A/N: Thank you to everyone who favourited, followed and reviewed. :)

Harry and Ron aren't very nice in this chapter, but keep in mind that they have no reason to trust Draco.


CHAPTER 6

Mid-April 1998

It felt like an eternity before the door was opened again. Judging from the dim blue light that fell down from the narrow window, a whole day had passed. Potter had meant what he had said. They'd left Draco to rot in here. Hunger had come and gone, and Draco's whole body felt numb, having sat there, unmoving, for so long. The chains had hindered his blood flow, and he wasn't sure he could move his fingers, even if he wanted to.

The light from the opening door was bright enough for Draco to recognise Potter and Weasley. A sudden fear sprung to his mind. What if the girl was badly hurt? Why didn't she come to interrogate him, too?

"Where's Granger?" his stupid mouth asked before he could stop it.

Ron launched himself forward and landed a well-placed hit in his face. Pain erupted on his left check, but Draco didn't groan, just looked back at them. He had endured worse.

"Don't you dare to say her name with your worthless, Death Eater's mouth!" Ron spat and shrugged Potter's hand off his shoulder. "I should beat you some more for what you did."

Draco focused his eyes back on the wall behind them. "You should."

Ron growled, but no further punch hit him. Maybe Potter held him back.

"Our questions are still the same, I hope you'll answer this time, Malfoy," Potter said, trying to sound calm and collected.

Draco didn't react and stared at the wall. The little illumination cast on the scene left fading, cerulean shadows painted on the brick. They hadn't believed his answers yesterday, and they wouldn't believe his answers today.

"There must've been a reason you followed us," Potter continued with an unusual softness in his voice, and Draco dared to cast a quick glance at the boy. His features weren't as contorted by hate as last night, but still…

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again.

It was useless. If he couldn't justify his actions to himself, how could he justify them to his enemies? The truth was that he wanted the Dark Lord dead and gone. The reason for this was fear, fear of dying, fear to see his parents die. But they wouldn't understand. They only thought him the monster that stood by and watched their best friend be tortured.

The self-hatred that hit him at that thought was wholly unexpected, and Draco cringed.

"Why did you ask for Hermione, then?" Potter asked, not giving up so easily.

Draco sighed and directed his gaze back at the stone wall.

"Maybe we could punch it out of him," Weasley stage-whispered, seemingly enthralled by the idea.

"Yes, because that works so well, doesn't it?" Draco sneered and regretted it at the same moment. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"What do you mean?" Weasley hissed, taking an aggressive step forward.

Draco bit his lip hard and ignored him.

"Answer me!" Weasley demanded and forcefully turned Draco's face so he needed to look at them. Draco stared into Weasley's blue eyes blankly. He had already said more than he should.

"Ron," Potter sighed, pulling his friend back a little. "He doesn't want to talk."

Damn right, he didn't.

"But what if we offered you a deal?" he continued. "Water for an answer?"

Draco winced involuntarily. Water. Images of the azure liquid filled his mind – the wonder of it, so blue, and clear, and wet. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and Potter knew it. How cruel they were. But what did he expect? He was the monster, after all.

Quickly, Potter left the room and came back with a bottle of water. "Come on, Malfoy, it's a good deal. Just tell us what you meant."

Draco stared longingly at the bottle; seeing it right in front of him seemed to multiply his thirst. But even if he did answer, how would they know he said the truth? Would they trust his words?

The opportunity, however, was too good to pass up. He had always been weak. The thirst was just too much. His tongue was heavy and dry and he swallowed with difficulty.

His eyes found Potter's green orbs, and he confessed with a raw voice, "I said it because I know people lie when being tortured. I … I've seen it." He closed his eyes to ward off the memories. "I lied. The girl lied. Simple as that."

He could see how Weasley clenched his hands into fists, his whole body as tense as a spring, ready to jump at him again.

"How do you know she lied?" Potter asked dangerously calm.

"I don't. I just guessed," Draco shrugged and looked pointedly at the water bottle.

The dark-haired boy nodded slowly, unscrewing the lid. "Fine." He let the reviving liquid drop into Draco's mouth, but stopped after a few sips. Draco growled in protest, but Potter either didn't notice or didn't care.

"So why ask for Hermione?" Weasley threw in, stepping into Draco's vision, hazed with blurring images of the sea, and rain, and cascading waterfalls. Potter's lips pressed into a thin line. That obviously wasn't the question he wanted to be answered first.

Draco closed his eyes. Weak, weak, weak, he scolded himself. He shouldn't have agreed to this game. The little bit of water had only made him thirstier. He wanted to answer so badly, even though he knew they wouldn't believe him.

