A/N: A faster update. I tried to get this out yesterday, but wasn't letting me upload the document. Anyway, here's the next chapter. After this...I guess I shouldn't give anything away. Enjoy.

Oh, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. I love the feedback that I get.

Chapter 11: Strength

For a moment, Hermione simply sat there, staring at the door. Then, knowing that he was gone, she let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closing.

"That didn't work well," she said to herself, mostly just to hear herself speak. Without someone else there to distract her, all of the little aches and pains came back, taunting her and tormenting her. There was an aching, a dull throbbing all throughout her body, as well as the feeling of emptiness in her stomach that wouldn't go away; she doubted that it would anytime soon. There would be no food for her for...well, she didn't know how long. But she doubted that any would be brought to her within the next few minutes, so she simply tried to push that particular thing to the back of her mind. It worked fairly well, but trying to forget about that made her realize something else.

She had to go to bathroom. Desperately.

It was almost enough to make her bang her head against the wall, if she hadn't known that it would both make her head ache terribly, and not help her one bit.

With a soft groan, Hermione used her arms to lever herself out of the bed, nearly losing her balance and falling in the process. Once her feet were on the ground, she reached out for the wall, supporting herself while she began to move slowly towards the bathroom door.

It was an incredibly slow process; moving one foot forward, sliding her hands down the wall, making sure that she didn't collapse onto the ground. If she did, she doubted that she would make it back up by herself.

Eventually, she made it around the perimeter of the room to the door and pulled herself inside. Then she shut the door, falling against it as she finally lost her balance and stumbled, losing her footing and slumping to the ground.

But she was in the bathroom, and the accomplishment of actually making it gave her a sort of pride, though she would never admit it to anyone. To think, Hermione Granger, top of her class, being proud about making it to the bathroom by herself!

After a few moments of rest, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered over to the toilet and was finally able to rid herself of one of the things that was making her feel particularly horrible. Then, using the opportunity of being in the bathroom, she washed her hands and face and the rest of her body as best she could. She didn't dare use the tub; in her condition, with on one else around, it would not be safe. If she fell and found herself under the water there was no telling if she would be able to survive. Her body might simply give out and allow her to drift away into death.

That gave her pause to think about why she was even allowed to have a tub in the same room. It was, she thought, a way out. Not a particularly nice way out, and she didn't especially want to die, but it was a way to get rid of all of her problems. There was one answer to that, only one that she thought was possible, from what she knew about Voldemort, and from what Malfoy had said about how he acted. It would probably delight him to know that he had the power to drive someone to take their own life.

Either that, or she was just making things a lot more complicated than they really were.

The cold water from the sink on her face drove most thoughts from her mind, making her gasp for breath. It was as though there were ice in the water, and she wasn't sure if that were a good thing. It woke her completely, just as it had the day before, and while it seemed to numb something things, that abrupt jolt back into complete consciousness made most of her hurts seem larger than they had been before.

But she could probably think more clearly now.

Hermione turned back towards the main portion of the room, unaided by the wall. Each step she took was careful, deliberate, and she found that she only had to reach out for support once or twice. Not wanting to return to the bed, she made her way over to the windowsill, setting herself down. Then she rested her head against the frame, letting her breath fog the glass. With one hand she reached out and touched the panels, feeling how cold they were beneath her fingers. It was hard to believe that it wasn't winter yet, that it was only a little ways out of summer.

Nature had a way of mirroring what was happening with its inhabitants, she supposed. A way of twisting itself so that it would be just as awful as the things happening in it. Of course, the weather was probably also a product of magic. She had no doubt that it could be manipulated, as well as no doubt that the Death Eaters would use it to their advantage. They loved fear, and if the world suddenly roiled up under the feet of those who walked upon it...then there would be more fear, far more.

