A/N: So on with chapter three, I just can't believe the number of hits I'm getting on this fic, THAT'S GREAT!

These chapters opening into this fic are very dark and dramatic. . . but I give you my word that once this story is complete the romance and love will be well worth the wait. . . and please, suggestions of plot are always welcome, as always.

Dragons Spitfire

Chapter Three

Torture and Turmoil

Malfoy Manor, England, 15 years ago

Atop the rickety and inactive shelves sat jars and small bottles, all lined in a row and dull from the dust. The cobblestone floor was littered in cob webs, some much larger then others, and tiny creatures scuttled across its cold hard surface. On the far side of the chilly basement sat piles of unwanted furniture, disposed of and forgotten. Old cloaks and hats hung from the dirty walls, and all was silent.

A small boy sat under a wobbling wooden table, arms hugged tightly around his legs and pale pointed chin rested on his shaky knees. He buried his face in these shaky knees, sobbing softly and rocking backwards and forwards, the smell of old furniture wafting in through his tiny nostrils.

At five years old, the boy, though perfectly tall for his tender age, had thin blonde hair, and icy silver eyes. His teeth chattered as he raised his pale face, glancing around the room in the desperate hopes that his father had left him in peace. Though, his father never left him in peace. At the age of five Draco Malfoy already knew everything there was to know about an evil man known as the Dark Lord, and how one day he and his father would fight along side each other and triumph over everything and everyone. He did not know what this meant, he was only five.

Thinking these thoughts through in the childish way that all children did at that age, Draco began sobbing once more, gasping for air and choking on his hot salty tears. He buried his face once more into his knees, and continued to rock back and forth with ease. The cold air down in that cellar made him shiver, and he felt frightened. He whimpered quietly.

Thump.

Very sharply and suddenly a loud sound came from up the towering wooden staircase ahead of him. The little boy, blonde and alone, sobbing uncontrollably, peered through the darkness in front of him, attempting desperately to see the slightest glimpse of what had made the sound.

Thump.

"Mother?" He said in a hushed and soft voice, his tears halting for one minor moment as he looked up the stairs, hoping to no end that it was her. How he longed to hold her long soft hair in his hands, as a young child does.

Thump.

The haunting and utterly chilling sounds of strong steps and boots made their way to the little boy's ears, and he once again buried his face into his knees. It was not his mother. He began rocking faster, as though he believed it would take him some place far away, away from his father, where he and his mother could hide and be happy.

The footsteps began to get louder and louder, ever step towards him making Draco's heart beat faster and faster. Once again his eyes burned with tears, searing in pain as though bees were stinging them repetitively. Then, one sudden and last footstep sounded just in front of him, and all sound stopped altogether. Draco remained there, face hidden and tears flowing, sniffling and pretending he did not exist.

The man in front of him cleared his throat abruptly, but still Draco hid his pale, washed face. His body stiffened at the sound of the man, and still he rocked himself backwards and forwards, his little bare Malfoy toes hitting the cold stone floor each time he did. Then the man came towards him in a hurry, the sound of his cloak swishing. Draco cringed as the man snatched him up by the shoulder, making it ache in pain. Unlike most small children, Draco had learned the feeling of real pain when he was very young, and felt it every day. He felt it every second.

As the cold hard grasp of Lucius Malfoy pulled him to his feet, the little boy coward behind his thrown out arms, not daring to look into his fathers icy blue eyes. He was shaking violently all over, his breaths releasing from his lips in violent and raspy movements.

"Look at me boy." His father hissed quietly, though the sound of his voice was chilling and angry. "Look at me this instant."

The little boy did not, he only continued to shield his face, whimpering and letting his body fall limp to Lucius's firm hold on his shoulder.

"You will obey me!" He father hollered, taking his son by both the shoulders and shaking him in a violent rage. The boy's eyes snapped open in fear, meeting the cold blue stare of the man he hated. At the age of five, the boy known as Draco Malfoy hated his father. He hated his father's cane, which he always carried with him. He hated his eyes, and his face, and the very way he looked at him. He hated. . . his father.

"Daddy, you are hurting me." The little boy whispered, shivering at his father's cold touch. "Please daddy, it hurts-"

"Silence boy!" His father spat ferociously, saliva splattering onto Draco's face underneath his glossy eye. The boy whimpered once more, not daring to argue with a man so powerful and so cruel. He had been watching this same thing happen to his beloved mother since the day he was born, the thought made him shutter. He was young, but he understood the meaning of violence.

