1. DISCLAIMER. The obvious. I do not own anything. Thanks to Ms Rowling for giving us such wonderful stories, even if I don't agree with her statements.

2. Thanks a lot to reallybeth, my reliable beta. Without her, the grammar of this would be way off.

3. As always, any error here is mine and not from my reviewer. If you spot anything or have a doubt about the grammar used or plot just PM me, I'm always swift to answer.

4. So this is a new story. I know I already have too many WIPs, but you know how this is. I came up with this idea (that has been done by others in the past), and before I knew it I had written my whole version of it. Hope it is as intriguing to read as it was to write.

5. I am half-wy through writting Ron Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets chap 3. For updates of my other stories as well as commenting, constructive criticism and other policies please check my profile. The general stance is you can write about anything as long as not rude. I have a Tumblr account with JonRiptide handle.

6. I believed that quotes in stories was so corny, it might still be, but this is my second story in a row with quotes. *shrugs

7. Enjoy

— There is nothing near as tragic, nor half as dangerous, as a broken conscience.

Harry leaned back against the cold wall of his cell, listening to the waves crashing far below. There was an almost reproachful tone to their roar, as if somehow they knew what had happened, as if they'd witnessed how everything had been blasted to pieces and blamed Harry for it.

Why wouldn't I be to blame though? If I hadn't been so blind and stupid, the world wouldn't be the ruddy mess it was.

There was nothing Harry wished more for than to take back what he'd done. He'd failed. He'd betrayed Ron's trust. He could've stopped it all, but had chosen not to. That was a truth as hard and real as the four walls that now imprisoned him.

Harry forced his eyes shut, desperate to push everything from his mind — if only for a moment. A foolish hope by all means, because he couldn't forget where he was. Even when his eyes were closed, he could still hear the waves crashing unforgivingly at Azkaban's feet, and could feel the saltwater invading his nostrils.

Giving up, Harry opened his eyes and stood up from his bunk bed. He felt desperate to know what was happening in the outside world, but was completely powerless, stuck as he was. There wasn't much space to walk around, and so far in his short stay he'd already memorised every corner of his small cell.

How the hell did Sirius survive this? He was here for twelve years.

His godfather had his sheer willpower and animagus form to help, but it still felt like he'd accomplished an impossible task. Harry had only been there for three days and was already losing his mind to the regrets that lunged at him endlessly. He turned around, realising his quarters were also miles better than whatever Sirius surely got. Harry's bunk bed was clean and comfortable enough. There was a small table where hearty meals were placed thrice a day — even if he hadn't touched much of them. His captor had also made sure he had access to a suitable loo and clothes. One might think he was a guest and not a prisoner.

Sirius slept on the floor, he reminded himself as he walked towards the outer wall, sparing a glimpse at the hard stone under his feet. Though his window was too high to look at the sea, Harry put a hand on the wall. Sirius could've rested his head against these walls, fighting the cold with the rags he wore. Harry closed his eyes again, imagining his godfather terrified and manacled in the corner. And that wasn't even the worst part. Not remotely.

Dementors. Dementors were the worst part.

It had been over a decade since the dementors were banished from Azkaban, in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall. Harry had rarely seen any of those foul creatures in the years since, but whenever he did, a piercing chill would crawl down his spine and the cold would throw him straight into his worst memories. He couldn't imagine spending a whole day near one of those hideous creatures. Twelve years of being surrounded by an army of them must've been a living hell. Beyond that even.

With a heavy thud, Harry let himself fall onto his bunk bed once more, ashamed of his self-pity and thinking that Sirius would've probably laughed at his supposed suffering. There were other ghosts that haunted Harry though. Afflictions that had little to do with his accommodations, and plenty to do with letting his loved ones down. In a way, being in prison liberated him from having to face the Weasleys and his friends. A relief that made him feel like a bloody coward.

A thought sprung then with the vigour of a wild horse.

Ginny… I failed her too… Was she really… ?

Clank.

In a swift move, Harry turned towards the heavy metal door before composing himself. The slit from which the guard looked inside moved, then the sound of keys reached Harry's ears. He frowned, looking at his watch. He'd been brought lunch not an hour ago. It was too early for a new visit. He stood up, only a beat before the door swung open with a creak.

So far, Harry had only seen a single guard — a bulky man who stole curious glances at him whenever he thought Harry wasn't looking. He'd been extra cautious bringing Harry his meals, and avoided any kind of conversation. The young woman who now entered his cell wasn't that guard. Actually, she wasn't a guard at all, or at least she hadn't been the last time Harry had seen her.

