Remnants of Life
Disclaimer: The Characters aren't mine, only the Plot. Characters are from the mind of J.K. Rowling.
Rating: R
Note:
Oh wow, I haven't updated in a while. School has kept me rather busy. Also, I had a horrible case of writers' block for about 3 weeks. Ended up trying to start this chapter about 3 different times. Hated each beginning and began from scratch again. Eventually, I got the hang of the story again. A lot of angst in this one. Romance too though. You'll get more of a look into Draco's mind.
Chapter 12: Cleanse Me with Tears
"What do you think will happen to us?"
"I don't know," he mumbled.
Shadowed in the darkest corner of the dungeon, he felt the world close in. Color itself evaded him, leaving only black in all its shades. Black was the air which hung heavy and mingled with pain. Black were the stones that made up his prison. And black were her eyes as they shined brightly up at his in the darkness. It was almost amusing how the color of death could also represent life.
And life she was, in all its tattered glory. Despite the spoiled nightgown, despite the stains on her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes, she blinded him with her brilliance until he felt almost certain she glowed.
"Why are we not dead?"
He shook his head to wretch himself from his trance before answering. "I don't know."
He really didn't. Draco had not a clue of why that wasn't so. He had expected to die long ago. He had expected it to be quick, insignificant even, but not delayed. Her existence too, proved a surprise. What fortune befell her allowing Hermione to have lived this long?
"I wish I was dead," she breathed.
Draco refused to respond. How could he console her when he himself was so desperately in need of relief? Instead, he turned his head away to gaze at the far corner of the cell; away from her and her gathering tears. But even if he didn't see her, he felt her.
Hermione's fragile form leaned against his in attempt to gain warm. He was afraid however, that he could provide little. Their prison felt colder by the minute. He wondered if their captors had intended them to freeze to death.
Tears dampened his skin. Draco realized she was sobbing on his robes.
"Everything will be fine," he lied in a flat voice. He wondered how it came out so easily.
Hermione gave a bitter laugh to show her distrust. He hadn't expected her to believe him anyway.
"Where do you think we would be if none of this had happened?" The subject was abruptly changed.
"At Hogwarts; hating each other." Draco responded carelessly.
She chuckled softly at his answer. "Yes, you're probably right. But instead, here we are, speaking almost civilly." Hermione's eyes rose to meet his. "I suppose there's always some good with bad."
It became Draco's turn to laugh. "How could the good even compare to the bad?"
His question was met with contained discomfort.
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"You should hate me." He interjected the silence when he couldn't stand it any longer. Nearly an hour had passed when all he heard was her breathing. It was comforting yet torturous. He couldn't decide which.
"What purpose would that serve?" She replied slowly.
Always an intelligent answer. Always. How could she be so fucking practical all the time?
Draco didn't know what to say. It was probably best, he decided. Unlike her, he had no reasonable sentiments to express; no brilliant revelations.
"Why do you lay all the blame upon yourself?" She inquired after a pause.
"You should know who the cause of your pain is."
"Don't do this," Hermione breathed, shaking her head and pressing her face against his robes.
Draco searched his mind for a comforting remark; some form of redemption. Nothing to that effect had emerged when the dungeon door swung open, saving him from the need to respond. His breathe caught in his throat as he instinctively shut his eyes to the invading light. They snapped open again when he heard her scream.
Pale white hands gripped her forearms as they roughly pulled her away from him. The warmth was instantly missed. Hermione struggled, kicking and scratching whatever she could reach. Her efforts were fruitless, and she received a sharp blow to the head for the inconvenience she caused.
"What are you doing!?" Draco shouted after them as she was pulled through the doorway.
The beam of light vanished as the portal was closed a second later, leaving him with only the screaming silence.
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Pain pricked her skin as her captor's grip tightened. She had managed to wretch her arm away once, and was now experiencing the consequences on her action.
Peeking through her tangled strands of hair, she examined her enemy. Like the others, he was cloaked. Hiding behind his clothing, Hermione thought with distaste. Cowards, they all were. Blind and unknowing of the truth; that their master had no concerns other than his own.
With a burst of energy, she freed her arm and broke away. The momentum of the pull sent her stumbling into the wall. The impact left her with a thudding ache at the back of her skull. Before she could regain her senses, she felt the wooden stick pressed to the base of her neck. It targeted the pulsing in her vein.
She cursed herself for her impulsive action.
"My, aren't we being difficult tonight?" A low voice teased. Hermione spat at him, though unable to see and uncertain of her aim. The pressure laid on the wand increased as a warning, pressing into her vein and causing mild discomfort. "I would be more obliging if I were you, Mudblood." The wooden weapon prevented her from emitting an insulting remark. Her belief that she wanted to die didn't seem to matter anymore. Not now; not when it was really possible.
She was shoved to the floor. The stones felt icy against her skin. She made no effort to stand again. There was no more remaining energy to fight. There was no more will and no more hope. But there were tears, and her vision blurred as she felt them drip down her face and crash to the ground.
