"Every night after that, Greyback put his wand to his head and tried to get up the courage to blow his brains out," Scabior said. "I saw it often enough to think it was a regular thing. And you know, even though I knew the Inner Coven would send me right after him, sometimes I wished he would do it."

"I'm surprised the Inner Coven cared," Hermione said.

"Don't think for a second they were worried about Greyback. If it was just him, they would have offed him as soon as he became a nuisance."

"Then what stopped them?"

"The other werewolves." As Hermione tilted her head, Scabior leaned back. "See, as I understand it, Greyback wasn't a big shaker in the first war. They just called him out when they wanted someone bitten, and maybe had him running a few errands. Maybe some Snatching at the end, but that's it.

"But, by the second war, he'd raised 20 or 30 kids, and those grown kids had packs of their own. So now, Greyback had a huge realm of influence. He was probably connected to 70, 80, maybe even a hundred werewolves. And believe me, those kids were fiercely loyal to Greyback. Whatever else you might say about werewolves, you can't beat them for that. They would have followed him through hell and back if he'd asked, and whichever side killed him would have faced all hundred of them wanting revenge.

"Now, most people wouldn't believe this, but there were probably only 50 actual Death Eaters. Plenty more people were scared into doing stuff for us, but actual willing members, that's all. And your group was smaller yet. If Greyback's werewolves—remember, we're talking 70, 80, maybe a hundred of them—would have taken a side, can you imagine what that would have done?"

Hermione shuddered. The Death Eaters had caused enough pain and destruction on their own. If their numbers had been doubled, or even tripled…

"I'm surprised Voldemort didn't try to recruit them," she said.

"He did."

Hermione managed to catch her jaw before its drop gave her away. "What happened?"

Scabior shrugged. "I don't know exactly. At that point, I was just following Greyback when he bit for us. All I know is that the Dark Lord ordered him to gather the werewolves, and he failed. He said he'd trained his kids too well, and they wouldn't work for humans unless they got something out of it. They went so far underground that not even the Death Eaters could find them. Greyback said he still had a chance if the Dark Lord would sign a contract he had. Ooh, the Dark Lord made him scream for that."

A knock sounded at the door, and Hermione's escort leaned into the room. "I'm sorry, but your time is up."

Scabior's face went pale, his skin again turning waxy.

"Can we have a few more minutes?" Hermione asked. Even if her research didn't need it, Scabior obviously did.

"I'm sorry, rules are rules."

Before she could argue, a Dementor silently glided up, chilling the room with its presence. The escort shuddered, but that was nothing compared to Scabior's change. His skin tightened across his skeletal face, and his eyes again darkened, the flicker of recognition fading as they sank back into his head.

With a deep breath, Hermione held her hand out to him. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Scabior." He stared at her hand for several long seconds, as though trying to remember what that gesture meant, before he took it. There was no strength behind his grip. "Don't forget your fudge."

He nodded once with impossible slowness and pushed himself out of the armchair, moving like a decrepit old man instead of someone in their early 30s. Clutching the box of fudge to his chest like a drowning man clutches a life preserver, he hobbled out of the room, barely seeing the escort as he stepped past and preceded the Dementor back to his cell.

The escort shuddered again as they left. "I'm afraid we have a bit of a wait. Miss Macnair's inspection took a while, so we've probably got half an hour or so."

"Then why did I have to stop talking with him?" Hermione asked.

He looked at her as though she had asked, "Then why do dragons have scales?" "You've been in here an hour. Your time was up."

"But if we have to wait anyway… Oh, never mind." Another idea came to her. "If we've got to wait, could I see Fenrir Greyback's old cell? If it isn't being used, that is."

"Why would you want to see that?"

"I came here to research him. It might be useful to see where he spent his last days."

The escort clucked his tongue a few times. "It's very unusual. I'll have to check with the Dementor liaisons. Come with me."

He led her into the prison, through the maze of halls, and into the medium security section. They passed cell after cell, filled with prisoners staring into space, their minds somewhere far away. At an intersection of two halls, he stopped her. "If you'll wait here, I'll go check."

"All right," Hermione said reluctantly. Cells stretched out from her in all directions. In one of them, someone was crying. As the escort walked away, she looked around, searching for some spot where she could rest her eyes without being reminded of where she was. Thoughts forced themselves into her mind, memories she would just as soon forget: being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, Fred Weasley's death right in front of her, the massacre she'd seen happen in her house. Out of desperation, she pulled a book from her bag. She might not be able to concentrate on it, standing here in the middle of Azkaban, but at least it would be a distraction.

"Hermione?" Hermione's head snapped up. "Is that you, Miss Granger?"

"Who's asking?"

One of the prisoners stepped towards the front of his cell, taking the iron bars in a loose grip. She didn't recognize him at first, although perhaps it should have been obvious from the once-bright red hair now littered with strands of white. Only when she noticed the lumpy, misshapen sweater he was wearing over his prison robe, with a large 'P' knit into the front, did she realize, "Percy?"

