*DISCLAIMER* Naturally, if I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't have the time to write fan fiction for it! The HP universe belongs to J.K. Rowling, I am just a fan (or am I? No really. I am.)

Chapter One

Prisoner

Hermione Granger wished, more than anything, for death.

She must be close to it. Today, according to the rough calendar she kept with nail scratches in the dungeon wall, marked the seventh in Lestrange's unforgiving onslaught. The seventh since the others had escaped…

She tried to push them from her mind- Harry, Ron, Luna, Ollivander, Dobby and Griphook. At least her dying wouldn't be for nothing. At least they had made it out alive.

When that chandelier had come crashing down, Bellatrix had propelled herself backward to avoid it, thus pushing Hermione forward into Ron's arms. She thought that had been it. She had felt safe again, finally.

But the respite was a brief one. Just as Dobby prepared to apparate, just as Bellatrix made one last desperate attempt to regain control by throwing her dagger, Lucius had grabbed Hermione's hand and yanked her- so hard that the surprised Ron could not keep his hold.

Then they were gone.

The next few seconds seemed to drag on for ages. She thought she may have screamed, but all she could hear was the blood rushing into her ears as she realized what had happened.

Bellatrix's cackle followed her into the dungeons.

For the next two days, she had known, just felt, that they would come back for her. Their capture turned rescue mission had gone awry, that's all. They'd regroup and return for her. She barely shed a tear, unlike the first time, as Lestrange cast every manner of spell and curse meant to bully her victim into talking. She was thrown back into the dungeon each time, bleeding and nearly unconscious, given a hunk of bread and glass of water, and told it would happen again the next day.

The second night, the nightmares began. She dreamt of the war, of Hogwarts burning, of her friends dying terrible, slow deaths. Bellatrix was always in them. She woke up several times each night, covered in cold sweat with tears running down her face.

Her resolve began to crack on the fourth day. She had barely been able to stand up by herself, but Bellatrix showed her no mercy. She allowed herself to cry out in agony when the Cruciatus Curse fell on her. Bellatrix smiled wickedly, taking the screams as Hermione breaking. She'd been right to think so. Hermione was broken, physically, but she still refused to give up any information about the Order.

"Where are the safe houses?!" Bellatrix would scream at her. Every day it was the same questions. Where are they hiding? How did you get into my vault? What else did you take? But Hermione remained silent, only letting the screams that seemed more and more involuntary escape her lips.

She looked at the word "Mudblood" which was still carved into the skin of her inner left arm. In the dim lighting of the dungeons, the word looked black against the graying pallor of her skin. The pain had been excruciating, not like any cut she had ever experienced before. Each stroke had sliced into her arm like salt poured into an open wound that burned all the way to her shoulder. This cursed cut had become a favorite of Bellatrix. First it had been "Mudblood", then slices along her cheekbones, then her neck. She had cuts all over her chest and arms, and today, the seventh, they had moved to her abdomen. "Dirty" was now scrawled across it.

Not only did these cuts burn and bleed, but they kept burning and bleeding for hours afterward. Even "Mudblood" still oozed. She had a suspicion that they would become infected without proper care, but had no idea how these magical wounds worked. Her clothes, the sweater and pants she'd been wearing when they'd been captured, were now stiff with dried blood and smelled as bad as Wormtail. Her hair was matted with the dark brown liquid, now crusting off in flakes every time she moved her head. At first, she'd used some of her meager daily water supply to wash herself, but had soon given up on it. There was a hole in the corner of the cell meant as a lavatory, but she was so dehydrated and starved she didn't really need it.

She swallowed painfully and tried to distract herself from the pain of today's incisions. Cutting and the Cruciatus were not the only methods Bellatrix employed. Not by far. She was adept at both physical and mental abuse. Hermione had blocked off any pertinent Order information behind impenetrable walls in her mind, but that didn't stop Bellatrix from attacking. She'd find a memory, a cherished one, and warp and corrupt it until it was unrecognizable. She had already erased much of her childhood. Hermione dreaded the day when she finally decided to focus on Hogwarts, or Harry or Ron.

Today, the evil woman had nearly succeeded in erasing her mother completely from her mind. It had been one of the last memories of her, from Christmas the previous year. Hermione put up every mental defense she could muster to keep it from happening. She succeeded only because Narcissa interrupted their session today with an urgent message. Hermione wasn't around to hear it, since Wormtail had thrown her back down here. Bellatrix smiled her cruel smile at her before she left, "I look forward to seeing what your filthy, muggle mother gave you dear girl," she'd said.

