A/N: Once again, sorry for the incredibly long wait. Several setbacks, and not a lot of time to write. Not to mention half a dozen more story ideas banging around in my head, trying to get themselves written down on paper.

I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers, and hope that you haven't abandoned this. I will try to get the next chapter out fast, but I can't make any promises.

As it is, please enjoy.

Chapter 10: Questions

It seemed as though days passed while she lay there, though she knew that it was only...hours? There was no clock in the room, and the only way she could reason was by the passage of the sun—when it was out. With half-closed eyes, she would watch the shadows cross the walls, the change of the light from outside the only thing that told her how long she was there. Of course, it wasn't as if she needed to know how long she lay there. There was little she could do; her body hurt too much to move and, after all, what did she have to look forward to? Another meeting with Voldemort?

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. That last visit...she had no idea how she was going to survive. She didn't think that she had any strength left. She could barely lift her head, much less do anything else. And she knew...at least, she thought...that this was just the beginning. It was going to get so much worse. So, so much worse. She didn't know how, or what else he could do to her, but it would get worse. In her normal state, without all the pain, she would be able to think up a myriad of different ways, but not now. Although, the truth was that she didn't want to think about it. Because, if she thought about it, then she really didn't know how she was going to go on.

Trying to turn her thoughts to something else, Hermione found her mind drifting to Harry and Ron. She hoped, oh she hoped so much, that they would come for her. She wanted to be out, wanted to go home, wanted to go back to Hogwarts and study and be as reclusive as she had ever been. For a moment, she thought that she would like to be anywhere but here, in this little room, waiting to be taken down to face Voldemort again. In her normal state, she might have been able think up someplace worse than this. At the moment, though, she had no idea where that would be.

And, of course, as she had thought every single time that she had wished that Harry and Ron would come and get her, she realized how selfish it was. She knew, just as well as they did, whey they needed to find all the Horcruxes before coming after Voldemort. Right now...if they came, they would find themselves facing an invincible foe, as well as who knows how many other Death Eaters. It would be a mistake, on all their parts, for them to come.

Every time that she had been in a situation even somewhat like this, there had been someone to help. Dumbledore, mostly. But he was gone, and most of the people who could help her were in no position to do so. She couldn't rely on anyone else to help her.

But she didn't know how to help herself.

Malfoy had left within an hour after he had brought her back to her room. He didn't give a reason for leaving—thought it wasn't as though she needed one—and had simply up and left as she had begun to drift into a state of semi-consciousness. She had dimly noted that the door had opened and closed, and that there was no longer human presence beside her, but other than that she barely noticed that he was gone.

She simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, occasionally letting her eyes drift over to the window. There was no sun anymore; after that one day it had disappeared again behind that thick cloud cover. Now her room was dark, and from what she could tell the sun—wherever it was shining—was sinking below the horizon. There was still a dim light; a red light filtering through clouds. The color of the sky at night before it began to rain. No stars, no light from the moon, just a brown-red color that drowned everything.

The last thing that she saw was the first drops of rain splattering against the windows, the water running down the glass like tears.

She dropped off into an uneasy sleep full of unpleasant dreams full of pain. Flashes of color and light, faces that she knew, memories and things created of her mind alone, they all mixed together into something that unsettled her, and yet she couldn't wake from it. Every so often she would wake, her eyes opening for a few seconds before closing tightly, her dreams taking hold of her once more. If she had been able to move she would have clutched at something in those moments where she was awake, as though that would have kept her from slipping back into sleep.

It was the sound of the door opening that finally made her wake. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and she lay there, her eyes wide open and glued to the ceiling. For a moment, she thought that she had simply imagined it, but then she felt the presence of someone else in the room, and she knew that she hadn't. Someone else was there, though she didn't know who. If she were forced to guess, she would have said Malfoy, if only because he was the only one that had come into this room for the past...however many days it had been.

She was right. At least, partly. It was Malfoy who came over to the bed and grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her upright.

