In this installment, feelings are starting to get muddled, and Lavender learns something important. Hopefully this will be about my posting speed now, every three of four days, depending on what's going on. Enjoy, and thank you so much always for your support!

LCailan

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Hermione was surprised to see the brilliant morning light shining through the far windows of the hotel suite the next morning. Somehow, she had believed that sleep would be impossible. For a moment, she was disoriented, and her heart raced, before reality set it and she remembered where she was, and who she was with. At that thought, she turned in the bed, her naked body against the messy, silken sheets, and her fingers fumbled for the other side, hoping to find-

The satin was cool to the touch; he was not there. Hermione fought with a strange feeling of disappointment that flooded her, and she lay still, staring up at the intricately carved high plaster ceiling, blinking furiously against the sudden heat behind her eyes.

Oh, Sod! What is wrong with me? It's not like it meant anything! I knew it was just sex. Gods, I'm really starting to scare myself!

Usually a sharp reminder of her situation helped Hermione with perspective, but lying in that bed, that morning, remembering the way Malfoy felt against her body had clearly muddled her brain. Sighing with frustration, Hermione sat up pulling the sheet around her just as the bathroom door opened and Malfoy stepped out. He was clad in nothing but a fluffy, white hotel towel which hung precariously low on his hips. He was still wet, and she couldn't help but watch rogue water droplets running down along the dips and planes of his body. He stood there, watching her with a smirk on his face, and she wondered if he knew just how enticing he looked.

Sweet fanny Adams!

He ran a hand through his damp hair carelessly, and she watched it fall into his eyes, itching with everything in her to jump up and touch him, brush it away from his face.

It should be a crime to look as good as he does!

She blushed and looked away.

Draco had emerged from the bathroom after a long shower to come face to face with Granger, who, in spite of being wrapped in miles of satin sheets, and her hair a riotous mess around her shoulders, still had the power to stop him in his tracks and make the lower half of his anatomy sing whispered, delicious songs of need.

She was beautiful. He remembered how the night he had first seen her at the alienage, he hadn't been able to call her ugly. Well, that was now an understatement. The truth was, bias made one blind, and he had once been biased against her.

Once.

His heart thundered in his ears as he felt her eyes on his body, and he offered a smirk because he could see the color flooding across her cheeks and the paleness of her throat and chest. Secretly, Draco was glad that he affected her nearly as much as she affected him. So this madness was shared, he realized. Because, that's what it was. Beyond this room, beyond the physical intimacy, everything else was impossible.

Oh Gods, but to be with her again!

Nothing, not any other experience, or any other woman had made Draco forget himself as completely as Hermione Granger. There was life, which was a heavy, dark burden, and then there was that place in her arms that erased all his fears, the worries about the future, everything. And he wanted to find that place again; he wanted to make his home there, to make sure that she never-

No. That was insanity.

Clearing his throat, he spoke.

"I took the liberty of ordering you a muffin…and a change of clothing before we leave."

He wondered at the flicker of disappointment in the exquisite brown eyes that were trained on him with intensity.

"Thank you," she said softly, and then stood.

The sheet slipped from where it had been secured around her breasts, and Draco wondered for a moment when he had grown so fascinated with what lay underneath the beige colored satin. Her body – glorious in it's perfection and her response to him, shy and yet, at the same time sweetly seductive – had captivated him. He wanted to know her, not just as a woman like all the others he had once been with, but her – Hermione Granger. He wanted to know what would drive her wild, what would cause her to moan his name, to make her blood boil. He wanted to explore every last inch of her, so that when he was finished, her body would hold no more secrets. He wanted to worship her-

"Will I be going back to the alienage this morning, or to Kensington?"

