A/N: SO SORRY it took this long to upload- life has been crazy! Here is short chapter two- let me know what you think!

Also, I own nothing- it belongs to the lovely JKR! Enjoy!

Chapter Two: Angel Revealed

Before Draco opened his eyes he knew he was somewhere else aside from the dungeon cellar of Malfoy Manor. His body ached, but not like it should have; it felt as if the many curses fired at him, as well as the numerous cuts and bruises that covered his body had never happened. Experimentally he flexed the fingers of his right hand, where he could remember a nasty tearing feeling when Bellatrix had been destroying him, and felt nothing out of the ordinary.

Surprised, he opened his eyes slowly and saw a dark wood fan spinning over his head in a lazy way, light peeking its way through closed curtains on the other side of the room. The walls were white, and the wall he could see the clearest was covered in a dark bookcase full of tomes; old ones, new ones, glossy covers, leather covers, some with worn spines, some looking as if they had been through everything, their covers hanging on by a thread. He noticed the door was almost shut, and a low murmur could be heard on the other side of the white wood.

He held his hands up to look at the bandages wrapped around the palm of the one on the right. Whoever had wrapped it had done a good job; maybe a healer had wrapped it? He attempted to sit up, slowly pushing himself upwards until he could rest his back against the wall beside the bed. A little dizzy, he closed his eyes to regain balance.

Slowly he opened his eyes, and let his gaze fall on his chest. No open wounds, just a few small bruises that were turning yellow and green as they healed. There was a lot of new skin, pink scars formed over the wounds he had sustained in his own home. The time in the dungeon had been vague, filled only with pain upon wave of pain. He had not received food, only water occasionally.

How long had he been down there? He couldn't remember; time had been fleeting. Days ran together, the only thing connecting them was the ache in his bones and the always-present threat of torture. Voldemort's minions loved a good time, especially with a prisoner.

Draco shuddered as he remembered the few times he had been aware. Those times, few and far between, always brought the emotion of fear and disgust; he wished his mind had never had the chance to be aware. Draco had a sneaking suspicion his father or aunt had given him a Pepper-Up potion at those times, so he could scream as he was violated over and over, tortured by many different methods.

He desperately wanted to find out what happened; he couldn't remember anything except hearing his name. Something tickled the back of his mind. Draco knew the voice had been familiar, but he couldn't place where he had heard it before.

He ran a hand through his hair, which was clean, he noticed. Someone had washed him, at least with a cleansing charm. He was grateful, but still had the urge to scrub his skin raw until it bled to rid himself of the filth he still felt on him. Shuddering again, Draco stood, and clenched his eyes closed as his vision swam. "Too quickly," he muttered as he toppled sideways, falling onto the soft carpet at his feet.

Suddenly he felt a slim hand wrap around his arm and help steady him. His eyes snapped open to look at the hand as his body rebelled violently against it. It was pale, with a light dusting of freckles that traveled up the slim arm attached. Another hand came up to touch his face, even softer than the hand on his arm. Draco flinched away, and the hand pulled back quickly.

"Draco, it's okay. You're safe." There was that voice again. The same one that had called to him as he passed out in the dungeons: the voice of his savior.

He looked up into warm cinnamon brown eyes, concern clearly visible. Suddenly it clicked; the voice was that of Hermione Granger, Gryffindor know-it-all, member of the Golden Trio, childhood enemy.

She had saved him.

White heat suddenly blinded him and he closed his eyes, hoping to blink it away. He slowly moved away, his whole body trembling. Why? Why had she saved him, this girl he had tormented for years? He had called her horrible names, laughed at her and her friends, and she had rescued him from his father.

It was incomprehensible to him.

"Why?"

Hermione saw the wall go up in his eyes; they became hard, a flat gray. He became that boy from school, the bully that made her life a living hell for the past six years.

She knew what he was asking. What had propelled her to save him? She remembered him, chained to the wall, lying in a bloody heap, oh, so much blood. Bellatrix had certainly tried her hardest, and had a lot of fun in doing so. Draco had been white hair surrounded by a pool of darkest red; her heart had broken at the sight of him.

"I couldn't just leave you, Draco." She shook her head, brown curls flying. "If you could have seen yourself, the way Bellatrix had broken you…" her voice faded, and Draco watched as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

"But you hate me." His voice sounded rusty, even to his own ears. How long had it been since he had last used his voice?

Hermione smiled sadly. "No, I never did hate you. You were cruel, but I always gave you the benefit of the doubt." She glanced at him. "I never liked you." She amended, shrugging her shoulders, as if to say can you blame me?

Draco brought his hand up to swipe at his hair out of his eyes. This was an alternate universe, it must be; in what world does Hermione Granger save her arch enemy, and then profess she had never hated him, merely disliked him? At that moment, his stomach took the silence as a good time to let its presence be known.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "You must be hungry."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well spotted, Granger, what gave it away?" he said loftily.

Her eyes narrowed, but she stood and started heading towards the door. "I'll go grab you something to eat." She swung the door shut as she left.

Draco sighed. She was being nice. Why did he have to go and try to get a rise out of her? He should be thanking her, grabbing onto the legs of her jeans and crying piteously. He was grateful, very grateful; where would he be without Hermione Granger?

Still in his father's house, being tortured to death. Or, maybe he would have already been dead.

No doubt about it, Draco Malfoy was in Hermione Granger's debt. He was thankful she saved him, but he was too proud to tell her this. Well, the old Draco Malfoy would have been- maybe now was the time to turn over a new leaf?

He snapped back to attention as the door opened, flinching instinctively. Hermione froze, a tray of food in her hands. Brown met gray, and she slowly edged into the room. "Here is some food." She said it softly, as if speaking to a rabid animal that had been backed into a corner. She knelt five feet from him, and slowly pushed the tray over to him. Her eyes were watching passively, and Draco slowly moved his arm to reach for the tray. There was pasta and some crackers, and a small fizzy drink.

"I didn't want to give you too much, just in case your body rejected it." Her voice was quiet, almost uncertain; she didn't want to upset him.

"Thank you." He looked up to meet her eyes. "For everything."

Her eyes widened, and a small smile lit up her face. Draco had to acknowledge how pretty she was- she had certainly grown into those curls, and her eyes seemed so bright.

His eyes moved back down to the food, and slowly he began to eat. It tasted wonderful, the best food he could ever remember eating.