When I had split the last chapter and this one (again much too long) I hadn't realized that the split would be such a cliffhanger. At any rate, I put this up as soon as I could. ;) In this installment, Draco deals with Lavender, and Hermione faces Flint. I received a review awhile back predicting (strangely) what's about to happen in the chapter after this one. I thought it was quite eerie myself. Just a head's up – this also ends on a cliffie, but I had to split the scene up because it was unbearably long, but the good news is that you'll all be able to guess what is going to happen next. Enjoy!

LCailan

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Four minutes into fighting with Lavender Brown, Draco gained a new appreciation for Zabini's seemingly adept strength – for he was having trouble controlling the sodding bint that now twisted with rage against his grip. She fought like she was being dragged towards her death; he considered putting her out of her misery more than once, thinking maybe, just maybe he could find another way to help Granger. He moved from the sleeping quarters, across the dusty courtyard (amidst strange looks) and then between the two buildings. The woman never let up, moving viciously against him, going as far as trying to bloody bite her way free.

Each time Draco tried to speak, she would attack him, clawing with an animalistic fervor that scared him. He had seen many people fall apart over the course of his time in the Ministry, but this was…beyond anything he knew how to handle. Even Granger's meltdown several months before seemed tame in comparison. At first, he tried to ignore Lavender, dragging her as hard as he could, wincing as she strained against him.

Bloody Bollocks! What kind of woman has this kind of strength?

In the end, he let her go, giving her a rough shove backwards. Lavender, surprised, stumbled and fell, and as she scrambled along the ground to get away from him, Draco muttered a binding charm under his breath, and only then was she finally immobile, a mess of limbs and thick blond curls. Wand still in the air and pointed towards her, Draco knelt down. She reared back and spat at him, and it was hot and wet against his cheek.

"Take that, you loathsome fuck!"

Appalled at the way she defied him, Draco reached down and grabbed her chin – hard – until she whimpered, and tears of pain filled her blue eyes.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" he hissed, refusing to let go of her face, even as she began to struggle against her magical bonds.

"Or what are you going to do?" she mocked. "Kill me?"

He sneered.

"And what if I did? No one would care! Do you really think anyone would give a shit what happened to you?"

She gave him an odd sort of look, and then a smile that could have been a grimace. It never reached her eyes, which seemed incredibly empty and unseeing.

"You can't kill me!" she shot back, her voice rising in pitch. "You can't KILL ME!"

Still, she struggled.

"DO YOU HEAR ME!"

Her scream was now grating and whiny as tears ran down her face in torrents.

"I'm ALREADY DEAD!"

As she hurled out the last word, her voice thick with tears, Draco slapped her. It was a single, purposeful slap, and it rattled the woman who had clearly gone nutty. The silence was startling, and Draco's ears rang with the echoes of Lavender's shrieks. She stared back at him, blue eyes wide, and just as she opened her mouth again, he pointed his wand at her.

"Silencio."

Tears of anger filled her eyes, and after a moment she was exhausted and stopped struggling against her magical bonds.

"You stupid girl!" he hissed. "Don't you know what they could do to you here? Haven't you learned? Or are you that daft?"

Her eyes snapped at him with indignation, her face tense with a scowl.

"Have you ever wondered what you're doing here? Besides the obvious? And why you aren't dead yet, in spite of that disgusting, foul mouth and your sodding need to defy everyone around you? Huh?"

This time, Draco could sense the accusatory way her eyes bore into him.

"Zabini," he whispered. "It's because of him that you're here. Because he loves you, and that bloody child of yours, you hear? And if you keep acting like this, they'll kill you! You won't stand a chance here!"

Tears filled her eyes, and her face melted. Draco was strangely affected by the changes in her demeanor, in the way she slumped against the dust, the way her tears wet the ground, darkening the dry earth around her. The way her body silently shook with her sobs. The complete and utter heartbreak that touched every part of her.

"That's right," he continued, reaching down to help her sit up. Her face was bright where he had smacked her. "He asked me to protect you. And I can't do that if you fight me."

Lavender was still now, watching him with rounded, watery eyes, her breathing strangely hitched. Draco was crouched next to her.

"These people are heartless."

With each word, the next was even more difficult, and twice he had to stop, to clear his throat.

"They're unfeeling."

After all, he knew that from experience.