"Diggory," he muttered in surprise.

The woman didn't reply and instead arched an eyebrow. She appeared visibly torn when her eyes landed on him. "Y-you have a visitor, sir," she said respectfully.

"Who?"

"The Minister."

Harry's brow tensed, less surprised by this than expected. He nodded.

There was a loud knock on the open door, pressing Diggory to hurry. The young Auror's brow furrowed, though it relaxed once she turned back to Harry. She stepped forward, taking out a pair of handcuffs that seemed to be offending her. "I'm sorry. I have to."

"It's alright," Harry reassured, presenting his wrists to her. "Take me there."

The Auror put the handcuffs on Harry before escorting him out of the cell. Just outside, Dawson Clarke was waiting for them with a disgusted expression painted across his face. Harry didn't even bother greeting him.

Harry kept his eyes to the front as the two Aurors guided him through Azkaban corridors. The sound of the waves became muted, though that didn't mean their trip was a quiet one. Shouts and hisses echoed wherever he walked. As soon as the prisoners saw who was being escorted, the laughs took over the corridors. There were people banging on the doors, and whistles mocking the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived.

It was hard to distinguish the prisoners by their yells. Harry wondered if Dolohov or Rowle were still alive behind one of those doors — a question that was left unanswered. He imagined if they had died at some point since the war ended he would've been informed. But, on second thought, it was Dawson Clarke who would've been informed. Not him. Harry was only focused on training new recruits. Nothing more.

They crossed into a damp corridor with no windows. There were no cells there, but the change didn't provide the comfort Harry would've expected. His steps on the moist stones produced an unsettling sound, and if it weren't for the orange torches on the walls, the whole room would've been covered in darkness.

For some demented reason, Harry tried to picture the old Azkaban. Though he didn't want to think of those nightmare spawns, he imagined things would have been even darker and quieter if the dementors had been around. It felt almost like yesterday when Kingsley had told him they were taking the dementors away from Azkaban. Though that was an eternity ago. Kingsley Shacklebolt wasn't the Minister anymore, and Harry didn't know the person he was being taken to. Not anymore.

Memories could be just as vicious as dementors, Harry reminded himself. They didn't suck at your soul, but they could torture it just the same.

"So, you're in Azkaban now?" Harry asked Diggory as they stepped into a brighter corridor.

"No. I came here as an escort to the Minister, sir."

That was odd. Adina Diggory was on his side. She had been one of Harry's best students. Besides, she was too young to be escorting the Minister. Why would they bring her here?

Perhaps to remind me of her cousin, the first person that suffered because of me…. Or to bear witness that the great Harry Potter was indeed guilty and in Azkaban… Whatever the case, it couldn't be a coincidence.

"The internal affairs of the Auror Office are not discussed with outsiders. Much less prisoners," Clarke scowled at Diggory, and the woman nodded after a sigh.

Thankfully, the trip didn't take much longer. Two doors later, Harry was led into a large office where she was waiting for him, behind a large wooden desk and seemingly preoccupied writing letters.

"The prisoner, madam," Clarke announced.

The woman took a long time to put her quill down. She skimmed her current letter once more before finally raising her eyes to Harry. Her expression remained unreadable, even then, unperturbed by Harry's defiant look.

"Minister," Harry greeted, his tone sounding far less mocking than he'd intended it to be.

"Leave us," the Minister said to the Aurors, then she gestured for Harry to take the seat in front of her.

Dawson Clarke bowed respectfully as he hurried Diggory out of the office. Once they were gone, Harry sat down, glaringly aware that he was still handcuffed. "So, I gather this isn't a friendly visit?"

The Minister frowned, casting a spell on the door that Harry knew all too well. "Oh, shut up. How are they treating you? Have you been properly fed?"

Harry was certainly annoyed by her concern. It was stupid, all things considered. "Honestly, Hermione, that's the least of my fucking worries. But if you must know, I'm being treated well. Peachy. The most privileged prisoner in the whole of Azkaban, I reckon."

There was no amusement in Hermione's response. "Would you have preferred to be treated badly?"

Hermione Granger stared hard at him, as if she expected an honest answer to her stupid question. She wore a professional attire worthy of the head of the Ministry of Magic, all the way to the posh burgundy coat that rested on her chair. Her brown hair was neatly tied by some unseen brooch, but still as frizzy as it had ever been.

"What I wanted was an explanation," Harry blurted out. "I wanted my best friend to talk to me before going on with this madness."

