Chapter Eight

With a great deal of reluctance Hermione said goodbye to Thorfinn the morning after their late night talk. Once he walked out of the door she couldn't be sure what might happen next. Would Dolohov return to choke her again or would something even worse become her sad fate? Her imagination threatened to overpower her senses.

"Are you sure you can't stay a little longer?"

Thorfinn laughed but didn't stop lacing up his boots. They had already slept in far later than they intended, shared a leisurely breakfast out of the leftover food Draco delivered the day before, and she even managed to convince him to shower there instead of returning to his flat. When he suggested she strip down and join him, she closed the bathroom door in his face. She wasn't ready for that step yet. His loud laughter on the other side of the door indicated he wasn't offended by her rejection. Likely he even expected it.

"Princess, I can't stay here all day. I have responsibilities."

"But, when you leave…"

The wizard stood in front of her to place his hands on the outside of her upper arms. There was an amused smile on his face that he quickly changed to a more serious expression. It wasn't even all that difficult to pretend she didn't want him to go because she didn't. She didn't want to be left on her own again. What if Dolohov was just waiting for him to leave so he could come inside to hurt her? He couldn't be trusted for even a moment.

"You will be safe here, I promise. Even from Dolohov. I know something about him that he would never want reported."

"Does it have something to do with wanting You-Know-Who dead?"

Thorfinn snorted.

"How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess really. That and he was a little too casual yesterday when he asked me if our side had been able to figure out how to bring him down yet."

"You're very surprising, Princess. Few people would ever get to him enough that he would be so careless. He knows that if something happens to you, I'll turn him in."

It was small comfort really. She didn't doubt Dolohov was devious enough to figure out a way to complete his plans to harm her. Thorfinn might be a temporary roadblock, but he hadn't given up. Likely he never would.

"I promise I'll be back tonight."

Hermione had to settle for Thorfinn's verbal assurances of her safety. Nothing more substantial could be given. As she listened to the door click shut behind Thorfinn, she felt sick. Maybe she shouldn't worry about coming off looking suspicious by pushing her plan through too quickly and just proceed full speed ahead. The sooner she could get out of her captivity, the sooner she could go back to helping Harry and Ron find and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes. No one had the luxury of being able to take their time.

But, as she soon discovered, someone locked in an upstairs bedroom in the Shrieking Shack had nothing but time. Rarely had a day in her life passed so slowly. At least the day before she had some company, odious as it might have been, from her captors. None of them returned to their makeshift prison after Thorfinn left.

Captivity was very boring. She didn't understand how prisoners could endure it for decades in much less luxurious cells. At first Hermione tested whether or not she was truly secure in her room. All attempts to escape swiftly failed. Dolohov was right. To make matters worse, there was nothing left in her bag or the room itself that could be used as a weapon or a tool to break out. He had been thorough in his confiscations.

All that remained to pass the time was reading from the books left in her bag or sleeping. Neither activity kept her attention for very long. One could only sleep so much and she had already read nearly all of her books when she was bored sitting around the tent. The ones she hadn't finished bored her nearly to tears.

She wished she knew where Thorfinn went when he left. What would she do if there was some sort of emergency? How could she contact him? The upsetting reality was there was nothing that could be done if she needed him. She just had to trust that he meant it when he promised he would return that night.

Draco brought her enough food the day before to last a long time. Thanks to stasis and warming charms she wouldn't starve to death. She didn't think he would be dropping by with more any time soon nor did she think he would want to see her. After their short interaction, she knew she made him very uncomfortable. Draco didn't want to keep her prisoner any more than she wanted to be one. Only his fear of the two older Death Eaters kept him in line. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she did. If he could avoid being in her presence, he would.

After several hours by herself, Hermione would have even taken the pleasure of Dolohov's company. Scare her he might, but at least she knew he would talk to her. Perhaps even if she was lucky she'd anger him to the point he would lose control and put her out of her misery. Was the plan to drive her mad? Because it was working.

Night fell and still she remained alone. Worried that Thorfinn wasn't going to honor his promise, she had to remind herself that he didn't specify an exact time. When he slipped into bed the night before, it had been very late. She had to remain patient. All worrying would do was upset her more. After midnight according to the clock above the fireplace Draco repaired, she forced herself back into bed to try to get some sleep. Thorfinn would wake her up when he finally stumbled in.

