A/N: For my sweet reader on her birthday! Thank you for reading all my rotten, awful, no good words and encouraging me constantly with your reviews!

For Cara0511. Happiest of Birthdays to you!

Alpha love to PartyLines and MHCalamas and Beta credit, shouts, hugs and love to TheMourningMadam who saved this from being written half in the wrong tense and in some cases the wrong POV lol I really sent her a flaming pile of trash and it wouldn't exist if it weren't for her!

Inspired by the poem 'Persephone to Hades" by Nikita Gill.

"You are the kindest thing
that has ever happened to me
even if that is not how our tale is told.

When everyone else told me I was
destined to be a forgotten nymph
that nurtured flowers and turn meadows into gold,

you saw that the ichor that resides in me
demanded it's own throne.
You showed me

how a love like orus can turn
even the darkest, coldest realm
into the happiest of homes."

Persephone to Hades by Nikita Gill

HERMIONE

There's a feeling deep in her that didn't exist before; it's not just awoken from a dormant sleep—it simply never was. It's a feeling that's desperate, tearing at her insides and hungry for more until it consumes her.

It's an ebony ichor that spreads through her bones, and where she may have once shied away from it–she now embraces it.

She embraces it, because he cherishes it. He has taught her that she wasn't made for fields of golden light – the darkness in her demands a throne. A throne only he can provide.

Hermione choked on the damp air, the darkness her constant companion in this rotting stone cage.

Once, when she was a child, with her bushy head peering over the quilt-covered bed at her wheezing grandmother, she'd heard the adults muttering about The Death Rattle. That phrase echoed in her mind now as she struggled to draw in a breath.

The dank, stale air settled into her lungs as she sat rotting in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. She's finally ready—ready to pass to the other side. If she could only have her wand for a brief moment, she'd seal her fate for herself.

There were a million happy memories she could've focused on to pass the time: memories of Hogsmeade and ice skating with her parents at Christmas, her first kiss or the the way she'd felt when she received the results of her O.W.L.s.

Only one moment of time dragged through her mind repeatedly, flashing violently behind her lids as she clenched her eyes in an attempt to rid it from her mind.

There was a very real part of her that knew, from the moment she stepped over the threshold, that she'd die here in Malfoy Manor. The three of them had never gotten into a situation they couldn't work their way out of. But this? Surrounded, unarmed and outnumbered? She had known this was the very end.

Knowing it was the end and watching Harry seal that fate were two distinctly different things. Something in her cracked as she watched Harry give the nod, making the split-second decision to leave her in Bellatrix's claws. She splintered further, an irreparable fissure settling deep in her chest, when Dobby disapparated, her friends disappearing before her very eyes, taking any remaining hope along with them.

Bellatrix had dropped her from her clutches, her manic cackles echoing along the vaulted ceiling.

Time became meaningless, but she was sure it had been weeks since she'd seen sunlight. Dirty water appeared magically, but it was sporadic and no proper way of managing time. At times the water was accompanied by a hunk of stale bread, the only thing giving her any nourishment in the days that followed her capture.

Time passed slowly as Harry's stiff nod to Dobby and Ron replayed over and over. In a mere blink of an eye, they had decided that their lives were more important than hers. It crippled her – consumed her while vengeful magic sparked in the cold air around her.

The thoughts gnawed at her, filling her with rage. Her bitter screams echoed through the stone dungeon, rattling around her and vibrating through her entire being.

When he came to her, she no longer felt like Hermione Granger. Something was twisted inside her and when her cold glare fell on Draco, something sparked in the air between them. His eyes were darker than she remembered, like a thundercloud still holding its lightening hostage.

His face tilted lazily to the side as he squatted over the piss-covered floor. "Where are Potter and Weasley?"

She gave an indignant snort and rested her head back on the stone. The chain around her neck shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her skin raw. "In case you didn't realize, Malfoy, I've been a bit preoccupied. Your guess is as good as mine."

His eyes flashed, tightening ever so slightly. "Do you have an idea where they may have gone?"

"Nope." Her lips popped on the last syllable. She tried to maintain eye contact as his scrutinous glare studied her dirt-caked face. When he brought his finger up to push a matted curl off her face, she flinched away, flashing a brief moment of weakness.

Draco yanked his hand back and drew his wand, swirling it briefly in the air and conjuring a small bowl and cup. The smell of thick stew made Hermione's mouth water and she gulped in anticipation.

"Try to think of where they may have gone." His chin lifted slightly, a hard edge to his jaw. His fingers found the tip of her chin and lifted her gaze to his, his eyes boring into hers. "I'll be back next week."

He left the food, and as her shaking fingers reached out for it, a sickening fear coursed through her. The irrational part of her screamed that it wasn't real, even as she took a bite. Relieved to feel it slide down her throat, she devoured the stew until she felt ill.

A week.

It must have been a month since she'd seen him last. Every muscle in her body was weak and the amount of time she spent conscious versus unconscious was remarkably weighted in the former. Her cough had gotten worse— unyielding though she never expelled anything from her lungs. She'd also contracted a fever, her eyes bloodshot and her body shaking as a cold sweat covered her skin.

When he returned next, she was curled in on herself, clutching her knees to her chest and hacking until blood dripped from her lips.

