A/N

This is where the song Stockholm Syndrome and the wicked games mashup really applies. I actually wrote the previous chapter's ending scene and a scene in this chapter first after hearing those songs. Those two scenes were written before I even figured out how I was going to tie anything together.

.o.o.o.

Hermione awoke to the sound of soft but firm shoes walking across the stone floor. It was the man again. A slight smile brushed her lips at the relief she felt. It had been a few days -or maybe a week, she never could remember- since he had first cleaned her, held her, and then made a bed out of the comforter he gave her. Hermione crawled out from the warm, thick layer.

"H-hi," she breathed.

Knees pop and clothing rustle. Glass and porcelain against stone. Hermione reached out to grab the usual sandwich but instead her fingers dipped into a liquid.

"Uhg," she exclaimed, shaking her hand.

"I'm sorry," the man began softly. His fingers gently wrapped around her wiggling wrist and led it down to the floor. A cold, thin item was placed in her hand. A spoon.

"...Soup?"

"You've been a good girl," was his simple response.

In her right mind, Hermione would have recognized the implications of being called a 'good girl', yet in her desperate state, she overlooked it. The starving woman's stomach grew excited at the flavors of soup, her tongue salivating the different textures and warm, comforting of broth. She carefully brought her hands around the bowl and picked it up to her face. Hermione consumed the incredible scent of chicken vegetable soup.

Continuing with caution, she lowered the bowl and began to eat. She was painfully aware of slightly missing her lips with the spoon and unknowingly dropping the soup back into the bowl. Yet it was wonderful. The salty and savory flavor of the broth. The mushy hot potatoes. The shredded pieces of chicken.

Hermione took her time eating this meal, far longer than it took her to eat the sandwiches. Every bite was filled with flavor that must be savored and worshiped.

Hermione felt her eyes grow moisture at the corners as she brought the bowl to her lips and drank the last of the broth. There was nothing left. It was so good and Hermione was so hungry. He never gave her enough food! Yet she couldn't complain. It was a miracle he gave her anything to eat at all.

"They're getting angry."

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts.

"They've been searching the northern border and haven't found any traces of magic. No one could find a wizard or a muggle town called Chillingsworth. I told them it was possible your memory has been damaged from being crucioed too many times."

Crucioed!?

A rope connected a few potholes in her mind. A drum began to pound as Hermione struggled to fill in the empty spaces.

"My memory… My brain…" she whispered frantically, her unseeing eyes wide. Her dirty hands gripped her head. The implications were putting together a puzzle. She couldn't remember when she was kidnapped and how she got here because of being crucioed! She couldn't remember how long she had been in this dungeon because her brain was damaged! She couldn't remember being tortured because every time it deteriorated her hippocampus!

A sob burst forth and shook her form. Tears streamed down her face as she curled into herself.

She would never recover. Hermione knew all the effects of the unforgivable curse. Textbook paragraphs flashed in her mind's eye. Short term and long term symptoms screamed in her brain. There was so much she couldn't remember. Not only when she had been kidnapped, but years of her life. Hermione knew she went to school at Hogwarts but couldn't remember how many years she attended. Hermione knew she was a muggle child and her parents were dentists, but not the names of her parents. She knew she went to a muggle primary school, but none of her experiences there.

This was not minor damage to her brain. It was borderline severe. If she was tortured anymore, she would begin to forget people and functioning. She'd stop remembering a life before this prison. She'd forget how to eat. She would stop remembering what words meant. She would become completely mentally disabled and be like Neville's parents.

Hermione jumped as a hand laid on her shaking back. She hadn't heard the man come inside her cell during her sobbing. Hermione allowed herself to lean against him. She wanted comfort and desperately desired to curl into his arms, but restrained herself. He was partially to blame.

"I'll never get better," the distraught woman sobbed.

His hand rubbed her back slowly.

"I won't let it happen again."

She scoffed through her tears at his affirmation.

"Who are you," Hermione asked.

He hesitated before responding, "No one important."

No. That wouldn't do. She wanted to know who her caregiver was before she wouldn't remember she was being held prisoner.

"How do I know you," she persisted.

He sighed. Hermione's sobs no longer echoed in the chamber. Quiet emotions leaked from her eyes yet her body no longer shook.

"We went to school together."

That didn't help.

"What house are you?"

"Slytherin."

Obviously he was a slytherin. Nothing clicked in her head. No strings attached. This must be one of the potholes, she thought grimly.

"Why won't you tell me your name," Hermione asked in despair, yet her tears were now dried.

Despite feeling his arms wrap around her and guide her into his lap, Hermione didn't resist. She longed for strong arms around her, holding her close in this hell; and if his arms were the only source of comfort she could have, she would submit to them. The frail woman sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his back. His warm arms pulled her closer and she rested her head on his shoulder. Hermione could hear the quiet sounds of his heart beat.

