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Empire of Ants	By : crzydiamond Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 9533 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the franchise. No money is being made from this story

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Hermione had no idea how long she'd been chained in this dungeon.

She thought she'd been there for maybe two months. But it was hard to tell when she was submerged in constant darkness.

Curling into a tight protective ball, Hermione lay on the damp floor and listened to the scurrying of the rats that also lived in her cell. At first she was afraid, that they'd attack her while she was sleeping- she dreamt of their gnashing, sharp teeth and tiny jeweled red eyes that she caught glimpses of in the darkness.

When she first arrived, she explored her cell through touch since light was non existent. When her fingers landed on skin, her heart raced- there was someone else in the cell with her! But as she shook the figure lightly to wake them up she noticed that the skin she was touching was icy cold and the body was stiff. It only took her seconds to realize that they'd left a corpse in there with her.

The smell was unbearable as it began to decompose but Hermione slowly got used to it. She spent two months next to a decaying corpse which the rats feasted upon. Which was why they left her alone.

Hermione was tortured daily. Usually, whipped first thing in the morning by Blaise Zabini until her back was one bleeding gash. Then an interrogation by Antonin Dolohov which always resulted in the same thing- her refusal to give any information and his wand drawn to curse her with a thirty minute long cruciatus.

After Dolohov was Rabastan Lestrange who loved knife play and always cut her up like a piece of meat. He was the most volatile and unpredictable- sometimes he was almost kind, speaking to her as if she was some sort of comrade. Most times he was unbearably cruel, threatening to take her against her will as he carved pictures into her skin. Her night was usually concluded by a visit from a Deatheater she didn't know- he preferred to break her fingers and toes each time she refused to answer his questions, healing and snapping them over and over again.

And then, there was Voldemort. His visits to her cell were scarce but when they happened, Hermione wished for death. He tested new curses on her- ones that simultaneously broke all the joints in the body. Ones that made her bleed from every orifice. Ones that were like flamethrowers and blistered her skin.

She couldn't deny that she wanted to die. After the first month, her resolve had broken. She no longer had any hope. She thought about scratching open her own throat and letting the rats kill her. Voldemort's use for her was waning and she knew it wouldn't be long before he killed her to send a message to Harry. Relief flooded her when she learned that- it'd be over soon.

Hermione cried herself to sleep most times- she always maintained a defiant mask while she was tortured, but the Deatheaters were doing a magnificent job of tearing her down. She'd never betray Harry but that didn't mean she wanted to live either. It was obvious those were her only two choices.

The door opened and she raised her head to see Blaise Zabini, a shadow illuminated by light. So it was another day.

He threw a bucket of icy water on her and while she sputtered to regain her breath, he uncoiled the whip from the folds of his belt, letting the tails drag lightly on the floor.

“Going to talk today Granger?” he asked, almost mockingly.

“You know the answer,” Hermione rasped. Her voice didn't even sound like her own anymore. She sounded almost like an entirely different person.

“Such a Gryffindor.” He paused, his violet eyes glinting in the darkness. “You know Granger, I'd hoped Voldemort would give you to me as a pet- a prize of sorts. But it seems he's determined to kill you. Tonight most likely.”

“Well I'm glad he's going to,” Hermione spat as vehemently as she could. “I'd rather die than be your pet Zabini.”

Anger flickered across his face and with a smooth move of his wrist, the whip cracked across Hermione's back. The pain was intensified since she was soaking wet and bone cold.

“Talk Granger!” he grunted, hitting her again with more force. She didn't know if the noises in her ears were from the whip or her skin splitting beneath its tendrils of leather.

“No!” She gasped through clenched teeth.

He hit her thirty more times until she was a trembling mass of bleeding flesh on the floor. Hermione was sobbing uncontrollably now, pressing her face onto the cool, filthy stones beneath her.

“Talk,” Blaise repeated in a softer tone. “Talk and this will all be over.”

“Kiss my ass Zabini,” she said, her voice almost completely gone from screaming.

