Disclaimer- do i look like an internationally famous author who owns the rights to a series of books?

A/N-i hope you like this, it's a new idea that i came up with. If no one likes it i won't continue with it.



Lady Arianne Of Ambers Valley

Chapter I


The very use of its name is enough to send shivers of fear, hatred and cold down the spine of any wizard in Britain.

There are five types of people in Azkaban, only five who came in through the large imposing steel gates of Azkaban, and not all of them came out alive.

The first are the Guards, the unfortunate ones who could not get a job anywhere else, they were condemned to guard the condemned. They would beat the prisoners and give them poisoned food. They would do anything if it meant that they could get their anger out.

The second type is the Visitors, the ones that visit the prisoners to say goodbye, or to get information or money. They only came when they got word of a relative dying and wanting to get money, or if there was a trial the press would come and take photos of anyone who was connected to that person.

The third are the innocents. The ones that spend a couple of months locked away before everyone realises that they didn't do anything. All they leave with are memories. Horrific nightmares that made them wake up in the middle of the night screaming.

The fourth type is the criminals; the murderers. The ones that committed atrocious crimes; so atrocious that as the dementors go past them, they relive the pain they inflict on others, and they go crazy. They would scream and laugh and shout and refuse to eat. They would welcome the Dementors kiss, they would even try to escape.

And then there is Hermione Granger. The one that was falsely imprisoned and never released. For everyone knew she was innocent… but they didn't care. They blamed it on her and even though ten years have passed since the beginning of her sentence, and multiple changes of government she still hasn't been let out.

No-one remembered her, she is a ghost. A shadow of the bright person she once was, She lives in a forgotten cell. Every once and a while, someone would remember her and give her food and water but not often.

She hadn't seen light in years. All that was left of her memories were carved into the walls of her cell. They didn't care about prohibiting items for her, they didn't care if she killed herself. If she did, she wouldn't be found until only her bones were left.

She huddled in the center of her cell, what measly piece of cloth she had been given tight around her body, trying to keep what little warmth there was in. Her cell was in one of the towers, there were cracks in the wall and there was a window with broken glass in it. The gasp let the rain and water into the room and onto her.

When she had been given the cell, it was new. One of the ones built when they remodelled the prison after the mass breakout of Azkaban. But they built it so quickly and without consideration of the wind, that in the space of her sentence it had been open to the elements.

The floor was covered in dust, and she hardly ever moved from her spot. She had drawn images in the dust, pictures of her once best friends, there were times that she came over ridden with grief that she wanted to wipe the pictures away, but then she realized that if she did she would probably go mad.

The once smooth walls were engraved with words, faces and names of things that she remembered. Around once a year, she would stand and re-do the images, digging them deeper in to the wall.

She stood and picked up a stone, she found a few words that had been eroded by the wind circling her cell, and started to engrave them deeper. Her fingers gently brushing against the wall so that she knew where everything was despite the lack of light.

She never had any visitors, occasionally someone would come up the twisting steps to her cell and would open the hole in the door, looking to see if she was alive. They would watch her, and make comments. Some would yell obscenities and throw things at her.

Others would enter her cell, destroying her pictures on the ground, and they would hit her. They would leave with a cruel smile on their faces, leaving her with bruises and broken bones. Some would even torture her with magic, though she had not come across one of those in many years.

She engraved a word deeper into the stone, she couldn't remember what the word said, all she knew was that It was important to her, her knuckles started to bleed and the rusting chains that were around her wrists and ankles chaffed her, sending sharp jolts of pain up her legs and arms.

In one corner was a pile of newspapers; in the beginning of her sentence they would give her one, every month. They didn't remember her name; no one did, so she was not surprised when she got a newspaper telling of her death.

At first she screamed and cried and shouted out that she was not dead, and they thought that she had finally gone mad and they never came around again. But she didn't go mad, or insane. She was alone.

For three years she had clung on to the belief that Harry and Ron would come and get her, but she knew that now they thought her dead, they wouldn't come. She would be stuck within the wall of Azkaban, silently waiting for her death.

She stood once again, and put the newspaper that told of her death back in its place, and walked to the window. She looked at the grey clouds and the rain pelting down into the sea.

She could see faintly in the distance that there was some light, a small bit of moonlight reflecting off the raging sea. That small piece of light gave her a small bit of hope, she knew that maybe one day, someone might find her, might remember her and free her.

