A/N: Thanks ever so much to those of you who take the time to review. Your words prompt me to type faster, hence this speedy update. To those of you who've been panicking over the tagged characters change, don't get so funny. After you read this chapter, it will all make sense =) Much love! xx -Kitten.
Jailbird Blues
By Kittenshift17
Chapter 3
Proudfoot and Entwhistle took her to Azkaban without a word. They didn't return her to her chains, though they did both keep a painfully tight grip on each of her upper arms. Neither of them spoke to her as they escorted her back to the island. Hermione found herself gulping as she stared up at the towering structure. Stabbing towards the sky like a wretched dagger attempting to slice open the heavens, the building was foreboding and terrible. She'd been so consumed by her grief last time she'd arrived here that she hadn't had time to look at the wretched place.
Looming, dark and terrible, it was a sight that struck fear into her heart. She was terrified that, despite Madame Pomfrey's words, she would end up in a cell like the one she'd occupied last time – before the trial. She couldn't do it again. She couldn't live like that and do as Madame Pomfrey had asked her. Any optimism for release would be sapped from her like liquid from a bowl left in the sun.
"Home, sweet home," Hermione muttered and Proudfoot glanced down at her fathomlessly for a long moment as she was escorted inside and into an elevator to take them to the highest floors of the prison where the life-sentence prisoners were housed.
"How bad is it going to get for me, Proudfoot?" Hermione asked the Auror seriously.
"You're not supposed to talk to me, criminal," the wizard told her.
"Just answer the question. I already know that I'm the only woman on the floor you're taking me to… just, how royally fucked am I?" Hermione asked, losing patience with the by-the-book Auror.
Entwhistle snorted on her other side.
"Oh love, there's no royals among this lot. But I guarantee you're properly fucked. Every time you have to take a shower, I'd reckon," the dark eyed wizard told her, sounding rather amused by it.
"I figured as much," Hermione sighed, "But I meant how bad do things get before you lot intervene?"
"Fighting amongst prisoners isn't permitted," Proudfoot told her.
"If blood gets drawn, we step in," Entwhistle gave her a more useful answer.
"So you won't intervene while they rape me?" she asked the man, ignoring Proudfoot when he spluttered in protest.
"Depends, girly," Entwhilste said, glaring at her, "Depends who's here when it happens. That one will escort you to the showers by yourself and let you wash in peace."
He nodded at Proudfoot.
"And you?" Hermione asked him, tipping her head up to meet the man's gaze.
"Well see now, this lot are in here for life, little lady. Same as you," he chuckled, "Except for Kings, anyway. And horny prisoners make for grump as fuck arseholes who'll pick fights with the guard just for a little excitement."
"Oh, I see. So I get to be the outlet for their frustration just so you don't have to deal with their moods?" Hermione challenged her temper flaring.
Entwhislte spun on her so fast it made Hermione dizzy. He gripped her chin tightly and forced her face up until she was looked directly upwards. He also hung his face right over the top of hers, so close that Hermione could count his eyelashes, smell the coffee on his breath and almost feel his nose brushing against hers. She tensed and felt Proudfoot's hand on her arm tighten reflexively before he stepped over, trying to insist Entwhistle should back off.
"Let me tell you something, girly," the Auror drawled in a low voice, "Happy prisoners – as happy as they fuckin' can be in this shit hole – make my job easier. And if they get happy by screwing you until you gag or until all you can shit is cum, I'll let them."
"And when I'm the unhappy prisoner who can perform wandless magic and will take my foul mood out on the entire prison until their happiness is inconsequential and non-existent as a result?" Hermione challenged, refusing to be intimated by the fierce and rather scary Auror.
"You think you'll still be able to use that magic when this lot keep you so well-shagged you can't function?" Entwhistle countered, raising his eyebrows, "And I don't just mean the other shitheads in this place, little lady."
"I get to look forward to guards abusing their position too?" Hermione asked, deadpan.
"Entwhistle, let her go," Proudfoot demanded, "You know you're not allowed to intimidate any more of them or you'll be on report."
"This one ain't intimidated," Entwhistle commented, noticing that Hermione was refusing to let any fear of him or the threat of rape show in her eyes, "You got some serious stones, witch."