"Get up," he said, his voice quiet and softer than she would have thought for someone who was roughly dragging her out of her bed. She tried to protest, but he set his hand over her mouth. "Shut it, and just get up."

She swallowed back a wave of nausea, nodding as best she could. With shaking legs, she tried to stand. She really did, one hand clutching at the bedpost to keep herself from falling. Between that and Malfoy's hold on her shoulder, she was able to stand. Somewhat. But not walk. Before she could voice this to him, Malfoy had made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, then lifted her up, carrying her to the door. Each step made the pounding in her head grow, but she didn't make a sound. Simply closed her eyes and waited. She knew this drill; he would take her down the hall, the down the steps, then through the other hall until they came to the doors. And then...then she would see Voldemort again.

"Good. You have brought her."

Her eyes snapped open as she heard the voice. But...but she wasn't even...what...

"Hello, Hermione Granger."

Hermione breathed in, her eyes shutting again. Why, why was he here? Why was he right outside of her room? She didn't understand, couldn't understand. It just—Malfoy had said that—it didn't make any sense--

"Set her down, Draco. Now, I said hello, Hermione Granger." There was an...an amused undertone to his voice, she noticed. As Malfoy set her down on the ground she let her eyes open once again and looked up at Voldemort. On her hands and knees, she looked up and locked eyes with him.

"H-hello, V-oldemort," she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. It did anyway, breaking and cracking and making her sound weak and broken.

A smile grew on Voldemort's face. Not a big smile, just the twisting upwards of the corners of his mouth. "No, no, it is not Voldemort, Hermione Granger. It is Lord Voldemort, and you must learn that." He reached down, setting the tips of his fingers against her forehead. As soon as the contact was made, waves of pain rushed through her body, radiating to every part. It only lasted for a moment, but it left her feeling weaker than ever. Against her will, her head bowed.

"L-lord Voldemort," she gasped out, trying to hold herself up by bracing her arms against the cold stone of the floor. "Lord Voldemort."

"Very good." The amusement was still there, and she hated that. "Are you ready to tell me where Potter is now?"

"No," she spat out, her entire body shaking. She wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't. She--

There was another torrent of pain, and this time it left her sagging against the floor. "That would be, 'No, Lord Voldemort,'" came his cold voice, though it still seemed as though he were laughing at her.

She coughed, seeing a small amount of blood splatter against the floor. "No, L-lord Vol-demort," she gasped out, her voice sounding faint to her own ears. "No, Lord Voldemort, I-I will not t-t-tell you."

His boot came up under her head, twisting it so that she was looking upwards. "Well, Hermione Granger, since you have learned so quickly, I will give you a treat. Would you like to know what the treat is?"

"N-no, Lord Voldemort."

His foot pushed her head up higher, so that her neck was being strained. "That is too bad. But I will tell you what it is anyway. For being such a good girl, I will let you spend the day here. Draco, take her back inside." He removed his boot and her head fell to the ground, her skin bruising as it collided with the stone. She couldn't move and just lay there with her arms and legs spread around her, her face pressed against the cold stones. Then heard the sound of footsteps as he walked off down the hall.

For a moment, Hermione thought that she would be left there, a broken body in the middle of the hall. Then she felt someone slip their arm around her stomach, rolling her over and drawing her up so that she was lifted from the floor. She knew it was Malfoy; after all, there was no one else around. Normally, she would have minded. Normally, she would have hit him, slapped him, yelled at him. But then, she wasn't in any normal situation. So she simply curled up as best she could, the side of her head resting against his chest. There wasn't any way for her to explain it, but it felt...comforting. To have someone there, who was not hurting her. Not trying to hurt her. She didn't like the feeling, of having to rely on Draco Malfoy, but then, she didn't like most of the things that were happening to her.

Once again, she found herself back on the bed. This time, however, she wasn't content with lying down. Her body ached, she felt as tired as she had been before she had slept, but she didn't want to stay there. Using the wall and the headboard for support, she levered herself up so that she was sitting. Then, beads of sweat running down her face, she let her head fall back.

