Author's Note

Years ago, I wrote a story called "Tale as Old as Time". It was one of my most popular stories, but around 10 chapters in, I got lost. The entire thing just fell quality wise, and I gave up on it. Now, I have found the time to really plan it, develop it, and fill out previous gaps.

I hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimer:

If you recognize it, I don't own it. All segments in italics in this Chapter are direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It is the work of JK Rowling.

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," said Bellatrix sharply. "All except. . . . except for the Mudblood."

Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.

"No!" shouted Ron. "You can have me, keep me!" Bellatrix hit him across the face: the blow echoed around the room.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," she said. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet."

Hermione held her breath, the dead silence of the large Manor meant that even the small whoosh of her breathing sounded loud. Her shoes were already in her hand to prevent the sound of the soles scuffing against the hard bristles of carpet from echoing like it had. Her other hand remained in her pocket, fingering the muggle-made ballpoint pen that in minutes would activate and hopefully send her back to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, with the package in tow.

She felt naked without her wand on her person. It was sitting safely with Harry back at Headquarters, where it wouldn't set off magical alarms in the Manor.

She threw Greyback's wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket, slowly reaching her arm out until she felt the wood panelling that lined the corridor she was going down. She was almost there, the wall was cold to the touch, even with the warming spell she could sense put around the entire Manor. Her foot took it's next step, expecting the carpet to once again poke into the skin of her foot when it was met with ice cold stone. A chill swept up her body, causing Hermione's body to shiver.

This was it, she had made it to the dungeon.

Walking slower now, she carefully went down the stone steps that led to the Manor cellar- or rather their dungeon. Her toes were growing numb from the freezing cold temperature that radiated from the ground. She could have sworn she heard the thumping of her own heart. The pounding of it was a constant ringing in her ears. Finally a dim light could be seen. Barely enough, to make her see the iron bars of the door one step ahead of her.

"HERMIONE!"

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

Tears stung her eyes, Bellatrix weight on top of her making it hard to breathe. The sharp point of a knife began to dig into the flesh of her arm. The sound of Ron's and Harry's screaming echoing in her ears. This was it. This was how she was going to die.

Her fingertips brushed against the iron, knowing that the white hot pain of a ward would not burn her away. Their spy had done what needed to be done, momentarily dropping the Apparition wards so she could appear on the grounds and having removed the ward that prevented anyone but those allowed from Voldemort to open the doors hours ago.

"Ron," she dared to whisper out loud, dropping her shoes to the stone floor.

Her hands gripped the iron bars tightly, her fingers digging into the palm of her hand as they wrapped around it. Silence was the answer she got for one second, two seconds, three seconds.

"H-h-hermione?" A voice croaked from the darkness.

Hermione felt hot tears spill down her cheeks. She pulled on the door, knowing that the scrape of it against the stone would announce to everyone in the Manor that someone was here. It left her with a minute at most to spare.

She blindly rushed into the darkness. A lantern far back in the depth of the cellar, dimly glowed. It was what had left her able to make out the door of the dungeon. Stepping closer to it, she saw a figure huddled near it. Just a circular shape in the void until she got closer.

Her heart leaped in her chest, that was her Ron sitting on the freezing cold floor. But it wasn't him. This person had his signature shock of red hair, but it was darkened to nearly brown under grime even she could see in the dim light. Ron had always been tall and thin, but she was afraid to reach out and touch him because she could see hit bones jutting out under his skin. They hadn't fed him she realized.

She hurried to his side, finding his face looking up at her. It was hard to see each detail of his expression when the lantern glowed so lightly.

"It's going to be okay, Ron," she whispered to him. She reached out to grip each side of his grimy face in her hands. Her shoes had been forgotten outside the door of the dungeon.

She felt Ron nod, his cheek rubbing against the palm of her hand softly. Hermione fumbled with the ballpoint pen in her pocket, pulling it out with a shaky hand. The manor still sounded silent. The silence prickled goosebumps up the skin of her arms. Even with Ron gone, the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters still was always filled with sound. Laughter was sparse but the banging of doors and pans, the stomps of feet, the scrape of unconscious bodies against wood. All of it added together to build a background buzz that she hadn't realized was there until now.