“You're testing my patience Granger,” he growled.

Hermione laughed though the movement caused pain to shoot to all nerves in her body. “I'm terribly sorry for that Zabini but I don't. Give. A. Shit.”

A slithering hiss let her know he'd dropped the whip to the ground and in two strides he was across the cell. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head up from the floor, forcing her body to bend like a bow. Hermione cried out in pain. Her right arm was twisted behind her back.

“You need to learn your place mudblood.” He twisted her arm harder and she yelped like a kicked dog. “And I'm more than willing to educate you.”

“I was the one who caught you, you know,” he continued conversationally, pressing his hand hard against the gashes in her back. “How ironic. Draco didn't even bother to warn you when he saw I was behind you. As you were saving his life.”

Hermione gritted her teeth, blinking back fresh tears. She was so stupid- trying to heal Malfoy only to end up here. She should've stepped over him even though she knew...that she wouldn't have been able to do that. It was her choice. And she was paying for it.

“I should take you. See how a mudblood tastes before you're beheaded tonight.”

Hermione panicked trying to claw her way across the floor. He dragged her effortlessly back to his spread legs, kneeling over her like some sort of predator.

“Don't!” she hissed, trembling as his large hands swept the expanse of her bared back. If there was one thing that hadn't been done to her, it was rape. They always suggested it only to remind her that she was too filthy, even for that.

“Oh Granger, I remember you in those uniforms. The thought alone makes me hard. Perhaps I should transfigure you one to get into the mood of old times?”

“I'm a mudblood,” Hermione desperately tried to remind him. “I'm filthy Zabini-”

“Sometimes filthy can taste so good,” he purred in her ear.

Hermione began to fight as hard as she could and she felt her elbow connect with his face. He grunted in pain, holding a hand to his bloodied nose before baring his teeth at her.

The sound resonated through the cell before Hermione registered the pain. In one swift motion, Zabini had whipped her arm backwards and it broke, falling to the floor beside her like dead weight. Her screams bounced off the stone walls and he laughed, a harsh sound that offended her ears.

“I tried Granger,” he said once he finished laughing. “To give you a chance. But you threw it back in my face. I should've known a filthy mudblood would be ungrateful.”

Hermione couldn't speak, hugging her broken arm to her chest. She felt her vision begin to grow hazy and she knew she must be loosing a lot of blood from the wounds on her back. It wouldn't be long- before she bled to death or before she was summoned and killed. It didn't matter either way.

She let out a loud sob as the door slammed shut behind Zabini, leaving her once again in total darkness.

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“Zabini,” Draco said blandly, not looking up from the book he was reading. He usually tried his best to avoid other people and spent most of his days alone. But his former classmate seemed to have an uncanny ability of always finding him in the deepest recesses of the Manor.

“Malfoy.” Blaise sighed, collapsing into an armchair. Draco looked up and saw blood splattered across the other man's face. It didn't surprise him- he was used to it.

“Whose that from?” the blonde asked tonelessly, turning his gaze to the dancing flames in the hearth.

“Hermione Granger,” Blaise answered nonchalantly. He used his wand to clean himself and stretched like a cat.

Draco stiffened and was glad that he was facing the fire or else Blaise would've caught the pained look that twisted his features. “Hermione Granger?”

“Yes.” Even though he was turned around, Draco could tell Blaise was looking at him strangely. “You didn't know that she was in the dungeons?”

Draco gritted his teeth and shook his head, before downing a shot of firewhiskey he'd poured for himself.

“Mate this is your house. How didn't you know?”

“I don't know,” Draco growled irately. How didn't he know? Had no idea that the girl who saved his life was being tortured in his Manor's dungeons?

Blaise shrugged. “She's going to be killed at midnight. Our Lord has grown tired of her disobedience.” He paused, pouring himself some firewhiskey. “Such a pity. I would've loved to have Potter's mudblood as my pet. But she's such a hellcat- though I think we've broken her quite nicely over the past few months”

“I'll never forget that night,” Blaise continued like he was reminiscing. “When we caught her.”

