Disclaimer: I am not at all affiliated with J.K. Rowling or Warner Bros.

A/N: This story will not be a blockbuster romance or very sexual. Instead, it will be an exploration of the real struggles Hermione must deal with as a result of traumatic events and how she and Narcissa help each other to the end.

Trigger Warnings: Imprisonment, self-harm, mentioned torture

Ever since the drama that unfolded during her first year, Hermione's suspicion that she was speeding towards an imminent catastrophe only grew over time. As she huddled now on the stone floor of the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, she couldn't help but feel that this was it. She was well and thoroughly trapped in the enemy's den with practically no hope of escape. However, this grim reality stirred no panic or fear in Hermione; rather, she felt quite at peace, satisfied that her intuition had proven correct and disaster had finally struck.

Or maybe she was still in shock.

How long had she been in this dungeon? Was it even a dungeon, or perhaps a cellar? It was too dark to tell, and she couldn't feel anything other than stone around her. What kind of house actually had a dungeon in it anyway?

The Malfoy's would.

Her surroundings brightened by a fragment and Hermione held her breath at the sound of shoes upon stone followed by the swish of robes. She hoped that whoever was approaching wouldn't demand too much of her; she didn't have the energy for it.

Following a startlingly feminine grunt of frustration, the dungeon illuminated. The light of the Lumos struck her dilated eyes and she was blinded, quickly pinching her eyes shut in pain. It was a rather sad reminder of her situation—even light was too much for her.

"Sorry," Narcissa sounded as though she knew she probably shouldn't be apologising to a prisoner, but had realised it a moment too late. When Hermione's tired irises finally adjusted and she looked at the woman, she saw her lips pressed together tightly.

"I have brought you food," she informed her frankly. The aristocratic tones which had been so carefully groomed into her speech sounded raw and flat. Vaguely, Hermione wondered why this position of feeding the prisoner wasn't beneath this lady of the manor. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Narcissa knelt to the stone floor and slid the meagre tray through a little slot in the bars that Hermione hadn't noticed. She didn't even bother to look at the food; she knew it would be a pathetic excuse for nourishment. Her eyes followed Narcissa instead, watching as she stood.

Hermione stared at her and Narcissa stared back with a steely gaze for a hard moment before turning and heading back up the stairs, shutting the heavy door shut and submerging Hermione in darkness once again.

Instantly, Hermione missed the light. She couldn't see anything and suddenly wished she'd moved closer to the food when she could still see it. Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, Hermione crawled across the rough stone floor, slowly sweeping an arm out in front of her to try and find where the tray was. She headed in the direction she remembered it being, but the darkness quickly became disorienting and after a few moments she couldn't remember which way she was facing.

She slowed, sat back on her heels and reached an arm up to push some hair behind her ear.

Her hand encountered a goblet on the way up, and the clatter rang across the dingy cell. Hermione flinched and swore under her breath, scrambling to grab the cup and right it before she lost all her water—or whatever drink they saw fit to give a Mudblood prisoner.

She could feel cool liquid on her palm as she ran her hands along the floor trying to find the goblet, thrusting it upright when she did. She brought it to her lips and sniffed it. It smelt like nothing. She knew there could be a number of potions, some fatal, waiting for her in this cup, not to mention bacteria. Ingesting this could kill her, or disable her, or force her to yield whatever information Voldemort asked of her. Hermione wasn't sure which one was the more preferable option.

She took a tentative sip.

It tasted like water, with a hint of a bitter aftertaste which suggested they'd left it sitting out for a while. Hermione gulped down what was left in the goblet, savouring every drop and wiping the water on her hand across her face. The coolness was refreshing and helped bring her out of her brain fog.

The "food" she'd been provided with was a stale roll of bread. She picked at it, but couldn't stomach more than a few bites, so she put it back where she remembered the tray being. Satisfied that she'd explored as much as she could, Hermione crept back to her corner and leaned against the wall, sighing and hugging her knees to her chest.

When Narcissa brought her food next, the woman appeared to be trembling. Hermione couldn't tell how long it had been since her last visit, but she knew she had slept and was terribly hungry and dehydrated. Having learned her lesson, she crept toward the slot in the bars where Narcissa pushed the tray through while the woman's wand was still illuminated. Hermione could see a goblet of cloudy water as well as another bit of bread and a rather sad looking apple. Fruit as well this time, she thought. Reward for good behaviour?