"They knew Zabini was sleeping with you, surely you know how it all works, yeah? Some of them take some pleasure in using and abusing Mudbloods, you understand."

The look on her face was a mixture of hatred and resentment. Draco ignored it, and continued.

"So long as there are no consequences, a man can get off and move on. But he got you pregnant."

He leaned in, wearing an intense expression.

"They'll kill your child. For them, it's as easy as erasing the consequences, or pretending they don't exist. Don't you see that? What he did is because he wanted to help you – to protect you and that baby!"

Tears of silent despair ran down her face and Draco groaned, and lifted his wand deciding he'd act now and be sorry later.

"Finite."

His whisper faded into the stillness, and miraculously, the fallen woman remained silent, though now he could hear her whimpered sobbing. He knelt down next to her after making sure that no one else was looking.

"So long as you don't make trouble for me, you're safe here, understand?"

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

"How…how is he? Do you speak to him?"

Then she began to cry in earnest.

"I miss him so much…"

Hermione blinked, sitting up, watching Marcus Flint warily after he lifted the magical binding charm. He leered at her, but for a few moments after Draco had dragged rabid Lavender from the quarters, all was silent. She tried to appear calm as she stared back at Flint with defiance, not allowing him to see she was rattled. If that happened, then he would know he had control, and the last thing any of those officials needed was that sort of power.

Hermione shuddered inwardly as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, hoping to appear fearless.

"Feisty one, aintcha?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I apologize."

Flint gave her a strange look, and then it changed once again to the same penetrating gaze, his dark eyes lingering along her breasts, and then her hips, and down to her toes. She could only guess at the disgusting things he might have been imagining, but it couldn't be helped.

"Do you, now?"

The question wasn't meant to be answered, and Hermione offered no response, tearing her eyes away from that lurid gaze. He reminded her too much of those others; Mulciber, who had tasted of dirt and ashes when he had forced a kiss on her so long ago in London, and Rookwood, who never touched her but would stare at her wantonly.

Oh God, please don't let him hurt me!

Flint gazed down on her thoughtfully.

"Wonder what I'm gonna do with you, then. Seems it's up to me to deal out the appropriate punishment, yeah?"

His eyes glittered like two gems at the thought, and Hermione struggled not to flinch. She watched him steadily as he moved around the cot without saying another word. She could only hope that he was in a good mood, and that keeping silent would avoid a severe punishment. Though she had long ago gotten used to the whitish scars that riddled her body from her last punishment at Pansy's hand, the marks from that incident burned now, as if they were fresh. Ghostly reminders of what might be in store for her.

Please, be merciful.

Hermione almost said the words aloud, but knew that if she did, he would make the punishment that much worse.

After another bout of pacing, he stood in front of her, his beefy arms folded along his chest, his lower lip jutting out in consideration. A piece of lank hair had fallen across his face and he blew it out of his eyes with one breath.

"You're the one Mulciber was talking about."

The tone, just as his look, was suggestive, and Hermione swallowed under his lecherous gaze. For a moment she understood why a woman would offer herself to a man like Flint. Knowing what was coming, even if it was as vile as sex, was better than not knowing what he had planned. But, she kept silent, for even in the most desperate situation, Hermione couldn't imagine the burden of shame if she offered herself to yet another man.

"I hear rumors, you know. 'Bout you and Malfoy," he said with a grin that nearly made her wince. His teeth were crooked and yellowed with age, an unsightly gap separating his two front teeth.

"I hear he's been gettin' off with ya, he has."

Swallowing, Hermione lifted her chin, feeling the churning of fear and a sudden bout of disgust in her lower belly. She had promised Malfoy that what they shared behind closed doors did not exist in the real world – in Flint's world.

"I wouldn't sully myself that way," she seethed, and braced herself.

The slap, when it came, was sharp and unfeeling. Hermione's had snapped back and she gasped, her cheek flaming.

"Next time, don't say anything if you're going to insult one of us."

She stared back at him, a scowl on her face, but said nothing more.

"Up, then."

He motioned towards the door to the courtyard, and Hermione stood and followed with trepidation, closing her eyes against bitter tears. Already, that morning was far gone from her memories; the feeling of being in Malfoy's arms, that singular pleasure, had been replaced with disgust and fear.

She stumbled outside.

Flint's hair was thick, Hermione realized. And under the brilliant fall sunshine, it shone a strange shade of blue-black. He was all muscle and sinew; his uniform barely covering his large arms, and the sizable thighs. He was a veritable tank.

