A/N: I'm so thrilled y how many of you are interested in this story. I hope you enjoying it and can't wait to see what you make of this chapter =)


Jailbird Blues

By Kittenshift17


Chapter 4


"Right then, who's going to be the one to say it?" Carrow asked sometime later when Hermione was tiring of pacing her cell and already beginning to feel the need to climb the walls.

She was ready to murder Rabastan for the way he kept on with his silly jokes and lines, constantly guffawing at his own inane witticisms, even if some of them were rather funny. She was barely resisting the urge to flick hexes as Rowle and Dolohov for the way they never took their eyes off her. She suspected the high of committing murder was – as Rowle had warned it would – beginning to wear off. She was feeling more and more like a cat in a cage and she wanted out.

Everyone seemed to ignore Carrow's words, and Hermione got the feeling that even among his fellow Death Eaters, the wizard was not well-liked.

"No one?" he asked, "No one is going to bring it up?"

"Carrow?" Lucius Malfoy's voice asked, "If you'd be so kind as to choke on your own tongue, we'd all be ever so grateful."

Hermione snorted at the man's words. Even when he was being rude he was still polite about it.

"There you go with that mouth again, Lucius," Carrow sneered, clearly pleased that someone was going to engage him, "Don't worry though, with the new little witch on the block, I hardly think anyone will be interested in fucking you when we can all fuck her. Yeah, I reckon that little mudblood bitch is going to squeal like a stuck pig when I shove my prick right up her arse."

"If you so much as lay a filthy hand on her, Carrow," Seamus began after full minute of complete silence, even Rabastan falling quiet of his own amusements at the man's cruel words, "I'll cut both of 'em off and fist you with 'em, yeah?"

"What's the matter, pretty boy?" Carrow taunted, "She your girlfriend? Worried she'll prefer the cock of a real man over that pathetic excuse for one you've got down your trousers?"

"We'll see how pathetic it is when I fuck you to death with it, cunt," Seamus snarled in return.

"Oooh, and he's touchy about it too. Yeah, I'm going to bend that little whore over and watch her scream. You reckon she'll fight me, Finnegan? I like it when they fight."

Neville, Seamus and Kingsley all began snarling threats at the wizard from their respective cells, and Hermione could tell the twisted prick was enjoying engaging them all in the verbal spar as he continued to detail even more vulgar things he'd like to do to her.

"Scared yet, Princess?" Thorfinn Rowle asked her in a low voice from across the row when Hermione walked to the front of her cell, her hands gripping the bars so tightly that her knuckles went white.

Yes, she was beginning to get scared. She was surrounded by men, and for all that her fellow Order and DA members were threatening violence on her behalf, she noticed that none of the Death Eaters spoke up to protest the foul things Carrow was saying he would do to her. More to the point, she'd told Entwhistle that she would play nice and let them all shag her, intent on following Madame Pomfrey's directive about trying to fall pregnant as soon as humanly possible to secure her freedom all the faster.

In theory, that made a world of sense to her, and even her logical and frank discussion with Entwhistle about entertaining these men and allowing them all to have sex with her had left her feeling slightly used, but nonetheless on board with the decision.

Listening to Carrow detail some of the truly terrible things he would enjoy doing to her body, however, and feeling the weight of Dolohov's gaze upon her, were making her reconsider the notion. It was one thing to entertain the concept of consenting to sex if the Aurors would be willing to ensure they did so politely, in a restrained sort of fashion for the purpose of intimacy and sexual release. It was entirely another to hear a man detailing the way he wanted to cram his cock inside of her so hard that her insides would bleed, whilst describing how he intended to attempt putting his whole fist up her bum.

Hermione was no stranger to the inner workings of intercourse. It was a very little known fact that while her friends had been experiencing their first kisses, she'd been engaging in sex. She had given her virginity to Viktor Krum at the end of her fourth year and it wasn't a decision she regretted. She had also been in an extremely secretive relationship with Fred and George Weasley for the length of her fifth year.

No one knew about that aside from Fred, George and Hermione herself. And with Fred dead, the secret belonged only to her and George. She had dated them both in secret – with full disclosure between the three of them in a triad arrangement. While Harry had been getting his first kiss with Cho, Hermione had been figuring out how it felt to be spit-roasted by two wizards at the same time. While Ginny had begun courting Terry Boot or Michael Corner, Hermione had been learning the intimacies of being double-teamed - as Fred and George had called it – experimenting with simultaneous anal and vaginal sex.

