Her eyes fluttered open and then fell shut again. Voices swirled around her, muted in the perfumed air. Her brain was completely muddled, thoughts coming quickly but failing to be processed. She tried to speak but her mouth wouldn't open; she tried to move her fingers but they would only hang heavily by her side. She felt herself slipping into sleep again, but not before a hand wrapped around her wrist and brushed against her veins, checking her pulse.

It was oh so faint, but it was there.

The man straightened up and sucked in the warm air, only the faintest glimmer of relief crossing his face. Then, he turned around and proudly announced that the girl was dead.

When she awoke the second time, everything was different and everything was the same. The air in the room was cool and musty. Instead of the plush carpeting her back was now pressed into a thin mattress. It was very quiet and still, but she was still confused, and so very tired.

Before she slipped back into slumber, she thought maybe she heard a door open and shut, but who could tell?

The man looked down at her blood smeared face and cringed, pulling out his wand to clean her extensive wounds.

She sighed gently in her sleep as he began, and to him the sound was like coming home.

Hermione had a dream that she was running through the woods as fast as her feet would carry her, dodging through the trees and panting. She was beyond weary but knew she could not stop, as dark figures lurked behind every tree. Each one had piercing grey eyes. They reached for her but could not touch. Behind her and before her there was only darkness.

Outside of her dream world, she thrashed in the sheets, cold sweat forming on her brow.

He watched her from the corner, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

She fell in and out of sleep like that for days, the potion having taken a heavy toll on her body. Every time she awoke, she had forgotten everything all over again, and it was all new to her. As the days went on she noticed that she was regaining feeling in her limbs and that the shapes in the room grew sharper each time she opened her eyes.

She knew that she wanted to wake up but she didn't remember how she could.

And then, after what might have been a long time or a very short time, she heard a crash somewhere in the waking world. Her eyes flew open and she sat up straight. And she remembered.

The room was dim, lit only by light filtering in through sheer curtains over the small window that was set by the head of the bed. White plaster walls enclosed the small space, a room just big enough for a cot like bed and a sparse rug and a bedside table. She took it all in quickly, even though her head was pounding.

Only one thing was exceedingly strange to her aching mind.

The room had no door.

In her mind, the last events before she had come here played over and over. They had been captured, brought to the Manor, tortured. Ron's shouts still rang in her ears. She could feel the knife on her arm and Bellatrix's breath on her face, and…and…

That was all.

After that it was darkness.

She pulled back her left sleeve to look at her wound, the cursed word carved into her flesh, but it was gone.

All the scars were gone.

Hermione dragged herself out of bed, placing her feet gingerly on the carpet. The air was frigid, and she was wearing only her jeans and t shirt. She pulled the starchy white blanket around her shoulders, and that helped a little. Sitting up made her head pound, but she knew she had to do it. Finally she was able to rise to her feet and walk to the window.

When she tried to push the curtain away, it would not budge.

She found three things in the room; a stick of gum in the bedside drawer, a dry leaf under the rug, and a scrap of paper with sixteen tally marks scrawled on it. She put the paper in the drawer with the gum and held the leaf gently in her palm.

Already she was dying to leave.

She was startled by his appearance (he seemed to melt through the wall) but not surprised to see him.

"I thought it would be you," she said steadily. "So go ahead. Kill me."

"I am not here to kill you," he replied.

"Torture then? I wish you wouldn't."

"No again. A…close friend of mine requested that I keep you safe, and for reasons even I have difficulty understanding, I obliged."

She didn't try to process this, it would been too much or her weakened state. Instead she looked up at him and said, bravely, "It's nice to know that I'm not dead, then."

"My dear," he said coolly. "I said I wouldn't kill you. I didn't say you weren't dead."

This elicited the response he was hoping for, and he watched with a smirk as panic slid across her face.

"What do you mean?" she said, measuring her word carefully as not to betray her fear.

"Everyone except for myself and my aforementioned friend believe you to be long lost to the world. Word is that Bellatrix herself did the deed."

He was so disgustingly smug about it. She could have slapped him.

Who's this friend?" she questioned.

"I see no reason why I should divulge that information to you. I simply owe him a favor, and unfortunately that favor is you."

