Disclaimer: All characters presented in the fic are the property of J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them on occasion
Author's Note: Written for elementaldeity for the dmhgficexchange on livejournal.
Special Thanks: Terri, Inell, Zephyr and especially nakhashmekashefah for the wonderful feed back especially in the eleventh hour.
Chapter One - The Sins of the Father
The summer before Hermione's final year at Hogwarts, Death Eater activity had increased. Their actions grew bolder as Lord Voldemort's power increased with each passing day. The Order of the Phoenix was working overtime, trying to recruit additional support to minimize the impact the brewing war would have upon Muggle England.
Upon Hermione's suggestion, the Order had moved its location to the Granger residence in Muggle London the year after Sirius's death. She had grown insistent that her parents relocate to Order Headquarters; concerned for their safety as Voldemort rallied support. When Sirius fell, ownership of Grimmauld Place defaulted to Narcissa Malfoy as the only remaining Black not being hunted by the Ministries Aurors. Hermione had little problem convincing Dumbledore to take residence at the Granger's, placing their home under the Fidelius Charm.
Hermione's suspicions soon proved to be correct when Severus alerted the Order to Voldemort's latest plan to get to Harry Potter. It seemed as if he was convinced that the best way to get to Harry was through his loved ones.
"After all, it worked so well with Sirius," Severus added coldly, his sneer reveling in the guilt his words brought to Harry's face.
Unable to break through the magic protecting Harry's family, Voldemort had decided to target Harry's friends instead. The Weasley's were all put on alert, while Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that her family would be safe. Or so she thought.
"Mum, it's just not safe for you," she had insisted one morning, shortly after Severus had reported his latest findings. "I realize that you don't fully understand the implications of this war, but you and dad have been identified as targets. It's because of who you are to me and my ties to Harry," Hermione added, her voice trembling as she considered the danger she had brought to her parents' lives.
"Mionabelle," Elizabeth Granger sighed, calling her daughter by the childhood pet name as she tugged lovingly at Hermione's curls. "I know that you are concerned for our safety, but we Grangers are made of tough stock. I simply, no we -," she amended, her eyes falling lovingly on her husband across the room, "cannot live our lives in fear."
Hermione swallowed her tears, burying her face in her mother's chest as she wrapped her arms around her waist. She knew that she would not convince her parents to close their practice, to remain virtual prisoners within their own home as a war ensued that they knew very little about.
"I know mum. You taught me that as well, I'm just… I'm afraid."
Elizabeth took her daughter's shoulders, pushing her lightly away from her body as she tilted her head until her shining eyes looked up into her own. "Que sera sera," she sung lightly, the song she had sung countless times as Hermione drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
"Whatever will be, will be," Hermione answered, as she looked up into her mother's eyes. As she watched her parents leave the confines of the Order's new headquarters for the last time, she allowed a tear to fall from her eye before seeking out Mundungus.
"What is it, little girl?" Mundungus snapped, coughing on the smoke from his pipe.
Hermione tutted, pulling her wand out in a flourish and casting an extinguishing spell.
"Why you little br…"
Hermione didn't give him the chance to complete his thought. She needed his assistance and didn't have time to waste with trivial banter.
"Look Dung," she started, her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on his. "I don't have time for this nonsense. My parents have insisted on going into work today despite my warnings."
Mundungus coughed and grunted out a laugh in disgust. "It sounds like they have a death wish. So what does the little know-it-all suggest I do about it," he spat out, before lighting his pipe again, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke directly in her face.
Fighting the desire to hex the petty thief before her, Hermione pulled her wand out again, opting instead to send a stream of water, once again extinguishing the pipe and ruining the tobacco inside.
"What you're GOING to do is go down there and keep them safe," she insistedwith a satisfied smirk as he wiped his face and looked at his pipe incredulously. Not giving him the chance to question her further, she continued, "You know why you're going to do it? Because I am the 'know- it- all' that will put you under the Imperius Curse to make sure it happens," she finished, satisfied as she watched his expression blanch at her threat.
