Hermione didn't know exactly how long she had been in confinement. Only that hours after Draco had left, several healers came to her cell and treated her wounds. She had be taken several times so Voldemort could attempt to search her mind, all leading to a few hours of torture, just for her to be sent back to the cell.

The frequency at which she was taken was irregular, some days it was just once, other times it was upwards of three, and occasionally, not at all.

The only explanation she figured was that it corresponded to happenings in the war. Perhaps on days where she was taken more often, they had lost a battle and were trying to extract information on where prisoners were being taken. But maybe imagining victories was just a way of making the torture feel worth the pain.

She guessed it had been at least two weeks, but not longer than three.

Each time she was taken to Voldemort, Draco was there by his side. When she was being beaten by Death Eaters, she would occasionally see the emerald mask whispering to the Dark Lord.

Despite the intense fatigue she was facing only getting worse by the day, she did not falter. She did not let a single thought slip. When she was alone in her cell, she rearranged the books in her mind, hiding them away, even from herself.

Her mind was her savior, but also her downfall. They had to keep her alive because they needed what was in her head. As much as she wanted the pain and agony to stop, it couldn't. They would only stop when they got what they wanted from her.

She knew it was driving Voldemort insane, how he couldn't break the mind of a muggle-born. He became more and more irritated, trying to find any crack he could.

"My Lord," the Death Eater, who she learned to be Gregory Goyle, said after he had landed a stinging hex into Hermione's arm. "I think that we may need to resort to more drastic means if we are to get anything out of the mudblood."

"And what brilliant suggestion might you have?" Voldemort asked, his hand in his head, his voice exasperated.

Goyle pulled out a knife and forcefully grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Take a finger every time she refuses to say."

"I've only got ten of them, Goyle. Make it count," Hermione prodded, frustrating the Death Eater to no end. He squeezed her wrist until she yelped.

Draco sneered. "You really are dim, aren't you? The Cruciartis curse has been cast on her enough times to kill an Erumpent. And by your accounts, she nearly cast an Avada on herself when she was captured. You really think maiming her will make her speak?"

Goyle dropped Hermione's arm, and she sat up and hugged her knees close to her chest. "Somethings gotta make the little bird sing, and I don't see you suggesting anything better."

Before he could open his mouth again, Draco's hand was on his throat, lifting him in the air. Goyle's legs trashed, his hands on Draco's wrist, fighting to get air into his lungs.

"You dare speak to me this way?" Draco's voice reverberated through the large room, the sound was enough to make Hermione's fear surface for a moment. He threw Goyle into the stone steps like he was a rag doll.

"I'm… I'm sorry…. Please…" Goyle groveled as he held his bleeding head.

He turned and walked back to Voldemort's side, straightening the collar of his shirt. Hermione saw him take two deep breaths, before opening his eyes, the rage seemingly gone.

"Perhaps we can attempt the reeducation method with her," Draco calmly spoke.

"Reeducation for the mudblood? That's preposterous. That treatment is reserved for untainted traitors only. Barely even want half-breeds, and you're suggesting someone house that muggle blood whore?" a Death Eater called as he stood up from the platform.

"It's been quite successful, hasn't it? That Bell girl you recently acquired has already committed herself to serving The Dark Lord."

Hermione's heart leapt when she heard Katie's name. The standing masked figure had to be Amycus Carrow. She took note of his silhouette and mask, ensuring she would commit him to memory. Hearing that Katie committed herself to Voldemort made her feel sick. She knew that Katie would have fought, and fought hard. They broke her.

Another Death Eater stood, clearing his throat. "I can take her as my ward, the last one I had died under… unfortunate circumstances."

"Mulciber, you cannot be trusted with Potter's prized toy. Her mind is worth more than your entire estate. You'd end up melting hers out of her ears like the first one you had," Draco scoffed. He turned to Voldemort, bowing his head slightly. "My Lord, as your most trusted advisor, I am willing to take the responsibility of having the mudblood into my home and make sure she sees to her lessons."

"No," Hermione's voice weakly pleaded.

But they ignored her. Ignored her as if she hadn't been the topic of conversation for days on end now. As if she was an inanimate object, a pawn in the war.

"Excellent," Voldemort hissed. "I expect her here weekly, and at my discretion. Take the mudblood, for now."

—

Apparating to Malfoy Manor nearly made Hermione vomit. Her eyes were cinched tight to stop the dizzying. When her feet touched the grassy lawn, she was hoping to feel the sun on her skin. She had spent weeks in complete darkness, and desperately wished to feel the warmth of its rays. However, when her eyes opened, she was met with an overcast sky. Looking beyond the grounds of the manor, she could see sunlit woods out of reach. The clouds scattered above were in nearly a perfect circle, blocking out the natural light.

