Thanks guys for reading, reviewing and alerting! I'm so thrilled that people are enjoying this. Next installment – where I introduce Pansy and Hermione gets some surprises – both nice and not so nice. In the last chapter, I got a message asking if I was using elements from the film in some of Draco's thoughts. Yes, I am. I liked how torn Draco seemed at the end of the film when his parents called him "across the line". I also liked how the Malfoys deserted at the end of the film - it's what I went with. And so, just to be clear, that part of the book was disregarded.

LCailan

CHAPTER SEVEN

One week later

Bellatrix looked down at the sheet of paper she held in her hand, a scowl on her face. One dark eyebrow was raised in skepticism.

"You're requesting the Weasley family be transferred back to London then?"

Draco nodded mildly, carefully putting on the air of nonchalance. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"I have been given reports this morning that the alienage in question is quite full. Pansy Parkinson owled me last night telling me she cannot accommodate another piece of muggle-born trash. Not that it matters. We are eliminating them slowly anyway, but still, I cannot understand for the life of me why you would make such a request."

Draco frowned, but said nothing. The question arose in his mind too – why was he doing this? Was it madness or something else? He suspected that the answer lay in the hope that bringing back the Weaslette would assuage his guilt over what he had done to Granger the week previous.

But of course, he would never admit that to anyone, least of all his half insane Aunt.

"The Weasleys are blood traitors, are they not? They deserve the same sort of punishment as the mudbloods. Why send them away if they don't have pureblood status? They are just as bad, in my opinion."

Draco worked carefully to avoid her gaze so that she wouldn't sense his uncertainties. Bellatrix was silent for a second before dropping the missive on his desk.

"Arthur Weasley and his sons are gone now, so who knows where they've been sent. The girl and her brood remain in Azkaban. I know not what they are planning on doing with her, but the children are the perfect age, you know. Marcus Flint mentioned traveling to Azkaban soon. Seems to me that there are some interesting experiments they are conducting with wands and dementors, and last I heard, they needed…something to practice on."

Her tone was gleeful, and Draco swallowed back his distaste as he formed a response. He worked hard to not think of his son, but since his sleepless night he had been doing nothing but. His words were slightly roughened by his deeply buried emotions.

"Experimenting on children are we now?"

Bellatrix let out a high pitched manic giggle.

"Half-breeds, mudbloods and blood traitor trash, yes. What do they matter? All they do is muddy up our Lord's plans, don't you think?"

He stood up and then picked up the request once more, ignoring his Aunt's question. Draco had long held the unpopular belief that any wizard or witch with such a hunger for violence and death as Voldemort was a nutter. He understood necessary death to keep the peace, to maintain order, but he had never been comfortable with just…killing.

He said nothing about that, however.

"Perhaps you have missed the part about Pansy being so busy that she needs the extra help with cooking, laundry, cleaning…scavenging too. All those things take people. Certainly you don't plan on having us do such menial tasks?"

Draco stared Bellatrix directly in the eyes, his voice steady.

"The Weasley girl can work. Her children are also of age."

"Have it your way then. I never did understand you, Nephew. You're nothing like your father."

She studied her fingernails.

"Now, don't you have an alienage to run? Or was that my imagination?"

Draco walked out of the office stiffly, ignoring her nasty, baiting comments.

One week later

Justin flinched slightly as Hermione handed him a stack of towels to be washed.

"Sometimes," he told her knowingly, as he kept his voice low, "there's dozens of muggle-borns. The officials just come here, load them up and then…they're gone. Knowing that Annabelle died is better than not knowing what happened to someone you loved."

His face was pale – Hermione had first noticed that in plain daylight the morning after they had reunited. Too pale, as if the life had been drained from him over time. She was silent, staring down at her stack of dirty laundry as he continued.

"Since I've come here, the sleeping quarters have filled up twice already. Most Muggle-borns are only here…until…"

He fell silent, and they both knew what he had been about to say.

Until they are taken away to be killed.

Not that Hermione was any more terrified of being in the alienage than of dying, because in two days she had seen more death than she had since moving into the Burrow. People died all the time, she knew. Muggles now, more and more of them, and too many Muggle-borns. But she had forgotten what it was like to see it happen before her eyes. Murder.

Justin had been right. Some of them did it for sport, some of them seemed to enjoy the abuse and pain they inflicted on those under their watch. Sometimes you could do all the right things, and still they'd beat you, torture you, make you cry and cower.

As she took more clothing from the large box one of the Ministry officials had brought them, she suddenly heard Pansy Parkinson laughing. When Hermione turned, she could see a boy no older than Ginny's Albus writhing in pain as Pansy stunned him with a nasty stinging jinx. A box of powder soap had been spilled all around him. Hermione felt a terrible helplessness fall over her, for she knew to reach out and help him would mean severe punishment for herself. And yet, how could anyone just let a little boy suffer like that?