"B-b-but, I'm to wait for…"
"You have your instructions from me. I don't have time to wait for Dumbledore to return. They are in danger now," she finished emphatically, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally gathered his cloak and hat and Disapparated.
Her eyes were glazed over, the drone in the courtroom deafening to her ears as Lucius was presented to the court for sentencing. He had been found guilty of illegal activities, including the murder of Hermione's parents.
Despite the personal interest she should have taken in the case, she could not. It didn't matter. They were gone. Her mother's song still haunted her ears because it did not have to be. If only she had pleaded further, they might have agreed to stay home. Or, if she had simply cast the Imperius Charm on Mundungus rather than waste time reasoning with him, he might have been able to save them.
He had managed to stun Lucius, bringing him into the Ministry's custody. That had been little consolation to Hermione, just as the verdict of guilty had been, as well as any sentence short of death would be. Although Minister Fudge had been removed from office, there were still plenty of others left who were for sale throughout the ranks of the government. Hermione knew from experience that Lucius Malfoy would not stay incarcerated for long.
If at all possible, her summer ended under an even darker shadow than that of the murder of her parents. When she received her owl, announcing her position as Head Girl, any excitement that she would have felt was immediately washed away with the revelation that the Head Boy was none other than the son of the man who had killed her parents.
The first week at school was horrible. Both as likely as the next to cast a hex upon one another; Draco in retaliation, believing it to be Hermione's fault that his father was imprisoned; Hermione in repentance for being unable to save her parents from their fate. Lucius was untouchable. However his son, continually spouting off hateful rhetoric and defending the bastard's every action, was a welcome substitute.
The second week of the term, things got even worse. Lucius Malfoy, in a desperate attempt to save himself from execution began naming strategic locations and members of Voldemort's Death Eater squad. Draco consequently, was shunned by his house, no longer trusted, as the name of Malfoy had now become synonymous with traitor.
At the end of the week, after a particular tumultuous meeting with the Headmaster and Heads of Houses, Hermione confronted him, having been frustrated at his undermining of every proposal she had put forth. Upon getting no explanation as to why he would neither offer ideas of his own, nor attempt to work with her, she snapped
"What's the matter now, Malfoy? You were full of conversation in our meeting, yet now you have nothing to say? Perhaps you're too confused. Are you still a cold-blooded bastard, wanting nothing more than to rid the Wizarding World of Mudbloods? Or perhaps you are debating supporting the acceptance of Muggle-borns in an effort to lend strength to your father's pleas for mercy?"
Anger flashed in Draco's silver eyes as he grabbed Hermione's neck, pinning her against the wall in the corridor.
"I am not my father, you filthy Mudblood. Just because he has forgotten where his loyalties lie, does not mean that I have," he finished, before releasing her and sweeping down the corridor.
Hermione avoided the stoic Head Boy for the remainder of the weekend. That confrontation had marked the first time she truly feared just how far Draco Malfoy might go if he were pushed. He had been shunned by his house and left to walk around stewing in his own anger. Her instincts told her that he was far from rational and could be dangerous.
Sunday evening, following supper, Hermione set off to patrol the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest. It was a custom amongst many of the more troublesome older students to send the first years on missions to prove their willingness to bend the rules, the forest being a long favored target. One of Hermione's goals this year was to minimize the number of new students caught breaking the rules as a part of that ridiculous tradition. Unfortunately, as she looked out across the grounds, it appeared as if she might have been too late.
'I swear, they get more foolish with each year. I suppose they think the Headmaster's warnings about the Forbidden Forest are mere lip service,' Hermione thought, as she caught sight of three figures headed straight into the forest on the main path. She slowed as she got a better look at the figures. That silvery blond hair and school-issued robes were unmistakable. As she got even closer, she saw that his two companions were not accompanying him but rather dragging him towards the forest. That fact, combined with his pleas to be released let Hermione know that she needed to get a staff member fast.