Hermione bounced both eyebrows at the man.
"You're not afraid of me, are you, little one?" Entwhistle asked her, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into hers.
"No, I'm not," Hermione admitted quietly, "But I do want to know how far you will let them, or other guards go? You'll let them screw me, obviously. Will you let them beat me too?"
"Will you fight being shagged?" the Auror wanted to know.
"Not if they're polite and don't hurt me while they do it," Hermione said, feeling a little piece of her soul shrivel up and die at the admission, even if she was only agreeing to it because it would mean that she might get pregnant and get out of there sooner.
"Really?" Proudfoot asked, his voice showing his shock even if her face was currently too close to Entwhistle's to see his expression.
"Really," Hermione sighed, "Just… I mean, I get it. People have urges, myself included. If you lot could give me a break every now and then, or at least keep the rest of them from getting obnoxious about it, I can play ball."
"You'll willing fuck all of them?" Entwhistle asked, "They're almost all Death Eaters, lisica."
Hermione blinked at the Polish term for vixen.
"I know that," Hermione nodded, "More than one of them have tried to kill me personally… just… How many are there serving life right now?"
"Including you, there are twelve prisoners on your floor – or will be when Weasley's trial is decided later today. There's another floor of Lifers below yours – but they're the older, surlier bastards who are leaning toward Death row – mostly the ones mentally unhinged from too long spent in here when the Dementors still ran things or twisted by the effects of the Cruciatus curse. MacNair, Travers, a few others. The eldest wizard on your floor is probably Kings, or maybe Lucius Malfoy."
"Are Dolohov and Rowle on my floor?" Hermione asked, her chin still gripped tight by Entwhistle as they rode the slow, creaking elevator towards the top-most floor of the prison.
"They're your neighbours," Proudfoot sighed, "Edgecombe insisted you be placed opposite Rowle, and in between Dolohov and Rabastan Lestrange."
"Is Rodolphus on my floor too?" Hermione asked, feeling sick at the thought of just who she'd be surrounded by, but unsurprised.
"Nah, he's pretty fucked up after his last visit. The ones on your floor are all still sane. Or close to sane. Both Malfoys. Rowle. Dolohov. Lestrange. Carrow. Longbottom. Finnegan. Shacklebolt. Nott junior. And George Weasley, after he's sentenced," Entwhistled listed the names off.
Hermione felt sick.
"Do I have to fuck Carrow?" she whispered, staring into the dark eyes of the wizard before her.
"He's hardly the worst of the lot," Entwhistle frowned, "Bit thick most of the time, but Lestrange and Dolohov are the worst fuckers in the bunch. They've killed more people combined than just about anyone. We don't count Longbottom and Finnegan, obviously. Mass murder via bridge destruction doesn't get you extra points as a cold fucker."
"No, he's not the worst according to his crimes, but Carrow's a moron," Hermione pointed out quietly, "I really don't want to fuck him. I'll take my chance with the rest, if I have to. I'd rather not, obviously, but I get it. Please?"
"You don't object to the rest?" Entwhistle wanted to know.
"Of course I object, I don't want to shag any of them," Hermione rolled her eyes, "But since you've already said you'll let them fuck me, I'd prefer it if you lot would be willing to intervene on my behalf when they get too rough or try to hurt me. If all I have to do is hold still and let them ravage me in exchange, I'll survive."
"Bloody hell," Proudfoot muttered, "Get off her, Entwhistle. Miss Granger, do you understand what you're saying?"
"I'm bartering sexual favours for a modicum of protection?" Hermione guessed as Entwhistle searched her gaze for another long moment before his eyes dropped to her lips as though he might kiss her himself.
"Why?" Proudfoot asked, "I'd have protected you regardless."
"Yes, but you're not the only Auror on this rotation, Proudfoot," Hermione sighed, "And you'll be rotated back to the mainland after a bit and someone else will come along. By then I'm hoping the other inmates will respect the idea of not going too far and hurting me."
"Really are a clever little thing, aren't you, lisica?" Entwhistle asked her.
"Brightest witch of my age," Hermione nodded, still deadpan.