"It's better this way kitten," the man whispered in her ear.

Hermione didn't retaliate at the nickname. When had she grown accustomed to being called Princess and kitten?

"How do you know Bellatrix?"

His heart beat remained steady.

"I'm pureblood."

Damn him. The answers he gave were obvious and vague. Hermione knew her mind wasn't connecting the dots like it should. She knew exactly what the problem was and couldn't solve it. And unless he told her... she never would.

Hermione spoke softly, whether to him or to herself, she wasn't sure, "They'll find me soon."

"I hope so," he replied.

The ghost of a smile graced her lips. Hermione knew he cared about her. The reasons for why he cared about her and why he was unlike other death eaters escaped her. She sat up and looked at her captor. The disabled woman wished she could heal her blindness.

"Your eyes are beautiful Princess."

Hermione gasped. What was he saying? Was this a trick? But if he could see her eyes… maybe they weren't as damaged as she thought! They had not been mutilated then, simply blinded. Hermione racked her brain for any curse that would take one's sight away.

The shocked woman's eyes widened at the man. In his lap, Hermione felt his heart pause, beat, and then a longer pause. He was holding his breath.

"I-ah," words escaped her lips. Her mind continued to develop possibilities of what the sight curse was, his compliment, her shock, and what it meant. What should she do? Why would he say something like that?

Cold fingers shocked Hermione's head as they scooped some of her dirty hair and pushed it behind her ear. The man's hand cradled the confused woman's chin and cheek. Hermione's heartbeat grew ten times faster. This was wrong. He couldn't touch her like this. He was the enemy. Wasn't she with Ron? …. Hermione's thoughts raced in her head before slamming into a thick black wall of darkness… No. She was not with Ron. The man was not her enemy because he had been taking care of her. And she was absolutely alone in the darkness that was her prison.

All.

Alone.

Hermione shifted so she was sitting on his lap, facing him. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. Letting her body relax into his hold, not caring that her breasts were pressed against him. His hard arms were tightly wrapped around her. Cold fingertips trailed down her back in a tranquil massage. Hot breath dusted her neck. Hermione shivered and tightened her legs and arms around him.

He was here. This man was taking care of her. He had given her food, water, warm bedding, and multiple cloths for toilet paper that were changed by the house elf. He had healed her wounds, gave her sponge baths, and spoke kindly to her. He was here with her, in the eternal darkness. Hermione had been falling into this dark abyss, not realizing that he was right here with her. The safe woman sighed into the man. Sitting here, being held, it felt right.

"Here kitten," The man said and pulled away from her slightly, "Drink your water.

Staying in his lap, Hermione carefully held the glass with both hands and drank every last drop. He took it from her presented hands and put it down.

The man didn't say a word as he resumed holding Hermione as before. It was nice, Hermione concluded. A bubble of shame told her she was falling for the enemy. But that wasn't true. Voldemort and his supporters were her enemy. And Hermione knew that although this man couldn't set her free, he was not a follower of Voldemort. A bubble of anxiety burst to the surface of her head as well. She didn't know this man. Hermione had no idea how long he had been bringing her sandwiches. She couldn't remember how long he had been silent before beginning to talk when he brought her food or cleaned her wounds. Yet, despite all the unknown factors, he was the only comfort she could have. He was the only one who could get to her, that cared for her. He was taking care of her. He had respected her. Even though he had caused her pain and showed dominance, he had saved her from Bellatrix's torture, and had cleaned her after.

'Yes,' Hermione smiled into his shoulder, becoming drowsy, 'Yes. This was okay.'

Heavy weights gently filled her body, settling in her muscles. The man's shoulder was becoming more comfortable and she just wanted to be held by him forever. A soft, grey mist filled Hermione's mind, pushing everything else away. She yawned quietly and the man rubbed her back.

She hadn't been tired a little while ago. In fact, she had been sleeping before he brought her the soup. But Hermione couldn't fight the exhaustion that filled her. Maybe it was from crying so much, the mental strain of realizing her condition? Could that be it? She didn't know. Her body slowly drifted into a deep sleep.

.o.o.o.

Hermione sat with her back to the stone wall near her bars. Her eyes were closed and her limbs limp at her sides. Not a sound was heard in the cavern. She had been wondering how large the dungeon might have been, but not once had she heard a sound, not even a water drip.

These were the times she hated the most. There was nothing. There were no sounds, no people, no entertainment, and no stimulation.

