Hello. This is a Dramione story, but I'll warn you, it starts out pretty dark. If you are sensitive to mentions of sexual assault(though it has never occured, and will NEVER occur in this story) I would advise you to skip this story. Hermione has been dehumanized as much as possible by her circumstances, so it may be tough to see her objectified and manhandled. Anyway, please enjoy this story, and I will try to update once a week.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own any part of the Harry Potter book franchise, which all belongs to J.K. Rowling. This story is of my own creation, however, I do not own the characters.
Onward, to the story!
I don't trust you
But I want to
Please don't let me fall
I gaze up at the midnight sky
Can't find a single star
There are times when I miss the light
But I'm not afraid of the dark
Beth Crowley, "The Dark"
Iron chains clanked against the stone floor as she struggled to stand.
The sound of heavy footsteps drew closer, and she tilted her chin up defiantly as the guard finally thrust the door open.
He swept into the room, clothed in black robes and dragon hide boots. The wizard surveyed the cell with mild disgust, worsening turning as his gaze settled onto her matted hair and blood-caked knees.
He sneered, leering at her emaciated silhouette, and wrapped his fingers around the wand in its holster.
"You have a visitor."
She stared back at him, face smoothed into a blank expression.
He paused, head tilted to the side as if he was politely waiting for a response. It was a deliberate gesture with cruel intentions. When he was met with a hollow silence, he smiled.
She hadn't produced a syllable in five years.
His gaze raked over her in a way that used to make her feel filthy, but the objectification was unnecessary. Fear had been one of the first frailties to abandon her, and it had chosen to never return.
What use was terror when you lived in a nightmare?
"Nothing?" He tutted, a familiar gleam sparking in his dark irises. "You'll have to do better than that today, Mudblood."
She stared as his wand-hand slid from his side, and catalogued each movement he crossed the cracked ground towards her. He stopped directly in front of her, rancid breath fanning onto her sallow cheeks, and tutted again as she did not flinch away.
"Pretty little Mudblood." He grinned, yellow teeth bared like a wolf's, and reached out to stroke her impassive face.
"After your appointment, maybe I'll ask the Dark Lord for one of my own, of a more physical sort."
She was unperturbed, gaze turned slightly mocking as though it was a trite statement to make.
His eyes darkened, and he grabbed her chin harshly, towering over her small stature and eclipsing her gaze with view of his scarred face.
He wrenched it closer to his face, close enough that the words that left his mouth were rotten kisses against her brow bone.
"Or maybe not. I prefer my whores to be a cut above cockroaches."
His hold was crushing, leaving red patches on her waxy skin as he pulled away. The bruises shaped like fingertips were to follow the next day.
He stepped back a few centimeters, hand wrapped around her wrist, and yanked her forward. She stumbled, toes digging into the hard rock, and fell into his chest. He bent his head down slightly, wisps of breath curling around her ear, and whispered.
"Play nice, little girl. I think you'll find this guest very anxious to see you. Wouldn't want to disappoint him, now would you?" She could feel the seam of his lips part and tug open into a grin.
"You've found out many times what happens when you disappoint us. No, you wouldn't want that." He hummed, noise sounding far too gleeful in her ear, and she fought to keep her expression poised.
"Though, perhaps I wouldn't mind if you caused a scene. I'd love to-,"
The door, having slammed shut after the guard had originally entered, vibrated as it was forced open again, and hit the hard wall beside it.
"Poisonwood," a familiar voice drawled. She felt the hair on her neck prickle, and it wasn't because of the surprised exhalation from above it.
"Malfoy," the guard turned, gaze bowed and tone tinged with forced respect. "I-."
"No," Draco Malfoy clicked his tongue, strolling into the cell with his hands in his pockets. "Spare me your inane excuses. I do not care for them, nor your voice in general." He surveyed the room around him just as Poisonwood had done, but his gaze was more shrewd than disgusted.
"However, I do care to remember that I had requested a meeting with the Mudblood, and planned for it to occur at 1:00."
It was the first time she had heard an hour referenced in the entire expanse of time she had been in Azkaban. She swallowed, and the emptiness inside of her chest was consumed by nostalgia for a time where she could spend hours in a library with only books and a clock for company. She could barely remember her time there now. All memories outside of Azkaban's walls and her time in captivity seemed almost flimsy, like a thin sheet of paper held up to sunshine. She could see through them, see the creases and folds of the images, tinted reflections of a world she once knew and the girl she once was.
She could see the people she had once loved.
They were all dead now.
She found, every time she was desperate enough to retreat back into time, that it was always easier to forget.
"It seems you have not honored that request." Poisonwood, for a miniscule and treasured moment, looked nervous.
"Do you know what we do to wizards that can't follow simple orders?"
Malfoy's lips twisted into a civil smile, his tone conversational and light as if they were speaking of a vaguely interesting quidditch match.
"We get rid of them."