"You've got yourself a deal, as far as I'm concerned. You'll have to work something out with the other Aurors on rotation after us, but I could have a word with a few of 'em," he told her.
"You don't have to sell yourself for the right to not being beaten to death, Hermione," Proudfoot objected, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I kind of do," Hermione argued, "Look, it's fine. As long as I don't have to fuck Carrow and as long as the rest can be polite about it, I'll handle their needs. I mean, I'd have probably ended up shagging Neville, Seamus and George anyway – once they get over feeling bad about it. And I've actually had a crush on Kings for a while. Theo and Draco Malfoy aren't ideal, but I went to school with them, so y'know, I could handle it, if they're polite."
"And the others?" Entwhistle asked.
"Rowle tried to kill me when I was a first year. He pushed me from a moving staircase at Hogwarts and got pretty rough with me after I tattled on him at Hogwarts when he was a seventh year. And Dolohov gave me this."
Hermione put down her water container and peeled open her clothing to show both Aurors the purple scar across her chest.
"Bloody hell," Proudfoot said, leaning in to examine it, "That purple fire curse of his, right? Never known anyone to actually survive it before."
Hermione nodded her head.
"Lucius Malfoy has always been a bit of a git every time I've encountered him, but he did defect, so I assume he won't be wretched. He's also snooty about me being a muggleborn, so he might keep his distance anyway. And I've never had the misfortune of meeting Lestrange in person."
"Lucky you," Proudfoot muttered, "I hate that fucker."
"My point," Hermione sighed, noticing idly that Entwhistle's fingers had left her chin to slowly trace the column of her throat, an intrigued gleam glittering in his dark eyes, "Is that more than half of them aren't likely to hurt me and I'll happily shag them if it helps keep my sanity or theirs. As for those I'm concerned over - Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange, specifically - if you lot could see fit to make sure they don't attempt to kill me, or don't actually hurt me, that would be ideal."
"Don't worry, Lisica," Entwhistle said quietly, "If you play ball, I'll be more than happy to keep the rest of the fuckers in line. And we'll just let them stew for a little while. Get their threats and the bullshit out of their systems before you have to go anywhere near them."
"So, what? I get the first month worth of showers to myself?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I reckon we could handle that," Entwhistle smirked, "This is a six month rotation, so you'll be dealing with me and Proudfoot most of the time."
"Who trades off shifts with you two?" Hermione asked.
"Savage and Cunningham," Entwhistle answered, his eyes still holding hers while his fingers stroked her throat, "I'll have a word to them about your willingness to play along."
"And from you lot?" Hermione asked quietly, listening to Proudfoot mutter about prisoner favouritism and about the fact that as a female prisoner she had rights to shower only with those of her gender and to be protected.
"How many of the guards will likely fuck you?" Entwhistle clarified.
Hermione nodded her head, noticing as she did that the Auror before her smelled good underneath the coffee on his breath. He smelled like expensive cologne, all spice and smoky tones that made her want to lean into him and breathe him in. his was the best scent she'd picked up on in months of rotting in this wretched prison awaiting her trial.
"On our rotation... well, that will depend. Don't need to worry about old Proudfoot there," Entwhistle smirked, "The miserable old git prefers witches his own age and he's got his eye on one in particular. Savage - well now, if you're up for it, he'll be into it. Doesn't much care where he gets himself some tail. Cunningham's probably too old to get it up without chemical assistance, so you'll be fine with him. Next rotation or the fuckers from other floors might be a different story."
Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line for a moment, blinking at the wizard. He was young, comparatively, maybe six or seven years older than her.
"And you, Entwhistle?" she asked in a low voice, "Will I be entertaining you as well, or are you prejudiced like you younger brother and repulsed by my status as a mudblood?"
"Forgot that you're in Toby's year," Entwhistle smirked at her, "Snobby little shit, isn't he?"
"Yes," Hermione admitted with a small grin.
The Auror grinned back at her before briefly lowering his lips to brush against hers even as the elevator gave a dull groan to indicate they'd finally reached the top. Proudfoot bent down and picked up Hermione's water container, apparently deciding that he didn't want to intervene between his colleague and his prisoner. Entwhistle's lips were slightly chapped and dry, but still soft against her own as Proudfoot led the way out of the elevator. His large frame blocked her from the view of the other prisoners.