Except he didn't. No one woke her up. When she opened her eyes again it was mid-morning. There was no sign that anyone came in the room while she slept. Thorfinn didn't keep his promise. Instead of being angry, she was worried.

Over twenty-four hours passed with her alone in her prison. What was going on outside? Did something happen to one or all of her captors? War was unpredictable. There could've been a great battle while she slept and she would never know if no one told her.

Hermione would commit murder to find out if Harry and Ron were all right. To preserve what was left of her sanity, she tried not to think about them, tried to convince herself nothing bad would happen to them. That didn't last long. Soon they were all she could think about. She remembered how hard it was when it was just Harry and her on the hunt during that miserable time. They nearly died. The three of them together had always worked better when they were all together.

It would be just like them both to be too stubborn to leave the Forest of Dean without finding her first. How long would it take them before they knew they had to go? When Ron left, it had been a very hard decision to leave knowing he wouldn't be able to find them again. She wished she knew how he was able to locate them. In her anger, she hadn't stayed long enough to hear his explanation. How many times was she going to regret storming out of that tent before it was all over?

Was Dolohov searching the Forest of Dean for them? Was Thorfinn? She didn't know what any of them told their Dark Lord and their fellow Death Eaters after she broke the Taboo. Could they have reported that they couldn't catch the violator but discovered where Harry was? If they were smart and wanted to curry favor with Voldemort, they would. What would happen to her boys if they were found? She pushed away the discouraging thoughts that she already knew. They would be dead or wish they were.

A sickening possibility she hadn't considered before came to mind. What if Thorfinn's plan for getting her out of the Shrieking Shack and into his personal protection was to find Harry? He could offer up her best friend to his Dark Lord and as a reward, ask Voldemort for her. She was prepared for temporary capture, not permanent. How could she even hope to keep up the act that she cared for him for very long? It was impossible.

Two full days passed of isolation with only her worried thoughts for company when she heard the doorknob turn. At that point she would've been fine with Dolohov coming in to torture her and put an end to her suffering. It would've been a better alternative than staying locked alone in that damned room until she starved or lost her mind entirely. Draco was a better option.

"Where have you been? What's happening?"

The wizard could hardly look at her nor did he seem like he was going to answer any of her questions. How could he be so cruel? After dropping off another basket full of food and picking up the empty one, Draco opened the bedroom door to leave. Realizing he was about to leave her alone again, Hermione grabbed his arm, shocking them both.

"Please don't leave yet. I'm going mad in here."

Reluctantly, Draco shut the door without stepping through. It was easy to tell that he didn't want to be there. To keep himself occupied he crossed to the fireplace to rebuild the dwindling fire. Even magically built fires didn't last forever. Hermione had done what she could to keep it going, but the room was freezing.

She sat at the table picking at some of the food while she watched Draco warm up her prison cell. While she was glad to have plenty of food after near-starvation with the boys, she didn't have much of an appetite. What was the use in eating if her life was already essentially over?

"Would you please talk to me, Draco? I feel like I'm losing my mind."

With a heavy sigh he sat down at the foot of her bed. He didn't immediately say anything but it was an encouraging start. She wanted to remain calm and ease him into a conversation. That only lasted about half a second before her impatience got the better of her.

"Is something happening out there, Draco? Is that why no one came for two days? Thorfinn promised me he would be back. Where is he?"

"I don't know, Granger. I really don't. No one will tell me anything either."

It was frustrating to recognize that he was telling the truth. Apparently the Death Eater organization had a lot in common with the Order of the Phoenix in how they treated their younger members. It was always so infuriating that the adults would refuse to provide information to the teenagers in some kind of misguided attempt to 'protect' them when they had been actively fighting Voldemort and his followers since they were eleven. If the adults in their world were going to place the burden of fighting the war they started on the shoulders of the younger generation, they could at least keep them well-informed.

"It feels like something is happening, but no one will tell me."

"I know how that feels all too well."

At least Draco had enough sense to be shamed by her statement. His cheeks flushed.

"Do you know what's going to happen to me, Draco?"

"No, I'm sorry. I don't. If Dolohov or Rowle have a plan, they haven't told me anything. I've just been instructed to keep you fed and keep my mouth shut."

She appreciated that he was being honest with her about what he didn't know. It would've been very easy to lie to her instead. Maybe his answer wasn't good or what she wanted to hear, but it was real. Slowly it felt like some of the tension and uncertainty between them waned. Even without knowing his greatest desire yet, Hermione knew that the wall would have to come down between them if she had any hope of getting him on her side.