Two boys at one time had been the extent of her knowledge, and things had broken off when Fred and George had left school before finishing, though the occasional late-night romp between the three of them had still occurred at Grimmauld Place and the Burrow during the holidays of her sixth year. Theirs had been a causal yet intimate arrangement spent learning the intricacies of two boys sharing one girl.

She knew what it was to share her body with two wizards, and in theory she had rationalised that having sex with her fellow inmates would be manageable if Entwhistle kept to their bargain and everyone was polite and responsible about it. In theory it was achievable and logically she knew it made sense. The sooner she got pregnant, the sooner she could get out of this hell-hole.

In practice, however, Hermione was staring across the cell at the likes of Thorfinn Rowle - a man who'd tried to kill her more than once. He was a huge Viking of a wizard, easily six foot five, he towered of her five foot four by more than a foot. He was strapping and powerfully built. He was imposing, he was violent and he could easily hurt her. Were she to find herself locked in a room with him and were he to decide to do to her some of the things that Carrow was describing, there would be little she could do to stop him, even with her ability to practice wandless magic.

In theory things made sense. In practice, her inside were clenching with a twisted combination of fear, dread and anticipation all rolled into one. The others, Hermione believed she could handle. Seamus, Neville and Kingsley would all be polite about it if and when the time came that she would be having sex with them. George was a given and if she was being honest, Hermione looked forward to returning to the redhead's arms. Similarly the likes of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott – both of whom had been in her year and who'd tried to defect at the end of the war – were unlikely to force themselves on her. Not when they knew she could do wandless magic and was fierce in her own right.

Lucius Malfoy, she very much doubted would ever have sex with her. He was too prejudiced and entirely too in love with his wife. If it came to it that he truly couldn't resist the urge for intimacy and release, Hermione suspected the man would politely asked her permission before ravishing her and that he would be cordial about the entire thing.

Carrow, of course, was blacklisted and would never be laying a finger on her if Hermione could help it. The other three were her concern. Rowle and Dolohov had both tried to kill her and had both been watching her with the predatory hunger of starving caged beasts since the minute she'd come into view on this cell-block. Lestrange could go either way. He had seemed entirely playful and mostly harmless thus far with his silly jokes and pickup lines, but she didn't doubt that a dark and twisted soul dwelt within him should he decide he wanted to fuck her and wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

The thought that at some stage she would shag each of them individually, some combination of the three in a triad or all three of them at the same time titillated and terrified her in equal measure. But she couldn't really tell them that and give away her fear, now could she? Staring into Rowle's eyes, she pretended to mull over his question about being scared.

"Since I'm not Carrow's sister, I doubt he'll even be able to get it up for me," Hermione said finally.

"Oooh," came the collective response from the gathered group at her brave words.

"Right here, bitch," Carrow called from down the corridor and Hermione curled her lip in distaste when he flopped his scrotum right out of his clothing and stuck it between the bars, showing her that he was already erect with the things he planned to do to her.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione focused her magic and snapped her fingers. She felt a smug smile crawl across her face when the wretched bastard began to howl as the stinging jinx connected with his cock.

"Right on, Hermione!" Seamus began to cheer as the Death Eater began to writhe in agony, "Take that you twisted fucking cunt, Carrow!"

"Let me know if he gets a priapism, won't you Seamsus?" Hermione asked.

"What's a priapism?" Rowle asked, his brow furrowing.

"Means he'll stay hard – painfully so – without any stimuli. If it lasts long enough, he'll get gangrene and infected until his cock rots right off," Hermione smiled toothily, "The blood loses oxygen, and the blood cells get damaged. Being that I also hexed him, causing the entire area to swell even more, he's in danger of having his cock split right open like a hotdog left in the heat too long."

Rowle winced, cupping his own groin as though it suddenly pained him.

"Vulgar as he is, love," Lestrange spoke up from the cell beside hers, drawing her gaze, "The harsh reality is that you're sharing a cell-block with eleven blokes. We're all serving life. No one is getting out of this place. And a man has needs."

