I am overwhelmed at the responses to my last chapter – thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You keep me motivated! This week is a busy one; it might be longer than a few days after this update. We shall see. And now – the next installment, in which we see just what Pansy's jealousy is capable of. If you don't hate her after this, you won't hate her, ever. Writing this made me sad – be warned, the chapter contains descriptions of violence.

LCailan

CHAPTER TEN

It took Hermione a full week to feel like herself again, although she had long ago forgotten what it felt like to be well. But, as soon she was able to sit up, walk and take food and water once more, they sent her back to work. Somehow, she survived the torture that had been inflicted on her.

There had been no mercy, and she knew when she looked into the faces of those who were still at the alienage, that they would never again look at her in the same way. She was no longer Hermione Granger Weasley – she was now the stupid girl who had stood up to Pansy Parkinson to save a little boy with the pureblood mother from torture – and none of them would ever remember that her act had been one of kindness. They would only remember how stupid she had been. How traitorous she was.

The women, well, they were the worst.

Hermione endured the silence that reigned when she walked into the sleeping quarters, or even when she was on duty in the kitchens and laundry rooms. She also endured their whispers, and long after night had fallen and they were all squished into their cots, Justin would tell her what they were saying.

Some whispered that she had only survived her punishment because a Ministry official had taken pity on her. Others whispered about what a whore she was, that, surely, she had taken to bed with someone to get such preferential treatment. It pained Hermione to know that there were Muggle-borns just like she, who wished to see her dead simply because most that crossed the Ministry were punished by death, and she had been allowed to live.

It didn't seem fair.

The only ones who knew the truth were Hermione, Ginny and Justin. And, of course, the man who had saved her. Ginny had sworn Hermione to secrecy and had divulged the occurrences of the night Hermione had nearly died – and for weeks after that day, and in spite of her curiosity and disbelief, she had chosen to avoid him.

Draco Malfoy.

The argument and his outburst were the last vivid recollections in Hermione's mind. In spite of his vehemence that she had been no one's savior, he had taken pity on her. He had not allowed her to die, even though a part of Hermione had wished for it. Still, no matter what she had wanted, Hermione knew that Pansy Parkinson had intended to kill her that day in the courtyard, and Draco Malfoy had stopped her. Not only that, but he had saved her life when in fact, he had no apparent reason to do so.

Why?

The question both fascinated Hermione, and scared her. Her life since Harry's death had been a huge game of Russian roulette when it came to whom she could and could not trust – and the idea that a Death Eater had-

The thought boggled Hermione's mind. But she tried not to question it, for she was alive.

Not that being alive was much better, really. She was now a pariah even amongst those whom the Ministry had deemed worthless. She was lower than the lowest. Her own didn't even want her anymore. To the purebloods, she was rubbish. To the muggle-born she was a traitor. She traveled alone now, truly alone.

Hermione saw Ginny give her a wary glance as she scraped a bit of leftover food from one of the tin plates they used for supper. Dish duty was never something she loathed for most of the time, there were no leftovers – people here were starved, and to waste food was unheard of. She much preferred doing the dishes than fixing supper for the Ministry officials, for the manner of food available to them whilst everyone else starved was a sin. And she learned after only one time never to sneak food. Ever.

Justin had his hands elbow deep in sudsy water as he took the plate from her.

Behind her, Ginny's three children were dutifully drying the dishes. Time here had taught them to speak only when spoken to, and in this way the Ministry had subdued them, sucking the life out of them just as much as any dementor.

Ginny paused mid wipe, looking at Hermione with sympathy.

"Does it hurt much?"

Her voice was muted, and her eyes flickered over the large bruise that rose up along Hermione's neck – the latest in punishments inflicted by Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione shook her head pensively, not wanting to admit that the bloody thing hurt. But of course, Pansy had meant it to hurt.

Justin winced at Hermione's expression.

"She's horrid," he muttered as he finished wiping one of the tin plates and set it neatly on a stack he had started.

Hermione's brown eyes expertly avoided the others around her.