She began to run, her heart thumping as her feet carried her back towards the castle. Cursing herself silently for not considering casting some sort of alert that might bring aid to meet her; Hermione raised her wand in the air, casting red sparks as Hagrid had instructed her to use the first time she ventured into the forest during first year. As she saw the light from Hogwarts entrance flood onto the front staircase, and Hagrid's massive form step out, Hermione sank to the ground in exhaustion.
Draco looked up into the masks of his captors as he felt his feet touch the ground, his stomach settling from the queasiness that travel by Portkey always left him.
"Has the Dark Lord need of my services," he questioned, trying to contain the quavering he felt in his voice at the chance to prove his loyalty.
Removing her mask, Bellatrix looked down upon the fair boy, her violet eyes boring through his own.
"Foolish boy, our Master has no need for a traitor such as yourself. The sins of the father… you know," she cooed, patting his cheek lightly three times before turning to leave the room, her ebony mane swaying behind her back.
Draco turned to his other captor, affixing his calm façade before speaking, "I am not my father you know? My allegiance still lies with the Dark Lord."
He stood in silent anticipation as the tall masked figure slowly turned towards him. When Augustus Rookwood removed his mask Draco visibly shrank away from his icy glare.
Rookwood laughed heartily, as if Draco had told an amusing anecdote over cocktails, before his eyes narrowed, an icy glare focused upon the boy.
"Do you think that Lord Voldemort is concerned with your childish beliefs or alliances? You are here as Bellatrix explained, to atone for the transgressions of your father."
Draco began to speak, wishing to convey that he himself would make his father pay for his treason, but Augustus cut him off.
"Boy, no one is interested in anything that you have to say. I have fallen victim to the acts of a traitor and personally believe that all evidence of one who would defy the Dark Lord's existence should be eradicated. Their wives, mothers, sons and daughters should all pay for their folly."
Draco watched as Augustus's face lightened, his mouth turning into a congenial smile.
"I say this because I believe that one should understand one's predicament. I do not wish to listen to your pleas for mercy or a chance to prove your loyalty. I do hope that you will accept that I do not care. No one does. We intend to break you completely, killing you slowly day by day; sustaining you only enough that you wish for nothing more than your life to slip away from you. Only then, when you've lost the ability to even hope for your death, will we dispose of the last of your traitorous line."
Refusing to show the panic that the Death Eater's words spoken with such a casual candor had instilled in him, Draco lifted his chin in defiance. That was the first time he heard the curse "Crucio" directed towards him, though it would not be the last.
Draco lost count after his third day. His time spent in the dungeons became a montage of torment and anguish. His captor's did not simply rely on magical curses and hexes, rather they relished in practicing Muggle tortures upon him. He became their personal pet; his body taken for any number of pleasures whether it was to be a target for which to aim their curses, or an orifice to release their aggressions.
As Draco slid in and out of delirium, he came to recognize the scent of his captor's; unable to see through his eyes which remained bloody and swollen. Each individual's scent was like a pheromone, inducing a physical reaction in him. Bellatrix- arousal, as her favorite torment was to heighten him to a state of arousal, before cutting into his flesh, engraving the marks of a traitor into his flesh, leaving him unfulfilled and bleeding. Avery always elicited a mental detachment from his flesh, as he would purge himself of all guilt of his traitorous path by beating Draco with his hands. The pain, Draco had found, could be blocked out, if he were able to detach himself from his body. But the scent that caused Draco to hyperventilate in fear was that of Augustus Rookwood.
Rookwood's position was that of his caretaker. He would enter daily, after the other's had used and abused Draco until he was lying in his own waste, unable to move. His voice always the same level of calm as he reminded Draco, "I told you this was to happen." He spoke almost gently, rubbing salves across Draco's open flesh and feeding potions into his system.
"Why do you heal me," Draco would always ask, lulled into the false security of the man's seemingly kind actions. "Would it not be better to let me die," he questioned, always realizing too late that this was what the man had come for.
The maniacal delight in his voice was always evident as he replied, "I heal you so that they can break you again. I told you this boy. If death is what you want, you can be assured that it will not come soon," he would finish, leaving only after he had carefully mended all of Draco's wounds in preparation for the next day.
