"Hermione." says a soft voice filled with warmth and love. A hand caresses my cheek and almost like a reflex, I flinch away from the hand, and sharply wake up.

But it's not him. It's Ronald. My Ron, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Malfoy is gone; it's just him and I, alone. His blue eyes crease, as he grins widely at my face, which probably has a look of confusion and astonishment.

"It's all over now, my love."

My love? Is this real?

I sit up and assess the room properly, because it can't really be over can it? Could this really be true? And then tears begin to flood my vision, blurring Ron's face slightly, but I can make out that he's leaning in to wrap me in his arms. Oh no. I'm not ready for that just yet. I back away from him slightly, and rub my salt water eyes. I can see everything clearer now. I see his face fall, so I smile apologetically.

"Sorry, it's just...", I trail off unable to explain my strange reaction.

"What's the matter? Have I done something wrong?" he asked pleadingly.

"It's just...I'm different. Different from how I was before..." not meeting his deep blue gaze.

"What do you mean?" he persists. And those eyes, my God those eyes, so beseeching, I put my head in my hands to avoid looking at him entirely.

"I'm not good anymore. Malfoy...he changed me. He made me do something terrible, he made me bad."

"I still love you all the same darling."

"You wouldn't if you knew..."

"Knew what Hermione? You're starting to scare me." His voice full of concern.

"I...we-" I spluttered.

He sat there patiently, waiting for me to continue.

"Herapedme." I blurted, and I looked up from my hands to see if he understood what I said.

I saw a look of comprehension flash on his face, and quickly form into a stormy expression.

"Ron, I tried to stop him, but he...he tied me up. I couldn't do anything in the end...I tried. I tried so hard, you can't even imagine how hard I tried." I pleaded with him, trying to calm him.

"Not hard enough evidently." He spat viciously.

"Ron please, you have to believe me, I didn't want to. You know Malfoy. Once he sets his mind to do something there's no stopping him. Harry was right all along about him; he really is bad to the bone."

He shook his head, his red hair his eyes full of hate, full of hate for me.

"Don't try to divert the conversation. You whore'd around with Malfoy, and there's no use trying to change the subject in a feeble attempt to make me forget. Because I'll never forget, and I'll never for give you!"

I woke with a start, shaking and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. My mind was still swimming of the incensed image of Ron. It wasn't my Ron, it was just a dream.

My eyes began to sting and well up. I was beginning to forget what he looked like. My God, I miss him. Tears filled my eyes, ready to spill at any moment. Don't you dare cry. You need to calm down. I berated myself, it was just a dream, a succession of images, and random scenarios. Would Ron really act like that towards me in reality? I wouldn't know. Who's to say that the Ron I knew before my capture is the same Ron now. It's been so long since I saw him last, I've probably been here for months now, or at least it feels that way. Time goes fast when you spend most of it unconscious.

I gave a searching glance around the room, only to discover a sleeping Malfoy slumped in an armchair in the corner of the room. His pale pointed features were pulled into a grimace. It amused be slightly to see this. Aren't people supposed to look peaceful when they sleep? Malfoy looked as though something unpleasant smelling was shoved up his nose. It was a sobering reminder that Malfoy isn't capable of anything that doesn't require strife or dissension. All that he knows is brute force and cold hatred.

He taught me this when I first arrived here. A flash of memories flooded my mind:

The sound of a zipper being pulled down. He stood up to pull off the trousers he was wearing...

Pain, centuries of pain...

Malfoy was hovering above me, his face glistening with sweat, and his hands on either side of me.

Oh Ron, my darling Ron, please forgive me. I tried, I really did.

Malfoy stirred slightly in his chair, my eyes flickered nervously to him, my thoughts turning hostile. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. My fingers itched to smother him with a pillow and suffocate him, but the urge to make a run for it was so powerful, so tempting, that without realising I was already on my feet, six paces from the door.

The opportunity for freedom was laid out so perfectly. Bids to escape scarcely arose for me: I couldn't resist another chance.