"It's nothing. I'm used to it."

Sad thing it was, but no less true.

Pansy Parkinson was a physical presence within the alienage at most hours, and although she had never touched Ginny or the children again, Hermione feared that it was only because she had been ordered not to. And she also feared that Pansy would, at some point, make Justin the target of her twisted whims. It was only a matter of time. Pansy took a strange pleasure from causing Hermione pain, which she managed to do quite frequently. Hermione shamefully wore the bruises, scratches and contusions along her skin like delicate tattoos that told the tale of how much she was hated.

There was a long silence before Justin spoke again.

"It's because…of what happened, you know?"

Hermione looked up, startled.

"What?"

He paused and swallowed, putting down the last plate carefully.

"What happened that day, you know, in the courtyard? Pansy would have killed you, and Draco Malfoy interfered."

Hermione looked down swallowing back a reply, but she checked herself, for it would do no good speaking things she herself didn't understand. Her eyes were trained on soapy, gray water in the large bin that sat in front of her, and her teeth caught her bottom lip.

"Blimey, don't you hear them whispering, 'Mione? They say that he favors you. And Pansy hates that, because she wants him to favor her. She's bloody jealous, and it's rather funny, isn't it? Wager she never thought she'd have to compete with a Mudblood."

Hermione's fingers gripped the washtub.

"It's not a competition," she muttered. "And he doesn't favor me!"

Even the thought perturbed Hermione, and caused a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The notion that she was somehow indebted to Draco Malfoy was one she couldn't shake, and the gratitude she felt towards him was matched only by her fear – the fear of what he might want in return. Perhaps not now, but someday. Someday, he would want something, and Hermione would be in no position to turn him down.

"Leave her be."

Ginny's soothing voice broke into the tense silence, and Hermione felt herself release a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. She felt Ginny's hand on her elbow.

"Come on, let's get some sleep," she suggested.

"I didn't mean to upset anyone," Justin called from behind them as they left the kitchens. "I guess what I'm saying is be careful, 'Mione. Pansy's nasty without a reason. And now, she has reason to hate you."

Hermione paused at the doorway leading into the darkness outside.

"As if she could treat me worse than she already does," she murmured, not truly knowing how much worse it would get.

Whether he had meant it or not, Justin had put the thought in Hermione's head.

Malfoy doesn't favor me…does he?

It was a question that she couldn't answer, and some part of her, that long lost schoolgirl part, the one that hungered for knowledge, refused to let it drop. And so, for the first time since her arrival at the alienage, Hermione found herself watching Draco Malfoy.

Granted, her chances to watch him were few and far between, only be mere glimpses when he happened to make rounds into the dining area when she was eating her meager meals, or for a moment she would spy him almost gliding – yes that was the word, because Malfoy didn't walk, it was much more graceful than that – across the courtyard.

Hermione blamed Justin for her sudden focus on the blond man who was undoubtedly in charge within the alienage, although he hardly ever uttered a word. That was the strange part, she decided. Hermione couldn't quite recall when Malfoy had stopped being such a loud-mouthed prat. When they had been in school together, she remembered a snobbish, insolent boy who tended towards a biting, foul mouth. He had walked around the corridors at school as if the world revolved around him and he was entitled to something that no one else was. She had chalked it up to his conceit and had never given him more than a moment's passing thought.

But the world was different now, so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he, too, was different. War changed people. Some for better, and others for worse. Hermione had always been brilliant, and when finally focused, she was able to learn much simply from watching him.

He commanded silently, speaking only when necessary. Yet, in spite of that, it was clear that he was the one who held the power, just as he always had. In some ways, he was still the Malfoy she remembered from Hogwarts. Though not kind, he did not relish in the games the others played. In that, Justin hadn't been wrong, Hermione decided. Though the others were unnecessarily cruel, Malfoy was only cruel if he needed to be. It still bothered her though, that he let the others do as they pleased, knowing the consequences, and this realization stirred something within her. It only took Hermione a few moments to realize that it was disappointment.

