Author's Note:

Trigger Warning: Assault—mostly implied, but with a few slightly more explicit moments...

This chapter doesn't contain a fight scene, but it isn't less intense. If mentions of assault triggers you, it might be better to skip this chapter, you will still be able to follow the story without it.

Besides that, I have a few people to thank for helping out to get this chapter written:
Most of all Laura for beta reading and making me check everything again.
Another big heartfelt thank you to a very old friend of mine who helped me with the foreign language parts, Lilian (known to me as Akasha in the AtS fandom).
And last, but not least, many, many thanks to everyone listening to my doubts and ramblings, but especially amyeco and Kir.

The words in the foreign language should be understandable from context, but I will add a note at the end with the direct translations for anyone still having problems understanding them.

Now, enjoy! And please do leave a comment if you liked it! :-)
(I promise, you literally make my day with a comment! I do treasure them, even if I don't respond to every single one...)

Chapter 10: A favourite of the patrons

"Harpy, you come with us. Boss wants to see you."

Hermione was lying on her mattress, practising some of the meditation techniques she had once learned during her trip through South America. It helped to pass the time between the meals as the guards wouldn't bring her anything to read, but it also helped with her mental control over her Creature. She hated being addressed by her Creature form instead of her given name, but the guards didn't seem to care about it at all, so she simply turned her head towards the cell door, glaring at the brute of a guard standing there.

"Get up! Didn't you hear me?"

She finally propped herself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly when a sharp stabbing pain ran through her still wounded thigh. It had been only a week since she had been injured in her fight against the werewolf, and she had had to use the abilities of her Creature more than once to speed up the healing process. It still hurt, and a scar would most probably remain. "What does he want?" she finally said, gritting her teeth in pain.

"You'll know soon enough."

Gritting her teeth even harder, Hermione made it to her feet, only to limp out of her cell behind the guard, immediately framed by another guard behind her as soon as she stepped out. Escaping in this moment wasn't an option, though she had played through it in her mind. However, she didn't look forward to meeting the boss of this hellish place.

"Faster, bird," the guard behind her said, poking her with his stick.

"I have a limp," she retorted without bothering to turn her head. She was already walking as fast as she could on her bad leg, "If you want to go faster, you'll have to carry me." She saw the guard in front turn around for a quick glance to the one at the back and then shrug, only to slow down a step so that she could keep up with him.

"Up there," the front guard said later, after wandering through the small labyrinth of cells, pointing at stairs leading up to what looked like an office door at the other end.

Sighing, Hermione braced herself for another round of pain while climbing the stairs, but was instead surprised when the front guard hoisted her on his shoulders. She yelped in surprise, about to protest the rather rough handling, but realised it was pointless.

"Boss?" the guard asked when he entered the office, with Hermione still on his shoulder, "This is the bird I told you about."

Roughly put back down on her feet, she gritted her teeth to keep herself from gasping, as another stab of pain shot through her leg. She wouldn't be surprised if the wound opened again after all that. After another second, and shifting her position slightly, the pain lessened to a mere low sting, and she was able to ignore it. Focusing on her surroundings, she noticed she was standing in front of a large, ornate mahogany desk, one that even Draco might have found obscenely overdone. The rest of the room was similarly decorated, though much more refined.

"She's the Harpy?"

"Yes, boss," the front guard replied.

"Thanks. Now leave."

Hermione finally had a proper look at the other man who had been sitting at the desk until now, going through what looked like some sort of list. She guessed that it probably was the list of fights for the day; to her relief, she couldn't spot her fight name on it, at least not from where she was standing. As he got to his feet, a fake smile on his lips, she was instantly reminded of the Mafia films she had seen in her life—he wore a casual, but expensive Italian suit, surely bespoke; he had dark hair, olive skin, yet his eyes didn't quite fit with the Southern European type as they were strikingly blue, darting all over her frame. It made her feel uncomfortable.