"Here is your food," Narcissa said softly, her voice shaking and not bringing herself to meet Hermione's eyes. She looked so feeble, and her wand was trembling in her hand. She had a ragged shawl over her shoulders that looked like it was doing an absolutely rubbish job of keeping the chill away.

Hermione couldn't even remember what it was like to be warm.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She asked more out of instinct; she could never stand seeing others suffering.

Narcissa gave her a startled look, as though she were a frightened animal. Hermione wondered when was the last time someone had taken the woman's welfare into consideration. For a second, Hermione felt empathy for Narcissa Malfoy. She could almost believe that they were both victims of this war.

But then she remembered her haughty behaviour in the past and the despicable actions of her son, and any sort of kindred emotion was extinguished like Narcissa's wand light as she went up the stairs and shut the heavy door behind her.

Hermione reached for her food in the dark, taking a sip of the water before searching for the bread. When her fingers brushed it, she flinched. It was warm. Tentatively, Hermione took it into her hands, in awe of the heat against her flesh. She'd forgotten what it was like not to be shivering from cold.

The bread tasted fresh, soft and moist. It warmed her deeply and for the first time in a very long time, Hermione felt some semblance of satisfaction. She finished her food and curled up in her corner. She hadn't eaten much by any healthy standard, but it was more than she'd had in what felt like forever and she felt tired.

As Hermione drifted off, she wondered what she'd done to deserve the upgrade. She'd hardly been the most cooperative prisoner, refusing to give any information and insulting her captors. Her blood status hadn't magically improved since her last meal. She could only guess that it must have been a mistake; they'd waited so long between feeding her that they'd forgotten what her standard allowance was. She'd probably be punished by their mistake at her next meal and be given an amputated House Elf's arm to eat. Hermione wrinkled her nose at this thought, and directed her thoughts to less gory images, like the colour of Narcissa's eyes, as she fell asleep. It had been so long since she'd been in the company of another that she could barely remember that people could have such interestingly coloured irises….

"Rise and shine, Mudblood!" Bellatrix's shriek rang through the stone dungeon like a banshee's cry. Hermione flinched, jolting awake and immediately becoming aware of the stiffness in her muscles. She sat up slowly, reaching an arm up to massage her shoulder, but a sharp stinging hex dissuaded her.

"Sleep well, Mudblood?" Bellatrix cooed, clinging to the bars and following Hermione with wide eyes. She was practically bouncing with excitement. Hermione only glared at her and rubbed her shoulder, careful not to aggravate the new burn there.

Bellatrix was not impressed and flicked her wand at the prisoner, clumsily forcing her to her feet with the Imperius Curse. Hermione stumbled, aggravated at the loss of control over her own limbs and tried to gather her thoughts. How long had she slept? Three hours? Four? Were they trying to exhaust her into confessing?

"Good job, Mudblood!" Bellatrix clapped childishly and Hermione wished she would just get on with the torture so she could sleep again. She vaguely wondered what Bellatrix had in mind today. Based on the bored looks from the few Death Eaters accompanying her, she guessed it wasn't anything new.

"Now, Mudblood, I'm going to ask you a question very nicely. Do you think you could answer it for me? Hmm?"

Hermione pretended to think, countering Bellatrix's pout with a pensive expression. "Hmm… probably not, no."

Bellatrix's expression turned wild and furious. "Mudblood bitch!" Hermione didn't even flinch at the slurs, and held her ground when Bellatrix tried to reach through the bars to grab at her. "Where is Potter? Where!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and shrugged, thinking of trivial things to distract her from what she knew what was coming next. Sunsets on the beach and skiing in France and watching telly on Saturday mornings and-

"Crucio!"

The light felt like a dagger to her senses and Hermione groaned, trying to cover her eyes with her arm but then whimpering at the pain.

"Sorry," a soft voice said quickly, and the light dimmed. Hermione could barely register the meaning of the words and didn't move when she heard the scraping of her food tray on the floor. She waited for the door to shut and the light to go out, but neither happened. Instead, there was a muttering of a phrase, a hiss of pain, and then Hermione felt a gentle warmth creep its way through her muscles. It soothed her pain, not eliminating it entirely, but bringing it down to a manageable level.