I cautiously crept to the door, my eyes on Malfoy the whole time, my hand a stretch away- and then my opportunity was snatched from me, as long pallid fingers wrap around my wrist. My arm is twisted behind me in an awkward angle, the searing pain I experience due to the severe torturing I'd previously received, is amplified as it twists to an unnatural degree. Malfoy's body presses closely to mine as he whispers sinisterly in my ear.

"If you want to keep the bones in your arm unbroken, then I suggest you avoid trying anything like that in the future."

I hissed as he continued to increase the pressure on my contorted arm.

"Understood?"

"Y-yes" I spluttered.

"Good girl." He muttered patronisingly

"Now sit down on the bed."

He released me and I spun around and hastily walked back to the bed, I felt a hard gaze from him following me. I sat down on the bed and threw my head in my hands, trying with all my might not to cry in front of Malfoy. I still have some pride within me, despite what he's done to try and break it. Yet another chance to break out of here has gone. Will I ever leave this place, or is this where I am to die? If so then why by some odd stroke of fate am I still breathing? Why hasn't the skin on my body, rotted to reveal skeleton and decaying tissue? Why can't my body fail me when Malfoy has given it ample opportunity to do so? The sound of quiet footsteps grew close towards me. I lifted my head only to face Mafoy's tall figure. I met his angry eyes, but quickly dropped my gaze to the floor.

"You know even if you managed to get out into the front gardens, you'd immediately be hit with various hexes and stunning spells. Besides that, the door is locked."

I'd figured as much, but the idea of being hexed into oblivion was a lot more appealing then spending the rest of my days here. I'd much rather die than be held in this house any longer.

There was a pregnant pause, and I braved looking at him again, his nose was scrunched up, like how it was when he was sleeping.

"You should get washed and dressed. Your clothes are as filthy as your blood."

It was then I noticed a door that hadn't been present last time I was conscious.

"I had the house elves attach a bathroom, to this room." He said as though reading my thoughts

"There will be a change of clothes, so you can throw those rags in the bin." He added maliciously.

He brought my attention to my dress, which was once a vivid gryffindor red, had now taken on a brownish hue, and was littered with dark splotches of my blood. I suddenly felt self conscious, under his critical stare. Stop looking at me, please. I opened my mouth to retort to what he'd said to me. You're the reason I look like this. This is your fault.

However I found I couldn't bring myself to talk, so I remained silent, mute.

I acknowledged that I'd heard him by throwing him a vicious glare as I stood up and made my way to the next room, but he didn't see this; his attention was preoccupied with a book.

I despise you. I despise you. I despise you.

I slammed the door as if to punctuate my loathing for him, and I bolted it shut. Ha. Try and get me now. As an extra precaution I grabbed a towel from a pile on a shelving unit, and hung it over the doorknob, covering the keyhole and comforting me that Malfoy wouldn't be able to get a look at me, through it.

Once I felt safe and secure, I took a good look around the bathroom. But it wasn't a bathroom. It was a sodding living room; the bathroom was three times bigger than my bedroom at home, (stop thinking about that). It was so Malfoy, the walls were covered in small black shiny tiles, and a freestanding claw footed bath, nearly as large as the four poster bed in the other room, stood at the very end of the room, near another door. The other door upon closer inspection held a toilet and a sink. A large silver framed ornate mirror, was hanging next to the shelving unit. I hurried towards the bath, (ignoring my protesting sore muscles), which had surprisingly already been run for me. I undressed and sank my aching body slowly into the deep hot water. Cuts I didn't realise I even had, stung and my whole body revolted against the scalding heat. I didn't mind the pain too much though, it was nothing compared to the cruciatus.

I briefly considered drowning myself, but when it came down to it, my desire to survive, to see the two men I loved the most, to bring down Voldemort and his followers, to make him suffer, was stronger than my desire to give up.

So I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin turned raw and red, I scrubbed until tiny cuts began to appear on my limbs, until I finally rid myself of his touch.