Her question broke his train of thought, which had been careening out of control into dangerous territory. With her question, the reality of their situation settled upon Draco, and he hesitated with his answer, unsure even, what to say. He wondered what his aunt would say if she knew that their coupling had meant more to him than it should have. He wondered if Hermione herself even knew that! He could almost imagine Flint's laughter, and he certainly didn't want to imagine what Pansy might think if she knew the truth. And lastly, there was Astoria, the woman who was his wife. Though he believed there had been no love between them for years now, the night spent in Hermione's arms had confirmed that without a doubt. He didn't love Hermione, no, but he felt more passion and desire for her than he ever had for his wife.

He was a Ministry official, a Death Eater, loyal to Voldemort and the new vision. And she was of dirty blood, the abomination which the same vision saw eradicated.

And if I had to choose…would it be her?

Draco watched as she sat on the bed, and she looked so tiny against the backdrop of massive pillows and comforters on the huge bed. Without speaking, he walked across the room, sitting down next to her. And so they sat, side by side like that for awhile, neither knowing what to say. Neither knowing what came next.

Her voice sent a pleasant shiver down his spine when she finally spoke. He wondered when that had started, but realized that he couldn't remember.

"I know you're going to want everything to be the same as it was," she said matter of factly, as she stood up and then went to dress.

He watched as she fumbled with the clothing he had conjured earlier, working quickly to get dressed. He found himself disappointed when most of her body was not in full view, and she managed to keep the sheet pressed to her bosom as she used her other hand to fumble with the clothing.

"And that's fine," she continued, swallowing. "I understand my place. I offered you something you needed. Maybe, we both needed it," she reasoned, pulling her messy curls up away from her face. "I need your help, and all I have to offer you in return is…me. I know what you are, and I know what I am."

As she moved, he suddenly reached out, claiming her wrist in a tight, possessive grasp. She stopped, and Draco saw the confusion flickering in the depths of her cinnamon eyes as they widened.

"We can't forget…outside of this room, what my duty is, and what-

He felt her jerk in his grip, trying to fling off his hand. Her tone was too sharp, too terse.

"I understand, yes."

Bitterness permeated her tone.

Then, silence. It was maddening to Draco, for she refused to look into his eyes, instead staring straight up, her jaw clenched.

"Sit down," he ordered, although his tone was too husky to be a command.

She managed to get away from his touch, hesitating for a split second before sitting down with a sigh. Still, he could not see her eyes. Once more they were sitting side by side, wordlessly.

This time, he broke the silence, his words hesitant.

"I want you to know that I found someone that might be able to help Lily."

At those words, he watched as Hermione's head snapped up, a gasp on her lips.

"W-what?"

"He has connections, and he's…an acquaintance from-"

Somehow, Draco realized actually mentioning Zabini's name would make it all too real – what was happening now, and what was going to happen, and he wasn't sure he was ready to handle the implications of both of the situations. Or the similarities.

"From- way back. At any rate, he owes me a favor, and I requested Lily be transferred away from my alienage, which hopefully means a move to the other side of the city and away from Pansy Parkinson."

He watched her face carefully, the changes in it, the flickering of her beautiful eyes, the fact that she was swallowing over and over again, as if holding back her feelings. Suddenly, her eyes spilled over with tears. Draco felt strangely…naked under her gaze, too scrutinized, as if he was an open book and she could read all his innermost thoughts and desires. Tearing his eyes away from her face was difficult, but he did it, glaring instead at the towel that was still wrapped around his middle.

"Once away from my alienage, he thinks…well, that he can get her out of London as well."

Her touch was too warm on Draco's upper arm.

"Who? When?"

Swallowing hard, he refused to look at her for a moment. Then his eyes met hers.

"I don't know. He wouldn't say, but I hope, soon."

The moment that followed seemed to last a lifetime, and he felt on the edge of a precipice as he gazed at her pale face, ridden with emotion. Her lips moved for a moment, and he could see her breathing was shallow. Finally he heard it, a soft whisper.

"Draco…"

His name on her lips, once, and then again, like a litany. It made his heart beat strangely within him.

"Granger, I-"

"I knew you would help!"