"You did a marvelous job making this room livable. Harry, Ron, and I actually were inside the Shrieking Shack third year. In this very room."

Draco seemed uncomfortable with the compliment. She meant it though. It really was impressive. Sixth year had been an unusual year for both of them it seemed. She remembered how obsessed Harry had been watching for Draco's name on the Marauders Map. When he disappeared from the charmed parchment, Harry assumed it was because he was back inside the Room of Requirement. What if he was actually in the Shrieking Shack instead?

"Did you really fix this room because you found the castle too noisy?"

His sigh was discouraging, but she felt heartened by the fact that he didn't immediately jump to his feet to run out of the room again. Maybe he wanted to talk to someone. Ever since they returned to the castle sixth year there had been a marked change in him. Some days he looked as if he carried a burden on his shoulders far too heavy for someone his age. No one, regardless of which side their loyalties lay, would come out of the damned war unchanged.

"All of my friends thought this was all some sort of fun game."

He gestured to his left forearm where she knew a Dark Mark was hidden underneath his sleeve. Scared he would stop talking if she asked any questions or made any remark, Hermione almost held her breath. If he felt at ease enough to open up to her, she might be able to discover what she needed in order to manipulate him.

"None of them understood. They thought it was an honor to be chosen by the Dark Lord himself at such a young age. Fools."

She agreed, but said nothing. All she offered him was a small encouraging smile. Clearly he'd been holding on to some serious feelings for a long time that he didn't understand how to express. Who better to listen than someone who couldn't escape whose life he literally held in his control? Maybe her captivity was the only option he had to talk about what he shouldn't. She was genuinely curious. How could she keep him talking without pushing him too far? For the immediate future, she remained silent.

"They used to ask me questions I couldn't answer all the time. It was frustrating. I couldn't tell them what the Dark Lord ordered me to do. What if the wrong person overheard them talking and it got back to Dumbledore? I couldn't fail. If I failed, my mother would be dead. I would be dead. They didn't understand how much pressure was on me. One mistake and it's all over."

It was difficult for Hermione to imagine that sort of pressure being put on anyone, let alone a scared, confused teenager. He should've been worrying about passing his final exams, not whether or not his mother remained alive. Each word he spoke only made her more indignant on his behalf. How did their world get so terribly fucked up? The easy answer would be simply to blame Voldemort for everything wrong that happened, but that wasn't good enough. He never would have accumulated so much power and influence if he hadn't been allowed to do so. Those who sat back doing nothing out of fear or indifference bore some of the responsibility too.

"I needed somewhere quiet I could just think. I knew about the secret passageway under the Whomping Willow because I heard Professor Snape telling the Dark Lord about it. Neither of them knew I was there. Most of them ignore me or don't even notice I'm around. One day I went for a walk alone on the grounds and I got curious. I wasn't sure it would work but I thought being crushed by the Whomping Willow was hardly the worst fate."

There was a healthy dose of self-deprecation in his attempt to make a joke. She humored him with a small smile even though she found nothing funny in his statement. Again, he should've been worried about spots popping up on his face at inconvenient times or the girl he fancied's answer to an invitation to join him in Hogsmeade, not the least painful way for him to die. She felt a well of bitterness bubble up in her gut.

"I fell asleep on this bed. Didn't mean to. It was filthy and had a terrible smell, but it was so quiet in here. No one bothered me. The next time I came, I fixed the bed and used about a hundred cleansing spells. Over the whole year I fixed it all a little bit at a time. Until the other night, no one but me even knew about my hiding place."

"It's much nicer than a cave or a cellar. I could be stuck in one of those. Thank you."

His cheeks flushed a faint pink. She meant it too. How much worse would her imprisonment be if she had to stay somewhere else? She didn't want to imagine the cold, dank, miserable hole Dolohov would've found for her prison if there wasn't any other alternative.

"You shouldn't thank me. I'm one of them."

Was there shame in his tone when he grouped himself with the other Death Eaters? Or was she hearing what she wanted to hear? It surprised her that he was willing to be so honest by opening up. Clearly he needed to talk to someone. She was an easy option. Their history hadn't been good, but she supposed any history was better than none. At least she knew him and could understand.

