Thanks for the wonderful reviews we received for the prologue! Lissa and I are very excited about this story and are overwhelmed by the response it has received. We wish to give a huge thanks to our BETA : Raynephoenix2.

For those of you following Master Mine, we hope to have an update in a week or so. A world Not Fit to Live In is currently on the back burner, but we will get back to it, we promise!

Thanks for all follows, favs and reviews!

Chapter One
BETA: Raynephoenix2

It was starting to get dark and cold and the small black-haired boy on her hip rested his head on her shoulder. His left hand was tangled into the wild curls on the back of her neck and his right hand was fiercely holding the red lollipop he had been given by the bank teller. Hermione had just cashed her last traveler's check, leaving them down to their last four hundred dollars.

"Eat, eat?" the tired boy claimed as he chomped on the final bit of the candy in his mouth.

Hermione had already heard his tummy rumbling and his words tore at her heart. "I know, baby. Mummy's going to find us a place to stay and then she'll get you something to eat."

Hermione looked at the piece of paper in her hand and compared it to the number on the building to her right – they matched. Then she saw it, the small handwritten sign taped to the window; the window with black, iron bars over it. "One room furnished apartment for rent."

She quickly glanced to her right and left, years of habit preventing her from being unaware of her surroundings. Being unaware meant being unprepared and being unprepared could be deadly. Constant vigilance! Mad-Eye Moody had been right. Ron's death had taught her what a simple unguarded moment could bring.

Hermione looked up at the sign hanging over the door: Larry's Grocery. The lights were on and Hermione could see a man behind the counter through the window. She climbed the two concrete steps and pushed open the heavy door. A buzzer went off as she entered, and the man looked up from a newspaper. He watched her intensely as she cautiously approached.

"You have a room for rent?"

The unkempt man with facial stubble and grey streaks through his black hair appraised her and then glanced at the boy in her arms before looking back at her again. "Two hundred dollars a week. Cash up-front."

Hermione swallowed. Two hundred dollars? That would take half of what she had. She swallowed and nodded. "Can I see the room first?"

The man huffed and gave her an irritated look. "Fine," he mumbled with no small hint at the inconvenience. He stood, his stool making a grinding sound against the industrial tile floor before he slowly made his way around the counter. His white t-shirt had grease stains on it and his jeans hung loosely on his large, overweight frame. He approached the door behind her, his sausage fingers flipping the dirty sign so that it read Be right back! He gestured for her to follow and Hermione noticed he had a heavy limp, which seemed to slow him down. A slight, breathy grunt escaped his mouth every time he stepped on his right foot.

He pushed open a door in the back of the three-aisled store and held it for her. He gestured up the steps. "Room's up there," he said simply.

Hermione readjusted Jaime onto her left hip and confirmed her wand was still holstered in her right sleeve. A flick of her wrist and it would slide down into her hand. Using it would be a last resort but following a strange man to Morgana knows where left her with no choice but to be prepared. She began to ascend the steps cautiously and could hear the man following behind. His weight caused the steps to creak loudly with their objection. She could feel his eyes on her bum and internally rolled her eyes.

When she reached the top of the steps, she entered a hallway with two doors. She moved to the side as he shuffled past her and pulled a key out of his pocket. He fumbled with the lock, having to jiggle it and kick against the foot of the door to get it to open. It finally opened with a loud scraping sound. Hermione looked down, easily seeing the problem. The door was crooked, and the bottom edge dragged along the floor as it was moved. There were large scrapes on the floor from the repeated motion. This was obviously not a new problem and Hermione realized then and there this landlord was not going to be particularly responsive to any other deficiencies she might find or encounter.

He held the door open for her and Hermione stepped into the tiny room and scanned the space. The only two windows were straight ahead and looked out to the fluorescent signs of the businesses across the street. Checks Cashed Here was next door to Pete's Pawn Shop. Just then the windows started to rattle, and the view became blurred as a metro train moved along the track right outside. It was loud and lasted for about ten seconds. The metro trains in the city didn't confine their tracks to underground. It was unfortunate this one was right outside.

Against the barren wall to her left was a single bed and a rickety, wooden bedside table with a simple blue lamp was next to the bed and under the left window. Her gaze moved to the right of the room. In the corner there was a very miniature refrigerator, a counter with a sink and a tiny oven with a two-burner stove-top. A small microwave was attached to the wall over the stove top. She noticed a privacy screen and peeked behind it to discover a toilet and another sink. There was no shower.