She heard the large iron gates slowly open and she looked down. There was a small dinghy-like boat, which was tethered to the pier. She saw the outline of a figure in a cloak run through the gates before they closed again.

She watched as the figure talked to the guards, she couldn't hear the person talk, but she knew that it was a ministry official. If it had been the press they would have come in their ridiculous clothes and gaudy hair.

If it had been a visitor for someone, they wouldn't have come alone. No one wanted to come to Azkaban, especially not alone. She could barely see the figure, but she saw that whoever it was wore a ministry blue cloak. She guessed it someone ordering the release of a prisoner or someone inspecting the prison.

She had the idea of yelling down to the person and to get them to release her, but she knew that they wouldn't believe her and would lock her up as insane forever. She watched as a guard escorted the man across the yard and towards the official buildings.

Before whoever it was got there, she turned around and looked at her cell, her back to the window and person, she stood there for a moment before picking up a rock and continuing to work on the words in the wall.

The sky was gloomy; it always was above Azkaban. The Grey clouds hung low over the fortress. The rain pelted into all that was there, they huddled into what shelters the large and ugly wall that surrounded Azkaban created. Outside the walls the sea was churning and the foam was a ghastly grey colour as it smashed into the wall.

As he scurried across the large yard, he pulled the cloak, which was around his shoulders, closer to him; trying to keep the cold out. It didn't work. The cold brushed him. It was like a pocket of cold air surrounded him. Air so cold that it was chilling his bones and making his teeth chatter.

He cursed mentally, cursing his luck, which meant that he was there in the first place, inspecting Azkaban. He swore causing one of the Guards to look at him warily, he just shrugged and continued on head first into the rain.

They were about halfway to the official building, where he could finally get dry, when a guard on his left suddenly stopped. He turned to look at the man and saw that he was shocked, one of his comrades asked him,

"What is it Thomas?"

"Up there, in the north tower" he said while pointing to said tower, he followed his line and saw that in the room at the top was a figure, they could just barely see it, but he could see that whoever it was had their back to him.

The other man shrugged and said,

"She's a bit curious today, that's all" and they continued on walking, the wind was getting louder and harsher so that he had to yell to be heard,

"Who is it?"

Thomas shrugged and said,

"I don't know… no one does, she's been there for about ten years"

They were nearing the building now,

"Some say that she's a nutter, and others say that she's perfectly sane"

"What do you think?" he asked him,

"I don't know, and personally I don't want to… if she's a nutter she could kill me and if not, then I don't want to trek all the way up there to find out"

They had made it inside, and the wind was cut off so suddenly that the last word he said was abnormally loud.

He was met by an elderly man, he looked to be around sixty; he was the head-guard and chief of everything at Azkaban.

"Welcome to Azkaban" he said with a chuckle, "Lucky for you, this is a two-way ticket and you will not be staying in our comfortable accommodation" the other guards there laughed, apparently everyone was used to his humour.

"Pardon my humour, we get bored here easily" The man said while taking his cloak and putting it on a hook, "What can I get you… we have Tea, Coffee and … errr…..some gunk that Jon made a week ago" he said while looking at some horrible looking and smelling greenish-brown paste.

"Coffee please" he said, and sat down on a chair by the fire. He rubbed his hands together to get them warm, and he noticed some of the off-duty guards were smiling knowingly at him,

"It doesn't help much" said one of them; he had long black hair which was pulled into a knot, his eyes were grey and there was a scar on the side of his face.

"Excuse me?" he asked confused

"The Fire, it never completely takes the chill from you"

"Oh!" soon in his hands there was a steaming mug of black coffee.

"Sorry, we ran out of milk and sugar years ago" said the head-guard. He nodded and started to sip the brew. It was bitter and strong, he winced slightly but then the caffeine kicked in and he became more alert and awake.

Once he finished the coffee, he placed it down on the table and waited for the head-guard, whom he gathered was called Kieran, to finish his coffee. Eventually Kieran stood and took the dirty cups to the sink, where he washed them.

As he did so he started talking to him,

"So… we would show you around, but it's not that hard to find your way."


"I'll give you a map and the some master keys, so if you want to check out the conditions of the cells you can… if you wish, The only places that you'll need a guard with you are the east, west and south towers… the most dangerous prisoners are there"

"What about the north tower?"

"The only one in there is her, she's harmless… just sits on the floor all day"

"On the way here, she was by the window" Thomas added, looking up from the book that he was reading.

