.

Author's Note:

Just a warning - this chapter contains some morbid death-related imagery.

»»-¤-««

XXII: The Hermit

The boredom was maddening.

The sun rose and set day after day, oblivious of the lonely curly-haired girl whose only measure of days was the star's rotation as it moved across the sky. The rain had run dry and the air chilled against the expansive, indifferent sky.

Everything around her was vivid.

The colors of the trees burst with verdant life, and the puffy lilac clouds drifted with purpose across the pink, blue, yellow background every morning and evening. As she had done the day before, and the day before that, Hermione watched the magnificent show of colors, sitting cross-legged at the entrance of the cave resting her head against the warm Hippogriff. The sky seemed to be the only thing that changed around her during these unremarkable days.

Draco's condition had shown some improvement, but the progress was unpredictable and often stagnant. During the first few days after the accident, she would spend hours hovering over him. She'd run a cold cloth over his temple as his body burned with fever, force potion after potion down his lips, and clean the wound on his side as blood and brown liquid seeped out. For three days, it seemed as though he was asleep and she would shake with worry, afraid that he would never wake up. He slept for the both of them, as she would wake up several times in the night to make sure he was still breathing. She would run water though his hair and over his forehead and rock herself as she watched him take in a breath then let out the breath.

"I'm sorry," she'd whisper, her thumb tracing over his arched blonde brow that had grown damp from the tiny droplets of sweat that gathered at his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she'd repeat. "I didn't know. I was so stupid." Her fingers and eyes would trace his features, taking in the face that she had forced herself to look away from for too long. "Please come back to me. Please."

On the fourth day Draco opened his eyes and it terrified her. As her books had warned, the venom caused severe sensory loss and it was clear that he had grown blind. Clouds filled his previously silver-blue irises. The opaque filter augmented the world into what Hermione could only assume was blurs and moving shadows. Though he seemed to sense when she was nearby, he did not show any signs of acute comprehension of what she was doing even as she worked mere inches from him. If he could hear, it wasn't apparent to Hermione as he remained consistently unresponsive to her inquiries or demands. His voice had become stifled, twisted into a series of breaths and malformed whispers that Hermione could not understand. He stopped trying to communicate within half a day.

Despite the impossibility of reaching him, Hermione had developed a keen awareness of Draco's facial expressions and body language. Having fed him, treated him, and patiently pressed several cups of the requisite chamomile tea with honey and lemon-leaf to his lips, Hermione had - through necessity - learned to pick-up his emotions and tolerances. It felt contagious as she would approach him, the air about him lingering with his state of mind. She knew when Draco was sitting in his own cocoon of desperation, frustrated over his limitations. She would encourage him to sit up or walk with her - though he was barely able to shuffle one foot before the other at first, the venom having impacted his balance and ability to feel where his weight pressed. Hermione felt solely responsible for his well-being as he lay trapped in the sensory deprivation chamber that was his mind. She had become a master of knowing what he needed to survive and when he wanted to be left in peace. Beyond that, he was, in this state, a man of little need.

And she did not know how to make him better.

It was difficult to care for a sick man without magic or adequate supplies. Despite Harry's warning that the Forest was unsafe, not to mention her own experiences with the vicious wilderness, she chose to venture outside. She had to: they had to eat, they had to drink. If survival weren't enough, Hermione's potion ingredients in her stores were running dangerously low and she was adamant about brewing. Though she had initially stuck to foraging within the perimeter of the cave - having felt more vulnerable than ever and recognizing the potential danger of leaving Draco alone - the available vegetation and herbs that were sprouting near the cave were quickly dwindling as she picked and pruned twice a day. The repetitive routine of keeping to the same rode day after day had also dragged Hermione's spirits down as novelty had become hard to come by.

On her lucky days, Hermione found a freshly killed squirrel or bird trapped under the talon of the temperamental Hippogriff. Hermione had learned to bribe the giant bird with a few pieces of freshly picked wild garlic, in exchange for the dead animal that Hermione would cook and prepare for dinner. Though she could not rely on having meat regularly, it was a valuable staple in their otherwise unremarkable diet. On days that the Hippogriff would disappear without a trace, Hermione foraged for herbs and roots - yarrow and valerian, chamomile which grew abundant in the open sunny meadows. She found edible vegetables and berries to feed Draco. Some days, she just went for a walk, yearning to break away from the sorrow that she was living with in the cave.

It only took three days before Hermione picked up Draco's wand.

