Hermione woke up to the sound of Tomlin softly snoring. The rest of the cave remained silent. It was completely empty. The past fortnight had been filled with her cell mates disappearing one by one, shipped off to other pureblooded families to act as servants. As of this morning, only Tomlin remained. She doubted anyone would have a need for the old man. Hermione frowned as she pondered the likelihood of him living much longer. His face was sunken into hollow lines, his skin yellow in the low light. Every breath appeared laboured and unsteady. M

It made sense that Hermione would stay here. The fortification of the Manor was significant. It also felt like a new level of purgatory as the loneliness of her new isolated prison stretched out before her. Although she chose not to associate a ton with her fellow cellmates, they had at least provided distraction on the days when her anxious thoughts were too loud to ignore. Tomlin's stories would fill the room, tales from The Beetle and The Bard. She had read the book so many times through she knew the words practically by heart. Yet when Tomlin brought the words to life, the story felt new and exciting each and every time.

Now the caves were quiet save the echoes of Tomlin's snore hitting off the cold stone walls.

One thing Hermione didn't miss, were the sounds from the manor itself. By now the Death Eaters had relocated somewhere more central to London. The Manor has changed. Hermione felt it as she drifted off to sleep and it was the first thing she noticed in the morning. There was a difference in the air. A new silence or peace to the household. Hermione couldn't decide whether to dread this change, or to take comfort from it. She stretched out along the damp floor, pulling at the muscles between her ribs. There were kinks and knots she feared would never leave her alone.

Hermione pulled herself up, casting a glance at the near-empty tin of porridge she'd forced down for dinner the night prior. There was just a little remaining in the bottom. Her stomach growled in hunger, but she had no interest in the soggy oats. Oh how she longed for a cup of fresh pumpkin juice.

~ Crack! ~

The sound ricocheted off every surface, making it loud and earsplitting.

Hermione threw herself to her feet, her heart pounding as she peered out to the darkness beyond her cell, looking for the source of the sound. Then, the sound of an old deep crinkly voice stirred up from behind her, not two feet away.

"I've been asked to escort you upstairs. You will be relocated to a room in the east wing."

Hermione spun around in shock as she cast her eyes downward to the small figure crouched below her. It was the Malfoy's house elf. Her heart sunk as the house elf's words hit, and she realized what was about to occur. She had thought that this was over. All of the Death Eaters had left. She thought she could truly be forgotten down here, no longer be a token for them to toy with.

Tomlin began to stir outside of her cell, his figure shifting on the floor, a low moan rising up from him.

"Hermione, whats all this ruckus", said Tomlin in a sleepy haze.

"No n-need to worry," replied Hermione in a quiet voice. She took a deep inhale, trying to rationalize her own dread for the situation. She was being taken upstairs which was never a good thing.

The elf began to repeat itself, "You're being relocated to a room in the east wing."

He then wobbled over the cage door which swung open as he approached it without even so much as a flick of the wrist. He crossed the low lit basement, pausing in the doorway. He turned back to where Hermione stood frozen in her cell, and made an impatient gesture at her to follow.

Hermione forced her legs to start working, taking one small step at a time until she began crossing the uneven stone floor. The house elf, appearing satisfied with her movement began climbing the stairs, hopping up them with some difficulty. Hermione followed, keeping her eyes cast down, her hands ringing out her shirt nervously. She wasn't surprised by the lack of chains. A house elf's wandless magic was far superior to that of a wizard. She knew she had no where to run.

True to his word, the house elf headed into the east wing, picking up his pace. Hermione was keeping up easily with the elf's short legs, and stopped short as he took a sharp left into an open set of double doors. Hermione has never spent a great amount of time in the east wing. The majority of the guest rooms that Death Eaters used were found in the west. To her limited knowledge, the family and estate rooms made up this part of the manor. Hermione peered around the corner and was blinded by the bright morning light piercing through a dozen windows around the room. There were dark green curtains framing each window that had been pulled back, letting natural sunlight fill up the room. There were massive pieces ghastly tapestry hanging from the ceiling, depicting images of conquering armies and soldiers fighting, covered in blood. Just the type of artwork to befit the Malfoy household.