When the door opened again, the fresh cuts on Draco's flesh bleeding freely, he did not bother to attempt to catch the scent of his visitor. Only when the gasp of horror reached his ears did Draco lift his head from its resting place on the cold stone.
The scent that greeted his nostrils was unfamiliar to him. This person simply smelled clean; no elaborate scents could be detected, no blood other than his own was traceable. No, this scent did not belong in this prison, it was the smell of someone pure.
As he heard the soft murmurs of healing incantations begin, he recoiled from their wand.
"Be still Malfoy," the quiet voice insisted. "I'm going to help you."
Draco's mind became alert as the voice reached his ears, it was one that he knew although he could not place it. As he felt the effects of the healing spells close his wounds he let out a sob in exasperation.
"Leave me," he begged, his mind spiraling in anguish as he thought of reliving his torment even one more day.
Recognition flooded his senses as the voice responded, "I suppose that a Mudblood is not even worthy of healing you," she snapped, the animosity that had colored their relationship over the years dripping from every word.
"You don't know, they'll only… again," he finished, unable to verbalize the horrors he had faced over the past weeks… months… years he had spent in captivity. Drawing his body into a tight ball upon the floor, Draco turned painfully so that his back was towards her.
The hatred that had flared up within her when he had rejected her charms ebbed as she recognized the brokenness of the boy before her.
"Draco, Dumbledore is here. The majority of the Death Eaters have been killed and Harry and Snape have gone to face Voldemort."
Ripping a length of cloth from her robes, Hermione cast a spell to dampen it, mopping his face caked with blood and dirt as she assured him that their Potions Master was indeed working for the Order and would not betray them.
Draco stilled as Hermione proceeded to clean his skin of the muck and mire that had collected since his first night of capture. As she cleansed his skin, healing each cut and bruise as they were revealed to her, he had his first glimpse of something that Rookwood had promised would be lost to him forever - hope.
He had since given up on hoping for death, understanding that his simple death would not satisfy the thirst for retribution of Voldemort and his followers. Any hope for rescue had disappeared with the first kiss of Bellatrix's knife.
"Is it, is it really over," he asked uncertainly, welcoming the comfort of Hermione's lap as she moved his head to rest upon it.
"Voldemort has not yet been defeated," Hermione admitted carefully, not wanting to dash Draco's hopes, "however, with the defeat of the Death Eaters I am confident that your imprisonment is," she finished softly, the damp cloth replaced by her hand raking his hair back from his forehead.
Hermione had stayed, offering him the first humane touch in months and reflecting on her life since she had joined the Wizarding World. Despite all the wonderment and joy she had experienced at finding a place where she truly belonged, she couldn't help but ask 'had it all been worth it?' She had seen friends and family fall at the hands of Voldemort. And now, her two best friends were facing the man who had been responsible for it all.
When she heard Harry's scream echo throughout the camp she pushed from her mind the possibility that the worse had occurred. Absently cradling Draco's head to her chest, more for her comfort than his, she murmured repeatedly, "He's going to be all right."
As it turned out, Harry was all right, although the deadly curse that he cast nearly cost him his life along side the menace that had plagued the world. It had taken them years to find out what had stood Harry apart from the rest of Voldemort's victims but Dumbledore had finally managed to begin to sort through the Dark Magic coursing through Harry's scar.
It had turned out that Voldemort had injected his humanity within Harry; that was why he had never died. While he had intended to simply contaminate Harry before disposing of him, the curse did not act as intended, rather affording Harry certain protections against any curse coming from Voldemort.
In an act of desperation, as Harry found that he could not kill Voldemort by his wand either; he finally turned the wand upon his scar, casting the Killing Curse, destroying the last remaining humanity there was of Voldemort.
When Harry fell, screaming in agony, Ron and Severus quickly turned on the shell of a man before them, casting Avada Kedavra in desperation, finally sending the man, once known as Tom Riddle, to his death.
