A/N: My options were to have this be a 7,000 word behemoth of a chapter, or break it into two parts. I chose the latter - so two chapters in one night! I considered leaving the next one for next week, but I feel like they go well together soooo...double update it is. Enjoy!

How many times had they done it now? She'd lost count sometime after the fifth or sixth, the pain leaving no room for things like counting or coherency.

"...many more times?"

"I don't know," a voice answered indifferently "As many as it takes."

No. No. No more. Please no more. Marilyn couldn't even catch her breath long enough to voice that thought - that plea. All that came out was a choked whimper as she writhed against the cold stone floor. Rolling from her side onto her back, despite the weight it placed on her arms tied beneath her (the cost of her little trick with the pencil), she then stilled as she felt her necklace Draco had given her roll down her chest and rest in the dip of her collarbone.

It was a long shot. A delusional grasp at hope when she had literally no other options or defenses. But maybe...just maybe - if she lived in a world where sticks could do this to her - she lived in one where a necklace might save her, too.

The women were arguing now, bickering back and forth, although the more she listened the more it sounded like a telling off than a true argument.

"Bellatrix Lestrange did it just fine - her, the other Lestranges, and Barty Crouch Junior. We've all heard the stories of how the Longbottoms turned out."

Awkwardly craning her neck, she dipped her chin down tightly towards her chest until she managed to hook the silver chain on it. Lifting her chin back up again, she moved as carefully as possible, not wanting to break the chain and lose the phial entirely.

"Bellatrix enjoyed it, Serana. The woman was unhinged, even by Black standards-"

The chain fell down from her chin, dropping back uselessly against her chest. Marilyn grunted.

"Don't tell me you're losing your stomach for it," Serana's voice was dangerous.

"Of course I'm not. Not for the goal. We scare Draco off, and nobody of any importance listens to Granger's mad theories. But surely just killing her would do that, too."

It took a moment for Marilyn to process what they'd said - to truly understand it. Her mind was so occupied with the fear and her newfound aim, and it didn't help at all that she had to strain to hear their voices over the pounding of her own heart. It did sink in though, and it had her almost dropping the chain once she finally successfully manoeuvred it between her lips.

Granger? Like Hermione Granger? — Wait. Draco? This was all to do with them? That possibility had never even crossed her mind. Shit, why would it?

"Trust me, this will be more effective than killing her. That would only enrage Draco - send him on a revenge mission, or further in the direction we're trying to steer him clear of. But reducing her to a bumbling, drooling mess? That will destroy him. He'll want nothing to do with any of this ever again, nor with Granger."

The tone of the blonde, and the implications of what she said, had Marilyn breaking free of the stupor of her thoughts and moving again. Rolling over onto her side, she felt the phial rattle along the chain, helped by her motions and gravity, until it clacked against her teeth.

"But even if we do scare Draco off, Granger won't stop-"

"It doesn't matter! If nobody from our side listens to her stupid little theories, and I keep running interference to stop her research from going anywhere, she'll just be another Mudblood spouting lies to pretend they're all just like us."

Here went nothing. A little more wriggling, along with a dramatic grimace, had the phial lodged firmly between her molars in the back of her mouth. Breathing in sharply through her nose, Marilyn scrunched her eyes shut, hoped dearly that the contents of the phial weren't toxic, and clamped her teeth down.

"I know."

The glass crunched between her teeth easily, her mouth filling with the strange blue substance that tasted of...cold? Like she'd taken a gulp of ice water immediately after brushing her teeth. The taste soon mingled with copper - blood from her gums as shards of the glass cut into them.

Serana sighed impatiently at her partner-in-torture "Given what the little beast did to your leg, I thought you'd be raring to go. Don't tell me you've lost your nerve now - not when it matters most."

"I haven't, but...we don't even know how they did it to the Longbottoms - was it maintaining the curse constantly, over a long period of time? Lots of shorter bursts?"

"We just have to experiment until we find out."

"I need to rest my leg…"

"Oh Merlin's balls, Tabitha, it's no wonder your name is at stake. Go, walk it off. There's Essence of Dittany in the pantry - while you're there, bring what we discussed."