Draco found himself gritting his teeth again. He never wanted to be reminded of that night. The night he became indebted to a mudblood and the night he'd caused her capture.

Silence enveloped the two. Draco felt his body tightening with anticipation. What the hell was he going to do? If he let her die...he couldn't let her die. That wasn't an option. He was tied to her- not only would the life debt rip apart his mind and soul...but for the first time in his life, Draco felt guilty.

He'd never felt guilty before, not when he'd been forced to test the Cruciatus on mudblood school children or when he disemboweled Colin Creevy to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord. But that slip of a girl...she'd stupidly, idiotically showed him a compassion he'd never experienced from anyone. She saved his fucking life and now, he fucking owed her.

Owed her something more than just a life debt. He hated her, more than anything else that existed in his twisted world. He hated how she scrambled to save his life when he would've killed her without a second thought. He hated how she showed him kindness knowing that he was a Deatheater and <i>he</i> was the cause of the deaths of her friends and classmates. He hated how...<i>dirty</i> and fucked up she made him feel when she was worth nothing more than the scum underneath his shoe.

The glass cracked in his hand and Blaise looked at his friend incredulously. “You okay mate?”

“Of course,” Draco breathed heavily through his nose. “Never been better.”

_________________________________________________________________________

The moon was high in the sky. Well at least she imagined it was. She had no windows and consequently, had been deprived of seeing the outside world. Her world was the cell, and the rats that occasionally ran across her feet. And of course, the corpse that was practically a skeleton now, lying in the corner.

Soon it would be over. It would all be over.

Hermione wasn't going to regret dying. No one could say that they wanted to live through the agony she did. No one would say they'd prefer her existence to death.

No she wasn't going to regret it at all.

Just the fact she'd never see the faces of her friends and family again. Never hold Ron's hand. Never taste Mrs. Weasley's Shepherd's pie. Never see the end of this war. But what choice did she have?

The door opened and Hermione didn't look up. She knew what they'd come to get her for.

“Granger.”

She faintly recognized the voice but didn't bother making any connections. It didn't matter anyway.

“Granger!” The voice was more impatient, angry almost.

It was the note of urgency that made Hermione raise her head.

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as she pushed herself backwards towards the wall.

It was Malfoy.

He glanced around the corridor outside before stepping in her cell, locking them inside.

God, she never thought he'd come to torture her. Thought he'd respect the fact that she saved his life enough to never come and taunt her.

He murmured a lumos and for the first time, Hermione saw the cell she was tapped in. It looked exactly how she imagined it. Cold stone walls with moisture dripping down them. A filthy, dirt ridden floor. The gleaming skeleton in the corner that now served as a shelter for the rats, who hissed at the newfound source of light.

“They left a corpse in here with you,” he said. It wasn't a question, more of an observation.

“What're you here to do Malfoy? Taunt me before I die tonight?”

“Shut your bloody mouth and get the hell up.”

When she didn't respond, Draco prowled over to her and roughly grabbed her arm. She cried out in pain as he dragged her to her feet. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment, watching her sway unsteadily before turning her around to survey the open wounds on her back.

“You've lost a lot of blood.”

“Thanks to your friend Zabini,” Hermione said, managing some sarcasm.

Draco abruptly released her and she had to lean against the wall before she collapsed back to the floor. He took out something from his pocket and Hermione could see it was a small snake figurine, almost child like in its structure.

“Its a toy from my childhood,” Draco explained blandly when he saw her stare.

He began to mutter something beneath his breath. Hermione's still sharp mind immediately picked up the words used to create portkeys.

“Malfoy...” Hope filled her chest to the point where she felt she couldn't breath. “Malfoy what're you doing?”

“Returning the favor,” the blonde answered stiffly.

Hermione blinked, feeling the tears on her face before she knew she was crying. “You're...you're going to save me?”

Draco didn't answer, concentrating on getting the last parts of the portkey right. “Where do you want to go?”

