Author note: Thank you for giving this story a chance! I'm a massive Harry Potter fan, but Dramione is my heart. One Ultimate Escape is my first fanfiction (I'm an author of original fiction work on Wattpad but I want my FF and original work separate) Warnings seem necessary as this is a dark fic. There are mentions of abuse, violence, sexual content, and adult language. I would not recommend this book to anyone under the age of 18 because of the mature themes. The chapters will start off around 1k, and will gradually lengthen with the progression of the storyline. The romance and sexual content are also gradual so the readers are drawn in more, so it's not fast-paced. Please leave a review, favourite, etc if you enjoy it, I'm a tad nervous to dive into 3rd person POV.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip.
Drip. Drip.
Each drop of water hits the stone-cold floor of the dungeon, the only thing she can hear. She used to count them, her very own version of sheep hopping over the fence to fall asleep. The sound of each drop morphs into any song she wants, in her head, of course. She sometimes hums along, bobbing her head to music that's deep in her close to destruction imagination.
She knows when it's been raining, the dripping increases. But it never stops, thankfully.
Hermione has long forgotten what it feels like to sleep in a comfortable bed, eat a warm meal at a dining table surrounded by loved ones, or to relax her muscles in a bath full of bubbles. Her back aches from the thin fabric on the floor where she sleeps, the material frayed around the edges with a foul smell that turns her stomach.
But this is her new home. No matter how much the screams echoing around the dungeon make her shudder, or how the coldness of her dark prison floor keeps her awake at night.
There are no books, but that's okay, she has the majority of her favourites memorised enough to recite them in her mind.
She has given up, day after day, month after month, until it slowly turned to years, no one has come for her. Well, considering the entire wizarding world was obliterated within minutes by none other than Voldemort himself, she doesn't think there is anyone even left to save her.
She knows Ginny and Luna are here, sometimes she hears Luna talking to herself, but she never replies when Hermione yells out, banging her fists against the metal bars of her cell. And Ginny had been there when they were dragged before the Dark Lord and tortured by the trainees.
The sound of Bellatrix's laugh haunts the walls, ricocheting from every direction when she's nearby. Hermione has no idea what month it is, day, time, all she knows is that the room stays in darkness until her new visitor appears and the candles illuminate from a wave of his hand.
Hermione's cage she's locked in takes up half of the room, a small table and chair sit opposite for her Death Eater guard to sit at while she shoves every last piece of food into her mouth. But he never sits, he always stands by the door, waiting, never once breaking when she screams every insult she can muster.
She despises him, all of them, but when the wards around the room ripple, indicating that he's here for their daily meet up, she feels less cold.
Despite the form of comfort Hermione feels when he enters her dungeon, the death eater turns her stomach, making her nauseous at the image of him killing, torturing, and whatever else he is capable of. He won't hurt her, that much she knows, he isn't Marcus Flint.
Marcus, who was her guard up until two weeks ago, took advantage of his role and made Hermione wish she were dead. Narcissa Malfoy had overheard a conversation between Flint and another Death Eater, brought them both before the Dark Lord, where he painfully delved into her mind and witnessed the hundreds of assaults and abuse from the demonic Slytherin.
He had taken her innocence against her will; the blood was smeared on the cell floor for months.
The last thing Voldemort had seen was Flint carving his name into the bottom of her back with a knife, claiming that it had shown his undying love for her. She had passed out as soon as he pulled from his Legilimency on her.
The next day, her new friend took over, and she's been safe since.
Well, safe may be the wrong word for her current situation, but he hasn't tried anything with Hermione or ordered her to take her clothes off.
She knows it's a psychological thing, to feel calm around the stranger. He's nothing but a killer who deserves a wand jabbed into his eye, they all do. Hermione dreams of the day she gets out, her first target will be Flint, then the unknown man. Going by his towering height, the lean build, and his hands, she will find him, and Gods, they all better run.
If only she still had her wand. It had been taken from her when she was dragged here, by none other than Bellatrix. Oh, Merlin knows how much Hermione loathes that woman, too. She is the devil.
Tracing her finger down each bar, counting forty-seven altogether that are keeping her imprisoned, Hermione waits, because that's all she can do. Is it the middle of the night? Or morning? She has no idea.
Footsteps echo outside the room, and she sits up, crossing her legs in front of her with her back to the wall. "About time," she mutters to herself, feeling the twist in her stomach from hunger. She always has it.
Hermione knows those footsteps, she used to cower to the corner of her cage in fear from the heavy boots of Flint. But now, with the soft-sounding of the Death Eater's shoes, she patiently awaits the wards to drop and the wooden door to fly open.
Hopefully he empties the bucket in the corner of the cage, it's starting to make her feel ill from the smell. At least he doesn't do what that evil bastard had done before and dunked her head in it.
The candle on the table ignites, a soft glow overtaking half of the room, and she can see for the first time in twenty-four hours.
She smiles to herself. She shouldn't, but having sight is something she is rewarded with for this one hour. Even when she's dragged to the Great Hall or shower rooms, she has something over her head, it stops her from washing her hair properly.
Hermione grimaces at her dirt-filled nails.
The masked man spells the heavy door to unlock, the creaking of it welcoming.
It's strange how such an evil person can change the atmosphere in the room so positively.
Too bad she will trick him one day, will rescue Ginny and Luna, resulting in his horrific death along with all the pure-blood, muggle-hating murderers.
Hermione is just biding her time to strike.
And, Merlin, is she going to lose her shit when she does.
Because she will.
"Took your time," she says with an eye roll, a smile playing on her lips as the Death Eater enters the room with a tray to hand. "I was just about to leave."