"W-what was that a-ll about?" she asked, her voice sounding incredibly hoarse. She didn't need to look to know that Malfoy was still there. "I-I thought you s-said that he wouldn't be coming here."

"I said that he wouldn't come into this room, Granger. I never said anything about him not coming into the hall."

"Same thing," Hermione muttered, turning her head toward the window. There was a dull throbbing in her legs, undermining the rest of her hurts; she supposed that it came from not really moving on her own for the past few days. The muscles were cramping or something like that. She shifted them, ignoring the daggers of pain that raced through the rest of her body. She would have to find some time to move; at the very least, she would have to force herself to walk around the small room. Otherwise...well, she highly doubted that she could feel much worse than she already was. "S-so why was h-he h-here?" Swallowing hard, she attempted to speak without the stuttered that had just come about. As she swallowed, however, she tasted the copper of blood and nearly choked. There was blood in her mouth; had she bitten herself without knowing, at some point during the torture? It was likely.

Malfoy was silent for a moment and she glanced at him through narrow eyes. He didn't seem quite as pale as the last time she had seen him, though he still had an unhealthy look around him. The skin under his eyes was the red of utter exhaustion and his hair was unkempt. In fact, the black robes that he wore made him look even worse. "I brought him," he finally said, the words seeming almost forced.

Hermione closed her eyes, swallowing another mouthful of blood and spit. She should have known. Of course he would bring him here. After all, Malfoy worked for that man. Followed his orders. "Oh."

She opened her eyes again, just in time to see Malfoy run a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. "Let me finish."

"F-fine. Finish what you were going to say." Her words came out coldly. She had begun to think, for just a few moments, that maybe—just maybe—she could trust Malfoy. At least somewhat. But now--

"Look," he began, moving towards her. Hermione flinched ever so slightly, but did nothing more as he sat down at the foot of the bed. "I did not intend for you to get hurt more."

"Of course."

Malfoy's jaw clenched again and he looked away from her. "Just shut up and let me talk. You got off easy today, don't you realize that? I was able to convince Lord Voldemort to come and look at you; he is able to tell when someone will be pushed to far. When someone's body is going to give out. And you are no good to him dead. I got him to come up here so that he could see that another day, at this point, might kill you. All right?"

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. "What?" She was not entirely sure of what she had just heard. "But--"

"It worked," continued Malfoy as though she had never spoken. "I must say, I didn't expect you to start following what he said. You don't strike me as the type of person to do that. But that is how he deals with things, and that is probably the only think that is keeping you up here, rather than down there at his mercy. He effectively made you act upon his wishes, which is what he wants." He leaned forward so that their eyes were locked. "I don't know if you knew that or not. But that is how he works. He could easily go into your head and take the information that he wants; it is incredibly easy for him to do. But he won't, because it isn't any fun. It is more satisfying to him to have someone finally cave to his demands. To force them a way that they don't want to go.

"Potter is the one he really wants." It was odd, Hermione thought, to see Malfoy talking about it. He seemed almost...at ease, his legs draped over the side of the bed, his back against one of the end posts. "You are pretty much nothing to him, just a pretty face and a way to get to Potter. I would be careful if I were you, Granger. You tell him what he wants and then you are useless. Course, he could still use you to taunt Potter, but he could just as easily spell someone to look like you. All he needs is whatever information is in your head. Once he gets it, he'll kill you."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, almost glaring at him. "I-I'll keep that in mind, all right? Do you honestly think that I would tell him? D-do you think me that stupid?"

"You tell him, and there is a chance that the torture will stop," was Malfoy's answer, and once again Hermione found that he spoke far too easily about it. "A small chance—very small—but it is there."

"What are you trying to do, Malfoy?" Her voice was laced with anger now. "Confuse me? Trick me?" She ended her words with a fit of coughing as the pain in her body overcame her again. Doubling over, she clasp a hand at her throat as though that would stop it.