"Seeing as how none of you are amputees, I'd have thought you have the required equipment to see to those needs yourselves, Lestrange?" Hermione asked coolly.

"Ah, wanking's only good for so long, love. Especially with a pretty little witch like you right here," Rabastan told her.

"Planning on crawling through the bars to get me, Lestrange?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, "I know that I fit through them, but none of you will."

"What do you mean you fit through them, Hermione?" Neville asked sharply.

"They're wide enough that I can squeeze through," Hermione told him, "Watch."

She'd noticed it the minute she entered the cell. The bars were spaced about ten inches apart and with the amount of weight she'd lost whilst on the run and being starved in her holding cell, Hermione was thin enough to slip through them. Working her head through the gaps carefully, Hermione twisted her body to fit one breast and then the other through the bars before sliding loose until she stood in the walkway rather than inside her cell.

"What are you still doing here, Hermione?" Neville asked, "You're free. Run for it while the Aurors are gone."

Hermione had already thought about that.

"I can't," Hermione told him seriously, "The elevators are wand activated, not magic activated. You've got to have a wand to make them open, sticking them into this hole here, like a key."

She strolled the length of the hallway to the lift.

"See?" she pointed, "And you've got to do the same on the inside to make the elevator go back to the ground floor. Trust me love, one of the first things I noticed was how easy or difficult it would be to slip back out of this place and disappear."

"So you're stuck even if you can walk the corridor?" Draco Malfoy asked quietly.

"Looks that way. For now," Hermione nodded, glancing at the blonde boy she'd been to school with. He was paler than usual as he stared back at her, his blonde hair growing long and beginning to hang into his eyes despite the relatively short length of his stay since his life sentence was delivered.

"Regardless, love," Lestrange told her, "Eleven blokes. One witch. A communal shower. It might take some of these noble fuckers like Longbottom there a while before they begin pining for your undoubtedly-tight cunt and day-dreaming about how it would be better than their own hand, but I guarantee, we're all thinking it."

"I like to think that every man I meet would prefer to shag me than to wank," Hermione told the wizard idly, strolling along the row once more and peering into each cell as she went. She stopped outside Neville's cell to reach through the bars and card her fingers through his hair, craving the physical intimacy of touching someone again after so long spent in her holding cell.

"Come on in here and I'll be happy to prove that theory correct, Princess," Thorfinn told her, smirking at her as he reached through the bars towards her.

"And here I thought you said you'd try to kill me again if there weren't bars separating us, Thorfinn," Hermione needled the man.

"Wasn't specific on how I'd do it, now was I?" he smirked it returned, "And you'd look right pretty choking on my cock, Baby-girl."

"From what I recall of your cock, Rowle, I think I'd break my jaw trying to fit it in my mouth, let alone managing to choke on it," Hermione said seriously, recalling the brief glimpse she'd gotten of his anatomy seven years ago.

"You know it, Kitten," he chuckled smugly, "Come on through these bars and we'll see how you handle it."

"Hmmm," Hermione tapped her chin, "Willingly entered the cell of a man who's tried to kill me whilst he's threatening sexual violence. Oh yes, sounds like a solid and logical course of action."

"You're still a cheeky brat, witch," he accused her, chuckling.

"Oi, Granger?" Theo called out from the other end of the corridor, "I've never tried to kill you or threatened sexual violence, come on into my cell."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You've barely even been in here a month, Theo, and you're already sexually depraved," she laughed at him.

"He was that way before he got locked up," Malfoy drawled from the opposite end of the hall, "Man's a nymphomaniac."

"Not afraid of mudblood filth anymore, Nott?" Hermione asked.

"Not if you get in here and let me have my way with you, witch," he retorted, smirking at her wickedly.

"You realise they're never going to stop hounding you for sex now that they know you can come and go from every cell, right Hermione?" Neville asked her seriously.

"They'll tire eventually," Hermione shrugged, "How have you been, really?"

"Been locked in here with these fuckers," Neville scoffed, his language – like Seamus's – apparently having gone to hell, "Edgecombe's a fucking bitch too. If I ever get loose whilst she's here, I'll strangle that whore. Put me right across from that bastard knowing what he did to my parents."

