New chapter for all my readers. I cannot express my love for you guys enough! Enjoy.
I shook in the cold, pressing my left arm to my side in a semi-successful attempt to stop the bleeding. There was no blanket, no food, no water, no warmth. At least Harry and Ron are safe, I told myself. They can keep hunting down horcruxes.
As long as they are alive I have something to live for.
After what I estimated to be half an hour the 'mudblood' carved into my arm had finally stopped bleeding. I guessed the knife was enchanted to leave a scar that even magic couldn't remove, but that wouldn't be as bad as the emotional scar it left. Everytime I saw my arm I would be reminded of what I was. A mudblood.
I was attempting in vain to sleep when I heard the adults arriving back in the manor.
"Go and fetch the mudblood Draco! They weren't at Grimmauld Place, she lied to us!" Bellatrix screeched.
Sound certainly traveled well though this house.
"Aunt Bella, did you really think they would stay there for long? They know how weak mudbloods are when tortured," Malfoy drawled. "Even those idiots aren't thick enough to stay there for more than a moment. Besides, that filth was always a terrible liar. I would have known, after all I was forced to grow up with her."
Bellatrix must have accepted his answer because no one came to fetch me from the dungeon.
But it left me wondering. If Malfoy supposedly knows when I lie, he should have known I was lying before. And it seemed as if he had covered for me.
It was laughable. Draco Malfoy, the boy who had made my life hell since I was eleven protecting me from his psycho aunt? No. He probably just wanted to go to bed.
Over the next several weeks, I wasn't sure exactly how many days because I never left the dungeon and there was no sunlight, a routine was developed.
Wake up, in what I assumed was the morning, and Bellatrix would come downstairs and torture me for fun for awhile. She never asked questions, just practiced her skills with the cruciatus curse on me. They were quite refined by now.
Then three pathetic slices of bread and a glass filled with murky water appeared a few hours after she left.
Around dinner time, I guessed, came the part I truly dreaded. I dealt with the physical torture and lack of food okay, as well as one could. But later when Malfoy would descend the stairs holding a knife and his wand, the emotional impact of being tortured by someone my age, that went to school with me would set in.
Some days all he did was reopen the gash on my right cheek and stare at the blood for a while and other days he would beat me to the ground, demanding to know why my blood was red and not brown. Obviously it really bothered him, but not enough to change him because Godric knows that would have been to much to ask for.
I never answered, just let him stand over me screaming while I lay crumpled on the ground trying to avoid kicks to the throat and head and sobbing in pain.
Everyday. That was exactly how it went, until what I estimated to be my third week in the dungeon.
Bellatrix didn't show up. Not that I minded. I wouldn't have noticed except my food didn't come either. I could tell by the pangs of hunger that were stronger than usual.
Malfoy came though. I had to give the Slytherin credit, he was reliable in some things. Just not the right things.
I could tell today was one of the days where he'd renew the slice on my face, stare at it for a while and leave. Turns out I was half right.
I scrambled back into a corner. In the last weeks I had learned to fear the pale boy. He cared about no one, least of all me.
"Lumos," he sighed. Blinding light shot out of his wand and lit up the room.
He conjured a chair and sat down as I continued to shrink deeper into the corner, almost as if hiding from the light.
Malfoy sighed again. "We've been over this mudblood. It will only be worse for you if you hide."
I was shaking, but knew from experience that he was not lying. For the first time in a while I attempted to stand but only fell back down, smacking my head on the floor for my trouble. I was to weak. He let out a quick bark of laughter. I crawled over towards Malfoy and screwed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable blow.
It never came.
"Don't look so pathetic filth," he bit out.
I visibly flinched at his words. This was what would break me. The emotional wearing down that Malfoy was so talented at.
I opened my eyes staring up at him. Slowly, I was realizing I had never been more terrified of someone than I was of him.
"Not once mudblood. Everyday I come down here and not once do you speak to me. In fact I haven't heard anything from you but tears of pain and screams of agony."
That was true, I had stopped talking since my first night of imprisonment. And I certainly never cried out of self pity, only in pain.
His eyebrows were raised as he stared coldly down at me.
"Say something," Malfoy ordered.
I was silent.
"Now mudblood."
He gripped the knife a little tighter.
I tried to come up with one of my usual sharp retorts but couldn't, even something like 'I hope you rot in hell' would have done.
"My blood's the same color as yours because we aren't that different. Being pureblood doesn't make you better," I said instead, and then braced myself for his anger.
"You keep telling yourself that," he murmured, staying unusually calm.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I stayed on the ground, shaking and Malfoy stayed in his chair toying with the knife. Suddenly I clawed the scab off of my face and felt blood dripping down my cheek.
"Here! Is this what you wanted to see?" I snarled.
Something flashed behind his cold grey eyes.
"No. I just came down here to tell you something," he began. "Potter and the Weasel got themselves killed earlier today, trying to break into my aunt's vault at Gringotts."
It took me several seconds to process what he was saying.
"No! You're lying!"
Malfoy held up a newspaper that I hadn't noticed before, in response.
"'Harry Potter, Undesirable Number One, was killed early this morning attempting to rob the highest security vault in Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The goblins assure everyone that nothing was taken from Miss Lestrange's vault, though wizarding authorities are unsure as to why he would attempt such an idiotic deed,'" Malfoy read, smirking.
Tears mingled with the blood on my cheeks. The boys were the only things I had left to hold on to. They were the only reason I went on. These were not tears of pain, but tears of my heart being ripped into pieces. Real tears and in front of Malfoy. But I had bigger issues than crying on front of my torturer.
Malfoy stood up and left quickly, taking the light with him.
He and Bellatrix had spent weeks trying to break my spirit. And in one sentence my arch enemy had broken me.
So I ghosted over Malfoy torturing Hermione a bit. It hurts me inside to write it even though it's necessary for this story. I know it seems like I'm going to make this one of those stories where Hermione is a slave but I'm not I promise. Nothing against those stories of course. Remember the Malfoys and Bellatrix are trying to break Hermione and they will try anything. Draco is capable of lying *hint hint*.
I feel bad about making Hermione so hopeless but that is also necessary.
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Thanks to everyone who followed, reviewed, or favorited this story. Please leave more reviews. I get high off of them and I'm not even kidding.
Also thanks to my friend that harasses me at school to update. Love you!
I updated my Hayniss ('I Trust You') earlier tonight also.
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I talk a lot, sorry. Have a great day, I'm done now.
Guys I got no reviews for this chapter in 9 days. Please review, otherwise I don't know if I'm going in a good direction with the story, please. You're killing me.