Draco helps Hermione escape his aunt's torture; but she isn't left in the best shape afterward. Hurt, and with nowhere left to go, she stays in Draco's care.

AN: I have a Beta now but still feel free to PM if you catch any mistakes.

Thanks!

The room smelt heavily of sweat and metal. Draco watched as much as he could with a straight face, not wanting to give away even an inkling of what he was thinking. Hermione's screams bounced down the hallway, down to the cellar where her friends were kept. No one had bothered giving her the privacy of a closed door. He prayed she would only stay lucid for the first round of Cruciatus when it came to that. Bella hadn't pulled that spell out yet, and stuck to more medieval torture spells that drew more blood before quickly healing it back up into raised scars. It was her style to make things as messy as she possibly could, while begrudgingly keeping them alive as long as she was instructed to. Though with her, they often ended up dead before the others could have their fun with them.

Despite having watched this scenario through many times before, he could not will himself void of emotion like he had with the others. The girl who would be put on display tonight was someone he spent years with learning beside in class. They hadn't gotten on well in school but he never pictured it ending like this, with her wavy brown hair stuck to the sweat on her face, wailing at his feet so near death. He didn't want to see the look on her face after whatever was done to her later that night when the others arrived.

His mother and father liked to act like they were above Bella's brutish tactics but he learned to take everything they said with a grain of salt. His father especially, who was no stranger to the torture parties their Lord often threw. He wondered if that was what this was going to be turned into, an extreme act of voyeurism, and if his father would also feel the same hesitance in hurting someone he knew as a child. Or if he could feel anything, really.

He had to do something. And it hadn't been long before the opportunity arouse. The other two had escaped and his aunt dashed away to recapture them. Before he could think he quietly cast an invisibility charm around her and Apparated to the first place that came clearly to mind. When he was much younger, before The Dark Lord had made his return and his parents were more parents than followers, they would take him to his grandparent's old property that was hidden out in a place he was not even sure of. His grandparents, being just as paranoid as his own, had the place so filled with guards that it was nearly impossible to find without knowing just the right spot to enter. The home had been hidden for so long he doubted his father would have brought it up to the Dark Lord for fear of seeming any less of a loyal dog. And, though his mother failed him in many ways, she would rather give her own life than sell her out her own son.

1.

She lost track of how long she had been staring blankly at the ceiling. The room was dimly lit by a single candle hung off center the wall, fire dancing erratically despite the motionless air. Pain was radiating off her side, from a large slash Bella had not been able to heal properly before the commotion. The wound had been poorly dressed and had soaked through her shirt. She wondered if they would ever return to change the dressings, or if she would sit in this state till they came back to finish her off. Her chest tightened. She blinked her eyes slowly, and then quickly, before fading out of consciousness.

When she awoke her bandages had been changed, and a tray of food left at the bedside. Her stomach ached for food but she could not bring herself to eat. She sat up slowly, propping herself with a pillow. When she first woke up she paid very little attention to detail, her brain to hazy from the pain. The room had been blank aside from the basics, a bed and a nightstand. There were no windows. She wondered if this room had been prepared for anything in particular, while it was not welcoming it was definitely more comfortable than the dungeon she was held in earlier. She heard someone approach the other side of the room. They stood there; doing something she could not tell for a few moments before finally going to unlock the door. It clicked open, revealing a man draped in black fabrics. She recognized the face immediately, instinctively throwing her arms over her face when he stepped forward. Hermione stiffened, preparing herself from whatever was to become. He killed Dumbledore, and for all she knew he was probably sent there to finish her off. But he did nothing at first, then suddenly kneeled over and set his wand on the floor.

"How are you feeling? Is there anything else you need...?" he started, before trailing off.

She watched in disbelief, lowering her arms. She didn't know what to say at first, and instead continued to stare at him, giving him the filthiest look.

"I'm sorry. What my aunt did was… I couldn't just sit back and watch anymore. You're safe now, they won't find us here."

Memories from her time in the manor flashed back in her mind. Her endless fits of screaming as sharp agonizing pain echoed throughout her whole body, and his beady eyes staring right back at her void of any expression. Whatever act he was putting on right now, she believed none of it. She wanted to fight back, to jump of the covers and lunge at him, but she was tired. Adjusting herself was exhausting, and every part of her body ached. She was currently in no state fight anyone despite how much she wanted to. So instead she held her tongue, sealing her lips into a tight purse.

He seemed to be waiting for a response for her, and she was glad she decided against giving him the pleasure of a response. He was not her knight in armor.

Eventually he left, and she settled herself back into bed. She didn't know where Harry and Ron were, or if they even managed to escape the manor, but she hoped wherever they were they were safe. She felt guilty for getting the rest they surely were being deprived of not knowing if she was okay. Nonetheless, she fell asleep quite quickly.

Hermione woke up the next morning with the gaping wound on her side healed. She never took Draco as the physician type but whatever he had done had worked well enough. She imagined he had spent enough time in the nurse's office in school to pick up a few tricks. Pain still shot down her size when she went to adjust, which would have been slightly less off if thought of in muggle healing methods. She recalled when a few years back Harry had the bones in his arm vanished and even then it only took a night for everything to be back in place. Whatever was going on with her was very abnormal. If she wanted to rejoin her friends in their quest she would need to figure out what was going on with her but as far as she knew, now, in the height of wartime, there were no healers she could consult. She lifted her shirt, examining her wound more closely. It was perfectly healed, only having left behind a large raised scar going down her midriff. Running her fingers across it, she felt no pain.

