A/N: Here's Chapter 1! A special thanks to my two reviewers, AnimalLover247 and Lanie, thanks a lot! If I get one more review I'll have more reviews in the Prologue and Chapter 1 of this story than all 6 of the chapters in my first story, so yay! That'd be pretty great :)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own it.

Asylum

Chapter 1: Lost Hope

To say that Draco was shocked would be an understatement. Sure, he had heard rumors of her capture from the other Death Eaters, but he had never believed them to be true. He had assumed Potter would never let her be captured, or that Granger would put up such a spectacular struggle that her captors would decide to give up rather than be hexed into oblivion. And yet here she was, looking like she had seen her fair share of torture.

For some reason, he wanted her to bite some snarky remark at him. He wanted her to ask what he was looking at, to call him ferret, to scream at him that it was his fault. It was his fault, really. If Dumbledore had been alive, he could have prevented this. He just wanted her to show that she was Hermione Granger.

This…this person was not Hermione Granger.

Her eyes didn't shine with the normal fire, she was disgustingly thin, her cheeks were shrunken, and her skin looked oddly stretched across her face. She had a gray, sickly tint and all traces of Gryffindor bravery was gone as she recoiled, apparently unaware of whom he was. Bruises were scattered across her skin like some sort of sick decoration. The fact that she was alive must mean that she had not divulged and information under torture, and he felt an odd surge of admiration.

The prisoners were not supposed to be tortured to insanity so they didn't forget important information, but it looked as if someone had gone a bit too far with her. She kept pushing herself farther and farther back into the corner, her bare, calloused feet scraping the floor fruitlessly. She raised her arms over her head as if trying to defend herself, but her arms were shaking so badly Draco doubted they would have been able to even grasp on to something. Her eyes were on him, wide with fear, and she would not stop whimpering helplessly.

This was not Hermione Granger.

Draco stepped inside, feeling as if his insides had done several flips. He kept his eyes on Hermione, partially because he was afraid this was an act and soon she would leap on him and attack him for vengeance. Part of him wanted her to.

But as he grew closer, Hermione only cried out more, her eyes only growing wider as if she truly believed he was there for the sole purpose of hurting her. She turned her side into the corner of the cell and finally squeezed her eyes shut, her whimpering growing fainter as if she was preparing herself for the inevitable pain. Draco, his heart thumping so loudly in his chest, set down the tray of food and straightened, frozen in place, staring at the girl that had punched him, at the girl that had constantly snapped at him, at the girl he had hated, at the girl that had hated him.

This reminder of his school years was oddly comforting. It seemed impossible that there had once been a time where his biggest worry had been what new slur to procure and say to Potter, when there was no War, when the sky was bright blue instead of a constant, grey mist due to the Dementors. But Granger wasn't exactly being a good reminder, because this was not Hermione Granger.

"Granger?" Draco asked, hoping for some sort of response. At the sound of his voice her eyes shot open and she cried out louder, trying to push herself farther in the corner and looking as if she was trying to melt through the wall to get away from him. "It's me, it's Draco Malfoy." She showed no sign of recognition, but a slight babble began to issue from her mouth.

"Please…please, no, I did nothing…I know nothing…don't…stop…please…"

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.

Draco was sure his heart would beat out of his chest, it was beating so quickly and loudly. He felt panicked; because this person was not Hermione Granger. Now he was sure. Hermione Granger didn't beg. Hermione Granger didn't whimper. This was some…some Boggart to remind him of the thing he feared most: that things would never be normal again. That all hope was lost.

He backed out of the cell so hurriedly that he bumped into the door, turned, threw it open and slammed it shut behind him. He locked it quickly with a wave of his wand, then rested his back against the shut door and sank to the ground, placing his head in his shaking hands.

His fault…it was all his fault.

It was his fault that Hermione Granger had broken.

A few moments passed, and Draco finally released his head from his hands. With a sort of numb shock, he realized his hands were wet. He wiped away the tears hurriedly, before someone might see him, and stood, just as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He straightened immediately as Rookwood passed him and roughly shoved him out of the way. "Step aside, Malfoy. Time for the real work." And with that, Rookwood whipped out his wand, unlocked the door to Hermione's cell, and stepped inside with a sadistic grin at Hermione's obvious fear. "Ready to talk now, Sunshine?"

Hermione's screams haunted Draco's dreams all night.

:::

"Mum?" Draco tenderly questioned, trying to sound nonchalant and uncaring as he pushed his eggs with his fork the next morning. The sight of Hermione and the sound of her tortured cries of anguish had given Draco nightmares all night, until he woke, sweating feverishly at three in the morning, and had refused to go back to sleep. He told himself that he didn't care about her specifically, but that the reminder of Hogwarts so obviously distorted was torturing him. The reminder that the old world no longer existed hurt him, but, as a Death Eater, it was not supposed to.

"Yes, dear?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, her tone cool and politely inquiring. Lucius, Draco's father, most often spent nights in Azkaban, which served as the headquarters for the Death Eaters. Draco, however, chose to return home and spend nights and mornings with his mother, which he was sure she appreciated. He did not think Narcissa liked being home alone, but he also knew that she did not have what it took to be a Death Eater. She, like him, hated death.

"Can…can insanity be cured?" He kept his eyes on the eggs the house elves had prepared, but he felt his mother's piercing blue gaze on him nonetheless. He was now, at the age of 19, skilled at Occlumency, as Snape and Bellatrix had both taught him, but he still sometimes felt that his mother could read his mind. He felt the chink of cutlery on china as Narcissa placed down her fork, and felt rather than saw her leaning curiously forward in her seat.

"And why would you ask that, dear?"

"Just…just curious." Draco refused to look up, for there Narcissa would find the answer in his eyes, as all mothers could.

"It's someone from school, isn't it. They're in Azkaban." Narcissa did not ask. Narcissa knew.

"Well…yes." Mrs. Malfoy's calculating eyes surveyed Draco for a long moment. "I don't care about them…I'm just…just curious, is all." Draco lied. In the horrible pit of his stomach, where he felt all his betraying emotions, his stomach squirmed at the sight of Granger dying. He had wished death on her once, in second year, had told Crabbe and Goyle that he hoped the basilisk would kill her, but he had never meant it. Death had never been so real then. It seemed if Hermione Granger died she would simply just vanish from his world; a nuisance gone. But now, if she died, he knew she was gone forever. And he hated the sight of her, tortured, and he hated the fact that she could not remember who he was.

"Were they a friend of yours?"

"No." This time he replied truthfully.

"Well…Draco, I do not believe that insanity is a condition, but rather a state of mind." Narcissa began slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "If the conditions this person is in continue to remain constant, then perhaps they will never return from insanity. But if they have…say, a reminder from their past, then they might slowly begin to remember."

Draco nodded, drinking in every word his mother was saying. His head was spinning with the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, but he wanted to help Granger, he had to. Because, deep inside himself, Draco wanted Voldemort to lose the War. He hated this new world that the Dark Lord was concocting. He hated the world without sun or happiness. He hated the world filled with death. And if the way he could contribute to the sun coming back was by helping Granger return to the right state of mind, then he would do it.

He was going to make Hermione sane again.