She swallowed, falling behind a little.

"Hurry it up, then!"

Now, his voice had taken on an irritable quality, and soon they had passed by the familiar courtyard and the kitchens and washrooms. They rounded the building where the Ministry had their offices, and then Hermione spied several other brick structures.

A strange cold seeped into her bones, and then she knew.

Dementors.

It was the same feeling that had inundated her the first night she had come here.

Perhaps, today I die.

The thought was one that terrified her, for Hermione wanted to live, if only long enough to ensure Lily's safety. Then, well, they could do with her as they liked. She was so deep in panicked thoughts, she nearly ran into Flint's muscled back when he stopped and pointed.

"That's where I work."

He said the words with a measure of pride, as if it were a job of integrity. As Hermione stared at the row of cement buildings in the distance, she felt all the heat draining from her and her heart begin to gallop. She could feel Flint's eyes on her, but wasn't able to muster him a glance. All was silent, except the twittering of birds and the gentle rustling of the breeze. Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his whisper against her ear, and smelled his rank breath.

"I could forgo the punishment, you know. If you…provided me with some incentive, gave me what you gave Malfoy."

His words held a wolf-like quality and Hermione was reminded of the year she had been on the run with Ron and Harry, and the way Fenrir and Scabior had stared at her like she was a-

She shuddered outwardly, taking a stumbling step back, her eyes wide. Flint saw her fear and hesitation as he ogled her, and a strange, slow smile spread across his face.

"Whaddya say, pet?"

Hermione grimaced.

"You'd better kill me first."

There was no mistaking her rejection of his advances, and even though Flint was as thick as two planks, two spots of surprised color bloomed on his cheeks.

"Stupid bitch," he hissed, shoving her forward.

Hermione bit back a yelp as she managed to stumble forward, but not fall. He shoved her again and there was nothing to do but move. She couldn't stall him, and she had nowhere else to go. As they neared the buildings, the cold seemed to penetrate everything – the air, her bones, even her heart. She felt like she was turning to ice.

"You might as well tell me the truth about Malfoy, pet."

The voice froze Hermione's blood.

"I'm gonna find out soon enough. He'll tell me. He tells me everything. Eventually, he'll bore of you, just like he bored of all the others, and then we'll have a good jolly laugh at your expense, we will!"

Hermione swallowed back her breakfast as Flint brayed like a donkey. Lies, she realized. They had to be lies, didn't they? Her heart beat in a weak, erratic rhythm within her as she stared at the buildings in horror.

"I-I'm not lying," she lied, trembling.

"You could give me a little bit of that sweetness, and I'd leave you well enough alone, doll. It's up to you."

When Hermione turned, he was gazing at her with triumph, his obsidian eyes glimmering hungrily.

"No."

Her words were sure.

"Well then, it's to the Dementors, I suppose," he said with a shrug and an exaggerated sigh, though she had clearly irritated him with her second rejection.

Then, he gave her a shove that caused Hermione to cry out and stumble along the small hill that led to the brick buildings. As they neared, she wondered if the cold seeping into her whole body, her heart, her soul – was due to the Dementors or her palpable fear.

It could have been either.

A large metal door stood in the center of the long building and Flint pulled it open with a yank, revealing darkness within.

Lavender eyed Malfoy with distaste, cradling a small bowl of hot soup to her chest, the spoon clutched tightly in her hand. Though she refused to believe that there were no ulterior motives to what he had told her, she had to admit that the soup and bread were the first hot meal she had eaten since her arrival at the alienage, and no one else had been given the same. Indeed, he had led her to a small, unmarked room in the back of the building that housed the Ministry offices. Here, he had given her the food and had watched in stern silence as she ate. She would take bites and look at him in between, with a strange, distrustful expression.

And Blaise…

Lavender wasn't sure if believing what Malfoy had told her would only get her hopes up to be dashed once again into thousands of painful pieces. After all, what did she really have to expect from the Ministry after the cruel way she had been treated and what they had reduced her to? But the idea of Blaise still caring, doing what he had done for her in an effort to protect her, was incredibly enticing. She took a moment to close her eyes and then indulged in the fantasy that he did love her, that he hadn't abandoned her, but led her here, to Malfoy, because he wanted to keep her safe. It filled Lavender with warmth she hadn't felt in months.