I was finally clean.

I stepped out of the bath feeling as though my head was filled with air, and I stumbled over to the shelving unit, seized a towel and rubbed my skin dry. One of the shelves held underwear, a blouse in a jewel-toned purple, a silk grey pencil skirt, and black robes; an ensemble that was definitely not me. I put on the underwear and quickly strode over to the toilet to relieve my bladder, avoiding looking at the mirror - I wasn't brave enough for that just yet.

Having summoned up enough courage, while I was washing my hands, I walked in front of the mirror covered in a film of condensation, and wiped it away.

Despite the mental preparation I'd earlier given myself, I was completely taken aback. I was considerably thinner, though not as thin as I'd expected myself to be, perhaps the house elves somehow managed to feed me whilst I was unconscious. I would have to remember to thank Feo for that. My middle was a little rounded though; clearly I was a little malnourished. Perhaps they could only feed me limited things...

My face was sallow, and my cheekbones were sunken in. A look of emptiness and defeat had replaced the once fierce and determined look my eyes held. Nobody home. I looked like death warmed up. My hair that was once so voluminous and curly, the hopeless untameable hair, I'd learned to love was now limp and slightly wavy. There were patches of red skin, all over me, which was my own doing I suppose, but there were also unexpected bruises around my hips and waist and the arm he'd twisted. These were his marks he'd left on me. The bruises on my hips and waist were already yellowing. The bruises were fading, and soon there will come a day where his hold on me will fade too, and when that day comes I will destroy him. I'll take away all he holds dear, and all he'll be left with is himself; a monster of a man.

For now, I'll just have to be patient, and bide my time. I have to wait.

I'm this shell, this pitiful cowering shell of myself, I'm not me. I can't even talk to him, thats how pathetic I've become.

I don't even look like me. I noted sadly as I dressed in the clothes provided, and looked at the stranger in the mirror. The severe change in my appearance was more prominent now that I was fully dressed. I felt ridiculous in these clothes, they were too formal and dressy given my circumstances.

Foggy flashbacks filled my mind.

A letter.

My father wants you to join him for dinner.

A key.

A wardrobe holding clothes.

Rage.

Why did Malfoy's father want me to join him for dinner? If he wanted to torture me for Harry's whereabouts, then why did he want to go about it so formally? Was I dressed in this manner with the intention of meeting someone? If I had to see him... Mr Malfoy again then perhaps I should go drown myself while the opportunity still presents itself. He almost killed me during our last...encounter, but not once did he ask me about Harry. And his son could've asked me the whole time I've been held here...

What if I'm here for a whole other reason? Whatever it is, it's bound to be worst than interrogation. Perhaps they are saving me for Voldemort. Maybe he wants the pleasure of killing me himself, and he wouldn't make it quick. I can't go out there. Not if I want to live. And I've recently decided that I want to desperately so. I ran my fingers through my semi-damp hair and caught my reflection in the mirror. There stood a trembling frightened little girl.

"Who are you?" I whispered faintly.

I cleared my head of all of my fears and summoned up the last remains of Gryffindor courage I had left. I walked over to the door, threw off the towel hanging on the doorknob, unlocked it and reentered the bedroom. There Malfoy stood, looking as pretentious and pompous as usual. Ready to hurl some sort of insult about how stupid I look, I expect. The room was cold in comparison to the warm steam air of the bathroom, and the drop in temperature must have resulted in a drop of my blood pressure too, because my feet suddenly feel weak beneath me. My head, sweet Merlin my head, it feels so empty. I took a step towards the bed to lay down but everything was turning horizontal and WHAM, my head connected with the ground and my vision was dimming. Malfoy hadn't even touched me this time so why is this happening.

Oh am I dying? No, I can't be - not when just a while ago I decided I didn't want to.

"Please don't let me die." I whispered to no one in particular.

Malfoy's stupid face was the last thing I saw before darkness once again consumed me.