"How many times have I got to say that I didn't have a hand in that, Longbottom?" Lestrange asked from behind her, "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I got caught and tossed into this fuckhole for something I never even committed."

"As though you haven't killed and tortured anyone?"

"Oh, are we back to comparing kill tallies again?" Lestrange smirked, "What was that number of yours again, kid? Five hundred and fourteen people dead – most of them not even branded Death Eaters, just snatchers and sympathizers to the cause or those bullied, coerced or Imperiused into joining the Dark Lord."

"Better than murdering forty-three innocent people and torturing countless others until they lost their minds," Neville shot back, glaring hatefully at Lestrange.

"Po-tay-to, pot-tah-to, kid," Lestrange shrugged.

"I'm rather looking forward to Edgecombe coming by to witness my incarceration," Hermione admitted to Neville, leaning against the bars between his cell and Kingsley's beside his. Both wizards moved with her, touching her in harmless ways. Kingsley took her hand and worked his fingers through hers, taking comfort in the simple touch. Neville threaded a hand through her hacked curls and leaned towards her until his forehead rested against hers.

She could almost feel both men drawing strength from the touch. She had read about that. The requirement witches and wizards had for each other, not just on a sexual level, but on a much baser and more elemental level. It was a requirement that ensured the survival of the species, so to speak. A witch or wizard left untended by someone of the opposite sex for any length of time – even if only tended via the brush of an elbow or a holding of hands – would begin to lose control of their ability to access their magic. Male and female elemental magic – the magic stored in their very blood that allowed them to practice magic at all and to interact with the magical world – was vital to their existence.

By holding her hand or touching her skin, the magic inside of her brushed against the magic inside each wizard touching her. She didn't fully understand how it worked, but she knew that if a witch or wizard went too long without touching a person of the opposite sex – even in a non-sexual way – their core magic would grow unstable and erratic. Certain traits of the caster would be enhanced – such as a proclivity toward violent outbursts of accidental magic, or a losing of oneself toward darker forms of magic. If the caster went long enough without interacting with other magical beings – particularly of the opposite sex – they would eventually lose their ability to cast altogether.

Hermione suspected it had something to do with the idea that if there were only one gender of a certain race left, they would need to conform toward muggle abilities to continue living. She'd read too that in cases were magical people were deprived of such contact were put into situations with muggles and they reproduced, the likelihood of magical birth increased ten-fold. Something about the way the magic worked meant it diminished until a witch or wizard was forced to seek human contact with muggles, but the powers would come streaming back as soon as someone of the opposite sex was born to that witch or wizard's bloodline.

An in-built survival-of-the-species safety net, as it were.

Recalling that she was the only witch on this floor of the prison and that though others like Edgecombe might stop in, Hermione realised it would fall to her touch all of the wizards in this place if she wanted to ensure they didn't lose their magic. More importantly, it meant that if she were to avoid certain individuals, they would eventually be driven to touch her however they could. Sex Magic would likely come into play then. Non-sexual touching allowed the effects, but sex certainly increased it. Having sex with someone meant that their bodies and their magic would brush together and thus stabilise the magic within each person.

"Why would you look forward to seeing that bitch?" Neville asked her, his eyes closed as he essentially recharged his magical batteries simply by touching her.

"Because when I do I'm going to pull all those curls from her ugly little head," Hermione replied sweetly, "I should've put a much more severe curse on that parchment in fifth year. Could've killed the bitch before she ever became a problem."

"Blood thirsty little thing, aren't you, love?" Lestrange asked from behind her, "Aren't you supposed to be the embodiment of mudbloods and Light?"

"Lestrange?" Neville asked before Hermione could bother answering, "Do me a favour and just shut the fuck up for five minutes yeah? Your voice is annoying as shit."

Hermione heard most of the other prisoners snort and laugh in amusement. Carrow was still whimpering from his cell.

"I'm just saying," Lestrange argued, "If I'd known that Undesirable Number Two looked this delectable and had such a bloodthirsty nature, I'd have spent more of the war trying to hunt her down myself."

"Well then I'm oh so glad for your ignorance," Hermione told the man, "If I'd had to listen to your voice that much sooner, I'm sure I'd have murdered you."

"Sweet talkin' me, love?" Lestrange asked, "Hey, swing some of that touch-feely shit my way, yeah?"