When the soup was finished, she spoke hesitantly.

"You saw him?"

She pictured his caramel skin, the blackness of his eyes, the angular chin, and especially the blinding smile that had made everything in her world all right. Just to see him again…

Her heart had stopped its shallow beat for a split second.

"I did."

Malfoy's voice was soft and she let out the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding.

"And he's…he's doing well?"

Lavender couldn't keep the tremble out of her tone, the pleading weakness when it came to Blaise Zabini. But, though she expected ridicule and mocking on Malfoy's part, he remained stoic.

"He's well. And, so is your daughter. You have to trust him. It's the only way."

Lavender felt the sobs rock her body.

The rooms were wide, set apart by thick, gray, cement walls. There was nothing in these rooms that Hermione could see in the dim lighting. And it was so bloody cold her teeth chattered, the sound like the clatter of wasted bones. Her whole body had begun to tremble with the cold just by walking down the vast, empty hallway.

"They're in the basement."

Flint's voice echoed off the blank walls, carrying across the strange, hollow space.

"Funny things, Dementors. I never knew until I started working for the Ministry. Back at school all that stuff seemed so boring."

Hermione wondered at his strange, conversational tone, as if he were talking about something mundane instead of taking people's lives. He stopped by another door, and turned around, his eyes glittering in the dim lighting.

"Trainable too," he continued. "You can get'em to do whatever you want, so long as you know how."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"H-how?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pet?"

Then he offered another grating, donkey-like laugh.

She watched as Flint pushed open the door and entered a room. Here it was still cold, but considerably warmer than in that strange, empty hallway behind them. Now, Hermione could hear a strange buzzing, which got clearer as they moved through the room to another door. When he pushed that open, Hermione knew.

Oh, Gods! People – people here? What's he doing? What am I doing here?

She swallowed her panic, feeling it grow by leaps and bounds and she began having trouble swallowing past the huge lump in her too dry throat.

"We've been experimenting," he called over his shoulder lightly. "Just to see what happens, you know. Loads of Mudbloods have come through here; they're good for something, at least. Children, too. It's different with children, or so they say. I don't know."

Hermione stopped, unable to move further, her hand coming up to cover her mouth and stifle the strange sound in her throat. When he turned, his face was a mask of amusement.

"I suppose we'll have to keep experimenting to know for sure, yeah?"

She knew why he was saying those words, and how clearly he was affecting her, but Hermione couldn't help her disgust and disbelief, which only served to widen the sodding smile on his face.

"Though we've had to put them to good use lately, what with all those resistance movements going on. Have you heard about those?"

His eyes were narrowed slightly as Hermione thought for a moment. No, of course not. She hadn't heard anything because she had been so busy with Draco Malfoy and worrying about Lily…

"Have I heard about what?"

"Those freedom fighting groups," he replied in a bored tone. "Took about a dozen or so out the last few weeks, we have. They get caught, and they're brought here. For the Dementors, I mean. Bloody nutters, the lot of them, fighting for Mudblood rights."

He stopped and from behind the door the din of the whispering grew the loudest.

"They call themselves 'wizards against blood status' or something like that," he replied dismissively. "Causin' trouble 'round these parts. I heard they caused a rebellion earlier this week, though we got the lot of them. Dementors will be busy, sure."

Hermione watched her eyes wide and her mind whirling.

Resistance? Rebellion? Something stirred within her, churning up long dead hope in her heart, though she willed herself not to think on it too much. After all, what could one or two wizards and witches do? Especially since it seemed like the Ministry had put a stop to anything that might have come from it.

But, there will always be more, won't there? That's how it is in war. There are always two sides.

She thought suddenly of Seamus, and the message he had given her for Justin. She thought of Dean and of Percy and…

I have to talk to Justin!

The thought pierced her consciousness just as something hard and cold was thrust into her hand. Hermione glanced down, startled. She was holding a wand, and her hand trembled. It had been years since the last time she had been allowed to touch a wand; hers had been taken from her shortly after Harry's death. All Muggle-borns had lost their wands. But this…

It didn't feel right, she realized. It didn't sing in her hand like her own wand, and the wood didn't quite belong in her fingers, even as she managed to wrap them around it.

When Hermione looked up in shock, Flint gave her a smirk, his black eyes gleaming.

"What's this?" she whispered, offering it back to him, palm up. Flint shook his head.