"Does that answer your question, witch?" he asked when he pulled back from kissing her lips.
"Not in front of them?" she asked, nodding towards the prisoners in their cells outside the room.
"Not in front of them," he agreed, "You don't remember me from Hogwarts, do you Granger?"
"One of Rowle's goons who almost got me killed, right?" Hermione asked with a sigh.
"You do remember," he chuckled, "He's going to have a field day when he sees you. Edgecombe put you across from him, you know?"
"Why not Dolohov?" Hermione asked.
"Weasley will be sentenced to life later today. The crazy bitch thinks it will be funny to put that kid across from the bastard who murdered his uncles."
"How much authority do you lot have to intervene against her?" Hermione asked as Entwhistle backed out of the elevator, taking his hands off her.
"Not much. If she tries anything too bad with you, we can step in. Why?"
"She's got a vendetta against me," Hermione sighed, "Because of what I did to her face. Hit her with a finite some time and you'll see what I'm talking about, if you can get past the excessive make-up she has to wear. What am I allowed to do in retaliation against her without bringing Auror or Ministry wrath down on me?"
"What do you want to do?" he asked, grinning at her in amusement.
"Wring her scrawny neck and rip all those curls from her head."
"Oooh, you are still just as feisty as I remember," he laughed, "Rowle's going to blow a nut when he sees you're his new cell-mate."
"Delightful," Hermione sighed, "Can you do me one favour?"
"What is it?" the wizard asked, frowning a little.
"Make sure all these gits are cleared against STDs and anything they might pass on to me while I'm entertaining them?" Hermione asked, "I might be stuck here for life, but I'd rather live out my sentence without gonorrhoea."
Entwhistle snorted at her words.
"Yeah, alright, I'll speak to a healer friend of mine and have them all tested and put on something to prevent it," he nodded.
"That goes for you and Savage too," Hermione told him, "This is a no-fly zone without proof that you lot have been cleared against such things."
"Bossy little thing, aren't you witch?" he chuckled, "Just what proof do you want?"
"I want to watch anyone who'll be screwing me as they take the potions to prevent me catching their STDs. I'm on contraceptives myself, which should guard against disease and pregnancy, but making sure they can't pass anything along too would be nice."
"You really are a logical little vixen, aren't you, lisica?" he asked, "Come on, let's make your debut into the world of being a Lifer in Azkaban prison."
Hermione watched him turn as stroll down the corridor. She was tempted to turn right back around and dive into the elevator to try and escape, but she knew it would do her no good and would just screw over the bargain she'd just made with Entwhistle.
"Granger?" Draco Malfoy's voice was one of the first she heard as she stepped into the long, narrow corridor leading toward her cell.
Hermione glanced to her left and there, in the very first cell out the gate was the platinum blonde hair and pointed face she so recalled from her younger years.
"Malfoy," Hermione nodded to him in greeting, acknowledging his existence when she recalled that sometime in the future she would likely be shagging him.
"Hermione?" the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt came from behind her and Hermione spun towards him quickly.
"Kings," Hermione said, her eyes softening with sympathy as she caught sight of him. She hurried over to the bars of his cell, reaching through the bars and pressing herself to them when he came within reach. Kingsley wrapped his arms around her through the bars and Hermione breathed in the scent of his skin, frowning when she didn't pick up the citrus scent of his cologne she'd grown accustomed to over the years.
"They put you in here for life?" he asked, his voice tight.
Hermione nodded, feeling tears prickle behind her eyes.
"I murdered Umbridge with blood magic in the courtroom," Hermione told him quietly, "The bitch is gone."
"Brilliant, foolish girl," the wizard laughed deeply, "How are we getting you out of here?"
"It's all being taken care of, Kings," Hermione muttered back to him, pressing her nose to the side of his neck and breathing in the scent of the Ministry-issue soap they'd all been given for bathing.
"Good. I'm sorry to see you here, my girl," Kingsley told her, "But you are a sight for sore eyes."
"Come on, lisica," Entwhistle grumbled, "Indulge your crush later."