If the circumstances were any different, she would have never done it. Using another witch's or wizard's wand without consent was rather rude. A wand was so personal as the connection would become forged to the wizard. It was akin to wearing someone else's knickers, an uncomfortable and slightly disturbing change. But her wand was almost entirely useless. With the exception of a terribly mild Scourgify spell, she had not made much leeway connecting the magic back to the instrument. She was naked in the wilderness without magic.

And she didn't want to look at that vile thing. The black, grotesque, horrid wand. Bent, and twisted, and dark like the woman herself, may she rest in pieces.

If she didn't loathe being stuck with the wand before, she couldn't stand to look at it now. The fact that the owner had tried to kill Hermione and still a part of her remained in the same room felt like a violation. She wanted to get rid of it. Bury it deep underground far, far away. But then what?

So she took his. And after what felt like forever, Hermione had magic again.

His wand was kind to her. Hermione wept the first time she was able to cast a spell with his wand, both for the sense of relief she'd felt for having magic once more, and for the unusual closeness she felt when his wand succumbed to her wishes as magic flowed out of it effortlessly. When she went out foraging, when she had to hunt (an activity Hermione quickly learned was not for her), when she had to brew potions, he was with her.

It felt like all she could do was brew potions for him. She would mix whatever herbs and vegetation that had appropriate magical properties with her dwindling stores of potion ingredients. They weren't even potions, really, there was no precedence to them, no years-long testing and retesting to ensure a reliable and safe product. It was combining ingredients and praying that the magical effects would work well together. She would drink a dose herself and pray that she didn't fall ill or die, leaving them both to rot in the cave. It was inadvisable, but she had to do something.

The guilt of it tortured her. She had watched as the skilled wizard deteriorated into this immobile, unsensing version, stuttering over his own tongue. A dense shell had been cast around him as the animated, spirited being underneath attempted to be free of the confines. She felt awful about it. For the first three days as Draco lay asleep, Hermione wept. Wept and worried. Paced the floor, then curled up into a ball as she rocked herself, watching as his chest rose and fell. Then something clicked. On the fifth day, her tears dried up and apathy set in. She had developed an uncanny ability to stifle whatever responsibility she felt. She turned to her potion crafting to help occupy her wandering mind and to preserve the sliver of sanity that was left. In a constant battle between remorse and isolation, her loneliness always won.

She didn't know if he could feel her touch. In moments of desperate loneliness, Hermione would run her fingers over the back of his hand, half-hoping that he would clasp her fingers in his and hold her, even in the mildest of ways. He never did. Still, his touch made her feel tethered to him. To the world around them.

At first, tending to his care had no unusual effect. Then after several days Hermione would find herself next to him on the bed, combing his hair with her fingers, or pressing a cup of warm chamomile tea to his lips, and would be overcome with sadness, anguish, or desperation. It was difficult to explain, and even more difficult to rationalize as, on different days, she would approach him and find herself drowning in a paralyzing flood of sorrow that emanated around him and wafted out like a noxious gas. She could feel her own body respond, her heart tightening as her chest constricted until she could hardly breathe and every exhale shook with a sob. It was almost impossible to touch him on those days, and she dreaded having to experience such intensity.

It was on the fifth or sixth day - there was no telling the days apart anymore - that Hermione sat herself on the bed beside Draco, prepared to clean and medicate his side. A thick glob of ground yarrow root mixed with honey sat on her palm, melting as it acclimated to her body heat, and waited to be spread on his healing skin. Scabs had started to form and the wound had cleaned neatly without sign of infection. With two fingers, she gathered a bit of the concoction and pressed it onto his side.

It was immediate. As her fingertips touched his skin, Hermione jumped, startled at the sound playing in her head. She recoiled immediately and glanced around, frantically searching for the source of the noise she had just experienced. It sounded like strings. Not quite like a centaur's bow, but more melodic. Dramatic. Emotive.

The room was still, save for the usually crackling fire and sleepy, deep breaths of the white rabbit.

Was she hallucinating? Hermione wondered if she had collected the right plants - perhaps she had mistaken yarrow root for a hallucinogen that had begun to seep into her skin. She had taken so many doses of potion, who knew what kind of concoction she had crafted?

That seemed highly unlikely, though. She had been using the same batch for several days without any adverse effect.

Hermione let it go. Perhaps she was just tired. She turned to press the paste onto his skin again, and again she jumped as the sound filled her head. This time, she let herself hear it. It was strings. Long, soothing sounds. The sharp sound quivered as the notes changed. A flood of emotion passed through her as she sat there, still as stone. She recognized it. The sound of a lone violin - and she new the tune.