"Why would I do that?" Hermione asked him, "You're still looking to get revenge after I slammed your head against the cell bars."

"I might be persuaded to forgive you for it if you'll slip through the bars and give me an hour, love," Lestrange drawled in return.

"I see that your last stay in prison certainly did a number on your mental faculties, Lestrange," Hermione replied, feeling the push and pull of Kingsley's magic against hers.

The brush of it brought to mind the image of long summer days spent laying on a beach.

Neville's magic brought to mind the smell of a greenhouse, alive with plants and teaming with life. She could almost see the wizard amid the plants and soil, could almost hear him humming a jaunty tune – singing to a Babbling Begonia or something equally amusing.

"You're like…" Kingsley murmured softly, his thumb smoothing over the back of her hand.

"The comfort of a soft chair by a fire," Neville picked up the sentence, "In a library. When I touch you, I feel like I'm back at Hogwarts in the library by one of the fireplaces, reading in an armchair."

"Exactly," Kingsley nodded his head, "I can feel the books and the heat of the fire."

Hermione smiled, pleased to learn what her magical signature felt like to others. She'd learned early on that touching someone would call to mind the brush of their magic against hers and a mental image that reflected their soul. Fred and George, she knew most intimately, both felt like mischief. Every time she touched either of them, it had called to mind the sight of an open and unguarded cookie jar on a high shelf, just waiting to be raided.

Harry had always called to mind the image of a Quidditch pitch and the feeling of flying. Ron had always made her think of lazy days spent at the Burrow, lounging around in pyjamas and just relaxing completely. She loved getting a read on the magical signature of those she encountered and she'd been told off once in her second year for being so touchy with people who didn't feel like being touched by the inquisitive witch.

"Glad you're enjoying me," Hermione grinned, well aware of how suggestive her words happened to be.

"Hard not to, Hermione," Neville replied, "I feel like I've been locked up in this fucking cell forever. How long has it been since the battle, do you know?"

"A few months," Hermione told him softly, "It's the middle of August."

"Fuck," Neville sighed, "No wonder I feel like shit."

"You don't look too bad, all things considered," Hermione replied, "Did they give you a razor to shave?"

"We've all got a straight razor," Neville nodded his head, "But the Aurors don't let us access them unless we're in the bathroom and they can control us so we don't try to kill each other."

"They didn't used to care about that," Lestrange muttered, "Until Longbottom tried to cut my throat. See what he did to me, love?"

Hermione turned to look over her shoulder, noticing that Lestrange had lifted his chin, exposing his throat where a long, still healing slash could be seen across his neck.

"You did that to him?" Hermione asked, turning back to Neville.

"The bastard deserves it after what he did to my parents," Neville said, though he looked a little bit guilty about it.

"So much for learning to play nice with your neighbours, eh?" Hermione chuckled.

"She's laughing," Rabastan demanded, "Witch, your little boyfriend there tried to slit my throat and you're laughing about it? I thought you were part of the Sunshine Squad, all about elf rights and the sanctity of life."

"Did you miss the part where I said I was charged with five counts of murder, Rabastan?" Hermione asked without looking at the wizard, "Or the bit where I literally pulled every drop of blood from Umbridge's body and painted the courtroom floor with it."

"Yeah, but that bitch deserved it."

"In Neville's eyes, so did you," Hermione retorted.

"I didn't even fucking touch his parents!" Lestrange argued, "That was all Bella."

"Your wand showed the Cruciatus curse as well, I've read your arrest files," Hermione told the man.

"Yeah, because I'd been at a gathering held by the Dark Lord prior to his downfall where I'd been instructed to teach some of his disobedient followers to fall in line," Lestrange argued, "I hadn't used it since then until I laid that fucking trap for Bella, trying to get myself, my brother and Barty free of the crazy bitch without her killing all of us. Who do you think tipped off the Aurors that we'd be there? Only then Rodolphus wouldn't fucking listen when I was trying to drag him away because he was besotted with that heartless cunt of a witch, and we were all caught! The only one who laid a wand on either Auror Longbottom was Bellatrix and I've spent fifteen fucking years sitting in this Merlin cursed cell paying for a crime I didn't even fucking commit!"