She looked back at the bored man. "Shower?"

He shook his head. "Sink. No shower."

Hermione felt sick. It was a dump. It looked dirty and there was an odor she couldn't quite place. Then she realized the foul stench was coming from the man she was standing next to. She took a subtle step further away from him.

She sighed. Her options were less than limited. "Would you take one-fifty in cash? I'll have nothing for groceries otherwise," she fabricated. She looked at him earnestly and noticed a flicker of irritation cross his face as he glanced at the small boy in her arms.

"One-seventy-five but you leave a day early. Six-day rental."

Hermione swallowed. "That's fine. Thank you."

The man held his hand out with his palm up, indicating she was to pay him now. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her cash, discreetly counting out the required sum. She placed it in his palm and he handed her the key.

"Twenty-five percent discount on groceries," he mumbled begrudgingly as he once again looked at Jaime.

"Thank you...?" She lifted the end of her word, forming it as a question.

He rolled his eyes. "Larry, obviously."

"Thank you, Larry. I'm Lorelei and this is Jaime."

Larry nodded gruffly. "Alright then. Store's open 24-hours. Me or the Missus is usually here. We live down the hall." He turned away and exited, yanking the door closed behind him.

Hermione looked at Jaime, who met her eyes with his sleepy ones. The poor kid had been awake for twelve hours with no nap. She hated that they had to leave their apartment that morning, but there was nothing she could do. The landlord said the place was being audited and he couldn't rent under a cash-only arrangement anymore. He needed her full name and social security number. Because he was going to have to report the income, he needed to charge her more to the cover the taxes and insurance.

Hermione didn't have a social security number. She didn't have a bank account. She didn't even have a real name. She had made up Lorelei Margaret Gueldenzopf, a German name, claiming to be the descendent of grandparents who immigrated during the second world war.

It was imperative that her real identity never be discovered. Voldemort was in control back home and if she was found and deported back to her home country, her life would end as she knew it. It might even end all together. She hated to even imagine what would happen to Jaime, especially as he was Harry's son.

It was hard to believe it had been over two years since she had escaped to the US. She had withdrawn all her money from her Gringotts vault and exchanged it for Muggle currency. Not wanting to travel with Muggle cash, traveler's checks had been her best option. Traveler's checks did not always require ID for cashing, the signature simply needed to match. With her magical satchel in hand, she still had everything in her possession that she and Harry had needed on the run. She also had Harry's invisible cloak. Armed with the cloak, her wand, and her satchel, she stowed away on a Muggle cruise ship heading for New York City

When the ship pulled into port, she hid under the cloak and escaped when the opportunity presented itself. She had been on the run ever since. Upon arrival, the first thing she did was set up a PO box. A simple confundus charm and the Muggle postal worker had her all set up. She promptly wrote to Snape as he had requested, providing him with the address.

The first few weeks, she lived in the tent in the middle of Central Park while using concealment charms and wards to keep her hidden. The very first letter she received from her former professor warned her the trace was being reimplemented on her magic. It was like she would be a minor all over again. He warned her to use no magic whatsoever until he notified her it was safe.

To say this devastated her would be a gross understatement. The loss of her magic was almost more than she could bear. It was an instinctive and integral part of her core being. Her depression was all consuming. She was alone in a strange country, with no friends and no loved ones. Ultimately, it was for the sake of her unborn child that she pulled herself together and picked up the pieces to start anew.

Realizing the tent was not a permanent solution and being unable to renew the wards and concealment charms as they wore off, she found a cheap one-bedroom apartment to move into. If she could find a job, her life as Jane Doe Muggle could begin. The problem was that finding work had proven much more difficult than she anticipated. Due to labor laws and taxes, in order to work, she was required to present a legal ID and social security number. She had neither of these and no connections to help obtain them or magic to create them.

She had entered the No Maj world, hoping to simply disappear, but disappearing was not an easy task, especially when pregnant. She had been careless with her money at first, not realizing how difficult it would be to support herself. She had thought ten thousand dollars would last a long time, but living in New York City was expensive. Living in New York City without a job was impossible.