Author's Note: Written for elementaldeity for the dmhgficexchange on livejournal.
Special Thanks: Terri, Inell, Zephyr and especially nakhashmekashefah for the wonderful feed back especially in the eleventh hour.
Chapter One - The Sins of the Father
The summer before Hermione's final year at Hogwarts, Death Eater activity had increased. Their actions grew bolder as Lord Voldemort's power increased with each passing day. The Order of the Phoenix was working overtime, trying to recruit additional support to minimize the impact the brewing war would have upon Muggle England.
Upon Hermione's suggestion, the Order had moved its location to the Granger residence in Muggle London the year after Sirius's death. She had grown insistent that her parents relocate to Order Headquarters; concerned for their safety as Voldemort rallied support. When Sirius fell, ownership of Grimmauld Place defaulted to Narcissa Malfoy as the only remaining Black not being hunted by the Ministries Aurors. Hermione had little problem convincing Dumbledore to take residence at the Granger's, placing their home under the Fidelius Charm.
Hermione's suspicions soon proved to be correct when Severus alerted the Order to Voldemort's latest plan to get to Harry Potter. It seemed as if he was convinced that the best way to get to Harry was through his loved ones.
"After all, it worked so well with Sirius," Severus added coldly, his sneer reveling in the guilt his words brought to Harry's face.
Unable to break through the magic protecting Harry's family, Voldemort had decided to target Harry's friends instead. The Weasley's were all put on alert, while Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that her family would be safe. Or so she thought.
"Mum, it's just not safe for you," she had insisted one morning, shortly after Severus had reported his latest findings. "I realize that you don't fully understand the implications of this war, but you and dad have been identified as targets. It's because of who you are to me and my ties to Harry," Hermione added, her voice trembling as she considered the danger she had brought to her parents' lives.
"Mionabelle," Elizabeth Granger sighed, calling her daughter by the childhood pet name as she tugged lovingly at Hermione's curls. "I know that you are concerned for our safety, but we Grangers are made of tough stock. I simply, no we -," she amended, her eyes falling lovingly on her husband across the room, "cannot live our lives in fear."
Hermione swallowed her tears, burying her face in her mother's chest as she wrapped her arms around her waist. She knew that she would not convince her parents to close their practice, to remain virtual prisoners within their own home as a war ensued that they knew very little about.
"I know mum. You taught me that as well, I'm just… I'm afraid."
Elizabeth took her daughter's shoulders, pushing her lightly away from her body as she tilted her head until her shining eyes looked up into her own. "Que sera sera," she sung lightly, the song she had sung countless times as Hermione drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
"Whatever will be, will be," Hermione answered, as she looked up into her mother's eyes. As she watched her parents leave the confines of the Order's new headquarters for the last time, she allowed a tear to fall from her eye before seeking out Mundungus.
"What is it, little girl?" Mundungus snapped, coughing on the smoke from his pipe.
Hermione tutted, pulling her wand out in a flourish and casting an extinguishing spell.
"Why you little br…"
Hermione didn't give him the chance to complete his thought. She needed his assistance and didn't have time to waste with trivial banter.
"Look Dung," she started, her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on his. "I don't have time for this nonsense. My parents have insisted on going into work today despite my warnings."
Mundungus coughed and grunted out a laugh in disgust. "It sounds like they have a death wish. So what does the little know-it-all suggest I do about it," he spat out, before lighting his pipe again, inhaling deeply before blowing the smoke directly in her face.
Fighting the desire to hex the petty thief before her, Hermione pulled her wand out again, opting instead to send a stream of water, once again extinguishing the pipe and ruining the tobacco inside.
"What you're GOING to do is go down there and keep them safe," she insistedwith a satisfied smirk as he wiped his face and looked at his pipe incredulously. Not giving him the chance to question her further, she continued, "You know why you're going to do it? Because I am the 'know- it- all' that will put you under the Imperius Curse to make sure it happens," she finished, satisfied as she watched his expression blanch at her threat.