And what did I expect? He's Malfoy. Pureblooded git. Conceited prat. We all made choices, and he chose Voldemort. He chose the Dark Mark, and that says it all. Doesn't it? Why am I disappointed? It's not like I held him in any esteem.

Had she? It was moments like those that made Hermione wonder if she was going mad. Because all she could think about was the strange feeling that had overcome her the night he had held her in his arms. Held her in his arms – she had never thought that he was capable of such concern. He had not let her die. He had-

He had been the only one apart from her friends and family who had shown her any kindness.

She attributed her strange new musings to the fact that in this new world, she had few friends, and the familiarity of Malfoy was what seemed to be drawing her to him. That had to be it, for she could think of no other logical explanation.

So what if he's familiar in this strange new world? I shouldn't trust him. I won't. I'm a silly girl if I think an act of kindness means he's a changed man. I don't even CARE if he's a changed man!

Hermione felt herself flushing at her stupid thoughts. Thank Merlin that's all they were – her thoughts. Unfortunately, even though she knew the thoughts were wrong on every basic level, she had no clue how to actually stop them. They flooded her mind each time she saw him. And she was beginning to hate the way she felt – the helplessness that seemed to overwhelm her when he trained those gray eyes in her direction. Fortunately, he hardly ever gave her a spare glance. Which was good. Better than good – it was as it should have been.

Draco Malfoy was not supposed to be looking at her, and she, in turn was going to stop thinking about him.

It went on more or less like that for days – at first one, then two and three, and finally Hermione had lost track of how many miserable hours she had spent in the alienage. She knew only loneliness and pain – and was gladdened at least that she had Ginny and the children and Justin to keep her company.

The nights were long and frightening – people came and went. The cots were never empty, however, for there were plenty of new, frightened and confused souls to replace those that the Ministry was disposing of. The days were hot and weighed on Hermione like an anvil that she could not get rid of. She filled her time with work. She tried to avoid Pansy. And she tried to ignore the hunger and thirst. Soon enough the pain of hunger felt the same as the pain of the welts and bruises.

She no longer tried to differentiate the different shades of her pain; it was all the same in the end. Hermione was only aware of one thing regarding her pain; when Draco Malfoy was around, it was never as bad. He made sure of that.

Unsurprisingly, things went from bad to worse – on the hot afternoon of his day off.

Hermione knew that it was better to be in a group than alone. She had learned that a long time ago from her mother and father, and then even at Hogwarts, where there had been safety in numbers. She chided herself silently when she spotted Pansy Parkinson creeping out of the shadows where she had been standing near the kitchens. Her eyes gleamed suddenly, a pair of glittering amethysts in a round, cruel face, and even though Hermione dropped her head obediently, the other woman stopped her with a hard smack of her wand to the backs of her legs.

Hermione sighed inwardly. Another set of welts to add to her growing collection. These ones caused a poignant pain – both sharp and stinging. She nearly buckled under it.

"Don't you ever walk by me without acknowledging me, Mudblood."

The words were nasty; they did not beg for response, and Hermione only lifted her head, her eyes beleaguered. She felt like an anomaly; was she truly a freak to be stared at so brazenly? Would they never leave her alone?

"So…I see your savior is not with you today? Venturing out alone, are you?"

The words were meant to mock, and Hermione was frozen in fear. Pansy had beaten the fight out of her weeks ago. She no longer reacted with anything but fear and meekness.

"I am alone."

Her heart had twisted with anxiousness and it nearly stopped beating when Pansy viciously yanked at her long curls, causing Hermione to cry out in pain. This pain just added to the symphony of all her others.

"I am alone," Pansy echoed, her voice merely a snarl.

She let go of Hermione's hair and forced her to spin around and face her. Hermione stared at Pansy without speaking, though something in her face infuriated the woman in uniform.

"I'd like to know what it is you think you're doing," she said then, the tone of her voice dropping to nearly one of kindness, though Hermione knew better.

This woman knew no kindness; the pain was coming – it was only a matter of when and not if. She dropped her head, unable to look into Pansy's hateful eyes another moment.

