Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.

Beta Love: Dreamingofstars85

A/N: First off, I'm almost sorry about that cliff hanger last chapter… almost. Second, this story has over 100 favorites now! I'm completely blown away by that. Thank you all so much, all your comments and kudos and favorites are so so encouraging! Last but certainly not least…. Who is ready for a tiny taste of Draco?! Oh? Yeah, me too.

Gentle reminder, this is still a slow burn. Love to you all! Xoxo, L

PART TWO
-Into the Deep-

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IT'S OVER

Ouch.

Her body wasn't on fire anymore, but she was aching. Her head was on the verge of exploding, every throb sent shockwaves through her system. Her eyes wouldn't open so she stopped trying. She let everything fade back to black.

xXxXxXx

Her eyes opened, but her vision was fuzzy, clouded. The heavy scent of iron was overpowering, and she could hear something in the distance, but her ears were ringing and the pain in her body was too overwhelming for her to focus on anything else. She let her eyelids close and once more allowed the darkness to overtake her.

xXxXxXx

When she came above the surface again she recognised the smell; it was still intense, and masking any other smells she may have identified, but this one— the iron— was now obvious. Blood. Hermione supposed that she must not be dying then, since she was becoming more aware each time she came out of the haze. Her body was still in pain, each breath agonising, but she was able to distinguish the pains now— all her muscles were sore, aching; but it was her back, that's what was making it insufferable right now. Her shirt was wet and warm, stuck to her skin. That must be why she smelled blood. Whatever spell had hit her must have done extensive damage, and hadn't been healed. Where was Harry? Another wave of pain crashed over her body, and she willingly let herself be taken back to unconsciousness.

xXxXxXx

It was voices this time. Voices she couldn't quite make out or distinguish between, but they were there. Arguing? She couldn't tell; they were definitely talking over each other, but she couldn't pinpoint anything. She could tell her body was laying unceremoniously face down on something hard. The floor? She stretched her hand, fingers spreading flat across the hard surface. They were sticky, coated in some warm liquid— likely blood. Her face was pressed uncomfortably onto the same hard surface, her ear laying in the blood. It was flooding her somehow, and it was too much, the sensation overwhelmingly wrong. She had to move her head, but she couldn't do that without adjusting her whole body, and even the idea of moving her back, her arms and legs, was too much. So she stayed put, trying to ignore the blood in her ear. It should have been easy to ignore— her injuries were clearly extensive, but the blood pooling around her head somehow felt like it was defying gravity, seeping into ear and requiring her attention. She wanted to shake her head, rub her ear— anything to get it out. She slowly opened her eyes— one eye; the other was pressed against the floor, opening it would mean letting it flood with the warm sticky liquid, so she opened only one. She couldn't see much. In front of her were the billowy bottoms of several sets of black robes. The lighting was dim, but still bright enough to give her head even more reason to resist this consciousness. She closed her eye again, the energy of being awake— taking stock of her injuries, it was too much. She let herself fade out again.

xXxXxXx

It was a man's voice this time. Just one voice at a time now, and she could make out the words.

"I know my Lord, I'm sorry. I should have—" The man's voice was low, apologetic.

"You should have taken care of this problem before it became a problem!" A woman's voice. Hermione inhaled sharply, the pain from the action almost completely overpowered by the fear that was surging through her veins at the sound. She would recognise that crazed voice anywhere, even half unconscious, as she was.

Bellatrix.

Where was Harry? Hermione opened her eye once more, seeing the backs of the black robed figures again. She twisted her head just enough that she could open her second eye, and peered around, trying harder to recognise her surroundings. She was in some sort of large room. The floor was marbled white— a stark contrast to the blood pooled on it.

The robes were crowded together in the front of the room— her broken body left forgotten behind them. Voices were rising, as they attempted to be heard. The noise was deafening, and just when Hermione thought it was too much, another bone-chilling voice broke through, talking over the others.

"Enough!" It hissed. "I will speak to Bella and Rodolphus." His voice was commanding, and she trembled at the sound. Voldemort.

There was a shuffling, as bodies turned to leave, the robes dissipating until only two remained in front of her. Hermione quickly closed her eyes, not wanting to be noticed.

"Lucius, Narcissa, stay," Voldemort commanded. Hermione heard a door click shut from somewhere behind her, but her attention— her ears— were focused on what was ahead of her.

