A/N. This is a response to a challenge by Nagini. It's challenge number one. Details of the challenge will be posted in the last chapter.

This chapter is also unbeta-ed, but I have read it over so many times to check for mistakes, that I could probably recite it. I hope there aren't too many errors.

Kudos to Cedar, who got what the title means. (see end of chapter)

Disclaimer: All hail the Goddess, J.K. Rowling, who in fact did create these characters.(a.k.a I did not) I am only mutilating them. I only have, let's see digs around in her pocket 25..5..10….1…41 cents. Oh wait, there's another nickle. I have 46 cents your welcome to, if you do decide to sue.

Extended Summary: Harry was captured by Voldermort four years ago. Hermione is Draco's toy. Ron, Remus and Sirius are dead. Harry has nearly given up hope of being rescued, when a familiar person is captured and suddenly shows up in Harry's cell….

Rating: Rated R for sex (non-graphic), violence, nudity, excessive, slightly graphic torture, death, and harsh language.

This chapter is dedicated to: My five reviewers. Cedar, Anyadelle, Anne Pheonix, Nagini and Ageless. Thanks so much for the great reviews, giving my your speculations, and for making them more enjoyable to read then the usual two words, 'Please continue'. I hope you guys will stick with me through this story.

Hermione P.O.V

Chapter 2.

I've been here over three years now. Here being Voldemort's Fortress. I know Harry's here as well, I actually saw him once, about two years ago. I don't know, it could be more could be less. You kind of lose track of time here. It's not relevant anyway. I know Oliver Wood is here as well, and probably numerous other people I know, were friends with, went to school with, trained with, fought beside, mourned their disappearances. . . and their supposed deaths.

I was so stupid.

When Harry went missing that summer before fifth year, school was immediately canceled for that year. Except for crash course Auror training classes, which Professor Dumbledore started up for anyone able, over the age of fifteen. I, of course signed up; I mean, come on, it was a chance to save Harry!And I had already lost Ron…

Classes went on for four months, and I think, each day of the nearly impossible classes, combined with the war, made my motivation, the prospect of finding Harry, seem very dim. Everyday, we were taught several new complex spells which we had to master by the end of the day; able to perform them in all types of conditions, remember and perform them under extreme stress. We were taught strategy, to be resourceful, to be observant, how to be ruthless and how to kill…

We were taught to be almost as ruthless as Voldemort's Death Eaters. Maybe I myself once crossed that fine line. . .Isn't there an old saying, stating that there's a thin line between love and hate?

Auror classes were canceled however, when Lord Voldemort finally grew strong enough in power, and had gathered enough forces to storm the Hogwarts castle and grounds. Out of the seven hundred and fifty teenagers and adults residing and training there to become Aurors, I think one hundred and seventy-five people were killed outright, most under the age of 25, and another twenty were captured. I was one of the 'lucky ones'; I managed to escape, and that night we were left wondering "how"? Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the magical world!

Of course, those one hundred ninety-five people that did get taken from us, in one way or another? They're just another number to you. Statistics. Nameless faces. You can only see the surface in severity of the matter. You never knew them, never saw them struggle with difficulties and hardships, never saw their frustration and laughter. You never had earned their friendship. . . you never got to hear the wistful memories late at night, the ones not plagued with war, and you.never comforted them, when they were lost to the world in grief, as the news of that their family, lover or friend was killed, reached them. . .

I didn't stay free for long though.

I think it was the next August that I was captured. What should have been our sixth year at Hogwarts. . . Funny, not the funny haha, I was just sixteen and already speaking like a war veteran. I had probably seen more deaths in one year then you'd see in a hundred lifetimes. I had seen victims of torture, of rape. . . and do you know what it's like, how hard and how heart-wrenching it is, to tell a little five year old girl that she'll never see her family again? Or to finally save someone from torture, only to watch them suffer a prolonged death, because they are already too far beyond a healer's help. I mean, I was sixteen for crying out loud, I should have had to be worrying about my next homework assignment, clothes, friends and my family. . . instead, I had to worry about battle strategies, spies, field medicine and just staying alive so I could fight again the next day. The war seemed to drag on forever at the time. But I changed my mind about that when I got captured. See, staring at the same wall, or fireplace day after day, the only change being Draco raping me. . . now that's when it feels like time has stopped, when it feels like reality's dragging, just to slap you in the face.

That's when you begin to lose hope.

I was careless. I had just finished my mission assigned to me by Dumbledore, who of course, was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. The mission being, to scout out Voldmort's fortress and try to pinpoint their weaknesses, and entrances. I was awaiting the time for my transport, a portkey, to leave, as I still hadn't quite mastered the ability to apparate due to lack of time to practice, and they attacked me from above. One thing we were constantly reminded in the Auror course, the one expression we had drilled into us, was to always be alert.

Always.be.alert.

By the time I noticed them, it was too late. They easily outnumbered me, knocked me unconscious, and lay in wait for my contact, Oliver Wood, who was apparating in with my portkey. We were both taken to Lord Voldemort. I knew that Oliver, being technically, of a higher rank then me because he was older, was tortured for more information. I was 'lucky' and only got thrown into a cell.