She couldn't pretend that that didn't sting a little.

"What about Harry and Ron?"

"They slipped away without you, I fear. Didn't even try to take your body."

She knew he was trying to frighten her, and she wouldn't listen.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Maybe 2 weeks, maybe longer."

She was floored.

"2 weeks? What on earth happened to me?"

"You were asleep," he said simply.

"Aren't you going to cry?" he asked, a bemused smile on his face.

"I don't see any reason to." She was now sitting on the bed with her back to the wall, her strength beginning to fail her.

"Why not?"

"I don't seem to be in any immediate danger. I may as well just be rational."

He thought about that for a moment, and then seemed to accept her logic.

"Just do what you want with me. I don't care anymore," she continued.

"I'm afraid you shouldn't say such things, Miss Granger," he replied. He then started to leave, but she stopped him.

"Is there a bathroom I might use, or are you looking to make this experience worse than it already is?"

"Oh, of course." He acted as if he had been reminded to pick up the newspaper from the lawn, and waved his wand nonchalantly.

A plain white door appeared in the wall opposite the bed, and then he left.

Of course she scoured the bathroom for any kind of escape, but there wasn't even a crack in the tile. A sink, a toilet, a shower and a bath mat, that was all. There was a towel on the edge of the sink, and a bar of soap in the shower. No cabinet, no mirror. She hadn't thought about it until just then, but it was killing her to not be able to see herself.

When he came back later that day she had showered and done her best to wash her hair with the harsh smelling soap. It had frizzed up into a brown halo and she was dying to be able to push it back from her face. He was carrying a plate of food and a glass of water with him, which he set unceremoniously on the bedside table.

"I would have the elf bring it," he said, "but I don't trust the little thing to ignore you."

The food was plain, some chicken and potatoes, but to Hermione it looked like a feast. She was hesitant to begin eating in front of him, however, and simply sat on the edge of the bed and twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands.

"Well, you might as well eat," he said snarkily. "I haven't poisoned it. The goal is to keep you alive."

She nodded slightly and leaned over to begin her meal, still very aware of his eyes on her back.

"Are you just going to watch?" she asked. "It's making me uneasy."

"I have to take the plate back."

She didn't really feel like pointing out that he could come get it later, so she just tried to block out his presence. When she finished a short while later, she watched him pick up the plate and make to leave.

"Can I ask you a question?" she blurted out just as he was about to walk out. "Or several questions?"

"You may ask, but I cannot promise a response."

This was so typical Malfoy that it made her blood boil, but she looked past that.

"Where is my wand?"

"I have it."

"Can I have it back?"

"Out of the question."

She huffed but moved on. Hermione had the feeling this Q&A wasn't going to last too much longer.

"Where is this place?"

"In my home. This is a secret room only Malfoys can enter and exit, although we can bring others here. It's usually used for prisoners."

"So you and Draco are the only people who can come in and out freely?"

"Yes, but Draco does not know this place exists."

"Who was the last person kept here?"

"I believe it was Charity Burbage."

She blanched, and he smirked, and left.

Once when he brought her breakfast, he sat on her bed. She was sitting criss-cross applesauce at the head, and he sat with a sigh at the foot.

"Beg your pardon," he said wearily. "But it's just so terrible out there. You don't know how lucky you are."

Hermione thought otherwise, having spent all yesterday trying to see how many times she could fold the rug over on itself.

She studied his face. His eyes were closed and he was resting his head against the wall. This wasn't the Lucius Malfoy she had met all those many years ago in Flourish and Blotts. That man was well groomed, and self-assured. This Lucius was haggard looking, with dark circles under his eyes and a stubbly beard. His hair was messy and fell loose about his shoulders.

She pitied him.

"I've finished," she said pointedly, and he started.

"Of course." He stood and took her plate.

"May I have a book?"

"I suppose. Why did you only just now ask?"

"I thought you would say no."

"You don't have a very high opinion of me."

"No, I don't."

He brought her a history of Goblins in England, which she accepted gratefully.

"Thank you, Lucius."

"Do not ever call me that again, Granger."

"My apologies, sir."

The first time he kissed her was on a Tuesday. She knew because he told her so.