"Last chance," Potter warned him suddenly, starting to slowly tilt the bottle so that drops of precious water fell to the floor. "We won't come back until tomorrow."

Draco stared at him. "And you wonder why I hate you."

Potter only smirked.

Draco squinted at the dwindling amount of water and made a decision. "Fine. Stop!" He swallowed hard. "I was worried about her. My aunt is …" He didn't know how to continue that sentence.

"Liar!" Weasley snarled and hurled himself at him. "I know you just stood there and watched it, probably enjoyed it, eh?" His punch hit Draco square in the stomach and he gasped for air. The chains clawed themselves into his tender wrists as he doubled over in pain.

But the redhead wasn't done. "Do you think you can fool us?" he yelled. Another punch hit Draco's nose, and he heard something crack. "You fucking bastard." Weasley pushed him backwards. Momentarily, Draco panicked as he felt himself falling without being able to cushion the impact because the magical chains held him in place. Then his chair hit the floor with a crash, and Draco felt almost excruciating pain spike through his arm.

Weasley didn't care, though. "She's miles better than you are, Death Eater scum." Two kicks pushed the air out of Draco's lungs and made tears form in his eyes.

It took him a few gulping breaths before he could open his eyes again. But the both of them were suddenly gone. Potter must have dragged the lunatic out. Draco moved his unhurt arm carefully and realised that the chain binding him was no longer attached to the back of the chair. The wood was splintered and broken. With gritted teeth, Draco freed himself from the chair, but the shackles around his wrist wouldn't move. Gingerly, he stretched out his arms and fiery pain shot through them as the blood began to circulate again. His right arm hurt like a bitch. He hoped that it wasn't broken from his fall.

Whimpering lowly, he curled up in the darkest corner, farthest away from the door. He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to be weak. So he channelled the pain into rage, cursing himself for his stupidity to trust Potter.

The water was gone, too.

He really should have known better.


Draco startled awake when the cell door creaked open, and instinctively, he pressed himself deeper into the corner, not daring to look up. The steps that entered were lighter than Weasley's and smoother than Potter's. Draco had learned quickly to distinguish steps. They told him if he should run and hide, or stay where he was. Such things were essential to know in a house reigned by a madman and a school haunted by sadists.

They were definitely girl-steps. That meant …

Carefully, he glanced up at her.

Hermione was closing the door behind herself and something clicked. Draco flinched at the sound, but it was only the light being turned on.

Suddenly, Draco's senses were attacked by the delicious smell of food. Real food. Something hot, maybe a soup, and the crisp smell of fresh bread. The harsh yellow light was a horrifying contrast to the cold, sapphire light he had endured.

He closed his eyes. Hermione was even crueller than the boys. To bring food he wouldn't be allowed to eat, just to see him suffer.

"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked lightly and approached him. "Fleur made it, not me. My cooking skills are path –" She stopped in mid-sentence, and he looked up to see what had startled her. Shock was obvious on her features. "What happened?"

Draco frowned. What was she talking about?

She freed herself from her immobility and rushed at his side. The tablet with soup and sandwiches was put down carelessly on the floor, and she drew her wand.

Oh.

She was going to hurt him, to curse him, to get her revenge. However in vain it was, Draco pressed himself to the wall as if he could melt into it. Maybe if he pretended she wasn't there, nothing would happen. Schrödinger's cat.

"Episkey," Hermione whispered.

Draco suppressed a groan when his broken nose was set.

"Oh, your hands," she said, and it sounded almost like a sob. "Relashio."

The metallic chains fell from his wrist, hitting the floor with a clank. This time a hiss escaped Draco's lips, a sound between pain and relief. He hadn't realised how heavy the chains had been until he was free of them. Carefully, he brought his arms to his front, relishing in the feeling of being able to move his strained shoulders and to stretch his arms fully. His wrists were bruised from the shackles and a small trail of blood flowed down his right hand, where the metal had ripped his skin.

He'd never felt so relieved in his life before. He was no longer helpless and chained up like a criminal – like an animal. But when he moved to rub his bruised joints, pain jolted through his arm and he gasped.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked instantly. "Is it your arm?"

Draco glanced at her and then back down at his hurt arm, on which he had fallen. Why would she heal him? She hated him! But she had freed him from the damn chains.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione cursed and grabbed his hand roughly. Draco yelped in surprise and tried to flinch back, but he was already pressed against the wall. No escape.

She didn't acknowledge his panic and waved her wand over his wrist. At once, the pain subsided.

"Anything else?"

Draco shook his head, avoiding her gaze. He felt so guilty that he couldn't bear to look at her. She was still a little too pale, and he could see the edges of a white bandage under her sleeve. It felt like her injuries, her pain, were his fault alone.