Hermione let out a breath, relaxing into the floor which felt a few degrees softer beneath her body, and fell into a deep sleep as the door clicked shut and she was shrouded in darkness.

When she woke, Hermione felt better rested than she had in ages. There was still a deep ache in her body and she felt horribly grimy and hungry, but she felt what could only be described as a heightened sense of peace within.

She laid there for some time, just breathing, before crawling to the slot in the bars to see if there was any food for her. She'd learned her way around her cell and could easily find the spot without light. Part of that was worrying, as it indicated that she had been here for quite some time, but Hermione could only bring herself to be grateful that she had reclaimed some sort of independence. It felt good to not stumble around clueless in the dark anymore.

As she made her way to the tray, Hermione wondered why she was literally handed food in the first place. Why not have a House Elf give it to her? Or just magic it into her cell? Surely the lack of human interaction would drive the prisoners even madder in this dungeon? To have it delivered by someone, and by the mistress of the manor, no less, seemed uncharacteristically benevolent of these blood-thirsty terrorists.

It's for the control, she realised. To demonstrate that every element of your survival is dependent on your captors. Hermione's lip curled in distaste. She didn't like this sudden realisation. Just when she was starting to adjust to her new situation, it seemed something popped up to make it worse.

Pushing these thoughts from her mind, she swept her hand over the floor a few times until her fingers found the tray. Hermione was surprised to find it was warm again—and still warm, after however long it had been sitting here. Curious, Hermione picked up the bread and found it heavier than usual. Slowly, she pulled it apart and felt something cool fall into her palm. It had clearly been placed inside with care, considering that the bread was hot and this object obviously had a cooling charm to stop it from melting. It was smooth, and when she brought it to her nose, it smelt sweet. She pressed it to her lips and nearly moaned when she was met by the taste of chocolate. After her senses had known nothing but darkness, cold and pain, the sweetness felt like being reawakened.

She ate it slowly, taking small bites between her hot bread and crisp apple. It almost tasted like a complete dish when she combined their flavours; a gourmet dessert that was horribly out of place in a prison. When she was finished, Hermione returned to her corner and was met with another surprise: she definitely had not been imagining the softness of the stone, it was much more comfortable than the rest of the floor. Well, comfortable for a stone, at least. It gave just a little bit as she pressed on it, as though someone had attempted a cushioning charm in spite of the wards on the materials that prevented them from being altered by magic.

Hermione was dumbstruck. It was undeniable, now: Narcissa was trying to help her. The meals that became more generous with each tray, enchanting the ground she slept on, and Hermione suspected she'd administered a few healing spells. She sat there, staring into the darkness, trying to make sense of this. Her mind couldn't work it out.

As if on cue, the door opened and a dim golden light drifted down to the dungeon. Hermione held her breath as Narcissa descended, the sound of her robes against the steps and her shoes on the floor sounded louder than usual, like Hermione was hypersensitive to the lady's movements. Hermione stayed still, her heart thrumming as Narcissa approached. It seemed downright stupid that the one person who had showed her any kindness made Hermione more anxious than the team of Death Eaters who came to torture her.

Narcissa crouched to take the empty tray, but startled when she saw Hermione watching her. "You are awake," she said, surprised.

"Yeah," Hermione confirmed needlessly, creeping toward the bars. "I slept awhile." Hermione had no idea why she was saying this.

Narcissa looked down, as though in shame, and pulled the tray towards her to pick it up.

"You've hurt your hand," Hermione commented suddenly, spotting the cut on the back of Narcissa's hand as it peeked out from under her shawl to pick up the tray.

"You were in pain," Narcissa muttered, not meeting Hermione's eyes.

"What?"

Narcissa whispered quickly. "I needed an excuse in the event that they checked my wand."

She took the tray and stood quickly, moving to the stairs. Hermione grabbed the bars, pulling herself up to her knees and desperately whispering, "You're helping me! Why?" but Narcissa pretended not to hear and hurried up through the door, leaving Hermione alone in the dark.