"Entwhistle?" Hermione asked in her sweetest ton, releasing Kingsley with a brush of her lips to the man's cheek, "Don't be a git, yeah?"
"Watch it , witch," the Auror threatened with no heat in his tone.
"Hermione?" Neville asked, his voice scratchy as though he'd been yelling.
"Oh, Neville," Hermione sighed when she spotted her friend and fellow DA member. He looked terrible, his hair mussed and several days' worth of stubble lining his jaw.
"No, no, no. What are you doing here, Hermione?" Neville protested, blinking at her as though he didn't believe his eyes, "You can't be here. You're innocent. You're too good. No!"
Hermione moved to the front of his cell and pressed herself to the bars, reaching for her friend too.
"I got her, Neville," Hermione told him, hugging the boy as she'd hugged Kinglsey, "Umbridge is dead."
"What? How? When?" Neville asked, clutching her close and burrowing his face into her neck as though she were a soft pillow after a long day.
"Blood magic. Two hours ago," Hermione told him proudly, "The bitch is gone and she's never coming back. She paid for all the blood she owed us and all the lives she ruined."
"But how?" Neville asked, "You don't have your wand."
"I don't need my wand, love," Hermione smirked, pulling back from him and wiggling her fingers to show him the small flame she conjured at their tips.
"You can still do wandless magic?" Neville asked, sounding awed.
"I ripped every drop of blood from her body and watched it arrange itself on the floor of that courtroom in the words she made us all write and then the shapes of those she killed. She's gone and she's never coming back."
"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, staring at her wide-eyed for a long moment before he snaked his hand around the back of her neck - bare now thanks to the hack-job Madame Pomfrey had been forced to do on her curls - before he pulled her to him and planted a kiss right on her lips.
Hermione giggled even as she kissed him back, amused by his response.
"Merlin's saggy y-fronts, Hermione, you're bloody brilliant!"
"Oi, what are ye doin' kissin' her, Nev?" Seamus's Irish accent rang out from the other end of the hall.
"She murdered Umbridge in her hearing today," Neville called.
"What? Really?" Seamus asked.
"Bloody hell, Granger!" Malfoy muttered from behind her.
"Right on, Granger!" Theo Nott called from the very end of the hall.
"You killed that pastel hag?" an unfamiliar voice came from behind her and Hermione turned slowly to meet the surprised and rather approving gaze of Rabastan Lestrange.
"Yes," Hermione admitted, nodding slightly as she eyed the Death Eater coolly.
"How?" Lestrange wanted to know.
"Called in all of her blood debts and watched her bleed out on the courtroom floor," Hermione admitted.
"You don't have a wand," Lestrange pointed out, "You steal one?"
"Blood Magic," Hermione told him, "I used wandless bloody magic."
"She's dead?"
"She's dead," Proudfoot interrupted, "Watched her expire myself."
Hermione was rather alarmed by the way Lestrange grinned wickedly and began to cheer, doing a little dance at the idea of Umbridge being dead. Along the corridor, many of the other Death Eaters cheered along with him, all of them standing at the front of their cells, their hands wrapped around the bars and celebrating Umbridge's murder.
"Hermione, come 'ere lass!" Seamus called, reaching through the bars three cells down from Lestrange's.
"Blimey you lot, keep it down, would you?" Proudfoot grumbled, "Granger, get in your cell, witch."
"Oh come on, two more minutes?" Hermione grinned at the middle-aged auror, ducking around him and dropping the bag of blankets and things next to where he'd put her water container in her doorway.
"Granger," Entwhistle warned, making like he might block her from continuing down the row.
"Oh, don't be such a swot about the rules, would you Entwhistle?" Hermione taunted the Auror when she feinted right and then ducked left around him, running on her toes to where Seamus was hanging through the bars.
"Blimey, it's good to see you, lass," Seamus told her, catching her and pulling her into a hug through the bars, "I mean, I hoped they'd let you go, y'know, but Christ, if you're here 'cause you killed that feckin' bitch, I'm not going to whinge."
Copying Neville, the Irishman tugged her to him until he could plant his lips on her, kissing her soundly on the mouth in his exuberance.
"Wait, you're not going to whinge? That'll be a first for you, Finnegan," Carrow's reedy voice came from behind Seamus.