The only thing the prisoner had to entertain herself was her mind. And it had been becoming a horrendous mess. She would spend hours focusing on aspects of her childhood in an attempt to kick start other memories she knew she wasn't recalling. But she never could find anything. Hermione would review spells and curses in her head, remembering every paragraph memorized. But there were spells she didn't remember everything about. Hermione knew she could open unlocked doors by tapping it with her wand, but not the words for the spell. Hermione knew that Blast-Ended Skrewts, Boggarts, and Centaurs were all magical creatures, but not which one lived in the forest, in a house, or in the water.

Focusing on the potholes caused headaches that would pound louder than a timpani. Often she took naps just to relieve the pain.

Hermione missed the man that visited her. A voice in the silence. A light in the darkness. A companion in loneliness. She was grateful for what he had been doing for her. First the comforter and then the cloth toilet paper. Next he began bringing soup, applesauce, fruit salad, and even pancakes. He would sit with her every meal. Sometimes he talked, sometimes he didn't. But it didn't matter. Hermione craved his company like she missed Harry and Ron. She needed to be held by him, and often was.

The lonely woman whimpered and hugged her knees. She knew it wouldn't be long before the death eaters would return after finding nothing. Bellatrix would come torture her, damaging more of her memory. But if Draco was there… he knew she didn't know anything….

The familiar sound of the door opening jolted her from deep within her mind. Hermione waited with held breath for the sound of shoes.

'Pat, pat, pat.'

Relief flooded her system and she grew happy. The delighted brunette stood up and grabbed the iron bars and leaned against them.

"Well, don't you look lively today."

Hermione grinned at his teasing before sadness took over her face.

The bars were unlocked and Hermione pushed herself towards him. He was a little too far away than what she thought and Hermione tripped into his arms, holding only his shoulders. Without waiting though, she threw herself into him, hugging the man tightly and hiding her face in his shoulder.

"Whoah," he placed his arms around her back, "what happened?"

Hermione didn't want to say. Shame flooded her throat from the intensity of her sensitive emotional state. Hands began to massage her bare flesh, easing away tension and stress stored in her back.

"Kitten," he whispered into her hair, "Tell me what's wrong "

Hermione tried to stifle her hiccup in his shoulder but failed miserably. Of course he could feel his shirt getting wet from her tears.

"I… I didn't know if… if you were ever coming back," she mumbled between sobs. "I can't… remember when you last visited…"

He signed and held her closer to his body, surrounding her in compassion.

"I'm never going to leave you," he promised.

Hermione's voice shook, "you leave every time."

Only the sound of Hermione's light crying and sniffles echoed in the chamber.

"... I'll have to fix that, won't I?"

She scoffed and tried to dry her tears. He was here right now and she needed to enjoy that.

"I brought you a gift."

Hermione released the man and looked where she assumed his face was. "A gift," she questioned, wiping her tears away with balled hands.

"Nomny."

Crack

"Yes, master?"

"The item I requested you to collect earlier, I need it here."

"Right away, master."

Crack

"What… what did…"

"Ssshhhh. You'll know."

Crack

Wahoomph

"Is that all, master?"

"Yes, Nomny."

Crack

The man's hand gently slid into her fingers and held. Hermione allowed her own fingers to hold on as he carefully led her towards the back of her cell.

"Here," he began, adjusting his hands to her waist, "let me help you."

Hermione gripped his arms, nervous about going backwards without seeing. Her large eyes searched for something to see, yet only darkness greeted her.

Her bum touched down on a soft texture and sunk lightly under her weight. She placed both hands beside her, feeling the items and understanding the dimensions.

Tears sprang to Hermione's swollen eyes once more.

"A bed," she rasped out, "it's a real bed!"

She felt the man sit next to her. "It's only a mattress made up with blankets and pillows."

Hermione's heart raced and she reached over to learn if it were true.

"Pillows!"

Overwhelming emotions streamed down her face and she threw herself into the bed, wrapping herself in the silk sheets and velvety blankets. The mattress dipped as he moved to sit next to her, but Hermione didn't emerge from her warm cocoon.

"I'm glad you're happy princess."

Hermione rolled herself over, remaining wrapped in the blankets, and leaned herself against him. She rested her head on the familiar shoulder.

"Thank you…"

They were silent for quite some time. He didn't initiate a conversation, and Hermione was blissfully indulging in the comfort. At some point, his arms had wrapped around her and pulled her up and closer, but she didn't care when. He held her. He was here, holding her, on the bed he had given her. Hermione wanted nothing more than to express her gratitude for his compassion. She wanted nothing more than to explain to him, how safe and cared for she was feeling. She wanted to show him the confusing bubbles of emotion going on inside her.

"Kitten?"

"Hm?"

"... Pick your head up "

Obediently, Hermione did as she was asked. Using one hand, she supported herself so her upper body was facing down, just a few inches above his.

She leaned into the hand that caressed her cheek, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation.