Her tiny hand was in his, squeezing his fingers, making it hard to think, and when he lifted his face up to hers, she was wearing that smile. It was the smile she had given Potter the night they had been separated. It was a smile that had calmed many, a smile that had soothed the rattled soul, and a smile that Ron Weasley had most likely fallen in love with. And now she sat, next to him, impossibly close, and yet-

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning up to kiss him, shyly, uncertainly.

Draco found himself hesitating.

"You know, once we leave this room, you can't be-"

Her face fell.

"You-you can't- you know who I am."

The reminder was strange in his own ears, for he was having trouble forming sentences. He saw her nod.

"Of course," she said resolutely. "I know my place."

Draco could tell that it was difficult for her to say those words, could see it from the way her lips pressed into a tense, thin line. For the first time, perhaps, he saw the color of shame in her eyes, and he wondered if this is how she had been feeling the whole time. Giving up everything she had to save someone else, shaming herself, making herself feel like she was lower than low. At one time, he had believed it too.

Now, he reached down to push a stray chestnut curl behind her ear with the tenderest of touches. The words were on his lips before Draco could understand their meaning.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what's happened to you. I'm sorry about the way I am, they way we are. I'm sorry there's…there's no peace for you."

Her watery eyes widened a fraction, and her grip on his hand tightened a touch, though he barely noticed it, so enamored was he of the way she was gazing at him. What else was there to say? What else could he do and what could he offer? Draco knew only that he would do whatever he could to help Lily Potter, even though mere months ago he wouldn't have dreamt himself in that position. But that was before a glimmer of light, a spark of hope had been offered to him in the person of Hermione Granger, and he wasn't fool enough to let that go so easily. Reaching down, he caressed her face, leaning down to capture her lips for a moment, seeking once more the oblivion he found there, the freedom that she offered, and the respite from all his burdens. He felt the warmth of her hands running along his body, down his lower back and then up around his neck, effectively pulling him closer. Perhaps, she too, was seeking a refuge from the confusion and pain and darkness. Perhaps, she too, didn't want to think anymore.

"You don't have to be sorry," she whispered against his neck, pulling at the towel. Draco's head spun.

"Hermione-"

She groaned.

"Please, don't say anything," She begged. "Just hold me again."

He did, wrapping his arms around her body, and pulling her flush against his own, the ever-present desire in him awakening at the feel of her silken curves once again.

"There is one thing I want from you right now," he breathed against her soft hair. "Right now, in this room, I am just Draco. You are just Hermione. There is no alienage, and there is no new Ministry. It's just us. Can you do that for me?"

She gazed into his eyes, mesmerized, and Draco wondered if ever there had been a truth he wanted more. She nodded without speaking, her lips parting for a breathless moment, and then Draco leaned down, eyes closing just as she pulled away his towel.

"I want that," she managed throatily. "I want…"

"Show me what you want," he whispered huskily.

And without another spoken word, she did.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, Hermione marveled, as her heart raced against his, and her fingers ran up and down his arms until she finally laced her fingers through his. His part of the bargain was to save Lily. Hermione was supposed to be the one who fulfilled his needs in return. So why did she feel this good? Why was he thinking only of her and not of what he wanted? It confused her, but at the same time, awoke in her feelings that could only be called lust and passion, desire, and need. Her heart stopped racing as she snuggled against his fragrant, impossibly silky hair, running her fingers through it and along the dampness of his skin, completely taken with the man he was, and the feelings still coursing through her. She indulged for a moment in the whimsy that he might care for her, even though Hermione's practical side cried out to be heard, that it wasn't possible. That he was a Death Eater. That he as evil.

But, no.

Hermione couldn't believe that any man who was her enemy could also be a man that she craved. There was only one moment where she could find peace; the moment where she had fallen and he had picked her up. Some truths simply defied explanation, and though it wasn't in Hermione's nature to accept something like that, she had no choice. She turned her head towards his on the pillow, breathing in his warmth, kissing the crook of his shoulder, sighing. When she gazed into his eyes, she saw the corners of his lush mouth turning up into a smile. This too, was strange, for she had never seen Draco Malfoy smile before. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, pressing his cheek against her messy hair.

