In Renascentia Azkaban

The Wizarding World was a place of secrets - from the very beginning it had been so. Held apart from the rest of the world, their existence was kept a secret from those who would harm them; those who, though they held no magic of their own, were so many in number as to overwhelm the few wizards and witches who hid from them.

There was another knowledge beneath that, however; the knowledge that they could, with time and a concentration of their abilities, wipe this danger from the face of the planet. They held the power, if they were but willing to use it; the power to kill, to utterly destroy that which frightened them so. It was this knowledge that many feared more than death itself - that they held within themselves this ability to destroy.

So they kept it a secret, even from themselves. Those who understood just how far their magic could go toward the destruction of all which was beautiful guarded this knowledge, lest those whose moral scruples were few in number become aware.

Laws were passed, banning the use of certain spells, and then later entire groups of spells. Entire branches of knowledge were banned throughout the whole of the wizarding world - a practice which was to continue as territories were laid out in the Muggle world and countries were formed, separating wizards from one another through cultural, political, and geographical lines.

Secrets ruled the WIzarding World. Secrets kept the populace safe in their ignorance, willing to accept, as a whole, the limitations placed upon them by their government, both old and new.

So years passed in ignorance and silence, with little changing in the Wizarding World from the time of Merlin, that man that so many looked up to. A man who had been integral in creating many of the limitations which the Wizarding World now accepted. Change was slow in coming, and was fought by the general populace with a ferocity they showed for little else.

That status quo was almost sacred by the time Harry Potter was born. Lord Voldemort was hated and feared for challenging this status quo - perhaps even more so than for the deaths which had come about at his hands and the hands of his followers. To challenge a world of secrets, to bring knowledge to the forefront with little to no fear of the consequences of chasing such knowledge and power ...

That which the Wizarding World did not understand, they feared. In this respect, they were no different from the muggles which they hid themselves from. And the power which Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - held at his fingertips was no different. They did not understand it, but they did understand that it was forbidden to chase such secrets, such knowledge.

Secrets were funny things; you could keep them without ever wondering why. They could be kept from you, without you ever realizing there was more to the world than what you had been told. When an entire society had been taught to ignore a part of their own existence - when they had been systematically taught to keep those same secrets from their own children ... well, those were the sorts of secrets that could prove truly deadly.

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Azkaban Prison pre-dated the oldest records of The Wizarding World. It had been ancient during the days of the Founders, and ancient still during the days of Merlin. There were few structures which had remained preserved quite like Azkaban, that mighty fortress which had become a prison for the Wizarding World.

Funny thing about secrets - they could make even the brightest of minds glaze over the simplest of questions, the most rudimentary of details. Even Hermione Granger, considered by many to the brightest mind of her generation, was not immune to this. Though it was not in her nature to simply accept the status quo when it worked against her - or against others, even - she had never been given a reason to question that which she read in her schoolbooks and extracurricular reading.

Not until now.

With the ending of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, several things happened to jade Hermione against the Wizarding Government, but they all culminated in the imprisonment of her best friend, Harry Potter, within the Wizarding prison of Azkaban.

That it had been done with absolutely no legal proceedings at all had confused the bushy-haired Gryffindor . . . until she had taken note of the reactions of those around her.

Complete acceptance. Approval, even, of the actions of the government. And beneath that, an unwillingness to even consider the idea that the government might have been wrong, that they could have made a mistake ... never mind that Hermione herself was quite convinced that this was no mistake. This was a clear and evident example of a government who would do anything to shut up a dissident such as Harry Potter had quickly become.

What hurt the most, however, was the lack of action against those who would have believed Harry. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, even the Weasleys - none of them raised a finger to help her friend, and it had floored Hermione in a way that none of the adventures and revelations she had experienced since entering the Wizarding World had managed to do.

And it had all boiled down to one man’s inaction - Albus Dumbledore. They had all looked to him for guidance, and he had failed to lift so much as a finger in defense of a young man many had considered his favorite pupil. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” he had somberly claimed, and Hermione had been unable to do anything to sway his mind.

“Even Mr. Potter must face the consequences of his actions, and his decisions.” Professor Moody had been the one to come up with that particular anecdote, and it had left Hermione Granger dumbfounded, that they could blame Harry at the same moment that they claimed they did not believe him capable of the cold-blooded murder of another student.