Ron reached out his calloused hands wrapping around her thin wrist. His grip wasn't tight nor sturdy, but there was something reassuring about it in general. He was alive. He was in front of her. They were going to be okay.

She felt her lips pull up into a grim smile, a tightness pulling her chest tighter and tighter until she was almost laughing. Only a minute or so, and the Golden Trio would be united again. The thought made her smile again, bigger this time, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. The image of the three of them huddled together o the floor of the headquarters was still in her mind when she felt it. The image shook, the edges wavering as if a mirage in her own imagination. The smile dropped from her face.

"Oh no," she whispered, not turning around. She knew what was coming.

She was trying to turn her mind into a fort, attempting to put up blocks to keep him out, but it wasn't working. He was stubborn, she could feel his hostility, as he tore through her memories. She felt Ron drop her wrist, and she could hear the footsteps that had made him do it. All the while images from the past few months flew by, Harry writhing on his bed sobbing so loudly she wanted to sob with him, Hagrid holding a bloody arm to his chest, and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the kitchen table silent tears falling down her cheeks. He was seeing it all, and she couldn't set up her walls fast enough to stop him.

"Stop!" She finally shouted.

"You look pathetic, Granger," the aristocratic voice drawled, as her memories finally stopped flashing.

Her eyes finally focused. She could see Ron in front of her now, his features drooping the spark she had seen in his eyes done.

Sucking in a breath, she hastily stuffed the ballpoint pen that would be activating soon into his hand before turning around.

The pointed features of Draco Malfoy glowed in the dungeon, the tip of his wand illuminating him and the three people that stood behind him.

"Malfoy, let us go," she said, forcing her voice not to quiver. She pulled her shoulder back, lifting her chin.

"I don't even know how you got yourself into this bloody place, Granger," he said casually leaning against the dungeon wall.

She spared a glance at the other three Slytherins and noticed how alert they were. They looked almost excited to see her.

Seconds were ticking by, and she knew the Portkey would be activating in less than a minute.

"We have our ways, Malfoy. Consider yourself lucky we came here only for Ron," she bluffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, the smirk on his face faltering. She was silently preparing herself to rush to Ron's side to grab ahold of the Portkey, when she saw Malfoy look behind her. His eyes fell on Ron, and she saw the moment he realized what was their plan.

"You have a portly," he said, pointing his wand in their direction.

Hermione didn't give it a second thought. With ten seconds to go, she knew that if he summoned the portly, her and Ron would probably die here. Not thinking too hard about the fact that there were three other Deatheaters standing in the same room, she flung herself at Malfoy. She barely saw the flicker of astonishment on his face before she crashed into him hard and dragged him down.

"Shit,"

"Acci-"

"Hermione!"

The harsh hit of her body on the stone floor, shook her to her bones. It was jarring, but the distinct pop of a Portkey activation let her body relax. Malfoy's elbow pushed into her stomach, as he untangled himself from her, the sounds of different cusses and almost sobs she realized meshed together around her.

"Draco, they had a portkey! A portkey!" The shrill wails of Pansy Parkinson stood out amongst the other noise.

Hermione was ready to push herself off the ground, when a harsh grip pulled her off the ground and into an upright position.

"Do you have another!" Blaise Zabini snarled at her, his grip on her arm tightening. Hermione looked into his eyes which were looking her over frantically.

"No," she told him simply.

She was stuck there, now going to be a prisoner like Ron was. If she was lucky. Looking at the chaos going on, she could be dead thanks to their fit of anger.

"Accio Portkey," the smooth voice of Theodore Nott caught her attention. Zabini pulled away from her to look her over, the wails of Pansy Parkinson still piercing the room with its echoes.

"Granger, you are far stupider than you think you are," Malfoy drawled, walking up to where she and Zabini stood off.

"And what do you know Malfoy? When was the last time you were seen? You are all sitting in this fancy manor when there is a war going on? People are dying, our classmates are dying, and you get to be the spoiled brat you have always been," she hissed at him.

It was true. None of the young people standing in the dungeon with her had been seen for months, since she had been tortured in the Parlor Room up above. While she and their classmates were risking their lives everyday, watching friends and family die, they had remained safe.

She pulled her arm out of Zabini's grasp, taking a step back from them as Malfoy's eyes flashed with an anger she hadn't even seen in their school days together.