Then Lucius began dragging the helpless child towards a locked door, leading into a pantry. He wretched the door open and tossed his son inside with full force. Draco hit the hard cold stone ground once more, landing on his knees and sobbing in pain. He couldn't see, everything was blurry from tears. He crawled along the stone towards the door, trying desperately to get out, scrambling and crying.

"Daddy please, not the dark, not the dark daddy."

Lucius stared at him coldly; hand on the doorframe as he watched his five year old child struggle to escape from the pantry. Spiders scuttled across the ground and dust layered the shelves. Draco grabbed onto his fathers leg, holding on out of sheer fear. Nothing scared him more then the dark, not even Lucius.

"Get off of me!" He roared, kicking his leg forwards. Draco was sent flying towards the back end of the pantry, hitting the shelves and falling once more, a now small heap of robes on the floor. He sobbed louder now, though this time he didn't move. He sobbed and sobbed.

"No son of mine will have a fear of the dark!" Lucius snapped. "This will help you get over it!"

And with his last and most heartless words spoken, the door of the pantry was slammed closed, and the little boy was plunged into utter darkness. He could not see an inch in front of his nose, and nothing scared him more. The feeling of hot tears ran down his bare arms, wet and frightening. He shivered uncontrollably, hearing the sounds of his father ascending the staircase and leaving him there, locked in a pitch black room alone. His pale palms lay against the hard rock, and his forehead rested there as well. Eyes clamped shut, he tried to think of something happy.

Being five, he did not understand why his father did this, nor did he know of the more frightening things to come in the future.

Hogwarts, Present

Draco stood at the foot of the old stairs he had once walked every day, staring the massive trolls in their beady black eyes. He smirked wickedly towards them, as they blocked his path from entering the castle.

"I have been sent here by Lord Voldemort."

The creatures both shuddered at the sound of his name. They too, were afraid of the dark wizard ruling the world around them. One of the trolls stared at him, its face twisted and scaly.

"The Dark Lord informed us of no such visit, Deatheater." It growled, low and frightening.

Draco glared towards them, removing his hood from over his face. Seeing him, they both stepped back once, shifting nervously about and gurgling under their breaths.

"Malfoy, why did you not say so, sire?" The other creature droned, bowing his head towards the blonde boy standing, wanting nothing more then to pass. Draco bowed his head as well, his breathing low and calm, though his hands shook slightly.

"Voldemort has sent me on a very urgent mission, you would not want to upset him." Draco hissed, his cold silver eyes darting backwards and forwards between the two massive creatures standing before him. They muttered amongst one another for a moment, before turning back to him with eyes of low intelligence.

"And, you are most welcome, sire." Said one of the trolls, as they both raised their massive pointed axes from where they had sat crossed, and both stepped to the side. Draco gave them one more slight nod, pulling his darkened hood back over his head, and shielding his face. He then ascended the stairs into the dark entrance hall beyond.

There was nothing Draco hated more then the dark.

The once great entrance hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at a time filled with beautiful portraits and stone statues, now sat littered with the bones of muggles and pools of blood. The smell of death filled Draco's nostrils, and he threw his sleeve over his nose almost by instinct. The feeling of nausea passed into his stomach, making his mouth water and his throat stiffen. The smell was overpowering.

Although it had been three long and miserable years since he had been inside these castle walls, he knew his way up to the tower. This school where he had once come to flee from his life of pain and fear. He stared at the spot where he had once been transfigured into a ferret, and cascaded from the walls and floor by that terrible Auror, Professor Moody. Draco smirked to himself at the thought of the old man dead.

As he walked further and further he continued to think about Granger, and how the image of her made him sick. He did not know, once he rescued her, what he was going to do with her. He figured she must be just as dirty and smelly as ever, being locked up here for three years. He just shuddered all over at the thought of it.

There were footsteps coming from the corridor ahead of him, and the light from torches began illuminating the stone walls. Draco panicked, searching desperately for somewhere to hide. He spun on a heel, squeezing behind one of the very old armor sets against the wall. He remembered these, and there they were three years later, dusty and rusting. He peered from behind the arm, as a group of at least ten small imp-like creatures hopped along the floor, passing him without any notice. They hissed and croaked to one another in a language Draco could not interpret, and disappeared around the corner.

The corridor went dark once more, and Draco continued on his mission. He knew that he was now on the third floor, and had to make his way up to the Dark Tower. It was going to be a very long hike up all of those stairs, one he had not done since Divination in the third year.

