A/N: Not my sandbox, just my sand castle. I don't own anything from Harry Potter. Additionally, no one has permission to bind and sell my works, fandom or otherwise. Shame on you for exploiting other people's works!

Hello everyone! Welcome back to another fic :) I started this one string, got writer's block for 10 days, and then finished it all in one swoop around midnight XD Enjoy the creative musings of my brain

This one is for Round 6 of The Houses Competition, where I'm in Gryffindor House and writing for Potions. This competition, we have to write a drabble (500-1000 words) as well as a standard (1000-3000 words). This fic is the Drabble of the two. Prompts are listed below.

Thank you kindly to Ash, Lily, and Bailey for the beta!

Word Count: 989

Disclaimers/Warnings: starvation, off screen immolation

Summary: Hermione reminisces from her Azkaban cell on her revenge on her captors. She's always been known to be vindictive… canon divergent

Prompts:

The Houses Competition Y11 R6

[Speech] "If I could turn back time and undo what I've done…"

"What I've Done"

"If I could turn back time and undo what I've done…"

"What would you do if you could go back? What would you change?"

Hermione Granger stared back at the Daily Prophet reporter through the bars of her Azkaban cell, her eyes haunted with the ghosts of her past. Frederica Jones couldn't help but shiver at the ominous glint in her eyes, which suddenly sprang to life at the mere thought of another chance.

"What would I change?" Hermione asked, the corner of her mouth lilting up into a facsimile of a smile. "Everything."

It felt like yesterday that Harry had walked into the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort, his body paraded into the Hogwarts courtyard to show his defeat. Voldemort had finally won. Ron and Neville, as Purebloods, would have been punished. He would have been lenient, but they fought and died fighting.

Hermione had no choice. She had been downed by a stray spell in the ensuing fight, and when she next woke up, she was manacled in a cell in a dungeon. She originally assumed it was a dungeon in Hogwarts, based on the stone slabs composing the wall behind her, but according to the 1776 Hogwarts: A History, the dungeons had been sealed off in 1767 under the leadership of Dilys Derwent, a year before her death.

Every morning, she was awakened with a Cruciatus Curse–just enough to rip her from her slumber but never enough to drive her mad. No, her mind was still useful, she was told. She wouldn't be allowed to break. Not yet.

She never knew who her captors were–they all wore their cloaks and Death Eater masks, but she comprehended the differences between them. There wasn't anyone as identifiable as Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange. The morning brought the shortest of her two jailers, the one who enjoyed the torture curse as a wake-up call with the deepest voice. The night always had one who never spoke, not even to cast upon her chained-up body. The two dutifully delivered food to her, and Hermione dutifully ignored it. She would rather starve than rely on the people who had killed her friends and family.

They didn't seem to like that.

They had dragged her into the same dining room in Malfoy Manor where Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her. Apparently, Malfoy Manor now belonged to the Lestranges, gifted to them by the Dark Lord after he had dispatched Draco Malfoy and his mother for trying to set the high-profile prisoners free.

According to the guards, as they brought her to the place of her nightmares, the two of them had grown a conscience.

She could see Lucius slumped against the wall, head down, looking lost as two nameless grunts held her down, forcing her to her knees with her arms outstretched.

"Itty bitty Mudblood too proud for food now, is she?" Bellatrix asked in a babyish tone, mocking Hermione from the door. She walked around into Hermione's line of sight, hazy as it was.

"Just kill me already." Hermione's voice was raspy from disuse, dry, and crackling. She coughed, her body jerking from the effort of energy she didn't have.

"Oh no," Bellatrix replied, grinning maniacally. "We need to keep you alive a little bit longer–to send a message, actually. There's a resistance, you see, and we wish to crush it."

"Then kill me and get it over with."

"Oh no. Potter somehow lives. He's been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side since he reemerged. So we lure him in…with you. After all, you're Potter's Mudblood. He'll come for you."

Not Harry.

A burning need filled Hermione, starting in her chest where her heart was, before spreading out along her limbs and then filling her torso with heat and light. The two holding her down suddenly cried out in pain and released her, her body slumping over as she finally succumbed to her self-imposed starvation.

Not yet.

Harry was alive. He needed her. She needed to get to him. Her veins were on fire, but Hermione struggled into a seated position, gasping for air that her lungs suddenly couldn't handle. She tasted ash. Bellatrix looked on in horror.

Hermione's world exploded in fire. She always had an affinity for blue flames. It really was too bad that everyone else wasn't as fireproof.

"And they just left you here?" Frederica asked, horrified. Hermione nodded, huddling up to the wall of her cell.

"I woke up here. The guards tell me that Voldemort ordered my incarceration as soon as he found out I incinerated the entire mansion," Hermione replied. "I don't know what happened that day…but if I could undo it…"

"And you eat here?" the reporter prodded.

"Oh, yes. I started taking the gruel they serve here," Hermione confirmed. "If Harry is alive, I'll need my strength to fight by his side again. If he's alive, then we can win."

Frederica drew closer, pressing herself against the bars, quickly checking for eavesdroppers. "Harry Potter is alive," she replied. Hermione furrowed her brow, and Frederica Jones removed the brooch at her throat, magic washing over her to show her real features to Hermione.

"Harry," Hermione whispered in awe, tears coming to her eyes.

"So, Hermione," Harry said as he straightened. "How badly do you want to get out of here?"

"If I could turn back time…" Hermione murmured, standing as Harry pulled out a smooth wand with a handle formed from two conjoined spheres. The bars between them disappeared, and Hermione threw herself at him.

"Unfortunately, I can't turn back time. But I can at least bring you home," Harry said.

"That's a start," Hermione replied, grinning. She clung to Harry as he raised the wand high. The resounding crack of Apparation out of Azkaban was the only trace of their travel, and no one but prisoners were there to hear it. Harry Potter was back, and he was no longer taking prisoners.