Malfoy watched her for a moment, the rose from his seat. "Wait here," he said, turning and heading into the bathroom. Hermione's lip curled and she fought back the urge to shout something after him, something sarcastic, as it was obvious that she wasn't able to move from the bed on her own.

He returned a moment later, a cup of water in his hands. Once beside her, he set it to her lips. "Drink. That's the other thing; you haven't had much food or water for the past few days. If you don't do something about that, your body will just shut down."

Hermione took a sip of the water, letting it sooth her throat. "Where did you learn all of this?" she asked after a moment, and was rewarded with the barest hint of a smile, the first one that she had really seen on his face.

"Hospital wing, after a particularly hellish game against Ravenclaw. Besides, you just pick things up after awhile. It is common knowledge that you need to eat, Granger."

Her eyes narrowed again as she drank. When the cup was half empty, she spoke again. "Did you just admit that a match against Ravenclaw was hard?"

The smile grew somewhat. "I never said that. I believe the word I used was 'hellish'."

"Uh-huh. And what is the difference?"

Malfoy's face darkened. "You are smart, Granger. I'm sure you can figure it out."

There was a moment of silence, where Hermione reached up and took the cup in her own hand. She nearly dropped it, for she had begun to shake. Hunger, she supposed, because as the pains from the magic Voldemort had used upon her faded she found that other needs made themselves known. Before the cup could tip and fall, however, Malfoy reached out and steadied her hand. She didn't say anything, simply accepted his help. Raising the cup to her lips, she let the water slid down her throat, the set the glass down on the stand beside the bed. Her hands settled in her lap and she turned, looking at Malfoy.

"Harry told me," she began, nervousness creeping through her, "that you were the first one on the roof."

Malfoy stilled, his entire body becoming tense. There was no need to clarify what she was talking about. For a moment, she thought that he wasn't going to answer.

"I was there, yes." His eyes darted to the side, and she knew that this wasn't something that he wanted to talk about. She plowed on, regardless.

"You were supposed to--" She paused, not entirely sure how to say it. Malfoy's eyes returned to hers, cold and harsh.

"Just say it," he hissed through clenched teeth. Hermione bit her bottom lip softly, then continued.

"He told me that you were the one who was supposed to kill Dumbledore." The last words were so quiet that she wasn't sure if he had heard. Either way, he sat there for a moment, then his eyes left hers again.

"Yes." That word was just as soft, if not softer. It was as though he didn't want to admit it to himself. The he looked up. "Yes, I was supposed to."

Her breath caught for a moment as she struggled to find the words to say, to try and pry the truth from him. "And it was Snape that--"

"Yes."

She already knew that. "Just let me finish, all right?" He inclined his head sharply, though his body stayed rigid. "Snape killed Dumbledore. And that means that you...you failed Voldemort."

He sat there, his eyes boring holes through her head. "Yes."

It was her turn to look down, down at her hands where they rested in her lap. "Then...then why are you still alive, Malfoy? Why did he let your mistake go?"

There was a bitter laugh and she looked up. Malfoy had one hand half covering his face and was laughing. Not amused laughter, just...laughter. It sounded almost dead as it was so devoid of emotion. Then he stopped laughing, but the hand remained over his face.

"Malfoy?"

He looked at her through his fingers. "Who ever said that he let the mistake go? And you are right when you call it a mistake, Granger. It was. If I could go back, I would kill him." She wasn't sure what she felt when he said that, wasn't sure if she had expected it. Something must have shown on her face, for Malfoy gave another short laugh. "Don't give me a look like that, Granger. I would kill him."

"But--"

"Just drop it, Granger. You don't need to know about me." He stood, and now there was no trace of the smile left at all. She hadn't really expected there to be. "So don't ask me about it again. Do you understand?"

He didn't give her time to answer, but turned on his heel and strode towards the door. Hermione watched him as he went, feeling no more sure of anything than she had before they had spoken. But she guessed that she had just pushed him to far, and wasn't sure if there was anything she could to to fix it.