When Hermione woke again, everything hurt. Her head throbbed, and a sharp, raw pain flared in her arm, making her gasp. She blinked groggily, the torchlight casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance across the walls.
She was still in the dungeon. Still trapped. Still bleeding.
But she wasn't alone.
Slowly, she turned her head, her vision focusing on the figure slumped against the opposite wall. Draco Malfoy. He hadn't moved from his spot, his body folded into itself, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. His hair, usually so pristine, was matted and unkempt, strands falling into his eyes. He looked like a ghost—pale and hollow, the weight of the war pressing on him like a shroud.
And he was still staring at her.
This time, though, his expression was different. Less guarded. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by something else—something almost like pity.
Hermione shuddered, drawing in a ragged breath. "Why… are you here?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath of sound.
Malfoy's gaze flicked over her, lingering on the bloodstained word carved into her arm. His mouth tightened, his hands clenching briefly at his sides. For a moment, she thought he was going to answer. But then his eyes shifted, staring blankly past her shoulder as if he couldn't bear to look at her anymore.
"Malfoy…" she tried again, though speaking felt like dragging herself through broken glass. "If you—if you're not going to help me… why don't you just… leave?"
His shoulders stiffened at that. He turned his head sharply, his eyes boring into hers with sudden, startling intensity. And then, quietly—so quietly she almost didn't hear it—he spoke.
"I can't leave," he murmured, the words low and strained. "I'm stuck here. Just like you."
Hermione blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He couldn't leave? But he was a Malfoy—this was his home, wasn't it? If he wanted to go, he could—
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.
He wasn't here by choice.
"You—" she began, her voice trembling. "They're keeping you prisoner, too?"
Malfoy's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something raw and bitter. "What do you think?" he bit out, the words dripping with a venom that didn't quite match the bleakness in his gaze. "You think I'm down here for the ambiance?"
Hermione swallowed, fresh pain throbbing in her chest. She looked at him—really looked—and saw the bruises lining his wrists, the split lip, the shadowed eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and constant fear.
He was a prisoner. Just like her.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she didn't understand. But then a sharp clanging echoed through the dungeon, making her flinch. Draco put his finger up to his lips quieting her
"Stay silent." he muttered
The cell door rattled open, and two hooded figures strode in, their wands raised.
"Bring him," one of them barked, pointing at Malfoy.
Hermione's heart lurched. "No—" she gasped, struggling to push herself up. "Don't—"
"Shut it, Mudblood," snarled the second figure, kicking her roughly in the ribs. Pain exploded through her side, and she crumpled, gasping for breath.
Malfoy didn't move. He didn't fight. He just stared down at her, his eyes wide and dark.
Then they hauled him to his feet, yanking him toward the door.
"Let go!" Hermione rasped, her voice breaking. "Leave him alone—he—!"
But the guards ignored her, dragging Malfoy out of the cell. As he was pulled away, his gaze lingered on her for a split second longer—something desperate and unspoken passing between them.
And then he was gone, the cell door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.