If she was completely honest, Hermione felt sorry for Draco. Never in her past would she have imagined a day would come where she felt any sympathy but there she was. He should have never been subjected to the terror and horrors he had been. Draco was essentially just a child, same as she was and the boys too. None of them should've been fighting a war started by adults. It was all so terribly unfair. She hated Voldemort all the more. Dumbledore too for that matter.

Every second that ticked by where the wizard didn't jump up from the bed to run out of the room grew more surprising. It seemed even more strange that he would keep talking. How alone did Draco feel? She couldn't imagine there were many opportunities to develop real friendships in his world. Emboldened by how open he had been so far, she thought she would press her luck.

"Why would you agree to hide me in your private hiding place when you spent so many years hating me?"

He shrugged his shoulders and couldn't look her in the eye when he spoke.

"I don't want anyone else to die. I wish… I wish…"

Unable to finish his sentence, Draco got up and rushed out of the room. Hermione was disappointed, but not exactly surprised. It was frustrating because she really thought she was getting somewhere with him. What did he wish?

For someone so young, he carried around a lot of guilt. Some of it was earned, most not. Was that how she could manipulate him to help her out? Could she play on his regrets and remorse? Certainly it wouldn't be as simple as just seducing him, but she thought it could work. He didn't want her hurt. That was significant.

No one returned to the Shrieking Shack again that night following Draco's dramatic exit. She didn't know if she should be worried. Thorfinn promised he would return days earlier. Was he avoiding her or did something happen to him? The longer she was alone, the more nervous she became.

All she could do to keep some semblance of sanity intact was sleep. It became an escape. What else could she do? The dreams she had were often lovely and of a more peaceful time. If only she had some hope of the same in the future.

It was mid-afternoon the day after her talk with Draco that Hermione woke up to the sound of the door opening. She sat up quickly to see who it was. Disappointment must have been written on her face because Dolohov scoffed. Out of the three, he was the one she least wanted to see.

"Sorry I'm not one of the blonds."

The wizard returned to the chair he used on his previous visit to stare at her silently again. She wished she knew what he was thinking, even if she thought it was probably best she didn't. He would be the hardest one of the three to get on her side. It was likely impossible.

"What's happening outside? I'm surprised you waited this long to come back."

Dolohov's smile made her nervous.

"I've been led to believe you're not stupid. What do you think has been happening?"

"Harry was spotted in the Forest of Dean and your lot has been searching for him."

His laughter was even more upsetting. How could anyone, sick fucks like him included, find any joy in what was happening?

"There was a bit of scuffle two nights ago. Afraid to report there were some injuries. Your mates got away though. For now."

She felt her stomach twist into knots listening to him laugh. It wasn't funny! None of it was funny. He wouldn't tell her who was hurt or how bad they were. The unknown was maddening. Of course her mind went straight to the worst-case scenarios. Why couldn't they just stop looking for her? They needed to focus on the horcruxes. Nothing else mattered. When Voldemort was dead, they could look for her then. It was all a waste of time.

In her frustration and fear, Hermione wanted to cry. She always did before when she was upset. It was normal and cathartic and fuck anyone who judged her for it. As long as Dolohov continued to sit in that chair and watch her, she refused to give in to her urge. She could manipulate Thorfinn with her tears and maybe even Draco, but she was fairly certain crying would have the opposite effect on Dolohov. He'd probably enjoy seeing her cry.

"Was anyone else hurt?"

Dolohov smiled.

"You want to know where the overgrown child is."

When she neither denied nor confirmed that's what she wanted to know, he laughed. She was beginning to loathe the sound.

"Rowle is in St. Mungo's. Healers say he might not make it. Your Weasley mate dropped a tree on his head using a levitating charm. It was brilliant."

There was a time in her life when Hermione likely would've joined Dolohov in his laughter at Thorfinn being treated like the mountain troll from first year. If his survival wasn't so critical for her own, she would've been proud of Ron. But no, if Thorfinn died, it wouldn't be long before she died too.

Was that why Dolohov seemed so happy? He wouldn't kill her while there was a chance Thorfinn could recover and turn on him. When he no longer had to worry about Thorfinn blackmailing him, he would torture and kill her. Of that she had no doubt. He wasn't scared of Draco. Only Thorfinn was keeping him in line.

"But please don't worry, Princess. I will make certain I keep you informed of any change in his status. I know you're very anxious to know he'll recover."

Satisfied that he'd been enough of a ghoul to terrify her, Dolohov left her alone again.