Poisonwood gulped, eyes wide and mouth spewing a string of garbled apologies and compliments, which Malfoy waved aside with one ringed hand.
"Get out."
The guard scurried off, hitting her shoulder as he moved, and didn't spare them a second glance as he left.
The door slammed shut, and she was left alone with the General of Voldemort's army.
Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her, and she stiffened, an old anger bubbling in her chest. She blinked, and it vanished as quickly as it had come.
She grimaced.
It had been nice to feel something, even for a moment.
He prowled forwards, soft steps loud in the stifled quiet of the cell, and tucked his hands back into his pockets.
"Well, Granger," he smirked, "No fond greeting for an old school mate?"
She pursed her lips, and lowered her gaze to examine her ragged nails. Dirt and specks of blood had accumulated beneath them, and her fingertips were translucently white with a bluish sheen to them.
Malfoy had started to circle her, and she felt like a cornered animal as the look in his eyes sharpened.
"That's right," he tapped his chin like he was thinking, and had reached an obvious conclusion. "You haven't spoken since you set foot into Azkaban." He let out a chuckle, and an exasperated sigh. "We'll have to work on that."
She jerked her head up and met his suddenly burning gaze. The atmosphere inside of her cell began to feel sweltering, and she snapped her gaping mouth shut.
"Seems as though we'll have to work on a lot of things. First, respect," He clasped his hands together, and smiled condescendingly at her. "Though you've always had a problem with that, so maybe we'll start with something more simple first."
Confusion enveloped her already muddled thoughts, and she bit her lip to stop from asking any of her thousands of questions.
Her voice was the only thing she could control, and she clung to that false feeling of power with all of the strength she had: she'd be damned if she were to relinquish it to Malfoy.
Evidently, he could discern her thoughts, because his smile widened, and he looked almost delighted.
"Something the little know-it-all Mudblood doesn't know? Perfect. We'll start there, though I must say," he waggled his eyebrows at her, "I am enjoying your inner turmoil."
"I have been tasked by the Dark Lord to retrieve you from your cell. There is a certain object that needs to be obtained, however there are wards set around it that prevent any Pureblood from entering." He paused as if he was contemplating something, and narrowed his eyes at her. "For some reason, it also kills any muggles that enter, and harms halfbloods. So," he splayed his hands and grinned tightly. "We need you. To try at least, as we couldn't care less if you died, and all the rest of the mudbloods have been killed."
She had known this, had witnessed the mass genocide of muggleborns from everywhere, but it was startling to hear it tossed at her from his mouth. Thrown like a used paper towel; like it was nothing.
She gritted her teeth, and the same familiar anger bubbled up inside of her, and she held onto it, letting it scorch the insides of her chest and simmer.
She had let go of the fury -the one that felt like acid poured onto her bare skin- that burned inside of her heart, in the weeks that she had been held captive at the Malfoy Manor. It was buried in an effort to retain whatever sanity she had left, but now, she knew it may be her only defense to whatever was coming.
What was already here.
"You don't like that, I know. It's a good thing that I have come with a deal." He hummed, continuing to circle her and his fingertip brushed her bare shoulder. She shivered, and silently cursed at him.
"We have Lovegood."
It was like ice cold water had been dumped down her spine, and she felt her eyes widen. Her heart clenched, and her head throbbed with the memoirs of an innocent girl with wild blond hair that danced with the wildflowers. The last time she had seen Luna, the girl had vacant eyes and trembling fingertips, and a body that could have blown away with the wind. She had been the only one left, and Hermione thought that the witch would have been killed in her five years without news from the outside world.
"We're prepared to make a deal. Loony Lovegood's life for your cooperation."
Hermione swallowed, and snapshots of ideas and thoughts flitted through her brain.
She could do this. They had already lost the war, but battles don't always take place on a field.
Malfoy looked at her, a smirk curling the edge of his lips and a spark of satisfaction in his eyes, as she nodded.
"I'm going to need a verbal response to my proposition."
She stared at him. He knew exactly what her voice meant to her. To the swotty little Gryffindor that would never shut up, and the last member of the Order that refused to give up her power. But Luna's life was on the line, and she was the only one that was left. Hermione had long given up on fighting for herself, but she couldn't give up on fighting for friends.
She choked back her pride and looked up to meet his grey eyes.
"I accept your deal."
Her words were slightly clipped and hoarse, and her throat felt like sandpaper. Looking at Malfoy, she felt the familiar hollow sensation of hate building inside of her chest.
He nodded, and sucked on his teeth, before flashing her a blindly bright- fake- grin.
"Good. Now let's get you cleaned up," he sniffed theatrically, and then pinched his nose shut. "The smell in here is making me want to hurl. And the room doesn't smell too great either."
He shot her a wink, and strutted out the door, calling out to her that he would be back in fifteen minutes with transportation and new robes and shoes.
She sunk to the floor, knees hitting the cracks in the stone, her rags pooling around her, and for the first time in five years, she felt herself begin to sob.