Her body aches and a thousand fires burn on her skin. Yet, she stays curled into a ball on the cold stone floor. Her own two arms, wrapped tight around her legs, are the only comfort left. At first she told herself it would not be long, they would come for her. Harry and Ron would find her; that was the thought that kept her going. But, her intelligence had prodded holes in this belief as each day passed; each day, which brought new pain at the hands of her tormenters, each day which passed slower then the last.
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Later, much later, when her mind had cleared a bit, she'd wonder how exactly the Resistance members breached the wards the Order had placed around her house. She would wonder how they had found her, when powerful wizards and witches had set up the protection around her home. Home, a distant thing now; she wouldn't return there again.
A flash. Black masks with holes through, which peered cold, cruel eyes.
"Incarcerous," The spell was said calmly and Hermione did not have a chance to fight. That was the most frightening of all, during the war she had survived by battling, by cursing, hexing, whatever necessary. Faced with that sort of death, Hermione could be brave, courageous. But, not like this. Not like this! Her mind screamed in her terror.
There was laughter as she struggled, uselessly she knew, but she couldn't stop herself.
"Look at the little Mudblood," The voice was raspy and made her shiver. The man, who had spoken, was beside the one who had cast the spell. He was tall and bulky between his dark robes, their uniform very similar to those of the Death Eater's, yet each robe bore a crest with a wand shooting out blood red sparks, which glinted in the faint light in her apartment.
They were shadows against the walls, where pictures of Harry and Ron looked on horrified. They were shadows against the furniture she had inherited from her parents.
Shadows in the night.
The panic was making her thoughts disjointed, fuzzy. She was terrified; she had never felt less like a Gryffindor.
"Don't worry little girl," Hermione flinched back horrified at the cooing voice. Bellatrix, her mind whispered. But, that was impossible she was dead. She saw the mouth quirk up at the edges into a sadistic smile, and she wondered if the woman knew what she was thinking. "We only want to ask you some questions," The rest of them laughed, and the woman smiled harshly down at her, her eyes unwavering and dark.
Hermione was dragged to her feet, shuddering as she was held against a soft body, before the pull of Apparation took her away.
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Gray stone, rough cut blocks. Cold, moist stone her cheek was pressed against. Decay, mold, and that rusty dry smell that was blood filtered through her nose causing bile to rise at the back her throat. She blinked her eyes, wincing as her swollen eyelids pulsed with pain. Hermione raggedly tried to push herself up, gasping at the myriad of pains that flared at the gentle motion.
They'd had questions alright and methods for trying to extract answers.
Trying she thought viciously, they would not succeed.
It was five years after the war. Five years was no time at all after such devastation. So many dead, so many lost. Remus, Tonks, George… yet this Resistance flourished. Hermione shivered at the thought of the war and at this new order hell bent on equal destruction.
And apparently they thought their success lay in discovering how Harry had defeated Voldemort. Harry, who had been truthful. Who had spoken about what Dumbledore had explained – about love. But, like Voldemort this Resistance, couldn't accept that as the truth.
The least she could do was drag this on. Make them think she had some secret, make them think she knew something.
She would give them nothing; she hoped they were well satisfied.
These thoughts spiraled through a mind drugged with pain. She lay against the floor trying to summon the strength to at least roll over. She raised her head looking around her cell and gasped.
She was not alone.
His face and hair were grimy with dirt and blood. His nose was crooked and his eyes were circled by dark bruises that caused his eyes to swell almost shut. Through the slits of his eyes she could see the stains of blood where vessels had popped.
"Granger, fancy meeting you here," His voice was aloof except where it cracked from thirst towards the end. She stared in silence at him. She hadn't seen him since the final battle, hadn't really heard anything. Hadn't cared – he might not have killed Dumbledore but – Hermione felt a desperate fury build within her. She felt the need to scream and cry. Her hand covered her mouth as a slight whimper left her.
Even in her near hysteria, she studied every one of his expressions. At the sound of her whimper, he appeared to flinch and draw in a breath. She stared at him, would he see her hate, her anger? She saw the scowl, the tightening at the corners of his eyes. She believed he understood.
Hermione examined his body further examining the cuts, the bruises, the bloodstains apparent through his little clothing. She refused to feel pity for him, he didn't deserve it. She wondered how he had found himself here. Did the Resistance kidnap him like they had her?
They were two of the most unlikely people to be captured by the same group.
Different groups possibly, the Order for him, the Resistance for her. It didn't make sense.
"Don't try and figure it out, Granger, it will only cause you more pain," Malfoy said and she noticed the faint slur in his words. She looked at him questioningly.
"Why I'm here. You won't guess correct," He smirked a bit, always satisfied with one upping her. She watched him, thinking over her response. He wasn't a child anymore, she could tell from the haunted look on his face.
"No worries there, Malfoy. I was only wondering how much longer they would keep you," Hermione kept her voice blank although she knew her eyes radiated her hate. "I'm sure they're close to being done with you, there is only so much torture can extract after all." She wanted her words to hurt him, wound him as much – if not more – then the torture did. She wanted him to feel expendable, to make him feel like his death was imminent – and that she certainly wouldn't care when it occurred.
His face was blank as he studied her. She glared back at him. I hate you, she thought. She wanted to destroy him.
She wondered when she had gotten so angry.
A crumpled body at the base of a tower; tears and anger and despair.
"You most certainly have changed. Quite malicious for a member of the Golden Trio," She turned her face from him.
"It's a dog eat dog world out there Malfoy," She didn't turn back to see if he understood the Muggle saying or if he heard her bitterness. As far as she was concerned their conversation was over.
They sit in silence. No words can be exchanged to describe her hate, or his hate. Or anything.
She doesn't want to ask him how long they have tortured him, she doesn't want to know. She can't bear the thought of knowing how long her sentence will be, although she is sure that Harry and Ron will find her. They'll find her. They must.
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A/N: This was fic I built completely off the first paragraph which I had written long ago. I want to thank Solstice Muse and her story 'Within These Walls' that inspired the setting for my story. (Make sure to check out her story it is amazing and profound). The chapters will be a bit random in length, etc. But, I hope you enjoy it.