It was still raining, the water splattering against the glass and running down the surface, reminding her strongly of tears running down a person's face. They raced past her fingers were they still rested on the glass, just out of reach. Hermione was suddenly stuck by a longing to touch those drops, if only to know that there was something outside of this room, out of this-this place. She knew, of course, that there was an entire world out there. But she just wanted to touch it.

No, she wanted more than that. She wanted to be out there. She didn't find if she froze in the rain; it would be better than sitting at the window, awaiting only the next session of torture with Voldemort. There was nothing for her in this room. Nothing.

She rested her head against the glass, her eyes shut, ignoring the headache that the cold created. There had to be some way. Some way to get out. She just had to think about it, and she had the time...

Slowly, she let her hand slide down the windowpane, checking around the edges as best she could. Though she highly doubted it, it was possible that she could open it. Hermione knew that there was a tree just outside; it would be only a small jump to reach it. From there, well, a long trip to the ground, so a misstep wouldn't be an option, nor would losing her grip and falling.

In her condition...she would probably fall.

There wasn't any opening to the window as it was. A few kicks to it, or maybe if she was able to use something in the room, and it would most likely break. There didn't appear to be anything magical securing it in place, though she couldn't be entirely sure. While she had become used to sensing where there was and was not magic, she knew that there were still some spells that used so little, or used it so craftily, that there was no way that she could detect them. Not that she could ever tell what spell had been used, just that magic had been used on something. And while there was a magical charge around the entire place, she didn't feel anything in particular emanating from the window.

Which made things to easy. Far too easy, which made her suspect that this was a trap of sorts. She really didn't think Voldemort stupid enough to leave that easy of an exit, unless he had something in mind for if she did try to escape.

Of course, it could just be her mind complicating things again.

There was pretty much no way out. She didn't know the place that well and had no idea if she would run into a Death Eater even if she were able to get out of the room. Which she didn't think that she could. Of course, she hadn't ever checked to make sure that the door was locked...

With that thought, she began to pull herself up from the window, having half a mind to go check if the door was really locked. She had barely begun, however, when she fell back against the wall, holding a hand to her head. It was useless. Of course the door was locked. She heard him lock it, ever single time that he left. The little click that told of a key being turned, the scraping of metal upon metal. There was no point at all in checking. It was locked. The damn thing was locked.

Hermione remained there, her hand pressed against her face. She just wanted to get out. Just...just to get out of this mess. That was all.

When she was little, she had always wanted to be brave. She had thought that nothing would ever stand in her way, that nothing could ever crush her. As a young girl in a muggle school she had been top of the class, no different than she had been at Hogwarts. Always with her nose buried in a book, rarely ever joining in with the frivolous little games that the other girls played. It wasn't as though she had always been studying; half the time she read stories that the other kids wouldn't even think to look at. She would scour the school library, searching for the hardest books to read, to challenge herself.

And when she read...she would read about adventures. The big, great, grand adventures. The ones filled with magic and the battles of good versus evil. Hermione remembered bargaining with the librarian to take more that the set amount of books home, carrying them all back in an overstuffed backpack. Once home, she would curl up on her bed, flipping through the pages and hanging onto every single word.

Even when she found out that she was a witch, even when she knew what the magical world was really like, she hung onto those stories, the ones that she read as a child. And she had found new books, exciting books, of so many types that she would spend most of her summer break just reading. Poring over the contents, just absorbing everything.

In the back of her mind she had always thought that she would be able to withstand something like this. That those characters in the books, the ones who always broke before the end, that they just hadn't tried hard enough. That they had given up too soon. She had always thought that she would be smart enough to get out of a situation like this, and she had...she had always had a pride, and arrogance, inside of her saying that she would be able to withstand pain like this. Even after she had been hurt so often, even after all those adventures with Harry and Ron, she had still thought that. It was a fragment of a dream, now. Torn to shreds and thrown to the wind.

She wasn't as strong as she had thought she was.

Hermione rubbed her hand over her eyes, trying to keep the tears back. As she did so, something cool touched her face and she jerked back. Then, realizing what it was, she held her arm before her, running the fingers of her other hand over the thin band of metal that encircled her wrist.

Blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of tears, she removed the bracelet from her wrist, holding it up before her eyes. The metal was cold to her touch, though it warmed ever so slightly as she held it.

She wondered if she would still be able to use it. To contact Ron and Harry. She just might be able to summon up enough energy, and she had been practicing spells without using a wand, though they never turned out as powerful. She could activate the spell in the bracelet, except...except Voldemort would probably sense her using magic, and then everything would be over.

Hermione set the bracelet back on her wrist, making sure that it was secure. She wouldn't use it until she really had to. It gave her a bit of an advantage, she supposed. Small, yes, but an advantage. If Voldemort didn't know...then she had one chance to use it. Not that she could actually get a message to them or anything, but she could still contact them, at least somewhat.

Her head snapped to the side as she heard a key slide into the door, and the now familiar clicking of the lock. Then the door swung open, and Malfoy returned.

"You're back," she said, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears. She honestly hadn't expected him to return, at least not so soon. He obviously hadn't liked the questions that she had asked him, hadn't wanted to answer, and then hadn't wanted to be around her.

"I am." He closed the door behind him, the bottom of his black robes swishing against the floor. "You sound surprised."

Hermione's mouth curved into a small smile. "I am, at least a bit. I could tell you weren't happy with...with the questions that I was asking."

He stared at her for a moment, then moved over to where she was sitting. He reached out, setting something on the ledge beside her. Looking down, she saw that it was a package, a piece of black material wrapped around...something.

"What is that?" she asked, not touching it. Malfoy sat down on the other side of the window, leaning up against the glass.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he suggested, propping one leg up before him. Hermione regarded him through narrowed eyes, unsure of whether or not to trust him. "Come on, Granger. I didn't put anything in there that will kill you."

Still hesitant, Hermione picked up the bundle, carefully unwrapping the material. Her eyes widened when she saw what was inside. "You—what—why?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Because you needed it."

Inside the bundle were several strips of dried meat and a few withered apples. It wasn't much, but it was far more than she had eaten in the past few days. In fact, it looked almost more than she could eat. She looked up at Malfoy, unsure of what to say.

"I-I—thank you, Malfoy."

Malfoy inclined his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Now, eat it. You've gone long enough without food."

Swallowing hard, Hermione picked up a piece of meat, bringing it to her mouth. Her teeth closed over it and she tore off a piece, chewing it and swallowing it quickly. She had tried to eat slowly, she really had. But she was so hungry that, after that first bite, she simply began to eat, simply began to tear at the food. Every single bit of it, even the cores of the apples. At this point, she didn't care about seeds or anything like that; it was food, and food meant survival.

As it turned out, there wasn't enough food. Even as she swallowed the last bite of apples, her stomach rumbled, demanding more. She stared almost sadly down at the now empty cloth, wishing that there was more food, that it would somehow magically appear.

Malfoy reached down and picked up the fabric, folding it and putting it away into his robes. "That's enough for now. Eat to much and you could end up doing more harm to your body than good."

Hermione nodded, understanding, though she didn't like it. "All right, Malfoy. Whatever you say." She nearly winced when she saw his eyes narrow. "S-sorry about that." Her words had been to harsh, maybe a little too sarcastic. She guessed. Her eyes fell to her hands, determinedly not looking at Malfoy.

There was silence for a good minute, before he spoke. When he did, she could hardly believe his words.

"That's all right, Granger."

Her head jerked upwards and she stared at him. Then she shook her head. She should know by now not to be surprised by anything that he did or said. He wasn't predictable, not anymore. At least, she wasn't able to tell what he would do next. When they were at school he had always been the same. An arrogant little boy, someone who would insult and taunt her whenever he could. Now, he wasn't. She supposed that he wasn't really Draco Malfoy anymore. No more than she was Hermione Granger. They were both in the same body that they had always had, but they just...they weren't as they had been.