"My Lord, she is nothing. Let me kill her, let me—" said Bellatrix.

"She is not nothing! She is my daughter, and I will not let you harm her!" It was the same voice she had heard earlier, that she now realised must be Rodolphus— her father.

"You tossed her aside eighteen years ago! She means nothing to you!" Bellatrix screamed.

"I had to keep her safe! From you!" Rodolphus shot back.

"Silence!" Voldemort interrupted. "We cannot let her go, Rodolphus, you know that."

"Yes, my Lord, but maybe— maybe she will have information for us. Maybe she can stay—" Rodolphus said, clearly struggling to make a solid plea.

"You think she will just turn her back on Potter? For you? I didn't think you were that stupid, Rod," Bellatrix said, her voice dripping in disgust.

"Stop talking," Voldemort commanded.

There was silence. Hermione did not like the silence. She felt like her life was draining out of her— out of her back, more specifically. She could tell it hadn't stopped bleeding because her shirt was still warm. If it had stopped bleeding, the wetness would have become cold, uncomfortable. It was still warm. She was still bleeding. Thinking about the wound brought the pain into to the forefront of her mind, and she realised she felt lightheaded and nauseous. Suddenly fearing what the silence could mean, Hermione quickly focused her efforts on making sure her mind was protected.

To her surprise, and relief, she found that while not strong, she did still have some of her barriers up. Using every bit of strength she could muster, Hermione strengthened those barriers, reinforcing them, making sure they were impenetrable. Or so she hoped. She let thoughts of the pain, and her worry for Harry float to the forefront of her mind, outside the border that kept her secrets locked away. Once she had done her best to ensure that anyone looking would only find a scared girl, who was currently bleeding out on the floor, she let herself focus once more on the other people in the room.

The robes in front of her— Rodolphus and Bellatrix— shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Hermione knew she was on the verge of passing out again; she just felt so tired, so drained. Her eyelids were heavy, and just as she was about to let them fall shut, Voldemort spoke again.

"The girl needs to be interrogated, to find out what she knows about Potter— his whereabouts."

"I'd would be more than happy to do that, My Lord." Bellatrix purred.

Hermione's stomach turned at Bellatrix's offer. For the first time, she thought it was lucky that they'd not had much to eat— there was nothing for her to throw up.

"My dear Bella, that will not be necessary. I fear you may get carried away and kill the girl before she is thoroughly questioned. That has happened before, under less personal circumstances. No, best leave it to someone else— Rodolphus, you're too, attached." Voldemort sneered the word, as though it were a disgusting, despicable characteristic. "Lucius, go and fetch Rowle."

Hermione heard the door open and close as Lucius left. At least it isn't Bellatrix. Whoever this Rowle was, he had to be better than Bellatrix.

"Narcissa, do be a dear and bring us some Pepper-Up," Voldemort said. Bellatrix scoffed, obviously displeased with this. "You want her to be awake for the interrogation, don't you Bella?" Voldemort asked calmly.

"Well, yes My Lord, but—" Her usually confident voice was timid.

"Then she will clearly need a potion to regain full consciousness." he said matter of factly.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Have Rowle get any information out of her that he can, and then put her in the cells. I will decide what to do with her later." Voldemort said, sounding bored.

Hermione heard the door open and shut again, and she prayed to whatever gods were listening that that was the sound of Voldemort leaving. When she could make out a quiet argument between Bella and Rodolphus, she was sure that Voldemort had gone.

Uncertain if it had been two minutes that passed, or twenty Hermione eventually heard the door to the room opened again, and she could make out the steady footsteps of a purposeful stride entering the room. They stopped just behind her, and Hermione's heart began to race. Her mouth filled with saliva as her body prepared to vomit. She was terrified. What would this Rowle do to her? What would he consider enough information to stop? She swallowed, trying to keep herself from retching.

"You two can leave." She assumed it was Rowle who had spoken, and by the protests coming from Bellatrix and Rodolphus, she knew he had directed that statement to them.

"You can't expect me to leave her here, alone, with you!?" Rodolphus said angrily.

"That is exactly what I expect, Roddy," Rowle said. His voice was even, calm, and he spoke very matter of factly.

"I really think—" Rodolphus started to object, but stopped abruptly at the sound of a sharp smack.