Was it Debussey or Chopin?

No, it was definitely Chopin. A nocturne. Melancholy and beautiful.

Music her parents had played for her when she was a child, as she would fall asleep.

When she withdrew her hand from his skin, the sound dissipated. Upon touching him again, it came back. The music seemed to be exuding from him, pouring into her as her skin met his. It was bizarre. Something caused by the venom. An unusual side effect the book had failed to mention.

After that day, whenever she would approach him, tend to him, hold his hand, she would hear it. Sometimes the tickling of piano keys, other times a string quartet. Mozart, Bach, Brahms. Sometimes a tune she had never heard before. She grew accustomed to it and enjoyed the stimulation and peace it provided her.

Some days, the music wasn't music at all. Sheer chaos would flood her head and cause her to double over and cover her ears as she tried to escape from the intense, violating noise. Metal banging on metal, drums played without any melodic inclination. The sound of a woman's shrill and helpless screaming. The last sound felt familiar to Hermione. Her skin grew clammy with a cold sweat as she tried to pinpoint the memory tied to the sound and was unable to, probably for the best. Upon the assault on her ears - or mind, rather - her face would radiate with heat and she would find herself curling her fingers into a tight ball as she seethed with rage. With the exception of punching Draco in third year, Hermione would not have considered herself to be violent but the sense of anger that lived in her on those days made her want to punch the wall until her knuckles were bloody. On those days, she found herself yelling at him.

She had many reasons to be upset. She was so upset with him and with herself. He left her, stranded and alone in the cave. He left her and got hurt. Got hurt trying to help her.

And she tried not to think about her reasons for being upset with herself. It was too much to handle. The rare moments that guilt reared its ugly head, she would get a stomach ache from the stress. She tried so hard not to think about how awful she'd been the day before he left. She tried to forget how undeserved it was. She tried desperately to shove it from her memory.

Distractions were all she had.

»»-¤-««

Hermione glanced back into the belly of the cave, staring at the fireplace which nursed a small calmly crackling fire. There had been no word from Harry since their last conversation. She had no idea if and when she would hear from him again, and was desperate to see his expressive face and know that he was still okay. She had tried to reach him for several days. Though she quickly gave up finding him at the Burrow - it was too depressing to see that empty home which used to be full of joy now left abandoned as cobwebs and dust began to grow visible atop the counters and tabletop. Grimmauld Place also seemed abandoned as she had tried to peek in on different times of day, with varying levels of volume as she cried out for someone, anyone in the Order to acknowledge her. Even Kreacher didn't pop his head in to insult her blood status or pretend that she wasn't there. It was all seeming so futile, and her large jar of Floo Powder was beginning to deplete to anxiety-inducing levels.

"Good morning Draco," she murmured as she approached the bed, pulling the blanket gently off of his torso as she folded the soft grey fabric over itself and drew it down to his knees. She had begun leaving his black button-down shirt unbuttoned after countless hours spent tending to his wound.

"What shall we read today?" She spoke softly, as though soothing a sleeping baby. She pressed her palm against his visible skin, her fingers grazing below his pectoral muscle as she felt his ribs lift and contract under her touch. Each inhale and exhale was steady and shallow, an indicator that he was not asleep despite his eyes being shut. They were usually shut; Hermione wondered if the blurry vision was something he'd been actively avoiding.

A thin layer of coarse blonde stubble had grown on his cheeks and chin, a side effect of not having a regular hair removal charm to whip away any unwanted facial hair as Hermione was nervous to cast the spell on his sensitive face, having only cast it on her legs and underarms. His pale hair draped to the side of his face, framing his sharp features and accentuating the curve of his cheekbone and angular jaw. He seemed almost peaceful, as though he were to rouse from a casual afternoon nap at any moment.

As her gaze washed over his face, then down to his torso, she felt herself snap up and withdraw her hand which she noticed had remained pressed against his bare chest. Quickly, awkwardly, Hermione reached for the book that had been discarded to the floor and buried her nose in it.

"So which'll it be? Herbology textbook, or the Mystical Muses series? Not sure I ever finished this book. My mum got it for me before Fourth Year." Hermione looked through the teen romance with marked interest before tossing it aside. "No, you'd probably hate that. Hmm, what else?"

