This story is getting more and more violent whether it is in the themes that are broached or some of the scenes. If you're uncomfortable with that kind of thing or underage, please, do not read it.

Nonetheless, the reality of our world cannot always be seen through rose-tinted glasses. I do not pretend to write about reality either but I won't sugarcoat the story. The Wild West was not a kind and forgiving place.

Anyway I hope you like this new chapter ! As always don't hesitate to review and to ask me questions on my Tumblr : ffourultraviolence

Draco Malfoy was the son and sole heir of an immense fortune, that of his father, the great Lucius Malfoy, mayor of Hogsmeade and owner of the most profitable and large cotton plantation of the city.

But still, he was melancholic. After all, the woman he cherished, or at least desired, had escaped the plantation and therefore, had escaped him. She had fled with her dumb friends, refusing to become his mistress. He still seethed when the memory resurfaced. She should have welcomed his proposition with eternal gratitude. But no, the minx had acted disgusted and had spat in his face as if her repulsion was real.

As though he could ever elicit disgust from a woman.

So when she had ran away with three of his father's horses, he had been enraged. His wife Astoria had not understood what had brought this anger that coursed through his veins and burned him. He had been humiliated.

For once, he had felt as though he had been on the receiving end of the whip. Of course, it was metaphorical. Malfoys were always on the good end of the whip.

But Draco Malfoy was not an idiot. He soon realized that it was his chance. He could take his revenge. And he could make her his. So he had convinced his father to employ one of the best bounty hunters in the country, Lord Voldemort. Alas, his father had been the one to give the orders and so, he had ordered the ruthless man to kill the three fugitives, two of which were legally his slaves.

Draco had then sent a letter to Lord Voldemort in order to rectify the directions. He was to kill the two men, and torture them if they had laid a hand on his property, and then he had to bring her back to the farm in Hogsmeade.

The letter was sent with the best dispatch rider of the town, who knew how to track people quite effectively, Blaise Zabini. It had been three weeks.

And so, the Malfoy heir was in the sunroom, taking tea with his lovely, pale, insipid wife. He breathed in contentedly looking at the slaves working in the plantations, black necks bent under the weight of the sunbeams. He smiled. Soon, she would be back to him. And he would never let her escape anymore.

"Darling ?"

He turned his focus back to Astoria. "Hum ?"

"Will you bring little Scorpio to Greenville this afternoon ? He's dying to go see the horses you're going to buy soon."

Draco nodded, not paying much attention to his wife's words. It was always the same bland and tasteless logorrhea, usually about their son, barely more than a year old and already just as much a nuisance as his mother.

"Sure darling."

The blond gave him a soft smile. He faked one in return, thoughts solely focused on the memory of Hermione, the taste and sight of her delightfully scarred skin. He sipped his tea. He could wait a few more weeks if it meant having her for all eternity with him.

He would pay Lord Voldemort triple if her brought her in the following month. And if he brought the heads of her two companions with him.

They had finally arrived in San Francisco. Yet, Hermione was in a bad mood. Harry had tried to braid her hair in order to soothe her nerves and her guilt. It had been a disaster. She looked even more of a fright than usual.

But she had to admit that the boys' joy was contagious. They all marveled at the bustling streets, the colorful crowd overflowing the city with noise and fabric. They were overwhelmed by the smell of horses' dung, beer, earth and perfume. It was rich and wonderful and it drowned them in the decadence of San Francisco.

They meandered in the Main Street, eyes and mouth wide. It was a long alley and it was always drowned in the sea of inhabitants. Most of them talked English but Hermione identified Spanish and other Native Americans languages. The buildings were built in wood and the original color of the facades could not be seen as the dust of the road covered them.

The sun burnt the yellowish ground and their exposed necks. Everyone was at least tanned. People seemed to always be in a hurry except for the whores who kept whistling at the inhabitants from the windows of the brothel they worked in. They were many pleasure houses. Too many to make San Francisco a town of morals.