"That'll show you!"

Pansy was sneering down at the boy who hardly moved. It was inhumane.

"Next time, be more careful."

Once Pansy was gone, the others in the laundry room fell into a death-like silence. The only sound was the water in the basins and the boy's weak moans. Hermione only hesitated for a split second before falling to her tired knees to reach for the boy and cradle him so that he didn't have to lie on the dirty, soap covered floor.

"It's going to be ok."

She whispered to him, wishing there was something she could do about the burning of his face and the fact that he was twitching with pain. Reaching up she dipped one of the dirty shirts into a pail of water standing nearby and swathed his face with it, hoping that the cool water would ease the sting, even though she knew that it would only bring slight relief. Anything was better than nothing, she supposed. As the boy mewled in her arms, she glared at the other occupants of the room.

"Shame on all of you – am I the only one who will help him?"

Her voice was tinged with accusation and disbelief. Hermione took another glance at the child and he could only stare up at her with wide, pain ridden eyes. She gently stroked his dark hair.

"Why should we?" one of them called out. "We're in the same bloody boat, aren't we?"

A woman in the corner who had been scrubbing clothing spoke up as well. There was terror in her voice.

"They gave my son the Kiss! Why should I stick out my neck for someone I don't know? Do you know what they do to people who try to help, you silly girl?"

Hermione's eyes filled with hot tears and as she blinked them away, she determined herself not to walk away, to be brave, and to help in spite of what was to happen to her. It would be less than human to ignore someone in need. Unless these people were already so far gone and beaten down that they had forgotten their compassion. She clutched the boy to herself.

"I'd rather die than to ignore someone who needs help!"

Her voice trembled, but it was loud and clear. Someone snorted, the sound dark and choked. Hermione looked up to see a stout, wiry-haired woman watching her with a mixture of contempt and sadness.

"We're already dead. Don't you worry."

A week after that

Draco watched her, though she couldn't see him. At least, that's what he hoped, because he had caught himself watching her more than once in the two weeks since she had been brought to the alienage. It wouldn't do for someone, her, or otherwise to catch him. Too many questions, he knew. At any rate, he watched her, silvered eyes gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Draco pulled slowly on the end of his cigarette before tossing it aside and putting it out with his boot.

She was a bleeding heart, that one. Not that Draco was surprised. He knew what Granger had been like in school – always helping everyone around her, always the kind one, the thoughtful one. She had been the one to get Weasley and Potter out of their messes; without her, they probably would have failed much earlier than they had. She had been the resourceful, brilliant one.

Gods, I hate that I'm even making these bloody admissions.

But they were true.

It was the second time that he had caught her on the filthy ground, trying to help one of the younger ones. The first time it had been the boy in the laundry room. This time, a little girl who had gotten the food rations mixed up. It was not surprising then, that the children in the alienage were starting to cling to Granger's worn and dirty skirts. After all, they had woken up one day, hadn't they, scared and crying for parents who were either unable to help them or dead. They had been brought to this wretched place and made to work day in and day out, and even if they did a fair job the Ministry took great pleasure in seeing them cry. Only this Mudblood took pity on them. Only Granger offered them a whispered word, a gentle touch, her concern when they were hurt. It was Granger who smiled at them.

That smile.

Ironic, the Ministry was trying to forbid magic by all those without pure blood, and yet Granger defied them, for she created magic without a wand. Just by-

The image of Scorpius flickered across Draco's conscience, and he closed his burning eyes to will the thoughts away. No. He wouldn't think of that now, it was over, his son was dead.

But these children aren't, a voice in his mind told him.

He almost moved, his body was poised to move forward, his throat closed tightly with emotion, but then-

"Draco, what are you doing?"

Pansy Parkinson. She was bloody everywhere. Even before Draco had begun making his daily trips to the alienage in eastern London he couldn't help running into her sometimes. Now, it was nearly on a daily basis, and sometimes more than once. She had an uncanny way of knowing where he was, and it was starting to become more than a little irritating. He had hoped at some point the silly obsession she had harbored for him throughout their years at Hogwarts would have ended, but then again, lately he'd not been having much sodding luck with anything. He had also hoped after leaving Hogwarts with his parents, he would never see her again. Another hope dashed.