She stared at the pile that had gathered at the foot of the bed as she had cycled through reading chapters from her books to Draco. Though on any given day of the school year, Hermione would have been completely fine being sequestered to a room surrounded by books, for some reason over the past few days the act of relying upon her beloved tomes felt a bit claustrophobic. They had become her only source into the outside world, allowing her mind to stray beyond the rock walls and eerie silence that surrounded her. Still, as she would lift the worn leather bindings and delicately flip through the old parchment pages of each book, she would quickly fall for their charm and lose herself in them once more. Plus, and most important of all, reading was something to do.

She cracked open her book, images of black printed herbs, roots, and vegetation flipping before her eyes as she moved from page to page.

"What were we on? Was it the Venomous Tentacula or Veritaserum Ingredients? No, I think we finished that chapter," she said with a sigh, running her fingers over the pages as she idly stared around the room, "Why am I so restless today? Hrm. Would you care for a walk?" She asked as she held his hands and gently pulled to urge him upward.

She understood his obvious decline when she felt the pressure of him pulling back. No matter, she figured, he had walked a bit yesterday and it was enough to keep his muscles going. Besides, his weight against her shoulders had been heavier than she cared to admit; it had become exhausting helping him in and out of the bed without help.

Her stomach grumbled audibly as she turned to rummage through her food stores, putting together a small plate of fresh fruit for herself and Draco. Sitting on the bed next to him, she punctured the flesh of a fresh, ripe blackberry and ran the plump fruit over Draco's lips. At the sensation, his lips parted and Hermione placed the berry into his mouth where he slowly chewed. She placed one in her mouth as well and made an "mmm" sound at the flavor of fresh, saccharine, and slightly tart berry bursting with flavor against her tongue. As they finished their fresh assortment of blackberries, hazelnuts, and little yellow berries of sea buckthorn, she cleaned up, wiped his mouth, and placed any remaining edibles back into her bookbag that acted as storage. They were running low on some valuable staples, as Hermione was intentionally feeding Draco four to five times a day in the hopes that the nutrients would somehow bolster his strength. The shred of light that peeked through the trees indicated that she only had a few more hours remaining of daylight before her entire world would be blanketed in the darkness of night.

With a pep in her step, Hermione pocketed his wand, leaving behind the other two that she refused to think about any longer.

"Going to get some more food for supper, Draco, I'll be back soon," she announced before slipping out.

The Hippogriff seemed to have disappeared as she regularly did, enjoying her freedom to roam the wilderness on her own terms. Hermione, however, stuck to the regular path as she left the cave, heading east past the large pine tree with the hollow trunk, then down to shadow's edge where she had ventured to find several of her potions ingredients. Once she had hit the small, still pool that was home to the leaches, she'd often stop and turn back. This path had become familiar to Hermione and she had gathered quite an assortment of edibles on this path. As she plucked long green leaves from the dandelion plant and filled her deep pockets with potential dinner, she moved on to inspect fat chanterelle mushrooms that sprouted from the ground, clearly nourished and growing large from the recent rainfall. Then she moved onto the elderflower plant. She plucked each one before heading back down her usual trail. She brought the elderflowers up to her face and inhaled deeply, the sweet, floral scent filling her mind. It brought back memories of the rainy afternoon in Hagrid's hut. Hagrid. She wondered how he was doing, where he was. In honor of him, she couldn't wait to dry the fragrant flowers and taste the delightful flavors. It was a hot tea and lose-yourself-in-a-book kind of day.

She considered what she would read when she made her way back to the cave. Perhaps The Significance of Tree Sap in Modern Potioncraft? Or Phantasm: The Interpretation of Trances, Dreams, and Nightmares?

As she idly strolled down her path, Hermione noticed a large tree several yards west that seemed to be brimming with bright red fruit that Hermione never noticed before. She approached it with excitement at her new discovery before she realized something was amiss. It was subtle at first, the smell of a sticky, putrid meat that may have been left out for too long. As she continued walking toward it, the stench grew stronger, and oddly sweeter. She considered what kind of fruit it was, perhaps it was a magical breed that had an unusual smell.

Hermione pinched her nose, stopping mid-step as she recoiled and faced away. The smell seemed to be everywhere. It filled her senses even when her nose was covered, as if the smell had coated the inside of her nostrils. It was putrid. It reminded her of garbage that had been left out in the hot sun for days. Like cheese that had fermented too long. Like death.

She felt her stomach constrict, as if it had just shriveled inside of her body, and she felt her saliva thicken as her throat squeezed in a gag. She needed to escape the vile, unforgettable stench, and her legs responsively moved to take her away from the smell. As she cleared some distance between herself and the source, she stood with her arms on her hips, her mind reeling.

What kind of a fruit would smell like that?

