Draco spent the night staring, still trying to keep his mind blank. He was using a technique that Severus had taught him when he was a young boy; looking back, now he could now see that it was a precursor to his Occlumency lessons with his favourite Professor. The ceiling of his bedroom really was quite beautiful, and perfect for getting lost in. It was painted dark, like the night sky, and speckled with filigree stars that were charmed to twinkle and form the constellations with which his family shared their names. The first one he'd learned when he was a child was his constellation, positioned right above his bed and framed perfectly by the metal canopy around it. Then he learned his aunt's and his grandfather's, cousins he couldn't recall ever meeting. There were a few more, those of distant relatives, and he'd learned them all in time but there were two that always seemed to evade him. He'd point them out and ask who they were for, but they would fall out of formation before his mother could turn to look.
As his mind started to wander, the uncomfortable thoughts began to creep back. His aunt had murdered someone in his home, a child really, someone who he had known. He had seen her learn to ride a broom, he had seen her petrified. She had been the first, though likely not the last, girl to hit him. But he didn't care, there was no reason for him to care. He retrained his eyes on the ceiling, on his constellation, and tried to quell the internal noise again. He'd just gotten refocused when the bedroom door flew open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud crash. His aunt swept into the room.
"Get up! Make yourself useful!" Her voice grated on his overworked nerves, but he didn't take his gaze off of the ceiling. He heard a soft thud. "That little monster needs something a bit more fitting to wear." The door slammed and he finally looked away from the charmed stars. Laying in a heap on his floor was a dirty sheet, cut and tied up like something a house elf might wear only sized, approximately, for a young woman. Draco was certain there was a bloodstain on a corner, and plenty of spider webs. It didn't make any sense though, Granger was still alive? He hadn't misunderstood Bella telling Severus about their captive's fate, she was all too clear. He got off of his bed and picked up the sheet. It was filthy, almost as if his aunt had ordered the elves to run it through mud. She was still alive. It was a shame, he thought, because they would both be better off if she were dead.
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Hermione knew she needed to keep her mind busy. Everything she knew about how her brain worked told her that she needed to distract herself with something that seemed useful. And so, after marking Malfoy's second visit deliberately into the shadow-obscured dungeon wall, she began to categorically recall everything she knew. She picked potions first, figuring that the listing nature of the subject would make an easy starting point. She'd gone over the Forgetfulness Potion, the Sleeping Draught, and Wiggenweld Potion, and four others of varying complexity. She went over each ingredient meticulously and then each step just as thoroughly, even going so far as to make the motions as necessary, waving her index finger through the musty air. If she missed an ingredient or a step, she would start over again from the very first one. She was just about to start on the Confusing Concoction when she heard the door slide open across the floor. She stood and looked down at her markings, making sure that they were well hidden in the darkness. The last thing she wanted was her captors knowing that she was keeping track of anything, or aware of anything. Hermione could not let them take anything else away from her, she wouldn't put it past this particular group to try to remove anything that brought her even the most minimal comforts. The familiar thin shadow hit the iron gate before its owner did, and when Malfoy entered the room he dragged a white and brown cloth behind him. He tossed it to her feet. She stared down at it, confused. This wouldn't be enough to keep her warm so far underground, if that is what he was trying to do.
"What are you waiting for? Put it on!" He commanded. She jumped at his voice. It was so loud, louder still after so long without any real sound. She slowly bent over and grabbed the cloth. It might have been fine linen once, but it was threadbare and torn in more places than not, crusted with dirt and Merlin knows what else. Holding it up, she could see that it looked exactly like the tea towels and pillowcases the house elves wore, only bigger. Is that what they were trying to tell her? That to the pure and mighty Malfoy family she was nothing more than a house elf? She looked to him and pulled her arms closer to her body in an attempt to make herself as small as she could. Between the mental stress of waiting for her painful, inevitable death and the lack of any nutrition, she was starting to lose weight. Hermione felt more like a skeleton than a person, let alone a witch of any power or pride. He made a noise in disgust, understanding her hesitation without her needing to say a word. "Believe me, it's not something I want to see. But I'm no fool and I'm not turning my back to you."
