A/N: I own nothing, this is an authorised translation from : .de/s/5125578c0002e0cd06701389/1/Was-im-Verborgenen-liegt . English isn't my first language so there might be some grammar mistakes. A friend of mine reads every chapter before I upload it, but if there are still mistakes, then tell me if they are major ones. If not then you don't have to, nobody is perfect. But now enough of that, here comes the first chapter.

Every little decision we make is influencing our life. Not just our life but also the life of our fellow human beings. Sometimes less, sometimes even more.
Depending on how we decide it can bring a beautiful life to us, but grief and suffering to others.
But if we decide to take on grief and suffering by ourselves to spare the ones we love, we can quietly go bydie. Unseen.
But now and then the fate directs our decisions and doings, or the ones of the others, so that sometimes one nevertheless gets what he wishes…

Captured

It was a cold, dark dungeon, where she was being held. A dungeon, which was 100 times worse than Snape's in Hogwarts. It was cold, damp and musty, although there was a little window with thick bars high up the wall, which just let enough light through so she could make out schemes if the sky wasn't covered with heavy clouds, like now.
But it hadn't been seen for months, as there was the cold and damp fog caused by Dementors, who seemed to mull over something, leaving England in a heavy cold. Hopelessness. A feeling, which was tormenting Hermione past the last few days, even without these dark creatures.
Her head felt so heavy. Saying she only had headaches would be like laughing at the truth. No, she would be grateful for something ordinary like headaches. Instead her entire body was aching.
It wasn't just the cold, musty air filling out the dungeon but also the scent of blood, cold sweat and sickness. The scents were coming from her. Blood shone on her body which came from many wounds already beginning to become inflamed.
She thought her whole body was one big bruise. Every inch of it was hurting, while she felt a burning, tearing and stabbing pain everywhere. The Cruciatus, with which she was tortured only hours ago, was to blame for her suffering.
Only when she couldn't even scream any longer, because her throat was hurting so much, Bellatrix stopped and she was thrown back into this hole, after she was being promised they would continue on the morrow to get her talking. Only, she wouldn't. She wouldn't betray her friends. She'd rather be dead. But they wouldn't kill her either.
Half unconscious, she overheard one Death Eater reminding this lunatic not to kill her, the mudblood. If she was dead, they wouldn't findcouldn't tempt Potter with her.
"Harry...", she whispered at the memory of him tear-stained and scratchy, before collapsing onto the damp stone floor which let the pain in her body getting worse before it slowly vanished again until everything was the same as some seconds ago.
It seemed to be like this for endless hours until somewhere far away she heard a quiet noise. Steps which echoed strangely on the cold stone. Also, it sounded a bit muffled in her ears. More like the noise wasn't in the Now but far away. Like through water. Dull and somehow broken.
"No…", she wailed. Not again. Not now. She couldn't bear it anymore. Had no strength left. Damn, why couldn't these bastards leave her alone for some hours?
Her visitor didn't stay where he was. He stopped because of her wailing but then stepped carefully closer and her body tensed up again. Fear and panic found their way to her mind. Fear of new torture but also the other mistreatments.
But she wasn't dragged out of her cell, as she feared, to punch her or otherwise give her pain. The opposite happened. The figure, which was besides her, laid a dirty but warm blanket over her bruised body and wrapped it carefully around her, trying not to hurt her any more. But even this caution wasn't enough. She was being hurt too badly in the last days with the result that there wasn't any inch left without bruises.

Now she lay in the shadow's arms, of whom she couldn't see anything. It was too dark, for that and her eyes hurt too much and because of the many tears she cwouldn't see anything. The stranger had the hood of the black cape covering half his face, so Hermione couldn't recognize the figure, even without the other things, in the darkness of the cold night in march.
What she felt noticeable, was a comforting warmth coming from the shadow's body. Her half-frozen body welcomed that warmth which also carried a calming scent, waking something deep inside her. A quiet confidence.
The shadow then carefully laid her onto the small bed made of straw, which he hexed magicked dry with some quietly murmured words being nothing more to Hermione than a whisper in the wind. As soon as she lied she forced her eyes to open a little bit more, to see who was with her. Who obviously didn't want to hurt her. But even now she didn't see anything. She didn't recognize anything from the stranger who softly put a hand on her bloody, bruised cheek and carefully stroked it.
The hands of the visitor definitely belonged to a male, although they were soft and fine. Soft, warm and especially gentle to her. It was a nearly tenderly stroking, which calmed her down, although everything around her hadn't a calming effect at all. But this small gesture left that feeling, which ledt her to closing her eyes throbbing with pain, to forget what was around her. What had happened in the last days.
The stranger pulled her closer to him and held a little bottle at her chapped lips, which Hermione only felt in passing, as there was a sound again. It was the shadow, only she heard him from far, far away, like through water, so she couldn't match the voice to anybody. She probably wouldn't even have recognized Harry or Ron, if they were itwith her right now. Her best friends, on whom she put all her hope after all.
"Hermione. Hey? Come on, drink. It will lessen the pain", the stranger whispered and she again looked up to the, for her, unrecognizable face. Who was it? Who was there with her? Who would say her by her name instead of calling her a mudblood? Did she dream? Would this Someone really help her or did they want to make her obedient with this potion? Did the Death Eaters try to make her talk, to betray her friends and plans?
Yes, this was obvious. That the apparently offered help was only a trap. She tried to get out of the strong arms and turned her head away from the bottle. "No…", she wailed quietly, which irritated the visitor. After a short, hesitatee moment he pulled her back close and dribbled the potion into her weak body.
Hermione didn't want to gulp, but the reflex to do so, to calm her dry throat, was bigger. A moment later the liquid, slightly tasting like honey, flowed down her throat. Shortly after that Hermione felt the effect of the potion. And it was totally different than she had expected; i. It eased off. The pain slowly disappeared and became more or less bearable. The shadow didn't lie. He really did want to help and lessen her pain. Instead of the cold, which was creeping though her bones before, there was a relaxing warmth in her body, making Hermione close her tired eyes. But before she fell into a new unconsciousness, she felt warm, soft lips, kissing her on the forehead. They then went to her ear, where she heard the strange voice one last time.
"I will help you. I will get you out of this hell, as soon as there is a chance to", the shadow promised and softly stroked her cold cheek before she was completely gone and fell into a deep, painless sleep, which let her dream. Of days long ago…