Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, as if she was surfacing from the bottom of a particularly deep, dark pool. Blinking slowly, she opened her eyes and was greeted by flat blackness. Months of living on the run had honed her instincts, and Hermione's brain immediately switched into "on alert" mode. Feeling the absence of her wand in the pocket of her robes, she sat up slowly, leaving her eyes open so that they could adjust to the dark. Hermione methodically began reciting the twelve uses for dragon's blood, feeling her heart rate slow and her breathing calm slightly. You can't panic.
By the time she finished, her eyes had adjusted to the dark and her surroundings had come into focus; Hermione found herself in the center of a small, stone-walled room with no windows and a single wooden door. There was no furniture, and the room seemed to be filled with an inescapable blackness that hadn't been disturbed for centuries – that is, of course, until Hermione had been unwillingly brought into its midst. The smell of damp permeated the air, and she wrinkled her nose to try and block it out. Sliding over to the door slowly, Hermione listened as her school robes rustled against the stone floor. When she reached the door, she gingerly felt for a handle.
There was nothing.
Her pulse spiking for a moment, Hermione's hand continued to grasp for something that wasn't there. There's no handle. How am I supposed to get out?!
Running her fingertips over the splintered wood, Hermione felt cool metal that was nailed into the door. When she examined the area further with her fingertips, she felt a small gap; A keyhole!
Hermione felt a sense of profound relief run through her. She wasn't trapped in a stone box with no chance of escape. No, her brain supplied. You're just stuck in a stone box with a keyhole and no chance of escape. Much better.
Feeling suddenly very cold, Hermione scooted herself back into the corner of the cell. She wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her head on her knees, focusing on breathing normally. Obviously the autumn chill had managed to seep into the room, and Hermione's thin school robes provided little to no warmth. Where's my hat? My scarf? My jacket? Who cast the spell? Is Harry ok? Is Draco ok? Where am I?
Millions of questions swirled around her mind, creating a reproduction of the small tornado that Draco had made in the potions room all those weeks ago. Shaking her head, Hermione closed her eyes. She knew that she needed to slow her brain down, so she resorted to the method that she'd used during her entire seventh year; she went to her happy place.
Normally, her imagination immediately sent her to the Hogwarts grounds and the view from her room in the Gryffindor tower. The Black Lake would be slightly less black that usual, spring sunshine covering the grounds in a lovely yellow light, the school's shadow creating strange shapes on the ground.
This time, however, she floated back to a dimly lit bar filled with the smell of sawdust and a certain Slytherin…..hands around her waist….a head on her shoulder…..lips by her neck….
Keeping her eyes closed, Hermione quietly began to sing the words to the song that she and Draco had danced to, the slow notes filling the cell and echoing against the stone walls. To Hermione there was something eerily final about the echo, but she pushed that idea out of her head, filling her senses with love, light, and happiness.
HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM
"We have to find her!" Draco shouted, slamming his hands onto the map-covered table.
"We're trying, Draco," Harry said firmly, "you know it's not that easy. Lucius could be anywhere."
"No, he couldn't," Draco ground out, crumpling a piece of parchment beneath his thin-boned hand. "There are only a few places he could possibly be, we just need to send out teams -"
"And reveal ourselves if we choose the wrong place," Neville supplied. "We can't just jump in there, Draco."
A hand rested on his shoulder, and the blonde couldn't help but notice instantly that the hand felt wrong; it wasn't Hermione's. It was too heavy, too broad-boned. "Calm down mate," a deep voice said. "If we let our emotions get the best of us it'll just end up hurting 'Mione."
Draco whirled around to face a stony-faced, exhausted-looking Ron Weasley. His trademark-red hair was unwashed and rumpled, as if he'd just jumped out of bed – which he most likely had –, but his eyes were sharp and keen, looking down at the Slytherin disapprovingly. "Thank you Junior Auror Weasley," Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your logical and unemotional assessment is so welcomed. Thank you ever so much for taking time off to grace us with your presence."
"Draco," Harry snapped, "Ron has a point, stop jabbing at him. Calm down."
Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco shouted, "I will not calm down, you bloody morons! My sadistic bastard of a father has Hermione somewhere, doing Merlin knows what to her, and we're standing around in McGonagall's office drinking bloody tea and looking at maps of random old buildings!" Chest heaving, Draco looked at the other faces in the room with him. "What part of this is ok?" he asked, his voice still filled with passionate anger.
Luna stepped forward slightly, looking back at McGonagall for a split second. "She'll be ok Malfoy," the blonde girl said seriously. "She's Hermione. She can take care of herself while we decide how to best help her. It'll all work out in the end."
With Luna's profound and accurate statement, Draco felt his rage cooling, hardening, and turning into despair sinking into the pit of his stomach. Ever the Malfoy, always focused on keeping up appearances, he grabbed his trench coat from the overfilled coat stand by the door. "I need some air," he mumbled, pulling Hermione's scarf out of the jacket pocket and stalking out of the room.