"Did you know?"

Her question was soft, almost a whisper.

"What you told me about Lily, I mean. Did you know before you and I…?"

Hermione didn't know why she had asked the question, only that she was curious. After all, she was trapped in this situation, with this man, and she had given him everything; he owed her the truth, at least.

"Would you have…with me, if I had told you first?"

His upper lip twitched slightly as he spoke those words, and his somber gray orbs searched her face. Then he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, and then whispering into her ear.

"I've wanted you, I think, for a long time, Granger. That day, in London, I couldn't stop thinking about having seen you. And then, it's been nothing but you since. Forgive me. I'm a selfish fool, but I wanted to have you in my bed before you had a chance to take back your offer. Hate me for it, if you like."

The whisper was simple, and when Hermione looked up into his eyes, they reflected a darkened sobriety. She found it strange that had given permission for something she was sure she felt towards him most of her life, but now, could no longer claim as valid.

"It wouldn't have mattered," she murmured, turning over to stare at the ceiling, her voice resigned. "Before or after, you had already agreed to help me, and I would never go back on an agreement."

"Good. I'm so glad you're pleased with our business arrangement, then."

She turned her head in surprise at the contempt in his voice, but didn't question it. In fact, Hermione said nothing as they dressed, and then left the hotel room and stepped into the fall afternoon.

She wondered at his silence, and at his refusal to meet her eyes. The silence grew deafening over time, and until they stood before the alienage once more, Hermione hadn't known how to break the silence. She watched, feeling a leaden disappointment inundate her as his back turned away from her and he began to glide stiffly away from her.

"Thank you!"

The sound was choked, as if Hermione would cry. She watched him stop, and turn slowly, a strange look on his face. She wasn't sure if it was pity or compassion. It could have been affection. Still, he offered no words, only acknowledging her words with a nod, even as his eyes shifted across the distance to make sure no one had seen them. Somehow, Hermione found this to be more disheartening than anything. Behind closed doors, she could indulge in the silly fantasy that he cared, but here, in the real world, he was a Death Eater again. He gave him one last longing glance, before turning to walk towards the buildings in the distance.

That was when she felt him clasp her hand tightly, his touch as cold as the autumn breeze. He spun her into him and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before letting her go.

"Take care," he whispered, before moving away, and turning the corner towards the Ministry office building.

She stared after him, speechless, her heart hammering wildly.

Sometimes, Lavender still felt the kick of the baby she had nurtured in her womb for nine months. In the early mornings, just before she opened her eyes, she was back at the flat that Blaise had put her up in, snuggled up in a blanket, her arm draped protectively over the baby whom she had affectionately started calling Daisy. She hadn't been sure if it would be a boy or girl, but it hadn't really mattered to her in the end. And, Blaise had thought it was funny. Most mornings, during the precious few seconds where the last cobwebs of delicious dreams faded away like morning dewdrops, bringing with them the harsh and dismal reality, Lavender was happy.

But such moments were fleeting.

That morning, before her row with Ginny, Lavender had woken up from one of those wonderful half dreams, one in which Blaise had been smiling at her. He had a thousand different smiles – but the one she would always remember, the one that lit up his dark eyes so that they sparkled brilliantly, had been only for her. She had always loved his smile, even at the beginning, that night when he had come into the club where she hustled men. He had been with Malfoy and those other two disgusting wastes of life. Even then, Lavender had hoped he would turn that smile on her, and she had gotten lucky. Oh, yes, she knew that luck had much to do with it, and she wasn't a fool; joy was hard to find, and even though Blaise Zabini had nearly ruined her in the end, the journey had been well worth it. The journey was what she would remember most. The fact that for days, months, nearly a year of time she was special to someone and not just a whore from Paddington. For months of time, she was able to smile, and not just fake it. Finally, she had been given a chance; she had fallen in love. A man, although difficult and guarded, had fallen in love with her, too. What they had shared was not possible to define, and she had long ago stopped trying. Amidst the perfect, shadowed remnants of memories and cruel reminders of reality, Lavender reminded herself that joy was possible, that she had been blessed…for awhile.