"You should have killed her when you found out you fucking bastard," Bellatrix said, seething.

Hermione found it was getting harder and harder to focus on the conversation, as the room began spinning and her vision started darkening. The wound on her back was throbbing, simultaneously ice cold and on fire.

"You fucking bitch!" Rodolphus shouted. Hermione could hear heavy footsteps pounding their way further and further away from her until they briefly stopped, and the door opened and then slammed shut.

"Off you go, Bella," Rowle said, in a far too cheery manner.

"You are a child, Finn. One of these days you are going to make a mistake, and the Dark Lord will let me be the one to punish you— I will not forget this." Bellatrix said, her voice full of loathing and promise.

"I look forward to it, Bella," he replied. "Narcissa, Lucius said you had some potions for me to give the girl?"

Hermione heard a slight rustling that she could only guess was Narcissa handing over the potions. She strained to hear what was being whispered between the two and was fully unprepared for the pain that suddenly engulfed her.

Her side tore open the same way her back had, blood instantly flowing from the wound. She screamed, rolling over and curling her body in, her hands splayed out to cover the wound. The sudden movement onto her side seemed to intensify the pain from her back, and Hermione knew she was going to pass out. She prayed she was going to pass out. It was fire, along the entire length of the new wound, and it was spreading outward, consuming her entire left side, from her hip to her ribs.

A part of her mind registered the shouting, the cackling, coming from somewhere in the distance, but the pain was so intense that she could do little more than succumb to it. Writhing on the floor, lost in the agony, Hermione found that her breaths were getting shorter, the air icy in her chest. She couldn't fill her lungs enough, and everything was starting to spin. She was gasping, her breathing erratic and shallow. She couldn't draw enough air into her lungs. Her blood was pooling around her on the floor, her limbs unable to gain purchase on the smooth surface, slipping and sliding in the warm liquid.

She felt the murky pull of darkness washing over her as consciousness faded. The last thing she was aware of was a hand on her cheek, and a gentle voice, as everything faded to black.

xXxXxXx

Draco used his shoulder to lazily push his body off the wall he had been leaning on. They had him pulling double duty in the dungeons while he was home for the hols, and though he much preferred guarding the cold, damp cells of Malfoy Manor to some of the other terrible acts required of the Death Eaters, it still was less than pleasurable. Which was why now, at 12:59, he was wondering where the fuck Goyle was.

The rule was you show up ten minutes before shift change, but here it was, one minute until he was supposed to be heading back to the sanctuary that was his bedroom, and no one was there to relieve him. Pissed was an understatement.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and began pacing near the door, impatiently waiting. Goyle was his peer, and they were friendly enough to each other, but he wasn't staying down here longer than he had to. Especially since he had to come back for his second shift in just four hours. No fucking way was he staying longer than was required. If that meant throwing Goyle under the bus— well, he was the one who was fucking late anyway. Just as he was about to send for someone, the door burst open, and a breathless Goyle stumbled in, clutching his side.

"Sorry! I overslept and ran into Dolohov on the way, and he was all excited about something, and gave me this ridiculous list of things he wants and—"

"Stop." Draco interrupted.

"But i—"

"I don't give a shit why you're late. Frankly, I'm almost concerned that you think I would care," Draco said, glancing at his watch. "As it is now 1:03, I'm leaving."

He didn't wait to listen to any more of Goyle's excuses. Draco pushed through the door and walked up the stairs. The dungeons were quite extensive, taking up a good portion of the manor's cellars, but their entrance was at the farthest end, away from everything else in the mansion.

As he was walking through the foyer, his mind was on Hermione. He had a bad feeling. He didn't know why, but he had really expected more than 'Happy Christmas, Draco.' He wasn't exactly sure, but he just felt like something was….off. Draco was so lost in thought, that he nearly ran into his mother, who was walking quickly the opposite direction, her head down, seemingly lost in her own mind.

"Mother?" he said, reaching out to gently grasp her elbows. She looked quite shaken.

"Draco," she said, clearly surprised to see him.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Narcissa hesitated a moment before sighing and schooling her features into her usual mask of indifference. "Nothing, dear. I just—"

A pained woman's scream interrupted what she was about to say, and Draco whipped his head in the direction of the sound. While it wasn't uncommon for screams to reverberate across the walls of the manor, that one was particularly unsettling for some reason.