Hermione scrutinised him. "Let me put some salve on those cuts. They look ugly," she finally said businesslike, pointing at his face where the broken chandelier that had almost fallen on them at the Manor had left its traces.

Draco shook his head again in jerky movements.

"Why not?" she asked.

Quickly, he turned his head to the wall and whispered as low as possible. "Don't waste it on me."

Hermione huffed. "I'm back in a minute." Swiftly, she stood up and moved to the door. "Eat the soup while it's still hot," she said over her shoulder and then left.

Unbelieving, he stared at the bottle of water, the hot soup, and the sandwiches on the plate right next to him. For him? Really? Maybe it was poisoned?

Well, there are worse ways to die, Draco thought and grabbed the bowl. The soup was indeed still hot, and he didn't bother using a spoon; he just gulped it down, not caring that it burned his tongue and throat. When he finished it, he opened the bottle of water and eased the burning with it. Maybe she would take it away from him again, when she came back. He downed the whole bottle and had nearly finished both sandwiches when Hermione returned.

"Here," she breathed and kneeled down next to him. She offered him a tube with the promised salve.

Draco only stared at it until she sighed. "Fine. I'll do it." With a wave of her wand, Hermione cleaned his face and began to apply salve to various parts of it. He tried to ignore how good it felt.

He was behaving like a coward, and he knew it. But he just didn't know how to handle this situation. All control over his life had been taken from him the second Voldemort had ordered him to kill Dumbledore, and it had felt like dying, an ice blue compression on his life. And with every day that passed, with every bottle of Firewhiskey he finished, with every threat and every curse, he had died a little inside ever since.

And now he was just dead, and still dying. Would it ever stop? His only survival tactic was to retreat into himself, ignore that he was still unable to control the situation. He wasn't even able to make the simple decision of running again. He was tired of running.

Then, there was the Golden Trio. And he didn't know how to handle them. Cruelty he knew, so Potter's and Weasley's treatment hadn't surprised him. But kindness; kindness unsettled him. And unchaining him, bringing him food, had been kind.

"What happened, Draco?" asked Hermione's gentle voice. How could she even address him? After everything he'd done? And, Draco?

He swallowed audibly, but still didn't answer. It didn't feel right to talk to her.

"You're not acting like your usual self, you know," she clarified. "But at least your face is as good as new."

He nodded, "Thanks." His mother would be proud. Manners and all that. Or maybe she wouldn't be. Accepting help from a Mudblood.

Contrary to his expectations, Hermione didn't stand up and leave but sat down next to him. Not close, but close enough. Draco could almost feel her warmth in the freezing room. He could swear that his fingertips were tinged aquamarine, as if dipped in iridescent paint, from the coldness of it.

Her soft eyes searched his gaze. He didn't trust these eyes; they seemed like traps filled with compassion and worry. He hadn't deserved any of these notions.
"Do you want more?" Hermione's gaze had trailed to the empty bowl and bottle.

Draco closed his eyes. That game again. "And which question do you expect me to answer for that?" he asked bitterly.

She gasped. Maybe because of his words, maybe because he finally spoke.

"Oh, don't act so innocent. The 'good Auror, bad Auror'- act doesn't work on me." He curled himself back into a tight ball and stared at his knees. She wouldn't get him to say anything else.

"Just answer me this," Hermione said quietly. "Why won't you talk with us?"

Draco snorted. "Would you believe anything I say?"

She swallowed. "I don't know. Try me."

He laughed darkly. Nice try, really. She must think him as stupid as they come. All he wanted was to be left alone. At least, here he was safe. He could just sit this one out and wait for Potter to kill the sodding Dark Lord. "I know you can't let me go and, honestly, I wouldn't know where to go if you did, but…" his voice faltered, "but could you just leave me in peace? I'm no danger to you."

"True." Hermione shrugged. "So you didn't come after us to stop us?" she speculated.

He knew she watched him closely, so he tried to give nothing away. She was just too clever, he needed to change the subject. "How's your arm?"
She flinched. "Hurts."

Moron! Why did he ask that? Of course, it bloody hurt. "Go on," Draco breathed, barely audible. "Hurt me back."

She was silent for a few moments. "You weren't the one who carved it."

"But I stood there and watched, didn't I?" He looked up and saw just what he expected to see. Unfiltered hate and pain. They stared at each other for a few moments; then she stood up and rushed out of the room, crashing the light off in a flailing arm.

Good.

Maybe she wouldn't come back. He didn't need her to take him on as her next pity project because she expected to find some deeper truths hidden inside him. There were none.