Then, there had been Ginny. The stupid row had been pointless, Lavender knew. But try as she might, she wasn't able to feel anything but resentment for her former classmate. She had wondered about Ginny and Hermione, of course. Wondered from the night she had so startlingly recognized them after being brought to the alienage. She had heard, of course, about Harry and Ginny and the children. She had accepted the news with resentment, for how was it Ginny and Harry had been allowed their children, and hers had been taken from her? She had wondered also, about Hermione, though Lavender had hardly ever given her pause in the past. She had been too…eager in school. Too bookish. Too…annoying. And the worst part was, Lavender had been jealous. Jealous that Hermione had ended up with Ron Weasley, because back when she had been schoolgirl, Ron was the only thing she had wanted. And he had dashed her fragile hopes.

That morning, she had desperately clung to her dream of Blaise, stubbornly forcing her eyes closed, clinging to the thin blanket that had done nothing to keep away the cold. She had wanted to remain in her dreams, because there she could be with Blaise again, hear his laugh, feel the perfect touch of his fingers against her flesh. There, it had been the two of them, and she had watched as he doted over their child – a little baby girl. The dream had been a snapshot of a family amidst all the adversity they faced. Much too soon the dream had faded, and the living world had called out to Lavender, singing its cruel song, and she had grudgingly wakened, forcing herself to shake off the grip of sleep, and of her precious dreams.

And then, there had been the stupid row with Ginny Potter, the girl who had been given everything.

Lavender sat on the stoop near the kitchens after having forced herself to swallow flavorless oatmeal for her late breakfast. Kitchen duty was the worst, she decided. But that day, she was relegated to the kitchens for the entirety of her day. In spite of the courtyard brimming with life, she felt completely alone, a world away. She had decided the alienage was no worse than Paddington, but at least there she had felt like she was on her own, like maybe, if she hunkered down and prayed for a change, that one day she would be given the freedom to better herself, to find a place, to find peace. Instead, the Ministry had finally captured her; the thing she had feared the most, and now, well…there was no hope. Here, she could see it in the eyes of the other Muggle-borns. No hope, no future.

This day was especially difficult, Lavender realized. Her baby girl would be six months old. Half a year.

Mommy loves you, Daisy.

She missed Blaise. She missed holding a little girl. As the others around her ignored the girl on the stoop, Lavender wept silently over the fact that it had taken exactly nine days for Blaise to destroy what she had carried and nurtured within herself for nine months. The hateful, unfair world had taken from her the only real thing of meaning she had ever been able to call her own.

Damn you, Blaise Zabini! You were supposed to love me! Have I been a fool this whole time? Why am I alone? Why did this happen? What did I do wrong?

Soon enough some of the others from the kitchens had noticed her tears, had started to whisper to each other. Lavender heard the word 'whore' and 'worthless'. She ignored them; it was nothing new to her. Instead, she got up, stumbling across the courtyard, blinded by her tear-filled eyes. As she stepped in between the two buildings leading to the front entrance, she stopped, staring in shock.

Maybe she would have missed them, except that his hair shone brilliantly in the early afternoon sunlight. His lips were pressed against her hair in a caress that was impossibly gentle in such harsh surroundings. His eyes were closed, and she leaned into him, as if he was her only saving grace.

A gamut of emotions roared through an already fragile Lavender, her head spinning and her breathing growing shallow. And she realized in that moment how much she abhorred Hermione Granger. She had already hated Draco Malfoy; she had hated him in school and even more so the night he had blatantly rejected her desperate propositions. But the two of them together filled her with such rage, for a moment Lavender forgot her own pain.

Ah, so I wasn't good enough, was I? No whores for him, I suppose. Only the best Mudblood will do, yeah?

