Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

Chapter Thirty One: Reality Check

Warm arms cradled her body lovingly and a low voice whispered soft seductive words in her ear, like a faint breeze that tickles the skin and caresses the hair in a pool of sunlight.

"I'll take care of you, Minerva. I won't ever let anything happen to you…" the low voice promised in the dark chocolate tones of her lover.

A smile touched her lips, and she sighed with contentment as she slid warm hands across his smooth, firm skin. How she loved to touch him and to feel his touch in return. "Oh, that's a nice sentiment, but I can take care of myself," she murmured softly.

"Can you?" The voice rose derisively. "Not very well, I think. If it was up to you, you'd be in prison now instead of in my arms."

She squirmed uncomfortably in his tightening embrace. "Arms can be a prison, too," she whispered.

The seductive chocolate voice melted into acid and spoke suddenly in the harsher tones of another. "Would my arms have been that bad, Minerva? Would coming back to me have truly a prison made?"

Ian, her thoughts screamed, but when she tried to open her mouth to give voice to his name, she abruptly found herself being lifted up off of her cot and roughly slammed against the unyielding stones of her cell wall. Her gasping mouth was immediately filled with a fat questing tongue tasting of stale beer and tobacco.

Shocked into wakefulness, her eyes flew open in sudden panic, but she couldn't focus them properly on the figure who was assaulting her as the man was far too close. Large hands possessed her body roughly and pressed eagerly against it. For a single stunned moment, she just allowed the hands to grope at her greedily, but when they began to squeeze her breasts as one might test for overripe fruit at a market, she began to struggle to get them off of her. Filled with revulsion, she somehow managed to twist her face away from the insistent sucking mouth and gasp for breath.

"Get off me!" she shrieked as loudly as she could once she was able to draw breath into her lungs once more.

Her frantic exclamation was answered by a drunken laugh, and to her horror the grasping hands ripped open the bodice of her robe with an easy strength and began to paw roughly at the delicate flesh beneath.

"Just relax," a lewd voice rasped. "You'll enjoy it more that way."

Suddenly, fiery indignant anger surged through her at this insufferable intrusion, and she lashed out in the only way left to her. Her sharp, bony knee came up as swiftly as she could make it and impacted hard with, a far firmer than she'd wish, suspension of flesh hanging between her captor's splayed legs.

A sharp yowl of pain rent the air, and the grasping hands abruptly released her in order to cradle their own abused flesh. As it was presented to her, she took the opportunity and shoved the repulsive figure of a barrel-chested man with long, thick iron-gray hair off of her as hard as she could; then she turned and headed for the now open cell door in haste. She didn't have any clear idea of where she could run to, true escape was obviously impossible, but all her horrified mind could grasp at the moment was that she had to get away from this man…as far and as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, her knee hadn't rendered her attacker immobile as much as it had simply infuriated him. Before she could take more than a few steps towards the dubious sanctuary of the open corridor, she felt strong hands seize her by her hair and yank her back into his grasp, tearing long strands painfully from her head in the process.

"You bitch!" he screamed furiously. "You sodding murderous bitch! You ain't getting away from me that easy." Then he drew back his fist and smashed it into the side of her face as hard as he could.

Her head snapped back sharply and, without any memory of getting there, she found herself lying flat on her back on the floor of the cell with this irate red-faced man standing over her. To her horror, all she could do was watch and try to roll away as he drew back his foot and kicked her viciously in the hip. Reality faded out for a moment in a red tinged haze of pain, and when it crept back and poked at her again, she realized that there were now two other people in the cell as well. A tall man whom she dazedly remembered as the one who'd brought her from the boat ( Roy, wasn't it ) was holding the red-faced man firmly by the arms, while an angry looking Andrew Pitt shook a finger in his face.

It took a moment for the noisy buzzing that swirled through her ears to begin to turn itself into words that she could comprehend.

"I know I told you to leave her alone, Quent, so don't bother to pretend that I didn't!" yelled Pitt.

"Hey, I got needs, don't I? What am I supposed to do about that, eh? There ain't any other females here anymore, ever since that Flinche woman died. Why the hell shouldn't I have a piece of this one if I want to? I got seniority. That's what they're here for, after all. And this one's a murderess. You said so yourself. No one's going to care what happens to her." He stuck out his chin belligerently.

"You arse," exclaimed Pitt in disgust. "I explained all this to you. How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into that thick skull of yours? She hasn't been convicted yet, and until she's been condemned, there's still a change that she could end up being freed. If she goes free, and you assaulted her while she was here, you'd lose your job, you idiot, and you'd likely end up on this side of the cell door, too. Doesn't that mean a bit more to you than screwing some scrawny piece of skirt like her?"