The house elf drew her attention away, "There are shirts and bottoms for you on the bed Ms. Granger. I think they'll all fit nicely, I picked out the selection myself."

Hermione was startled by the elfs tone. As she turned to face the elf, she notices he was smiling politely at her. She was bewildered to say the least.

Hermione cast a surreptitious glance at the bed, where several pairs of silk trousers lay in varying colours of soft pinks and sultry greens. There was also a small collection of camisoles, each a complimenting shade to the pants they lay next to. A large fluffy white robe was hung from one of the bed's rafter hooks. She stole another uneasy look towards the elf who was looking at her expectantly.

"What am I doing here," Hermione demanded, in a harsher tone than intended for the poor elf.

The grin on his face faded slightly at her words. "Why this is where you'll be staying. The cellar is much too dark and musty for living, yes? The Master of the house wanted you to be comfortable."

"Is this some sort of sick joke?", Hermione demanded. She walked swiftly over to one of the windows, throwing it open to the breeze outside. It was in the heat of summer time. Hermione let in a deep breath as her eyes brimmed with tears. She hadn't felt the outside air in quite some time. She flexed her hands tightly into fists to avoid the shaking that had overcome her hands. Some Death Eater intended to put her up in a fancy room like some puppet. It made her feel sick.

The house elf padded up behind her and placed his small palm on her shoulder. "I've worked in this household quite some time Ms. Granger. I've seen things in this house turn darker than they have been in decades. But things are changing Mr. Granger. Worry less, things will be different now. The Master of the house has been living out in the greenhouses for some time. It's just the Mr. Granger, myself and the wizard downstairs who'll be moved elsewhere in the house soon." When Hermione failed to answer, Diggip switched tactics. "Hows about a cup of tea?"

Hermione glanced up at the elf and nodded slowly, a new look of determination on her face. She wouldn't let this Death Eater confuse her with kind gestures. Hermione knew better. Soon enough she'd be back in her cell or suffering at the hands of whatever wizard had taken over the Malfoy estate. That didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy a cup of tea when it was offered.

She followed Diggip out of the room and down to the kitchen. The house elf boiled some water and poured it into a large ornate marble teapot filled with some loose leaf camomile. As the tea steeped, Hermione took time to study the grounds that covered as far as the eye could see. Diggip chatted on about all the sections of the house that were closed down as the Dark Lord and his followers had moved on, about the rose garden in the from of the house that had succumbed to the hot sun and needed to be watered, and about what time his Master would be home from Diagonalley- Hermione snapped out of daze and whirled on Diggip.

"What's the name of the new Wizard who's taken over the estate? Who is this Master you keep referring to?"

Diggip glanced up to Hermione, perplexed at her sudden berating. "Why this is Mr. Malfoys estate now Ms. Granger. You would have been at Hogwarts at the same time, two years ago now."

Hermione felt her stomach flip as memories surfaced. Old faded memories, ones with a picturesque Hogwarts in the background, teasing and taunting on the front lawn. Then some that were more recent; Malfoy looking at her as she lay twisted and broken on the floor. Hermione's cheeks flushed as she remember the disgusted sneer that had painted his face as he walked away. Then later, the flash of platinum that had pulled her down to the cell she would spend the next several months in. She'd been barely conscious and felt as though every bone in her body was on fire. Hermione remembered Malfoy setting her on the cold floor, pausing only long enough to look over the letters that had been carved into her arm by Bellatrix earlier that evening.

Diggip took notice of the sudden fear in Hermiones eyes. "Not to worry Ms. Granger. Mr. Malfoy is very rarely at the manor. Even less so does he visit the house. Mostly keeps to himself in the greenhouses."

Hermione let out the breath she'd be holding in her lungs and allowed herself, for the briefest of moments, to miss her cell and the quiet stillness it offered.

