She rushed through the castle to gather her things. She dumped her books out of her bag onto her bad, taking only a notepad and a pen. She followed Sirius' lead and threw a heavy traveling cloak around her shoulders. She ran back to the entrance hall to find Sirius waiting against a wall, apparently ignoring the throng of giggling girls around him. He pushed himself from the wall and offered her his arm. Without a word he led her out of the castle, onto the grounds where his bike was waiting.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, helping her onto the bike as she looked over her shoulder to see several people craning their necks through windows and the door to watch her.

"Yes. I think it's important for me to understand what it's like," she said.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said dryly. They rocketed into the sky and turned towards the North Sea. They climbed quickly above the cloud cover. She clutched him tightly, but no words were exchanged. He was tense under her grip, and she could tell he was only doing this because he had promised, and he wasn't going to go back on a promise to her, no matter how much he hated the task.

They traveled over the open sea for a while before he dropped down quickly. She let out a squeak of terror and wound her hands into his shirt to keep from sliding off the back.

"We have to approach low," he said, the first words since they had taken off. The tires were mere feet from the waves and as they sped through the thick fog Hermione was sure they were about to slam into a tanker.

But when something came looming out of the ocean it was not a giant boat, but a massive stone building. They skimmed under an archway, which immediately sent chills down Hermione's spine.

"Patronus might be useful," he muttered, hitting the brake. The tires started skidding to a halt, finally coming to rest just on the shore of a rock-covered beach.

"Black," a man bundled against the cold, a silver hawk circling overhead, approached them, not offering any explanations or other greetings.

"Proudfoot," Sirius nodded once, waving his wand, a silver dog much like his Animagus form coming to stand in front of him.

"This why you wanted to come back to this goddamned place?" the man, which Hermione recognized as an Auror, looked at her.

"She's hoping for a job in magical law enforcement. Thinks it would be useful to see our ultimate punishment."

"Not much to see in there," Proudfoot stared directly at Hermione. "Just the insane getting lost further into darkness."

"I want to know what it's like," Hermione said bravely.

He shrugged. "Just giving you fair warning."

They started up the rocks towards the one opening in the side of the building. On either side loomed Dementors, even more menacing as they floated, motionless, just their hoods flapping slightly in the wind pounding the building. She felt a chill come across her as she passed them, but the otter swimming around her knees protected her from anything else.

They came to a set of gates, thick and iron, guarded by another two Dementors. Proudfoot waved his wand, mouthing an incantation, then pressed the tip of his wand to the gate.

"You, too," he growled, and Sirius and Hermione followed suit. "It needs to register who has passed through these gates, in case any more... unpleasantness should occur," he shot a look at Sirius, who had started the breaking out of Azkaban 'fad'. "It checks your magical essence, then re-checks it on the way out. Makes sure the ones who go in are the ones who come out. Isn't fooled by Polyjuice or other disguises."

Hermione swallowed. Barty Crouch would probably still be alive had this measure been in place before he had broken his son out.

The large gate slowly rumbled upwards, and they waited for it to rise completely before walking through it. As soon as they had passed it slammed back down with a thud that caused Hermione to jump.

"You might be better at explaining the lifestyle than I, Black," Proudfoot said. "I'm going to do a few administrative things, got a couple of Death Eaters in last night, need to finish filling out the forms. I trust you know enough you don't need an escort."

"Right," Sirius said grimly. The big silver dog led the way down the nearest corridor, until they came to a large steel door.

"I will not lie to you, Hermione," he said, spinning to look at her before they proceeded. "Some of the people behind this door are the foulest, most evil souls you could ever hope to stay away from. The worst of the worst. And I say that because I know you. You're going to deplore the living conditions they are in. But I don't want to hear it. Most of the people in here deserve every moment they have to spend behind their bars. The few that don't, like Hagrid and myself, well, you would have easily picked us out as innocent because we hadn't gone mad. This place wasn't designed to coddle those sent here, it was designed to punish them severely and keep others from trying what they have done to earn their spot. You will see things that offend you, you'll probably get scared, sad, or angry, and you have the right to do so, but keep it to yourself until we're out of here. Emotions are precious in this place," he finished, gazing pointedly down the hallway at a Dementor gliding past.

She nodded, and he opened the door. It was the smell that got to her first, feces, urine, vomit, rotten food and flesh, and death all mixed together. It nearly knocked her backwards into the wall. Sirius held out a rag for her, and put one over his own nose and mouth before stepping inside.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust. There were torches on the wall, but they were few and far between. Dementors didn't need the light, and apparently didn't feel the inmates needed it, either. The floor was slick with some sort of substance she had no desire to identify. The ceiling was low, and when her eyes finally adjusted she could see nothing but a long hallway of bars and stone, the occasional body limb sticking out.

She chanced a glance at the first cell. A older, bald man was sitting in it, rocking steadily back and forth on an upturned bucket.

"Our toilets," Sirius informed her. "They got emptied once a day, if we were lucky and behaved. If we didn't they'd let it sit. I'd often throw it out the window. They didn't like me much in here."

