"Remember what you must do

when they undervalue you,

when they think

your softness is your weakness,

when they treat your kindness

like it is their advantage.

You awaken

every ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣dragon,

every wolf,

every monster

that sleeps inside you

and you remind them

what hell looks like

when it wears the skin

of a gentle human."

— Nikita Gill

"Are you sure the disguise will be enough?" Draco questioned curiously, watching the two witches getting ready before him. He had to blink once more as he stared at the image of Pansy Zabini, née Parkinson, standing in front of Hermione Granger with one sharp finger underneath her chin and the other smearing some dark substance on her lids.

In response to his question, Pansy merely glanced over her shoulders shooting him a venomous glare.

"Trust me, mate," Blaise chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder, "it's better to not ask questions."

"Good boy," Pansy humphed with a superior look on her face.

When she had her attention back to Hermione, Draco lifted a brow at Blaise's lack of protest. "Someone tug on your leash, Zabini?"

"I find, dear Draco, it's better to surrender to your fate," he responded with an amused glance at the bushy-haired witch who had her lips parted as Pansy dabbed a deep rouge color on her plump lips. Draco swallowed, and looked away.

Draco still couldn't believe that Pansy had somehow managed to get Moody and Kinglsey to not only assign her a mission but give in to her request that Hermione Granger be her partner for the mission. To an even greater surprise, Hermione had agreed. In the beginning, Draco had tried to insist he accompany them from a distance; he was, after all, Hermione's partner. Blaise had simply handed him a flask of firewhiskey and shook his head, Pansy looking in approval and Hermione, amused.

The only thing he had managed to get out of them was that they had gotten wind that Mulciber was going to be there. Draco sneered at the thought of one of Voldemort's oldest Death Eaters. They never saw eye to eye when they had crossed paths during his time as a Death Eater. But even Draco admitted he was ruthless, particularly interested in helpless women. Draco's insides twisted at Hermione and Pansy potentially facing him.

"All done!" Pansy chirped, waving her wand with flourish and stepping back to assess her work.

Draco looked up, blinking rapidly. Pansy had elongated Hermione's hair, straightened it and sleeked it. Her lids were heavy and features sharpened with the use of cosmetics. Hermione cleared her throat and stood, giving Draco a full look. She wore a dark green dress that hugged her curves, leaving little to his traitorous imagination. Draco felt parched — he immediately called on to his occlumency and berated himself for the turn of his thoughts. The makeup had definitely brought out her features, yet he couldn't help but look for her wild curls, natural blush, and those wide doe-eyes she had whenever he caught her unawares in the middle of a book.

"Remind me again, why can't you just use polyjuice?" Draco said after finally collecting himself. They did look unrecognizable, but he still worried.

"Because, it's too risky if we have to find a way to drink the potion every hour. Also, we don't know if they have measures in place."

"Pansy's right," Hermione sighed. "I'll admit, it's not my choice of disguise but we look unrecognizable enough."

Draco frowned when Pansy glamoured the scar on Hermione's face as she had done with the one on her forearm.

"It doesn't take magic to ensnare a man, Draco dear," Pansy said as touched up her own face in the mirror. She gave Hermione a secret smile and Hermione shook her head as if she couldn't believe she agreed to this.

"Well we better get going — the portkey leaves in a bit," Pansy said as she linked arms with Hermione. "Boys, you know how hungry I get in the middle of the night. We shouldn't be too long but Granger and I will be expecting a little meal after we succeed in our mission."

Draco sighed.

***

Hermione and Pansy landed on their feet just on the outskirts of the muggle town in Ireland. The moon was shrouded by clouds, painting a dark blanket over the small town. Only pinpricks of light illuminated the damp cobblestone streets. As they walked in silence, wind howled through the deserted homes like the desperate whisper of ghosts that once lived there.

Just a couple months after the Battle of Hogwarts, the muggle town that had been famous amongst tourists was attacked and overrun by Death Eaters. Not too long after, it was turned into a playground for entertainment. The story the muggles had been fed was that there was a strange disease spreading and the place had been isolated ever since.

As she and Pansy walked further, Hermione felt her phone buzz in the concealed pocket of her dress.

