Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc. belongs to JKR.

I can't remember anything,
Can't tell if this is true or dream,
Deep down inside I feel to scream,
This terrible silence stops me.

Metallica - One

Where are you? Where is this place? Kind faces, confusion and disgust ... You're filth. A shame on the magic in your veins. You fear them ... Kind faces, they'll save him …. Where is he! He's always here! … Not alone, never alone. The dark and the pain with no one but your mind and their taunts, you were better off dead… Save me…. He alone would hear you weep and mourn, he alone knew the girl behind the screams and pain. Because there is a girl, a human being, alive and worthy as they are. More so. Only not, because you are what they made you. You are afraid… Before him there was no one, not even yourself to share the pain. But he came, He came and shared the burden, shared your pain… He freed you from the entrapments of your own mind, the very chains they convinced you to lock…. He gave you your past…. They've forgotten you. Friends and family. They mourned and wept and you've been avenged but never rescued… Again and again they killed you…. They did everything they thought they could, and yet they did not doubt enough. The rationality of your friends became your downfall. Alone in the dark (before him and his light and understanding)…. Make it go away…. Fighting the evil in your very mind, he freed you and you will free him. He will see daylight again. They have forgotten you but he did not, and for that you will save him (even as he kills you, destroys you as they did) (spirit broken). You gave the blood he scorned and so made him live, you picked the lock with his knife (muggle and primitive) and gave him freedom… And you won't let go ('cause you can't be all alone). Not now. Not ever. (Only he can save you.)…. Scars won't ever fade and you watch the blood seep into his veins, (lesser magic) (empty hope)… Somebody please, help me… But not yet.

"Hermione?"

Kind faces and empty smiles. They're scared of you. "Yes."

"I'm going to have to ask you to come this way… There are a number of tests you're going to have to undergo, just to ensure you're healthy, that there's no lasting damage."

Tests. A jolt of agony like electricity from the mains, life flashing and laughter falling like rain (drizzling into ears and heart like a damp sponge) (ready to be squeezed). They took your blood and your magic and your very soul (though not whole. Dementors are more merciful than they're given credit). No lasting damage? Scarred. There's nothing left. (Nothing left but him.)

"Draco will still be here when you come back."

"I know."

The Healer doesn't trust you. She watches and waits, fearing and plotting and certain you're ready to spring. Feral. She doubts your humanity.

"Here, come on in… That's right, take a seat."

She's uncertain, as though you're crazy, like she expects you to jump up and try to shoot her down with that dry flower on her desk. You're no more of a danger to her than he is (by association only, they'd kill her to get to him. They would have because he means so much more).

"Alicia is getting you some hot chocolate."

She's trying so hard. She's been trained and it's convincing but you can sense her nerves, her pity (and what is more degrading than unwarranted pity (than externally inflicted shame)?). She tries to make you feel at home. Tries to make you think it will all be alright (how can it be?). You think on her words and remember in some far forgotten corner of your mind what it was like to drink hot chocolate. You liked it then and curiosity wonders if you'll like it now.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

You are not a child.

"Yes. I think so."

So far from a child. You don't know what you want.

"Good."

You used to want the world. To become Prime Minister (but not like Margaret Thatcher) you wanted to be remembered for world peace and a blossoming nation. You wanted everyone to be happy.

"I'm going to have to ask you a few questions first, purely procedure. You're not obligated to answer them all."

Big dreams for a little girl.

Now you feel smaller than you ever did as a child. Realisation of insignificance bought on by… by what? It wasn't them. They tried but at school Draco Malfoy and his taunts were nothing. They tried but their torture just made your will stronger. They tried but it wasn't until Harry cried at your funeral that you felt it break (your resolve) (your strength) (your heart) (mind and soul).

"What is your blood group?"

"Don't you have it on record?"

A pause. Uncomfortable. "…Your records were… destroyed. When you went…missing."

"Oh."

"Well?" Hopeful. She expects so little.

"I'm muggleborn."

"Yes, I know, but I still need your blood group."

"Mudblood. Muggle. Whatever you call it these days." Bitterness, chewed on and spat with disgust and resentment that turned the Healer's head. Her eyes show shame.

"No. I mean… A or B, positive or negative, orO or… do you know your blood group?"

He doesn't. He couldn't or he's think you were better, he'd understand that you're better than the only thing he has left, more than a last resort. He told you you meant nothing because of what flowed in your veins and yet you gave it to him… and he lives. Weak but with a hope of survival. He didn't have that before. He's bleeding your blood and he's still human, still a wizard and still Draco Malfoy.

