Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap.
The sound of high heels on marble woke Hermione Granger from a restless sleep. She felt an almost instinctive dread, burned in after almost two weeks in the basement of Malfoy Manor. She knew it could only be one of two people. Narcissa Malfoy, come to bring Hermione her meager rations, or Bellatrix Lestrange, come to torture her for information she did not have. As the steps drew closer, Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees. She could feel her heart pounding, but she was weak from abuse. She pulled her thin blanket over her shoulders; the basement was drafty.
A ripple of light passed across the mahogany door. Someone was removing the charm that kept her locked in.
Hermione felt a wave of relief as she saw who it was. Narcissa was carrying a bowl of food, leftovers as always.
"Bellatrix will be along shortly," Narcissa said in a clipped voice. "I suggest you eat. We cannot afford for you to die."
What a sick reason to eat, Hermione thought. I can't afford to die. For their sake.
She took the bowl Narcissa held out. It was metal, not unlike a dog bowl, and the contents were not much better. Narcissa watched her pick through the food for edible morsels, the she turned on her heel and stepped out of the room, resealing it magically.
Hermione curled up on the cold stone floor. There was nothing to do but wait for the pain. Wait and think. Wonder why Harry and Ron hadn't tried to find her, had left her in Bellatrix's clutches. The reasons she thought up were not comforting. They must be dead…captured…on the run still? She could only hope.
It was as though time did not matter in the chilly, dim dungeon. She fell asleep again, slipped into dreams…dreams that always became nightmares. Somehow the nightmares always began with the cold sound of spike heels on stone. It was the sound of pain approaching.
Waking in a cold sweat, Hermione realized that she was not dreaming the sound. Someone was coming down the stairs for her. The footsteps were different; cautious, hesitant even. It was not Bellatrix, her trained ears told her.
The familiar shimmer across the door warned her that the intruder was coming in. Hermione sat up, pushing her limp brown hair off her forehead. She watched as he stepped inside.
Draco Malfoy was at once the same and completely different from how she remembered him. His gray eyes remained distant, his white hair smoothed away from his face. He was just as pale, if not paler, his skin a contrast to his black suit. But he had lost his swagger, his confidence; he was just a scared boy in over his head.
When he spoke, it was with the almost reassuringly recognizable arrogance. "Granger," he laughed. "This is what you get for being a mudblood. Fitting, don't you think?"