"I-I don't know what you mean," came her fearful whisper.

How she wished she had not decided to come out to the courtyard on her own! Pansy's wand gouged Hermione's shoulder so hard, Hermione bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

"Don't you?"

Violet eyes blazed a fire that burned hotter than that in hell.

"Tell the truth, you lying whore. Brightest witch of our year, weren't you Granger? Don't tell me that you've gone all stupid on me. Or is that a side effect of being a Mudblood?"

She laughed. Hermione was startled to realize that despite Pansy's monstrous heart, she possessed a laugh of astonishing beauty, which not even shades of hatred could hide. She tried to take a step back, to escape, even though the action was in vain. Pansy stopped her with another sharp pull of her hair.

"Is he defiling himself with you, Whore? Is that what it is, hmmm? I can't, for the life of me, imagine what any man here, or anywhere would see in you. Rookwood, sure. Even Flint has his fun with some of the women dragged into this shithole. But they're prettier than you. I never imagined Malfoy…"

Hermione choked on her words, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes tortuously.

"I didn't! I wouldn't!"

The achingly honest and tearful words escaped before she could bite her tongue, and Pansy's face twisted into a mask of loathing.

"Oh, really? Do you fancy yourself better than him? Draco not good enough for a Mudblood like you?"

Hermione's face lost all color, and she fought the trembling that had already begun in her fingertips. No matter what she said now, Pansy would punish her. There was no way out. Sighing, she fought the urge to break down and sob. She was sick and tired of the pain, the constant lashings, and prejudice. But there was nothing she could do.

She wondered what he was doing, why he had taken the day of and left her here to the mercy of-

No. He means nothing. He didn't mean to help me. He wouldn't willingly help me. I need to stop bloody hoping in him! There is no hope! What am I doing to myself!

The tears came then, unchecked. She swallowed, her saliva thick and cloying.

"No-no…he would…never…"

Pansy laughed.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it, you nasty little strumpet?"

Hermione winced as she felt her shin on the receiving end of a vicious kick. Pansy glared at her triumphantly.

"As it is, he's not here to protect you, is he?"

Her whisper was gleeful as she tapped her wand against her chin, as if thinking deeply about something. Her eyes gleamed then, and she laughed once again.

"Whatsoever will I do with you, Mudblood?"

That beautiful laugher never reached Pansy's eyes, and before Hermione could take in a shaking breath, the other woman backhanded her so hard, she stumbled backwards and fell. Hard. Her teeth clacked together, and the sound rattled Hermione. She realized she had bitten into her tongue and blood flowed, metallic and heavy.

Pansy was on her in a flash, like a rabid dog.

"Beg me. Beg me not to hurt you," she whispered.

Even in her whisper there was a note of depravity. Hermione warred with herself. One part wanted to fight back. The other knew even if she did, it wouldn't change things. She stared up at Pansy unmoving, as the woman spoke hatefully.

"Beg me to spare your life."

The wand she carried lashed against Hermione's already battered flesh. This time, she could not withhold the cry that escaped her as she hit her head against the dusty ground. Pansy shoved the weaker woman onto her stomach with one savage move.

"Beg me."

Hermione felt Pansy pommel her to the back of her head and her face was smashed against the dirt. She taste of ash and mud suffocated her, for it had gotten down her throat, mixed with the blood that was already there. Her head was pounding, as if the ache was a drum that would not cease.

"P-Please. Please…d-don't hurt me. Don't kill me. Please."

A woman without a soul and conscience certainly could not feel sympathy, could she? From above her, Hermione felt Pansy grab her, this time throwing her against the ground on her back.

"You think you're so special, do you? You're nothing to him, do you hear me? Nothing! And now he's not here, and it won't matter what happens to you. Everyone hates a whore, don't they? No one really cares about you, do they?"

Hermione tried to keep from choking on the dirt and blood that coated her throat. In mere moments she was completely spent and stopped fighting, only staring up at Pansy with tear stained eyes. The other woman lifted her wand, glaring down hatefully.