Marilyn was too busy doing what she could to relish the break, regardless of the throbbing throughout her face, the stinging of her gums and the way her mouth was slowly filling with blood, knowing it wouldn't last forever and when the pain resumed, she'd do anything to return to this moment. It was so bad that she'd even long given up on questioning how exactly they were doing it. At first she'd put it down to some strange neurotoxin, but no drug or chemical she'd ever heard of was activated over and over by the use of a word - Crucio. A word she'd never forget. Now it didn't matter to her how they were doing it. She just wanted it to stop.

The longer she lay there, though, the more despair gave way to anger. Whatever this was, it was clear she was little but a pawn being used to play a larger game.

Once the footsteps of the brunette retreated from the room (in a rather uneven rhythm, thanks to the damage she'd done to her leg), Serana approached. She sank gracefully to the floor beside Marilyn, stick in hand.

"Lumos," she muttered, and the bright light was back - shining in Marilyn's face "Pretty - as far as Muggles go."

She said the words indifferently, using her free hand to tilt her face to and fro as if she was an object rather than a person.

"...Although it's rather like complimenting livestock," she added, peering at her with clear disdain pulling at her features.

From her true crime binges, Marilyn knew the primary rule of being held captive - if you cannot escape, don't give them a reason to hurt you. But they were already hurting her without a reason...so what was the harm in going down fighting? It seemed the absence of the pain they'd doused her in again and again was making her brave. Or just very foolish. Perhaps their aim - to make her meet the same fate as these Longbottoms - involved killing off her better judgement.

Raising her head just slightly, as if to give the woman a better look at her face, she angled her shin upwards and spat the charming mixture that had collected in her mouth of the phial's contents, blood, and glass, into the woman's face. If she'd expected a reaction similar to that of the brunette when she stabbed her, she'd have been sorely disappointed.

A beat of silence stretched on, just long enough to make her regret what she'd done. She wouldn't betray the regret - she wouldn't beg for forgiveness - but she knew it showed on her face, for the woman gave a cold, amused smirk at her as she wiped her face with the sleeve of her robes.

"Well, that was rather foolish," she said, almost sweetly, before raking her nails down the side of Marilyn's face.

Unsurprisingly, she chose the side where the bruises would soon form from when she'd landed on it not an hour prior - and that aggravation of the bruises hurt more than the new wound. At first. Initially there was just warmth, a tell-tale sign that she'd broken the skin, and then that warmth gave way to a stinging prickle. Marilyn barely reacted. The sad fact of the matter was that it was almost soothing after what seemed to be their favourite form of torture.

"Look at me," Serana sighed, rising to her feet and moving back a few paces "Lashing out like a Muggle. You're a bad influence, little rodent - and after so little time, too. I can only imagine what you've done to dear old Draco. The prolonged exposure is sure to have rotted away his better sensibilities."

She spoke of her like she was radioactive, the Chernobyl incident in human form.

"I suppose I could experiment with a curse or two. A hex, maybe. But I'll save that for once the real job is done," she paused thoughtfully "That being said...I imagine there's little pleasure in torturing a vegetable."

A curse? A hex? What the fuck was she, some sort of Wiccan gone rogue?

"What do you want from me?" She asked, her voice rough and raspy from the great deal of screaming she'd been doing.

"This," Serana answered easily - mockingly.

She lowered her head back to the floor, the freezing stone soothing against her face. It was worth the risk of it infecting the cuts on her face - that seemed the least of her troubles in that moment. Every time her captor opened her mouth, Marilyn froze up until she'd drawled out the first syllable or so and it was clear she wasn't about to say that word again. Crucio.

"What's a Muggle?" She asked.

Serana squinted at her in the darkness for a few moments, as though suspecting it was a trick question.

"You."