DM: Be safe.

Hermione breathed in slowly as the two words glowed back at her.

HG: I will.

"How sweet." Hermione startled at Pansy's beaming face over her shoulder. "Oh, don't be like that, Granger," she pouted at Hermione's frown. "Draco Malfoy does not act like an overbearing mother hen with anybody except you."

Hermione sputtered.

"Don't get me wrong — he's still a broody bastard. But he'd hex me to hell if I brought you home with even a single hair on your bushy head touched."

"He's my mission partner, we need to have each other's backs." Pansy didn't respond, only giving her a bored look. "And we're — we're... friends."

Hermione blushed at her admission, but it was true. He was her friend but not in the same way Ginny had been, even Harry or Ron. He knew when she needed an ear to listen or some space. He was interested in what she had to say, matching her in intellect, which never failed to surprise her. She felt as if she didn't have to stop herself when she got excited about a theorem she had stumbled across in her research or a half-formed idea she had for a new potion. There was an odd sense of companionship even in the silence when they would just sit in the library on a rainy afternoon, reading or researching on their own. Or long days when a cup of tea would be waiting for her on the counter or the way he challenged her on an idea, urging her to think of a problem from a perspective she had not considered. But it was also on darker days when he would find her holed up in her room unable to get up from bed and do anything productive. And though he didn't have all the words or answers to her questions, when she felt like screaming into the void, he was there. He was there with his hand entwined in hers in silence, letting her feel every horrible thing that bubbled up inside at her because even if he could not take all that pain and trauma away, he did not let her forget that she was not alone.

Hermione took in a shaky breath as she felt something in her chest open up.

"We're here."

Hermione blinked up as the road widened into a cross-section. The establishment was bright and filled with revelry — music and laughter, sounds she had not heard in a long time. It was at odds with the dark cold streets. As they approached, the smell of alcohol, cheap perfume, and smoke permeated her senses.

No one noticed when they slipped in from a side entrance. Inside, there was a whirl of color as women draped in silks and velvet danced and arched on tables. Men lounged languidly on the brightly colored couches, some women leaning into their black-robed bodies. The smoke in the air turned the scene into an opium haze-like dream.

"Loosen up, Granger," Pansy whispered in her ear as she slipped on a coy smile. Hermione tried to resist the urge to pull her dress longer as she felt multiple gazes slither over her form.

"Hello, lovelies," crooned a man with oily black hair. "Care for some company?"

Hermione let Pansy take the lead, mimicking her giggle and batting her eyelashes. The man grinned, putting his hands on the small of their backs and leading to a group of men with women in tight dresses on their laps.

"What do you have over there, Mundair?" asked a blond haired man smoking a cigar. A petite red-haired girl was draped around him, kissing his neck.

"Just a pair of pretty doves," Mundair answered, guiding them to sit on either side of him. "Because of your success in the recent raid, I'll give you the first pick, Mulciber?"

Hermione's spine stiffened as she laid eyes on a man with dark eyes and hair and a beaked nose sipping from a crystal glass of what looked like elf-made wine. Slowly, he leaned forward, setting the glass down. His thin lips settled into a smile, eyes boring into Hermione before trailing down her body. Hermione bit her lip to hide her revulsion at his oily gaze.

"Never seen you before," he leered. Mundair chuckled, gripping Hermione's arm bruisingly before flinging her into Mulciber's lap. Mulciber's fingers dug into her hip and she shifted, fighting her panic as his arms snaked around her. "Poor bird, you're trembling. Here, have a drink."

Hermione fought to calm herself, pretending to take a sip when he brought the cup to her lips. She caught Pansy's eye, who leaned on Mundair's shoulder, both worry and a warning in her eyes. Imperceptibly, Hermione nodded, forcing herself to relax and smile as she leaned back into Mulciber's body. They had to find a way to get him alone and extract information. Thankfully, the men were distracted exchanging stories and complaints as they commanded the women to refill their drinks.

She was feeding Mulciber grapes when she caught sight of one of the men gripping a girl tightly around the wrists as he kissed her neck. Despite her breathy laughs, Hermione recognized the pure panic in her eyes. She was a pretty girl — blonde hair coiled in soft ringlets, high cheekbones, and a well endowed body.