The manor itself was just how she remembered. The dark marble and stone really was fitting for the home of a vampire. It was reminiscent of the muggle's lore of Dracula. The decrepit castle at the top of a hill, shrouded in darkness with the occasional strike of lightning for the dramatic effect.

Even before, Hermione had gotten a chill when she had first laid eyes on this gothic mansion. It wasn't warm or inviting, how a home should be.

Draco's hand was still wrapped around her arm, holding her tightly. He hadn't said a word to her since he retrieved her from her holding cell. She was there for three days, waiting, counting the seconds until she was forced here. When he finally showed up, she made it difficult for him. Thrashing her body about, trying to stop him from touching her. But he easily overpowered Hermione, she was nothing more than a doll in his arms. She tried again to tug from his grasp.

"How are you not tired, Granger? This is getting annoying."

She was tired, but she wouldn't admit that. Not to him. "I can see the barrier of the detaining spell and can feel the effects of magical suppression wards, likely attuned to only me. I can't leave or cast magic. You're hurting me, let go."

"I don't think you're in the position to be making demands," he said, loosening his grip, still keeping her at an arm's length.

"Malfoy, I'm not in the position to give a single fuck," she said, pulling so hard that his fingers broke away from her and she fell to the ground. Purple bruises were left on her pale skin, but at least she was away from his freezing touch. She started to race through the possibilities of escape, attempting to recall any information on household protection wards.

Draco didn't acknowledge her on the ground, he simply looked ahead at the manor with a crooked smile. "Just because I can't kill you, doesn't mean I can't make you hurt, mudblood. Remember that."

A small house elf appeared with a crack in front of them. Big, green eyes darted back and forth between the two. Hermione could tell that he was quite young compared to most she has met.

"Master Draco, Tappy has made sure Miss Granger's accommodations are in order, just as you asked."

Draco adjusted his sleeves that had become a mess with Hermione struggling in his arms. "Delightful, please escort her there. And be careful, she can be quite the handful. If she becomes too unorderly, call for me."

"Yes, Master. Tappy will do so," he said as Draco walked towards the doors. Tappy turned to Hermione, still sitting on the ground. "Come along now Miss, Tappy will show you to your room. Lady Malfoy assisted Tappy in the arrangements. I was not to tell Master Draco about that. Says it needed a feminine touch. Tappy hopes Miss Granger finds it acceptable."

Although she was seen by healers before coming to the manor, she was still sore and winced as she got to her feet. Tappy led her to the large, wooden doors that slowly swung open to reveal a grand sitting room with a double staircase that snaked up to the second floor. A roaring fireplace gave a gentle orange glow to the room. It had been years since she had seen the manor, and though the outside remained drab and lifeless, the inside was completely different.

It felt strangely warm. Potted plants and flowers adorned the space. Plump pillows sat on the plush couches and armchairs. Paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. Hermione could hear the birds chirping and the sound of waves through them.

"That way there is the ballroom," Tappy said, pointing to a large set of double doors to the left. "And that way there is the dining room. Kitchen's on the other side. But you're not needing to be worrying about that, Miss. Tappy will bring you food if you are hungry."

"Thank you, Tappy." She gave a sincere smile to the small elf.

"Up the stairs, Miss will find the living quarters. Up up the stairs more, Miss will find the library." Tappy guided Hermione up the right side staircase, holding his hand out in case she needed to brace herself. On the second story landing, Hermione saw three long hallways. "The west wing is where Miss Greengrass and Lady Malfoy stay. The north wing is Master Draco's. East wing is for guests. Your room is in the East wing, Miss."

"Miss Greengrass and Lady Malfoy. Isn't that the same person, Tappy?" Hermione asked.

"No, Miss. It's Miss Daphne Greengrass. The Miss has been living here as long as Lady Astoria Malfoy."

As Hermione recalled, Daphne Greengrass was, for lack a better word, a cunt. In third year, Daphne and her gaggle of lackeys sent Hermione and Colin Creevey over a dozen howlers screaming 'mudblood scum' over and over until they burst into flames. She didn't know Astoria well, as she was two years younger, but could only assume that they'd have similar principles.

Hermione couldn't help but smirk to herself, knowing Daphne would throw a fit having to live alongside a muggle-born.

Tappy brought her to a room at the very end of the hall. They had passed at least six doors on the way there, but she assumed they'd want to keep her as far from everyone as possible. A sinking feeling occurred to her when she thought that those six rooms could be occupied with other Order members.

"Tappy, is there anyone else living in this wing?"

Tappy shook his head, "No, Miss. Miss Granger is the only one in the east wing."

She expected her new holding cell to be small and plain, or even yet, uncomfortable. She imagined they had removed the bed and would make her sleep on the floor.