Fantastic. Very helpful. She gave up trying to glean any information from her captor after that. The blonde had made clear that she viewed her as little more than livestock, so what was the point of attempting to appeal to her better nature? It was clear no better nature existed, and the butcher hardly felt pity for the cow or the pig on his table. That only left the brunette. Admittedly, she seemed to get less of a primal thrill from what they were doing, but it was likely just because any enthusiasm was sure to pale in comparison to the vigour with which Serana was approaching the torture. Plus, y'know, she'd stabbed the brunette at first sight. Such a move wasn't exactly likely to bolster goodwill.

Lying there, curled up on the freezing stone, her mind flitted between the great long list of things begging for her alarm in that moment. How they were doing this. Why they were doing this. The bizarre weapons they wielded, and the terrible things they were capable of. The language that they spoke - English on the surface, but still entirely meaningless to her. What connection they could possibly have to Hermione Granger and, even more troubling, Draco. The fact that the necklace, which he had been so obsessed with, ultimately seemed to have done precious fuck all good other than to shred her gums (and the hilarity that she thought it might result in some sort of different outcome).

What plagued her even more than the questions she had, though, were the few answers she had. What they hoped to achieve here was clear from what Serana had said so far. She could not try out her different, more varied, torture techniques later, for there wouldn't be much of her left later to try them out on. Not mentally, anyway. A vegetable. This was only reinforced by the fact that they'd allowed her to see their faces, hear their names. They wouldn't do that if she'd be a viable witness after the fact - or alive to be a witness, for that matter. There was one other thing her true crime binges had instilled on her, the main piece of advice always offered to women in the face of an attack or an abduction. Don't let them take you to a second location. If they manage that, you're as good as dead.

If the torture and what she'd overheard didn't clue her in on that fact already, that small piece of knowledge felt like the final nail in the coffin.

There'd been no pain for a few minutes now. Not the pain they'd worked so hard to make her dread, anyway - not the unbearable pain. It was clearing the fog from her mind, making room for coherent thought, but the only thoughts that came gave her precious little hope. While her instincts were screaming at her to do something - to lash out, to fight, to grab the bitch by the hair and drive her face into the stone walls, the rational side of her mind was arguing over and over that there was nothing do be done. How could she fight against somebody who could fell her with a single word before she'd even managed to climb to her feet? Nobody alive could move fast enough to get to her before she could say a single word. It just wasn't possible. She was, to quote one of her favourite movies, a little worm on a big fucking hook.

Such a feeling wasn't lessened by the return of the brunette. She no longer limped, and she was carrying a cup that was more of a chalice than anything else.

"Sit up," Serana delivered a swift kick to her shoulder.

A wave of her stick (Marilyn refused to view it as anything but) had the ropes around Marilyn's wrists untying themselves and falling loose. Marilyn almost refused, bringing her arms to her front to work out the ache in them, and the numbness in her hands, but she wasn't keen to find out what lengths she might go to in order to encourage her. It took a few tries, and with both of her hands bracing her on the floor and then pushing her up, but eventually she came to sit upright, swaying as she did. Seizing the chalice, Serana brandished it at her.

"Drink."

Eyeing the cup, she made no move to accept it. Her throat was dry and agonising - from both the screaming, and the lack of water since she'd left home that morning - and the only thing she wanted more than something to drink was her freedom. But there was no reason for these women to be kind to her now, so it only stood to reason that they weren't being kind.

"I have much easier, much more entertaining methods of killing you off - ones that don't include wasting poison. Drink. It."

Her tone offered no room for argument. Nor, even worse, did the way she raised the stick in her hand. Desperate to avoid yet another bout of pain, she grabbed the chalice from her so quickly she almost spilled the contents. A look, squinting against the darkness, followed by a sniff, suggested it was simply water. But she still didn't trust that assessment. The twitching of Serana's hand had her quickly lifting it to her lips, though, and upon discovering it to genuinely be water, she started gulping it down.

All too soon it was gone, and rather than trying to drain the few drops left, she made herself set the cup down on the floor beside her. A beat or two of silence followed, which set her on edge. What were they waiting for? A thank you? For some sort of poison to take effect? It was almost enough to have her spiralling, but she felt fine. Well, besides the obvious. No terrible internal cramping, no streaking pains, no frothing at the mouth.