"With only two fights behind you, you have become quite a favourite with my patrons," he said, making a step from around the desk. "I've rarely had higher bets on any of my fighters. But everyone loves your blood thirst."

Hermione crossed her arms defiantly, not yet intimidated by his act. It reminded her of a younger Draco, who had sometimes acted just as overconfident and cocky as this man was now. "I hate killing," she replied, not letting him out of sight while he kept wandering in front of her, an amused smirk on his lips.

"You're good at it," he finally said, leaning against the front of the desk. He revealed a ring shaped like an oddly shaped animal when he placed it on the edge; the form faintly reminded her of a ferret. "However, I was informed that you keep making trouble, despite our hospitality–"

"Hospitality? You keep us as prisoners!" she retorted, barely avoiding a sneer. "You have no idea who I am, or who my friends are–"

"I know that you are a filthy Creature, that's all I need to know. Most maradj csöndben!"

"I am a human, and a witch!"

He shot up, immediately reaching for her throat.

"I said, keep quiet!" The confident tone from moments ago had changed into a threatening command, "You are none of that! You are nothing but an expendable Creature! All you're here for is to eventually die in the pit after you have made us a lot of money."

"I am not a Creature," she gurgled, trying to get his hand off her throat, but he only pulled at her hair in response. She could feel her Harpy struggle to get to the surface to fight back, but she wouldn't let it.

"You are a very obstinate one," he retorted, pulling harder at her hair, but then suddenly let go, even took a step back. "My guards tell me that you barely follow orders, that you talk back, and, above all else, practise spells in your cell, despite the rule of no magic–"

"I asked for books to pass the time," Hermione replied, still taking deep breaths and rubbing her neck; she was sure that she would get a bruise later from his hand. She didn't like the glint in his eyes, it reminded her too much of the Death Eaters she had fought all those years ago—it was the same expression of superiority, the same subtly hidden obsession with violence. It made her shiver.

"Ti állatoknak nemdolgotokolvasni; rossz ötleteknek ad nektek–"

"What?" Hermione asked, surprised to hear him mutter in a foreign language, his voice filled with derision. To her ears, it sounded a lot like the words the little shopkeeper around the corner from her place spoke. Was she in a different country? Somewhere in Eastern Europe? Or was she still in Britain? She really hoped for the latter.

"You Creatures aren't supposed to read, it gives you bad ideas. Besides, you're not the one to make demands here, Harpy." He sneered, closing the gap between them once more, a dark glint in his eyes. "You're here to entertain my patrons, and make us money until you eventually die in the pit! Is that understood?"

"I'm not a slave!"

"You are less than that! You're nothing!"

Hermione took a step back when he reached for her, but soon hit a shelf with her back. She tried to keep herself from shivering, even counted down from twenty, when he let his fingers follow her jaw down to her neck, which was still hurting from his earlier choking.

"A very pretty nothing, though..." His fingers wandered down her cleavage. "Very pretty, indeed."

She held her breath, trying to ignore the touch of his fingers. As smooth as he otherwise looked, his hands were rough against her skin, and wandering too low now. She was torn between kicking him in the groin to get him off her, and pleading him to stop. However, she would never surrender herself to such a person by pleading. Never. So, instead, she bit her lip, trying to keep calm.

"Maybe you just need some breaking in," he said, with an undertone of desire in his voice. "I'm sure you would provide some great pleasure."

Now Hermione freaked out internally for a second. "Oh God," she murmured before she collected herself again. Swallowing hard, she tried to discreetly remove his hand from the low position on her hip. Not even during her captivity in the hands of the Death Eaters during the Second War had anyone ever threatened her like he just had. Her pulse was racing now, and all she could think of was getting away. Trembling, she shook her head in defiance. "No, no, no... I'm not–"

"Oh, but you are," he stopped her, and inched closer, pinning her to the shelf, his hand still on her hip, squeezing her.

"No!" She gasped loudly, and immediately tried to get his hand off her hip, but he only repeated the move. "Get off me!"

