When Hermione came across the Malfoy kitchen the next day she was horrified to discover the remains of 4 house elves, each with its own filthy rag still draped over its bones. She had to sit down for a minute, the smell overwhelming her and tears springing from her eyes.

If Dobby hadn't been freed, this would have been his fate. He had still died, but he had died a happy, heroic and free elf, and she was so glad. She could just imagine these little elves dashing about in the kitchen making the food for the Malfoys' lavish parties, terrified that Lucius would come and strike them for being too slow.

Sometimes she'd sit and wonder what the point in life was. Why did it matter if they existed? They lived a few decades and then died. What was the point? These little elves' lives had been bleak, short and painful. Why did they have to exist if all they would do was suffer? Surely it would have been better for them not to be there at all?

Hermione was confusing herself. Wiping her nose, she pushed herself up, her hands covered in dirt from the floor. She wiped them with a spell, and refusing to work in a room in such a state, she began to mutter some simple cleaning spells. When not all of them worked, she tried some stronger ones. The dust disappeared off all the shelves. The leaves in the fireplace vanished. The remains of the elves were levitated to one corner for now, a blanket covering them. The place already looked more friendly, and she sat at the kitchen table while she performed her searching spells.

There were a number of items in the room, all of which she scribbled down, but she nearly gave herself a heart attack when a red light flashed at the end of the dining table; Draco had been sat there the entire time, hidden in the shadows of the unlit room.

"God, stop creeping around!" she gasped, her heart leaping into her mouth.

"It's my house," he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "I can do as I please."

Hermione knew he had a point with this. "Well, please stop it. I'm just trying to finish this and then I'll be gone."

Draco sighed, and dropped his head onto the table with a heavy thud. His shoulders sagged miserably. Hermione was confused. What was the matter with him? She had just begun to reach out her hand towards him when he spoke, and she snatched it back.

"Why don't you just stay away like I asked, Granger?" came his muffled voice. "It would make things so much easier. I've been here 5 years."

"On - on your own?" she whispered, surprised he seemed to be opening up to her.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I haven't seen anybody in that time."

Hermione felt a surge of pity. Had none of his friends wanted to see him? "Didn't - didn't anyone come and see you?"

He raised his head with another bitter laugh. His bright hair was gel-free and hung in his eyes. "Why would anyone come and see me? Nobody wants me to blacken their name. Anyway, nobody could -"

He cut himself off quickly, realising Hermione was listening to his monologue.

"Nobody could what?" she pressed quietly, not wanting to anger him.

Within a second, he closed up again. "None of your business."

She stood up with a sigh, needing to get back to work. She wasn't sure which room to search next. Physically, the next room was the room in which she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. But she wasn't so sure she was ready to go in there yet.

"Cleaned my kitchen, Granger? Nice. Fancy doing the rest of the house?" he smirked sarcastically, already back to his usual self.

"No," she replied. "I'd be here for months."

She'd already walked out of the door when he replied in a murmur.

"Maybe I could do with the company."

Standing outside the closed door to the drawing room, Hermione was trying to summon the courage to open it. She knew she'd have to open it eventually, and waiting a week or so wasn't going to make her ready. Maybe she should just get it out of the way early.

Her hand was outstretched, hovering over the handle like it held a repelling charm. She just couldn't move it.

Mid-way through her internal battle, she heard him come up behind her. He was stood right behind her, probably waiting for her to either move or go in. But he didn't make a sound, and he didn't move a muscle. No snide remarks. She didn't think even he would go so far as to taunt her about that. He hadn't given them away that night, anyway.

It became clear to Hermione that her body didn't want her to open that door. Maybe it remembered everything that had happened here and refused to open the door. Either way, her hand didn't touch that handle.

And then slowly, a pale hand stretched around her body and grasped the handle, twisting it open for her. She muttered a grateful thanks, embarrassed that she was unable to open a door.

It looked much the same as it had when she was last here, except the chandelier was back in the ceiling and none of her blood stained the carpets. Immediately, the scar under her white blouse began to tingle, as if it knew it had been conceived here.

Draco had stepped beside her, looking around the room too as if he hadn't been in it either.

"I haven't been in here since... You know," he admitted quietly. "I didn't want to."

Hermione shivered, trying to shake off the bad feeling the room gave her. "I don't really want to either to be honest."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, and her head whipped around in surprise. He looked away from her awkwardly. "If I could do that spell thing for you, I would."

Hermione was taken aback by his confession. She had to choose her reply carefully; just because he'd said something nice didn't mean he wanted to be having any fluffy heart-to-hearts any time soon.

"Why don't you try it?" she asked.

He had that look on his face again, like he was holding something back. She knew she had to find out what it was before this case was over.