I awoke to Draco raping me. Over and over again. I did the only thing I could do; I screamed. When Malfoy was done satisfying himself, I was taken to his quarters, for he had. . .he had claimed me. I noticed, as I was being dragged down the hallway, a vaguely familiar face staring back at me, but I couldn't quite place who it was. It wasn't until two long hellish days later, when I finally realized. . . it was Harry! I half-laughed, half-cried when my memory put in the last piece, and the picture was complete.

Half-laughed, because, well he was alive! We all, in the Order, had assumed him dead after all those years went by. Guaranteed, he was different, his hair was longer, nearly to his shoulders, but still just as wild and untamed. He was a lot thinner, and he had several open wounds, bruises and scars dotting his face, and his glasses were missing, but there was no mistaking that it was still Harry!

But then again, half-crying because. . . he had seen what Malfoy had done to me. He had seen Malfoy's ecstasy at raping me, with the knowledge that he was torturing both me and Harry, yet drowning in his own pleasure. Harry would know my nightmares. How could I ever look at him the same way, knowing that he had seen all that? Selfish of me, I know, for thinking that, but that's not the kind of memory you'd want people to know.

As I said, it's been three years since that happened. I am now Malfoy's pet, his whore, his pleasure slave, slut. . . pick a name, I've been called them all.

It's odd though. He must have finally grown tired with the mudblood in me, because for the past couple years, I've simply been an ornament in his room. He hasn't so much as thouched me the wrong way . Oh, don't get me wrong, he's still his old arrogant Malfoy self, but...he's changed too.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door, interrupting my musings and breaking the silence of the room, only before broken by the odd snap or crackle of the fireplace.

I saw Draco's eyes darken as he looked up, and they flashed dangerously in the firelight as he turned his head to the door.

"What is it?" He tried to bark loudly, but his heavy breathing was also noticeable in his words.

"Sir, our master Lord Voldemort demands your presence. . .I think it's an emergency."

Draco let out a heavy sigh, then heaved himself off the bed grabbing his Deatheater robes as he did so from where they had been discarded on the stone floor. Without giving me so much as a second glance, he lifted the bolt on the door, and pulled it open, revealing a short, pig-like, and very smelly little man.

"Never disturb me like this again." He threatened to the lower ranking man, with a look of pure disgust on his face as he pulled on the robes over his shirt and trousers.

"Yes, certainly sir." The pig man replied, and bowed respectively as Draco strode out of my view down the hallway.

He crossed the room, and I tried to glare defiantly at him. He drew back his hand, and I received a sharp smack across the face, and I let out a tiny, almost indistinct groan, as he hit my black eye.

"Avert your eyes when in the presence of your superiors, Slut!" He commanded angrily, and as his eyes took on a look I knew well, I decided not to retort back, though part of me wanted to scream the truth... the only things he was superior to were the rats.

I could see his hesitation, but he stopped himself as he remembered that, unlike the others, I was not to be shared. I belonged to Malfoy, and for the first time in my life, I was thankful for that.

"A little revealing, eh?" He commented with a smirk on his face, gesturing to my thin rags that served as my clothes.

I chose not to reply.

I watched in relief as he left, a small sigh escaping my lips, and I began to try and warm up my body with my small but thick woolen blanket. I was glad that Draco had had a moment of thoughtfulness when he had my cell set up, and had ordered it placed near the fireplace. The whole castle made entirely of stone which seemed to retain the icy coldness. The cold was just tolerable for me in the summer without the fire, and in my clothes, but in winter I was thankful for the blanket and roaring flames. I tried to cover myself up as much as possible with the blanket, eager to have more cover on my body then the clothes provided.

It was my fault that I was careless. It was my fault that I managed to forget, if for only a split second, the saying that was the first thing we learnt in the Auror classes that Mad-Eye taught. It was my fault, my carelessness that got Oliver caught, and because of that, my fault he got tortured.

And I could never, I knew with a sense of dread that made my stomach churn, forgive myself if he never gets out of here alive. It's all my fault!

But though all those things that were my fault, I still had to wonder;

How?

After all of Professor Dumbledore's careful planning, all our reviewing, all the dangerous secret meeting, testing the variables… after all the precautions we took!

How did they even know I was there?

Cedar- Technically it means refers to her little Latin book " I am not the sort of person I was" but hey, means exactly the same thing. Yes, you may have a cookie hands Cedar a huge cookie and when I find the time (a.k.a. in a few minutes, LOL) I'll read your fic.

Anne Pheonix- Thanks so much for the great review. I hope you don't take offense when I say your type of writing doesn't intrest me (I'm more for under NC-17winks) but by the looks of all the reviews you had, and the style of the way you reviewed, you must be an amazing writerAs for the charactization of Draco, it was part of the challenge. I'm neutral towards him; I love Draco bashing, yet I also like reading fics where he is the good guy.

Hope you liked the chapter, please review.

Dalamar

P.S. The title means 'I am not the sort of person I was.'