He only smirked in response, but did let go of her. "Remember, you're here for entertainment—my patrons' as well as mine. And if I like something, I take it."

"No, no, no!" She shook her head, her eyes wide in fear. "Don't you dare touching me!"

"Az enyém vagy. Mine." He grabbed her hand, and pinned it over her head, his face now only inches from hers. "And I like what I see." His eyes darted all over her face, lingering on her lips for a moment longer. "Oh, what a pleasure it will be to break you."

Now truly terrified he might attempt it right now, Hermione placed her free hand on his chest, concentrating on the touch. Impedimenta! She repeated the word over and over in her mind, having practised it quietly in her cell with her mattress as a target. When she tapped into her Harpy's strength, the spell finally did what it was supposed to do—push him into the wall on the other side of the room. "Don't touch me," she repeated angrily, shaking, even tempted for a split-second to let her Creature take over; she knew it was close to the surface as she could feel a tingle in her fingers and feet. Keeping an eye on him while he slowly got back to his feet, she took several deep breaths to regain full control over her body.

"No magic, you filthy... Állat!" Back up on his feet, and fully enraged now, he pulled his wand from to cast their Punishment Curse on her. "Don't you get that?"

The spell took her by surprise, choking her. Like every time, it felt like electricity was running through her body, tensing her muscles to the point of being unable to move at all while setting her brain on fire. "I'm... a... witch!" she panted when it finally stopped and she was able to breathe again. "And... I'm a human being!" In response to her defiant answer, she was hit with another, albeit less intense Curse, making her cry out in pain this time.

Satisfied, and a smug grin on his face, he let go of her seconds later, and stowed his wand away in his suit. "I guess that's enough for a first taste," he said, approaching her once more. "This will be fun."

"Others have tried before to break me," she replied, croaking, "and they failed."

"Oh, I like challenges. Maybe I should let you fight against your cell neighbour, as you seem so fond of each other."

She only shook her head, glaring at him. Not her neighbour! He was the one remotely good thing in this hell of a place, helping her to stay sane.

"Don't worry, your next fight is already set up, so you get to enjoy his company a little longer." He pushed a strand of hair out of her face in a surprisingly tender touch. "Behave, and you have nothing to fear. Nor does your neighbour."

"I survived worse," she said, a shiver running down her spine from the touch. After the threats and the Punishment Curse, this was the one thing that finally freaked her out.

He smiled at her one last time before letting go of her. "Guards! I'm finished!"

. .

"Thank God, you made it through!"

Hermione groaned when she tried to move her body. It felt strained and shattered in so many places, she couldn't even say if there was any spot that hadn't been hit in her last fight. The last thing she remembered was driving her talons through her opponent's chest and right into his heart after defeating him. They had set her up against a vampire, and it had been a short, but exceptionally tough fight. Taking a deep breath, she carefully checked her neck, and winced when she brushed over what felt like a bite mark. Bitten by a vampire. If it wasn't too painful right now, she would have laughed out loud at that thought.

"Are you okay?" her neighbour asked, sounding concerned, and groaned from an attempt to move. "I heard you were up against that vampire, the fight of the evening."

"Yes," she finally said, though it was more like a croak. "I'm still alive." She propped herself up, wincing at the protest of her muscles at that unnecessary moving, but to her relief, she saw the pot with the Healing Potion on the table across her cell. This time, she couldn't be bothered with getting up and walk over; she was glad she could move at all. So, instead, she tried to Summon the pot to where she was sitting, with her back against the wall. She was relieved when the pot with the Healing Potion did move towards her. "He almost had me at one point, but I was faster."

"How did you... win? It wasn't a long—FUCK!"

Hermione looked at the wall separating them when she heard him let out a small cry of pain. "Are you okay?" Listening for other signs, she started to spread the Healing Potion on her injuries, gasping when it stung for a second before finally working its magic on her skin. "Hey, are you okay?" she repeated her question when he hadn't said a word.