She swallowed bitterly, trying to erase the image of their clandestine embrace from her mind – the strange contentment on his face, and the peace on hers- but she couldn't.

Turning and hurrying away, Lavender felt her heart thudding inside of her, rattling her body as if it were nothing but an empty, fragile shell.

Slam-thunk-

She couldn't breathe.

Slam-thunk-

Each beat felt like someone was taking a dull butter knife to her heart, and attempting to slice through it.

Slam-thunk-

And then, pouring salt in the wounds.

Slam-thunk-

Hot tears of shame and rage blinded her vision. She couldn't believe that she had so blatantly thrown herself at a man who had probably laughed at her behind her back.

Slam-thunk-

It stung – being rejected by Malfoy, and then seeing him embracing a woman who was just as disgusting as she, herself, was.

Slam-thunk-

She choked on her own breathing, and then struggled to gather her bearings, hating Hermione Granger more than she had ever hated her before.

Hermione hurried into the sleeping quarters, her head down, avoiding the possibility of meeting anyone's eyes. She knew that Ginny and Justin were on laundry duty that day – it was a Monday morning, after all. The Ministry within the alienage was nothing if not rigidly structured. They made sure they knew what every soul in the place was doing. She hoped that Malfoy had at least come up with some sort of excuse as to where she had been the day before and all night long. Flashes of the night in his bed assaulted Hermione; she went weak in the knees for a moment, right before the wave of shame erased any tantalizing feelings that had begun to course through her.

The room was empty, mostly dark, except for the sunshine coming through the far windows.

"Ah, so the whore returns!"

The voice was like honey coated cyanide and it made Hermione jump and gasp. She turned to see Lavender stepping out of the shadows near her cot. The expression on her face was strange; Hermione wasn't sure what to think. Her face registered surprise, which made Lavender chuckle darkly.

"What? Not used to that term, Hermione?"

This time the voice was lower, having grown more understanding.

"Would you prefer courtesan? Or, perhaps Geisha? At the end of the day, a woman who sells her body is still a whore."

This time, Hermione let out a squeak of sound, her face blooming a bright pink at Lavender's matter of fact tone.

"I'm not-"

Her strangled words were cut short at the sudden abruptness with which Lavender glared at her.

"No? That's not how I've been hearing it, Hermione," she snapped in a tone that was dry and acidic. "I hear your nights are spent servicing one of the officials here."

Hermione watched as Lavender smiled, though it never reached the depth of her sapphire eyes. In horror, Hermione watched as the other woman ran her hands along the wall, speaking in a thoughtful tone.

"Trying to fuck your way out of here? I know lots of girls that are doing that, you know. I've been doing this a long time, and I can tell by the look on their faces. The way they stare at those men with a hungry look in their eyes."

She stopped, her eyes gazing directly into Hermione's.

"What do you think about when you've got your legs wrapped around him?"

Hermione found herself appalled and sickened by Lavender's words, and a moment later tears welled up in her eyes. There was no way to deny it, she was being a whore. She had given her body to Draco Malfoy in exchange for Lily, and no matter how anyone spun it – Lavender was right.

Why am I sickened by such talk, when it is nothing worse than what I am doing?

Still, Hermione fought against the accusations against the integrity she had lost months ago.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There was a hard silence and then Lavender shrugged with a small, knowing smile.

"D'you suppose he cares for you? I thought Blaise cared for me, but in the end…well, I was wrong."

Her eyes were hard, but Hermione could see the other woman struggling against great pain. Quickly, she spoke, hoping to offer Lavender some sort of hope, in spite of the disgust she was feeling.

"Lavender, I know this isn't easy-"

"I saw you," she countered, face brightening with indignant color. "Outside. You and Draco Malfoy, yeah?"

Hermione felt all the color drain from her face; indeed, soon she was ashen and could hardly stand. Lavender's eyes narrowed.

"He's just like the rest of them. Worse, even. He doesn't care about you. None of them do. You can give them everything, and still they'll take more and then leave you an empty, worthless husk."