Everyone was silent for a long moment after his tirade, as though they didn't know what to make of the genuine anger and indignation in his voice and the sincerity of his tale.

"You're telling me you never wanted to be a Death Eater?" Hermione asked, turning towards the wizard slowly as she extracted herself from Neville and Kingsley's hold.

"Oh, I took my fucking mark with pride and I served the Dark Lord well," Rabastan told her, shaking his head, "But I hated my sister-in-law with a depth and passion you can't even begin to fathom, little girl."

"Why didn't you just kill her?" Hermione asked, tipping her head to one side as she regarded the man, she strolled across the narrow walkway separating Rabastan's cell from Neville's, "It's not as though you're some stranger to committing murder."

"Because the Dark Lord adored the crazy bitch," Rabastan shrugged, "I wasn't about to draw his wrath by killing his favourite follower. And once he was defeated in Godric's Hollow, I contemplated it every day. Trouble is, mad as the bitch was, she was fiery too and my brother was besotted with his wife. I thought the threat of prison would shatter what little bond there was between them, but I thought wrong. He refused to leave her side, and I wasn't quick enough with my Killing Curse before the Aurors disarmed me. After we were freed, the Dark Lord was back and he wouldn't condone Bella's murder."

"There'd have been plenty of opportunities to murder her when he wasn't around. I hardly think you'd have had trouble getting away with it," Hermione said, moving close enough that she could reach into Draco Malfoy's cell but was out of reach of Rabastan as she spoke to him.

Malfoy regarded her coolly but for the curiosity glittering in his eyes when Hermione stuck her hand through the bars of his cell, palm up, offering him the chance to recharge his magic if he wanted to. He looked like he didn't entirely believe his eyes as he stared at her for a long moment before he slowly took her hand inside both of his. Hermione was surprised when he lifted the appendage to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek and leaning into the touch, his grey eyes closing and a small sigh escaping him.

"You heard the part where I fucked up getting my own brother and idiot best friend out of a house to leave that bitch to be caught or killed by Aurors, right?" Rabastan asked her, narrowing his eyes on her interaction with Draco.

"Remind me not to put you in charge of the escape attempt plans, Lestrange," Hermione chuckled quietly at his own self-deprecation.

Hermione noticed idly that when Malfoy's magic brushed against hers it called to mind a snowy forest and rolling hills blanketed in pristine white powder. Where Kingsley's sunny beach magic had warmed her, Malfoy's magic felt like a snow day, chilly, but with the vaguest hints of mischief and adventure thrown in. It was most peculiar, to be cold and excited at the same time. Beneath her palm, Hermione could feel the faintest scratch of facial hair along his jaw and found herself surprised. Taking her eyes off Lestrange, Hermione squinted at Malfoy, shocked to see there were white-blonde hairs, fine as spider-silk, dusting his pointed jaw.

"You do feel like a library," he murmured to her, his eyes still closed as he held her hand to his face, "I can practically smell the books."

"And here I thought I smelled like them because I was always carrying so many," Hermione chuckled quietly.

He blinked his eyes open slowly at her words, his grey eyes focusing on her face carefully.

"Why are you letting me touch you, Granger?" he asked, "We're hardly friends."

Hermione shrugged, "I know you were coerced into most of the things you did as a Death Eater. And brainwashed about blood prejudice before that. You saw the light, in the end."

"You're forgiving me for what a wretch I've been to you since I was eleven?" he asked, clearly shocked.

"Harry forgave you too, you know?" Hermione said softly, holding his gaze as she nodded, "After we pulled you from the Room of Requirement and the Fiendfyre, he forgave you, even though you ran. He realised that you were just a victim of circumstance, same as he was."

Hermione saw the way his bottom lip quivered at her kind words and she smiled gently at the platinum haired wizard. Using her grip on his cheek, Hermione pulled him forwards until she could press a kiss to his forehead, feeling the way he began to tremble.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Why am I forgiving you?" Hermione clarified, "Because I'm tired of holding grudges against people who haven't done that much to earn my hatred. Now, Umbridge? That bitch deserved what she got. And Edgecombe, when her comeuppance comes, she'll deserve what I do to her too. You? You protected us when you didn't have to. You lied for us to keep us from being handed to Voldemort on a silver platter. You didn't fight other than for appearance-sake when we escaped. If not for your lack of fight when Harry grabbed all those wands from you that day, he'd never have been able to Kill Voldemort. Without what you did, Draco, the world would look very different indeed."