In the next cell a witch was staring intently at her fingers, which were drumming an elaborate pattern in the air.

"That is Elisa Druitt," Sirius said. "She murdered her son for being a Squib."

The prang of sympathy that Hermione had felt for the obviously mad woman suddenly dissipated. Without another look at the witch Hermione moved on.

"Mr. Black! Mr. Black!" a wizard at the next cell greeted Sirius enthusiastically. "I knew you'd come back. They all die or come back. Care to partake in my feast? A feast for a king like yourself," he motioned towards a pile of bread crusts in various stages of mold and rot.

"Perhaps another time," Sirius muttered, dragging Hermione to the next cell. Before the man disappeared from her line of sight Hermione could have sworn she saw him reaching for one of the moldier crusts. "Mr. Dobbs. Tortured his girlfriend when he found out she was half-blood instead of pure."

She was already regretting her trip when they came to the next cell.

"My wife!" a man crashed into the bars, causing Hermione to jump back in fright. "You killed my wife! You belong in here, not me!"

A closer look revealed Hermione was looking at none other than Rodolphus Lestrange.

"I... I... I didn't kill her," she started, but Sirius cut her off by grabbing her arm.

"But you were on their side, and they killed her. Just because they said they're doing good they can commit murder and walk free?"

The words shot through Hermione. How many times had a member of the Order told them it was okay to use the killing curse because they were on the 'good' side, the 'right' side? Why was what she was told held in higher regard than what Rodolphus had been told? When was murder 'good' anyways?

"Don't let him get to you," Sirius said, leading her down the hall with a hand on the small of her back. "He was insane when he broke out the first time, hell, he's probably been insane since he thought marrying my dear cousin was a good idea. He's a Death Eater, he's in for the Kiss. He'll do anything to save himself. That's one of the qualities the Death Eaters are well known for."

Her legs were barely willing to walk her to the next cell. Inside was a man, couldn't be more than thirty five, just sitting against the wall. His eyes were staring at nothing, his body seemed limp, his mouth opened with a little drool trailing to his tattered robes. She might have thought he was dead, but he blinked.

"Marcus," Sirius whispered. "He was a Death Eater the first time around, two years below me in school. One day he tried to attack a Dementor that had come to give him our one hour yard time per week. They don't mess around when you do that. He got the Kiss."

Tears sprung to her eyes as she moved on in front of Sirius. He kept up a quiet commentary about life inside the prison as they passed cell after cell of inmates in various states of sanity. The newer they were, the more lucid their shouts. Some of the inmates who had been in for longer amounts of time had given up on screaming themselves hoarse. They sat, conversing softly with the walls, or just staring blankly into the air, all were rocking back and forth, some slowly, some rapidly.

As they neared the end of the hallway Sirius became more and more rigid. At the second cell from the far end of the hallway he stopped and slowly turned. The cell was empty, and looked like it had been for some time. The walls had carvings in the stone, etched with smaller rocks over hours, days, maybe even weeks. She stared at the carvings, trying to figure out why they looked so familiar.

It hit her when she heard Sirius draw a breath. Those carvings were the same as his tattoos. She wasn't sure if he had practiced on the wall before doing the artwork on himself or if he carved the walls to mirror his markings, and looking at his face she knew it wasn't the right time to ask.

Sirius eyed the cell as if staring down an old enemy. He took in every inch, eyes sweeping methodically over every stone. Every trace of the easygoing Sirius had given way to a statue.

Her eyes welled with tears, and she felt a physical illness that had nothing to do with a passing Dementor. Her Patronus started to falter.

"I need to go," she whispered, turning on heel and running down the hall to the taunts of the inmates with enough sanity left to torment.

She didn't stop until she reached the large gate. She didn't want to go through to wait on the cold, wind-swept stone beach. She pressed herself to the wall, feeling the freezing stone through her cloak, breathing hard and trying not to be sick.

"Hermione?" Sirius appeared around the corner.

"I want to go. I need to go. I'm sorry for ever wanting to come to this horrible place," she sobbed.

"Shh," he enveloped her in his arms, but they were stiff, not the arms she had become so accustomed to.

"Human beings aren't supposed to be like this," she whispered. "Is this what comes from a civilized society?"

She felt him swallow, but he only said, "Come. Let's go."

He quickly led her out to the bike, and they put the prison behind them as fast as possible. She clung to him, her tears stinging in the freezing wind. She didn't relinquish her tight grip on him until they had touched ground back at Hogwarts. He swung his leg off the bike and held his hand out to help her climb off.

"Are you okay, love?" he murmured as he brushed a tear from her cheek.

She nodded, but didn't believe it herself. "Will you stay?" she asked.

He gave her a pained look. "Not tonight," he whispered.

She bit her lip as he gave her a quick embrace.

"I love you," he muttered.

"I love you," she replied. She felt his arms leaving her, but didn't open her eyes until she heard the bike revving. She saw the taillight disappear towards the gate, and had never felt more alone.