"It means nothing. Blood means nothing at all…"

"Miss Granger… I think you've missed my meaning…"

You don't hear that everyday, "Miss Granger, I think you misunderstood." McGonagall would blink at the very thought. Has that much changed? You used to have that much potential, that much hope for the future… Now you might not even have him.

"No."

"Miss Granger?"

Dark eyes flash with forced down memories, trampled into submission in the hopes of getting out alive. Shame and fear and pity and horror and disgust and humiliation suffered day in day out forever until it stops and like a dream you have hope. Back to when you thought the war could stop the evil.

"My. Name. Is. Hermione!"

She wasn't sure where they'd taken her; it was with dull surprise that Hermione noted she was underground. It reminded her vaguely of one of the underground air raid shelters she'd visited on a school trip back in her muggle primary school… similar to London's Underground train network, domed passages, tiled walls and concrete floors. But this one was bigger. It was bigger and it has huge cages lining the walls.

A quiet sigh and she slid her herself down the bars until she sat with her knees to her chest. There was nothing here to do, the guards were completely shrouded in their Death Eater robes and couldn't talk to each other, let alone her. With no other entertainment she was forced to relive the previous day's 'mission' and it's horrendous failure.

She'd been trying to get to Nagini, perhaps not the wisest idea but with Ron suffering from concussion it was either she went or Harry did, and they only had so much time.

They'd managed to locate the snake, hiding with Voldemort on the fourth floor of the Riddle House. She was the sixth horcrux, the only one left besides Voldemort's living body. They had been so close.

They had all known that there would never be another chance, the moment the snake was targeted Voldemort would know what was going on. There was only one shot and only one spell that could do it. Hermione had done it before, trained for hours by Harry, utterly certain she had what it would take. Nagini had to be killed there and then, impaled or vaporised entirely, and dark magic would not work. That was the difficult thing they'd originally found. Destroying the horcurxes was near impossible because so few spells could affect a true portion of soul. Dark magic would be rejected and would most likely alert the remaining pieces of soul of its assault. The spell they finally found, hidden among Dumbledore's memories, involved a mirror, a sprig of thyme, magical flame, purity of heart and an unblemished soul.

She'd had all those things as well as a clear shot at the snake… she'd been so close, crouched in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment, and just as Wormtail left the room-

She shook her head. Her failure was so damn ironic she wanted to cry. It had been a house elf who alerted them of her presence. She'd killed the snake, burnt the very bones to ashes and as she ran for the apparation clear zone they descended on her. And here she was, in a giant monkey cage with nothing to show for her efforts but a dry bit of thyme hanging round her neck.

Weeks passed and she found herself wondering what was taking Harry and Ron so long. At first she thought it selfish of her. She knew that with Nagini destroyed they had to get to Voldemort before he had time to properly prepare himself for the inevitable showdown, but all the same, she'd assumed that they'd have at least sent in the Order to get her out.

Her hair was greasy and matted, the very thought of her appearance revolted her. She only got one bowl of water a day, and having once made the mistake of using it all in the morning to clean her face she now realised that it was all she got to drink for twenty-four hours and this far beneath the surface (however far that was) the air was very dry.

Considering the number of Death Eaters she'd come into contact with over the years she was surprised that she recognised none of the band that frequented her new prison. Perhaps it was an arrogant thought but she'd have expected Snape or at the very least Malfoy to pay her a visit, even if just to bait her. It was strange here, she'd been held captive by Death Eaters before and she knew that every minute was spent tormenting prisoners, this time was different. Eerily different.

She hadn't been spoken to since they bought her here, she was beginning to think it was a brand torture in itself because this lack of interaction was making her distinctly uneasy. Her imagination went into overload, terrified of the faces that could lie beneath the masks of her captors, paranoid over what they were bound to be plotting for her in punishment. She couldn't sleep for fear of what was happening to her friends in the oppressive silence that ruled her world.

Every other cage in the long room was empty. The only sound came from her and it echoed, revolving through the tiled tube only to come back to her, warped and slurred, like one-man Chinese Whispers. She tried to sing, desperate for anything that might cheer her up, tried talking to herself, tried to forcibly inject some sense into the situation. Nothing worked. It just echoed forever until it died out leaving her more empty than she'd been to begin with.