"B-b-but, I'm to wait for…"
"You have your instructions from me. I don't have time to wait for Dumbledore to return. They are in danger now," she finished emphatically, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally gathered his cloak and hat and Disapparated.
Her eyes were glazed over, the drone in the courtroom deafening to her ears as Lucius was presented to the court for sentencing. He had been found guilty of illegal activities, including the murder of Hermione's parents.
Despite the personal interest she should have taken in the case, she could not. It didn't matter. They were gone. Her mother's song still haunted her ears because it did not have to be. If only she had pleaded further, they might have agreed to stay home. Or, if she had simply cast the Imperius Charm on Mundungus rather than waste time reasoning with him, he might have been able to save them.
He had managed to stun Lucius, bringing him into the Ministry's custody. That had been little consolation to Hermione, just as the verdict of guilty had been, as well as any sentence short of death would be. Although Minister Fudge had been removed from office, there were still plenty of others left who were for sale throughout the ranks of the government. Hermione knew from experience that Lucius Malfoy would not stay incarcerated for long.
If at all possible, her summer ended under an even darker shadow than that of the murder of her parents. When she received her owl, announcing her position as Head Girl, any excitement that she would have felt was immediately washed away with the revelation that the Head Boy was none other than the son of the man who had killed her parents.
The first week at school was horrible. Both as likely as the next to cast a hex upon one another; Draco in retaliation, believing it to be Hermione's fault that his father was imprisoned; Hermione in repentance for being unable to save her parents from their fate. Lucius was untouchable. However his son, continually spouting off hateful rhetoric and defending the bastard's every action, was a welcome substitute.
The second week of the term, things got even worse. Lucius Malfoy, in a desperate attempt to save himself from execution began naming strategic locations and members of Voldemort's Death Eater squad. Draco consequently, was shunned by his house, no longer trusted, as the name of Malfoy had now become synonymous with traitor.
At the end of the week, after a particular tumultuous meeting with the Headmaster and Heads of Houses, Hermione confronted him, having been frustrated at his undermining of every proposal she had put forth. Upon getting no explanation as to why he would neither offer ideas of his own, nor attempt to work with her, she snapped
"What's the matter now, Malfoy? You were full of conversation in our meeting, yet now you have nothing to say? Perhaps you're too confused. Are you still a cold-blooded bastard, wanting nothing more than to rid the Wizarding World of Mudbloods? Or perhaps you are debating supporting the acceptance of Muggle-borns in an effort to lend strength to your father's pleas for mercy?"
Anger flashed in Draco's silver eyes as he grabbed Hermione's neck, pinning her against the wall in the corridor.
"I am not my father, you filthy Mudblood. Just because he has forgotten where his loyalties lie, does not mean that I have," he finished, before releasing her and sweeping down the corridor.
Hermione avoided the stoic Head Boy for the remainder of the weekend. That confrontation had marked the first time she truly feared just how far Draco Malfoy might go if he were pushed. He had been shunned by his house and left to walk around stewing in his own anger. Her instincts told her that he was far from rational and could be dangerous.
Sunday evening, following supper, Hermione set off to patrol the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest. It was a custom amongst many of the more troublesome older students to send the first years on missions to prove their willingness to bend the rules, the forest being a long favored target. One of Hermione's goals this year was to minimize the number of new students caught breaking the rules as a part of that ridiculous tradition. Unfortunately, as she looked out across the grounds, it appeared as if she might have been too late.
'I swear, they get more foolish with each year. I suppose they think the Headmaster's warnings about the Forbidden Forest are mere lip service,' Hermione thought, as she caught sight of three figures headed straight into the forest on the main path. She slowed as she got a better look at the figures. That silvery blond hair and school-issued robes were unmistakable. As she got even closer, she saw that his two companions were not accompanying him but rather dragging him towards the forest. That fact, combined with his pleas to be released let Hermione know that she needed to get a staff member fast.