"Come on, love," the man on her slurred, "with these tits you're just asking for it. Don't worry, you'll get your pay, you little whore."

Hermione felt sick as the Death Eater groped one of her breasts harshly, causing her to yelp. This only seemed to fuel him more.

Before she could think, Hermione knocked off one of the pitchers, drenching the man in wine.

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione gasped.

"You reckless bitch," the man snarled, back handing her. Hermione fell to the ground, clutching her cheek, feeling a trickle of blood running down her nose.

"Really, Soros, why do you have to damage fine goods," Mulciber drawled.

Before Hermione could raise her body, thin but firm arms pulled her upright. "Let me take her to the back and have her cleaned up and as good as new! The Madam has some supplies in the back." Hermione's vision cleared, realizing it was the blond haired girl helping her up.

"I should go too," she heard Pansy come to her other side as she staggered on her heels. "I promise we'll make it up to you all," Pansy winked. The men cautiously looked at them, but upon seeing Hermione's bleeding face, sneered and nodded before going back to their conversation.

"Are you alright?" the blonde girl asked once they reached a small empty backroom. Hermione merely nodded as the girl dabbed her face with a cloth. Hermione blinked, taking in the tiny room lined with shelves. When the blood was finally cleaned, Pansy used her wand to heal her face as well as repair her hair and makeup.

"You're both not from here are you."

Pansy and Hermione stilled.

"It's alright, I won't say anything," the girl smiled weakly. "But you shouldn't be here. I've been working for the Madam since before the Death Eaters took over and it's not a safe place for anyone new to the trade with them overrunning the place."

"We're here to get information," Pansy said carefully. The girl's eyes widened.

"Bridgette — my name is Bridgette." Her fingers were trembling. "I'm a squib and I've been working here ever since my family tossed me out for being one."

"How are they keeping you here?" Hermione asked, an angry fire burning inside of her.

"Most of us are under magical blood-contracts with the Madam, even since before the war. But many more came here for protection since you-know-who took over. Even if our contracts were broken, there's nowhere else to go. The world is not a safe place for a girl with a pretty face — with or without war," she smiled ruefully.

Hermione glanced at Pansy, who's eyes gleamed with unshed tears and anger. Here was another side of the war — no, of the world, war or not. Girls who were forced into service in order to survive. It was fucked up how the world shamed women for being beautiful and doing what they needed to survive. Because the only thing that was shameful was a society that created an environment where young girls had to spread their legs in order to live day by day yet at the same time called them whores or sluts, all the while turning a blind eye to the men that paid for their services.

"Is there no way we can get you out? Help you and the others?" Pansy asked, a very Gryffindor determination on her face.

"None of us know how to fight. We're better off here. The only thing that would help is for this war to end. At least then the Madam could have control back without Death Eaters doing whatever they wanted." Bridgette swallowed. "That's why you're here right? To end the war?"

Hermione nodded slowly. A look of determination entered the girl's face.

"I want to help."

***

"How about we find a bit of privacy?" Hermione whispered in Mulciber's ear. She and the girls had made sure they were drunk. Ever since she, Pansy, and Bridgette returned, a burning rage thrummed through her. Confidently, she caressed Mulciber's chest, her eyes gleaming with vicious intent.

"Not going to let us join in?" Pansy pouted from her place on Mundair's lap. The Death Eater's shared a look in their drunken haze, a sickening lust evident within them as they continued to let their hands wander over their bodies.

Hermione batted her eyelashes, letting her gaze trail over his form. Instead of feeling self-conscious and unsettled, after speaking to Bridgette, she felt comfortable in her skin — it was her body after all. She finally began to understand what Pansy was talking about; there was a kind of power in the female form — it was a weapon of its own she realized as she played the delicate damsel in the snake pit.

Hermione pushed her chest forward, catching Mulciber's hand before he could touch her. "A room maybe? With my pretty friend over there?" Hermione bit her lip, feigning innocence as she glanced over at Pansy.

