The warmth it came, in waves of pain.

We really had ourselves a time.

Yeah, we had ourselves a time.

I choke my name out of your lungs several more times that night. Laid claim to each curve and valley of your body, digging trenches with my nails and plundering the treasures within you. Slick with sweat and blood, you moved within me. For a few hours on the floor of your living room we're like animals screwing to save our species.

A human knot is what remains once we're spent. You rest your head on my chest and trace geometric figures on my stomach. Kisses peppered here and there amongst gentle caresses.

"I'll sleep well tonight pet…" You whisper into my hair and you extract yourself from my arms, making your way to your kitchen. "Come muddy one, you must be hungry." Obediently I follow, stumbling toward you with my now rickety legs.

Bit by bit you lovingly feed me scraps saved from your dinner; putting each morsel into my mouth with your fingers.

Sharing your remnants from night out on the town with your fellow pureblood aristocracy. Foie Gras, bits of pickled pear, shallots, wild rice, a half eaten roll, a few dregs of wine. You even saved me a strawberry, something I've forgotten the taste of.

My taste buds have all but burned away during my time here.

The acidity of berry's juice mixed with the lingering after taste of you is like sweet ambrosia. A divine exhalation of the very earth. Already I feel invigorated, ready and willing to be lost in you once more. Your mouth moves over mine once more, pushing your moans down my throat.

"I shudder to think of what I'd do without you…muddy puppy." You breathe into me, and I quickly dip a finger into you and draw it out, bringing the slick digit to your lips.

But your tongue never makes contact. In the distance Rodolphus is beginning to stir, and your pointer finger comes to rest with light pressure against my lips.

Bedsprings are moaning, and the floorboards buckle under his girth as he's likely rocking his corpulence back and forth in order gain enough momentum to stand.

For where I'm sitting with your silencing finger on my lips, I can see a large meat cleaver stuck in a chopping block up on your kitchen counter. I can see your reflection in the thick blade, and in each of the rivets beset in the black handle.

"Bellatrix, where are you?" He's croaking like a half dead Bullfrog, and already the sound has me stomaching the urge to slit his throat. The cleaver is so close. My grandfather was a butcher. Just a few swift blows, I say to you, I can have him quartered. You balk at my sudden tension, and admonish me with a swift shake of your head.

A flick here, a quarter-swish there, a slight left-handed twist of the wrist and your canvas is suddenly wiped clean of our art. Blood splatters still cover my naked skin though and you rise to your feet and drag me by the manacles toward an armoire against the far wall of the living room. Hooking the chain to its handles, you leave me shackled to your wardrobe.

The floor is screaming under each elephant step Rodolphus takes and you quickly don your nightgown. You lean forward and cup my bruised cheek with your hand and fill my mouth with your tongue one more time. Pulling away you give me an apologetic look before aiming your wand at me with a sad look.

I know. This will hurt you more than it does me.

Enter Rodolphus stage left. The spotlight is now on you. Time for you to deliver your heartfelt soliloquy. "CRUCIO!"

I bend impossibly forward, like a dead branch someone is attempting to fracture with their foot. Pain flows through me and my veins fill with battery acid. The taste of metal fills my mouth and I can't help but scream.

Rodolphus rolls his eyes as he lumbers toward you, then he looks at me, naked and chained in the throes of a seizure. Nothing out of the ordinary. "Dragging the ruddy mudblood in here…are we feeling bored again Bella?" He says in a disgustingly flirtatious tone.

The pain isn't stopping, and I want to tell you that I'm almost there. But his balloon hands are now pawing at you, one creeping down inside your nightgown, the other climbing upwards to fondle you. You squirm but don't break your concentration, the beam from your wand writhing around inside of me. Chewing on neurons and axons. Muscle and bone.

Sausage fingers are starting to play with you, but you are still steady staring directly into my eyes. Why are you doing this to me? I scream through my impending climax.

Rodolphus, the fat bastard, snorts. "Haven't we gone through this enough, little slut? My delicate flower here gets her jollies on torturing you!" He laughs like a pig at a trough.

Perfect. He hasn't a clue. You, on the other hand, your face is contorting with confusion, and anger. I know I'm getting through your defenses. Just get me the cleaver. Come on, please. Let me wrap my manacles around his neck. Before you can respond he twists you around, stopping the curse and I'm left a marionette puppet at the end of the first act.

He swallows your face in a bloodhound kiss, slobbering on you. Your arms barely wrap around his neck as you inexplicably try to deepen the kiss. Just get me the cleaver.

"Ready for another go?" Rodolphus says.

Your head lolls to the side and you glance at me chained against the armoire. "Only if the mudblood can sit on our bed."

"Are you bloody insane? That filthy slut with her dirty blood?" SMACK! His cheek ripples like a pond in the aftermath of your open palm.