She hid away in the apartment until she gave birth, giving the hospital a different false name and claiming she had no ID or insurance. Hospitals in the US were not allowed to deny someone emergency care for any reason, even lack of the ability to pay, So, she waited until her water broke and it was a true emergency before calling 911. It was October twenty-fourth when the love of her life entered this world and her labor lasted just under two hours. The nurses kept telling her how lucky she was, being as he was her first, that her delivery was so quick. Two days later, when it was time for discharge, a social worker had been consulted and she'd had to escape with Jaime. James Harold was her son's name. Named after his father and grandfather. She hoped Harry would've been pleased, had he been alive.

Within two months of his birth, she had less than four thousand and dollars left. Unable to find a job without a social security number, she resorted to looking for the types of jobs in the types of places where employers would be more willing to turn a blind eye. She refused to prostitute herself but had thought she might be able to snag a waitressing job. Hopefully, she could save up for school and find a way to get a social security number and a legitimate ID.

After weeks of searching, she finally found a job waiting tables in a small strip club called The Cherry Lounge, which bordered between Manhattan and The Bronx. The Bronx held the highest crime rate and lowest income of all the boroughs, while Manhattan was the wealthiest. Because of this, The Cherry Lounge occasionally lured in big tippers.

As far as strip clubs went, it wasn't the worst she had seen. It was clean, and the owner paid in cash every Friday. While Hermione hated working a job in such a place, it provided much needed money and, not only that, her boss let her bring Jaime to work. Hermione wasn't the only single mom working there. The girls took turns coming in on their off shifts to watch the children in a special room set up in the back of the club. It enabled them each to work without having to pay for childcare. Hermione felt the owner was rather business savvy to recognize this as a maneuver to bring girls in to work.

The place was sporadically busy, and Hermione made fairly good tips. However, the fondling and the groping was often more than she could take. The men drank and became more and more pissed as the night ensued. As they watched girl after girl perform on the stage and strut along the bar top, they became emboldened and would take things too far. The dancers were out of reach, but the waitresses were not. Pinches and grabs as well as lewd comments were part of the job. The men were mostly blue collar, and many came straight from work… filthy and smelling bad. Cigars were allowed, and the smoke nauseated her, but she had nights where she made over a hundred dollars, although that usually only happened on the weekends. Week nights she might make thirty to fifty. The weekend shifts were a hot commodity and she didn't get to work them all. Because of that, her income was very inconsistent. Her traveler's checks had supplemented her pay, but the checks were now gone; her last one just cashed.

Hermione carried Jaime down the steps and into the store. Larry looked up and watched her as she grabbed a bottle of bleach, two cans of soup, a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk. She walked over to the counter where he rang her up. He took her ten dollars and forty-seven cents and watched as she went back upstairs, his eyes once again glued to the globes of her backside.

After washing a pan as well as the utensils and plates, Hermione heated up a can of soup and slathered a tablespoon of peanut butter on a piece of bread. While Jaime ate his dinner and drank his milk, she pulled an old t-shirt out of her bag and proceeded to clean all surfaces she could reach with bleach. When Jaime finished his dinner, Hermione assisted him with brushing his teeth and putting him to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Of course, the linens that had been on the bed were on the floor in the corner. She had taken what she needed out of her satchel; Jaime's pajamas and toothbrush, her nightgown and toiletries, a small wind up alarm clock, a framed picture of Harry, and the linens she had used in the tent.

She placed the picture on the small bedside table and paused to watch Harry whiz in and out of the frame as he chased a snitch. When he caught it, he stopped and spun his broom around, smiling broadly at the camera. She had a few other pictures in her bag, but surprisingly this one had become her favorite. He was so happy in it, like he didn't have a care in the world. All her other pictures showed a more accurate representation of the stress and burden the young man harbored on his shoulders for his short life.

Jaime loved the picture as well. Hermione had told him countless times, "That's your Daddy, Jaime." Jaime would laugh as Harry zipped around chasing the exciting golden ball with wings. Jaime's first word had been Mummy and his second had been Daddy. Hermione could only laugh at the irony when his third word was snitch.

She pulled a few more items out of the satchel. Wigs and makeup had become an essential part of her life. Without use of her wand, glamour charms had become a thing of the past. Doing things the Muggle way worked to her advantage anyway. If she magically adjusted her features and were to accidentally arouse suspicion in a witch or wizard, a simple spell could reveal her true appearance. However, wearing an actual wig and heavy makeup solved that weakness. It would not likely occur to most purebloods that a witch would fool with a physical wig. A pureblood's dependence on magic left them unlikely to consider others might resort to such Muggle ways.