To her surprise, it looked like a completely ordinary room. As ordinary as a room could be in a mansion worth multimillion galleons.

The walls were painted a soft red, with gold trim accents. A small, but intricately carved desk sat facing a large window with a reading chair next to it. The chair was also a soft red, and had a suede texture that Hermione thought looked comfortable to sit with a book for hours. The bed itself looked inviting, as if it were calling to her now to rest.

"Lady Astoria filled the closet for you, and the private washroom is stocked with what you'll need Miss."

Hermione was speechless. "Thank you, Tappy."

Tappy waved and exited the room. Hermione sat against the door and closed her eyes. For a moment, she was relieved to be away from the Ministry and Voldemort. But as she relaxed, the waves started to flow away faster than she expected. She tried to pull them back to her, but it slipped away.

It was something she couldn't control as well as Harry could. Harry was naturally gifted with the talent of Occlumency. He was able to allow himself to fragment his feelings and memories, expertly being able to show individual pieces of himself.

But Hermione, as good as she was at burying those emotions and thoughts, once they started to surface, they would all come flooding in. Almost as if she had to force herself to feel everything or nothing at all. She was robotic, calculated, blank when she shelved her feelings. But the second she let her guard down, the books came tumbling.

Her calm breathing quickly turned panicked. The spasming in her chest made her feel like gasping for air. She held her hand over her mouth to stop from making a noise.

Hermione had just gone from the imprisonment of one monster to another.

He was going to try to break her. Wear her down. Make her reveal all of her secrets. What she endured the past month was already too much for one to bear, how could she possibly survive what else was in store for her?

She ran to the window, attempting to open it. But no matter her efforts, it would not budge. Hermione punched the glass, over and over until her hand bled, but it remained intact. The realization occurred to her that he likely charmed the entire estate to prevent her from escaping by any means she could think of. Likely, due to her stunt at the Ministry before she was captured.

He was thorough.

"FUCK!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. She picked up a candle and hurled it across the room, all for it to just bounce off the wall and land in one piece. Hermione fell to the floor, clutching her ribs. She curled into a fetal position, and sobbed herself to sleep.

—

When she woke, she was still on the floor. Though it was still overcast outside, she could tell it was early morning by the songs of birds in the distance. There was a tray next to her with a warm cup of tea and a full breakfast. On a small plate next to the food, there was a vial. The label read 'Calming Draught.'

She uncorked it and wafted the scent towards her. There were certainly notes of lavender and peppermint, ingredients found in Calming Draughts, but she didn't trust that it wasn't tampered with.

Though she didn't feel hungry, she forced herself to eat. Hermione looked out the window of her prison, looking closely at the abrupt change from overcast to sunlight. The perfect circle of clouds extended a bit of a way around the manor, which was nearly identical to the circumference of the detaining spell.

But beyond the shadow of the clouds looked beautiful. There were trees and hedges of all varieties, with a walkway that followed the curve of the barrier, perfectly in the sun's rays.

Rounding the corner, she saw Draco come into view just within the barrier, and a small witch alongside him. Her chocolate colored hair shimmered in the sunlight, flowing effortlessly down her back. Their arms were linked at the perfect point between light and dark.

She looked so small in comparison to him, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was because of her petite frame, or Draco being unnaturally large.

Draco, likely due to the side effects of vampirism and the war, was physically intimidating. Hermione had read that, on average, a person would grow four to eight inches taller after being turned. Draco seemed to be on the latter half of that.

In addition, his shoulders were broad but his waist was slim, giving him a very angular look. He might have been seen as attractive for muggle and wizard standards, but was likely completely average for vampires.

It was the first time Hermione had seen him without a mask and cape.

Though he'd always been on the pale side, he looked phantom-like. His blonde-ish hair was now nearly completely white. He looked like a ghost of himself, tormenting Malfoy Manor.

The only words she could think to describe him were sharp, cold, and haunting.

Astoria and Draco exchanged banter and laughter. Hermione couldn't tell what they were talking about, but she didn't care. When she saw them, seemingly happy, she became enraged.

How could he ruin so many lives, take husbands and wives away from their families, and come back to a beautiful home without consequence?

She thought he didn't deserve to be happy. He didn't deserve to have someone make him laugh or go on walks with. He was a monster. A leech. A fucking vampire. He sucked the lives from everyone else, and breathed it into his own.

Hermione thought there was only one thing she needed to do, and that was to take Draco Malfoy's life.

She sat in the corner of the bedroom, unable to quiet her mind. Her hands couldn't stop shaking. For weeks, she hadn't allowed herself to feel anything but pain. And now, it was caving in on her all at once.

Every part of her ached. The slightest movement sent pain shooting up her spine into the base of her skull where her head throbbed.