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh, "Talk? Are you serious right now?" she asked. She dropped her hands on the desk, and her mood darkened in a beat. "Talk about what, precisely, Harry? You haven't bothered with inquiring about my work in years, or with me for that matter."

"That's not true. I was there."

"You left," she spat, quietly but with resentment dripping from each syllable.

"I came back."

"Because I brought you back! Not because you wanted to!" she snapped. Harry didn't dare deny that. He stared at her in silence, feeling his handcuffs grow heavier by the second. Once she noticed the lack of fight in Harry, Hermione's voice lowered, though her tone kept its edge to it. "Besides, you never really came back," she reproached him. "You've been there alright, but most of the time you're just floating about. Too scared of getting involved. Too scared of doing anything that isn't your stupid and perfectly comfortable little job."

Each one of those words cut Harry like a knife. They were true. He'd been a shell of who he used to be, of who he was supposed to be. Ever since that day, all those years ago, he'd gone on almost unwittingly. Afraid of making another mistake as the one he'd once made.

He couldn't give up on her though. Not again.

"Hermione… I'm—"

"Sorry? No, Harry. You don't get to say how sorry you are. It's too late for you to try and be that person again. The time for apologies has passed," Hermione sentenced with that judging mask that came so naturally to her now. "I came here to help you, to offer you a way out. Because I still care about you, after everything. But don't pretend for one second like we are the same people we were back at Hogwarts, because we aren't."

Silence reigned in that office for a long time. Harry stared at his friend, surprised by how much she had changed without him noticing. Perhaps he had ignored the signs. Perhaps this was truly all his fault. There were no windows in the office, but if he focused enough, Harry could still hear the waves. It reminded him of where he was, and what had led him here. As much as the past hurt, he had to reach out. He had to make her understand. She couldn't be that far gone.

Harry shifted. He laid his forearms calmly on the desk. If Hermione heard the clanking of his handcuffs, she didn't let it show. "What you're doing… It's wrong," he said. "You know that. What happened at the Malfoys…"

"It was under control until you ruined it. If we're in this predicament, it's because of you. And ultimately, the Malfoys don't deserve your consideration, or are you on their side now?"

"What?! No! But— Hermione— That was not the way. The Law clearly states—"

"The Law states whatever I want it to state," she retorted, slamming her hands to the desk and making Harry jump back on his chair. "While I'm here, I'll protect the people who need to be protected from people like the Malfoys. And I'll do it by any means I deem necessary. Whether you like it or not," she proclaimed with a steely resolve.

After she'd finished, the Minister, Hermione, leaned back on her chair, letting her words hang in the air for a while. Harry was left open-mouthed, incredulous of how he hadn't seen this coming. He should've known. He should've stopped her when it started. A long time ago.

A troubled huff escaped Hermione. "I don't know what your whole point is. I thought you wanted justice too. Remember Olivia Poole? Do you want more cases like that?"

"Of course not! But you're the only voice that matters in this charade of a legal system. That's not how it's supposed to go."

"So you're a legal expert now?" Hermione asked with a scoff. When he didn't answer, she went on, clearly irritated. "Don't be naive, Harry. Things aren't getting pushed to the side anymore. Culprits are getting what they deserve. Whenever I intervene, it's only to tilt the system in the right direction. And you may have been too engrossed on who-knows-what to notice, but everything is better because of it."

"Better wouldn't be the word I'd use, Hermione," Harry replied, impassively.

The lines that marked Hermione's frown became more evident. She tapped her fingers lightly on the desk, staring at Harry with an expression she'd used countless times before.

"I had hoped you, of all people, would've understood," Hermione paused to lean forward, keeping her drilling eyes fixed on Harry. Her fingers weren't tapping against the desk anymore. "Remember Fudge? Remember Umbridge?" she asked in disgust. Her eyes landed on the back of Harry's hand, which he hurried to hide under the desk again. Hermione continued. "The Ministry was rotten because of those two, way before Voldemort returned. They made a mockery out of justice. They corrupted every institution they set their hands on, only to have law as an extension of their wishes. I have pruned the Ministry of all of their kind."

"And how's that you ended up doing the same things as them?"

"Don't you dare— ! I'm not them!" she snapped. "They cared about nothing but personal gain. I am working for the good of the people. Of my people! I know what's best for them... What Fudge and that woman… what they did was hideous! And unlike them, I am right. I am doing the right things… So no, Harry, we are not the same."

