Song Suggestion: I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME- "Choke"

A/N: I know, I know, I need to be working on my other story. But I have less writer's block when I have two going at once. And I just had to get this plot bunny out of my head.

Warning: This story will contain death, coercion, dubious consent, and torture. It's an AU Voldie wins, so obviously its pretty dark.

Caged

Looming Insanity

Draco

Present Day – Five years after Hogwarts battle

Two thousand seven-hundred and two: that was the number of pinpricks in the small white tile above his head. There were thirty-six tiles in all. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and heir to a fortune, had been reduced to this—sitting in a cramped cell and counting.

His small prison consisted of a cot with a lumpy mattress that smelled of old vomit, a sink with a leaky faucet, a shower head connected to the wall with a copper pipe, and a muggle toilet that flushed like magic.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The faucet's rhythm never changed, and his mind created static melodies to ward off the insanity it wanted to create.

It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch.

It had been three months since his capture. Three months of complete and utter misery. The boredom nearly killed him. His prone position never changed, except when necessary.

He performed his daily routine with efficiency: wake up, go to the bathroom, exercise, eat gruel, brush his teeth, exercise again, and then lie back down. He repeated this pattern three times and then would fall into a fitful sleep, only to wake up the next morning and start the whole empty process again. If he'd been a normal man, he'd be stark raving mad.

But Draco Malfoy was no ordinary man. The strength of his ancestors flowed through his veins. Pure magic thumped his heart, giving him strength and focus. However, despite everything, his sanity teetered on the brink. The edge was in sight. Any day now he would fall, and she would win. He didn't even have the motivation to sneer at that.

He kept counting: two-thousand three-hundred and five, two-thousand three-hundred and six. Numbers had become his friends in this sick, demented existence.

It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch.

Of course, it hadn't always been this way. At the beginning, he refused to be quiet. He stomped around, tried to find an escape, screamed his discontent, but as the days passed by his movements slowed and voice lowered. His mind unraveled, until all that was left were numbers.

He had turned into something pathetic. If he ever escaped, he'd kill her, removing one body part at a time, until she was in a million pieces.

One million, the number soothed him.

He heard a cough to his left, but he didn't move. The scientists (that's what she had called them) sat at long tables in their white overcoats and odd-looking bifocals over bubbling potions. He wasn't sure what information they sought or obtained. Nevertheless, they continued for most of the day, scribbling in their crisp, white notebooks and clicking on something she had called a computer.

It was all her bloody fault, the stupid bitch.

Glass replaced one of his cell walls reinforced with powerful wards. Her wards. There was no privacy for him. At first it embarrassed him. His cheeks had burned with shame as he sat on the toilet or showered in front of other people, but as time went on, he cared less and less. In fact, most of the time he was vulgar on purpose. Anything to break up the monotony.

The glass wall was unbreakable. He tried pounding, but with nothing to throw at it, and no wand, his fists were useless. Even his bed was bolted into the ground, screws sticking the metal frame into the cold concrete beneath it. That amused him at first. Why the hell would he want to move a bed?

Now he understood. As the madness inched closer, he wanted to fling the hunk of metal into the stupid glass. Anything to prevent this boredom.

Tap, tap, tap. The glass vibrated as a finger struck it to get his attention.

He tried to ignore her, but his hate wouldn't let him. As pathetic as it was, she was his existence right now.

Tap, tap, tap. The incessant noise continued, the sound matching the annoying drip of the faucet.

His head turned, ignoring her prying gaze as he lifted himself up and out of his bed. His back cracked and creaked with the effort, not used to the exertion. Every day it seemed to require more effort just to rise from the stupid, lumpy cot.

His gaze found her brown eyes, and the clash sent a wave of hate over him. The negative feeling purified him, sending chills down his arm and leaving his mind buzzing.

"How was your day?" Hermione Granger asked.

His irritation spiked. She knew exactly how his day went. It was empty, just like every other bloody pointless day. The fire in his soul crackled with renewed life. Their interactions always started like this: she'd come in pleasant, the type of girl who tried to free house elves, but she always left cold.

He followed her movements like a predator, having discovered in the past month that silence unraveled people faster than throwing insults. It unnerved her, he could tell, because a flush spread up her neck to her cheeks.

"I've decided I will reward you for the good behavior you've been displaying these last few weeks," she kept blabbering.

That statement, much to his horror, filled him with joy. A reward meant something to do.

He walked forward until his boots touched the glass, towering over her. It was amazing such a small thing had become the bane of his existence.

Her curls cascaded down her back over her black uniform, face smudged with dirt, and her clothing had rips, mud caking her pants. She had gone on a night mission. Despite wanting to tear her into pieces, he couldn't ignore how her outfit clung to every fucking curve.