To the great displeasure of Hermione, Ronald was not completely unmoved by the whores and the sight of their luxuriant white skin, flattered by their colorful clothes and their curled hair.

"Ronald, stop ogling," she hissed.

Immediately her friend's face reddened as far as his hair's roots.

"Wasn't ogling," he mumbled adverting his gaze back to the front windows of the many shops.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah you were."

The red deepened eliciting a soft laugh from Hermione who shook her head.

"I'm not hurting anybody am I ?"

"We could go there tonight if you want ?"

Hermione turned to glare at her raven-haired friend.

"We're not going to a brothel," she spat.

He shrugged. "We're free, we can."

Her jaw tensed. The freedom defense was always a good way to convince her. But she had trouble seeing what freedom had to do with visiting a brothel.

"We're not exploiting those women any further."

"Fuck off 'Mione !" exclaimed Ronald. "Have some fun !"

"What if we free them ?"

Harry gave her a pointed look with an encouraging smile. Of course his idea was good. In theory. What good would it make if they freed them and then they would have to fight for their food, or would be raped, or killed ? There was no easy solution. She did not like it.

"You didn't say no..."

She sighed. "It's a bad idea..."

" 'Mione, we need to hide, Ron and I can hide with other men and try to dig up some gold but you... You need some place where you can be safe."

She snorted. "Yeah and a brothel is such a safe place !"

"Safer than the street or a shop where one can just enter, no one will think to look there."

She stared at Harry disbelievingly. "Are you seriously suggesting that I hide in a brothel ?"

"Yeah."

"You must be joking," she scoffed, "do you think I can do that without having to have sex with clients ?! Do I have to remind you one of the reasons we escaped !"

As Harry and Ronald stepped back, she realized she had raised her voice to a shrill pitch. She glanced around. No one had paid them any attention. It was one of the many advantages of being in a big city. She guessed it was also a peril to add to the list.

"I know 'Mione but, what do you suggest ?" he whispered.

She could not bear his fond and worried look. She knew Harry meant no harm. He rarely did, and never to her. But to think about going in a brothel and to have to have sex again without her even wanting to... The thought was revolting. She could already feel her stomach contract and a small nausea spread in her body. Fortunately, they had not eaten in three days.

"I don't know..."

As Hermione closed her eyes to contain any tears that might fall without her consent, she felt two pair of arms circling her and engulfing her in the warmth of their owners. They drew large circles over her back, killing the sobs before they even made it past her throat.

"You can come with us to the river if you want," murmured the redhead as his breath fanned over her neck.

She shivered and shook her head no. She knew Harry was right. It was for her safety. Bounty hunters were bound to look for them in common shops, hotels and so on. If they looked in brothels it was because they wanted a whore. No one hid in brothels.

"No," she whispered, "Harry's right, I just... I just want to be completely free."

They broke their embrace regretfully, but they could not stay hugging in the middle of an active street. Her gaze remained firmly on one of the shop windows behind the two boys. She did not cry easily, but after evoking their past, she did not want to tempt it.

"I'm sure if we ask them the whores will protect you," stated Ronald, "after all, you kept talking about feminine solidarity back in Hogsmeade."

She smiled. For all his insensitive talk, he always remembered what she cared about, what she rambled about.

"Yeah, I did."

The two boys gave each other a look as though she was a porcelain figurine you had to tread around carefully. She laughed softly and hit them lightly on their arms.

"I'm fine, we can go and look."

As they nodded enthusiastically, she sighed and buried the memory that had resurfaced, deeper than before. She hoped she would never have to face it or the reality it carried again.

Tom did not like San Francisco. He did not like it one bit. They had been there for about a week and he had already run into more than ten acquaintances. Today, he had decided to stay in his room in order to avoid anymore-unwelcome meeting. His men roamed the city looking for the three fugitives. He had given strict orders to Mulciber, who was in charge of staying posted in front of his door for the day, not to let anyone enter.

Of course, in the middle of the day, someone knocked on his door. He raised his head from his journal and stopped writing.