She had never married – that he knew of. She had been too driven and determined in her career. Out of all the former students in Slytherin house, Pansy had been the first to secure a position within the Ministry, although Draco secretly believed it was because of her father's tight connections more than Pansy's raw talent. Although he had admitted shortly after starting his position at the Ministry, that Pansy did have a knack for wand magic. He couldn't recall now if that had always been the case, or if she had developed a nimble hand and quick mind after Voldemort's rise to power. Either way, she had started within the Department of International Wizard Relations, but everyone knew that it was simply a stepping stone to what she had really wanted to do, which was work with Bellatrix Lestrange. And of course, his Aunt had taken her in with relish, which was of no surprise to Draco. He knew Pansy to be as pleasant as an angry hippogriff – and that was on a good day. And along with honing her magical talents, Pansy had developed a rather disturbing propensity for torture. Children, especially – and so Bellatrix had made her Commandant of the new alienages. Pansy Parkinson ruling anyone with an iron fist was enough to make the bravest man wet his trousers.

Those two are a match made in hell.

Draco didn't move when he felt her join him at one of the windows which looked into the laundry hall. He didn't react to her comment or the strange sound she made when she saw what he was looking at, bit finally he took a moment to tear his eyes away from Granger to look at her. She looked cross, and he knew that wasn't a good thing.

Her glare was icy.

"What are you doing?"

The repeated question wasn't a demanding one, but beneath the pleasantries Draco sensed a tenseness, as if she was drawn tightly, about to snap.

"What's it to you?"

Apparently his answer wasn't good enough because Pansy stepped between the building and Draco, turning her violet colored eyes up at him.

"This is my job," she muttered angrily. "Your job is to manage…somewhere else. I am fine here. You needn't be standing around staring."

He sneered at her.

"I'm not staring."

He felt her eyes move from him and then they were both looking in the same direction.

"Stupid Mudblood," Pansy whispered.

Draco didn't react because he had feeling she wanted him to.

"Does it matter? Aren't all the ones here eventually going to die anyway? Why does it bother you so much?"

Pansy looked outraged and her cheeks flushed brightly.

"If I punish them it's because they deserve it! Who is she to play Mudblood savior? I'll show her. One day, I'll show her."

Draco was taken aback by her tone for only a split second – he was used to such hatred, but it was strange coming from a girl he had grown up with. Clearly, she'd had a side he had never considered.

"What you do when I am not here is your business," he replied coolly, his tone one of disgust. "But what you do while I am here is another matter altogether. And you will not touch the children. You will not touch them and you will not touch the Mudblood."

Pansy let out a high pitched sound.

"Are you mad? Whose side are you on, anyway? The Draco Malfoy I knew hardly gave a damn about something as insignificant as a bunch of Mudbloods!"

His grey eyes were cold as he glared at her, but Draco was disturbed at how well Pansy had read him.

"The only thing I give a damn about is keeping order! What do you think will happen if you keep terrorizing these mudbloods? I don't want to deal with some mad uprising!"

Pansy's eyes widened at his outburst and she did not reply which was just fine with Draco. Her jaw was set and he could see her fist tightening around her wand as he opened his mouth.

"You disgust me."

His voice was cold, a mere hiss, and then he whirled and stalked away from Pansy, from the window, from Granger playing the savior. He wondered how long he could keep peace in a place that God had long ago forsaken.

And yet another week later

Justin squinted in the bright sunlight as he and Hermione crossed the nearly empty courtyard. To their left, the sleeping quarters rose up and one could see people milling around inside and some sitting on the crumbling stoop outside. They watched the duo with sour expressions on their faces. Neither Hermione nor Justin took the looks seriously – no one wore a look of joy here.

It was a joyless place. The most you could find here was…listlessness.

Hermione counted the days as she walked. Had it only been a month? Yes, only one month had passed, and yet it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime of misery and sadness with no respite in sight, and suddenly Hermione wondered if what Justin had told her on the night she had arrived was indeed true. Perhaps being dead and spared this misery was better, after all.

The box was full of clothing – Hermione had not known where it had come from until she had snuck a look inside. On top of the pile was a messily folded pair of pajama bottoms covered with teddy bears. She had seen a little girl wearing them only a day ago. That little girl and her mother were gone now. Last night, Hermione knew, they had come. The officials had led a group of muggle-borns from the room and they had never returned.

Gone forever.

She felt a shudder of coldness rock her body, in spite of the sweltering heat of summer around her. She thought back to the wiry haired woman who had been with her in the laundry rooms. She had been right; everyone's time would come. Sooner than later, Hermione knew.

How much time do I have left?

She snuck a look at Justin, whose blond curls seem to shine radiantly in the sunlight. She wondered when it would be his turn, if he had come to peace with it, if he was looking forward to seeing his wife and daughter again. Hermione, herself, felt a warmth washing over her each time she thought of seeing Ron and Harry again. And Molly. And perhaps her parents.