Quent frowned sullenly and examined the floor. "I guess," he grudgingly replied. "What about after she's convicted?" He raised his eyes hopefully.

Pitt nodded. "Once she's been convicted, it's a different story, but for now…hands off. You got that?"

Quent nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah…I guess so."

Pitt nodded to Roy, who released Quent and stepped back. "Okay, now both of you get back to your posts."

Roy nodded and left without saying a word, but Quent eyed Minerva insolently before he left and a sly half smile crept up his cheek. "When's her trial?" he asked softly.

Pitt frowned at him. "Never you mind, I told you to get back to work."

"All right, all right, I'm going." The stocky man sneered down at Minerva once more. "I'll be back though, and when I am, I'm going to make you scream." Then he turned and left the cell with a swaggering step, one big hand massaging himself gently.

A sharp shiver of fear shot through Minerva as she gazed at the thankfully receding back of her recent tormentor. She tried her best to hide it, but she knew that she wasn't fooling anyone. This horrifying turn that her life had taken was frightening her more and more with each passing hour, and Pitt had to be aware of it, no doubt he was counting on it to help keep her under his control.

After Quent had gone, Pitt turned and directed an assessing look down at the bloodied woman on the floor. Without a word, he took out his wand and aimed it at her. Minerva gasped, not knowing what to expect, but he simply stated, "Reparo" in a bland voice, and watched as the torn bodice of her robe quickly knitted itself up leaving a rough ragged seam across her breasts. Automatically, her hand came up to run down its length, checking that the entire gash was closed. Then the man returned his wand to the holster in his sleeve and reached down to help her back to her feet.

Once she stood facing him, he assessed her injuries briefly and asked in a noncommittal tone, "Are you all right?"

"Does it really matter?" she answered bitterly. The side of her face was beginning to ache, and it felt as if it was also beginning to swell. When she put her hand up to touch her tender cheek, to her dismay, it came away with blood on it. Her hip also felt severely bruised, putting weight on her left leg hurt tremendously. It was, unfortunately, the same one she'd injured on the boat.

Pitt shrugged at her comment. "I need to keep you in reasonably good shape until your trial, Professor, so, yeah, I guess it matters…some." He extracted a grimy handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her.

"Your nose and cheek are bleeding a bit."

With a slightly shaking hand, she took the handkerchief, folded it to the least objectionable portion, and pressed it to her nose to staunch the worst of the blood flow. "Do your bosses at the Ministry know that your men treat prisoners like this?" She glared angrily at Pitt while she tried to control her trembling before her pain and fear got the better of her and quenched her angry rage.

Pitt's brows drew together, and he stepped a bit closer to her and lowered his voice. "My bosses at the Ministry had better not hear anything about this incident, if you know what's good for you."

Incredulously, she laughed in his face. "You're threatening me? With what? Harsh treatment? I've been mistreated or assaulted by practically every man who's crossed my path so far. I was just almost raped, and probably will be before long, if Quent's threats can be believed, and I have no doubt that they can. How much worse could my treatment possibly get? Perhaps if I complain, tell them what really goes on in here, things will improve. What do I have to lose by trying anyway?"

"A lot more than you seem to realize. I don't think you truly appreciate the precariousness of your situation, Professor. So let me spell it out for you. If you tell anyone about what just went on here, you might succeed in getting Quent fired or even arrested, but all that would do would be to make everyone else here very angry with you. And believe me, that's something that you should avoid at all costs. As long as you're here, you're in my power, and you'd do well to remember that. You see I can make your life bearable or I can end it…very quickly." His eyes, staring down into hers, were as cold as the air outside the prison.

Minerva shivered slightly at the certainty in his tone, but she wasn't used to backing down from a fight, and she wasn't about to start now. "If I'm acquitted, I won't be in your power any longer, Mr. Pitt."

He shrugged casually. "That's true, but what are the odds of that actually happening? Everyone at the Ministry is sure that you're guilty. In fact, from everything I've heard, the case against you is almost a formality. The evidence they have is overwhelmingly against you. I think the likelihood of you walking away from here a free woman is very, very small, and I think you know that, too."

She said nothing. What could she say after all? He was right.

He nodded in satisfaction at her lack of response. "Now, if you keep your mouth shut, after you're convicted, I can make your life a whole lot more comfortable than it would've been. I can give you a warmer cell, more blankets, better food, and I can keep Quent's visits and abuses to a minimum. On the other hand, if you tell anyone about this, and you end up back here, you won't survive even a full day, and I assure you that you'll suffer through every minute. There are a lot of very desperate men here, Professor, a lot of desperate men with very dangerous appetites, and no women to practice them on. Now, you just think about that before you go spouting off to anyone on the outside."