She'd known he was here, somewhere, for his actions during the war. Percy had always liked power, but more than that, Percy liked rules. Hermione understood that. Rules made things easy. Rules let you know what was expected of you. But rules only went so far, and Percy had taken them much, much further. When the Death Eaters took over the Ministry in secret, Percy kept enforcing their new rules no matter how horrible, how evil they were. And he did it well, so well it caught the attention of Lord Voldemort himself. By the time the Death Eaters approached him to join them, he had already done so much in their service that it must have seemed easier to accept their rewards than to dig his way back out. But when they fell, he learned that following the rules wasn't enough to protect him.

A smile played on Percy's lips without touching his eyes as he looked at Hermione. "I suppose I don't look like I used to. You've changed too, though, Hermione. You've grown up since I saw you last. I wasn't sure it was you until you buried your nose in a book."

Hermione blushed and glanced around, searching for something to say. She could hardly ask how he was. This was Azkaban; how would he be?

"Are you here to visit someone?" he asked, saving her from the awkwardness.

"Researching. I work at the Tritonis Institute now."

Percy nodded. "That's a good job for you. It suits you. Have you seen Ron lately?"

"Yeah, at Christmas. I went to the Burrow for Quidditch."

"He's all right, then?"

"Right as rain."

"I was afraid that he had died in the war and no one would tell me. He's the only one I never hear from. Besides Fred, obviously. Ginny at least sends letters and gifts, even if she never visits."

"The others come and see you, though?"

"Oh, yes. Mum and Dad come every month." He gestured to a large cookie jar on the desk in his cell. "Mum tries to keep me in biscuits, but I'm not very good at managing them. And everyone else comes once or twice a year. Charlie was just here yesterday with that nice gentleman friend of his. I don't think Gavril will come back, though. The Dementors affected him pretty badly. But still, it was nice to meet him."

"Gavril did seem nice." Hermione was still trying to think of more to say when her escort returned.

"Oh, are you two friends?" he asked, glancing suspiciously between them.

"No," Percy answered without hesitation. "She's just a friend of my family."

The escort gave him another suspicious glance before turning back to Hermione. "We'll have to go through Maximum Security, but we have permission to view Greyback's old cell if you still want to."

"Yes, I'd still like that. Percy—" Her voice caught, not sure how to say goodbye. She couldn't say it had been nice to see him, not in this place, and not after how he got here.

"The next time you see my brother Ron, would you please tell him I'd like to hear from him? Even if it's just a Howler telling me how much he hates me."

Hermione nodded stiffly. "I'll tell him. Goodbye, Percy."

"Goodbye, Miss Granger."

The escort pulled her down the hallway, glancing back at Percy's cell as they neared a corner. "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're shaking."

He was right; she was shaking. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "I didn't expect to see him, is all."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you near a Death Eater," he said.

"I wouldn't think they'd be easy to avoid in here."

"No, that's true. They were spread out in this section to keep them from conspiring." The escort glanced back toward Percy's cell again. "Are you absolutely sure that you want to go through the Maximum Security section? It's mostly the survivors of You-Know-Who's Inner Coven."

"I'm sure," Hermione lied. She wasn't sure she wanted to be near the Inner Coven, imprisoned or not. How many were still there? Lucius Malfoy was one of the first to die, just a few weeks after his second imprisonment. She thought Crabbe and Goyle Seniors had followed, because Ron made a remark about 'the complete first-generation set' when he saw it in the newspaper. There was Amicus Carrow's murder, of course. What about the others? The Daily Prophet had published so many notices that first year, Hermione had lost count of who lived and who had died.

The question was soon answered when they arrived at the Maximum Security section, and the escort swung open the heavy iron door. Just after the war, every cell had been filled, but now three-quarters sat empty, and only a handful of Dementors stood guard. Even that small number made the S-shaped hallway seem impossibly long.

Hermione glanced into each cell as she passed. Rodolphus LeStrange was sitting at his desk, writing something with impossible slowness. Alecto Carrow stared into space, making a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob. Violet Macnair was in the next cell, telling Walden Macnair about a trip she was going to take soon. He was staring blankly as she spoke, but when Hermione passed, his eyes focused on her and he rose to his feet.

"Granger," he growled. The escort grabbed Hermione's elbow and pulled her along faster. "Living dangerously today, are we, Granger?" Hermione stole a glance back as she and her escort rounded the next curve, and saw Violet at the bars, peering after her.

Finally, Hermione and her escort reached the end of the hall, and with it, another heavy iron door the escort opened. As Healer Razvan and Ares had described, the hallway beyond, if it could really be called that, was just long enough for two cells. The lefthand one contained only a stripped cot and a bare desk, while the righthand one was surrounded by a red line three feet from the bars. A grey blanket lay on the cot, crumpled as though tossed aside. On the desk lay an inkwell and a quill, ready to write, and mounted on the wall above were two shelves. On the lower were seven hardcover books standing neatly between bookends, and on the upper was a wooden box marked as a first aid kit. An even layer of dust coated everything.