She chanced a look at the two women. The brunette had her hands clasped before her, and Serana's face gave no indication at all of what was about to happen. When she kicked the chalice away, Marilyn flinched against the sudden movement and the loud clanging noise that resulted as it struck the stone walls in the far corner. Regret struck her as quickly as the flinching had, especially hearing Serana's snort of laughter as she came to kneel before her.

"Time to find out what you know, little mouse - and if it's anything interesting. Now, tell me truthfully," there was something in her voice as if she'd just told a particularly good joke "When did you meet Draco Malfoy?"

"At the end of last year," she answered before she could even think about it.

Marilyn grimaced. It was the exhaustion - the fear, the pain, the panic. They'd loosened her lips. She'd have to be careful about it. Was that what the water had been? Some show of kindness in hopes of building a rapport? They'd have to do a damn sight more than that if they were hoping to instil some form of Stockholm syndrome in her.

"And how did you meet?"

"He saved me."

What the fuck?

"From?"

"An assaulter."

No. No. Why was she speaking? Why was she answering?

"My, my, how romantic. And what happened after that?"

"We became friends."

The horror was showing on her face, her heard beating out a breakneck rhythm. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates and her hands were trembling too badly to even cover her mouth to try to stop the words from getting out.

"Why would he want to be friends with a stupid little Muggle like you?"

"I don't know what that means."

"So you know nothing of our world?" She was clearly intrigued "What we are?"

What we are? Not who we are?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Serana's eyes lit up with glee, like she'd just heard the most thrilling piece of gossip possible.

"What has he been playing at?" The brunette grumbled somewhere to the side.

This question was not levelled at Marilyn, and so she managed to keep her mouth shut.

"Let's find out," Serana smirked at her "Draco and yourself...are you just friends?"

"No."

"No?" She was smiling now, but it wasn't quite as amused as it had been - malice shone in her eyes, tempered only by disgust "What are you?"

"It's complicated."

"Well then let's uncomplicate it. Has he had a filthy little beast like you in his bed?"

"Yes."

Tears were filling her eyes now - it could've been the weight of her situation, the constant disdain and abuse on top of the literal fucking torture, the humiliation, or all of it working together to really make her crumble. Whatever the case...it was starting to work. Serana could see it, too, judging by the feline smile that pulled at her lips. Then again, the smile could have been due to the fact that she was going in for the kill.

"Do you love him?" She asked conspiratorially.

"I don't know."

It wasn't a 'yes', but it also wasn't something she'd ever admit - not even to Sarah or Taylor. Had they asked that very same question, they'd be met with laughter and jokes and "of course not, get a grip, woman".

"Could you?"

"Yes."

No matter how much she tried to knit her lips together to stop any sound from leaving them, the moment a question was asked she answered before she could even think to stop herself. It was like she lost control of her own body right up until she'd finished speaking the answer. What the fuck had they drugged her with?

"Does he?"

"I don't know."

"What do you think?"

"No."

The face she pulled at that was one of exaggerated sympathy - mocking sympathy. Her lips turning exaggeratedly downward as she furrowed her brow and tilted her head at her.

"No? Well, that's a shame. Still. Whether he loves you or not, he's obviously infatuated enough to keep coming back. What happens to you should be enough to drive him away from ever thinking about Muggles again. Then that'll leave Granger exactly where she was before - scrambling to get any worthwhile people to listen."

"What are you?" It almost felt strange now, having control over what she said.

She had to know. With the strange concoctions that made her speak the truth, the sticks that could do anything and everything.

Draco's voice came back to her, from their little breakfast in London...what was it he'd asked her? 'Have you taken a potion'? No, no. It was too much. It was too crazy. Potions and, and wands, and...magic. It was a half-crazed theory from a three quarter-crazed mind. An impossibility.

Just like magic spells that could create pain from a single word.

"Ah-ah - you don't get to ask questions."

"What are you?" She demanded, her voice raising to a ragged shout.

"Crucio."

And then it was back to screaming.