Then with a final warning glare, Pitt left the cell, locking the iron door behind him with a final firm clang. A violent trembling began to take over her body, and Minerva limped the few paces to the side of her narrow cot and sat down abruptly as her quaking legs would no longer hold her upright. One trembling hand rose up to cradle her damaged cheek and then drifted down to run lightly along the ragged scar across her bosom as she clenched her other hand around the now bloody handkerchief and dropped it to her lap. She'd had a narrow escape, and she knew it.

She also knew that all she'd really done was buy herself some time. Pitt was right, as horrible a thought as that was. Her chances of escaping a life sentence here were slim to none, and reporting their behavior, if anyone would even care, would likely gain her nothing except trouble further down the line. More abuse. More pain.

Suddenly, as she looked around her small cold cell in the fading light, the reality of her circumstances hit her squarely in the heart. Her quiet orderly respectable life was truly gone for good. With all the evidence that was piled up against her, the trial she now faced would no doubt be short and, for her at least, fruitless. This was all the world that was left to her now. She needed to accept that and find a way to deal with it.

No one could help her. To even stand by her would be risky. Albus had to take the reputation of the school into account. To be seen to support someone who was so obviously guilty would harm his standing in the community far too much. He could put his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts in jeopardy if he tried, and she simply couldn't allow that. Especially not after what he'd gone through last year.

Severus certainly couldn't support her. Her heart lurched painfully as she thought of the Potions master. There was far too much at stake for him to be able to stand up in open court and declare himself an advocate for her even if he wanted to. He had a reputation to uphold that mattered far more in the overall scheme of things than she did. What happened to one lone woman didn't matter in the slightest next to all the good he could do safely ensconced in his position as spy for the Order. No, there'd be no help for her there, either.

Another shiver of cold and fear ran through her, and she wrapped herself once more in the threadbare blankets and lay down on the cot, curling protectively inward. Never had she felt more alone. The certainty that she'd be spending what remained of her life confined to this cell, or one very much like it, suddenly weighed down on her like an anchor around her neck.

For the first time, she wondered if she'd made the right decision when she'd defied Ian. Gryffindors don't run from a fight, nor give in to blackmail, yet what had standing up to him truly gotten her?

Once she was condemned, she'd lose all her rights as a member of the wizarding community. When that happened, he'd be perfectly within his right to petition the court to give him her property anyway, and despite her having a valid will, he was right when he said that he could very well succeed. He was powerfully connected, and that could often make all the difference. She had no blood kin left, and as her ex-husband, he came as close to being a relative as anyone. And if he ended up winning in the end, what had defying him really gained her?

If she'd given in to him, she'd have had to let him touch her again, but was that really any worse than being assaulted by Quent and the countless other men lining up behind him to gain their pleasure from the use of her body? At least with Ian, it would have been only occasionally, and in the comfortable surroundings of Hogwarts or somewhere similar instead of in the hard cold confines of a cell. And she'd have still had her life, her job…Severus. Though he'd have probably refused to touch her any longer if he ever found out that she'd given in to Standish, and she certainly wouldn't blame him if he did.

Tears that she'd suppressed for so long finally couldn't be held back any longer and stung her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, forming tracks for those that followed. With crystal clarity, the harsh reality of her lonely life was once more thrust into her consciousness in a way that simply couldn't be denied. In her entire life, she'd never been touched by the hands of someone who truly loved her. That depth of caring, of affection, had never been offered to her and now it never would be.

Ian certainly had never loved her. He'd desired her, and what she could give to him, but he wasn't capable of truly loving anyone other than himself. After she'd escaped from him, none of the other partners that she'd taken into her life and into her bed had lasted for any length of time or had come to mean anything more than a pleasant time between the sheets and some enjoyable companionship. It had been safer that way, and she hadn't ever thought to regret it…until now.

And then quite unexpectedly, there'd been Severus. A man that she'd never have thought in a million years that she'd come to care so much about. Though she'd come to the belated realization that her feelings for him were far stronger than she'd ever intended, she held no illusions that he felt the same for her. After all, he'd been very clear where things could and could not go for them, and love certainly wasn't on his agenda. Oh, he cared about her; there was no question about that…but love? No.

He likely wasn't any more capable of it than Ian had been or than she'd thought herself to be. Thank goodness she hadn't made an utter fool of herself and confessed her feelings to him the last time they'd been together. Most likely, he'd have just backed away from her as quickly as he could, and their parting would've been far more awkward than it had been. Regardless, he was gone from her life now. And any affection he'd had for her was now far beyond her reach. So here she lay, alone in a cell in the middle of the North Sea with a past full of regrets and empty feelings and no future on the horizon at all.

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Next Chapter: Albus goes to Azkaban to speak with Minerva.