"Do me a favour, Carrow?" Seamus retorted, resting his forehead against Hermione's for a minute, "Suck my cock."
"One day boy, I'm going to carve that tongue out of your fuckin' head," Carrow sneered in retort.
"I see we've all got some delightful neighbours?" Hermione chuckled when Seamus flipped Carrow the bird.
"You've got no bloody idea, lass. I'm right sorry you're stuck over there between these fuckers," Seamus said, jerking his thumb at Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange.
"It could be worse," Hermione assured him, patting his cheek affectionately, "I could deal with having you watching my every move instead."
"Yeah, but I'm a gentleman who'd give you privacy when you need to take a piss," Seamus chuckled.
Hermione nodded her head.
"Oi, Rowle, you a voyeur?" Hermione called over her shoulder.
"Am now, Princess," the boisterous Death Eater retorted, "Where's my kiss in greeting?"
"It's waiting for you right alongside all those fucks I'm going to give about your bullshit," Hermione told him.
"Ho, ho," Rowle laughed scoffing, "Who corrupted that innocent tongue of yours, Baby-girl? I want to taste that foul language dripping off it."
"Ye going to be alright with these fucks, lass?" Seamus asked, pulling her a little closer as though he might be able to protect her.
"I'll be fine," Hermione assured him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before pulling away, "I mean, it's not like this one and that one haven't both personally tried to kill me or anything."
She jerked her thumb at Dolohov and then Rowle
"Next time I'm loose I'll try again, Princess," Rowle warned her coldly.
"Oh, I'm so scared," Hermione rolled her eyes, winking at Seamus.
"Hells, but you don't belong in this place, Hermione," Seamus shook his head.
"I'll make life interesting for you though, won't I?" Hermione smirked at him widely.
"Fuck, I hope so," Theo Nott said from behind her, "Where's my kiss, Granger?"
"You really want one, Nott?" Hermione asked, turning to look at him, "I'd hate to infect you with my mudblood cooties."
"Smartarse," he accused her, "Honestly, witch? I've already been here long enough that I'll take what I can get."
"Not what you said in the showers yesterday, Nott," Lestrange called out.
"You try and put your cock anywhere near my arse again, Lestrange," Nott retorted, "And I'll snap the bloody thing off."
"Pussy," Lestrange shot back.
"Oh delightful," Hermione sighed, turning to look at Proudfoot, "Do they all bicker like this?"
"Would you get in your bloody cell before I have to manhandle you, witch?" the frustrated Auror growled, rubbing at his forehead as though they were all giving him a headache, "We've got to haul Weasley to his trial."
"But I haven't even said hello to everyone yet," Hermione protested, grinning and having entirely too much fun when she dodged the man's grip as he reached for her.
Hermione squawked in protest when Entwhistle snuck up behind her, spun her and lifted her onto his shoulder.
"Hey! Damn it, Entwhistle," Hermione protested, beating her fists against the man's back, "This is hardly professional."
"Hush up, lisica," Entwhistle told her, "We've got places to be and you're holding things up. You can play with your friends when we get back."
"You'll let me out again? I've already showered twice today," Hermione told him, noticing as she hung over the man's shoulder that Dolohov's brown eyes followed her every move. Hermione caught his gaze and flicked him the forks, earning herself a cruel chuckle.
"Then you can wait until tomorrow and play with them then."
"You're no fun, you know that, Entwhistle?" Hermione asked when he toted her into her small cell and deposited her on the thin mattress.
"Gods, when was the last time this place was cleaned?" Hermione wrinkled her nose at the state of the cell. It was habitable, and pristine compared to where she had been, but still grimy.
"This morning. Take it up with the elves if you've got a problem," Entwhistle told her, "And try not to stir up any more trouble, yeah?"
He chucked her lightly under the chin with the back of his hand.
"No promises, but it's fine, I'll handle the mess."
Hermione immediately bounced back to her feet - feeling better all the time with the potions coursing through her system and returning her strength to her. She snapped her fingers and watched the way the residual grime upon the floors and the walls peeled away before siphoning itself all out the window.