"What ?" he asked sharply.

The door opened slightly letting way to Mulciber's stout and stupid face. "There's someone for you my Lord..."

"What did I say about potential visitors ?" answered Tom through gritted teeth.

"He says the Malfoys sent him."

His spine straightened. So it was from his employers. He could not tell him to piss off. He hated having employers. But, well, it was the cost of legal 'crime'. He nodded and swiftly put his journal back in the small desk's drawer before bringing his hands on the table. Absently, he rubbed the small scars littered on their backs, red striking with his paleness.

Mulciber opened the door and a tall man entered. He looked confident. His skin was tan and his posture arrogant. Tom did not stand to greet him. It perturbed the man who was probably more used to polite British aristocrats than people of Tom's type.

"Lord Voldemort," he greeted slightly lowering his head.

Tom nodded in return and kept staring at the man. He was dressed in nice clothes although they were more fit for cities such as New York or Greenville than the dusty and vulgar town of San Francisco.

The man seemingly understood that Tom would not do anything overly polite or welcoming so he took one of the small chairs and sat in front of the bounty hunter. His confidence had yet to waver.

"I have a letter for you."

Tom raised his eyebrow. The Malfoys had gone as far as sending a man to get a message to him. It must have been important. He snatched the letter from the man. Quickly he opened it and read it. He frowned. He had never liked being given orders but at least he was usually okay with their content. But the small missive written in perfect cursive bothered him. He did not want to bring his Hermione to the Malfoys.

He raised his head to look at the dispatch rider. They both knew what the note meant, and on what past it relied on. Unconsciously he clenched his jaw, thoughts of her being the mistress of one of the Malfoys pervading his mind.

"Who sent you ?"

"Draco Malfoy."

So it was the son. It did not surprise him. He had barely seen him when he had been requested to go to Malfoy Manor but he remembered him from previous visits. From Tom's vantage, he was a spoiled brat and all the more bothersome that he was temperamental. The image of his platinum hair spread across Hermione's skin flooded his mind. His jaw ticked.

"Right," said Tom tone clipped, "you can tell him I have received the message and will take it into account."

The man nodded but remained seated as though he wanted to hear something else.

"Yes ?"

The dispatch rider gave a Tom a sweet smile, sickening.

"When do you think you'll be back in Hogsmeade with the girl ?"

Tom blinked. He was surprised that the confidence of the man lived on. After all, he, Lord Voldemort, was not someone you usually gave dissimulated orders to.

"As soon as I capture her, of course."

The man's eyes narrowed, irking Tom further. His blood started to boil in his veins eating away his patience. Needless to say he had not much patience to start. He could picture Draco and Hermione together. He was set aflame by an unknown force which gnawed at him.

"Sir Malfoy would like for you to bring her as soon as possible."

The tone was authoritative. Tom's hand jerked in direction of the gun on his belt. He restrained himself and instead smiled at the man.

"I assure you Mr. ... ?"

"Zabini."

"Mr. Zabini, that I am more than competent."

"My employer and I doubt it."

He sucked in a breath. Would Malfoy be pissed off if he killed this cockroach, this man that dared presume he could judge Tom's abilities to track and capture someone ? Did he care if Malfoy was pissed off ?

"I beg your pardon ?" drawled Tom icily.

Zabini did not cower but continued to stare into Tom's eyes. People who could handle Lord Voldemort and remain unfazed in front of him were rare. When he met them, he was used to quickly eliminating them altogether.

"I said, that we doubt your reputation Mr. Riddle. We wanted Lord Voldemort because he was competent, and yet, it's been weeks. My employer is not a patient man Mr. Riddle."

Mr. Riddle. Tom paled considerably, he had felt the blood draining from his face. He could hear the contempt in Zabini's voice.

"I don't know if you heard about me Mr. Zabini," softly whispered Tom, "but I am not a patient man myself. And I hate to hear my abilities questioned."

