A/N: I'm a bad person…it's been almost a month since the last chapter. See, what happened was that the school year started again and I've been insanely busy… I'll try to have quicker updates in the future! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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Last Chapter: Now it was Draco's turn to be studied. Finally, Snape nodded and without another word, strode out of the bedroom and locked the door behind him.


Prisoners and Captives

Part One: Malfoy Manor

Chapter Seven: Stockholm Syndrome

A few moments of silence. Hermione continued to stare at the bedspread and the puddles of tears growing quickly in density. She heard a few deep breaths from her left and gathered that Draco too was struggling to control himself. No doubt he was succeeding better than she was.

Eventually Draco made his way back to the chair at Hermione's bedside.

"Gobstones, Granger?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

And, without speaking, they began to play.


After five games of Gobstones and an attempt at Exploding Snap (Hermione's reflexes were slow and she got scorched more than usual), Draco made their first attempt at a conversation.

"Are you hungry? It's after six and it's been days since you've eaten."

"Days?" Hermione repeated.

"Of course, didn't I – well, I suppose I didn't mention it. You were unconscious for two days before you woke up the first time; this is the fourth day since you tried to escape."

Hermione tried not to think about what that meant for her brain, but said brain was remembering one of the books she'd read fifth year after she'd seen Mrs. Longbottom at St. Mungo's. To distract herself she told Draco, "Okay, then. Let's eat. And I'd like to bathe, too, and change my clothes."

Draco scowled at her but called out, "Derry!"

There was a crack and the house elf that had fetched Lucius Malfoy appeared. He must be assigned to Draco, Hermione mused.

"Master Draco," the elf rasped, bowing. It was difficult to tell with house elves, but Hermione got the impression that he was very old. "What is you wanting?"

"Dinner," Draco said, then amended, "Well, dinner for me. Soup for the Mudblood, I don't think she's up to much else yet."

The house-elf bowed and Disapparated.

"So," said Draco, turning back to Hermione. "Another game of Gobstones?"

"No," Hermione snapped, smarting from the use of the slur. Her head was swimming as she realized what she'd been doing – fraternizing with the enemy! (For some reason it was Ron's voice that said that.) To think that she'd been worried about what Draco would think about what his father did! To think that she was calling him Draco in her mind! She didn't need to keep the Malfoys apart – they were all the same.

Draco – no, Malfoy – laughed. "What's gotten into you, Granger? Still hung up on elf rights?"

Hermione's thoughts shifted again as she realized she hadn't even considered the poor house elf. What was she becoming? Had whoever Obliviated her modified her personality as well? Theoretically, it could be done by removing certain memories and modifying others, though it had never been proven – but then, the caster had managed the most precise Obliviation Hermione had ever heard of.

There was a small pop as two trays appeared, hovering above the bedside table. One held a steaming bowl of soup, along with a slice of brown bread and a glass of pumpkin juice, while the other held an elaborate meal of asparagus, pasta, and unless she was mistaken, duck.

Draco – Malfoy – handed Hermione her tray. She took it, but her hands must have been shaking more than she realized because a large amount of soup sloshed out of the bowl. Draco took the tray back.

"The potion first, I think."

Hermione drank it wordlessly, then accepted the tray of soup and began to eat. Her spoon clinked against the side of the bowl more often than it should have but at least she didn't spill anything else.

"Is that what's upset you, the house elves?" Malfoy repeated, still chortling as he set to his own meal.

"No," Hermione answered tersely.

"Why are you upset, then?" Malfoy asked.

"Stockholm Syndrome," Hermione thought, then realized she'd said it out loud. She dropped her spoon and stared into her soup as if it could explain why she'd been so stupid.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked.

"An emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as the result of continuous dependence and a need to cooperate for survival; it's named for a bank robbery in which employees were held hostage for six days."

Malfoy stared at her strangely for a moment before asking, "What's wrong with you, Granger?"

"I've been Veritaserumed," Hermione heard herself say, and winced as any chance for waiting for the effect to wear off disappeared.