She sighed, half whimper and half rattling exhale. Even if she could overpower him, which was unlikely, and get out of the dungeons, also unlikely, where would she go? Into the main house where Bellatrix no doubt was waiting, with her maniacal grin and unnerving stare? Yeah, right, brilliant plan, Granger. She inhaled and stood up tall. If she was going to do this, expose herself to Malfoy, then she was going to do it with as much dignity as she had. She started with her shirt, crossing her arms in front of her body and grabbing at the hem.
Draco stared straight ahead as she began to pull her shirt off of her body. He was trying to look past her, to not see her, but it didn't work. It didn't work because her arms and torso were marbled with purple, yellow, black, and green bruises. It didn't work because her shirt stuck to the still tacky blood where his aunt had carved her status into her forearm, marking her forever as impure. It didn't work because as she carefully began to pull off her pants he noticed still more bruises, and even more cuts. It didn't work because even amidst all of the new wreckage on her body he still spotted a faint, white scar running the width of her stomach, risen above the rest of her smooth skin, and his thoughts immediately drifted toward possible stories behind it. Did she have an accident when she was younger? Did someone do something to her? Was it a funny story, or a sad one? He was only brought out of his thoughts when her clothes landed with a flop in front of him. He refocused his eyes to see her with her arms crossed and her eyes locked on him. Granger still looked every bit the Gryffindor lion. She had been beaten, as the colours blending on her body clearly proved, but she was not broken. He wondered how long she would stay that way. He didn't want to see the day when she would break. Losing the feisty prey of the days when he had truly been innocent meant losing the tangible remains of his youth, and Draco wasn't sure he was entirely prepared for that. His failure to kill Dumbledore had only solidified that belief. Stepping back from the clothes on the floor, he took out his wand, watching cautiously for any movement in the periphery of his vision.
"Incendio," he muttered, confident that she was stationary, and they lit up with a crackle and a hiss.
Hermione turned her head, shielding her eyes from the light of the fire. It wasn't especially bright, she knew, but after however long it had been without any real incandescence, she might as well have been staring directly at the sun. Spots of bright white and vibrant colours dotted her vision, obscuring details. Her mind must have bruises like her body now, too. She turned back when she heard the gate close, and saw that he was gone and the fire had been extinguished. What was left of her clothes, the only physical part of herself outside of the dungeon that she had left, laid in ashes before her. She looked down at herself. The sheet that covered her was thin and flimsy. It was covered in what looked like blood and dirt and...she didn't want to think of what else. It was drafty and only just barely covered her knobby knees. Her mouth pursed, trying to resist an ugly scowl as she fought back the tears. She tried to take a few deep breaths but they were too shaky to help. She turned her head, to look back at her corner and began shuffling in the same direction. She knelt and added a third line to her tally marks. She carried herself to the other side of her cell, dragging her fingers through the ash that had been the sweater her father had picked out for her, and her favourite pair of trousers. Letting the grey dust slip through her fingers, she sighed in resignation.
"Confusing Concoction," she weakly mumbled to herself as she leaned against the wall, using it to support her through the weakness she felt. "Sneezewort, Scurvy Grass, Lovage..."
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She wasn't expecting another visit so soon. Hermione knew her sense of time was skewed but she was sure there couldn't have been but a few hours between watching her clothes go up in flames and watching Malfoy return with water. In truth it had been more than a few, but not by many.
Draco set the tray down in its usual spot and stepped back. He looked at Hermione, fully intent on staring her down again, but noticed that she hadn't even stood up. She was sitting cross-legged and half shrouded in the shadows. If she'd have been staring at him he might have seen her eyes but she wasn't. She was staring down, at the pitcher of water. It wasn't a longing stare, or a wishful stare, but a tired stare. Draco stared at her much in the same way. It's been nearly three days, Draco thought, she has to be getting dehydrated by now. She had to know that there was nothing in the water. She had to know that Aunt Bella wouldn't want to kill her that easily. So how, then, could she be so stubborn? After a few minutes, knowing that even though she wasn't initiating a standoff against him she still wasn't going to take the water, he decided to disobey his aunt and say something to the girl.