Her tormentor laughed at her weakness. Hermione realized with bitterness that his intent was to break her, and he believed he had already done so. Let him think himself victorious. Pride had long since been robbed of her.
The cruel laughter continued for an eternity. It echoed within the room and vibrated in her own ears. More tears fell. More pain surfaced. She realized there was no such thing as sympathy with this enemy. There was no remorse, no guilt. They could kill without thought and torture without regret. She had already experienced it first hand.
His amusement ended abruptly as a door opened. Hermione didn't bother to look up as the new presence neared. She was surprised when her tormentor suddenly dropped to his knees beside her.
"Master," he murmured with his head bowed.
They were all slaves to one man, no matter if they showed support or opposition. He, who had mocked her just moments before, was now on the floor beside her. It almost appeared as if they were equals.
"Amusing yourself with the Mudblood, I see," the Dark Lord hissed. His voice was poisonous. His close proximity was choking her.
"Only waiting for you to arrive, Master," the Deatheater stammered.
Hermione could have laughed. He had appeared so threatening a moment ago. Yet, here he was now, pathetic, powerless, much like herself.
"You are dismissed." Voldemort commanded. Within seconds, his servant rose and retreated from the room.
"Well, my dear little Mudblood, defeated already?" He began, grasping her hair and forcing her gaze to meet his.
Hermione said nothing as she glared into his bottomless eyes. The flames of hell danced within them, taunting her, destroying her.
"Potter had put up more of a fight. Your little friend had taken longer to break. But, I suppose I should have expected this from filth like you." Voldemort released his hold on her sharply. He paced the room, his back to her.
Hermione's jaw clenched instinctively at his words. That's what she had always been to them, filth, worthless; a plaything of no value or importance except as a companion of the famous Harry Potter.
"The world will fall to me, you understand. No one is left to oppose me; not Dumbledore, not that pathetic excuse for a hero, Potter." He spat the words as if they were distasteful. "It seems I have no enemies remaining. But what about you? Are you a threat to me, my little Mudblood?"
She hated the way he spoke it like it was a pet name. She was an object to him. A possession acquired to amuse him, because the victorious are never content to not speak of their achievements.
"Are you a threat?" He repeated with a sneer. "Should I fear you?" He mocked as his mouth formed a hideous grin.
Hermione lowered her eyes to the floor and retained her silence. No answer would improve her situation. No answer would satisfy him.
His amusement died when he received no response. With a frustrated cry he raised his wand.
Familiar pain flooded her body, twisting her, killing her. She screamed above his laughter, drowning the haunting sound.
It stopped as suddenly as it had come. She was left weak and empty on the cold stone floor, gasping for breathe and praying for death.
"Tell your cell mate his punishment will come soon enough," Voldemort chuckled as two of his servants entered the room.
Hermione found herself being pulled to her feet roughly. Next thing she knew, she was being tossed unceremoniously back into the dark dungeon prison.
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She had been returned to him; though more broken and damaged than before. He wondered what they had done to her, and if there was to be any recovery at all from this. His rage grew as she sobbed. The bastards had no mercy and no humanity left. And, he knew with revulsion and sorrow that his father was among them.
Her cries pierced his ears, and his anger elevated. They had no reason to harm her. She served no purpose to them. She was innocent; so fucking pure.
Heated rage blossomed within his chest at the thought. It spread through his body, burning and delicious. Draco felt enflamed as the heat flooded his limbs. He shut his eyes tightly as it traveled up his arms, climbing swiftly. It encircled his wrists, sizzling and laced with magic.
With a click, the shackles fell open. Draco's eyes widened suddenly when he heard the iron meet the stone floor. He watched, astonished, as his unbreakable restraints melted into a silvery pool.
He sighed with relief and awe before examining the lingering marks on his wrists. The bruises were dark and ugly. Glancing up, he saw that her gaze was on him; her eyes wide as she stared intensely at his face, questioning and seeking an explanation.
"How..."
"I don't know," Draco responded, shaking his head. Forgetting his bruises, he exercised his new freedom and knelt by her fallen form.
She made an attempt to sit up, and cried out in pain. His arms encircled her, pulling her to him. She was so fragile that he feared breaking her. He hadn't noticed how thin she had become; how pale her skin was or how lovely she was despite it all.
In response to the comfort he offered, Hermione only began sobbing harder. If the tears came from relief or sorrow though, he didn't know. He clutched her tighter, sheltering her from the cold and from the world. He embraced her to ease her of the haunting memories. He caressed away the pain with gentle hands. And all the while she cried, her tears sliding down her face and onto his robes, translucent and beautiful, cleansing him as they tortured him.
Note:
This chapter took quite some time to write. Didn't turn out as well as I had wanted, but not too horrible either I hope. Review for me please. Need some motivation to get over this lingering case of writers' block.
-Captive