She decided the guards must have been under silencing charms because one stubbed his toe and didn't so much as grunt. At first she'd hoped it would be a reassuring thought, but it spiralled out of control until the tiled tunnel became a cell for the cursed. Even they were not themselves, influenced by the magic of others, bowing to a man they had likely never met. The candles would flicker on the walls in their permanent state of darkness, curved surfaces and stuttering flames casting demons of fire and places unknown into her mind. She saw torture in the eyes of shadows that haunted her waking dreams. She didn't sleep anymore.

Whispers clung to rogue breezes that drifted past her form, stirring her hair and jump-starting her imagination. She heard screams. Her own, her friends. She saw them cower and run and she saw them die. Clutching at bleeding arms she lashed out with her feet, dark figures surrounding her, their breath on her neck. Her breathing ragged she fought and fought but they wouldn't leave, pounding in her brain, pain ricocheting through limbs while blood dripped from animal-like claws. Scars so deep they'll never heal. Her mind was bending and twisting while all the while she fell, clinging to the bars of her cage (not a cell – it was a cage, build for a beast and for her as her blood fell to the floor like mud to be trampled in). No one spoke a word but she screamed in the silence and felt she would fall forever.

An eternity of frenzied whispers and He came. He came with faces she recognised but couldn't place, all shrouded in shadows with wands and hate. Crucio. He whispered and they had laughed. She hadn't laughed. She didn't think she'd ever laugh again, screaming and screaming while her throat bled and her body shook.

He'd taken her face in his hand, red eyes burning hellfire into her soul, he'd whispered her death so softly in her ear and she'd wept. It had hurt so much. He spoke of magical breakthroughs… of resurrecting the soul, of regeneration and spiritual transplants. He'd said it was all her fault and she was going to make it better. She didn't know what she'd said, but it made him laugh.

The voices on the phantom breeze would talk to her, they spoke of him and she knew he was right. She knew she was nothing and the thought made her cry. The guards remained silent and the tiled walls flickered red. The Dark Lord didn't come again but the fear kept her awake, an insomniac living a nightmare. She didn't know how it could ever stop.

Apprentice-Healer Alicia Matthews was walking down the stairs to the ground floor of the building. Her heart was pounding.

Things like this did not happen everyday.

That girl, Hermione Granger, had been on the missing persons list in every country in Europe… Her body had been found in a canal and bought to St Mungo's for identification and post-mortem almost a full year ago. It just didn't make any sense.

She remembered the news of the death well, she'd been in a training college in London at the time and Harry Potter had had a rally in Diagon Alley, trying to gather support to avenge his friend. She remembered standing uneasily in a crowd of nervous witches and wizards as their saviour and unofficial leader stood at the top of Gringotts steps, asking for their support. He told them what he'd lost and how he would die if it meant others would not be put through the same suffering he had felt. He was a brave boy, a few years younger than her, she even remembers how he had played seeker for Gryffindor; she'd watched from the Ravenclaw stands with little interest. She hadn't realised quite how much he would mean.

Dazed with dull shock she entered the main lobby, looking around at worried faces and strangely coloured smoke. It looked so different down here. So full of life in comparison to Ward Thirteen.

She stepped forward, aiming to get some hot chocolate for the girl, as instructed by Marianne O'Brien, but as she stared at the floor, recalling the previous events of the day, she walked straight into someone.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't looking-"

"No, really, I wasn't paying attention, it was my fault-"

She looked up, fully intending to repeat her apologies, insisting that it was indeed her fault, but when her eyes met his face her breath hitched.

"Harry Potter?" Dull panic coursing through her nerves.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?"

He frowned, the nurse was staring at him with huge, dark, scared eyes.

"Picking up my prescription… Why? Is something wrong?"

"No! No nothing at all. Nothing out of the ordinary… Well that of course depends on what you class as ordinary, but nothing wrong per sae. We're all good. You?"

"Erm. Right, I'm fine thank you."

"Excellent. Well, I best be off." A huge false grin, all chummy and immediately suspicious.

"Okay then. I'll see you later…"

The smile faltered and almost under her breath he heard, "Yes, I suppose you probably will."

She near enough bolted through the lobby door leaving a very confused young man looking after her. Another stalker? Ginny had said something about that…

"Number 1273992." Called a witch's voice over his shoulder. Glancing down at his small parchment ticket he stepped up to the desk.

"Ah. Harry Potter. Good day? If you'll just sign here, and here, yes that's right. I'll just go get your prescription."

One last confused glance behind him in the direction of the nurse, Harry picked up the quill.

AN: Meh. School is so evil. I am so tired. I would quite happily lie down and sleep forever were it not the fact I have ten tonnes of homework and it hasn't even been a full week yet. Oh woe. On a more productive note: what dost thou think?