"Don't be stupid, of course you haven't," Malfoy scoffed. "How would I have Veritaserumed you?"

"The soup. I'm not going to eat any more of it."

"You're being paranoid. The soup is fine," Malfoy said.

"Eat some, then," Hermione challenged.

"Fine." Malfoy looked at the soup in distaste, then took his own spoon and swallowed a mouthful.

"What do the Death Eaters have planned for me?" Hermione asked as soon as she saw his Adam's apple bob.

"To wait until you are well enough to be interrogated without losing your mind; then, to interrogate you and kill you slowly, in the hopes that Potter will see your death through the Dark Lord's eyes," Draco said calmly; then his eyes widened and he clamped his jaw shut. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Why did you become a Death Eater?" Hermione blurted before Draco could say anything else; it probably wasn't the best question she could ask, but it was the first thing she thought of.

"Because my father would have been killed if I hadn't. Have you really lost your memory?" Draco said before Hermione could open her mouth.

"Yes. What does You-Know-Who know about what Harry is doing?"

"I don't kno-"

"Does he know where Harry is, or where he's been?"

"No. Who are the members of Dumbledore's Army?"

Apparently this memory wasn't gone. "Me, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnegan, Cho Chang, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Dennis Creevey…" Hermione continued until she had listed all the members, including Marietta Edgecomb.

"Nobody I didn't know about," Draco muttered to himself.

"Did you find out anything new?" Hermione asked.

Draco scowled at her. "Not telling. It's worn off."

Hermione smiled smugly, content in the knowledge that even if she hadn't found out much, at least she'd found out more than Draco had.

"I'll send for some more soup, then," Draco grumbled.

"Fine," Hermione said. "But I'm not going to eat anything unless you've taste-tested it for me."

Draco scowled. "What do I care if you eat or not?"

"Snape will care," Hermione said. She knew she was manipulating him and was surprised at how easy it was – either Draco was not as Slytherin as she'd always assumed he was, or else he was very frightened of what might happen if he failed his task. Given his admission about why he became a Death Eater, she suspected the latter – which almost made her feel guilty for playing off his fears.

Almost.

"Fine," Draco said angrily. "But you have to promise not to exploit me if I get drugged – no questioning me if it's Veritaserum or taking advantage if it's Amortentia."

Hermione made a face at the last. "As if, Malfoy."

Draco smiled coolly. "Well, you know what they say about Mudbloods: they're so…feral."

Hermione felt rage boiling up; and yet she was almost relieved because this Draco she knew, this Draco she could place, in countless Potions and Care of Magical Creatures classes, across the Great Hall and on the Hogwarts Express. He was deliberately provoking a fight, with insulting words instead of threats he might actually carry through on.

Despite this realization, the words made her angry, and before she could stop herself she said, her voice sickly sweet, "Who says that, Malfoy? Your father?"

Draco went even paler, if that were possible, and looked away. She could see the protrusion of his clenched jaw.

Hermione wasn't sure if she should regret the way she'd forced them back to reality, this small cold room in the Death Eater headquarters instead of the muddy Hogwarts grounds. It would be nice to pretend that the only life at stake here was a hippogriff's, but that wasn't the case, and it was foolish to act as if it were.

"I agree to not take advantage of whatever potion you drink," Hermione said in lieu of an apology, and held out her hand. Draco grasped it briefly and let go as if she disgusted him.

"Derry," he said, and when the house elf appeared, spoke directly to him without looking at Hermione. "Take this tray away and bring a new one. Make sure - " he started, then seemed to think better of it. "Make sure you clean the dishes thoroughly," he said instead, but without his usual venom.

They ate in silence, Draco still smarting from the comment about his father, Hermione trying to make sense of Draco Malfoy, to figure out just how deep his prejudices went and just how shallow his loyalty to Voldemort was.

Finally, they were both finished (Draco was right; Hermione hadn't been able to finish her soup) and Draco called Derry back to clean up. Once the elf had vanished, Draco turned to Hermione with a hard glint in his flint-like eyes.

"Let's see about that bath."

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