He was a coward – that was all there was to him.

Tears burned in Draco's eyes. Tears of pain, and loneliness, and despair. So he sat in the dark blue room and cried for the boy he once had been and the boy he had become.


Present

The sun had already begun to set when Draco was able to descend to the dungeons, some food and painkillers in hand. His fingers still trembled uncontrollably from the repeated Crucio – Why did you not prevent Potter from finding my treasures?, the Dark Lord had asked again and again, and Draco had been unable to answer – but he knew Hermione was in a much worse state. Voldemort's rage had been uncontrollable, but the trap for Harry tomorrow and torturing Hermione had cheered him up somehow, so Draco had escaped with his life.

Bellatrix's steps followed him closely down the stone stairs. He didn't really feel in the right mindset for his little double-agent game, but he had no choice. He could only hope that Hermione understood while his aunt didn't.

Draco unlocked the cell door with his wand this time, not giving away his Malfoy perks of opening it wandlessly, and slipped into the darkness that waited for him like a predator for the prey. The door stood purposely ajar, so Bellatrix would have no problems eavesdropping.

"Lumos."

The white light seemed too bright, and he blinked before his eyes focused on the unconscious person on the stone floor. Not even the creaking of the cell door had been able to wake Hermione, which was worrying enough. She was curled up on the side, her wild hair hiding her face. For a second, Draco feared that she wasn't breathing, but then she lowly groaned, and he rushed to her side.

"Hermione?" he whispered, gently touching her shoulder. Her skin was like ice. "Wake up."

At once, Hermione bolted upright, her eyes darting through the room and finally settling on him. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, and her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. It seemed to cost her almost a herculean effort to stay upright, and she trembled so violently that he couldn't tell if it was because of the cold or the after-effects of the curse.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione croaked.

He tried to ignore how hoarse she sounded and replied, "Checking on you, of course. I brought you food and painkillers."

The witch frowned, confused eyes darting over the items in his hand. A groan escaped her lips when she tried to shift her weight leaning back against the wall. Quickly, she bit down on her bottom-lip to hide her pain. "Why would you? I thought you're back with your Death Eater buddies, making fun of the Mudblood!" she spat, making him wince. Her anger sounded so honest it hurt.

"Hermione…." he sighed, seemingly impatient. "You know I can't… what do you want me to do? I can't grab you and run. If you would just tell him what he wanted to know…"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and he knew she understood perfectly well what he tried to imply. We are not alone. I'm pretending. Because the real Draco would never say such a thing.

Her eyes slid to the door, and then she nodded. "I know. But I won't."

"Hermione…" he admonished her, but decided he shouldn't push any further. "Eat something."

She almost ripped the water bottle out of his hands and downed it in small sips, not unlike Draco had done some weeks ago in a different cellar when their positions had been reversed. Carefully, he deposited the food on the cleanest spot he could find.

"Are you badly hurt?" Draco asked after a moment of silent assessment.

Hermione shrugged but winced at the motion. "Nothing out of the ordinary." Silently, she gestured at her ribs and her shoulder, where her T-Shirt was torn.

"I'm sorry," he muttered barely audible and as genuine as he could, because – Merlin – he was sorry. If he could only take her pain. The only thing he could do was perform a silent healing spell as best as he could. Her facial muscles relaxed a bit, so it must have helped.

"So… you really don't know where Potter would be hiding?" he took up conversation again to keep Bella satisfied.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt to pry information out of her, but pretended to be stupid and gullible. "Oh, Draco… I… I'm not sure. We talked about the next Horcrux, but…" Her voice trailed away as if unsure what to say. "I think he might try Godric's Hollow again or…" She reduced her voice to a whisper. "Hogsmead."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Did she want Voldemort to check these locations? "And you're sure he hasn't figured out where another… well, you-know-what could be?"

"Absolutely," she said, determined, and sounded so honest that Draco could only shake his head. The way she lied… there was something terrifyingly Slytherin about her.

"That's… terrible." Draco gritted his teeth. Even he could hear the falseness in his voice. He wasn't as good in lying as she was and feared his aunt would see through this charade, through his stuttered lies and half-truths.

Hermione smiled weakly at him. "You will get me out of here, won't you, Draco?"

His heart missed a beat because, suddenly, he wasn't sure how serious she meant that question. "I promise," he answered, his voice quavering a little. Automatically, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Everything'll be okay, just as Potter and Weasley are okay." Further, he couldn't go, but Hermione understood and nodded thankfully.

Draco wished he could do more. He wished he could take her to his room now, heal all her wounds, and pretend everything was right with the world without a Dark Lord looming over them.

But that, he couldn't do.