"Do you really think they're coming for you, Granger?," he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and commanding. "Do you really think they'd risk everything, just for you? Do you honestly believe you're worth that much of a risk?" Her head snapped up and her eyes locked with his, briefly catching the light and giving her gaze a bit of an otherworldly feel. Draco squared his shoulders and poised his hand at his wand as she stood and slowly grew closer to him. Her face was twisted with anger and hatred. He barely had time to register the fact that it was a look of hers he'd never seen before something warm and wet hit him square on the forehead and began to slide down his face. Shocked, he used his sleeve to wipe his face clean. She had spit on him. She had spit on him. He quickly pulled his wand from his pocket and within seconds she was flying back towards the stone wall. He left her in a heap on the floor and sent a house elf in for the water he'd left behind. Safe in his bedroom, he stripped down and prepared for one of the most heated showers he would ever take.
Hermione would have cried had she not been so dehydrated. Instead her throat burned and her chest convulsed. She knew using what little liquids she did have to spit in Malfoy's face wasn't the best idea, but she'd been so angry that she hadn't really thought it through. This is it, she thought, this is how I die. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself, then moved to the corner to add another mark to the wall.
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That morning found Draco standing outside of the dungeon holding yet another tray of water. He steeled his jaw and gripped the silver platter tight. He entered the chamber and saw her once again huddled in the corner. He set the tray down, closer to her this time than any before, and stepped back. She didn't even look toward it, instead she kept her eyes locked to the floor. Draco was losing his patience with her. How obstinate can she be? She was going to die of dehydration soon. Granger needed to drink something, and Draco was almost afraid he would have to be the one to make her do it.
After a more than a few moments of silence he stepped closer to her. "Drink," he said. She finally looked to him, staring at him defiantly. "Drink!" he commanded louder. He reached his hand into his coat, pulled out his wand, and brandished it against her. He hoped somewhere in the back of his mind that the threat of action would be enough to compel her to respond.
Hermione quickly got to her feet, not taking her eyes off of him. She stared down the length of his wand, which was less than six inches from her face. She could see his chest heaving in anger and his wrist make a slight twist.
"Imperio," he growled through his teeth.
A haze of obliviousness washed over Hermione and a smile spread across her face. She slowly kneeled to the ground and reached for the pitcher of water. She grabbed the cup with her free hand and poured herself a glass of the most refreshing looking water she'd ever seen. There was a calm gentleness radiating off of her every movement. Draco's breathing began to normalise as he watched her serene movements. She gracefully drank one glass of water then poured a second. As she began to drink a third the fog in her mind started to clear and she came too, choking on the water in her throat. She coughed and pointedly spit the water into his face before throwing the glass against the wall and kicking the pitcher after it. Draco used a drying spell on his face, sneering and almost snarling at her the whole time. Without looking from her, he wordlessly flicked his wand and the bits of shattered glass flew around the room to come together again and form the objects they once were. With another quick wrist movement he sent it back upstairs. He quickly closed the space that separated them and towered over her. There was a fear in her chest but she wouldn't show it. After a few very long seconds Draco pulled himself away and marched back up the stairs.
Hermione flinched as the door slammed, then instinctively swallowed. Her throat was only slightly less dry than before, but she'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't a little grateful for the relief. The relief didn't last long though, as the sinking realization that Draco Malfoy had been inside of her mind set in. Her stomach threatened to betray her and she swallowed to keep the bile at bay. Shuddering, she turned back to her corner and added another line, cutting it diagonally across the first four. She sighed. She didn't feel like she'd been poisoned, and if there'd be veritaserum in the water then Malfoy had defeated the purpose of it by leaving so soon after. Had it really been just water? And if it was, why had he made her drink? Why not just let her die? She shuddered as a thought sunk in. They want me alive because dead things don't cry out in pain.
