Deception

Blood.

Fear.

They seemed to feed off of it. How could I fight them? They stripped me of my wand years ago. How could the world I once knew, the world I loved, become this?

Welcome to my prison.

Welcome to reality.

I hate my bondage, but, truthfully, I hate a lot of things. In truth, I can't pinpoint one thing that I want to change. If change was even possible, that is.

The first would be Harry's death, but really, if you change that, everything else would shift back to the way it was, to the way it should be.

My back hurts. The stones are sticking me in my spine. But why am I complaining? This is no less than what I deserve as a slave of the Dark Lord, correct?

If only I had the power that Harry once had. If only I could set fire to this entire place, watch the walls fall molten around me. But I can't.

And besides, Harry's power didn't save him.

She was curled against the back of the cell, her dirty white dress clinging to her clammy skin. Her eyes were clenched tight in discomfort – or prayer. Her fragile hands were curled into tight fists, a bandage on one and her fingernails chipped and bloody. Her hair was matted with blood from where his father had struck her a few days ago.

She hadn't even screamed.

He'd been proud of her.

Not that anyone could know that.

With a small grunt, he pushed the large metal door open and stepped into her stone cage. She looked up at him with bleary eyes. Hatred lit her eyes. He would be lying to himself if he claimed that her eyes didn't hurt him. He was lying every day. He could afford to lie to himself.

Maybe he would tell her though. It might give her some hope.

"Evening, Granger," He said, a bit of his smirk on his pale face.

She snarled at him. She still hadn't lost her fire. "Don't play games with me, Malfoy."

"I'm not playing games, love. I only came to talk." With a wave of his wand, a plush chair sat in the middle of the dungeon. She glared at him as he sat down, seemingly unaware of her hatred.

"I don't talk to traitors and murderers." Even growling her voice was majestic. Even hating him, he found the flames in her dull brown eyes beautiful.

"Touché, Granger. You killed just like I did."

"But you killed Ron!"

"And Weasel was supposed to be special?" He scoffed, then seemed to wave the question away. "I merely injured the red-haired bastard. If he couldn't get his wounds healed in time, then his death was the fault of his own incompetence."

"Ron was on your side, you double-crossing snake!"

He smiled wickedly. "Well, I am a Slytherin."

"You were playing us… You were playing us the whole bloody time!"

"Possibly and then again, you'll never know, will you?"

Tears swirled in her angry eyes, sparkling them. Even covered in the filth of the earth, she was stunning. He couldn't help but be infatuated with her.

It was a weakness, he supposed.

Her whole body shook with suppressed rage and her voice was low, cold, calculated. "You murdered Harry. You destroyed our only chance of winning this war."

"Correction, Potter killed himself. I merely gave him his parting words."

"What?"

"He was too much a coward to turn his wand on himself."

"Harry would never have wanted to kill himself!"

"Are you not listening, Granger? That's why I did it for him."

They stared at each other for a long time, muddled color against dirty ice. He looked and saw the lights in her eyes, saw her doubting the things she had once knew.

"Why would Harry want you to kill him?"

"Because Potter found the last horcrux."

Her eyes grew wide and her face grew pale under the filth. Her tired muscles became rigid but she still leaned forward, shaking her head and mumbling. "But that's… that's impossible…"

He sneered at her. "I thought you were intelligent, Granger." He rolled his eyes. "In any case, our darling Order has not all died out."

"There's still a chance…?"

"Yes, but don't get your hopes up." He stood and vanished his chair. "In the meantime, you need to remember your place here." He gestured to her blood matted hair. "You won't be so lucky next time."

No, she wouldn't be. Lucius would not likely spare her on his account a second time.

He smiled as he shut the large door behind him, hearing the locks click into place. She was merely a small facet in his carefully manufactured deception.