I always wanted to build into it and continue, am I doing right?

It had all started a year ago, the minute they were captured and taken to the manor she had kind of accepted that it might be the end of the road, at least for her and Ron, their only priority at that moment was to help Harry escape, as he was after all the one with the power to win the war. That day several things went in an unexpected way, and then several more went really wrong, Draco refusing to identify Harry, however obvious it was that it was in fact him had earned them a short amount of time they desperately needed, in retrospection it had also showed her how bad things were going on the other side of the war, even a few good deeds wouldn't save him at that point, so for him to be willing to risk his neck for them really meant that things were even worse than expected.

Torture hadn't been a surprise, the extent of pain a single curse could cause had. A year later Hermione still wondered whether it had left some permanent damage in her beloved brain, at times it was the only way to justify to herself what had become her new normality, and thinking about her brief encounter with Neville's parents it did make sense to think that before losing yourself completely there would be bridges and neuronal connections lost, in her case she suspected she was stuck in survival mode, that would explain her current lack of morals or the ease which with she interacted with her other inmate. A year together hadn't made him any more palatable or reasonable, so that must be it, either brain damage or Stockholm syndrome.

Luckily she had learned something through that experience, the most likely location of the next horcrux, her only hope was that during the chaos that followed she was able to convey the message to either Ron or Harry, her bet was Ron, Harry was a lot more intelligent than people gave him credit for, but Ron was surprisingly well built for war, after his little hiatus in which he managed to find his balls, unstuck his head from his rear and make his way back to them he had learned how to listen and how to find information in details, also, she'd been able to say the three only words they needed; Lestrange - Gringots - Horcrux. If they didn't get it with that then the problem at stake was that their only hope was an imbecile.

The escape had been frantic, the boys escape that is, all she knew is that at the exact same moment she thought she was about to break, Ron and Harry were there, with Dobby, and an exploding chandelier, and so much screaming that she just rolled on her side and tried to detach from everything around her, problem being that if they were trying to rescue her, which she started to suspect quite soon was the main plan, they probably needed her to be a bit proactive, years of her making the point of not being a damsel in distress meant that they didn't really know what to do with a damsel in distress, and so she was left behind.

That's when things had gotten from unexpected to worse. In the afterwards confusion turned out that no one really gave a shit about her, once she was detached from her friends the only value she held was information, and as Bellatrix had gone a bit too far it was unlikely that they would gain any knowledge from her any time soon. Then he appeared and she understood Malfoy's willingness to help, mad didn't even begin to cover the state of mind of that lunatic. She was in no hurry to regain consciousness any time soon and so in a rather unappreciated dramatic sigh she let go of reality only to be woken up an immeasurable amount of time later.

She was in a bed, that came as a surprise, not the comfiest and maybe not the best pillow, but she was in a bed and covered with blankets, therefore warm, as soon as she was able to focus her sight and see something apart from light and shadows she identified a house elf sitting by her side, a small, wrinkled and dirty house elf looking at her with an amount of contempt that made her shiver, without exchanging a word said elf shoved her hand into her forehead, probably looking for a fever, examined her eyes, nodded to herself and went to the next room, giving her the opportunity to look around and try to understand the change of scenery, it wasn't the manor, that was her first guess, the space was nice and homey in a cottage-y way, lots of wood, soft pale blue walls, nice windows overlooking what seemed to be a never ending field, and the smell of firewood and tea. Has she been rescued? That must be it, she had been rescued! Last thing she remembered was passing out, so there were no clues, but she was clean and warm and felt safe, and the rudest little house elf on the planet had been nursing her, so definitely she had been rescued somehow. Her hopes had gone up so dramatically fast that the moment the worst Malfoy crossed the door followed by the elf her brain came up with a thousand reasons for him helping her.

One look at his face made it clear that wasn't the case, he was obviously pissed, and possibly drunk, and clearly in need of some sleep judging by the dark circles under his eyes.

And rude, he was really rude.

"One week and I promise you you'll wish you were dead"

"I think I already do"

"Good"

And with that he upturned her small table which now she noticed had a glass and a jar of water, kicked the nearest chair and left again, followed by the elf, who was looking more like a troll by the minute shooting her a death glare. Her options were little, she could pretend that hadn't happened and go back to bed, and maybe if she woke up again there would be a different person there, because at the moment it was not looking good, unfortunately her bladder told her there was no way she was gonna make it more than five minutes before exploding, looking around now with a sense of urgency showed her the only door was the want leading to doom, or hell, or whatever one called the space where He was. Sadly having to explain to him or the troll, because she had to be at least part troll, that she wetted herself was not an option, so she forced herself to stumble on wobbly legs to the door and look out. The room lead to a living space of what seemed to be a really cozy hunting lodge, fireplace burning and the smell of food and tea, there was not much in the way of decoration but everything looked well used, from the living room she could see three doors, one open ajar heading to the kitchen, one closed and one slightly open, so taking a deep breath she moved to the open door as quick as possible, breathed in relieve when she found out it was a bathroom and proceeded to take care of the urgent business.

Still sitting in the bathroom she saw there was nothing in there indicating it was being used, there was a small hand towel, a bar of soap and a mirror, and being honest after looking into it she wished the mirror wasn't there, she looked done. Done with life, done with cosmetics and done with being a teenager. Skin and lips dry and wrinkled and her hair was beyond explaining, she might as well have it shaved. As soon as she felt tears come to her eyes she decided to go back to "her" room, with a last prayer that at last in there she would find something other than the currently worn pajamas.

As soon as she opened the door a glass seemed to appear out of nowhere and explode against the wall next to her ear. It didn't come from nowhere, it came from Malfoy, so she ducked just in case and ran back to "her" room.

What the hell?

She heard screaming getting closer and so she leant against the door in hopes of blocking it, which of course was idiotic, as if her malnourished little self could hold against that beast of a man. She braced herself for another round of torture or luckily her sudden death, instead of that she heard the pop of the elf/troll in front of the door and her panicked yet bossy yells.

"Old Master! No! The task is for both prisoners to remain alive, stop or I will have to stop you."

"You stupid, ridiculous, pathetic little creature…. - And she could hear the spit dripping from his mouth - How do you dare! I'm your master!"

"No, Mrs Narcissa is, and she ordered, I will bring firewhisky to your room, go."

And he went, and so she cried, half in terror, half in relief.

Hermione didn't swear.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Maybe Hermione wasn't herself any longer.