For her own curiosity's sake, Hermione needed to know.

Dung beets? Though they don't usually grow on trees, do they? Pungous Onions have a strong scent but they definitely grow in the earth. Corpse berries are said to smell awful, though they aren't native to Scotland…

She eyed the tree from afar while digging the tip of her toe into the ground and standing with her arms across her chest, quietly mumbling theories to herself.

The discomfort ultimately did not seem to sway her as Hermione warily made her way back, her nostrils pinched shut while her gaze remained glued to the fruit on the tree. She stopped once she was mere feet away, her lips pursing outward in a disappointed frown upon discovering that the fruit appeared to be plain wild apples. As Hermione took a step closer to continue her investigation, she heard a crunch and felt something crack under the sole of her feet.

"Oh my God," Hermione muttered nasally as she glanced down.

At the base of the large tree was a dark lump which Hermione had originally mistook for a rock or a surfaced root. She had hardly seen it beyond a cursory glance, but as she stood there under the fruitful branches of the apple tree, Hermione grew unnerved at the sight as her mind began to comprehend the image before her.

This was the source of the smell.

She could see skin, but not much of it. The pattern of cells like a familiar roadmap of imperfect oval-shapes and tiny indentations of pores looked to Hermione like human skin. The coarse hair under the two black holes that Hermione had determined used to be a nose indicated that this was likely a man. There were no eyes. That is to say, Hermione was unable to identify any eyes as small, squirming, beige worms had covered whatever she could see of the space that must have been the person's eye socket.

They had to have been out there for a few days. The skin which may have been peach-toned had grown dark and was missing in large chunks. The Forest was not kind to this body, as animals had pecked and fed on the pieces of flesh that remained visible, with few exceptions. The lips of the person had curled and shriveled, revealing perfect teeth that were unnervingly preserved amid the grotesque face of the decaying cadaver.

He had been wearing a black hood, and as she noted the inlay of the cloak - black and green silk serpentine patterns that remained untouched - Hermione felt her stomach sink. She recognized it, and her suspicions were confirmed as she noted the pointed black hood that was folded and crushed, barely visible under the bloated corpse.

A Death Eater.

In the Forest.

Harry had been right. They were close, and she didn't deign to imagine how many more were out there.

Her curiosity faded and gave way to sheer terror as she'd stumbled on this information. She didn't know why she stayed there, taking the image in, frozen in place as her stomach twisted in her body and threatened to spill its contents onto the ground. She felt herself grow faint as her eyes wandered down the body and she learned that the person had no legs. They were stumps. The visible parts of him had been gnawed off and when she looked a few feet away, she could see the discarded metatarsal bone that was once attached to him. It had become a gnarled mass. A piece of food for the wild life of the vicious forest.

This was a human, she reminded herself. This used to be a person. Evil as he was, as cruel as he may have been to her for being a muggle-born, he used to walk and talk and breathe.

She couldn't breathe.

She felt her lungs struggle against the invisible weight on her chest as she tried to suck in air, anxiety closing in on her like a tunnel whose opening was growing smaller and tighter.

She felt herself backing away. She didn't know she was doing so as her body grew disconnected from her mind.

She could almost watch herself from the trees, the horror splayed on her face and her heart pounding visibly in the thick vein of her throat. She could see the pale flesh of her own skin as the world seemed to be visible from a bird's eye view.

It wasn't until she had backed away from the body, the smell growing into a distant foggy memory that she noticed the arrows. There was one in his chest, pinning him to the floor. Near his head and arms there were three other arrows that had missed and landed on the ground, impaling the dirt nearby.

None of it even mattered as Hermione's world spun on its axis, too fast for her to feel steady.

She couldn't breathe.

He didn't have a face.

He was dead, and eaten like an animal.

Her eyes bore into the figure from afar. She was unable to look away.

She wished she had. She hated herself for staring, because as she stood there, pressing her weight against another tree, staring at the rotten corpse until her eyes grew dry, Hermione spotted the familiar tattoo. It was not easy to see as she'd hovered above him, but now from her vantage point she could see the way the forearm had bent unnaturally away from his body. It was vivid red against the dead shriveled skin.

It was then that Hermione lost it. She bent over and wretched at the image. The skull. The snake. The perpetual way it came out of its mouth, reminding her of the night on the Hogwarts Grounds. Reminding her of…

Draco.

This could have been Draco. This Death Eater could have been Draco. With the same tattoo. Trapped in the same forest, meeting the same fate.

The thought was too much to handle, even more than the image of the mangled corpse.