She began to run, her heart thumping as her feet carried her back towards the castle. Cursing herself silently for not considering casting some sort of alert that might bring aid to meet her; Hermione raised her wand in the air, casting red sparks as Hagrid had instructed her to use the first time she ventured into the forest during first year. As she saw the light from Hogwarts entrance flood onto the front staircase, and Hagrid's massive form step out, Hermione sank to the ground in exhaustion.
Draco looked up into the masks of his captors as he felt his feet touch the ground, his stomach settling from the queasiness that travel by Portkey always left him.
"Has the Dark Lord need of my services," he questioned, trying to contain the quavering he felt in his voice at the chance to prove his loyalty.
Removing her mask, Bellatrix looked down upon the fair boy, her violet eyes boring through his own.
"Foolish boy, our Master has no need for a traitor such as yourself. The sins of the father… you know," she cooed, patting his cheek lightly three times before turning to leave the room, her ebony mane swaying behind her back.
Draco turned to his other captor, affixing his calm façade before speaking, "I am not my father you know? My allegiance still lies with the Dark Lord."
He stood in silent anticipation as the tall masked figure slowly turned towards him. When Augustus Rookwood removed his mask Draco visibly shrank away from his icy glare.
Rookwood laughed heartily, as if Draco had told an amusing anecdote over cocktails, before his eyes narrowed, an icy glare focused upon the boy.
"Do you think that Lord Voldemort is concerned with your childish beliefs or alliances? You are here as Bellatrix explained, to atone for the transgressions of your father."
Draco began to speak, wishing to convey that he himself would make his father pay for his treason, but Augustus cut him off.
"Boy, no one is interested in anything that you have to say. I have fallen victim to the acts of a traitor and personally believe that all evidence of one who would defy the Dark Lord's existence should be eradicated. Their wives, mothers, sons and daughters should all pay for their folly."
Draco watched as Augustus's face lightened, his mouth turning into a congenial smile.
"I say this because I believe that one should understand one's predicament. I do not wish to listen to your pleas for mercy or a chance to prove your loyalty. I do hope that you will accept that I do not care. No one does. We intend to break you completely, killing you slowly day by day; sustaining you only enough that you wish for nothing more than your life to slip away from you. Only then, when you've lost the ability to even hope for your death, will we dispose of the last of your traitorous line."
Refusing to show the panic that the Death Eater's words spoken with such a casual candor had instilled in him, Draco lifted his chin in defiance. That was the first time he heard the curse "Crucio" directed towards him, though it would not be the last.
Draco lost count after his third day. His time spent in the dungeons became a montage of torment and anguish. His captor's did not simply rely on magical curses and hexes, rather they relished in practicing Muggle tortures upon him. He became their personal pet; his body taken for any number of pleasures whether it was to be a target for which to aim their curses, or an orifice to release their aggressions.
As Draco slid in and out of delirium, he came to recognize the scent of his captor's; unable to see through his eyes which remained bloody and swollen. Each individual's scent was like a pheromone, inducing a physical reaction in him. Bellatrix- arousal, as her favorite torment was to heighten him to a state of arousal, before cutting into his flesh, engraving the marks of a traitor into his flesh, leaving him unfulfilled and bleeding. Avery always elicited a mental detachment from his flesh, as he would purge himself of all guilt of his traitorous path by beating Draco with his hands. The pain, Draco had found, could be blocked out, if he were able to detach himself from his body. But the scent that caused Draco to hyperventilate in fear was that of Augustus Rookwood.
Rookwood's position was that of his caretaker. He would enter daily, after the other's had used and abused Draco until he was lying in his own waste, unable to move. His voice always the same level of calm as he reminded Draco, "I told you this was to happen." He spoke almost gently, rubbing salves across Draco's open flesh and feeding potions into his system.
"Why do you heal me," Draco would always ask, lulled into the false security of the man's seemingly kind actions. "Would it not be better to let me die," he questioned, always realizing too late that this was what the man had come for.
The maniacal delight in his voice was always evident as he replied, "I heal you so that they can break you again. I told you this boy. If death is what you want, you can be assured that it will not come soon," he would finish, leaving only after he had carefully mended all of Draco's wounds in preparation for the next day.