Rather than outright ask his mother, Draco instead simply raised his eyebrows at her slightly and waited. His mother sighed again and spoke.

"Bella went out this morning on a tip from Godric's Hollow and returned just a short time ago. The Dark Lord is not pleased; they managed to find the Potter boy, but there was a duel and somehow he escaped."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face and his breath whoosh from his lungs as his mother spoke. He looked at her with disbelief in his eyes. It was a moment before he regained his composure. He spoke slowly, trying to hide any emotions threatening to make their presence known.

"Then who—"

"Bella managed to capture the girl." His mother said simply. "Your father was sent to fetch Rowle, and—"

"The girl? Mother, what girl?" Draco knew who she meant, but he needed to hear her say it. To confirm his fear.

"Don't be daft, darling. The Granger girl. The one that Bella—"

"Hermione, her name is Hermione." Draco's voice was barely a whisper. His gaze was fixed over his mother's shoulder, at the door to the ballroom, where the scream had come from. Hermione's scream.

Only a moment later, a second scream echoed down the hallway, breaking Draco out of his trance. He released his mother, rushing past her and toward the ballroom.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" Narcissa's voice was sharp and stern, halting Draco as if he were just a boy. He felt her hand grab hold of his arm, as she pulled him toward her. "What in Salazar's name do you think you're doing?"

"I...I go to school with her, I—" Draco stammered. He couldn't form a coherent thought, as adrenaline raced through his veins. He had to help her.

"There is nothing you can do for her Draco. The Dark Lord has decided she will be interrogated." Narcissa said cooly. She offered her arm to him, and Draco automatically took it thanks to years of Pureblood society training. "Come," she commanded.

Everything in Draco's body was telling him he had to get to Hermione. He had to help her. But the tiny portion of his brain that had retained focus knew he could do nothing for her right now. It would be bad for both of them if he were to try and intervene— likely worse for Hermione. No, no he couldn't risk that. So Draco let himself be pulled back down the hall and through the manor behind his mother. He wasn't paying attention to where they were going, and was surprised when they finally stopped and he found himself in his mother's rooms.

She led him over to the window seat, and gently pushed him to sit before settling down next to him.

"What is going on, Draco?" Her voice was firm and demanded attention.

"I was—" he tried to think of an excuse but couldn't. "She's from school, Mother. We have several classes together and—" he tried explaining his reaction but was cut off.

"I am your mother, Draco. Do not lie to me." Narcissa said sternly.

"She's— Mother, she's, she's…" Failing to find the words he was looking for— not even sure if he knew the words he was looking for, Draco simply trailed off. Unable to make eye contact with his mother, he let his gaze drift out the window. It was a moment before she spoke.

"I see." she sighed, "Well that changes things then, doesn't it," Narcissa said, quietly. It was silent for a few moments before she lifted her hand and placed it on his forearm, squeezing lightly. "It's going to be okay, son."

Draco wasn't sure what she was thinking, or what she thought she knew, but he believed her when she said it was alright, and relief flooded him briefly. With his mother on his side, he had a better chance of convincing his father, who was his only way of swaying the Dark Lord to let her go.

"I've got to get her out of there."

"You can't, darling. You have to wait. Rodolphus is in the Dark Lord's good graces right now— that and her true blood status will keep her alive, for now. She is going to be...interrogated."

"You mean tortured!" Draco said, anger rising in his voice.

"Unfortunately, that is the way things are done. But it gives us time to make a plan." Narcissa said.

"A plan?" Draco was so worried that he couldn't think straight. His mother wasn't making any sense.

"Yes, Draco. A plan."

xXxXxXx

When Hermione opened her eyes again, the first thing she felt, aside from the now constant pain, was confusion. The handsome wizard kneeling in front of her was smiling at her, and had his hand on her upper arm, gently shaking her.

"Ahh, there you are, gorgeous," he said. She opened her mouth, but he spoke before she could even think what to say. "Don't do that just yet, drink this first." He held a small phial to her lips, but Hermione instinctively retracted her head away from the offering, pressing her lips into a hard line.

He chuckled, winking at her. "Smart girl. This is just a Pepper-Up, though. I've already done damage control on your wounds, but I'm sure you're still in a considerable amount of pain. That curse of Bella's—" he sucked his breath through his teeth and shook his head. Apparently, that curse was as bad as it felt. Hermione kept her lips clamped tightly.