He knelt next to her, placing a cool palm to her forehead. Hermione leaned into his touch as he breathed a disappointed sigh. After he left, the darkness took her once more and her mind recreated the resigned twist of Ron's mouth as he agreed to leave her behind.

Hermione woke to hands working on the thick collar around her neck. When the weight was finally lifted, she gasped, her hands coming up to hover over the wounded skin.

Strong arms slid under her broken form and the chills rocking through her body were enough to make her lean into the stranger, seeking the warmth that radiated from his chest.

Murmured voices surrounded her during the long walk. She attempted to pry her eyes open—to make sense of the whirling environment—but they flickered closed with fatigue.

She was prepared to be dragged into a room full of Death Eaters, her voice silenced forever as a jet of vibrant green light ended her life. Instead, she was surprised when she felt the comfort of a soft mattress below her body, a feathered pillow cradling her wounded throat.

"Drink this." Without opening her eyes, she recognised his voice and felt the cool taste of peppermint glide over her tongue.

Pepperup Potion coursed through her and her eyes flickered open, landing on the worried brow of Draco Malfoy.

"Water," she begged, her vocal chords rubbing painfully against each other. She pushed up unto her elbows as water trickled down her throat.

"Not too much," he chastised, pulling the glass from her lips as she sputtered and water spilled from the corners of her mouth. "You'll get sick."

Hermione fell against the mattress, chest heaving as she stared up at him. A wolf in sheep's clothing, she thought to herself. "What're you doing?" she panted, the water still soothing her swollen throat.

"I'm going to get you cleaned up and hopefully break your fever." He pushed another vial to her cracked lips, this one tasted like black licorice and she winced as she swallowed.

Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and a broken, painful sob tore it's way from her chest. "Why won't you just let me die?"

"It was a very plausible course of action." He smirked mirthlessly down at her. "I convinced the Dark Lord you were far more valuable alive then dead. So, he gave you to me."

Her eyes shot open, wide and furious. "Gave me to you? I'm not property," she hissed.

"Well, you were almost a corpse. So property seems like a step up, to me." Draco retrieved his wand and pointed it at her chest. A flutter of panic seized her before she heard him mutter Diffindo. She felt her crusted, dirty clothes fall apart and her arms came up to stop them as his spell exposed her. "Oh, stop your flustering, Granger. You're disgusting and you're not going to be wearing these nasty things ever again."

A hot blush joined her dwindling fever as he pushed the torn fabric from her body and lifted her into his arms again. She wrapped her arms across her exposed breasts as he walked them into a spacious bathroom where a large clawfoot tub sat in the center of the space, filled with steaming water. With a gentler countenance than she had imagined Draco Malfoy could be capable of, he placed her feet in the water and helped her to sit. She winced as the hot suds enveloped her.

"Sit back," he commanded, shrugging his black suit jacket from his shoulders. His long fingers slid silver cufflinks from his wrists and he stared at her with dark, hooded eyes as he rolled his sleeves up his forearms. She couldn't understand his lack of cruelty, the near-kindness he displayed.

The energy and will to fight had left her and the simple bath felt… Hell, it felt better than anything she'd ever experienced. That is, until she leaned back to rest against the side of the tub. The water licked at the raw flesh where her collar had adorned her neck and she hissed, rising up again.

He hummed his displeasure and drew his wand, summoning another vial from the adjacent room. "Dittany," he mumbled, dripping the potion along her wound.

She gasped as relief trickled over her skin, unaware of how much harm the collar had caused until it was healed. She eased back against the porcelain, sinking until the water lapped at her collarbone and she felt tears stain her cheeks again. She couldn't bare to open her eyes to look at him, but she could hear him as he perched on the side of the tub, and poured soap into his palm.

Her voice cracked with the attempt to hide her tears. "I can wash myself."

"You could," he shrugged and his long fingers pushed into her dirty, matted curls. His nails scratched at her scalp and pulled lightly on the tendrils as a floral, musky scent washed over her.

The shameful tears were unceasing as the pads of his thumbs pushed long lines of pressure behind her ears and the nape of her neck. A soft moan slipped past her lips as he poured cup after cup of hot water across her hair line, and her long curls went slack along her bony back.

"You're too skinny," he chastised as his bare hands slid over her skin, the dirt disappearing under his soapy touch. His palms glided over her breasts and she stiffened, waiting for him to abuse her – but he was clinical as he cleaned her. Gently, he massaged and cleared away the last month from her body.

"It's not intentional," she said, her lip curling.

His eyes flashed dangerously to hers. "You're to get some sleep," he instructed, his tone clipped. "And I'd think about the whereabouts of your friends, if I were you."

He pulled the stopper from the bottom of the water and stood, grabbing his jacket and pausing at the door. "I'll have clothes delivered later. There's a robe in the closet."

The door swung closed and she watched as the dirty water drained from the massive tub, a grimy ring left around the previous waterline. She shivered in the wake of the warm water, hugging her legs to her chest and thinking about how in the hell she'd wound up naked in the bath at Malfoy Manor.

A chill crept over her skin as she realised how desperately she missed his touch. Had her throat not been so damaged, she might have yelled after him, begged him to stay and just rest next to her awhile.

She exited the tub and felt the impossibly soft plush of the monogrammed robe wrap over her shoulders. There could be worse things than being taken care of by Draco Malfoy.