Nominated for Best Dark Story at the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards Spring-Summer Round 2013. If you could take the time to vote, please go to hpfanficfanpoll . livejournal . com

Thanks!

Written for dramionelovefest, back in February. Very dark, contains mention of rape, f/m/m, torture, and the like. You've been warned.

Promise

Hermione Granger sat in the corner of the small dark room with her arms wrapped around her knees and rocked in place. Memories from the past year flashing through her mind.

How she rang in the new year in Trafalgar Square surrounded by Muggles, trying to hide in the crowd. Managing to avoid detection for three weeks, it wasn't until she missed being around people, that she returned to the square, only to be captured by one of the few living people she hated as much as Lord Voldemort.

Christmas was spent mourning the death of her last reminder of her old life. George and Ginny Weasley were gone. In the aftermath of a heated chase, Ginny had been hit with a well aimed Sectumsempra, losing blood quickly. George had gone mad watching his baby sister slowly die and left the girls in a cave, seeking revenge. When Ginny took her last breath, Hermione held back tears and tried to find George. She had found him at the edge of the forest, laying in the snow, eyes wide open. He was dead.

November was spent freezing and heading north by Apparating from forest to forest out of fear of being caught in the crossfire of a Muggle raid.

How she watched Muggles walk to their deaths on Halloween. Death Eaters used the holiday to trick innocent people to march into haunted houses that were filled with Dark creatures.

Her birthday was spent in the arms of Ronald Weasley, having finally found a place they could stay long enough to enjoy the pleasure of each other. The next day she had to leave, Death Eaters having caught up to their trail, leaving the dead body of her lover behind.

How she spent the summer attempting to raise a resistance against the new regime, only for every attempt to burst into flames. People were threatened into servitude or had family members killed. No one wanted to go against the Dark Lord, valuing the little semblance of life they could muster.

The Final Battle. Lavender. Dennis. Tonks. Remus. Molly. Arthur. Harry. All dead. Her being pulled into the arms of the remaining Weasleys and Disapparating away before she could join her best friend.

How she was tortured by Bellatrix on the stone floor of Malfoy Manor. She had hoped to never grace the building again, but Hermione learned the hard way that you never get what want - especially if you're a Muggle-born.

The joyous music and laughter coming from the floor above only made Hermione fall into a deeper despair. Why she wasn't dead, she didn't know, but sitting in her corner just waiting, wallowing in the past, was slowly killing her.

Ears twitching, she could hear the creak of a door opening on the other side of her cell. In order to avoid the pain, she shut her eyes from the torches igniting in the dingy dungeon.

"You weren't kidding. The Mudblood really is here," a voice drawled.

"Why would I joke about this?" Hermione cringed at the sound of her captor.

"Because Malfoy, you've always wanted her to yourself," another voice responded.

The door to her cell squeaked as they slid it open and Hermione glared at the three men who stood before her.

"Miss me, Mudblood?"

"Why would I miss a ferret?" Hermione spat, pulling her legs closer to her chest; like prey trying to make themselves as small as possible to avoid a predator. The actions didn't help though, as her cheek now stung from being backhanded by the seething person who stood above her.

"Now, is that how to treat your new master?"

"Master?" The two other men - Zabini and Nott - asked as Hermione thought the same thing.

Hermione wanted to shout and scream, but she was just tired. After over a year of running, all she wanted was for it all to end.

"The Dark Lord is gifting her to me as a reward for capturing her. So if you intend to play, better do it now before she's all mine."

"Then we mustn't waste time." Zabini smirked, grabbing Hermione's arm to pull her away from her corner.

"Evanesco," Nott cast, pocketing his wand after Hermione's clothes disappeared. "You won't be needing those anymore.

"You'll need to feed her. She was more fit back in school," Zabini mused, eyeing her thin frame.

And he was right. She can't even remember the last time she had a proper meal. Maybe at Shell Cottage? Her ribs were visible and her arse and breasts weren't as full as they once were, but she still held her head up high, not hiding herself. She won't give them the satisfaction of humiliating her.

"On your hands and knees, Mudblood," her new master commands her, caressing the small of her back.

Of course she ignored the command, just like she tried to ignore the tingle left on her skin in his fingers' wake.

"Crucio." Hermione did not scream, just left her lips open to keep herself from biting her tongue and bleeding. She tried to glare at Zabini, who was unbuckling his belt while pointing his wand in her direction, but all she could do was convulse on the floor, squeaks escaping out of her mouth when the pain became too much.

"Enough!" Malfoy pushed Zabini and swatted the wand away. "I know that you don't have any taste, but I refuse to fuck some brain dead twit."

Hermione was sprawled on the floor, panting, trembling from the recent Torture Curse, when Zabini pulled up by her hair to kneel on the ground.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Zabini sneered, finally freeing his cock from his trousers. "The Dark Lord said we could play, so we're going to play." He pushed her down onto her hands. "If I feel teeth, I don't care what your master says, I'll make Bellatrix's torture seem like child's play."

Hermione wanted to scoff at that. She highly doubted this idiot of a boy could do to her what the mad woman had already done. Yet, she couldn't as Zabini was pressing her jaw open.

She wanted to throw up, especially as the disgusting dick came closer to her lips, but was distracted by the sound of rustling fabric behind her. She knew it was going to hurt, there was no way she was turned on right now, there just wasn't a way. She felt Nott lining himself up with her dry slit, and closed her eyes in preparation for the pain.

"Wet for me? Such a good slut." Nott wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her back onto his dick. Hermione felt no pain, and she was wet, which she wasn't just a moment ago. Before she was blinded by the dark pubic hair of Zabini pulling her mouth down on his cock, she searched the room for the other occupant. Fear gripping her, there was still one person left unaccounted for. There was only one person whose hands weren't busy playing with her body, and that must be the person who would make her wet.

She found Malfoy standing nearby, in the corner she had occupied since her capture, pocketing his wand, misery in his eyes. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of it, but she figured staring at him was better than paying attention to the two men using her as just a hole to fuck.

With every grunt that left Zabini's mouth and every crude phrase from Nott, Malfoy's face fell more. By the time she swallowed Zabini's seed, it looked like Malfoy was about to cry. When she felt Nott release within her, she closed her eyes, barely managing to keep her own tears at bay. She felt magic in her nether region and the mess was gone and her stomach glowed. She gave a watery smile to Malfoy in thanks.

"Eh. I'd give you an Acceptable," Zabini sneered, letting go of her hair and walking out of the cell, leaving the dungeon.

"How you'll enjoy that in the future, I'll never know," Nott spat, pushing her into Malfoy's arms, following his comrade.

Finally letting the tears fall, she tried to hold back the sob wrenching in her throat.

"Shh," Malfoy whispered, holding her close to him, using his hands to rub her back. "Tomorrow you'll be mine, and as long as you're good, you'll never see them or any other Death Eater again."

"Promise?" she cried, resting her forehead on his chest.

"Promise."

And for some reason - maybe it was the fear of being alone, the fear of what else could happen, of death - she believed him.