"Wouldn't be sitting in jail cells though, would we?" he muttered bitterly.

"I don't plan to sit in mine for long," Hermione grinned secretively at him, "Might be, if you play your cards right, that I'll bust you out of here with me when I go, along with that lot."

Hermione jerked her thumb towards Neville and Kingsley.

"You have a plan to get out of here?" he asked, his eyes red and a little wet when he opened them once more to meet her gaze.

"I have several plans for getting out of here, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "They don't call me that brightest witch our age for nothing, you know?"

"Did you really kill Umbridge with blood magic in front of the entire Wizengamot?" he asked her, "Without a wand?"

Hermione nodded her head.

"What other wandless magic can you do?" he asked in a low voice, one of his hands leaving her wrist and reaching for her as though he couldn't help himself. When he did as Neville had done and slipped his fingers into her short curls, Hermione didn't protest.

"Depends on how much I've been given to eat, how tired I am and what kind of magic I'm trying to perform. I couldn't do anything like a Bombarda to bust out of here, but I can keep gits like this one," she nodded towards Lestrange, who had moved closer and was reaching through the bars between his cell and Draco's, trying to grab Hermione, "From having their way with me if I decide I'm not in the mood."

"And when you are in the mood, witch?" Rabastan asked, catching her words and ceasing his lunging to stare at her.

"Oh, I'm sure I could find someone more agreeable to see to my needs," Hermione smirked at the wizard.

"I'll help you out with that anytime you like," Rowle called, clearly hearing what they were saying.

"You're so kind, Thorfinn," Hermione rolled her eyes at Malfoy, "Just what I want, a Neanderthal the size of a bloody giant manhandling me and impaling me on his huge cock."

"You just say the word or come on in here, Princess," Thorfinn replied, laughing at her sarcastic tone, "Won't take too long before you start craving me, witch. You get full view at every glorious inch of me for the rest of your life. I bet it takes less than a week before you're climbing through the bars of my cell, begging to ride my cock."

"Were you incarcerated while the Dementors were still guarding this place too?" Hermione asked mildly, "You're as deluded as Lestrange."

A low, cruel laugh emitted from the cell beyond Hermione's and Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Dolohov.

"Just let me fuck you already, Granger?" Lestrange asked, sounding exasperated, "No way can I take being your neighbour and seeing into your cell for the rest of my fucking life without shagging you."

"Don't you know the joy of anticipation, Lestrange?" Hermione asked the wizard, grinning at him, "You've only just met me. We've got the rest of our lives."

"I will convince you to come in here, you know?" he warned her, "And if I can't, well, there's always that communal shower."

"And we're back to the threats," Hermione sighed, "Death Eaters are so predictable."

"Hey, I tried asking nicely!" Lestrange complained.

"Nicely?" Neville scoffed, "You're supposed to have been raised as a gentleman, Lestrange. Forgot your manners stuck in that cell, did you?"

"Oh, well why don't you show us how it fucking looks to use manners then, fucker?" Lestrange snapped, obviously losing his good mood.

"Yeah, maybe I will," Neville said, "Hermione?"

"Yes, Neville?" Hermione asked, turning away from Draco to face Neville. She noticed as she did that Malfoy moved up behind her until he was pressed to the bars of his cell as well and Hermione would swear he'd stuck his nose into her hair and begun breathing her in, one of his hands slipping through hers politely.

"Will you please come into my cell?" Neville asked politely.

"Of course," Hermione smiled, squeezing Malfoy's hand before crossing the walkway once more.

She slipped between the bars of Neville's cell until she stood inside his space along with him.

"I was only joking, 'Mione," Neville chuckled even as he tugged her into a proper, full bodied hug, unimpeded by the bars of the cell.

"Oh, that's fucking bollocks!" Rabastan protested, "If you shag him in there right where I can see, witch, you better recognise that I'm going to sit here and wank and catcall you while you do it."

"Does he ever shut up?" Hermione asked Neville when she pulled back to grin at him.

"Sometimes the Aurors using a Silencing Charm on him to keep him quiet," Neville grinned back, "Proudfoot hates it when he won't shut it.