A single tear rolled down her face.

"At least I'm honest enough to admit what I am. You're a fool, Hermione. I don't want your sympathy because you're just as pathetic as I am. Even worse, actually, because you can't admit your own worthlessness."

Hard blue eyes made Hermione feel as helpless as she had when faced with Pansy Parkinson. Finally, when she was able to find her voice, Hermione struggled with her reply.

"It's not like that, I-"

Her words grew weaker, until she was no longer speaking, her lips still parted as if she would continue.

If it's not like what she says it is, then how is it? It's not like he loves me. How many times have I considered what I'm doing with Malfoy as a business deal?

She was startling to realize that the world she lived in was becoming unbearable without him, for only when they were alone did anything make sense.

Lavender stared at Hermione, her lips a tight scowl.

"I wonder what Ronald would think? You, selling yourself to survive. Do you think he would understand? It's a different world now."

The words were a sibilant murmur, meant to confuse, and meant to imply more than they said. Hermione began to shake inside at the gall of the woman standing before her.

"I can't believe you," she hissed. "After everything you and I have been through these last six years, you can't find one genuine ounce of sympathy? We were friends, weren't we? How can you stand there and make me feel so dirty when you're just as bad as I am?"

Hermione saw a flicker of something in Lavender's eyes for one frozen second, but then in the next, the blond girl had launched herself forward, reaching for her hair, fisting it and pulling hard.

The brunette let out a sharp cry as the pain made her eyes water, and then she found herself wrapping trembling fingers around the blond curls and doing the same, making Lavender shriek in protest. Then they were on the dirty, dusty floor, each trying to inflict pain on the other, Hermione refusing to give up even as she felt Lavender's fist connecting with her face, and leaving what was sure to be a nasty bruise. She kicked hard, trying to escape the other woman's clutches, making strange, animalistic noises, as Lavender wailed like a banshee. Finally, Hermione got a good grip on Lavender's twisting body and she gave her swift, hard kick in the middle and rolled away, panting, her eyes watering and her face smarting from the fight.

She heard the gruff incantation before Hermione could recapture her bearings.

"Impedimenta!"

Instantly, she felt her movements become sluggish and her body to slow down. She fought for a few moments, trying to push through the sluggishness, but the harder the struggled, the slower her body moved. Finally, she laid still, her face against the dusty floor. It was then that she saw the shiny tops of a pair of boots – and a sinking feeling assaulted her. She lay motionless on the ground, spent and angry, but afraid to move. Who would it be? Rookwood? Mulciber? They were the ones that did rounds the most often. She prayed that it wasn't Pansy, but when she looked up it wasn't Mulciber, Rookwood, or Pansy.

Hermione recalled thinking that Marcus Flint had looked like a troll when they were in school together. Age had done him no favors, and she whimpered as he yanked her to her feet, grabbing and then pinching her already hurt shoulder. She could barely move while under Flint's spell, and she helplessly fell onto the nearest cot, wincing when her side hit against the metal rung at the head. A small moan escaped her and she closed her eyes just in time to hear another, painfully familiar voice. Everything in her stirred.

"Incarcerous."

She was bound to the cot within seconds, just as Malfoy lowered his wand and turned to Lavender who was still sprawled ungracefully on the floor.

"Get up. I won't have any of this here, both of you," he warned, first giving Lavender an icy glare and then turning his gray eyes on Hermione.

She saw something flicker for a moment, and she read his expression well enough.

Not another word.

She willed herself to lie still, just as Lavender's voice broke the tense silence.

"Well, how about that?"

Her tone was dark and contemptuous.

"The hero comes to save the day. Must pay to be sleeping with Malfoy, yeah?"

Before she could finish the words, Hermione watched as Malfoy yanked Lavender to her feet roughly and then dragged her from the room, even as she began to fight back every step of the way. When they were gone, she felt a profound sense of loss.

And when she looked up at Marcus flint, a flicker of dread as well.