Slamming the door behind himself to add some dramatic effect to his exit, Draco made it down the stairs before he couldn't contain himself any longer. He quickly ran to the closest door, threw it open, and brought it shut behind him with a quiet click. Leaning back against the door, Draco pulled Hermione's scarf out of his pocket, held it to his nose, and allowed hot tears to fall from the corner of his eyes. The smells of vanilla, cinnamon, and parchment floated down his throat, into his lungs, filling his every pore until he was full to bursting with the feeling of Hermione. Finally, when he was absolutely unable to breathe in any more, Draco exhaled in a long harsh breath and sank to the floor, his knees giving out beneath him and pushing him against the door.
When he opened his burning eyes, Draco saw that he had run into a storage closet. Dark and filled with odd wizarding and muggle cleaning items, Draco felt an eerie prickle run along his skin. Is Hermione stuck somewhere like this? he wondered, wrapping her scarf around his neck, staring into the darkness. Hermione, where are you?
Feeling the tears threaten to fall again, Draco took a deep breath. As loathe as he was to admit it, Ron and Luna had a point; I can't help anyone by being emotional, he thought, closing his eyes. Who'd have thought – a Malfoy rendered incoherent and irrational over a witch. Oh, the power of love.
Draco was startled by his own use of the term 'love'. Is that what this is? he wondered, bringing the end of the scarf up to his nose again.
Placing a hand over his heart, Draco felt for the gaping hole that had to be carved out of his chest. Why else would he be feeling this horrible? However, as he predicted, he felt nothing. It was like when you lose a tooth; you know that it's gone, but your tongue continues to return and explore the new space in your mouth. Draco's fingers kept running over his left side, feeling for a hole that he knew wasn't there, hoping that it would spontaneously appear.
Has Hermione ever felt this? he wondered, secretly wishing that she felt it for him and had never felt it for Ron.
Even the thought of the ginger made Draco's blood boil; Ron was a perfectly nice person, entirely respectful, kind, and insistent on helping in any way he could with finding Hermione, even taking time off from school to help plan and execute the search. Despite the Weasley's outstanding resume and reputation, Draco just couldn't find it in himself to like him. You gave Harry a second chance, why not Ron? The Slytherin stopped himself before he continued his internal questioning, shaking his head. Because he was Hermione's boyfriend, and you're a territorial, pig-headed, bloody male. Idiot. Worse – you're a jealous idiot.
Resigned to his stupid jealously, Draco rested his head on his knees and pulled Hermione's scarf over his head like a hood. Where the hell are you, Hermione? Draco screamed in his mind, the loud thought echoing through his empty soul.
HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM
Hermione had closed her eyes, flitting in and out of that light almost-sleep that everyone experiences when they're too upset to actually sleep. Fragments of disjointed dreams surfaced in her memory, flashing like camera bulbs behind her eyelids.
"Sirius!"
"Oh, stop? Alright, I'll make it stop…"
"Save me, please -"
"Go away, Hermione! I don't want your help, I don't want anyone's help!"
"But, Harry -"
"GO AWAY!"
"Hermione, wake up….you're dreaming…it's Luna…."
With a sudden pain to her ribcage, Hermione's eyes snapped open. She immediately curled into the fetal position, protecting her soft and now-sore stomach. A dark chuckle filled the cell, and Hermione's eyes came to rest on immaculately polished black leather boots, adorned with silver buckles engraved with hissing snakes.
No. No. NO.
Against her brain's will, Hermione flicked her gaze upwards to see the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy hovering above her. To an impartial observer, Hermione supposed that the former Lord Malfoy would look as pristine and haughty as he did during the inter-war peace, but she saw differently; his cape was of a good quality but was obviously not new, his robes were a simple black and were unadorned by any lavish embroidery, and his boots – though leather and intimidating – were worn-looking with thin soles. He had obviously fallen on hard times while living as a wanted fugitive. The one part of him that had definitely not changed, however, was his hair; just as flawless as ever, Lucius' platinum blonde locks hung to just below his shoulders, shining in the dim light provided by his wand. The smell of peppermint wafted through the cell, and Hermione guessed that it was either Malfoy's cologne or some sort of ridiculous hair product. Most likely the latter.
A chill settled at the bottom of Hermione's stomach as she returned her gaze to the boots, averting her gaze from Malfoy's chipped-ice-coloured eyes. I refuse to be weak, she thought firmly. I will not look up to him.
Placing his boot just under Hermione's chin, Lucius forced her to look back up. A burn of rage and humiliation bubbled up in Hermione's throat, and she narrowed her eyes to glare at the arrogant bastard. Lucius, however, seemed unperturbed, bringing his face closer to hers with that malicious grin still plastered to his face. Finally, when he was so close Hermione thought she was going to faint from the overpowering smell of mint, Lucius opened his mouth to speak; "Ah, how the mighty have fallen," he said, giving her throat a light nudge with his boot before returning his leg to the floor. "The precious Golden Girl of the free wizarding world, helpless at my feet."