Each night, it was a relief when she washed her face and pulled the black, bob wig off her head. She stood behind the screen and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Her head immediately felt lighter when she removed today's wig. She pulled the bobby pins out of her hair causing her long, chestnut locks to cascade down past her shoulders. She knew she needed to cut it but kept putting it off. It was nice to recognize herself at the end of the day. A short haircut would leave her reflection a stranger. Besides, she had lost her husband, her country, and her magic. Was it too much to want to keep her hair? She knew she wasn't being rational, but she allowed herself this one indulgence.

After washing her face, she brushed her teeth as her mind swam with thoughts of money and work. She had been working at The Cherry Lounge for just under a year. Her hopes of finding someone to help her procure a new identity and a social security number had proven fruitless. There were a couple patrons who probably knew the right people, but they were rumored to be mob affiliated. One of the girls she used to wait tables with had become involved with the two men. It wasn't much later that she disappeared. That was trouble Hermione would not bring upon herselfand certainly not upon her child.

After months of persuading from her boss, as well as the other mom's who were dancers, Hermione had agreed to get on stage and take a turn on the pole. At least if she were on stage the men would only leer and drool, they wouldn't be able to touch – well, except when she let them tuck bills into her thong. She hoped there would be a lot of that. Some of the dancers made over two hundred dollars a night, and the lead dancer sometimes took home two or three times that amount. Given her financial situation, Hermione needed to make that kind of money. Waiting tables wasn't cutting it.

She had practiced a routine with the other dancers watching and they had given her pointers. Her ballet training from her youth helped a smidge. Hermione had always been limber and graceful on her feet and it was finally going to prove itself useful. The next night would be her debut. She would be introduced and would perform a solo routine before dancing alongside the other girls.

She was a bit nervous. Her boss, who went by the nickname Fly, had hinted that if she did well, he might let her dance Saturday as well. They had a couple open slots because Kate, whose stage name was Krystal Tumbler, was sick with the flu. Kate's routine was exceedingly popular as it involved a lot tumbles and rolls as she worked her way up and down the pole…usually with spread legs and a tiny string for a thong. Topless dancing was legal, bottomless was not. That tiny little bit of string (hardly more substantial than dental floss) kept her routine barely legal and she drew in large crowds.

Hermione wasn't that daring. Her thong covered as much as Fly allowed. However, her routine was creative, and she hoped it would be well received. While she was topless and wearing a thong, her performance was more burlesque in nature.

The stage lights dimmed, and Hermione dashed around to the back of the platform, grabbing her stringed-pearl corset and malfunctioning wig off the stage as she went. She was giddy with excitement. This had been her second performance. The prior night's show had been a hit and Fly had been impressed. She had prayed it wasn't a fluke and she needn't have worried. If anything, tonight the men were even more into it. They had cat-called and whistled and bills were thrown all over the stage. The bartender, Blake, was a pro at scooping up those bills and in return he was always given a ten percent take. Hidden cameras watched it all, keeping him honest.

Hermione slid off the back side of the bar, eager to check on Jaime. She was moving fast with her head down, not wanting to be approached or propositioned. A lot of the girls made money on the side by taking up some of those offers, but Hermione wasn't one of them. In the words of her act, she was a "good girl".

Just as she was approaching the door that led to the back-stage area, she walked straight into what felt like a brick wall. She let out a small "Oomph," and lifted her gaze to see what she had walked into. A solid chest, dressed in what appeared to be a three-piece designer suit, under what was clearly an expensive cashmere coat, blocked her path. She sighed with irritation. Mr. Moneybags could find himself another girl. "Look, I'm not interested and…"

She froze and felt her stomach fall to the floor in shear panic when her gaze continued upward into the smirking face of one of the last people she would ever want to see.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

The wizard hated New York City, it was worse than Muggle London. It was loud and filthy, and he found Americans to be the worst kind of Muggles; uncouth and unreserved. Unlike London, New York City didn't have one large magical community. There wasn't a Diagon Alley. Instead, there were magical areas scattered throughout the large city. Some areas held one or two shops, others more than twenty. Wizards and witches lived amongst the Muggles, or No Maj as the Americans called them. He couldn't fathom living like this.