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There were five tally marks on the wall. Five visits, but had it been five days? It didn't feel like five days. To Hermione it felt a lot longer than that. A week, maybe even two. When there's nothing to do, nothing to fill up the passing minutes or hours, a day can feel stretched and pulled. And when there is no sun, no moon, to mark the passing of time, it can feel even longer.
Some time later, although she had no way of judging just how long, Hermione's eyes slid shut and her head fell to her shoulder. She could no longer resist the the temptation of sleep. Her dreams, her nightmares, came quickly and were violent and vivid. The Order falling; Voldemort in complete control of everything; her parents hunted down and murdered; her friends kept locked up just for torture; Harry dead; dementors running free; muggles being rounded up like cattle for the slaughter or kept as slave labor; flashes of bright green; blood covering everything; screams, horrifying, gut wrenching screams coming from every direction -
A loud crash, metal on metal, sounded and she was jarred from her sleep. For a brief, fleeting moment she'd forgotten where she was or how she'd gotten there. Fear overtook her as she pushed herself further on to the wall, some part of her hoping she should just melt into it. As a familiar tall, sallow figure stepped out of the shadows it all came flooding back to her; and she didn't know whether to be relieved or more terrified. She began trying to slow her heart as she watched him set the tray down and step back. For the first time since the first visit he conjured a stool and sat down. She looked from him to the tray. There was water, same as always, but there were also two slices of bread sitting next to the glass.
She averted her eyes, focusing instead on the stone floor. She'd been able to ignore her hunger for this long, with her thirst taking priority, but when her eyes landed on the bread her stomach cried out for it. She felt like she may vomit, as if her stomach were trying to crawl up her chest and out of her throat just to get to the food. She kept her gaze on the floor, willing her stomach to calm, but it wasn't working.
She heard a sigh from the stool. "Eat," Malfoy commanded, his voice thick and low. When she made no move for the food he reached for his wand. "We both know I can make you."
Hermione stood, unwilling to let him enter her mind again, and walked to the tray. The bread was stale, of course, and she ate it nibble by nibble, but it was all she could do to hold in any noises of satisfaction that arose in the back of her throat. She was chewing food, real actual food and there was a glass of water just sitting there, waiting for her. She reached for the water to wash down the bread. She knew what this food meant, she knew why they were keeping her alive. But if she was going to get through this with any part of her mind intact, she would have compartmentalise her thoughts and experiences. In her mind, she was having tea and Hagrid's rock cakes with Ron and Harry. Those cakes were awful, but she'd give anything just to be back in Hagrid's hut gnawing at one.
She hadn't quite finished the bread when Malfoy stood, his abrupt movements startling her. She moved back and he grabbed the tray before heading back toward the main house. She wanted to spit out the last small piece, as still yet another act of defiance, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She marked his sixth visit on the wall and retreated back into her mind. She'd given up, at least temporarily, trying to go over potions and spells. While it was a good idea at first, she'd soon realised that failing to remember scholastic subjects over and over again only stressed her out further. So instead she took to trying to figure out what her earliest memory was. She started with her last happy memory and worked backwards from there.
She reached all the way back to her first time at Diagon Alley. Hogwarts had sent a very nice witch, with warm eyes and a slightly crooked smile, to assist her family in exchanging their currency and finding everything they needed. She'd seen so many wonderful things, things that only solidified magic for her. She could almost see it stretching out before her, the shops building themselves with her imagination. Eeylops' with all of the animals curiously watching her; Amanuensis' Quill shop with all of its beautifully coloured quills; the gorgeous interior of Gringotts, and, of course, Flourish and Blotts. That shop - she could have spent years in the shop. So many books full of so much new information. At eleven years old it's all she could have ever asked for.