Mulciber's pupils were blown wide as he struggled to his feet, his arm over her shoulders. Hermione extended an arm to Pansy who smiled sharply back at her, tugging Mundair behind her. Before they entered one of the private rooms, Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Bridgette, who nodded back.

The dark wooden doors shut behind them as they entered the ensuite that was lined in cheap red velvet. A low fire burned in the hearth.

"Is it true?" Hermione whispered, "that you have the Dark Lord's ear?" Pansy giggled.

Mulciber smirked, depositing himself on one of the chaises and pulling her on his lap. Pansy and Mundair settled on the other.

"I'm one of the Dark Lord's most trusted," Mulciber said with an air of pride. He took the wine glass Hermione had poured. "He has me doing all his confidential work."

"Oh?" Hermione purred. She shot a glance at Pansy who was refilling Mundair's glass again. "I heard it was Lord Malfoy he confided in. He was the Dark Lord's hound was he not?"

Her words seemed to work as Mulciber's face went hard, his hands curling into firsts.

"That blood-traitor never had the same trust the Dark Lord has in me — a good choice given how he turned sides. The Malfoy name, my dear, has been in decline since Lucius Malfoy disappointed the Dark Lord. Draco Malfoy may have climbed the ranks to be a general, but all he ever was was a cowardly bastard with a runt of a son," he laughed heartily.

Hermione forced herself to relax, to temper her rage at his words and her need to defend Draco and Scorpius.

"So the Dark Lord confides in you?" Hermione gasped, running her hands along his thighs, feeling the way his body trembled under her touch. She was close, so close.

"Yes," he slurred. Hermione urged him to take another drink. "In fact, there's a confidential task that he entrusted me to lead. There's a snake in the Cistrine forest, north of the Alpine mountains," he chuckled, his eyes drooping as the wine took effect. "Something the Dark Lord covets." Hermione glanced over at Pansy who had a passed out Mundair on her lap. They exchanged a look, pocketing the information.

Before Hermione could extract more information, the doors burst open. Hermione's arm throbbed as in the threshold stood Bellatrix. The witch sneered, gaze completely focused on Mulciber and Mundair.

"What is this?" she walked in a room, an evident crackle like lightning electrifying the atmosphere. She radiated power — an untamed and raw kind of power that Hermione knew so well. She looked worse, more unhinged, then she did the last time Hermione saw her. Her face was as wane as a sickle moon, her hair in disarray, falling over her dark eyes. There was something...off about her. "Having a little fun, are we?"

Hermione jumped off Mulciber's lap and cowered on the ground when Bellatrix strutted forward and struck Mulciber across the face. Mulciber startled, pure fear in his eyes as the witch smiled wildly.

"Bellatrix, I was just having a quick break before attending to the prisoners — "

He stopped when a laugh cut through the room, even Hermione shuddered, trying to make herself invisible.

"A break? Is serving the Dark Lord such an arduous task," she said in an eerie high pitched voice. "But of course, you males need to warm your cocks," Bellatrix laughed again as if it was the most hilarious thing in the world. "Can't control your cock? Tsk, no better than filthy dogs are you? A slave to your desires," she mused, shutting her eyes and caressing her wand. "It's no wonder I am the Dark Lord's right hand. I serve him, above my bodily desires, I put him above me, because he's the only thing we need," she said quietly. Reverently.

"Bellatrix — "

"Crucio!" Hermione braced herself, but nothing came except for Mulciber's screams echoing in symphony with Bellatrix's laughs. Hermione looked to Pansy to see if she was alright — her face was pale as she watched from under Mundair's unconscious body.

Before Bellatrix could turn to look at them, a sound from the main hall got their attention. Bellatrix's head snapped to the sight of Bridgette in the doorway. Bridgette immediately dropped to her knees and cowered.

"My Lady..."

"What is it, girl?" Bellatrix pointed her wand against Bridgette's neck, tilting her chin up.

"A — a brawl. There's a brawl."

Bellatrix growled, striding out of the room. Bridgette immediately looked to Pansy and Hermione, nodding to them in relief.

"What...?" Mulciber rasped, as he tried to get up. Before he could, he was knocked out by Hermione's fist to his face. She spat at him as she staggered away. Her knuckles would definitely bruise but it was worth the satisfaction.