Had the entire world gone mad? Hermione was inclined to believe so. Her only allies in this seemed to be Sirius Black and Remus Lupin - but what could a wanted criminal and a known werewolf hope to accomplish?

So they plotted, and they schemed, but still it took nearly six months before a visitor’s pass could be acquired for Hermione, with Remus Lupin barely managing to convince the authorities to allow him to accompany her, in lieu of a parental figure. She was, after all, muggle-born - and what sane government official would allow a muggle entrance into Azkaban? They would surely go mad at the very sight of the prison, or so the government seemed to think. That, and only that, had allowed Remus Lupin the opening he needed in order to accompany his former student within it’s walls.

Hermione had thought herself ready to face Azkaban Prison, and the horrors which awaited her within it’s walls. She had pushed Sirius for answers, for insight into what she would find there. It had hurt her to push him so, to see the pain in his eyes as he spoke of his time there, but it was for a worthy cause - and in the end, all she had to do was mention Harry’s name, and Sirius was right there with her, opening up as he never would have otherwise.

He would do anything for the son of James and Lily Potter. He would have allowed himself to be imprisoned within Azkaban again, if it would have saved his nephew from the horrors he knew the young man was experiencing at this very moment.

But nothing could have prepared Hermione Granger for the horror that truly awaited her. The dingy, dirty hallways, the screams of those imprisoned who had long ago gone mad . . . the guard who smiled at the sound of another blood-curdling scream as he led her down the hall toward the section of the prison that was supposed to house her best friend.

All of that, of course, paled in comparison to the fear that leapt through her chest as she took in the sight of the empty cell, Remus’ hand on her shoulder the only thing keeping her steady, keeping her grounded.

There was a flurry of movement, several uttered curses and an air of anger as the guard sprang into action, a quick spell drawing several other guards to him as he shouted something about an escape.

Escape. Harry had escaped. Even through her fear, Hermione felt a thrill of excitement, of exultation at the thought that Harry had persevered.

Something of her elation must have shown on Hermione’s face, for their guide turned his full attention on her, reaching for his wand as he advanced toward Hermione.

The hand on Hermione’s shoulder tightened for a moment, before Remus spoke softly - so softly Hermione almost didn’t catch it. “Run.”

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Azkaban Prison had withstood the test of time, outliving both its creators and even those who remembered it’s proud history. It had stood, once, as the gateway between two worlds; a place of history and lore keeping, a silent testimony to all which had come before it.

The veil between the worlds was thinnest here, allowing one to step seamlessly from one world and into another. Those responsible for its creation had long since passed from this life, their bones long since turned to dust. But their descendents had lived on, flourishing in a world that had not been the home of their forefathers, but had come to welcome them.

Few remained who could trace their lineage back to those few brave souls who had chosen to leave their homes, their world, behind. Of those few, none now remembered their lineage, nor that another world existed within reach.

Of those whose blood lines had survived the passage of years, many had been without the spark of magic within them, and their lines had become lost through the annals of time, war, and the ‘muggle’ world. Still more had intermarried until their own history was lost to them.

Among the latter, Hermione Granger was the first in over ten generations to exhibit such a strong gift for magic. She was the first, in close to 800 years, to visit those places filled with magic and history that her ancestors had once touched - though she was unaware of her lineage, of course. Too many marriages, outside blood and lost history existed between herself and those who had come before her.

But deep down, back through the ages and hidden within a generations-wide gap, existed the blood of one who had walked the roads between worlds; one who had bridged the gap from one world to another, and chosen to remain in a world as uncivilized as any untamed wilderness, and had left their mark upon it.

That mark was the fortress now known as Azkaban Prison. It had been over two thousand years since one of her blood had touched these ancient stones, and the magic left behind by its ancient creators reacted suddenly and strongly. It was sentient in a way, as sentient as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ever been. That sentience realized two things as Hermione’s hands came into contact with the ancient stone walls that had lost so much of its honor - but none of it’s history or magic.

FIrst, that one of the Old Blood had once again come within its ancient halls.

Second, that individual was in danger, frightened and without any to protect them.

The magic reacted in the only way it knew how; by drawing Hermione within, heedless of her gasp of alarm or her lack of knowledge as to not only her own lineage, but also what was happening to her - or why.