Two weeks later finds Tigridia at a corner in the middle of the red light district. She had been there for a few days, and had gotten a pretty good deal. Something she didn't let her Aunt know was that she was an Empathic, which gave her a major advantage to not being caught with the wrong people in her new line of work. It appeared to be a slow night, the last couple nights there had been dozens of men coming to get prostitutes, tonight she had only seen two people.

The two people were a man and a woman, they had thrown something—it looked to be a small person—in a pile of garbage on the opposite side of the street. Looking both ways—she did have to stay safe—she crossed the street, allowing her curiosity to get the better of her. In the dark it was hard to figure out that it was a child, but with a bit of prodding Tigridia managed to drag the child out and get a good look at it.

The child was a female, about the same age as Tigridia was, and she had been beaten to the point of appearing to be dead. Tigridia knew that the girl was alive, her emotions were there and her laboured breathing was another sure sign. Bloodied bushy hair surrounded the girls dirty face, and Tigridia felt an emotion bond form with the girl. The girl was hers, Tigridia decided, and quickly made work of healing the injuries. It was different than healing her own, but Tigridia managed.

It took a while, but finally the girl was as good as new, except she was still dirty, which bothered Tigridia to no end, she promptly ignored that as the girl awoke. "W-where am I?" The girl stuttered with child-like innocence.

"Red-light district." Tigridia said roughly, talking hurt and she didn't often do it. It didn't help she had the habit of scratching her throat out time to time. This girl needed her to talk though, so Tigridia would do it. "I'm Tigridia Lily Potter, I'm guessing the two that dumped you here are—were—your parents."

"Mommy and Daddy said I was a freak because I made weird things happen." The girl sniffed, a stray tear running down her face. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"You can live with me." Tigridia decided out loud. "I'll take care of you, come on it's a slow night anyways." She pulled the girl up and steadied her as Hermione wobbled. Leading her to her apartment—the man who managed the building said as long as he got to sleep with her whenever that she could stay for free—no electricity, but it was home. And it was clean, and she had gotten candles.

"How do you pay for this?" Hermione wondered aloud, it had to cost a lot. It looked really nice after all.

"Prostituting for the manager. You won't have to, there's an ad in the paper that they're looking for someone to hand out papers in the area, you can do that. Or you can do something else. Up to you." Tigridia shrugged as she went to the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt, she couldn't handle very many foods.

"Tigra, why do you…" Hermione trailed off, she knew what prostituting was, her parents said that's what she had to do from now on—accept fat greasy men shoving their cocks into her virgin hole.

"I need money, I need to survive. I promise you will never have to do that, but it's something that's easy money. I do other things during the day. I collect cans and bottles to recycle, and I go to the library and research so I have an education. The elementary school about twenty minutes away allowed me to enter without parent consent, I'm sure you can go to if you wish. And I can teach you of those weird things you can do. It's called magic." Tigridia liked the nickname Tigra, and decided she'd use it, she loved this other little girl, she would ground Tigra when it all got too much, when she was about to snap and kill off those greasy assholes who loved to play with her.

"I-I see." Hermione looked around, squinting into the darkness around them. "I suppose I'll stay with you. I don't want to be a prostitute, no offense." Tigra shrugged and showed her new friend around the one room onr bathroom apartment. She didn't have and furniture except three broken chairs that had been there before, and a bunch of books she had managed to pillage, but it was home.