Disclaimer and initial author's note: All characters you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling and all original characters are mine and I hope that you enjoy them. While this story starts out pretty dark, it doesn't stay this way, I promise. Overall, the theme is courage under fire. Many thanks to Davros Fan, my beta, for his feedback and valuable help with the plot.

Warnings: Multiple character deaths, mentions of abuse (mostly here in the prologue), and AU in the extreme.

Premise: What might happen if Harry Potter didn't defeat Voldemort?

THE TOWER, UNPLOTTABLE

May 1999 to April 2000

Day 1

"Leave her alone!" Harry strained against the chains keeping him from reaching Hermione with all of his strength, bruising his wrists and his ankles in the process.

Hermione cried out again, louder this time.

Harry spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva and attempted to lunge at the eldest Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy flicked his free wrist at the others in the crowded cell, never taking his eyes off of The Mudblood, who was now gasping for breath on the floor. "Someone shut him up." He resumed his curse with a bored "Crucio."

"Silencio!" Bellatrix gripped The-Boy-Who-Lost's chin in her spidery-thin fingers and forced him to watch, her fingers digging in harder each time Harry tried to jerk his head away.

The next few hours were the worst in Harry Potter's life.

When the Death Eaters finally left the dark cell, Harry knelt as close to Hermione as he could. She had passed out from the pain. There was not enough slack in his chains for him to be able to get very close. He barely noticed that he was crying. "I'm sorry," he gasped through thick tears, his voice hoarse from screaming, "Hermione, I'm so sorry!" Guilt was a leaden anvil in his stomach. Sickening sweat broke out on his brow again and he knew he was going to be sick.

He shuffled back, his stomach rolling. He struggled to the furthest corner possible before he threw up, sobbing now. Guilt, fear, anger, hate, grief; everything tore at him, tore at his stomach, and he heaved for a long time after there was nothing left.

Harry shuffled back to the wall and leaned against it, his head swimming and pounding.

It's all my fault. My fault, my fault, my fault. The words were relentless and the truth of them stole his strength.

He slumped to his side, laying down, and prayed for a few hours of oblivion.

Day 4

Hermione trembled on the cold ground. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, and heavy with exhaustion, but she watched Harry sleep, biting her lip. Her thoughts were scattered; she could barely keep her thoughts focused over the pain and the worry.

She had－she had to keep it together.

Someone would rescue them and then life would go back to how it was supposed to be; good would triumph once again. That was the natural order of the world. Sure, evil had its day, but in the end, light and good always won.

She had to hold on.

Day 250

Harry was so quiet. He hadn't looked at his food or at Hermione in so long.

Hermione strained against her chains and tried to get him to meet her eyes. "Harry," she croaked, her voice unrecognisable. He didn't look up at her. "Harry," she tried again, forcing the words past the soreness of her throat, "please, please, look at me."

No matter what Hermione said, she couldn't draw him out.

"Please, Harry," she cried.

Harry rested his head back against the cold stone wall, staring up blankly. There was very little light in their cell and he couldn't make out the ceiling. He pretended that he was looking up at the night sky.

Hermione's voice floated towards him and then faded away. He could hear the words, but he couldn't feel them.

He didn't feel anything.

"Harry, you have to eat, please."

It was funny. Harry wasn't even hungry. He hadn't felt that all-consuming, gnawing emptiness in a long time. After awhile, he closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep. But, before he drifted off, a spark of emotion awakened when he realized that Hermione was crying quietly, trying not to make any noise. Harry lifted his head, surprised by how heavy it felt. "Hermione?" he rasped, his voice almost completely gone.

Hermione wiped her eyes and scrambled to her knees, straining against her chains. "Harry!" Harry blinked slowly at her, wishing that he could see her face. He was in a blur of grey, here in this hole, without his glasses. "Harry!" She started sobbing in earnest, her shoulders shaking, and Harry shuffled forward as far as he could, alarmed.

"What's wrong?" Merlin, I'm an idiot. What isn't wrong, Harry chastised himself.

It took Hermione a minute to get herself under control and Harry felt more and more weary each second. It was as if he was being swallowed up in cotton. He fought hard against the numbness and reached out towards her, bumping into a tray of broth. The rattle of bowl against metal tray startled him. "What...?" He wanted to ask: What is it? What's wrong? What can I do? Dear God, how can we still be down here?

Hermione shook her head and hugged her stomach. Her broken whisper pierced him. "Don't leave me."

Harry was trembling and he had to lay down; the cotton-y feeling was winning. "Right...here," he whispered against the stone floor. The cold felt nice for once. It didn't bite like it usually did. He closed his eyes.

"Harry, please! Eat something! Drink a bit of water. Anything!"

Hermione's cries fell on deaf ears. The exhaustion was just too heavy and Harry fell into a deep sleep.

The cell's iron door opened with a reverberating bang, causing Hermione to start in alarm. She shrunk back against the wall.

The Lestranges strolled in, Rodolphus strutting to the middle of the dark room. His hate-filled eyes burned into hers for a moment before he looked down at Harry. With a malicious grin, he kicked Harry－and kept kicking until he realized that Harry was no more than a rag doll.

Harry's head lolled sickeningly to the side after the attack and then there was no more movement.

"What have you done?" Bellatrix hissed, pulling her husband back towards the door.

Hermione wailed and pulled against her restraints to try to reach Harry, but no matter how hard she willed the chains to stretch, her magical stores were completely depleted.

Seeing Harry lying there, empty...Hermione dropped to her knees.

It was hard enough losing Ron during the last battle. She was used to that ache by now and thought she knew what grief felt like. Anxiety, too. She had no way of knowing if anyone she cared about had been killed or even suffered a similar fate in a nearby cell. The not knowing had driven her to the edge of her sanity these past several months.

Rising fear was choking her.

Alone. Alone now.

She barely heard the Lestranges' panicked voices arguing what to do with him. She never noticed when Bellatrix and her husband departed, having decided to just leave the body and pretend that he had died of 'natural causes'. Hermione sobbed even as she acknowledged that at least he was now free. He was with Ron and his parents and Sirius. She hoped he was finding peace and was happy. But, now she was truly on her own. And she was afraid.

She cried until dehydration stole her tears. Her eyes, swollen and dry and itchy, closed as she laid down as close to Harry's body as she could.

Day 251 to 330

Hermione didn't speak. She often felt that she might be going crazy. But, did crazy people wonder if they were crazy or were they just crazy? It was hard to know for sure.

Day 331

A Death Eater charged with the new task of taking Hermione her food once a day was shocked at the state he found her in.

When he decided to Apparate with her to safety, to what appeared to be an abandoned countryside, what Hermione thought of as her next lifetime began.