Hermione clung to the memory, and tried to focus what little energy she had left on hiding it away. But yesterday, the sixth day, had been the day she'd given up. She'd stopped eating and drinking the bread and water, and had succumbed to the dizzying pain of her wounds. What energy she had left was barely enough to close her eyes.

She didn't know how long she'd been down in the dungeon when the door opened again. Was it a new day already? She opened her eyes just enough to see a shadow descending the stairs and approaching the gate. This figure wasn't Wormtail, though. That traitor was short and fat, whereas this person's dark figure was long and lean. The gate opened and Hermione tried to sit up, failing miserably. The pain in her arms prevented her from moving them much. She let out a grunt as she fell backward again, taking shallow breaths to calm herself.

"If I am to go back up there, you'll have to carry me." She rasped, her lips dry and cracked from dehydration and her throat scorched from screaming.

The figure paused but said nothing in response, then began stalking towards her again. The light from the barred window at the top of her cell illuminated a white hand as it drew a wand from the inside of a black coat.

"Are you here to kill me?" She couldn't keep the hope from penetrating her voice. Still no response. Finally, the figure was upon her and the light reached his pale, angular face.

"Malfoy? Wha-"

"That's enough, Granger. Lumos."

She squinted against the sudden glare, momentarily blinded after spending so much time in darkness. When her eyes adjusted, Draco Malfoy was kneeling beside her, wand stretched out. His white-blond brows were furrowed in concentration, silvery eyes taking in the state of her body. He began murmuring words that were incomprehensible. Wafts of light blue light began pulsing from the tip of his wand, collecting over the cuts and bruises on her right arm. They began to bubble and sting, causing a hiss to escape Hermione's teeth. She began struggling to move away.

"This will be much easier if you don't move or talk," Malfoy whispered, almost soothingly. In her current mental state, Hermione could not process what his tone meant.

He moved up her arm and across her chest and neck. The stinging sensation moved along with it. Hermione tried to breathe deeply, but there were bruises on her ribs- she suspected that more than one was broken- that kept her from doing so. What was this new torture?

Malfoy continued his spell, covering her left arm and then slowly lifting her shirt to expose her abdomen. She moved to stop him, and was surprised when pain didn't engulf her right arm as she did so. Surprised, she stopped her struggle and flexed her right hand experimentally, staring at it. Where had the cuts gone?

She looked down her body as Malfoy finished with her stomach, amazed as the bubbling gave way to smoothing as the cuts disappeared.

Malfoy was healing her?

He had been there, every day since the first, standing in the corner and watching as his aunt abused her. He never spoke and never joined in- he just watched. She assumed it gave him some twisted form of enjoyment, seeing his childhood nemesis break.

Then why was he healing her?

Bile rose in her throat as she realized: he was healing her so that they could bring her back to the edge of death again, continually trying to wear her down. They would never kill her, not until she gave them what they wanted. There was no other explanation.

"Why can't you just kill me?" her voice was slightly stronger now, but it hurt to push the words past her sore throat.

"I said to shut your mouth, Granger. I suggest you do as I say." He drew her shirt further up with the tip of his wand and began working on her ribs. She inhaled sharply as cold air hit the exposed skin. If he tried to bring her shirt up any higher-

But he didn't. He moved it back down, careful not to actually touch her bare flesh with his hands.

The pain in her ribs began to subside as the healing magic reached her face. She took a deep breath and nearly cried when pain didn't shoot through her ribcage. Hermione's eyes went to Malfoy's as his followed the lines of her cuts and found every bruise. Tears finally escaped and trailed down her cheek as the sensitive skin began to heal. When he was done, he met her eyes briefly. She could not read what was in them. Anger? Sympathy, maybe? He looked away too quickly for her to tell.

Malfoy rose and walked back to the gate, picking something up before returning to her side. In his hands he held a jug of water and a bed roll.

"Sit up and drink this," he said, holding out the jug. It was much easier to sit up now, she realized as she tried. Her muscles were still incredibly weak, but at least they did not hurt. She made no move to take the water from him.

"For Merlin's sake, Granger, drink the damn water," he shoved it in her direction again.

"No, I don't want to be healed just to be hurt again. Why couldn't you have just let me die?"

Malfoy growled in frustration, setting the jug next to her and unrolling the makeshift mattress. Once he'd done so, he walked away again, locking the gate behind him as he left. Before going up the stairs, he looked back to find her staring after him.

"You're no use to us dead," he said quietly.

Then he was gone.