She clenched her hand into a fist around the sheets, contemplating her next few actions. While disheartened, she refused to give up yet. Where ever she was there had to be some kind of library she could study in. She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain laced with each movement. The soreness in her limbs felt secondary in comparison. Once she learned which movements hurt more than others she minded them as much as she could. On her feet now, she wobbled to the door, taking her time with each step. After getting use to it, the pain was ignorable but still very present.

The door was left unlocked, and she was happy to know she wasn't a prisoner any longer. The hallways to the house were left just as plain as the room she was in. Lighter squares left on the wall paint told her it had been decorated at some point before everything had been hauled out. She wished she had at least asked Draco where he had taken her while he was around, but even now she hadn't exactly wanted to play friendly with the Death Eater. He had decided to save her on a whim and could easily do the same and turn her in. The more she observed the house the more it began to look like an actual house rather than the holding cell she previously believed it to be. The floor below, beginning from the bottom of the stairway, had more decoration to it than above. Old portraits covered the walls, all of them with their signature icy white Malfoy hair. This place definitely hadn't been the manor but the decorating had been similar enough for her to come to the conclusion this was one of their old summer homes.

She turned down the right connecting hall, leading to a door into the kitchen. Unlike the others this room had a distinct lived in look to it, with dishes left drying in the dish rack and ripe fruit sitting on the counter. She wondered how often Draco had come back to visit this place on his own. Out the window, field of opens grass stretched for miles into winding hilltops. Subdued olive greens mixed with the bright petals of mustard, speckled like freckles over the hillside. It was beautiful, and for a moment she envied Draco. She couldn't imagine growing up surrounded with such a sight, much less in multiple different locations. Her home had been nothing but a small townhouse planted in the middle of town, one that she doubted she could return to in the foreseeable future.

Draco quietly entered the room, making Hermione jump when she finally notices his presence. "I want to know why you've brought me here," She spat, stepping back into the counter. "After standing around ogling while you're aunt—" She stopped, not wanting to finish her sentence.

"I didn't want any of that to happen nor do I enjoy it. Or any of this for that matter, so if you would stop with that accusing tone I would appreciate it." He shot back. The stress lines on his once smooth face were deep, proof of the burden on his shoulders.

"Please, don't try to act like this is just something you're father forced you into. Even if that is the case, you just stood there. How many times before have you just stood there?" Her tone was stern, but not nearly as venomous as she intended.

The Draco she knew from school would have been absolutely furious, firing back just as quick as she had with something just as hurtful, but he said nothing. The thought that he had been genuinely trying to be kind crossed her mind, and she felt guilty momentarily before she came back to her senses.

"I know. I've been a coward but, it's not as if I had any other options. Our situations are similar but we ended up on opposite sides of it. I'm sure you weren't utterly ecstatic about being tortured for information in place of one of your best mates. What I'm trying to say is, I'm trying to make things better now in whatever way I can, but I can't change the past."

She considered his words, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. She found it difficult to place any kind of trust in the boy that had been tormenting her since she was twelve but, in her condition, there wasn't anything else she could do. "Is there a library here?"

"Yes," he said, seeming relieved at the sudden topic change. "It's down the hall on the other side of the staircase. Last door. What do you need it for?"

She rolled her eyes, annoyed he would think to propose such a question. "My side still hurt."

"Really?" He said perplexed, reaching to look at it.

Hermione jumped back, covering herself with her forearm. "The wound is gone but, that pain is still there. It feels sharp. It doesn't make any sense. I wanted to see if there was something I could do to fix it."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "No, er, I don't think there is anything you can do about it."

Her stomach turned. "Excuse me?"

"It's a result of dark magic. I'm sure you've heard of it before. It may go away with time, or it may not."

"I—I have." She gulped. She had a hunch but hadn't let the thought enter her head for fear of the thought making it real.

"I'm sorry. " He said looking away, his expression a mix of pity and guilt.

It would have been easier to blame it on him, but realistically she knew not much else could have been done. Bella had been crazy enough to kill the both of them if he had attempted anything before he did. She pulled out a chair and sat down, pain rippling through her as she bent herself into that position. She wanted to be grateful, but the feeling was well beyond her now. She wondered how would she return to the others now? Hermione tried to imagine herself running away from Snatchers, her side stabbed with the motion of each step. There was no way she could go back if she couldn't at the very least carry her own weight. She would only be a hindrance.

"T-the library…" she started again after a long pause. She stood up and quickly made her way out of the room.

She left her herself cry for a good part of an hour, before she pulled herself together. She rubbed her swollen eyes, and rested her head back onto a bookshelf. The library was small, taking up only a corner of the den with two bookshelves built into the wall and a fireplace sectioning it off from the rest of the room, which was mainly boxes and random furniture. She quickly took a liking to this room, finding it so much more welcoming than the windowless room she was stuffed in before. She took the back cushion and a throw blanket from a couch in the other size of the room and resettled herself into the corner of the bookshelf. After crying for so long she hadn't the energy to look for a cure in the textbooks, and sat there until she eventually fell asleep.