Silence

Draco fell to his knees next to the bed and pushed her now clean hair from her cheek, ignoring her previous reaction. "Hermione, what have they done to you?"

Anger flashed in the brown orbs and she infinitesimally narrowed her gaze. Apparently she still had emotions—anger at least. His hand still rested on her cheek and even though she didn't turn away as she had before, her jaw was clenched and her nostrils flared. It was clear she didn't want him to touch her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, retracting his hand. It was an absurd question, considering that she clearly hadn't eaten a proper meal in months, but he couldn't stand the tense silence that filled the room.

As he should have predicted, she didn't make a sound.

"I'll bring you something," he mumbled anyway and backed out of the room.

He hadn't made it halfway down the first set of stairs when the sob he'd been desperately holding in finally escaped. He fell back onto a step and let the tears freely flow down his cheeks. There had been so many nights that he had stayed awake, wondering if she was dead or if she had been captured by someone else and each scenario his mind had created had been more painful than the next. Yet, never had he imagined that he would get her back like this. It hurt more to have her tense and turn from his touch; a touch she had once reveled in.

In moments like this he didn't care that he was a Malfoy and a Death Eater or that he was supposed to hate her and use her. He had loved her deeper than he had ever loved anyone else; he couldn't imagine living with her hatred again.

But as he finally stood and made his way to his kitchen, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he couldn't blame her. It also reminded him that the last words she had ever spoken to him were "I can never forgive you". He hadn't blamed her then either.

* * * *

Hermione heard his sob and a sick part of her heart—a part that had been non-existent five years before—was glad for his pain. She was almost surprised that her hatred for him was still so strong; she had thought herself to be numb to emotions. In this new world, hatred and anger did no good; they only served to hurt whoever was feeling them. And love—love did not exist anymore.

Apparently no one had told Malfoy. Even in her mind she spat the name. He had looked at her as he had when they were sixteen and she hated him all the more for it.

She pulled aside the thick quilt that covered her and slowly swung her legs over the side just as her stomach began to churn. She doubled over and held her stomach with both hands. This was what true starvation felt like. It had been almost four days since she had had a single morsel of food. That was the only reason she was here. No one would have been able to catch her if she was well fed.

From her doubled over position, she surveyed the room. It probably wasn't the best in the house, but it wasn't the dungeon either. Long forgotten propriety told her she should have been grateful for that at least. The room looked like it hadn't been finished. It was all natural wood, the floor, the wall and even the bed were unpainted but the wood was soft. She ran her fingers over the headboard several times before she noticed that her hands were clean.

Morbid curiosity propelled her off the bed and across the room to the solitary mirror on the wall. It had been years since she had seen her reflection and part of her was a little afraid to look. She could easily see the bones in her arms and legs and her ribcage looked like an old Muggle washboard. But she didn't know what her face looked like, how emaciated and gaunt the days and weeks without food had made it. She had never considered herself beautiful by any means, but she could only guess at how bad she looked after everything she had been through the past few years.

All of her tears had long since fallen, she would have sworn it in a Muggle court of law, but when her eyes rested on her reflection they filled with tears anyway. Her cheek bones poked up eerily through her skin, her nose was too boney and the tight skin of her face made her already too prominent teeth stick out even more. Dark, black circles under her eyes completed the macabre portrait that was now her reflection.

Yet, her skin was clean. Not a single speck of dirt soiled her face or neck or chest or…anything. She was clean. She brought her arm to her nose; it smelled of lavender soap. Her hair, previously matted and caked with mud and who knew what else, was now flowing freely down her back. It had clearly been washed and brushed. The bastard, she thought, he took advantage of me when I was unconscious!

The bitterness that was her constant companion reminded her that she shouldn't have been surprised. He was a Death Eater. It didn't matter that in another life he had professed his love for her, he had thrown it all away the night he had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. She had begged him not to go through with it, to spare her and what they had. They could have been happy. But he had done it despite her pleas, despite her tears and despite the fact that he knew it would be her end.

If it were possible, her anger grew—exponentially.

* * * *

She looked as if she hadn't moved when Draco came in with a tray of food. He placed it on the small table beside the bed and took his place in the chair next to her. She looked at the food with the same cold gaze then turned to him. Her stomach audibly growled but she didn't make a move to eat; she simply continued to stare at him frigidly.

He couldn't take it for very long. His throat constricted and the backs of his eyes burned. He had to leave before he started crying again. He stood slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, and left the room. Only, he didn't leave. He stepped to the side and slid silently to the floor, letting his new tears fall. To add insult to injury, once he slid to the floor he heard the distinct clatter of silverware on a plate.

He did it everyday. He put robes and nightgowns in the closet so she could wear decent clothes, but he was actually a little surprised when she used one of the gowns. The rags that had apparently once been her clothes had been discarded into a putrid pile in the far corner. He burned them. Like clockwork everyday he delivered her breakfast, lunch and dinner. And everyday he sat outside and cried as he listened to her eat without him.

She slept and ate and after three weeks had passed she was finally starting to look like a normal human being again. The dark circles under her eyes were dimming and her cheekbones weren't as prominent; she was starting to look like herself again. Unfortunately, that just made it harder for him.

Especially since it had been three weeks without a single word.

* * * *

He was eating his own breakfast when he looked up and there she was. He choked on his bite and his heart stopped. He had to cough a few times before he could speak. "Hermione? Do you need something?"

She stared at him, nostrils flared in anger as they always were when he was near her. Then she looked around the room and disappeared into the kitchen as quickly as she had appeared. Only, Draco followed her just as quickly and tears burned at the back of his eyes when he saw her preparing her own breakfast the Muggle way. It didn't take her long, having been raised as a Muggle after all, and Draco just stood there watching dejectedly.

In no time at all, she brushed past him with her breakfast neatly arranged on the tray and went back up the narrow stairwell that led to the servants' quarters. She had lived there for nearly a month and even though she hadn't made a single sound, her actions were screaming at him.

A/N: Tell me what you think! I love reviews! Thanks to all who reviewed so far and for the great suggestions! If you want something to happen, let me know and it just might!