Harry stared at her for a long while before deciding how to answer. "What happens when you're not?" he asked at last. "What if you make a mistake and an innocent suffers? What if you'd done it already? I would hardly call you a model of rectitude considering what you said about Blishwick," Harry's heart fell, avoiding her eyes. His voice turned heavy and tired as he went on. "Look, I'm no legal expert, I'll admit it. What I do know, however, is that the Hermione I knew wouldn't have resorted to this kind of rubbish. Ever. It's something I would've expected from a dictator, not my best friend."

The statement briefly startled Hermione. Her lips soon pursed, and her fists clenched over the desk. By the time she spoke though, her voice sounded muted and dejected. "Then I'm not the Hermione you remember. That foolish girl who let the people she loved suffer because she was afraid of doing what was needed of her? That girl is gone."

Harry stared at Hermione, his heart in tatters. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut short by a knock on the door.

"Everything alright, Minister?" Clarke asked from the behind the door, apparently disquieted by the meeting taking longer than he'd expected.

Hermione pointed her wand at the door again, lifting the silencing spell momentarily. "Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I'll call if I need you."

After putting the spell back, the Minister stared at her prisoner. Harry wished he could know what she was thinking. He wished he could know if there was still a chance to get her back.

If what she said after the Malfoy debacle was true though…

No. I have to at least give her a chance to explain. I owe it to Ron…

Another sore topic.

Harry turned back to Hermione. He cleared his throat, "Your plan with that blasted book is also mental, you know? It won't work. It'll only lead you to more suffering."

Hermione furrowed her brow slightly, "I missed the part where that was any of your business."

When Harry spoke next, his voice was almost pleading. "Hermione… Ron wouldn't have liked it."

"Don't!" Hermione hissed. There was almost fire in her eyes. Her voice turned quiet and threatening. "Don't mention him. Don't dare presume what he would have liked or not. You have no right."

Harry was left stricken. He kept his gaze on her the whole time it took for her to relax. If she truly believed that Ron would agree in any way with what she was trying to do, she was delusional. Harry worried, for the first time, not how far she'd gone, but how far she was willing to go still.

As if noticing her loss of composure and judging it was beneath her, Hermione settled back in her chair. She picked a few discarded papers and arranged them, setting them back on the desk after a moment. Eventually though, she shook her head slowly, took a deep breath, and looked back up at Harry.

"I didn't want it to be like this. You look at me as if I am some monster, or your enemy. I'm neither," she said, appearing like she meant her words at least. "I know there are things I've done that you don't support, but it would hardly be the first time we don't agree with each other's methods. That doesn't mean we can't mend things over."

"For fuck's sake, Hermione. This can't be dismissed as some childish school argument. We're well past that," Harry lamented. Still struggling with his handcuffs, he took off his glasses and rubbed his face, then put them back on. He turned to Hermione, letting the heavy burden of the last days fall between them. Suddenly, he let out the question that had been nabbing at his soul. The one that he'd been afraid of asking and which he was sure she was expecting. "Did you really kill Corene Blishwick?"

Hermione's brow twitched. "What I—" she started, though she stopped and took a moment to compose herself. Soon enough, she was looking as dignified as ever. "It doesn't matter. You know she was no victim. Whatever befell upon that woman, she had it coming."

Harry didn't know what to believe anymore.

"It'll be coming to me as well, I take it? After what happened."

"Oh, don't be daft. I told you I wanted to mend things. I came here to help you."

Funny that phrase. She's here to help me.

Harry's handcuffs felt tighter, an undeniable proof of Hermione's so-called goodwill. He felt tired, perhaps too powerless to stop this. "What's going to happen to me then, Minister? What's your generous offer?" he asked with a spiritless voice.

Hermione laced her fingers on the desk, studying Harry. For a moment, she almost looked like the curious girl who had spent countless hours in the library, trying to decipher some obscure clue to save Harry from certain death. Then, the moment passed.

"You will confess," she stated, matter-of-factly. "I will try to put as much blame on the Malfoys as possible, but the rest will fall upon your shoulders."

"Is that meant to sound enticing?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm proposing a two-way agreement. You will confess, but in exchange, I'll be quite lenient with your case," she suggested. "I can ensure you get a favourable trial. And, if you end up serving time, it'll be short and comfortable. You'll even get your old wand back."

The pieces of it perhaps.

"Right. But you come out as clean as a whistle. We can't soil that righteous image of yours now, can we?"

"Is this some sort of joke to you? I've worked hard for this government, and many people depend on its correct functioning. I won't have you or anyone else tearing it down," she warned him, without retreating an inch of ground.

