The Rebirth

Who knew Azkaban could be classy?

"I know it's a prison, but the staff need to have something to keep them sane."
The man smiled at Hermione's shocked expression.
They had walked into a well furnished living space - not too small, but not too big. It was half kitchen, half living room. It had a theme of black decor, but was lightened by the wooden chairs and tables. Who knew Azkaban could be classy?
"As you can imagine, working here isn't the most uplifting place. But it's obviously better now that there aren't dementors. After the War it was seen as - sorry, sorry stupid topic." He frowned, going towards the kettle. Hermione sat herself down on one of the wooden chairs.
"No no, do continue. I don't mind."
She had gotten used to hushed voices and subject change when it came to the war, but Hermione had always strongly discouraged that - it was a hugely relevant part of Wizarding history, and despite it being a painful and traumatic
part of her life, it was also the most significant.
"Well I'm sure you know the story - we got rid of the dementors after the war. Now we use Auror's as guards. Here's your tea." He handed her a cup of milky tea. "I've gone heavy on the milk - it's far too early for a strong tea I think."

"Sorry, I didn't get your name?"
"Jerry. Jerry Damon." He offered his hand, and Hermione shook it.
"So, as honoured as I am to be talking to you Miss. Granger, I must admit I am quite concerned about you being here - it's ever so early for you to be here, and ever so rare! So ask your questions and we can solve your dilemma."
Hermione put her cup down on the table. She had had time to gather her thoughts and figure out what she needed. Now all she needed to do was ask.

"Mr. Damon, has anyone ever given birth in Azkaban?"