When the door opened again, the fresh cuts on Draco's flesh bleeding freely, he did not bother to attempt to catch the scent of his visitor. Only when the gasp of horror reached his ears did Draco lift his head from its resting place on the cold stone.
The scent that greeted his nostrils was unfamiliar to him. This person simply smelled clean; no elaborate scents could be detected, no blood other than his own was traceable. No, this scent did not belong in this prison, it was the smell of someone pure.
As he heard the soft murmurs of healing incantations begin, he recoiled from their wand.
"Be still Malfoy," the quiet voice insisted. "I'm going to help you."
Draco's mind became alert as the voice reached his ears, it was one that he knew although he could not place it. As he felt the effects of the healing spells close his wounds he let out a sob in exasperation.
"Leave me," he begged, his mind spiraling in anguish as he thought of reliving his torment even one more day.
Recognition flooded his senses as the voice responded, "I suppose that a Mudblood is not even worthy of healing you," she snapped, the animosity that had colored their relationship over the years dripping from every word.
"You don't know, they'll only… again," he finished, unable to verbalize the horrors he had faced over the past weeks… months… years he had spent in captivity. Drawing his body into a tight ball upon the floor, Draco turned painfully so that his back was towards her.
The hatred that had flared up within her when he had rejected her charms ebbed as she recognized the brokenness of the boy before her.
"Draco, Dumbledore is here. The majority of the Death Eaters have been killed and Harry and Snape have gone to face Voldemort."
Ripping a length of cloth from her robes, Hermione cast a spell to dampen it, mopping his face caked with blood and dirt as she assured him that their Potions Master was indeed working for the Order and would not betray them.
Draco stilled as Hermione proceeded to clean his skin of the muck and mire that had collected since his first night of capture. As she cleansed his skin, healing each cut and bruise as they were revealed to her, he had his first glimpse of something that Rookwood had promised would be lost to him forever - hope.
He had since given up on hoping for death, understanding that his simple death would not satisfy the thirst for retribution of Voldemort and his followers. Any hope for rescue had disappeared with the first kiss of Bellatrix's knife.
"Is it, is it really over," he asked uncertainly, welcoming the comfort of Hermione's lap as she moved his head to rest upon it.
"Voldemort has not yet been defeated," Hermione admitted carefully, not wanting to dash Draco's hopes, "however, with the defeat of the Death Eaters I am confident that your imprisonment is," she finished softly, the damp cloth replaced by her hand raking his hair back from his forehead.
Hermione had stayed, offering him the first humane touch in months and reflecting on her life since she had joined the Wizarding World. Despite all the wonderment and joy she had experienced at finding a place where she truly belonged, she couldn't help but ask 'had it all been worth it?' She had seen friends and family fall at the hands of Voldemort. And now, her two best friends were facing the man who had been responsible for it all.
When she heard Harry's scream echo throughout the camp she pushed from her mind the possibility that the worse had occurred. Absently cradling Draco's head to her chest, more for her comfort than his, she murmured repeatedly, "He's going to be all right."
As it turned out, Harry was all right, although the deadly curse that he cast nearly cost him his life along side the menace that had plagued the world. It had taken them years to find out what had stood Harry apart from the rest of Voldemort's victims but Dumbledore had finally managed to begin to sort through the Dark Magic coursing through Harry's scar.
It had turned out that Voldemort had injected his humanity within Harry; that was why he had never died. While he had intended to simply contaminate Harry before disposing of him, the curse did not act as intended, rather affording Harry certain protections against any curse coming from Voldemort.
In an act of desperation, as Harry found that he could not kill Voldemort by his wand either; he finally turned the wand upon his scar, casting the Killing Curse, destroying the last remaining humanity there was of Voldemort.
When Harry fell, screaming in agony, Ron and Severus quickly turned on the shell of a man before them, casting Avada Kedavra in desperation, finally sending the man, once known as Tom Riddle, to his death.