"Your punishment," he nearly sang, and then pushed open the last door. Beyond it, Hermione saw roomfuls of people, jammed together in tiny spaces, their faces a blur of fear and misery. "They're like you. Filthy Mudbloods. When's the last time you practiced your Unforgivables, pet?" he asked with a wink. "I think it's poetic. One of their own, turning on them."

He laughed.

Hermione gasped, staring in horror, tears blurring her vision, coming hard and fast as she dropped the wand with a loud clatter. She lost all semblance of calm when she realized what he was aiming her to do.

"No," she choked out.

Flint's braying laughter echoed around the room.

"Not much choice, love. Get in there."

Lavender struggled between hate and gratefulness as she stared at Malfoy. She would never forget that night at the club in Paddington, the way Malfoy had laughed and sneered at her situation, offering no sympathy, not a shred of hope or even understanding. He had looked at her like trash, something to degrade and then kick aside. He hadn't even listened when she had begged him-

I won't think on it. The past is over, and nothing can be changed. I was a fool to believe in anyone. I still am.

But then, there was this. This side of him that Hermione Granger had brought out, and for a moment, Lavender felt a rush of understanding. She didn't have to speak to him to know that part of his reason for being there, right now, was due to Hermione. And she wasn't jealous, not the way she had been with Ron. No, not jealousy, but resentment played a strange harmony within her, clashing with the bouts of sympathy she was feeling for a man she loathed.

"I promised him I'd make sure you were safe. And you will be. This is my alienage, and they can't hurt you so long as I'm in charge."

The words were empty to Lavender and she couldn't help the strange snort of disbelief that issued from her as she tightened her grip on her knees. She had taken to the corner of the small windowless room, curling up as tightly as she could muster.

"Forgive me, if I don't believe you."

The words were a hiss, and she felt hot tears building up behind her eyes. She heard Malfoy's voice, irritated and a shade angry.

"You really are one of the most ungrateful little shites-"

Her head snapped up, her blue eyes blazing.

"Marcus Flint raped me my first week here! I might be a whore, but it's only because I needed the money! What they – your kind – don't understand is that a woman isn't a possession, Malfoy! I'm a human being and he used me for his own disgusting pleasure! Here, in this place, that you say is safe!"

The look on Malfoy's face was one of uncertainty, and her outburst had silenced him, and any words he may have said. With a sniff, Lavender dropped her head once more.

"So let me be, Malfoy. I'll never be safe anywhere. I'll never be the way I was. Just go. Tell Blaise I'll be fine on my own," she finished bitterly, her voice tight with unshed tears.

He stood, unable to move.

"Flint raped you?"

There was disgust in those words, in the inflection. Lavender looked up, and finally the tears came, rolling down her pale face.

"That surprises you, Malfoy? Do you expect more from him? From any of them?" she scoffed. "You said yourself that they're capable of anything! Do you truly think they're below taking what they want from a woman without her consent?"

Her voice was broken and sad.

"Flint's not even the worst of them! That…that werewolf, Fenrir…"

She shuddered and fell silent, the tears choking any possibility of words. She began to rock back and forth on her heels, her face in between her legs.

"They're all horrid, every one of them," she whispered over and over.

It could have been minutes or hours before she felt his sure grip on her shoulder, and when Lavender looked up, his face was hard with determination.

"I won't let it happen again," he ground out, his lips pressed in a thin, white line.

"Why?" she spat hatefully. "What's in it for you, Death Eater?"

Her words were taunting, mocking him, and causing him to lose some of his well placed control. Lavender struggled to her feet, tripping over her long skirt for a moment as she found her footing.

"Don't bother if it's because of Hermione Granger. We weren't friends. She doesn't care what happens to me."

As she spoke, she took vicious swipes at the still falling tears. She saw his face pale.

"It's not because of Granger!"

"You can lie until the day is old, Malfoy," she hissed. "But I know that look. I know it because I saw it for months and months before Blaise-"

There was still fight left in him, she could see it. He was struggling with some unspoken emotion, something he wasn't ready to deal with. It made her sick.

"He raped me," she repeated slowly, her words harsh whispers. "And she's alone with him now."

The silence was deafening, and Lavender waited for the confirmation of what she already knew. His ashen face changed and then panic flickered in the depths of his eyes.

He fled from the room, without looking back.

She sank down onto the ground, and wept.