The tall and crooked bookshelves began to slowly crumble around her as the dungeon door slowly slid open. They shattered as she realised that the footsteps echoing down the stairs were not Draco's. They were not the footsteps of a fine dress show, but those of a heeled boot. They were closer together, a woman's gait. The fear that began to grow in her chest fully took control of her body as a higher and mad laugh confirmed her thoughts.
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Draco stood outside of the dungeon door, cursing himself. Next to him, a house elf stood to collect the tray from him. He handed it off and started back towards his bedroom. What was he doing? What did he care if she ate or not? He was only supposed to give her water. Why was - he was stopped mid step by a mass of billowing black robes. Severus looked down his nose and before Draco could react he was inside of his mind. Within a few seconds Draco pushed him out but it was too late. Severus had seen what he'd just done to Hermione. Draco's face twisted with the fear that this man he trusted was going to tell his aunt and Severus' frown didn't put him at any ease.
"Your secret is safe, boy" he said, his voice sharp and deliberate. Something was strange about the man's tone, more like the harsh professor and less like the godfather he was to Draco outside of Hogwarts. He pushed past Draco and continued down the hallway. His mind reeled as he tried to process the information he'd just pulled from the boy's head. The Granger girl was alive - and Draco was...Was he helping her? The flash he'd seen; the two of them, the dark dungeon, the Imperius Curse. Another thought came to the front of his mind; the last time he'd gleaned into Draco's head, when they both thought the girl was dead. There was a flash of pain, just before the shock. Things were starting to shift, that much was clear and Severus Snape knew all too well, only pain would come from this. As he left the house through the kitchen doors he changed tracks. He'd deal with Draco later, after he figured out what to do with the other bit of information he'd just gathered. Hermione was alive and The Order would most definitely want to know. He stopped short, just before crossing the anti-apparition barrier. He couldn't tell them. Surely Bellatrix had told others of her 'murder' while telling no one else that she was actually alive. If he relayed the news to The Order, she would know there was a mole in the house and she would look straight to him. He sighed, stepped out of the charm, and disapparated.
Draco hurried off to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Was Severus really going to keep his secret? Did Severus regularly keep secrets from Bellatrix? Is that why she told him that Hermione was dead? What other secrets was he keeping? Who else's secrets was he keeping? His breathing grew shallow and rapid the longer he thought about it. Who else was lying? He'd thought for so long that he was trusted, was given all of the correct information - but if Severus was lying and keeping secrets, who else was? His parents? His aunt is obviously lying but what was the extent? He cast a silencing charm on his room seconds before releasing the roar that had been building in his chest. It felt like it was ripping his vocal chords to ribbons. They had spent so long building this perfect charade, and now the illusion of perfection and control was starting to slip between his fingers. The cracks in his life were starting to show, starting to spiral out from the center, splintering bit by bit. He inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm his rage. His eyes were no longer threatening tears but he was still shaking. He removed the charm as he looked toward his bedside table. He had a Sleeping Draught in the top drawer, something his mother brewed for him. He removed the small, delicate bottle and placed it on top of the table and sat on his bed. He stared at it. How much could he take? A small swallow would put him out for a few hours and a gulp would get him through the night. What about two gulps? Three? How many days would half a bottle do him for? What would happen if he took the whole thing?
He took a gulp, and then just a little more. Within minutes he was asleep, he didn't even bother getting under his sheets. He dreams were dark and blurred. Shadows reached out for him from the walls of hallways that never ended. Whispers hissed at him from every angle and the floor vanished, sending him plummeting into the void. A scream started faintly at first, but grew until his ears bled, until he too was screaming, screaming, falling, flailing - he woke with a jolt, with sweat beading on his forehead. But the screaming was still there. It wasn't part of the dream, the screams were coming from the house, from three floors below him in the dungeons, from Hermione.
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thanks so much for reading guys! please feel free to leave reviews and favorites 3
and, chapter four will be up on nov 7th!