"Fuckers," Lestrange muttered darkly.

"What are we doing to get out of here then?" Neville wanted to know, "I mean, I have an idea…"

Hermione grinned when he turned her so that only Kingsley would be able to see his face before he opened his mouth slightly and showed her a mandrake leaf being stored under his tongue.

"Funny, I have the same idea," Hermione grinned at him in return.

"Kings, Seamus and I have been working on that idea for a while now," Neville nodded his head, "Reckon with you here it might go a bit faster. Got any other ideas if that one falls through?"

"I don't intend for it to fail," Hermione said, moving over to sit on the edge of Neville's cot so she could still see Neville – who sat opposite her, stretching his legs out before pulling her feet into his lap casually – whilst still being able to see Kingsley – who reached his arm trough the bars to play with her curls like he couldn't help himself.

"I've yet to see you fail at anything magical yet," Neville agreed, "I was more concerned about the rest of us, if we can't pull it off?"

"Do you actually believe that if and when I manage to get out of this place, I won't be returning to bust you guys out?" Hermione asked, frowning at him, "I broke into Gringotts, the most secure building in the wizarding world. I think I could handle a prison-break."

"You'd come back for us?" Neville asked her, grinning widely.

"I don't abandon my friends, you idiot," Hermione rolled her eyes, "You've been locked up too long – forgotten what I'm like."

"What if you pull it off and you're… too large for escape?" Neville asked, shooting a glance at Rowle where he was still eavesdropping from the bars of his cell.

"My patronus is an otter," Hermione reminded him in a whisper, "They're almost always the same thing, unless some drastic personality change alters it."

"You've committed cold-blooded murder since you last produced a patronus, Hermione," Kingsley reminded her, "And via blood magic, no less. That will alter your core magic rather drastically."

"You think?" Hermione asked, alarmed by the notion, "I don't know if I can create one without a wand. Hang on, let me try."

She was acutely aware of Lestrange, Rowle and Dolohov all staring at her. Dolohov had to stare through the bars of her cell, and Thorfinn's to see into Neville's, but she knew he was staring at her. She could feel his gaze like a wretched itch between her shoulder blades. He hadn't spoken a single word since her arrival, but he hadn't taken his eyes off her either. She wasn't at all looking forward to the idea of living in a cell right beside his where he would be able to watch her every move. Hell, every time she used the loo, he'd be able to see her. Every time she slept, he'd be able to see her.

Urgh. That idea made her uncomfortable. Rowle wasn't much better and thus far Rabastan had simply proved to be a chatterbox liable to throw a tantrum. But the idea of Dolohov watching her sleep made her uncomfortable. She shook her head, putting the unsettling ideas out of her mind and focused on seeing whether or not she would suffer the wretchedness of a patronus change.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Hermione drew upon her happiest memories, allowing them to feel her up with warmth and glee. She moved her arm in the same sequence she'd have used with her wand in her hand. She could feel the magic filling her up inside and she had to push with her mind to project it from her hand, smiling widely when bright white light burst from the palm of her hand.

"Holy shit, Princess," Rowle commenting as her patronus took shape, taking corporeal form, "That's mage level shit if you do it wandless."

"You really are brilliant, you know?" Neville commented, watching the way her patronus frolicked around the room with a little smile on his face.

"Thanks," Hermione smiled at her fellow DA survivor.

"It's certainly changed in shape from a cute and playful otter, hasn't it?" Neville noted, watching the much larger animal-shaped patronus move.

Hermione herself was surprised by the change that had been wrought upon her magical signature.

"Rather defeats the purpose of attempting animagi, doesn't it?" she sighed, "There's no way I'd be able to escape this place in that form."

"You fit through the bars now," Neville pointed out, "No way you will as that."

"I miss my otter," Hermione grumbled, "Kings, what's the symbolism for this one?"

"Strength and confidence," Kingsley mused, "Could also represent standing against adversity. That one is about the importance of healing and rest."

Hermione nodded her head slowly, recalling the same things from the books she had read one the subject of animagi and the symbolism of animals. She supposed, as she watched the enormous form of her Bear patronus lumbering around Neville's cell and then right through the wall and into Rowle's, that the symbolism rather represented her new outlook on life perfectly.