"Then prove your abilities. I'll stay in San Francisco a week before leaving for Hogsmeade. If you don't leave with me, you can kiss your pay goodbye."

The man rose and gave one last scornful look to Tom before leaving.

As soon as Tom heard the front door of the establishment close behind the despicable man, he pulled his pistol out and shot in his wardrobe. Panting, he lowered his gun. He frowned. He had not hit his target, a small stain on the wood. He shot again, and again, until the wardrobe's door's hinges cracked under the pressure and let the door fell to the ground.

His usual therapy had not worked. Scalding insects, which clearly intended to devour him, were burning his skin. He needed to find her.

"Hey sweetheart, don't you want an hour alone with me ? We got nice rooms upstairs and I would love to go into one of them with you..."

Hermione hit Ronald's head as her friend stared dumbstruck at the stunning woman winking at him.

"Focus," she whispered furiously.

She took him by his sleeve and proceeded to pull him with her. The first floor was crowded. There was a bar facing the entrance and several, not much-dressed, women were sitting on it, laughing loudly to men's words. Others danced lively to the pianist's joyful air. All of them were in different colors from peony pink to lemony green. The smell of smoke, beer, sweat and sex invaded Hermione's nostrils.

If Harry and Ronald seemed quite enthusiastic about the place, she guessed it was because they would not potentially have to hide there.

"Her," murmured Harry to her, discreetly pointing to a quiet blonde who was sat in the corner.

Hermione nodded. They had to start off somewhere. The three of them moved with purpose across the brothel. As they passed a man feeling up one of the waitresses, she shivered. She did not like it one bit.

Finally they were facing the woman. She was dressed in faded pink. The neckline was low-cut and gave a good view of her ample milky bosom. Hermione blushed and forced herself to only look at the girl's eyes. She was a human being not a thing ! Ronald stood gaping, not bothering to hide where his looks converged while Harry smiled at the girl, not giving her cleavage any attention.

"Hi nice to meet you," he said shaking the blonde's hand.

She nodded, eyes narrowed. "I don't do groups."

Hermione's blush spread. She was not feeling well. She was not a prude but still.

"Oh," chuckled Harry, "we're not here for that !"

"Well he is," snorted the woman glancing at the redhead.

Ronald mirrored Hermione although his blush was more visible than hers.

"No, no I'm not..."

She turned back to Harry. "What do you want ?"

"I need to hide."

The blonde's brown eyes focused on Hermione for the first time. She frowned.

"In a brothel ?"

"I really need to hide."

"We wondered whether or not you could help us ?"

"Who are you hiding from ?"

"A man who still thinks I'm his slave," spat Hermione, eyes blazing furiously.

The curly-haired woman straightened as her two best friends sucked a nervous breath in. She would not cower in a shame that was unjustified. Furthermore, she guessed that telling the truth might compel the woman to help her. Unsurprisingly, she was right.

"I'm Lavender," smirked the blonde shaking Hermione's hand. "And nobody owns me or owns anybody here."

Hermione answered the girl's determination with a grin of her own. Already, she felt safer. Albeit the conditions of her hiding would not be perfect, but then, could they ever be ?, she guessed it was better than running in the forests for weeks before seeing other human beings.

"I can protect you when I'm on break and when I'm not another girl can do it. You can stay in our dormitory."

Her eyes widened. "I won't have to work here ?"

Lavender scowled, "Course not ! You're hiding, not looking to earn money ! Women need to help each other in this men's world !"

Hermione beamed and hugged the blonde tightly. It probably did not mean much to the girl but to her, it was a lifesaver.

"Thank you," she whispered in the girl's golden locks.

"It's nothing."

They released each other. Harry squeezed her shoulder and gave her comforting smile. Finally, she could give him one in turn.

"So, safe ?"

"Yeah, safe."

The three of them hugged in front of a smiling Lavender, her smile sweeter than it had previously been. As Hermione let out a low chuckle, she thought that in a few days, weeks at most, they would be so free, that they would not need to hide anymore. They would be freer because they would show their freedom.

9