"I... No." Another wince from her neighbour's cell. "I never thought that breaking a rib would be that painful. And unlike you, I don't have even the most limited healing powers."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help." She gritted her teeth when she tried to lift her legs to apply the Healing Potion there, but the effects were worth the momentary pain. However, she was genuinely concerned about her neighbour and his broken rib; it definitely needed further attending to. With a faint smile, she remembered how she had ended up with a broken rib once after what was supposed to be a simple stakeout. Harry had ushered her to St. Mungo's for treatment, muttering something about standard procedure, though he knew full well that he risked exposing her other condition like this. But then, she sneezed while waiting to be called, and she thought she was going to die. "The only advice I can give is not to move too much. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I've had worse. It just didn't have to be an animagus able to turn into one of those vicious Wampus cats, wherever they had found him..."

Hermione was still leaning back against the wall, relishing in the soothing feeling of the Healing Potion on her skin, when she noticed a figure stopping in front of her cell. Her heart jumped when she recognised him in his fine Italian suit, but she didn't move at all.

"What a fight, Harpy. Yet, I still feel disappointed, I expected more from you than a fast killing."

She acknowledged his presence with a slight move of her head towards him. "I did what was required. I killed him."

"My patrons want entertainment, a good fight–"

"You require me to kill, so I did." Huffing, she leaned forward, her eyes narrowed at her unwelcomed visitor. "I've seen enough death to last others several lifetimes. Killing others isn't entertainment, it's cruelty." Not backing down from her glare, she noticed that his face was inscrutable, despite the smile he displayed: she figured that he didn't like her talking back.

"Remember my words. Behave, and nothing will happen to you," he finally said. "People especially came to see you tonight, you should have given them what they wanted—a spectacular fight."

She shrugged in response, wary of him. The glint of desire in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine when they darted all over her—the desire to possess her, to make her submissive to him.

"Remember, little bird." With that, he finally turned around to walk off in direction of his office.

"What did he mean?" the neighbour asked, having overheard the whole conversation, of course.

Hermione sighed, and leaned back once more, closing her eyes when her head touched the wall. "Remember that he called for me yesterday? He threatened to break me if continue to misbehave."

"You know... fuck... you know who he is?"

"No," she said in a whisper, feeling the weight of everything she just been through finally crush down on her.

"In my community, they tell stories about people like him to scare the children into behaving. Like, behave or The Snatchers will take you... Yes, we call them Snatchers."

"What about him?" she asked, worried when she heard a sharp intake of breath from his side in response; he was probably trying to move.

"He's called The Hungarian," he finally replied, sounding strained. "Ruthless, obsessed with power and violence."

"The Hungarian?" she asked. She figured that it fit with his bursts of foreign sounding phrases.

"Yes. No one knows his real name..."

"He isn't running everything on his own, is he?" she asked, trying to fight off the sinking feeling of hopelessness.

"No, he isn't." He sighed. "What I know is that he works for an underground organisation..."

Yes, that was what she had feared. She wasn't simply in the hands of some madman, but instead had got snatched by a criminal underground organisation. She slowly hammered the back of her head against the wall, ignoring the angry tears running down her cheeks. Gods, she was at the mercy of a ruthless criminal with no way out. How much more could she take?

"Hey, softie, don't cry."

"I'm not." She defiantly wiped the tears from her cheek, though she couldn't stop a sob from escaping. Feeling lost, she pulled her legs up until she could wrap her arms around them. "I'm not crying."

All she wanted was this to be over already, that she was finally killed in the pit, or—as she still foolishly hoped—that her friends finally came for her. Everything was better than this hell. Even death.

Author's note (part two):

Most maradj csöndben! = Now keep quiet! (Literally: Now [you] stay silent!)

Ti állatoknak nem dolgotok olvasni; rossz ötleteknek ad nektek = You Creatures aren't supposed to read, it gives you bad ideas. (My friend pointed out that állat translates to "Creature", but also has the connotation of "wild animal", and is therefore rather derisive and disrespecting.)

Az enyém vagy = You're mine.