"Really?? She does that sometimes… but she hasn't said a word in seven years"

He nodded and stood, he went to get his cloak and realized that it was still wet, Kieran also noticed this and said,

"You can borrow my cloak, it the one on the top on the left"

"Thanks" He wrapped the cloak around him and noticed that like all the other cloaks that the guards wore, this one was inlaid with fur, it made him warmer despite the constant chill.

Kieran put the cups on the washboard to dry and went over to a desk, which was in the corner of the room. As Kieran rooted through its contents he looked around the room.

It was long and had a low ceiling. The door was at one end of the room. There was nothing except for files and hangers on which many, many cloaks hung until about halfway along the room. Then there was the fire, it was huge and surrounding it were various coaches and seats and a couple tables. After that was the kitchen to one side, and on the other were some desks were people did various bits of paper work.

In the kitchen were various mugs and dirty dishes and a lot of various other things that he couldn't describe and didn't want to investigate. On the tables were worn and faded out pictures of loved ones and a couple dying potted plants.

Eventually Kieran found what he was looking for and pulled out a roll of parchment and a ring with ten keys on it. The parchment showed him where everything was in the complex, and there was a dot in the place mapped as 'Guard House' he peered at it and saw that it said, 'you are here'. He took the parchment and keys from him and before walking out the door he pulled his hood up.

He exited the building into the rain and looked at the map once more, now the dot was just outside the building, smiling slightly he decided to look at the southern wing of the complex.

He entered the building and walked down the hall, every time that he walked past a dementor he shivered slightly and walked on faster. He looked into a couple of rooms and saw various famous criminals who were curled into corners with blankets on them.

As he looked through the peephole of one cell he saw a woman who had been imprisoned for murdering some muggles. She was sitting in the corner with her arms hugging her legs, she lifted her head and he could see the madness in her eyes. Her hair was black and messy and dirty. It went all the way to the floor and he saw a couple rats nibbling the end of it and winced. He hated rats, and he couldn't understand how someone would let them eat their hair.

Her skin was ghostly pale and he could see how thin she was through the grey clothes that she wore. She wore a dark grey shirt that was too big for her, and pants that were baggy and black, she had a belt made of rope. It was tied so tightly and knotted so that she couldn't take it off and use it to kill herself.

Though she looked really bad, he noticed that she had probably been bathed recently, judging on the lack of wear on the clothes that she wore. He stood there for a moment looking at her, and she stared back at him with her crazy eyes.

Suddenly she laughed. It sent chills down his spine. It was like nails on a chalkboard. He guessed that she had screamed her voice raw. It was dry and cutting, so much that he hastily closed the peephole and left the southern wing.

He stood for a moment in the rain, thinking, trying to clear his head of that maniac laugh. He looked at the map and his gaze was pointed at the north tower. He was curious. Who was the woman? He asked himself and walked to the door, which leaded up to the tower.

There was no guard at the tower door, He unlocked the door and found a torch; he pointed his wand at it and did a charm to light it on fire. He picked up the torch and then walked up the stairs.

On the way to the top of the tower, on the way he went by various doors and as went past them, he pushed them open to reveal some stores. As he ascended the tower the light was flickering against the walls and steps, which were made of a dark stone making it, shine and glitter in a gruesome way.

He finally got to an Iron door and opened the peephole, inside it he saw a woman, her back was to him and she looked to be carving something into the walls. He looked at the walls and saw that she had engraved many words into it, the larges and deepest cut, so cut that through it you could see the sea outside, was a name; DUMBLEDORE.

The woman wore nothing but a long dark grey shirt that went down to her knees. It was dirty and ripped. It looked like it was several years old, around her shoulders was a scrap of cloth, which appeared she was using as a blanket. Her skin was deathly pale and was covered in dust.

Her hair was bushy and long, it seemed to be uncontrollable. He could see that she had before now tried to tame it but had given up as it was no use. On the floor were pictures and words written into the dust that had settled on the floor. He couldn't see a single thing on the floor, as it was centred on a spot in the middle of the floor.

He closed the peephole quietly, surprised when it didn't creak despite it's age. He inserted a key into the door, and just before he turned it, he saw that there was a plaque on the door; it was covered with a decade's worth of dust. Using his sleeve he wiped the dust off to reveal the name.

When he did, he was surprised. It said 'Hermione J. Granger' He remembered her slightly, he remembered the know-it-all bookworm from their school days. He remembered when she was used a scrape-goat for the ministry.

