A/N: Yay, I'm back from my break! Feels good to be writing again, though, it's a little dark themed. I actually hurt my arm and had to get a lot of stitches and such. My plan is to completely finish this collection this year! Also, this story is in 2ND person even though I don't like reading stories like that and writing them very much. Oops. Enjoy!

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry: Herbology Task 1: For this task, I would like you to write about a character who is extremely possessive towards another character. You must also write about the possessed character escaping the relationship, or being released freely (I took a few liberties with the prompt.)

Warning: Kidnapping. Like she's already kidnapped when it happens. Also, 2nd person pov and one-sided relationship.

N: Set after the war in a AU where Hermione becomes a Healer like mind wise and therapy. Draco is her patient.

Word Count: 1,099

Disclaimer: Nope. Never Have, Never Will.

Prayer in Silence

Silence.

Breath in. Breath out. Don't cry. Or else he'll be back. You want to run away, of course. Escaping is your number one priority other than staying alive, but that's a given. Yet you don't really think you have to worry about surviving. He trapped you for a reason, after all. He likes you, and you like him. At least for awhile you liked him until he trapped you. You sigh and try to calm your ecstatic heart. It won't do good for you to be so nervous. What you need right now is a clear mind. You have to assess all possibilities and make your plan before he comes back.

Before he comes back to the dark cellar and tries to talk to you as if he hasn't just kidnapped you and bound your limbs. You lose count on how long you've been here. You're not one to curse because you just don't like how the words sound. They sound unprofessional and just plain vulgar on your tongue. You aren't perfect so they do slip out occasionally like when you accidentally hurt your pinky toe on the corner of a piece of furniture or when you've been trying to get a potion done but you can't seem to get it right. Well, this situation is far worse than the others, so you feel justified when a string of curses fill your mouth. You hate the fact that you've been reduced to swearing and crying.

You hate him.

But then again, you don't really hate him. You care for his wellbeing. That's what got you into this mess in the first place. You knew he was lonely, you knew he was ashamed, and you knew he was scared of himself. All you wanted was for him to open up. He was your patient, and you were his healer. You thought you were making progress. You thought he had finally come to realize that the Dark Mark didn't define him. You were ultimately wrong.

You relish the silence as long as you can. The silence means he's far away from you. The silence means you have a chance of escaping. You grit your teeth and struggle to stand up. You knew his magic was powerful and strong. The anti-magic charms are proof of that. He took extra precaution since he knows you can do wandless and nonverbal magic. You hop around the grim cellar and squint at the dark. Maybe there is a way to escape. You can't lose hope.

That's when you hear the sound of footprints coming down the stairs. You are immediately frightened and try to hop back in time to where he last positioned you. You don't want him to get angry. The rattling of keys clashing let you know he's so close. You throw yourself on the floor and wince at the pain. You hope you made it to the spot. It's hard to tell when you can barely see. The squeaky noises of the door opening are nothing compared to the pounding of your heart. You are almost afraid he can hear it.

His pale, bony face is the first thing you see when he walks in. The lantern illuminates his face and that dread settles in your stomach again. What gets to you is how his face shows tenderness as he comes closer. Step by step until he's right in front you. His left hand reaches out and he softly caresses your cheek. You flinch under his cold touch. It's the wrong move.

You scream. Or at least you attempt to, but his caring touch has turned into a vice grip on your jaw. The lantern is on the floor and both his hands are closing your mouth shut. You whimper, and he lets go. You know what comes next.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't meant it." He repeats this over and over again. "I'm a monster. I should've been sent to Azkaban. I could've died there with my father. I'm no better than him."

You cough and cough. "You're wrong," you croak. "You're different."

His grey eyes tear up. You almost want to snap at him as he whispers, "Am I?"

You nod, relief and hope warms your body. "Yes. You are not your father. You know that," you say, your voice scratchy and hoarse. "You are different."

He cries. No, he sobs uncontrollably. You've never been a particularly religious person, but you pray. It seems like this entire time you've been praying with no response. Your eyes start to pickle, and you let out a silent laugh. Please, God, please.

The feel of the ice cold fingers around your wrist startle you. You quickly snap your head toward your arms, and you let the tears fall. He's undoing the ropes. He does your leg next, and you want to bolt. You don't, of course. You let him guide you all the way to the top his manor as he wraps a blanket over you shoulders and hands you a glass of water.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry."

He says those damned words over and over again. It's the only thing he says since he brought her up. You are surprised that he didn't take you to the drawing room. After all he's done you think that wouldn't be an issue. But then you wonder maybe he can't go in there either.

When he hands you your wand, you cry again. The feel of your wand in your hand after such a long time is unexplainable. Without magic you didn't feel like yourself. As you approach the fireplace and grab a good portion of floor powder, you look at his hunched over frame and clearly see the regret in his eyes. You won't press charges. You really want to, but you won't. You know the scars the war left. Mentally and physically. You grab the floor powder and throw it. You feel glad to be able to say the words for home.

As you throw the powder you hear him whisper, "I only wanted to be your friend."

"Don't come near me again."

The pull of magic takes you far away from that horrid manor. The sad part that your patient never understood was that you were already friends. You collapse as soon as you make it back home. To your surprise, you manage to conjure up more tears even if you felt you cried them all out.

We were already friends, Draco.

This time you are all alone like in the dark cellar. Just you and your flat.

Silence.