"Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, The pretty follies that they themselves commit"
- Merchant of Venice, Act 2, Scene 6
A year passed slowly spent in prison. Hermione had watched the leaves bud on the trees, the sun shine bright and full, the leaves abandon their branches, the snow fall and once again new life burst on tree outside her one tiny window in her one tiny cell. She hadn't spoken to anyone in almost twelve months. Twelve months in a cell. Twelve months of absolute alone.
She had seen people, Death Eaters, come and go in their silver masks. But she hadn't felt skin against her skin. A touch against her touch in a hundred, two hundred, three hundred days.
"Someone is coming to see you tomorrow," a faceless, lifeless, Death Eater said. "I'm sure you'll appreciate a visitor." A cold laugh. Hermione didn't answer. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
They were Death Eaters. They did not think for themselves. Without thought or discretion, they carried out the orders of their despicable master, Lord Voldemort. They had once been people Hermione knew, attended to school with. They were nothing to her anymore. Just empty shells punishing her for something out of her control. The blood in her veins.
Were her friends even looking for her anymore? Did they even care what had happened? Did she have any friends left?
The last time she'd seen Ron she was being dragged away from him. Kicking. Thrashing. Against hands, ice hands, everywhere. All over her. There had been red eyes, a flash of crimson light and then pain. So tangible she could hold it in her hands. Then black, black, nothing but black. Ropes tied her arms and feet. Cloth gagged her mouth. She didn't cry and she didn't beg. Not once as she was taken away.
Hermione pressed her hand to the window glass and let the warmth spread through her palm. So close to the outside world but so separate too. Certainly, whatever visitor was coming to see her wasn't a friend. It was probably just someone who wanted to torture her. But maybe not – maybe they wanted to talk to her. It had been so long since she'd spoken. Did her mouth, lips, throat even remember how? She said a few words aloud. Words she'd missed most.
Books. Friends. Love.
Her voice didn't sound like hers anymore but at least she still could speak.
Hermione sat up on the burlap sacks – her bed and blankets. She pulled the scratchy fabric over her bare legs and hugged her knees to her chest. She fell asleep just like that.
She woke up to grey eyes, blond hair, pale face.
Hermione swallowed her scream, fighting her instinct to run, to pound her fists against the stone until she shattered or the walls did.
"You're...Draco Malfoy."
"Granger." He smirked, leaning away from her. Hermione wanted to lunge at him, wrap her thin hands around his neck. Squeeze. Squeeze. Until she felt his neck crack. He killed Dumbledore. The one person who could stand up to Voldemort.
What kind of sick joke was this? Why would he want to see her? Speak to her? He didn't want any of that. She knew it. He wanted to break her.
The Dark Mark on his arm was visible in the dim light. He wore grey slacks, white shirt, grey vest. No cloak. Rolled up sleeves. It was hot in there. Painfully hot. Everything about Malfoy was cruel. Demanding. Magnetic. Predatory.
He released a frozen laugh. Hermione's fingers curled into hard fists. Malfoy crouched down, his gaze a venom that stripped away her clothes, her skin, her muscles, leaving her a pile of naked bones. He lifted the burlap sack covering her legs, examined the fabric and handed it back to her. Fingers brushed her ankle.
Zero days. It had been zero days since someone touched her.
She trembled, anger mixed with fear, hate pounding her heart. Hermione didn't mean to but when he leaned in again, she cringed.
Malfoy's thin fingers tugged on a lock of her wild, bushy hair. "I'm not here to hurt you."
Yes you are.
She stared down at her dirty bare feet.
"I just want to talk," he said.
Hermione bit her tongue. She would not talk to him. Or look at him. Or believe he was even real.
Malfoy let out a groan then sat down on the concrete floor, reclining against the wall. "Don't talk if you don't want to. I'll wait."
You'll wait until your flesh rots and bones turn to dust. Because I'll never ever talk to you.
Hermione stayed there the rest of the day and all night. Waiting for Malfoy to leave. To grow tired and resort to his wand, to pain.
He never did. He never moved. He never left.
Hermione awoke the next morning to a spring snow, damp frost on the window. Everything smelled wet, mildewy. She breathed deeply and stood for the first time in almost a day. She looked through the window and even though she didn't touch the glass, she could feel the cold radiate from it. If only she could break the glass. She would reach her hand through the opening, collect the snowflakes on her skin and lick them off her fingers. Her mouth was so dry. So thirsty.