Time stopped. Her heart froze. Eyes shooting wide open.

Soft lips were pressed against Hermione's chapped ones. Gently moving ever so slightly to kiss her again. The final kiss ghosted over her lips before he pulled away from her.

More tears built up in the corners of the sensitive woman's eyes. Instead of staring at nothing though, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned down. Her lips touched his nose and they both giggled lightly before she moved her lips down to his. The man eagerly captured her lips between his own, gently pulling on the bottom lip. Hermione felt like she was melting as she returned the kiss slowly. A light questioning moan echoed in the cell as he bit her lower lip gently and ran his tongue between the closed lips. Hesitantly, Hermione parted and gave him entrance. Their tongues danced around one another. Closed lipped kisses and sweet tongue kisses blended into one another.

The intensity was suffocating. Hermione wasn't sure if she couldn't breathe because of kissing too much, or because of her emotions running rampant. Her head was spinning with no coherent thought as they continued. His hands ran up and down her back, gently pushing the soft blankets against her skin.

A deep desire gripped Hermione's heart in a tight fist. Stomach bubbled and warmth grew deep within. The debilitating sense of loneliness she had felt was fading and she wanted it to disappear completely. Hermione's lips traveled down the man's chin and to his jaw, going along it and reaching her neck. Her hand moved from his chest and lowered towards his waistline, crumpling the hem of his shirt. Hermione pressed her bare breasts into him.

"Kah- kitten," the man gasped out as she nipped his neck.

Hermione let herself drop down slowly, resting her body on top of him. Her newly free hand slid into his hair. It was silky, straight, clean, and long. At least five inches away from his scalp and loose to play with. Releasing the hem of his shirt, Hermione began to rub against the bulge growing in his pants, feeling proud of herself.

A hand wrapped around her wrist in a vice grip, preventing her from undoing the buttons. Hermione froze.

"Stop. We can't do this."

Anguish flooded through her veins.

"Wh-why," Hermione whimpered. She refused to pick her head up from his shoulder, hiding in shame. "Do… you not… want me? Am I… gross?" She cringed as the sensation of green slime covering her skin was back.

"No. That's not- Princess," he stuttered.

Hermione sniffled. She didn't fight as the man adjusted himself, leaning against the wall and holding her on his lap. Her head rested against the crook of his neck, sniffling more and trying not to let the tears fall.

"It's-… It's not-…" the man attempted to explain, "You… You're with Weasley, aren't you?"

A memory flooded her system, forming clearly in her mind's eye. Ron and Harry's yelling pierced her ears. She'd had to choose. Hermione had been torn between going to go with Ron, and abandoning Harry, or staying with Harry, and betraying Ron as he left to fend for himself.

Hermione had hesitated, and Ron assumed the worst. He had left.

The despair haunted her heart. It had meant the end of their relationship. And Ron hadn't returned. 'He was probably…' Hermione swallowed the lump forming in her throat, 'dead…'

"No," she uttered.

She felt him stiffen and adjust himself. Hermione didn't want to be alone anymore. She didn't want to think about a life that no longer existed. She just wanted to be held and… wanted.

"Accio glass."

A moment passed before the man gently lifted her head off his shoulder. "Here," he guided her hand to the glass cup, "drink some water."

She was thirsty, but when was she ever not? Hermione took the cup and slowly drank the water, holding it out the cup for him to take when she was done. Hermione placed her head back against his shoulder. A somber smile graced her lips as the man lifted the covers over her. Comforting nostalgia hit her as he gently tucked the blankets around her body.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed as a pleasant fog eased it's way into her mind. Various thoughts and feelings began to fade as her body grew heavy. She was so warm, the blankets were so soft, and he was so safe. Hermione became drowsy.

Her eyes shot open. She hadn't been tired a few minutes ago! She had been excited and filled with adrenaline.

"Wha-" Hermione tried to say, but her voice only spoke to the air. Eyelids grew so heavy, as if they were made of giant cinder blocks. The exhausted woman couldn't fight as they began to close and her body grew limp.

'The water,' she thought before sleep stole her.

-o-o-o-

A/N

What do you think? It's getting complicated and exciting now! Hope you enjoyed it. As should be for any BDSM relationship, I'm trying to establish that trust. But I also want to depict the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome in a long-term prisoner dynamic. Do you think Hermione is too-emotional? Or is she appropriately sensitive for what she has experienced? PLEASE LET ME KNOW 3

Also, I AM LOOKING FOR A BETA READER! Hopefully you haven't noticed too much, but I have a lot of trouble with english grammar. Wording a sentence correctly and better adjectives/synonyms is confusing for me. I understand what I am trying to say, but it sounds incorrect according to proper english grammar. If you'd be interested in being a beta reader for this story, please message me!