"Mongrel husband! How dare you question what I want?" You snap at him. "I have more than earned my favor in the eyes of the Dark Lord, you are but a surname. An obligation. If I want the mudblood present, then it shall be so."

"Why're you always carrying on about the brat? Bloody strange your fascination with her; keeping her chained up in our room like a dog should we ever chose to have a roll." I don't like the way his eyes feel when they're elevatoring up and down my body. "Shame about her blood, the body is quite nice. But filth is still filth. Why are you acting this way Bella?"

Your shoulders slacken and roll forward in defeat. "Fine. I shall return her to her cell." You cross the room toward me, grab my torn jump suit from the floor and wrap your eager fingers around my wrist. We're yanked by the navel and arrive in the supermax wing a breath later.

You kiss me good-bye at my cell's front door, (after knocking out everyone else on my immediate side of the wing). My jumpsuit slips from my grip to the floor. I don't want you to go just yet, I say and like a child I tug on your nightgown. Stay with me in here tonight I'm begging you, don't go back to that pig.

"Ah, ah, ah." You rap me on the tip of my nose. "You'll just have to be patient. For now my dear, fret not about Rodolphus, he isn't half the lover that you are. No one is. But for now muddy puppy, I will bid you good night." Without so much as another word, you turn on your heels and apparate away with a faint…pop.

I'm not enjoying this one bit; your husband is where I should be. I put my shredded jumpsuit back on. Now I'm stuck sleeping here alone. Again. Cold, hungry, and lonely.

Each time we're together the ending is the same. You always go back to him. Its what's expected of you. A pureblood marriage. Two respectable names, respectable blood tossed in a blender.

Perhaps an heir on the side of caution to continue the Overlord's dreams of a pure society.

Too bad Roddy seems to be shooting blanks. I'd like to shoot him in the head.

I'd conquer you; make you mine.

I curl up on my cot, the cold air biting me in all directions. Sleep eludes me for another hour.

Creaking, by my cell door.

Are you back for more?

Wait a second, it isn't you. Someone's at the door. Now there are two others, what's the big idea? Who is-

"STUPEFY!"


I can't see through the film coating my eyes. I feel like I'm underwater, just below the surface. Muted colors that swirl and murmur. "She's waking up.". More blobs join with the swirls. I reach up to rub my eyes and I come to find that I somehow know these swirls.

"It's Hermione; she's finally waking up!" It's a quasi-familiar voice of an older man. "Come quick!". One by one an audience is building and I sit up in my bed. Bed?

Wait. This isn't my cell. It doesn't smell like my cell. Where the hell am I!

Oh I don't like this. Not one bit.

A blonde haired blob pokes it's head in from what looks like a doorframe. "Mon dieu! I will go get Molly and Neville!"

Molly? Neville?

Now a big red haired blob is barreling toward me. "Hermione!". God I wish they'd all stop shouting my name so much. I really hate feeling popular. Before my vision is completely restored I'm being sucked into a vortex of a hug; my face smashed against an enormous pair of floral print breasts. "It's been ages! Finally they got you out of that horrid prison dearie!" Tears are soaking the hairs of my head, and I feel like I'm on a trampoline with each heaving sob she takes. "It's a blessing that you are still alive!" I'm extracted from the woman's chest and now am face to face with Molly Weasley. I look around, I have no idea where I am.

She looks at me expecting me to get all soppy with her. Give me a moment, I need to orient myself.

"She 'eez likely confused Molly. 'Zee last 'zing she probably remembers 'eez being 'een 'er cell."

A fourth voice comes in now. "My Aunt was likely torturing her...again.". Now Draco is here too? "I waited for the psychopath to leave before we broke her out. Stunned her and apparated with her before returning for Fleur and Neville. Reckon they'll just be discovering that they've escaped any moment now."

"She's far enough away right now to be safe. There's much to be done, but for now, it'll likely be a bit of an…adjustment for our Hermione. You've done well Draco." Why is Draco working with Arthur Weasley? None of this is making sense, I must be dreaming. Yeah that's it.

Draco gives a nod. "I'll be getting back to Azkaban, hopefully before everything hits the fan." He apparates away with a crack.

Molly scrutinizes my face. I still haven't said anything. I'm not really certain what one should say at a reunion. Her plump hands angle my head this way and that. "Tattoos...scars...bruises…body entirely skin and bones...Merlin Hermione my dear I barely recognize you, the horrors you must've gone through in that dreadful place...". My stomach decides to growl. "Oh and so thin too! You must be starving my dear! I'll go whip a little something for you." She waddles out of the room.

Sitting around my bed are three people: Neville Longbottom, Fleur Delacour, and Arthur Weasley.

I'm not in Azkaban.

You're not around.

They must've taken me away from you.

Where am I? I ask. The words are groggy like my brain.

Arthur gives a smile. "Welcome to 'The Dead Dog' Hermione. Home of the resistance."


A/N: Lyrics at the beginning from "The Dead Dog" by Portugal the Man.