She heard shoes squeak on the concrete. Hermione whirled around, her heart tripping. Malfoy stared at her. Somehow he still looked put-together. Like perfect pieces stacked perfectly. Then there was Hermione. Draped in thin white cotton that fell just half way down her thighs. Untamed hair. Dirt-caked skin. She realized how little she was wearing and instinctively tried to cover herself with her bony arms.
His eyes traced over Hermione like a sharp quill leaving ink on her parchment. His gaze hurt, burned. She wanted to beg him to stop looking at her but she would die before she begged Malfoy for anything.
"When I speak to you, answer me. Our time together will go easier, if you do." A tongue flicked out and licked his lips. Her eyes were handcuffed to his mouth.
He stepped toward her, the hard clack his shoe made on the floor shocked fear through her limbs. She let herself believe for a moment that he was not a threat to her. All talk like he used to be at Hogwarts.
But he would kill her. She did not, could not, doubt it.
"What do you want?" The words toppled out of her mouth before she could shove their pieces back in. Looking anywhere but at him. Thinking of anything but him. Hermione turned her back to Malfoy, sinking to the floor beneath the window.
His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her to face him. To stand. The world tilted, the laws of the universe crack, cracking, from the earthquake of his touch.
"I scare you," he whispered. Hermione tugged but could not remove herself from his trap.
Whatever you're going to do to me. Just do it and let me die.
"No. I'm not." Hermione forced the words.
His touch slipped from her as he laughed below his breath. Hermione stared down at her toes, pretending that he was not there. That she was alone again.
A hard knock at the door. They both looked towards it as it opened.
"Sir," said one of the Death Eaters. "Would you like to leave the prisoner for a moment? We have food prepared for you."
Malfoy's voice was a bark. "I told you not to interrupt me for any reason."
"Yes sir, I just thought-"
"No, Goyle. You never think. Do not disobey me again. What's in your hand?" He hurried the last words.
The familiar paper box.
"The prisoner's meal, sir. Want me to throw it away?"
No. My stomach is breaking.
"Give it here – and get out."
Goyle handed Malfoy the box and shut the prison door, leaving them alone together.
Malfoy opened the box, sniffed its contents and recoiled. "You eat this?"
"When they decide to give me something to eat."
"Do you want it?"
Yes.
"I won't tell you anything."
"You've been out of the picture for a year, Granger. Everything you could tell me I already know." Still so superior. But now he had something to support his arrogant claims. With a flick of his wand, he could break her. Crush her beneath the heel of his shiny shoe. She had seen him kill before.
Afraid of the memories clawing into her brain, she faced the window, staring at the sunlight. "Then why are you here?" she asked.
Fingers danced against the skin of her neck. Played along her pulse. Seared into her flesh. She didn't move. Just tensed until she was stiff enough to snap in half. Like her wand in Bellatrix Lestrange's hands.
"Eat," he commanded, shoving the box of food into her hand. A part of her wanted to throw the food across the room, watch the disgusting contents spray on the wall just to prove she would not follow his orders. But she needed, needed, needed to eat. She grabbed the small cup of water taped to the side and downed it in one gulp. Her fingers fumbled over the paper box, opening the lid, digging into the substance and shoveling the sour mush into her mouth.
Hermione had almost forgotten that Malfoy was watching her, observing her, as she tore into that food like a wild animal. Her cheeks blushed, embarrassed she'd shown weakness in front of Draco Malfoy.
But he didn't look disgusted by her. He studied her with interest, blinking much too slowly.
She licked the last of the food off her fingers and wiped it from the corners of her mouth. Hermione sunk back to the ground, curling into the burlap sacks. Forcing his presence from her thoughts. Reciting the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion.
Malfoy sat down next to her. So close she could smell him. Snowflakes soaked in firewhisky. Hermione breathed in his scent, wishing she didn't want to, wishing she hadn't done it.
Go. Get out of here. Leave me. I want to fade into nothing. Let me die alone.
But a flame still burned inside her. She thought of it as she looked to the window and dreamed of the world as it had been long ago. Of laughter and Hogwarts and freedom. There had to be a way back. The world needed a way back. Hermione needed a way back.
Malfoy glided smoothly to the door. He flicked his wand, sliding back the stone.
"Leaving?" Hermione snarled.
"Yes," he said, smirking again. "And you're coming with me."
Thanks for reading. This is going to be a pretty dark/angsty fic. Draco might be a little darker in this but I feel like if he would have killed Dumbledore, it would have led him down a scarier path which is what happens here. Please review and let me know what you think of the first chapter. Thanks again!