Hermione could hear the door to her cell open, and a rather dim light faintly illuminated the doorway. She was used to this, for Wormtail came by at least three times a day to give her that what not even a pig would consider food, making it very obvious that she wasn't any better than a random dog to his Master, yet that Voldemort must have more for her in store. Otherwise he would have let her collapse under the lack of food.

She already must have lost at least some weight since her captivity, taking in consideration how loosely her attires hung about her figure now. She was still wearing the same as when she had been taken by the two Death Eaters at the beginning of July, when she had just Obliviated both her mother, and father. At least they were safe now, although it didn't change the fact she felt unbelievably guilty, and foolish for having been caught that easily, and soon. The task that Dumbledore had left them, to deal with the Horcruxes Voldemort had made, and hid, rested only on the shoulder of Harry, and Ron right now, and she slowly but surely was going more insane every day not knowing anything about what was happening on the far other side of the cell in which she had already been isolated for three months now. Wormtail never said anything. Voldemort himself would share something occasionally, but she never could know if it was a lie or not.

She really tried to limit her get-togethers with him either way – not that she actually had anything to say about it. Her hand intuitively reached for her arm, in which Bellatrix had neatly carved the word 'Mudblood' the very first time Hermione had been taken upstairs. From then, Voldemort himself had taken over. He had forcefully taken that what wasn't his. She shuddered, as she very vividly recalled how she had continued bleeding for days. He hadn't at all been careful in his pursuit to steal her innocence, and as could be anticipated from a beast like him, had done everything possible to make her first sexual experience a true nightmare. Mission succeeded.

Every time she could no longer fight against the exhaustion of keeping herself continually awake, she would see the whole scene again, and not only see the rape happen, but even relive it in her head. The horrible, graphic facts would overwhelm her all over again… She momentarily shuddered again recalling all the times that Voldemort himself had taken abuse of her body, every time she had gotten dragged upstairs by Wormtail. Every time the light of the Death Eater's wand had shone through the cell in search for her, and she already had known what was coming.

She no longer fought after three months. Maybe that was why as of late Voldemort appeared to like throwing powerful Cruciatus Curses at her, enjoying the woman's writhing in pain underneath him, as he mercilessly pounded deep into her sex, not caring about the hurt which he was causing her with his selfish actions.

"You bastard!" a very familiar voice with Scottish cadence shouted, and Hermione could see the figure of the tall Gryffindor Head of House thrown down the stairs to her cell. Wormtail already had shut the door to the rest of the Manor with magic once she had reached the bottom of the stairs, having landed on hard cement, of which the floor consisted. Silence overtook the very little cell, and Hermione tried to find the courage to speak.

"P-Professor?" she questioned, shocked herself at how her voice had sounded. "Are you all right?" It had possibly never sounded so weak, and broken.

Minerva noticed, too. She had thought she was entirely alone in the cell until then. It actually took her a full minute to realize to whom the defeated voice could belong. "Miss Granger?" she eventually released not quite believing it as she even said it. She really cursed her lack of wand now. Like Hermione's, her wand had been taken away immediately after having gotten captured by a pair of Voldemort's dear Death Eaters. She very much would have liked to see…

Hermione nodded, then realized that her former Professor couldn't see her. "Yes," she whispered, and quietly moved from her curled up fetal position onto her knees, beginning to crawl in the direction of where her dear Prodessor must have landed. She lightly winced, feeling her hip pull. After having sat there curled up for months in the very same position, only occasionally moving when Wormtail had been ordered to get her for his Master's contentedness, or to take a bite of food when her tummy felt so constricted she thought she would die from hunger if she didn't actually eat. She only ate when she had no other choice, to keep herself from collapsing.

"Miss Granger?" she spoke, looking around in the dimness that burned her eyes, not able to see. The much younger woman had sounded weak, and anything but the intelligent Gryffindor the she once had taught. She must have been captured for months. She didn't wish to know what she must have had to endure already. "Is there anyone else here but you?" she asked.

"No," Hermione whispered, finally feeling the warmth of the other woman near.

Minerva was surprised to find the younger woman's voice so close. She could feel the cold finger tips of her charge graze her cheek, shakily searching for her. She quietly held the younger witch's hand within her larger one, and pulled the girl in her embrace. Nearly immediate shaking told Minerva she must have begun crying. "Shh…" Minerva soothed carefully, rubbing her painful lower back with one hand, while raking her long feminine fingers through the bushy brown hair, not caring about the fact that it hadn't been washed in months. "I'm here," she whispered, "You're not alone anymore."

Hermione didn't reply. In one way or another the older Gryfindor there close with her made her feel safer. In another, it actually scared her that this unbelievably powerful witch had been captured as well, for it showed just how strong the enemy was…