She didn't need any more answers. She regretted ever veering from the familiar path. She regretted her stupid sense of curiosity. She hated it. She wanted to forget it. She needed to see him. He had to be okay.

With every bit of energy Hermione had, she ran, pushing through the burn in her limbs and the asthmatic gasps that the anxiety had induced in her.

She finally stumbled inside the familiar room, the world still spinning around her and her heart galloping like a wild Hippogriff.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she fell onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Draco. She squeezed him tightly, the image of the Dark Mark still in her mind as she tried to rid her thoughts of it. She hugged him, resting her head on his stiff chest as she gently rose and fell with his breaths.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Please, please come back. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry, Draco."

She could feel his hot breath against her forehead, ever-so-slowly drawing her out of the panicked state as her own strained breathing slowly grew deeper and her shaking softened. She pressed the pads of her icy fingers against his bare chest, feeling the sparse blonde hair that was sprinkled over his pectorals and faded into a faint line down his stomach. She felt her fingers come into contact with a solid texture, and as she gripped the paper-thin metallic pendant it she felt the outline of the sage leaf necklace he had enchanted, matching the ivy-and-floral bracelet he had made her. It was pulsing hard and fast, reminding her of the visible heartbeat of the rabbit as it slept: rapid, shallow, and persistent. She wondered if there had been a moment that Draco regretted enchanting the pendants, making their well-being accessible to one another and tying the pair together even amid their separation, back when…

So much had changed for her. She shook again with new sobs and fresh tears as she felt the heart-tightening awareness of his absence. She missed him.

His skin was warm and his face was flushed. He was breathing and full of life. He seemed to be okay - she needed him to be okay. But he wasn't here with her. His body lay limp against her trembling form.

She didn't know how to survive without him and she didn't want to.

As unending tears rolled down her cheeks, she counted his slow rhythmic heartbeats against the fluttering pace of her own conveyed in the enchanted sage leaf charm.

Hermione clung tightly to him like this, counting his breaths as they both fell asleep.

»»-¤-««

Hermione stirred, letting her arms stretch wide in the soft, comfortable bed. The air felt damp and cold around her, and she pulled the heavy blanket over her shoulders before turning onto her side and letting out a soft moan of contentment. She let her arms hang off the side of the bed as she began to doze back into a slumber before...

"Draco?"

The bright morning light caused her to wince and squint as her eyes became adjusted to daylight. She jumped up and stared at the bed that she had just risen from, alone.

"Draco!"

She ran around to the other side of the bed, glancing on the ground to spy if he had perhaps fallen off. There was nothing on the ground. Hermione's mouth ran dry as she looked around the room to find it empty. Nothing had been taken, with the exception of what appeared to be Draco Malfoy.

"Oh no," she muttered, pressing her palm against her temple as every possible worst case scenario ran through her mind.

They must have taken him. The Death Eaters. They had seen her coming back into the cave and they took him, and now they are going to kill him. It was obvious. There were clearly Death Eaters looking for them. And he was their number one target.

"Oh my God, Draco..."

Nausea bubbled up inside her again, and she bent over, clutching her stomach as she tried to deal with her circumstances.

But wouldn't the Death Eaters have taken her too? Or at least killed her? Does it even matter what they'd do to her, he's gone!

She stood up once more, letting out a shaky exhale. As Hermione stood there, experiencing a whirlwind of trauma, she noticed a paper laying on the table near the couch. She rushed to it, expecting a ransom note signed by Lord Voldemort himself before she stared at it, her heart aflutter.

Granger,

Going to take a bath. Much needed.

I'll be back soon.

If you want to find me, follow the light.

Path is warded.

- DM

"A bloody bath, Malfoy?" she exhaled sharply. Despite the clear irritation in her words, relief and a new type of nervousness fluttered through her.

»»-¤-««

Author's Note:

Hello loves,

Please review and let me know what you think!

The beginning of this chapter was a challenge to write and it probably read as slow and tedious, which is what I was trying to accomplish by bringing it as close to Hermione's own experience as possible but it was hard to not find myself depressed as I explored her inner conflict and helplessness.

That's to say, however, that the future chapters are VERY exciting for me.

I'm giddy to see what you have to say about what I have planned!

Please keep sharing your feedback, it makes me so happy.

Thank you!

All my love,

Syren

p.s. With this chapter posted , I have officially hit over 100,000 words of my first work of fanfic/fiction!

I'm going to break out the bubbly for that (and literally for any excuse I can - cause I'm a lush lol) Okay that's all!