"Oh," she said softly, that being all that she could think of to say. "Well...well, I'm still sorry. It was uncalled for. And I am very grateful for you bring that food, Malfoy."

"You are welcome."

"It's just," she continued, not knowing when or how to stop the flow of words, "that I am so sick of being in here. Of this routine. I'm lashing out, and you are the only one that I can really lash out at. I know it's stupid, and you don't do anything to warrant remarks that are snide or rude or anything like that. I mean, beyond being the one to bring me here, you haven't really done anything to me. Other than help me, at least in small ways. So I'm just being...I'm just being rude. Okay?" Having run out of air, she inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath.

Malfoy hadn't moved from his seat through her entire short rant, simply watched her. Even now, he just sat there, his eyes trained on her face. Still trying to catch her breath, Hermione half froze, waiting for his reaction.

Finally, he brushed a hand through his hair, sighing. "It wasn't my choice to bring you here, Granger. Then again, I really didn't have a choice in the matter. I was just doing what I was told, nothing more, nothing less."

"But didn't you have a reason? Other than following orders?" she asked, beginning to pry at him with questions again. When he stared at her blankly, she elaborated. "You hate me, Malfoy."

This prompted another half smile, and she wondered why. "I did hate you, Granger. First year, second year, most of our time at Hogwarts. After all, you are muggle-born, and you got the better of me in ever single class. That is just how I was."

Hermione blinked as she heard his words. "Wait...you did hate me? As in...what now, Malfoy? Do you still hate me?"

He shrugged again, still leaning against the wall, still watching her closely. "Somewhat. Sometimes. But not most of the time. I guess that I never had any real reason to hate you, I just did. And now...now I just don't think that you deserve this. I like you a whole lot more than many of the other people here, I have to say that. I've...learned a lot since last year. There are people who deserve thing, and people who don't. You don't, not really. Potter...now, that's a different matter, but I won't go into it. I don't like him, and I never will. You...you I don't mind so much anymore."

"I wish I knew you were being sincere." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Malfoy looked away from her at that.

"I deserve that, I guess."

Hermione's eyes fell back to her hands. Sometimes she should just learn to stop talking. She was normally so quiet, but then...then she had almost always had someone to talk to. Even if it was just her cat. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"How is Christabelle?"

Malfoy turned his gaze back towards her. "She's fine, as far as I know. Blaise's in charge of her, and I haven't had much of a chance to speak with him. As far as I know, nothing has happened to her."

"That's...that's good news. Thank you for telling me, Malfoy." Hermione looked up from her hands, making eye contact with him again. "She seemed to be rather attached to you, last time I saw her."

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose she did."

Hermione decided to drop that topic, though she did want to hear more about Christabelle, thought she expected that there wasn't much more to hear. And it was better, in an odd sort of way, not knowing. Then she couldn't worry, and she could almost forget, as cruel as that sounded. But it was just too much for her, to have to deal with both her own plight and Christabelle's.

It still hurt her to think about it, though, and she cringed inwardly. Hopefully nothing was going to happen to the girl. Too much had happened to her already.

The sound of rustling robes broke Hermione out of her thoughts and she started as she noticed that Malfoy had stood up. He began to move towards the door, taking long steps. "Wait!" she called out, rising unsteadily from her seat. "Where are you going?"

"I have things to do, Granger," came his cold answer as he continued to head for the door. Hermione bit her bottom lip, the moved forward as quickly as she could without harming herself, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Wait," she said again. He stopped, turning his head so that he could see her fully. "Couldn't you...could you just stay? Just a little while longer?"

Malfoy gazed down at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I have other things that I need to do, Granger. Now, let go."

Hermione let her arm fall away, stepping back from him. "A-all right. I'm sorry."

Malfoy shook his head again. "You don't have to say that you are sorry. I'll come back later with more food, all right?" Hermione nodded, and he began to head back toward the door.

And then the door was closed and locked and the small room seemed much colder.