Author's Note: Welcome to the first chapter of my new fic, Loving Darkness! I am quite excited about it at the moment, and I'm hoping for some reviews, constructive criticism, and whatnot from you Lovelies! Of course, I am no J.K. Rowling but I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. -CC

Deserving

He was back. Her worry disappeared replaced by fear, palpable fear. He was always so angry; so hurt, when he came home from the inductions. He would be in blind rage, eaten alive by demons haunting enough to make her frightened without even seeing them; without knowing them. She had seen what they did to him though; changed him, devastated him, and tortured him to his split soul. Once he'd burst in yelling incoherently, claiming his death was upon him. He began beating himself against his walls, bloodying his hands and lips; creating purple bruises wherever his flesh made contact with stone. It wasn't until he was forced a dreamless sleep potion that he ceased, fell to the floor and slept.

This was why the war had been lost, the reason the last shreds of hope had shattered. They had underestimated the Dark Lord, his evil was unimaginable and they as the silly teenagers they had been actually believed it would be as simple as a killing curse. That was death to an ordinary wizard, but Voldemort was no ordinary wizard, he wasn't human either. Dumbledore hadn't even known. The only people who knew where those still here, deatheaters like Master Malfoy and slaves like herself. Harry had been killed instantly, and in the mass chaos she and Ron were blinded by a curse she hadn't even seen coming. When she gained her sight back, she was alone in a cell and could only assume Ron was dead. Weeks later; she couldn't tell exactly how many as she spent much of the time unconscious, she was half dragged to Malfoy Manor with no explanation. A draught of some sort, a healing potion she assumed, was the first kindness she'd received in a very long time, and then she saw no more.

From then on she worked for her keep, but much of the time she was left to her own devices and even allowed in the expansive library. Hermione led a nearly adequate existence. She did exist and that was more than she could say for hundreds of others.

The door crashed open with the clang of a metal knob against a flagstone and there stood a crazed Draco Malfoy, looking to be in a wild panic; as if he were stuck on the tracks as a train barreled toward him. She hadn't ever been a witness to eyes so disturbing in all her life, or to a man so violently uncontrolled. He leaned forward on his toes as if ready to charge on all fours, much like a werewolf waiting to shift into its inhuman form. His silvery eyes were dilated and unseeing, and the sheen of sweat glossed his twitching facial features.

She whimpered, terribly alarmed and unsure of what to do. At this emission of sound he seemed to realize he was not alone and calmed slightly, straightening and breathing in arduous pulls. He closed his eyes and groaned in a low mournful pitch followed by a perilous sway. Hermione gathered her crushed bravery and took a diminutive step toward him to gauge his reaction. He did nothing but close his eyes once more. She stepped again and outstretched her arms incase the need to catch him arose. Then he did something she did not expect; he fell purposely into her, too exhausted to go any farther with his trembling body and he began to weep as only a man deeply wounded could. She made it to the mattress and laid him down. Hermione tried to go for the medicine cabinet hoping to find something that would knock him out, but he grasped her arm firmly immobilizing her.

"I can stop the pain." She said shakily wondering if he could understand her at all. He appeared to, but only shook his head gripping her tighter as another wave of agony hit him full force. She watched in terror as his muscles contracted and his eyes went, if possible, even more demented. His irises were still like stagnant water, and then vanished beneath his eyelids. He was somewhere else. Draco was quiet for barely more than a minute before he began to scream, a saber piercing into the sick silence.

"HERMIONE," he cried in desperation before coming back to reality. She was petrified. Why would he say her name? He'd never said her name.

"I can stop the pain." That was all she knew to do, to tell him, to try to make his anguish end. Draco refused her again with a small turn of his no doubt throbbing head. She winced as his fingers strengthened their hold on her once again. This time he called out for mercy saying "please" repeatedly each appeal getting milder until his mind was back in the present. "Please, I can stop it," Hermione begged practically crying herself. She was frantic. "Please let me stop the pain!" She raised her tremulous voice.

"No," he hissed through clenched teeth grimacing.

"Please!" She implored losing control of her tears. She'd never cried from pure fright since the night that she'd seen the Dark Lord's face for the first time, but she'd be damned if she wasn't now. "Don't do this to yourself!" Hermione tried to wrench her arm away from him, but when she couldn't she lunged for his wand in his cloak.

"You forget your place, Granger." His voice was weak but stern and edged. "I own you and you will do as I say, make no mistake of that." His breathing became laborious as if speaking were a great exercise. Another bout of torture began and his nails dug into her flesh. He howled and screeched, a horrifying sound, but this time he didn't cry for anyone or anything.

She was in heaving sobs when he came about again. "Please, let me take it away." She was so afraid that she was in the presence of a possessed man, or worse, a dying man. She couldn't take anymore dying.

"Have you thought that maybe I want the pain, Granger? That maybe, I deserve it?" He laid in his bed, sweating and deteriorating from the inside out second by second; allowing everything dark to wreak havoc upon him. Why couldn't he just take a potion? Why? Couldn't he tell she'd seen this before? Seen the darkness take over and strip a person of life? She'd seen people willingly kill themselves because of it! She couldn't handle it anymore, not again.

"No one deserves this," she replied in a watery voice as meek as could be. She was shocked when she felt his fingers actually caressing her hand instead of clawing. They traveled down her lined palm and clasped her frail digits comfortingly, rubbing his thumb in circles.

"You're wrong." He spoke softer now, but not by his own will. She could nearly see the life slipping out of him. "One day I will tell you a story," he cringed "…and you will hate me."

"No, I won't hate you." She felt like a mother who was coaxing a confession out of her child. He did not speak again and those were the last words he heard before dropping into a tormented sleep, his hand still around hers. She wondered vaguely what it all meant, what was happening, but it wasn't long before her head dropped and she was asleep kneeling against her master's mattress.