Forgetting herself, Hermione snorted. Lucius responded by giving her another sharp kick to the ribs. Doubling over in pain, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Not quite so helpless Malfoy," she ground out, tucking her chin into her chest to protect her neck.
Lucius laughed coldly. "You delude yourself, Granger," he said, his voice emotionless. "You are completely at my mercy." With every statement, Lucius moved his face back down to Hermione's level. "No one knows where you are, so no one can come to save you. Escape is impossible. You. Are. Alone."
When he had finished, Lucius was mere centimeters away from Hermione's fiery eyes, his lips in-line with hers. Immediately jumping to the most unimaginably horrible scenario possible, Hermione focused in on Malfoy's lips and paled.
The Death Eater noticed her sudden unease and laughed, grabbing her chin and forcing her face up. "Don't worry, mudblood – you don't interest me. I'm not attracted to filth."
Violently shoving Hermione's face into the wall behind her, Lucius took a step back. Hermione felt her teeth clamp down on her tongue when she hit the wall, and could taste the bitter copper of her blood filling her mouth. "What's your game Malfoy?" she spat out, praying desperately that she'd manage to stain his boots with her 'dirty blood'. "What the hell are you playing at with this? The Ministry can and will find you."
Nonchalantly cleaning his fingernails, Malfoy nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, true. Eventually. After I send in my ransom demand."
Hermione gave a sharp bark of a laugh. "A ransom demand?" she asked incredulously. "Are you that broke?"
Glaring pointedly at the witch, Lucius gave Hermione an enthusiastic kick to the side. "Your life in exchange for my pardon. It seems simple enough, yes? I was originally planning to ransom the Boy Who Lived, but it seems that my plans were….changed at the last minute. You'll do, though."
Hermione sat up, not revealing the pain that she felt shooting up and down her right side. Maybe he'd managed to fracture a rib with that last one. "It'll never work," she said firmly, pushing herself entirely upright with her hands. "They know that I'd rather die than see scum like you walk the streets as free and equal citizens, Death Eater."
Suddenly, Lucius had Hermione's hands above her head, pinning her to the wall with his bodyweight. "Mind your tongue, bitch," he hissed, once again close to Hermione's face.
Bringing his knee sharply into Hermione's stomach, Lucius lit up when she could barely stay upright. At seeing Lucius' enthusiasm, a fresh determination filled Hermione. Resolutely, she pulled herself upright and glared at the disgraced noble. He scowled, and slapped her hard across the face, the sound echoing through the small room. Hermione suppressed her pain and turned her head once again to face Lucius. Grinning, her blood turning her teeth an eerie pink colour, Hermione spat at Lucius. "Rot in Hell, Malfoy," she said, her words slightly slurred.
Pushing Hermione to the ground, Lucius let go of her hands to wipe the blood and spit off of his face and out of his perfectly done hair. Hermione almost laughed at the concern Lucius took in cleaning his hair, but when he turned back to the witch his eyes were burning. Not saying anything, he pressed Hermione down onto the floor with his boot. Thrashing, Hermione tried to free herself from the increasing pressure just below her collarbones. Resistance, however, was futile; the wizard was too strong for her, and was too angry to let her go.
Looking down at Hermione with a disturbing smile, Lucius steadily applied pressure onto Hermione's chest. At first she didn't feel that much worse – it was just weight, after all, and Hermione wasn't all that fragile – but then her breathing became increasingly shallow, and dark spots started dancing across her vision. Refusing to break, Hermione just closed her eyes and lay there.
All at once, the pain crossed a barrier; Hermione heard the crack before she felt the pain, but she immediately knew that Lucius had broken her collarbone. Letting out a hoarse cry, Hermione's head lolled from the pain and unconsciousness threatened to overwhelm her. "Not so easy, witch," Lucius said, lifting her head up violently, forcing her to open her eyes. "You will get me my pardon, and you will obey me! Don't think that I won't kill you."
Unable to speak, Hermione simply closed her eyes. A voice echoed through her head, but what Hermione found odd was that it wasn't her usual inner-voice – it was male, deep, and for some odd reason it was entirely reassuring. Don't give in, Hermione. You're stronger than that, fight him! C'mon, fight back!
The puzzle pieces in her mind finally clicked, and Hermione started; the voice belongs to Draco.
Pushing through the pain, wading through what felt like oceans of fire and bypassing peaks of exhaustion, Hermione opened her eyes once again. "Then kill me," she mumbled, and she stared him down. "I will never obey you."
Furious, Lucius dropped Hermione onto the ground of the cell, kicking her in the side of the head for good measure. Spots returned to Hermione's vision, and she knew that this time she couldn't fight off the darkness.
Watching black boots fade into the black cell and melt into her black consciousness, the last thing Hermione heard was Lucius say, "You have no idea how much you're worth, do you?"
A/N: Here's the next installment! Hopefully I'll get you guys the next chapter by next Monday (November 12th), but no guarantees - this is a crazy busy week for me, but I really want to finish the next part. Please R&R, my darlings! ~sneakyslytherin