•••

A fortnight passed, and Hermione was anxious by how comfortable in her routine she'd become. Every morning she would wake to eggs, bacon, sausages, and more pancakes than she could ever dream of finishing, most of which went uneaten. The oatmeal she always left untouched. She would spend the morning in her room rarely leaving, entertaining herself by memorizing every detail etched into the dozen or so tapestries hanging from the ceiling. Most days, Diggip would come to her room and escort her to the kitchen where they would chat while he prepped dinner for the evening. Malfoy had been back for a day or two, but true to what Diggip had said, he rarely stepped foot into the manor itself. Hermione hadn't even seen the Death Eater, but knew exactly what he was having for dinner each evening. For the past few days, Hermione had watched Diggip stuff ducks, fire up some creme brûlée, and slow cook a pot roast that would feed a small family for a week.

Every night Hermione would retire to her bedroom and would stare at the ceiling burrowing her fingernails into her palms to try and put off sleep. Night time was always the most dreadful aspect of her day. The shadows that cascaded around the room resembled tall figures looming over her as she cowered in the tall bed frame. More often then not, she'd wake covered in sweat with a raw throat and hair clinging to her face. She slept more comfortably during the day, and would often fall asleep at the kitchen table, her head falling into her hands. The exhaustion would simply over take her, and she'd fall asleep before her head had even hit the table.

This particular morning, as Hermione stirred and let out a low groan, a large flask of fresh pumpkin juice at the foot of her bed caught her eye. There it was, sitting next to the usual array of breakfast foods that would go to waste. Hermione threw the covers off pouring herself a tall glass. She closed her eyes in content as she took the first sip.

Ahem- Hermione's eyes shot up as the sound of someone clearing their throat emanated from the doorway. A tall figure dressed in loose black slacks and a faded grey t-shirt was leaning against the doorway gazing attentively at Hermione. Is wasn't until she noticed the stark messy array of blond hair did she realize she was staring at a the Death Eater she knew very well. The pale and gaunt face of Draco Malfoy had dark circles under each eye, matching that of Hermione's.

That lull of peaceful routine in which Hermione had allowed herself to forget the fact that she was imprisoned snapped. She had convinced herself to overlook that she was held captive against her will by a murderous and tyrannous cult that had caused her so much pain and suffering. The Death Eaters that had taken her free will, stole her innocence and humility. She was acutely aware of the sudden minute tremors that over took her body. Her blood was pounding so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear her own breath. Or perhaps, she realized, she wasn't breathing at all.

The sudden flurry of emotions were powerful and indiscernible from one another. There was fear, that much was evident. She was scared and her stomach was twisting with the realization that she was sitting rather vulnerably on a bed wearing nothing but one of the over sized loose silk shirts. But if the red flushing in her face and the pounding of her heart were indicative of anything, it was anger. She met the eyes of the boy standing in the doorway, who very much resembled a man now. This was no longer just the boy who had targeted her with racial slurs and objectifying insults. He was now a Death Eater, responsible for the deaths and torturing of countless muggles and muggle-borns.

A few moments of pause hung in the air, and just as Hermione was sure he would turn on his heel and leave, he opened his mouth, "Diggip has been informed you're not to leave the confinements of your chambers for the remainder of your stay. We'll be expecting visitors, and I can't very well have an imprisoned mudblood waltzing around making a scene-"

"Why am I here, Malfoy?" Hermione cut him off curtly with a voice she didn't have moments before. It was that word. She seemed to be better acquainted with the term mudblood than her own name as of late.

"Because the Dark Lord has deemed you to be Potter bait. Personally, I don't see what all the fuss is about". He slowly trailed his gaze up and down her bone thin figure, settling once again on her sunken cheekbones and bleary eyes. "It doesn't look like theres much left of you to bait over".

Hermione flinched responsively to the hurtful words; they only carried weight because they were true. She held her chin high as she retorted in a quiet voice, "I meant here, in this bloody room as opposed to the hole thats a few floors below our feet that I usually reside in."

Malfoy's expression changed minutely, his harsh gaze softening so slightly Hermione couldn't be sure to have caught it. She stared hard at the floor then, ashamed of what she could only assume was a skewed version of pity coming from the untrustworthy Death Eater. "Things will be different now," he said softly. "Do not leave this room."

When Hermione look up again, the door was swinging shut. He was gone.