She closed her eyes, trying to bring back memories. Grimmauld place. Thats were the Headquarters was since the Burrow had been attacked. She told him quietly and he looked at her strangely for a moment before completing the portkey.

“Malfoy...why?”

“I owe you remember,” he snapped venomously. “And no Malfoy should ever be indebted to a mudblood.”

She managed a weak smile despite his vitriolic tone. But she didn't dare to think she was leaving this place...not yet.

Once the portkey was finished he placed it in her good hand. “Take it and get the hell out of here.”

Hermione bit her lip, looking at the portkey and then back up at Draco. “You know that now I'm going to owe you a life debt?”

“You'll be indebted to me Granger, as you should be. I won't owe you a goddamn thing.”

“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly.

Draco rolled his eyes, annoyance bubbling in his throat. “I'm not doing this to save you. I just couldn't let you die.”

“Either way Malfoy, you chose to.” She paused and then said softly, “Come with me.”

Draco blinked dumbly, not sure he'd heard her correctly. “What?”

“Come with me. Malfoy we can help you. You don't...you don't have to live in this world.”

“You presume I don't like the world I'm living in,” he hissed, his eyes angry slits of molten silver. “You're wrong.”

“Malfoy-” Hermione started again.

“Shut up!” he snarled violently, making her flinch. “I'm tired of your bleeding heart bullshit! You're so naïve that it makes me sick! Even after months of torture, you're still the same stupid bint who got herself into this mess because of that bull shit in the first place!”

Draco's face was twisted in anger and she turned her face to look down at her filthy toes.

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to relieve the tension coiling in his body. “Granger, I chose my side. And I'll die fighting for my side.”

“You will,” Hermione sighed tiredly, slumping against the wall again. “We all will, in the end.”

He watched her for a moment. Studied her and realized how horrible she looked. How different she looked from the day she was kneeling over him in the darkness. She was emaciated and her hair that had once been bushy, was one massive birds next that hung limp and dead around her shoulders. She looked like a wraith. A wraith that would constantly haunt him.

“Say it Granger. Say it.”

She looked at him, with the same eyes she had when she was healing him. He couldn't bear it. He shook her violently and he could hear her teeth clacking together.

“Get the fuck out of my sight! Say it!”

Hermione let out a small choked sob. Then whispered, “Portus.”

In a gust of wind, she was gone.

____________________________________________________________________

Ron was sitting in the drawing room of Grimmauld place, staring intently at the fire. His mind drifted back to what he always thought of. It made his heart clench every time, even after two months. He gritted his teeth, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and looked at Harry. He was sprawled across the couch, also looking at the fireplace with a faraway expression.

“What're we going to do?” Ron said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Harry sighed, throwing an arm across his face. “I wish I knew.”

“I can't stand it. Not knowing.”

“I know.”

“I...never got to say anything.”

There was silence before Harry answered with a soft, “I know.” Suddenly he sat up straight, his body drawn tense and tight. His green eyes were narrowed and focused on the corridor leading to the main entry. “There's someone at the door.”

Instantly, both had their wands drawn. They silently approached the door and they heard a soft knocking. Everyone was asleep so there was no one who should've just arrived at Grimmauld.

Taking deep breaths, Harry threw the door open, a curse ready to leave his lips.

They froze in shock- it felt like the ground had just dropped from beneath their feet.

“Her-Hermione?” Ron questioned brokenly, his voice cracking.

The woman in front of them was thin as a rail, bones apparent underneath her dirty, scarred skin. She was in a filthy gray dress that was torn beyond repair. Wild long hair was plastered over her face from the rainstorm outside. She looked like a ghost, like something not quite real.

Ron reached out slowly, reverently pushing back the wet curtain of hair that was veiling the woman's identity. Her head was tilted down but she looked up to stare at them once her face was cleared. Two familiar brown eyes looked up at them.

“Its about time you two answered the bloody door.”

And then she collapsed on the doorstep.
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Empire of Ants