"I can't," he said monotonously. "I don't have a wand. And I can't use anyone else's."

"Oh," was all she said, sure he was lying to her. Well she wasn't going to push it any further, not in here. She close her eyes and began the spell.

It was like being in Grimmauld Place before they cleaned it out; biting objects, burning objects, things that looked completely normal but weren't. There was a fair amount in here, and she knew there would be a lot down in the cellar adjoining this room where Harry and the others had been kept.

The final item in the room was inside a drawer. Hermione could see the flashing but not the object. She very carefully opened it, not wanting to lose an arm like Ernie. Draco's presence hovered behind her.

A short silver knife, identical to the one that Bellatrix had used on her and that had killed Dobby. It wasn't the same one, but she knew they were a pair. She nearly dropped it when she went to pick it up, and she slowly rolled up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal her scar.

In a daydream, trying to forget her nightmares, Hermione moved the knife towards her arm. The flat edge of the blade touched her arm, and she where the scar touched it she felt a burning sensation, as if it were trying to fuse itself to her arm. She gasped in pain, and immediately Draco's pale hand reached around her again and snatched the knife from her.

She watched in horror as he grabbed the blade with his hand and threw it to the ground with such force that it combusted. It wasn't right.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" he snapped.

"Your - your hand..." Hermione stammered, staring at him lost for words. His hand was perfectly fine. No cuts, no blood. He should have been cut right through to the bone with the force that he'd grabbed it.

"Look what you've done to your arm," he said angrily, ignoring her words and grabbing her arm, thrusting it into her face.

Where the blade had touched her scar, the letters had turned a bright, painful red, as if they were about to bleed again. She winced in pain as he dropped her arm. She didn't even know why she had done it; it was like the knife had influenced her mind. She was lucky it hadn't told her to use the sharp edge.

"I don't know what happened," she muttered, confused. "I just felt the need... I don't remember what I was doing..."

"That's because it's cursed, Granger," said Draco, as if she were stupid. He stopped ranting and glared at her, still angry.

"Merlin, how could you have done something so ridiculous?" he growled angrily. "Mudbloods..." he added, muttering.

"Yes, that's what it says, Malfoy," Hermione spat quietly, although she knew perfectly well he hadn't been referencing her arm. He froze, realising what he had said.

Hermione didn't even wait for him to respond before storming past him and straight down into the cellar. On a second thought, she wished she hadn't. It was pitch black, and her heart skipped several beats as she muttered a Lumos.

Brown blood stains covered the floor, chains and shackles hung from the walls. Hermione was very nearly sick as she remembered that Luna, Dean and Ollivander had spent god knows how long down here.

Realising that she wouldn't be able to keep her wand alight while she performed her spells, Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to be alone down here. It was cold, dark and damp, and reminded her of war and torture and fear.

Accepting the inevitable, Hermione pushed herself into the cleanest corner she could find, her back against the wall, and turned out the light. She listened intently for a few seconds, trying to hear for anything that might be coming to get her, but there was nothing. She began her spells.

The cellar was simply huge, and much, much bigger than Hermione had expected. It was all she could do to keep up with the number of red flashes and scribble them down. This was clearly where the Malfoys chose to hide most of their Dark artifacts, knowing the Ministry didn't previously know about the cellar.

Four hours passed before the spell had finished, as the space was so big. Hermione had been on edge the entire time, jumpy as ever and in tears at points. She hated such fear, but experience had worn down her mind.

"Granger?"

A voice called from far away, but she didn't jump this time as it wasn't right behind her.

"You've been gone four hours now. There's a lot of dangerous stuff down there, you know..."

Hermione knew this was his own twisted way of asking her if she was ok.

"I'm fine," she said, the echo of her voice louder than she had expected.

"Put a light on, would you?" Draco's voice said, closer this time.

Hermione whispered a Lumos and her wandlight fell across his legs, stood some way away. She moved it up to his face. He looked something close to concerned as she cowered in the corner.

Standing up quickly, Hermione gave a great shudder as water dripped from the damp ceiling above her onto her shoulder. This place was horrific, and she didn't want to come back down here. The whole day had been awful, and she couldn't wait to get out.

Without a word, she rushed past Draco and through the drawing room out into the entrance hall. She couldn't get away fast enough. The warm light of the setting sun bathed her frozen skin, and she ignored the voice behind her calling her name. As soon as she got past the gates she could Disapparate and go home.

She could barely breathe as she stumbled through them, and somehow managed to get herself home. Collapsing onto the sofa, Hermione curled up under the throw blanket and cried until there was nothing left.

Sorry it's been a while.. the asshole that used to be my boyfriend decided to break my heart. His loss, I guess.