"You weren't kidding about that wandless magic, eh?" Lestrange asked, peering into her cell over the half-wall of stone separating their bunks, "Can you do mine too?"
"What are you going to give me for it?" Hermione bargained.
"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be noble?" Lestrange chuckled, "That's a Slytherin line drawling out of your mouth, witch."
"I don't do favours to people who've tried to kill me unless there's something in it for me, Lestrange," Hermione told him.
"I'll give you the time of your life if you come close enough," the wizard offered, winking lasciviously.
"You realise that you're, like, filthy, right?" Hermione asked, "Did you not bathe recently? Are you not permitted a razor? You look like something my cat might've coughed up."
"Oooh, and she's an ice queen too," Lestrange chuckled, "I'm Rabastan, love."
He stuck his arm through the bars towards her, offering her his hand to shake. Hermione eyed the appendage for a moment. She heard the faintest hint of a laugh coming from Rowle's cell across the corridor and Hermione caught the glint in his eyes that said the wizard was trying to have her on.
Willing to play, Hermione stepped closer, propping one of her feet up onto the edge of her bed for leverage. Quick as a cat, she seized his arm and hauled on it until the wizard banged his head against the bars of his cell before dropping him again just as quickly.
"I'm Hermione," she told the cursing wizard sweetly while everyone else in the prison began to laugh at his misfortune, "You keep your hands to yourself and we'll get along just fine."
"You feisty little bitch," Rabastan accused.
"Yeah, take that fucker," Neville cheered, "Right on, Hermione. Gods, I've missed having a feisty witch around."
"You say that now," Hermione laughed, taking the bag of things Entwhistle handed her and dumping everything out of it to begin arranging her cell to her liking, "But let's see if you still feel that way when you've got to see my face every day and listen to my voice for the rest of our lives."
"Better than the rest of these fuckers," Rabastan told her, looking rather amused by what she'd done to him even as his face began to swell slightly.
"Well if that isn't just the sweetest line I've ever heard," Hermione tolled her eyes.
"Oooh, you're going to be a world of fun to play with, witch," the dark wizard told her, eyeing her through the bars as she began setting up her things, "Oi, you got more stuff than us."
"If you're referring to these," Hermione said, lifting the box of tampons she'd been given, "I can guarantee you don't want them, Lestrange."
"Whatcha got, Granger?" Nott called out as Proudfoot locked Hermione's cell behind him and the Aurors both took their leave.
"Tampons," Hermione announced.
"Gross," Carrow sneered.
"Oh yes, positively disgusting," Hermione rolled her eyes to herself, "How foul to have been given something to soak up the blood that will expel from my uterus every month rather than bloodying up the floor, the sheets and just about everything else in reach for five days every month. Positively wretched."
She heard a low, deep chuckle from the cell beside hers and Hermione glanced sideways to find Dolohov standing at the bars separating their cells, peering over into her space and watching her unpack even as she muttered to herself.
"You're so feckin' stupid, Carrow," Seamus sneered, "What the fuck else did you think was going to happen for a witch living in a prison cell? Thought they'd just let her bleed everywhere, did you?"
"Say that to my face, cunt!" Carrow snarled back.
"Oh, is that not you're face?" Seamus asked, "My mistake, your face and your arse are feckin' identical."
"If the two of you could set aside the ever-thickening sexual tension until the next time you have the chance to fuck one another in the showers, that would be ideal," Lucius Malfoy's cool voice drawled from the end of the row opposite Nott and beside Seamus – as far from Draco as possible.
"Keep fuckin' talking', Malfoy and I'll get a real good grip on your pretty hair and fuck you stupid," Carrow threatened.
"Oh my god, someone kill him," Hermione grumbled, "I'm already sick of him. Surely one of you idiots can muster enough rage to murder him wandlessly?"
"You're encouraging murder?" Rowle chuckled from behind her, "What happened to the leader of light and fucking sunshine you used to be, Princess?"
"That girl got fucked in the arse by the Ministry and thrown in here with you lot over ridiculous bullshit," Hermione replied, setting her water container up on the ledge of the small window to her cell, effectively blocking the cold wind blowing through it and finding a way to keep the water cool.