"Shut your mouth, mudblood. You know nothing," Pansy Parkinson had stopped wailing to point her wand at Hermione.

Hermione blinked in surprise, Pansy walked up to her with her wand pointed, tear marks staining her makeup. The word mudblood no longer bothered her, no way it could be thrown at her now could compare to the bright red scar that marked her arm now underneath her jumper.

What surprised Hermione was the anger that was radiating from pug-faced Pansy Parkinson, the shrill annoying vapid girl that walked the corridor's of Hogwarts as if she had owned it. While the wails before had thrown Hermione back to the days of Parkinson's height of immaturity, there was something undeniably older about her.

"You don't have your wand, Granger," Theodore Nott interrupted her before she had even gotten a word out.

Hermione actually shut her mouth that time. She had forgotten up until then that she was unarmed then. By now the other members of the Order of the Phoenix would have realized it as well she hoped. She didn't have her wand on her, she was left to the whims of Deatheater's that had hated her at school, and she was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

"How does it feel mudblood, to be without your magic?" Pansy asked, a sneer marring her what could have been called pretty now features.

"Now you are just like you were always meant to be, no better than a muggle," the young woman continued, pushing the tip of her wand into the Hermione's collarbone.

"Enough Pansy," Malfoy finally said.

Hermione turned her head to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him casually as if she wasn't unarmed and probably soon to be murdered.

"Take her upstairs, put her next to Pansy. We have a lot to discuss before dinner," Malfoy commanded, looking at Nott.

Hermione's eyebrows nearly flew into her hairline. They weren't killing her yet, and they weren't even keeping her in the dungeons like they had done to Ron. She could come across something more helpful in the room upstairs, so she stopped herself from snarling at the fact that they were talking about her like she wasn't in the room. She would find a way to escape while they were off discussing her fate more than likely and having dinner.

"But Draco-" Pansy began.

"Enough. My mother would have my head if she knew we were leaving a girl down here. She'll stay in the room next to yours. We'll ward it so she won't be able to leave," Malfoy said, before turning to leave the room.

Hermione once again stopped herself from letting loose a comment about how Malfoy was still a child listening to his mother, but knew it would only be against her own-self interest.

"But Granger?" He stopped a few steps from the door to the dungeon. He looked over his shoulder, his pointed chin jutting out with haughty pride. Their eyes met, and Hermione could see rage in his steel gray ones.

"Don't push me. You're going to be the best treated prisoner the Malfoy Manor has ever been home to, if you do anything stupid as you dunderheaded Gyffindors are prone to do, I will throw you back down here to starve like your precious Weasel was," he said, never taking his eyes off her.

Hermione gulped but didn't look away. She wouldn't be scared by a spoiled brat who had taken the Mark at such a young age. He was evil and disgusting, and in the end his side would lose. This she was sure of.

"Are you expecting me to fall to my knees and kiss your shoes out of gratitude, Malfoy?" She breathed out before she could filter herself.

She saw a smirk curl up his lip before he answered.

"Perhaps later on I will Granger, an Imperious curse may make you far more agreeable than you are now," he said as he finally left the dungeon.

The weight of his words settled on her, the idea of being a puppet to his every whim leaving her inwardly shaken. On the outside, she refused to show weakness. As Theodore Nott gave her a sympathetic look before grabbing her by the arm and leading her out of the dungeon, she reminded herself of who she was. She was Hermione Jean Granger, the smartest witch of her age. She had faced werewolves, traitors, and Voldemort himself since she was a child. The self-proclaimed prince of Slytherin was nothing compared to them. He wouldn't break her, she would make sure of it.

Author's Note

Well there you have it. The first Chapter. I'm working to keep both Draco and Hermione in character without leaving them completely unchanged by the war. This is one of my favorite stories that I've ever done, and I'm excited to share the rest with you. I am planning on posting chapters one or twice a week. More than likely on Monday and Fridays.

Let me know what your favorite thing about Hermione Granger is when you review and be sure to follow the story to get notified about when it updates.

My favorite thing about Hermione is the fact that she never loses her know-it-all trait throughout the series. She still holds the same flaws she did from the beginning only evolving them with age like everyone does.