When she forced herself to think of a means of escape, recalling every time she casted her own detaining spells or magical suppression, her mind would wander, and she would hear the laughter of silver masks and the pain writhing through her body.

Anytime she had set up protective barriers, they were impervious. They were able to capture Death Eaters and snatchers and keep them contained without needing extensive resources.

Did she really think that Draco Malfoy would have flaws in his design?

Finally mustering the strength, she lifted herself onto the bed. Although she did not want to sleep, as she had envisioned numerous scenarios of her throat being torn out in the night, she was so tired. Tired even before being captured at the Ministry.

—

Hermione jerked awake after feeling a cold touch against her forehead. Her body coiled up in fear, expecting to see a pair of silver eyes piercing her, but instead, she was met with soft, brown ones.

"Poor thing, you're burning up," Astoria's voice sweetly said. In her hand was a damp cloth that she gently pressed against her face. "Tappy, can you fetch a fever reducing potion?"

Within seconds, Tappy had handed Astoria Malfoy a small vial with a clear liquid. She uncorked it, and held it to Hermione's mouth. Hermione's lips pursed, not wanting to ingest any concoction within the walls of this manor.

"Hermione," Astoria softly spoke. "I'm not going to hurt you. Take this, you'll feel better. You've got a fever, it's likely from an infection from that nasty cell they had you in."

She didn't move, her lips were still tightly shut. Hermione thought about pushing her away and making a run for it, but looking closer at the witch, her eyes adjusting to the dim candle light, she finally got a better look at Astoria.

Though beautiful, she was almost as ghostlike as her husband. Her face was gaunt, and the bags under her eyes seemed heavy, as if she carried the weight of many burdens. Hermione thought she seemed too thin for her frame. Despite everything in her body telling her not to, she found her brown eyes comforting.

The adrenaline of her abrupt awakening was wearing off. A wave of nausea started to overtake her. Hermione vomited, and Tappy made quick work of bringing a bucket to her side and cleaning up the mess with a snap of their finger. Astoria gently rubbed her back in soft, circular motions. Hermione recoiled when she felt her touch at first, but couldn't bring herself to fully pull away.

It was the first time in weeks where a touch from another wasn't painful.

"I don't know if you remember me well, but I remember you." Astoria rang the towel out and casted a cooling charm on it. She pressed it against Hermione's arms. "You were giving tours of the library to first year students. It was like you knew every corner of that place. Anyone could ask for a title of a book, and you'd know exactly where to find it."

Hermione closed her eyes, listening to the silk-like voice of Astoria Greengrass. It seemed to flow like a warm, gentle stream. Something you'd want to dip your feet into after a day of walking.

"What was it that they called you? Oh yes, 'The Brightest Witch of Her Age.' I certainly thought so too, might be the brightest witch of the century." She smiled, inspecting Hermione's face closer. "Don't tell Draco I said that. I remembered how beautiful you looked at the Yule Ball. That dress was stunning. I wanted to get my hands on one just like it. You still are, really beautiful."

Hermione couldn't help but blush, but laughed when she thought about how she must have looked now. She hadn't bathed in over a month, the only thing keeping her clean was the healers casting quick charms and spells to keep her hygienic while they tended to her wounds. And, she had just vomited all over the sheets that likely cost more than all the money she had saved in Gringotts. She ran her fingers over her hair, still braided, but probably horrifically matted.

Caving in, Hermione took the vial from Astoria and drank it in a single gulp. Fighting off an infection in her current state would weaken her mind. She didn't know the next time she would be called to see Voldemort, and didn't want to take that risk.

"I remember you asked for my help finding a book.'" Hermione looked at the witch beside her, who even though looked exhausted, attentively listened. "We spent nearly an hour looking on the shelves for the spine number in the Self-Care and Personal Maintenance section. I could find every damn number but the one you gave me. Nearly counted every book, all for it to just be sitting on a random table in front of us."

"You were so mad, yelling about how rude and ill-mannered it was. But when you read the title of the book…" She gave a sweet laugh again. Her eyes went wide and she brought her hands up to the side of her face, "You froze like a doe face-to-face with a manticore."

She pictured the young Astoria, so well kept and polite , following behind her in the shelves, asking question after question. It shocked her when she handed the 'Finding Magic in Grief' book and the girl with a big smile on her face.

"I hope it helped you, Astoria."

She lingered for a moment, looking at seemingly nothing. She eventually smiled again. "It did."

Something about Astoria's presence made her forget she was in the home of a vampire. Hermione was surprised that she was being so kind to her, knowing Draco and Daphne's hate for muggle-borns. Perhaps she was being kind because that was in her nature, or maybe, Hermione thought, it was a part of the reeducation program.

"What's going to happen to me, Astoria?" Hermione asked.

The witch shook her dainty head. "I'm not sure."