"Today is Tuesday," he had said, and then he leaned down and kissed her.

She was frozen, yet glad to know what day of the week it was. She hadn't known in so long. The kiss was rough, as she had expected it might be. Because she had been expecting it. How could she not have been? She would have been a fool to think it would never happen. Lately he had been particularly nice to her, bringing books she thought she would like and staying longer to talk to her. His eye contact often left her uneasy, made her feel like she was seeing something she shouldn't.

After he kissed her he simply straightened up, looked at her for a moment, and left.

She lay in bed all day after that, with her head under the covers and her mind racing.

"What day is it?"

"I believe it's Sunday."

"No, the date, please."

He pulled a pocket watch out from under his cloak and looked at it. She wanted that watch more than anything in the world.

"April 20th."

"So that means I've been here over a month."

"Yes, it does."

"And still I don't know why I'm here."

"Just be glad you're safe."

Hermione saw that he had a new cut on his jaw line.

"Is it really so terrible?"

"Worse than you can imagine."

She kissed him that time. She got up off the bed and went to him, standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips. His arms wrapped around her, his hands spreading across her back. When she pulled away at last, she sighed quietly, falling down to her regular height.

"I'm so lonely," she whispered.

"As am I."

The next day, he brought her breakfast, and when she finished, he stayed.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bed.

"If you must."

Lucius sat on the edge, creating a gentle dip in the mattress. He laid down his cane and set his head in his hands.

"Miss Granger, I am so weary, and so ready for this to be finished."

She was shocked. Such a strong, fierce man admitting weakness to a girl he hated.

It was horrifying, but it was beautiful.

She crawled over to him from where she sat by her pillow and dangled her legs off next to his. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and at the touch he straightened up. Hermione's head slipped a little, and fell to his chest, and then slipped a little more until her torso had stretched out across his legs and she could look straight up into his eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, reaching up and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "I'm glad no one knows about this place."

The bed was small for two people, but with his back pressed against the wall and her clinging tight to him, it wasn't too bad.

"What now?" she asked, breathing in the scent of him.

"Now we've begun and I can't see the end."

It happened like that every day for a week, and they were alright again when they were together. But then he had to ruin it, had to make everything that had suddenly become perfect imperfect once more.

He brought the friend.

Lucius Malfoy brought Severus Snape to her room on a Tuesday, just like the day he had first kissed her.

He said that he had asked Lucius to do it for him, because, secretly, he had always admired her.

"I wanted you to be safe," he said, awkwardly, looking at his feet. "I asked Lucius to bring me here just…just so that you might know the reasons behind all this. And I hope, that when this ends, that you will not hate me. That we might have a chance."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and she stared at her legs.

"Lucius," she choked out, "please leave. Both of you."

When they were gone, she buried her head in her bedding and wept, for she wanted to leave once more.

"He asked to come, and I couldn't give him any reason to believe that I didn't want him to see you."

"If that is the reason I am safe, I do not wish to be safe any longer. I don't want to owe my survival to him."

"He was the reason at first," he said, tilting her head back so that she would look at him. "But I am the reason now."

This was the last night they were together.

On the day she knew to be May 1, he didn't come. Not with meals, and not to her. She wrapped herself in her blanket and rocked back and forth all day, clutching the last book he had brought her against her chest.

When night fell outside the translucent curtain, she opened the bedside drawer and took out the piece of gum. That was to be her dinner. When she put the wrapper back in the drawer, she saw the scrap of paper with the tallies. She took it out and slowly ripped it into a thousand tiny pieces.

He didn't come the next day either, and so she simply slept, hoping for her wakeup call to be his hand on her shoulder. But when she awoke it was twilight again, and still no Lucius. She moved to the floor and sat with her back pressed against the wall under the window, waiting.

Just before the room became truly dark, a man appeared from the wall. It was Draco, hair mussed and face dirty. She stood and they simply regarded each other for a while. Then he held out his hand, and she went forward to take it.

"It's over," he said. "The Dark Lord is dead. Father says I'm to take you to Potter. And he said that you are not to ask after him."

In the darkness, she couldn't see Draco's face, but she could imagine it. Hurt, like hers.

They walked through the wall together to face a new dawn.