He was in New York to meet with a member of the American Magical Congress. Voldemort wanted to set up an extradition system which would require the handing over of fugitives, should they be discovered. There were several undesirables whom the Dark Lord was searching for; Minerva McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hermione Granger to name a few. The list was quite long. It was assumed that many had fled to the America's and the Dark Lord was actively searching for them.

The put-upon wizard met with the short, fat man briefly and was told they would have to postpone the remainder of their meeting until the next day. Work on a Sunday was beyond poor taste, even if it would be a very short meeting. With a fake smile on his face and false words of understanding, he swept out of the man's office.

Finding the wizarding hotels lacking the comforts he required, the well-dressed wizard checked into The Four Seasons. The man behind the counter had been beyond irritating when he kept staring into a box and hitting keys on the strange typewriter, prattling on and on about how the hotel was completely booked. A simple confundus put an end to the dilemma and the wizard was checking into the Presidential Suite within a matter of moments.

Frustrated to be stuck in this awful city for the night, he decided a nice dinner might be enjoyable. He had heard rumors of delicious and authentic cuisine in an area known as Little Italy and decided a nice glass of chianti accompanied by a delicious meal would improve his mood considerably. He found a restaurant that looked promising and requested as private a table as possible. Halfway through his meal, however, three drunken men were seated at a table nearby. He did his best to ignore them, but they were so loud it was proving difficult. He found their conversation juvenile and crude. Clubs where women removed their clothing hardly sounded appealing. One could only imagine the types of women who would seek such employment.

He sighed in irritation as the offensive men became more boisterous. He decided to go back to his hotel, at least it was quiet there. He signaled the waiter for his check and as he was adjusting his Muggle cashmere coat, he heard something that gave him pause. "I hope that little filly, Devil's Snare, hits the stage tonight."

Devil's Snare? A witch, perhaps? Surely a witch wouldn't be taking her clothes off in a Muggle strip club! Despite himself, he was curious. After counting out the American dollars and cents and leaving it on the table, he started to walk out. When he was close to the door, he paused. Unable to let it go, he stepped towards the Muggle men. "Pardon me, I couldn't help overhearing part of your discussion. The club you mentioned, where is it?"

A quick Apparition later, followed by a short walk, and the wizard was standing in front of his destination. The stucco building was run down with bars over the dirty windows. There was a neon cherry flashing over the door and a large sign read: The Cherry Lounge. Other neon signs read Topless Dancers, Pole Dancers, 1$ draft beer on Tuesdays.

The dark-skinned, heavily muscled doorman stepped aside as the wizard walked into the dimly lit club. A huge rectangular bar stood in the middle of the large room and in the center of the oblong bar was a stage with three poles. A walkway allowed the dancers to enter the stage from the rear of the bar and allowed the dancers to move back and forth from the bar to the stage

The wizard made his way to a table along the right wall and, after a quick scourgify, took a seat. A waitress in a scant, black leather thong and bra, which had cherries sewn over where her nipples laid beneath, approached his table. As her eyes scanned down his expensive attire, her face changed from mild disinterest to covetous. She stood taller and pushed her chest out in a way she probably thought was subtle. Everything about her disgusted him. From her dyed blond hair, to her gauche red lipstick, to her outrageous and obvious assumption that he would find her appealing. She looked at him coquettishly and tried her hand at a seductive voice. "Good evening, Sir. My name is Candy. What might pleasure you this evening? A cocktail perhaps?"

Just barely resisted rolling his eyes, his voice was sharp and dismissive. "Whisky, in a clean glass."

Her disappointment in his lack of interest and obvious rebuttal caused her to sigh heavily as she turned and walked away.

He looked around the club and took in the horrendous décor. Barstools along the bar and scattered round tables provided seating for up to seventy-five or so. The walls were exposed brick with many framed, autographed pictures of who knows who. The tables were cheap, the bar was in need of repair, and the clientele was repulsive. He decided this had been a bad idea. When Candy approached with his drink, he asked, "Will Devil's Snare be performing this evening?"

The girl looked at him quizzically and her jaw fell slightly, surprise clearly registering on her face. "Uhh, yeah. She'll be on stage in about thirty minutes." He wondered why the girl looked so surprised.