•••

"FUCK", Draco whispered to himself, his hand still on the door handle that led to Hermione's room. Why couldn't he have just left her in the cellar? Now he had to deal with the mudblood walking around his house, arousing suspicion from any visiting which or wizard. She probably despised him. This didn't bother him as the feeling was very much neutral. She was sickly thin and had this defeated look about her when she thought no one was looking. And her hair, it still stuck out on end and frizzed up to two, three times the size of her head.

At least she had enjoyed the pumpkin juice, Draco thought to himself. He remembered her practically drinking her weight in it every morning at breakfast in the dining hall at Hogwarts. He would have to remind Diggip to pick some more up- wait, why was he showing her any kindness at all? With any luck this temporary situation would be over and done within the coming months. The girl would most likely be dead by the time the war ended. Draco shook his head to himself, it matters because you're not a complete and utter monster you daft wizard. Despite what many thought of him.

He'd done well in the past few months. His mothers death had impacted him hard, and it was easy to inflict his own pain and suffering onto others in his line of work. The Dark Lord had learned he had an affinity for torturous methods. Curiously, Voldemort had charged him with the task of gathering information not from the enemy, but instead from within the ranks. Draco's main daily chore was picking apart Death Eaters accused of treason. The war was not going smoothly as of late, and because of this the Death Eater ranks had turned into a witch hunt trying to find the Order's source. It was said that Malfoy was so adept at inflicting pain that many would simply confess to crimes they hadn't committed to end it. If only it were that simple. Malfoy frequently dropped near unconscious men and women to Lord Voldemort's door step to await further torture that could last days before death.

This had little affect on Malfoy. He knew that none of the Death Eaters were innocent. He'd had the opportunity to work on a few who had abandoned his family when Draco's mother had been crucified. Some he held less personal grudges with. Knowing a Death Eaters true crimes were often enough to fuel Malfoy's hate. He smiled fondly, remembering a time when Voldemort was suspicious of Fernir Greyback turning werewolves without his permission. The dog half-breed that was responsible for the rape and murder of dozens of witches and wizards over the past few years. No, Malfoy had had no trouble at all with that one. The scars that painted the back of Fernir's neck now were just a taste of the number Draco had done to ever inch of the mongrels skin. He was always a little curious as to why Lord Voldemort had spared him. The accusations had held true after all.

Draco shook his head, trying to focus his mind on the task at hand. Astoria and Daphne Greengrass were coming to stay at the manor for a few days. This meant Nott would undoubtedly show up too. Theo liked to try and make an impression on Daphne, a total waste of fucking time in Draco's mind. The girls would stay in the East wing, but Astoria would most likely end up paying a visit to Draco's room a few times too. Draco sighed at the thought. Sure, Astoria was good in bed, but that was about all she was good for. But Draco was suddenly getting the feeling that the sex wasn't worth all the strings that came attached. Now she had taken to inviting herself over to the manor unannounced, sometimes in the company of her sister like this coming visit. Where the fuck had that come from?

He had another issue at hand though. Draco stifled a groan as he realized Granger would be occupying the room connected with his. Whatever, he thought to himself. He didn't want to make it apparent that he was no longer sleeping in the manor. He enjoyed the privacy and solitude of his greenhouse, and didn't love the idea of anyone waltzing. He'd be moving back into the Master bedroom. The mudblood bitch would have to deal with Astoria. The Greengrass sisters were known for being loud, he thought with a lopsided grin.

•••

Hermione paced the circumference of her room, counting each circuit as it was completed.

"One-hundred and eighty-eight. One-hundred and eighty-"

Crack! ~

Diggip appeared at the foot of the master bed with a platter filled with food. He frowned at the untouched plate of lunch sitting where the new platter would go.

"Mr. Granger, you need to eat if you're to regain your strength."

Hermione snorted in reply, "Theres not much left to be strong for Diggip." Hermione's eyes didn't stray from the picturesque view of the manor at sunset.

The elf sighed, and approached Hermione by the windowsill. Is there anything else I could get for you Ms. Granger. Perhaps a book or two to pass the time while Master of the house has guests visiting?"

Hermione looked towards Diggip, a wide smile breaking out across her face.

•••