It was cold in the castle, and the smell of rotting flesh continued to linger, even when he passed over the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His long black robes swished behind him in the breeze through the windows, and his blonde hair danced softly against his face. His eyes were stubborn and icy, determined to find Granger, as much as he detested the idea entirely. He thought for a moment, realizing he couldn't remember exactly what she looked like.

A near lifeless body lay scattered among the straw bedding of cell block 3. Hair thin and askew, skin pale and almost frozen, the 20 year-old who had been once known throughout the wizarding world as Hermione Granger, struggled for life. Bones aching as though made of sharp steel, and fingernails torn to the skin and bloody, she did not move from where she lay. Her flesh was caked with dirt, and her clothing was ripped and torn.

She had forgotten who she was, or what things had been like before this terrible life of torture and rape. With a hex cast on her to prevent her from killing herself, she could do nothing to end the madness. Cold iron bound her arms and her legs together, the flesh around them ripped and layered in hanging skin. They had not been removed from her in three years. Cuts and scrapes covered her once beautiful porcelain face, dripping with crimson blood and pooling beneath where her cheek rested.

The thoughts of her old friends had not crossed her mind in a very long time, she had forgotten their faces. She had forgotten what laughter was, and joy. She was so broken and lost that she had even forgotten how to cry. Three long years had dragged by for what seemed to her like an eternity. She was an emotionless waste of a human life, miserable and wretched. She wished nothing more then to die.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound, as the door of her cell was thrown open. Hermione knew what these sounds were, but did not budge from where she lay. Three years ago she would have spent every night of her life, struggling to fight off the creatures who visited her in her cell. Now, she just lay there closing her eyes and wishing to awake from her nightmare.

These creatures were the creation of Lord Voldemort himself, born from the fire of a Hungarian Horntail. They were a breed of half human, half monster, with long arms and sharp teeth, with the remaining characteristics of a person. They did not feel like a person when they touched her. They were rough-skinned and violent, with sharp nails that stung her skin and long snake-like tongues. They spoke in a language she could not understand, and never let a night go by where they didn't come to have their fill of her.

The feeling of one of their scaly hands grasping her hair still did not faze her. She lay there, until the creature gave an incredibly painful jerk on her brown locks, and yanked her backwards from her stomach. She yelped in pain, as she fell backwards onto the damp straw she called a bed. Clamping her eyes shut tightly, she waited as the first of the three creatures mounted itself atop of her body, its hot steamy breath running down her chest and chilling her spine. She shivered as its long, slimy, and cold tongue ran up her cheek, and its hands began tearing her clothing away from between her legs. The other creatures laughed hysterically as Hermione held her breath, ready for the same torture she received every waking night of her life.

She felt the creature pushing itself against her stiff body, and bit down on her lip and prepared herself.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound, and all three of the creatures turned to look towards the door, where a dark figure was standing, a wand outstretched in hand. Hermione gasped softly, as the heavy weight atop of her was lifted, and the monster stood to see what was in the doorway.

"Avada Kedavera!"

Hermione clamped her eyes shut tightly as a great green flash of light filled her cell. She had not seen the light of day in years, and her eyes watered in agony, running down her cheeks. She lifted a very weak and shaky hand over her forehead, and squinted forwards. The green light had gone away, and the monster that had been on top of her seconds before now lay dead beside her on the straw. She gasped, now nearly blinded from the green light and not been able to see much more ahead of her.

Chest caving inwards and outwards heavily, she looked around desperately and blind. Then another green light flashed, and a third, and all went quiet. Sensing the flashing had stopped, she removed her hand from her face and slowly opened her eyes. Silhouetted in the very dim lighting from outside of her cell was the figure of a man, dressed in long black robes and hooded. He didn't move for a moment.

She knew he must be human. She felt incredibly and surprisingly frightened. She had not seen a human being in years, and the thought seemed to frighten her more then being raped by strange monsters. Still gasping and choking for her much needed breath, she lifted herself from the floor feebly, shifting weight onto the leg that felt less painful, before collapsing against the wall in weakness. She held to the stone tightly, shaking all over and struggling to keep balance.

Then she heard something she had forgotten had existed, the sound of a human voice. Immediately after hearing it, she felt a strange feeling, as though she was experiencing the past. That voice was so familiar, though she had almost forgotten what words were.

"Granger, we need to move, let's go now!"

A/N: Well. . . I think that's quite the chapter, what do you think? I have great confidence in this story, and I hope you all do too. Love story always revolve around tragedy... it's what makes them most worth while! If you like romance, and if you like D/H, you had better review and tell me what you think. . . so I can continue writing!