A year after her supposed death, she had been acquitted, and there was a huge uproar about a war hero dying in Azkaban for something she didn't do. The ministry had been over run by angry people and hundreds went on strike until the whole system changed.

Some had even quitted, like Harry and Ron. They were now members of a separate company called The Phoenix. They and others were like Auror's except they didn't work for the ministry. He had noticed that they were like the Bounty hunters of the muggle world.

Could that woman really be Granger? He turned the key and the door swung open he stepped forward holding the torch out, his eyes adjusted to the non-existent lighting in the room, and then he saw the surprised brown eyes of Hermione Granger.

She had heard someone coming up the stairs, and she supposed it was a guard checking up on her, they hadn't done that in a while, so she continued on engraving the wall.

She heard the faint whisper of the peephole and she saw the faint glow of a torch on the wall, using what light she briefly had she saw a word that she had not cut into for a while.

The peephole closed again and she supposed that whoever it was would go soon, suddenly she heard the key turning in the lock and turned around surprised. The guards hardly ever entered her cell, and when they did it wasn't good.

The door opened and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to looking at the light coming off of the torch. When they did she saw someone that she thought that she would ever see again.

He looked similar to what he did before she was put into jail, though there were a few differences.

His platinum blonde hair was longer and tied up with a green ribbon. He had gotten more muscled over the years, but he still had the same silver-grey eyes that he had when he was eleven.

"Draco Malfoy?" she managed to croak, using her vocal chords for the first time in seven years

He looked around the room and noticed that there was no bed for her, in fact the only comfort that she had was a hole in the wall, which lead to, he supposed, to the hygiene pits.

In a corner was a pile of newspapers, he walked over to it and saw that they were all stacked according to date. The one on the top was from seven years earlier with the headline 'Granger is Dead!' it looked like she had read that article many times.

He examined the pictures drawn on the floor and saw that it was simple images of clouds and suns. There were also flowers among the images and in a couple places he could see the faces of Harry and Ron.

They were really good, he was surprised that she could draw them so good from memory, he then turned to the walls and looked at the words that she had written.

He could see words like ORDER, D.A., HARRY, RON, HOGWARTS and as he looked carefully he saw a small word which read FERRET. He grinned, she remembered him.

Suddenly he heard her speak again, her voice was as dry as bone; not from overuse but from disuse,

"If you're not real…please go away. I don't need more memories coming back to haunt me"

He turned to face her and saw that she had tears in her eyes.

He smirked,

"Believe me Granger… I'm real"

She looked at him not believing him for a moment and then nodded and said,

"What are you doing here?"

"At the moment I'm leaving, but I'll be back to get you out"

He watched her as she started to cry more and as a grin spread across the place. She moved forward as if to hug him but then hesitated and said,

"Thank you"

"Why? I haven't done anything yet?"

"Yes… but you've given me hope, even if you are just a figment of my imagination" he looked at her incredulously and then turned and went to the door, his shoes clicking against the stone.

He exited the room and just as he was about to close the door he looked at her once again and said,

"Granger… you are weird"

And then he closed and locked the door.

He went down the stairs thinking about what she had said. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that he hadn't put the hood of the cloak up until he was halfway across the yard again.

She watched him from her window as he walked across the yard. She hadn't seen his face in so long that at that point she didn't care that he used to be horrible to her. He was a link to her past.

She felt genuine hope for the first time in such a long time that she couldn't even remember the times at the beginning of her sentence when she had hoped for Harry and Ron to rescue her.

Out of all the people she had known, he was the last person she would have guessed would rescue her. Over the years she had only remembered him slightly, so that he had only earned one engraving on her wall, one that said FERRET.

But filled with new conviction she picked up her stone and begun to carve a new name into the last free spot on the wall, DRACO.

She carved it with so much conviction that sparks were flying and her knuckled were bleeding. She heard the iron gates creak open and went to the window. She saw a figure, Draco, running across the cobblestones to the pier and the boat.

She watched as he got in the boat and it started to row itself, using magic. She hadn't seen magic in so long that she had forgotten what it was like to see an inanimate object move of its own accord.

He looked back at the imposing figure that was Azkaban and his gaze suddenly was drawn to the north tower, in it he could see a faint outline of her and he smiled the first genuine smile in years.

He had never expected to see Hermione while there, as he and the rest of the wizarding world had her for dead; but seeing her there and speaking to him had brightened his heart.

With a smile he looked forward into the storm tossed sea and the far away coastline. He was going to get Hermione out of that cell.

R E V I E W . . . . . .