Candy stepped back to the bar and the wizard could hear her say to the bartender, "Lori performed one time and she already has a rich John asking about her." He watched with mild amusement as the girl seemed completely undone by his enquiry. "I've been begging Fly to give me a turn on the stage and he ignores me. He begs her like a lovesick puppy and after one flash of her tits she's got a following. It's so fucking unfair."

The wizard grew bored of the chit's obvious jealousy and continued to scan the room. Hmm. Lori. If she was a witch, she would be American. Perhaps if she were attractive he might… He scolded himself, As if you would resort to touching such a creature. Granted it had been many months since his cock felt the touch of anything other than his own hand, but still…he had his standards. As a general rule, he only slept with Pureblood witches of a certain class. There had been the occasional quick use of a Muggle or Mudblood when he was in desperate need, but it had been years – since before the war ended even – that he had stooped so low. Feeling certain he was wasting his time, he considered leaving. After all, he knew he was jumping to conclusions to think this woman was even a witch. However, something begged him to wait and see. He usually had pretty good instincts – it was those very instincts that kept him alive through two wars. He sipped his drink realizing he would most likely find this possible witch to be less than worthy of his notice.

Scanning the bar, he observed that every seat had been taken and most of the tables were occupied. It appeared he arrived just before the rush. More waitresses, whose attire matched Candy's, made their way around the tables serving drinks in hopes of loose pockets as the night wore on.

A few moments later the lights dimmed, and a spot light shone on the center of the stage. Underneath, a woman was standing with her back to the crowd. The first thing he noticed was the sharp contrast of black, straight hair in a blunt short cut against the white of her costume. A costume which consisted of multiple strands of gleaming pearls and seemingly nothing else. She stood with her back facing the crowd and her left arm held up loosely draped around the pole. Her form was lithe with stiletto heels bringing focus to a magnificent set of legs. She remained still to the right of the pole with her legs crossed slightly causing her back to arch in such a way that left her bottom was prominently displayed. Her skin was pale, yet its pink hue looked soft and inviting against the pearls. It was an appealing vision, if he said so himself. Music began to play and then a woman's voice began to sing about being a "good girl". The lyrics were playful and teasing and contradicted the performers moves and demeanor. As the dancer strutted around the stage to the rhythm of the music, she shimmied her hips and breasts causing the pearls to wiggle and move, but never enough to actually display any nudity.

As the song continued, the dance became more risqué as she crossed to the bar and strutted along it's path. Men were tucking bills into her strappy heels as she stopped periodically to shimmy and wiggle some more. Her figure was lean yet somehow curvy in all the right places. Her legs were long, and her waist was slim, but her hips were a woman's and her breasts a nice size. However, what struck him the most as her track led her closer to where he was sitting, was her face. There was something familiar about it. However, it was highly unlikely this was anyone he had ever crossed paths with before. Her face was so heavily made up, it was hard to determine specific features. Her facial expressions were exaggerated to match the coquettishness of the song, making it even harder to place her.

As the song was coming to a close, she had made her way back to the main stage and was standing in the center. She turned her back to the crowd again as she shook her shoulders causing her top to come undone and slide down her long legs, leaving her in nothing but a pearl-strung thong. She turned and flirtatiously tormented her admirers as she half-heartedly covered her now exposed breasts. The riotous crowd was beside itself with frenzy at her teasing routine. The last few seconds she swung around the pole with her bouncing breasts on full display. Then it happened. When she bent over between her wide-spread legs to smile and wink at the crowd from between her ankles, the black, bob fell to the stage and a mass of loosely tucked, wild brown curls came loose. She smiled and shrugged as she grabbed her corset and wig before bowing to the crowd and blowing them a kiss.

In that moment he knew. Instantly, her identity was clear to him. He leaned back in his chair and watched in stunned disbelief as the very last person he would have guessed took the dollar bills that had been gathered by the barman. His mind raced with possibilities. Hermione Granger. How positively delicious.

From his seat, the wizard had a bird's eye view behind the bar and stage. Before she had a chance to get far, he made his way to where the witch would be stepping down from the bar/stage. He crossed in front of her causing her to collide into him. Soft brown eyes looked up and grew into saucers as her jaw fell in shock.

Enjoying her fright, he smirked as he said, "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Hermione was stunned. Lucius Malfoy? Here? Sheer terror overcame her. There was no time to ponder the whys and hows, she needed to get away – and fast.

Pushing him hard in the chest, she tried to step around him only to have him resist her and stand firm as his right hand grabbed her left wrist.