Harry sighed. If he were a different person he might accept her terms. He might try to influence her from up close. That was not who he was though.

"You seriously expect me to accept all that?"

"It's a fresh start. One that I believe you need," Hermione said. Then, she narrowed her eyes. "Do you know? About Ginny?"

"I know," Harry spat with bile. A part of him wished he could shout at her not to mention Ginny either. That she had no right.

"More reason to take my offer."

Harry gritted his teeth, giving the offer a thought against his own wishes. He tried to pass a hand over his messy hair, but his handcuffs didn't allow him to. He grunted. "I imagine there's a contingency plan that would stop me from blurting out the truth as soon as I'm out."

"An Unbreakable Vow."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He felt foul just by hearing this proposal. "Who…?"

"Clarke. He's trustworthy."

"Of course," Harry answered ironically. "What if I don't go on with this nonsense? I guess I would still have a trial anyway," he pushed his luck.

Hermione didn't look unsettled by his insinuation. "Then you'll have an unfavourable trial. The Prophet will run wild stories about you, and you can imagine your stay here would be extended."

He was taken aback by her brazen threat. He'd never imagined Hermione would do that to him, but as he peered into her eyes, he noticed she wasn't bluffing. "I almost forgot that Giles Inkwood was in your pocket."

There was no word from Hermione. She just waited.

"I'm not afraid of The Prophet, Hermione. I have overcome its lies before. Besides, I have friends. They'll ask questions."

Hermione's glare turned more dangerous. "And I will answer them, not you," she said. "Your trial would leave no doubts to your guilt, if you try to fight me. That's a given. Your wand will still appear in this case. Only now people will discover the vicious spells you cast from it."

Harry was bewildered. Shocked. Was this even the same Hermione he remembered? It made him sad to hear her, but also incredibly angry. He'd never tolerated unjust authority figures, and he wasn't planning on starting now. Not even for Hermione.

There's still plenty of fight in me.

"My wand is broken," Harry spat. "You should know. You broke it yourself."

With a swift move, Hermione placed something on the desk, startling Harry. It was the two pieces of his wand, attached only by a thin phoenix feather. Hermione pulled out her own wand and tapped it to Harry's, never looking away from him. "Reparo!"

It wasn't until he saw his wand being repaired before his own eyes that Harry turned to give another look at Hermione's wand, dumbfounded. He recognized it at once.

"Hermione…" he sighed. All of his supposed fight yielding to the disbelief.

"I beat you. It's mine by right," she muttered, holding the Elder Wand triumphantly in her fingers. She puffed her chest in clear victory. "What's your answer?"

"You… You took it? Hermione! How could you? That's what he did."

"What's your answer?" she insisted.

Harry's head was a whirlwind. It felt laughable to have Hermione threatening to keep him in Azkaban. Hermione. Abusing every power at her disposal. And now the Elder Wand too?

There was only one answer he could give. He felt guilty just to think about Ginny, but he couldn't go along with this. He just couldn't.

Ginny would understand. Wouldn't she?

Harry straightened himself, looking intently at Hermione. Then he crossed his arms as best as he could with the handcuffs still on. "Sorry, Hermione. I'll take my chances."

Plenty had happened in such a short amount of time. He didn't know what Hermione was capable of any more. However, Harry was going to take the risk and bet on her not going on too far.

She wouldn't kill me. She just wouldn't. And if I'm alive, there's always a chance I can be heard. That I can salvage something out of this bloody mess.

Hermione, however, didn't look that optimistic. She had lost her patience, apparently. When she pointed the Elder Wand at him, Harry couldn't help but blink in disbelief. He didn't move. It was pointless. He didn't have a wand, and he was handcuffed. Whatever fate fell down upon him now would be nothing but the result of his own oversights and mistakes. It felt undeserving to argue for his life.

His wasn't the only soul at stake here though.

"Hermione, please. This isn't you. This will destroy you," he pleaded.

Hermione let out a heaved laugh. Halfway between incredulity and annoyance. Even so, Harry noticed the subtle tremble on her grip, and the ghost of a tear on her eyes.

"If you had been paying attention, you would have known I was destroyed years ago."

Harry took a deep breath. The air wasn't that cold, but it pierced his lungs just the same. He closed his eyes. Hoping against hope that Hermione would choose right. That she wasn't too far gone.

Time stretched forever, accentuated by the troubled breathing of his former friend. But when she finally spoke, there was no green hue sneaking through his eyelids. Instead, he felt his memories slipping away as the darkness engulfed him.

Next Chapter: Afterwards