"You really don't have another choice, beautiful. Either you drink it of your own free will, or I pour it down your throat. You choose."

Hermione only thought about it for a moment before opening her mouth and drinking down the liquid. It tasted like Pepper-Up, and after only a few seconds, it felt like Pepper-Up. While she supposed it could have been laced with something else, that really didn't make sense. She had been mostly comatose bleeding out on the floor just moments ago. If he had wanted her dead, he could have just left her there.

Which led her to wonder… what was it that he wanted? Who was he anyways?

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice shaky and barely audible.

"Thorfinn Rowle, at your service." He smiled widely at her, and only a beat later, he winked, "But you can call me Finn, beautiful."

Well, whoever he was, he was a diehard flirt. Not even her malnourished, broken, bleeding body was enough to keep his remarks at bay.

"Hermione Granger," she replied, nodding her head slightly.

"Lestrange, if I'm not mistaken," he corrected her, quirking his eyebrows. She cringed, closing her eyes. He laughed. "So you know, then? That's interesting."

Hermione thought the best course of action would be to stay quiet, and not give anything else away. She opened her eyes again, and looked directly into his, not quite challenging, but also not backing down.

"Alright little miss, I'm here on business, not pleasure— unfortunately— so let's get this over with." his expression had turned grim, and as he stood, Hermione felt fear creep over her body. What did that mean?

"The Dark Lord has decided that because you are the long lost daughter of Ol' Roddy, you won't be killed. At least not straight away. But we've got to get some answers from you before we can decide exactly what to do with you."

Hermione immediately checked, and double checked her Occlumency shields. She could tell that they were still intact enough that she would have felt an intrusion, but she prayed to whatever gods were listening that no one had tried, because they were nowhere near strong enough to withstand one. Focusing all her efforts on keeping him out, Hermione steeled herself for whatever came next.

"This part, I'm truly sorry about. If I don't hurt you, they won't accept the interrogation, and someone else will just do it again." He had turned his back and taken a few steps away from her. Hermione felt a tear fall down her cheek. More pain. She could do this. She had to do this. She had to.

"I won't do anything permanent, though, I can at least give you that," Finn said, turning back to face her. He really did look sorry, whatever that counted for. "We need to know everything you know about Potter, beautiful."

"I have nothing to say," Hermione said through clamped teeth. Though a very large part of her was elated knowing that if they were torturing her for information, it must mean Harry hadn't been caught.

Finn sighed, "I thought you'd say that." He pointed his wand at Hermione, and it was only seconds before she was screaming.

When the pain finally ebbed, Hermione clapped her hand to her arm to stem the bleeding; she knew if she didn't stop it, she would bleed out, right there on the floor. She opened her eyes to assess the damage of the wound and was shocked to see nothing. Not even a scratch. How was that possible? Whatever he had done had cut her flesh, she felt it.

"I promised not to leave marks," Finn said. "The torture really isn't my favourite part." He added, more to himself it seemed.

Hermione was breathing heavily, and let her head drop onto the hard floor. She didn't have it in her to hold it up any longer.

"Where is Potter?" Finn asked, and she could feel him probing her mind. Hermione let him see that answer, the truth because it was safe. She really didn't know where Harry was. She had no clue.

"Hmmm, truth. I like that, witch. It will make this messy business go by faster.

"What were you two doing all this time?" he said, pointing his wand at her again. Hermione braced herself this time, both physically and mentally. She wished she had spent more time learning how to falsify thoughts and memories! Why hadn't she learned that?!

"We were hiding," she said, trying to put as much truth into her answer as possible. The best lies were based in truth, weren't they? "We couldn't go back to school, so we were hiding until we could come up with a plan."

"Not good enough, doll." Finn shook his head and pointed his wand at her again. This time the pain was ripping across her stomach, and she felt like her organs were going to fall out. She screamed in agony, writing on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Hermione couldn't count the number of times she had passed out from pain today, but she knew it was going to happen again. She hoped it would happen now.

It didn't.

After several more questions and curses, another Pepper-Up, and finally a calming draught, Hermione found herself glad that the last thing that was clear before she passed out again, was Finn's strong arms lifting her broken body off the floor, and whispering to her,

"It's over."

xXxXxXx