"He's mine. And don't you forget it."

Hermione closed her eyes, hearing her own whimpers breaking through the strange staccato beat her heart had begun.

I'm going to die. This time, I'm going to die.

"Sectumsempra!"

Pansy's malicious shriek came first, and then Hermione felt herself being torn open. Torn open to die. To waste away.

She screamed.

Draco shook with rage, staring at Pansy Parkinson, her large, mahogany desk between them. It was probably quite fortuitous for her, anyway, because never before had Draco wanted to slaughter someone as much as he did Pansy. His pale face as alive with color as he screamed, barely refraining from jumping across the desk to annihilate the disgusting waste of life that stood on the other side.

"I told you already! You will NOT go against my orders! How dare you! Do you know how long it took to clean the mess you made?"

A bloody, fucking mess. He had wondered upon first glance if there had been anything left of Granger. There must have been a God after all, if He had kept her alive through such torture. His gorge rose, and he willed himself not to retch.

To make matters worse, a cold burst of laughter came from Pansy. Stupid, amoral bitch was laughing.

"As if I give a bloody damn!" she wailed back. "She's a Mudblood!" There was a strange, tearful edge to her voice that Draco did not understand.

Mudblood. Yes, she was a Mudblood. She was all the things that he despised, that the Ministry despised. All the things they were trying to completely eradicate. Dirty blood. Disgusting filth.

The only light in my darkness.

Since the night of the glorious sunset, he had done nothing but think of her. Wonder about her. Watch over her. His mind fought in righteous disbelief at his traitorous heart.

I saved her, didn't I? Why? Because she's saving me from becoming like them. She's reminding me of my past, of my son. The things I loved. She's the one unadulterated thing in a world of corruption.

"I won't have you murdering anyone in broad daylight, do you hear me? My alienage! My rules!"

His voice now, too, carried a strange, tearful edge. She had nearly died – he knew it. He had seen it from the look on Potter's face, the looks of horror from those who had witnessed Pansy's latest bout of fancy. He had seen her body, decimated and pale. A healer had been called in; it had been bad.

I have to do something. Next time, Pansy will kill her. Crazy bitch has no qualms, does she?

He stared at the woman before him; she was exactly what he would become if he lost all hope.

"You never cared before!" screamed Pansy, stomping her foot. "What's she matter when there have been so many others?"

Yes, what did she matter? Except that, she did. He knew she did. For some reason, not yet understood by him, she did. There were two red spots along his cheeks.

"I don't care about her!" he screamed in reply, grey eyes flashing. "I've told you before, you dumb bitch!"

Pansy fell silent, as if his outburst had drained all her emotional energy, and with a choked sound she shook her head.

"There's something about her, though, isn't there?"

Her voice was small. Draco thought that perhaps, if the woman could feel, he would have taken her for hurt. But surely, someone like Pansy Parkinson had long ago forgotten how to feel. She was like Bellatrix – human shell within which evil had taken comfortable lodging. Fighting back the urge to tell her what he thought, he willed himself to calm down.

"No, you're wrong," he said simply, without emotion. The anger that had permeated the room only seconds before was gone now. In its wake remained the cold hand of indifference. "There isn't anything about her. I warn you again, you are not judge, jury and executioner. If I chose to punish, I will come see you. Remember, you are on my payroll, not your own. Not my Aunt's. Mine."

Violet eyes were trained on him, but if Pansy had anything to say, she chose wisely, and remained silent. Draco looked up at her.

"She's my responsibility. Don't you worry, she's no longer your concern."

"But-"

"Leave me."

He waited, immobile, until he heard the door shut behind her, signaling that he was finally alone. When Draco looked up, all he could see was Hermione Granger, lying on the ground, her blood seeping into the summer kissed dust.

Yes, she was his concern now. And he'd have to find a way to make sure that they wouldn't hurt her again. He already had an idea, his path was clear, excepting on huge roadblock. His porcelain wife, Astoria.