"Now, is that any way to treat…old enemies?" He flashed white teeth in a mocking smile as the words were spoken in the same sneering drawl she remembered from her past.

Hermione knew better than to scream. Lucius would make nothing of dragging her out and cursing innocent people in his path. She couldn't bring death and destruction on the heads of the people she worked with.

"Ahh, I see you are coming to reason."

"Please, Mr. Malfoy. Just…please." She whispered in a desperate voice, her eyes darting about to see if there were any more Death Eaters around.

He laughed openly. "As much as I love it when a topless woman begs me, I find my hands are tied and I have no choice but to return you to your mother country where you will receive the greeting you so...deserve." His eyes leered lazily up and down her form as he towered over her.

Her hands, which were still full of cash, immediately shot up to cover herself. In all her months waiting tables in the club and being groped, prodded, and drooled over, she never felt as dirty from a set of eyes as she did in this very moment. Lucius Malfoy was the most despicable of men and, even in her panic, she was horrified that he had seen how low she had fallen. As though he could read her mind he jeered in his crooning and condescending voice, "My, my, my, Miss Granger. Strutting around, naked, for cash. How the righteous have fallen."

"Lori, you alright?" a blonde waitress asked as she approached them. The woman's gaze moved from his firm grip on her wrist back to his face.

He flashed her a smile. "Lori and I are old friends. We go way back… don't we, love?" He released her wrist and quickly slid his left hand into hers and laced their fingers.

Hermione swallowed heavily. "Hey, Jeanie. Yeah, imagine my surprise." Hermione looked back towards Lucius and gave a large smile, which she prayed came off as genuine. "This is…George Glass. The father of someone I went to school to with."

"Well, any friend of Lori's is a friend of mine," Jeanie said as she stepped forward, still eyeing Lucius cautiously. Hermione sensed danger, the girls in the club were very protective of each other and Hermione was not the best actress.

"Hey Blake!" Jeanie yelled for the bartender and Hermione's anxiety was heading into overdrive. "You meet Lori's friend?" Her tone made it perfectly clear she didn't believe their story.

Jeanie looked back at Hermione, concern etched in the planes of her young but hardened face. Lucius kept his expression flat, but Hermione could see his right hand slowly slip into his pocket. She held no doubt his wand was now at his fingertips. Realizing she needed to lighten the mood, she said simply, "George is an old friend. We parted on bad terms is all. It's already awkward – please don't make it worse. I'm fine. Really."

Blake had made his way over by this point. He looked at the tense faces. "Everything ok?"

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, just a misunderstanding. George here is an old friend who caught me by surprise, is all." She internally screamed as Blake's concern was becoming apparent. In truth, it was very suspicious. Hermione had never once had a friend come around. While she never admitted she was a runaway, it was suspected by many that she was hiding from someone or someones.

Hermione let out a breath as her eyes darted from Jeanie to Blake. "Guys, can you leave me alone, so I can talk to George?"

Blake contemplated before giving her a small, resigned nod. "Sure. Jeanie and I will be right over here…watching."

Hermione observed as the two stepped away. She spoke softly, so they could not be overheard. "Lucius, I think…"

His eyes were back on hers and his whispered tone was sharp. "We're leaving. Let's go."

"Can I just get my bag from the dressing room? Please? It has clothes in it."

Taking in her state of undress, he could not deny she needed clothing. In an unusual display of understanding, he acquiesced. "If you aren't back in one minute I'm coming back there."

"Fine," she snapped as she dashed through the door. In less than five seconds she had grabbed her bottomless satchel and threw a jacket over her half naked form. Ten seconds later she scooped a sleeping Jaime out of the small cot he was laying on. Without a word to anyone she was out the back door and in the dark alley. Jaime was still sound asleep as she started to run.

She had barely made it down the alley and to the sidewalk before the wizard was standing in front of her, blocking her path. Tears of desperation were now trailing down her cheeks as Jaime started to stir.

"So predictable, and a rather pathetic attempt actually. I find myself disappointed in you." Lucius was taking delight in taunting her.

His gaze suddenly darted to the small form in her arms that she had obviously been trying to hide from him. Lucius was silent as he absorbed what he was seeing.

A small boy.

A small boy with dark, messy hair.

A small boy with dark, messy hair…and green eyes.

Hermione dances to "I Am A Good Girl"
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