"What'd they charge you with, Hermione?" Neville asked from his cell while Hermione went about laying the Ministry guidebook and her toiletries on the small wooden bench mounted on the wall.
"Six counts of murder, one count of assault. Grand theft for breaking into Gringotts and robbing the Lestrange vault before commandeering a Gringotts dragon. Use of the Unforgiveable Curses. Possession of illicit substances. Resisting arrest. Fraud over impersonation Ministry officials," Hermione listed of her crimes and she stored her loo paper next to the pitiful excuse for a lavatory she was expected to use during her stay.
It was nestled behind the little wall created by the bed mounted on the wall of the cell, but was still completely visible from all sides if Rowle, Dolohov or Lestrange wanted to perve on her while she peed.
"You name it Neville, and that bitch threw it at me," Hermione went on as she moved back towards the bed, unloading the sheets and the blanket to begin making up the cot.
"Yeah, she screwed all of us over the same way," Neville sighed.
"Didn't have much choice but to plead guilty either, so, you know, I kind of knew they'd be throwing me in here. When that became clear, I wasn't about to let that hag keep breathing free air when I couldn't," Hermione told the boy, talking loud enough that Seamus, and Kingsley would be able to hear her.
"You broke into my Gringotts vault?" Rabastan asked through the bars.
"Yeah," Hermione grinned at him, "One of Voldemort's horcruxes was stored inside it. Griphook betrayed us once we were incised when Harry had to use the Imperius curse on the bank manager to get him to cooperate, so we got busted down there. The security guards were throwing curses at us and the only plan of escape I could come up with on such short notice was to ride the dragon guarding the vault all the way out of the catacombs."
"That pitiful thing could still fly?" Lestrange asked, frowning, "I always thought it was stuck in the job of guarding the vaults because it was blind and couldn't fly anymore."
Hermione shook her head, "He could fly. He wasn't blind, either, just severely malnourished and kept in the bowels on that place so long that he was practically translucent."
"Blimey. You flew on the back of that thing?" Lestrange asked, shaking his head.
Hermione nodded at him, seeing what Proudfoot had meant. With the Dementors no longer guarding the prison, Lestrange seemed downright chipper. Then again, he'd spent a good portion of his life sitting in a cell just like the one he currently inhabited. Maybe he felt like he was at home.
"You seem awful chipper for a witch who was just unfairly sentenced to life in prison, Princess," Rowle commented from where he leaned against the bars at the front of his own cell.
Hermione turned toward him slowly as she finished making her bed.
"I won't be here that long," Hermione smirked at the big blonde wizard.
"You're high on the rush of killing Umbridge, more like," he told her, "That'll wear off and then my favourite little lioness is going to cry."
Hermione wondered idly if he was right.
"We'll see," Hermione told him, shrugging her shoulders, "So, what do we do for fun around here?"
"Seriously, Granger?" Theo Nott snorted from his cell down the row.
"What? You're telling me there's absolutely no fun to be had in this place?" she asked, chuckling slightly.
"Come here, love, and I'll show you a good time," Lestrange said, reaching through the bars separating their cells.
"Maybe some other time, Lestrange," Hermione rolled her eyes, "I don't trust you not to slam me into the bars after what I did to you."
"Clever little thing, aren't you?" he chuckled, "But if you go ahead and take that jump-suit off, I won't lay a harmful finger on you, love."
"Are you always this charming, or is it my lucky day?" Hermione asked, slanting a rather amused grin at him despite his affiliation during the war.
"Prison rules 101, love," Rabastan winked at her, "Learn to get along with the neighbours, or you're fucked. So I'm just getting warmed up."
"Fantastic," Hermione grumbled rolling her eyes and beginning to pace out the size of her cell.
As she did, Hermione tried her hardest to ignore the way Dolohov shadowed her up and down the length of her cell, never speaking, but constantly there in the corner of her vision. Across the cell, Rowle watched her as well, similarly silent as he watched her pace while Rabastan began throwing out outrageous line after outrageous pickup line, laughing at his own jokes and seeming to amuse himself entirely. She ignored the way the hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she counted out the feet width and lengthwise of her new living quarters. She also did her damnedest to ignore the predatory gleam in the eyes of all three wizards surrounding her cell as they watched her move.