"It looks like nothing was moved after he died," Hermione said.

"It may not have been. The cells back here aren't used very often, so they haven't had to clean his things out."

"May I look inside?"

The escort shrugged and tapped the lock with his glass wand, and the barred door swung open. Hermione stepped inside for a closer look, and noticed gnaw marks on the leg of the desk, only partially hidden by a repair spell. If the Shrieking Shack was small enough to drive Remus to destroy everything in sight when he was young, this tiny cell must have been unbearable. Had they given Greyback Wolfsbane Potion to help? It was dreadfully expensive according to the Lupins, and Hermione couldn't see the Ministry 'wasting' that much money on a prisoner. Even if they had, given Greyback's behavior near the end of his life, would it have helped?

Hermione was reaching for the books on the shelf when Violet's furious voice shattered the quiet. The escort jumped.

"I, um, I better go give them a hand," he said, gesturing nervously. "I'll be right back."

Hermione glanced at her watch as he left. Most likely Violet's escort had told her that her time was up, and she didn't appreciate it. Turning back to the shelf, she ran her fingers over the titles: Winnie-the-Pooh, The Secret Garden, A Little Princess. Hermione had read some of these same books as a child. She pulled down Treasure Island, "the boys' favorite," and flipped through it.

To her surprise, notes were written in the margins, in a neat if shaky script. "This was J's favorite part." "I always had to explain to the little ones what a crucifix was." "A used to drive E nuts by saying that Jim was so stupid here that he deserved to be stabbed." Putting it on the desk, Hermione pulled down Winnie-the-Pooh and found similar notes. "Tigger was little A's very favorite character." "L asked why there was only one girl in the entire book. I wish I had a better answer for her."

Why were these books still here? Shouldn't Hembree's people have taken these to examine for leads? Hermione stopped short. Had the WCU searched the cell? Hermione couldn't imagine Hembree passing up the opportunity, but maybe she hadn't been given it. Or maybe the Hunters had done a rush job to get away from the Dementors. Either way, if the WCU had searched, they hadn't done a very good job.

Hermione cocked her ear toward the door, listening for her escort. Nothing. She kneeled beside the desk, peering into the space between it and the cot where Ares had seen Fenrir pull his letters from. Greyback had been very tall, over six feet. From here, he could have reached all the way to the back wall, or to the back side of the desk. Hermione crawled under the cot and rolled onto her back for a better look. There was nothing on the back of the desk, but as she stretched her hand out to check underneath, she glimpsed parchment between two stones of the wall. She slipped her fingers into the gap; it was wider than it looked, plenty of room for dozens of folded letters. After a few seconds of fumbling, she pulled out the contents: six letters and several sheets of blotter paper.

When she was sure she had everything from the gap, she slid out from under the cot to examine her find. One letter jumped out at her: "To Remus Lupin". She unfolded it and glanced over it enough to see that it referenced his time with a pack, when Dumbledore had asked him to spy on the feral werewolves. To this day, the Ministry was not wholly sympathetic towards the actions the Order of the Phoenix had taken during the war. With Remus being a werewolf, if this letter gave them any excuse to charge him with a crime, they would take it. She shoved all the papers into her bag. They hadn't noticed the enlargement charm the first time, so they probably wouldn't if they checked it again. Even if they did, they'd be hard pressed to find those letters amongst most of her personal library and half of her clothes.

She cleaned the dust off herself and used the glass wand to blow around the dirt on the floor to hide her movements. Still her escort wasn't back, so she started opening drawers and immediately found a letter starting "My Dearest Brother." As she lifted the parchments out, she heard the footsteps of her escort and quickly flipped through the stack. It was actually several letters, each signed with the name "Ursula."

"Find something interesting?" her escort asked.

"Some letters. It looks like they were from a sister?"

"Really? I didn't know Greyback had a family."

"Everyone has a family if you go back far enough," Hermione said, "but I thought Greyback wasn't allowed any letters or packages."

"He wasn't allowed anything from werewolves, certainly, but if his sister was human, an exception might have been made for her."

Hermione glanced over them again. "Could I keep these for my research?"

"I don't see why not. They were inspected as they came in, so they should be safe."

Hermione struggled to hide her glee as she tucked them into her bag. Besides the value of the letters themselves, this gave her a perfect excuse for the others. After all, he said she could take the letters she found.

"I'm sorry to rush you, but we need to get going. Miss Macnair's in a snit again, and the sooner we get her on the boat, the sooner she might calm down."

"Could I have these books, too?"

"Why would you want those?"

"Well, they're Muggle books. Where else am I going to get copies?"

"I'm not sure," the escort said.

Violet's voice rose in the hallway again.

"Why not?" If Hermione argued long enough, time would definitely be on her side. "After all, they were provided by the Ministry, so they must be as safe as the letters."

The escort glanced back in the direction of Violet's yells. "Oh, all right," he said, conjuring a box. "But let's be quick about it." Hermione hurriedly helped him load the books into it, and then followed him out of the Maximum Security cellblock with it, doing her best to swallow down her smile.