And it was a problem because he wanted to kill her just as strongly as he wanted to fuck her, and the thought made him want to rage as it always had. His restless sleep often was the result of dreams of her legs wrapped around him, mouth open in ecstasy, his hands around her throat as he buried himself inside her and squeezed the life out of her.

"But first, you need to give me something," she said.

He rolled his eyes. This was more like it. He knew there would be a catch.

"Going to ask for my eternal soul?" His voice grated with the effort. "I'm afraid I lost it long ago."

The side of her eye twitched.

"You can only walk out those doors as soon as you give us valuable information to help our cause." Her delicate hands pointed to the giant double doors that led out of the enclosure.

The hope the thought brought left him in physical pain. He knew what they wanted, and he had almost caved plenty of times. Somehow the words couldn't leave his lips. He wasn't a stupid man. The move would just ensure his death, for as soon as he exited this domain he would be hunted by both sides of the war. It was in his self-interest to keep his mouth shut. Growing up in a house full of snakes taught a person quick lessons on survival.

"I've already told you everything I know," he said.

She huffed in irritation. Days of this same conversation were annoying her too.

"I don't know why you think I will fall for that lie. The little information you provided led us nowhere. I know there is something bigger happening. There's been whisperings of it for the past six months."

She said this with her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring in anger. She hated him sometimes just as much he hated her. The only reason he was still alive was because of his position in the inner circle, their shared history, and because of her do-gooder nature.

He glanced back at the huge doors with longing.

"I don't know anything else."

She gave a muffled groan in irritation, stomping over to a table. She leaned over the wooden piece of furniture taking in deep breaths. When she turned back around her face was back into an irritating, gentle smile.

"You'll tell me eventually," she said, as if to reassure herself or the scientists murmuring in the corner. "We inch closer every day to victory. With the melding of muggle technology and innovation, you should be worried we'll win before-"

"No, bitch, I'm not worried." He rolled his shoulders. "But you should be. The Dark Lord will end you, just like he slaughtered the Order of the Phoenix, just like he killed Scarhead, and just like he tore into pieces your Weasel of a boyfriend."

She stepped back as if the words struck something inside her. Today she must be vulnerable because usually it took more than that to bother her.

Draco continued, enjoying this turn of events, "I'm surprised your little ragtag army of mudbloods and muggles lasted this long. You're an annoyance to the Dark Lord. A bee sting… no an ant bite. Something to swat away."

Her face scrunched into an unidentifiable expression before smoothing out into a mask of indifference.

"Well, he is a fool to underestimate me, just like you were."

Her words made him bristle. Yes, he had underestimated her, but he would never admit that to her face.

She placed her hand to the glass. "It seems I need to help you remember. I really wanted to give you a reward, but I see you're still being stubborn as ever."

His heart plummeted. No reward in his broken state meant certain insanity. He wouldn't last another two weeks let alone longer. He placed his hands to the glass, pressing his nose against the coldness. Then he gave a low scream, bringing his hand into a fist and banged it into the glass. It shook but didn't break. It would never fucking break.

She didn't flinch.

"I'm afraid I have to turn to drastic measures for your own sake. For the next week, you'll reside in darkness. No living soul will be allowed to talk to you besides me. If you feel the need to break down and give us the information, then just wave to the camera over there."

She pointed to a black thing in the corner.

In a rage, he stormed across the room and ripped his mattress off his bed. He bellowed like a rabid animal, chest heaving.

With a small motion from Granger all the scientists exited the room, leaving only the fucking Mudblood to stare at him. He stopped and seethed, trying to kill her with his eyes.

She had the audacity to give a look of pity, before turning to leave. As if she forgot something, she turned back around to face him.

"Oh, and Malfoy"

"Yes", he answered with clenched teeth.

"Have fun sleeping on the ground."

With a flick of her wrist, his bed disappeared.

The added punishment was personal, from her to him. For taunting her about Potty and the Weasel. She acted like she pitied him, but he knew a small part of her enjoyed this power reversal.

She walked out of the double doors, slamming them behind her. The lamps flickered out, leaving Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and heir to a fortune, in complete darkness.

He had no people to hate in this darkness, no numbers to soothe him, only a looming certainty of insanity.

He glared at where the black box was, hoping she could still hear him. The muggle device struck him as clever. Though, as he found out while trapped in the cell, many things the muggles did were clever.

"If I get out of here Granger, I'm going to smash your brains out. Do you hear me? I'm going to make it hurt."

Now trapped in the darkness, he only had his twisted memories to accompany him. He sat on the cold ground and imagined what he'd do when he escaped and had Granger in his grasp.

It was all her fault, the stupid bitch.