Justin startled Hermione out of her reverie as he leaned down to whisper to her.

"She watches you a lot. Pansy, I mean. That's not a good thing."

Hermione blinked looking up at her new found friend.

"What do you mean?"

"The other day, she was watching you. Her and Malfoy, standing right there," he explained pointing towards the windows of the building straight ahead.

Something in Hermione flickered, and she was familiar enough with it to understand that it was fear.

Malfoy. He had saved Lily. He had spared her life, too. One day, he'd want repaid, she was certain. It was the only thing that made sense, and Hermione did not want that day to come. She was afraid of what he would want – he heart skipped a beat at the thought.

They turned the corner towards the laundry rooms and Pansy Parkinson was leaning against the building, wand in hand, a bored expression on her face. But as they neared her, Hermione sensed a strange hunger in the other woman's gaze. Something that reminded her much of the way Bellatrix had gazed at her that day at Malfoy Manor…

Another shudder ran through Hermione, stopping her for a moment. Pansy's eyes locked with her own, and it was like Hermione was unable to look away. She could only stare while the other girl sneered and pulled away from the wall, smacking her wand against the open palm of her rather large hand in a menacing gesture. Justin prodded her gently.

"Come on."

She moved forward, stumbling slightly, at Justin's urging. She could still feel Pansy's hard glare burning a hole in her back. The room was full of people standing at the wash bins, and Hermione and Justin put down the new boxes of clothing to be washed and then turned to make the same trek once more for the remaining boxes near the entrance to the compound. Holding her head high, Hermione did her best to walk past Pansy once again without gazing in her direction, without flinching, without letting the leering woman know that she was afraid. A light sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead and she squelched the urge to wipe it. Justin, as if knowing what Hermione was thinking, walked in between them. As they rounded the corner, they were in the empty courtyard once more, and that was when she saw them.

Hermione stopped short, emitting a strangled sound from the back of her throat; something that was between a gasp and a sob. It couldn't be. The sun must have been playing tricks on her. It was a dream – a wonderful dream. Hermione's trembling, ice cold hand came up to cover her mouth in shock.

"'Mione, are you ok?"

Justin's voice blended in with the sudden rushing of sound all around Hermione, and she couldn't reply, only able to stare at the four figures approaching with wide brown eyes. Justin turned to see what had startled Hermione so, and finally he recognized them.

"Blimey! It's…Merlin's beard, it's Ginny!"

Ginny.

She was walking towards them, her long red hair shining in the sunlight, the loveliest sight Hermione had ever seen. She felt herself stirring inside with a thousand emotions. Fear. Love. Joy. Shock. Excitement.

James. Albus.

James was walking next to Albus, making sure that no one would hurt his brother again, she was sure. He had always been so protective. His shock of dark hair was ruffled by the breeze. Albus was so small! So small, holding his mother's left hand and looking ahead, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and sadness. Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, the sudden, hot kind that burned her eyes, but were more than necessary. Tears of joy.

Lily.

Beautiful Lily, whose strawberry blond curls fell around her shoulders. Lily, who was so perfect, and such a treasure. Lily, who was the first to recognize Hermione.

"Mione!" she cried out and then she began to race down the dusty courtyard to close the distance between them.

Hermione fell to her knees, her tears rolling down her face, all the pain and fear forgotten for now, replaced by joy and sheer love.

"Lily! I thought I'd never see you again!"

Her voice was choked and tearful, and she clung to the little girl, willing herself to never let go again, forgetting that such words might scare a four year old, but she didn't care. She couldn't – she was too overwhelmed.

She opened her arms up for the boys as well, who hugged her tightly, the four of them in a crumpled heap there in the courtyard, Hermione crying the children talking over each other, not allowing her to answer. All for the better, she knew. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that she could say to express what she was feeling in that moment.

Ginny joined them, helping Hermione to her feet, pulling her into a hug, and both of them were crying then, hugging, laughing, and whispering.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know they just came for us-"

"I can't believe it's you-"

"I've missed you so much, 'Mione!"

Their conversation continued in those small, clipped phrases, for neither could wait to ask questions, to express joy, to share what had happened. Hermione had forgotten her earlier fears over Malfoy, Justin's presence, and the way Pansy Parkinson had made her feel.

That was, until both women turned around to acknowledge Justin and Pansy Parkinson stood there, a nasty half smile on her face. Hermione dropped her head and took a step back, pulling Ginny with her.

Pansy smirked. At least now, she had the Mudblood bitch right where she wanted her.

When I'm through with you, Draco and everyone else will have nothing to look at. Just you wait. Just you wait.

She took a step forward.