There Is This and Then There Is Reality

Wasn't it the look that you saw in my eyes

that told you I knew what you'd been through?

-Keri Noble

***

Hermione woke up in what seemed like complete darkness, but after a few seconds she started to see the outlines of the things around her. Her whole body was aching, and as she stirred for the first time she felt a horrible pain shooting up her left arm. She looked down at her arm and could see a deep gash running from a little above the elbow and down almost to her wrist. The wound was still bleeding and was filled with dirt from the filthy floor she had been lying on.

That's going to get infected, she thought numbly.

She looked around for something to clean it with. Her hands travelled around on the floor, feeling their way, as her eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the dim light in the room. It was chilly in there, and she could feel stone underneath her. A little off she could just see the outline of bars, and reasoned that she must be in some sort of cell or dungeon. She fumbled her way over the cold stone floor, ignoring the pain and focusing only on what needed to be done then and there. Finally she found a tray that she supposed was used for water, but it was empty. Panic started to fill her heart. Until now she had been focusing on her arm, but as she thought about what would happen to it if the wound wasn't healed, the impact of everything started to descend on her. She shouldn't think about it now, but she was helpless. She threw the tray across the floor, and desperately started feeling her way again, hoping against all odds that there would be water somewhere. A sob escaped her lips, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"They won't bring any water until the morning," a voice said.

She looked around quickly. Straining her eyes against the dark, she could make out a figure in a cell across from hers. He was hanging on the bars of his cell, one arm out through them, the other holding on to a bar to support his weight. He was looking at her. His hair had once been blonde, but now it was matted and stained by both blood and dirt, and looked almost grey. His eyes were defeated and tired. Hermione almost didn't recognize him.

"Malfoy?" she asked slowly.

The man in the other cell laughed softly.

"Not someone you expected to meet here, was it?" he asked her, but didn't really wait for a reply.

Instead he carefully lifted his own water tray through the bars, and gave it a push so it sailed the short distance between the two cells. It stopped against Hermione's and spilled out half its contents because of the impact.

"Why would you give me that?" Hermione asked sceptically. Draco Malfoy was not one to be kind to muggleborns for no reason.

Draco didn't answer her. Instead he gave a sigh and started to pull his shirt over his head. The movement seemed painful, as though moving in particular ways hurt him. When he was done he put the shirt on the floor, and stood on his knees facing Hermione. What she saw frightened her. Across his torso were many scars, most of which, she knew, Harry had inflicted with his Sectumsempra curse their sixth year. These were now just white traces, across his chest. What frightened Hermione, however, was the wound crossing over his stomach. This wound was still open, and from it blood and greenish fluid was oozing from it. It was obviously infected.

Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, not being able to take her eyes off Draco's stomach.

His meaning was pretty obvious. He knew what the water meant to her, because he had been in the same position and not gotten anything. She felt pity for him, yet knew there was nothing she could do about it. She had to take care of herself for now.

Draco put his shirt back on with that same painfully slow movement. Hermione picked up the tray and brought it carefully inside her own bars. She tore a piece of cloth off from the lining of her robe, the least dirty part of her clothing, and dipped it in the water. A fierce pain shot through her as she placed the cloth on her wound. It hurt so much that she wanted to let it go, but then she thought about the gash on Draco's stomach, and willed herself to keep going. By the time she was done her arm was completely numb. She wrapped it up in another piece of torn robe, and wondered dully how much of her clothing would be gone before she was done with the wound. Then again, she guessed she might be gone herself long before the wound was healed.

When she looked up again she could no longer see Draco. She slid the tray out of her own cell and sent it across to his. No reaction came, so she thought he might have withdrawn to sleep. Hoping that the overwhelming darkness was due to it being night, she curled up her robe to use as a pillow, and tried to sleep as well.

***

She didn't know how much time had passed when she woke up next. It might have been hours, or possibly merely a few minutes. The room was still dark, and no sound was coming from the cell across from her. What awoke her had been her hairpins slowly digging their way into her head. She removed them and pocketed them within her robe. Thinking her robe was ruined for good anyway, she ripped another piece off and used it to tie her hair up. Feeling exhausted still, she curled up again and went back to sleep.

***

A ray of light hit her eyelids, and she was forced awake. She sat up and looked around. The dungeon couldn't exactly be described as being brightly lit, but there were two small windows there, letting in enough light to see everything. Apparently someone had been there with food and drink, because two small trays were filled in the corner of her cell, and a small cup was lying beside the water tray. It seemed she hadn't explored the cell enough in the dark, because on one wall was a bench with a thin ragged woollen blanket, obviously meant to function as a bed. She threw the cloak she had used as a pillow on the bench, after ripping off more of the lining to use as bandage, and made her way over to the food and drink.

She made sure to save enough of the water both to be able to clean her wound again, and to have something to drink later. She was still thirsty when she stopped drinking, but saw the necessity in moderation. She had always been a practical girl. After she had tended to the wound of her arm again, she sat up and looked over towards the other cell.

Draco was sitting with his back against the stone wall, his head leaned back and his eyes almost closed. Noticing Hermione's eyes on him, he lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes looking very tired.

"Finally awake there, sleepyhead," he mumbled without much enthusiasm before leaning his head back again.

Now that there was light he looked even worse than he had seemed the night before. His skin was much paler than usual, so pale that he looked rather sick. He had several scars that had pretty much healed by now, showing Hermione that he had been through several rounds of hell. His breathing was rather heavy, and he seemed to be warm despite the chill of the dungeon because he had taken off all his warmer clothes and was still sweating. Hermione caught herself thinking that if this was what Voldemort did to his followers, she was happy she was on the opposing side.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked.

"Never you mind," Draco said, closing his eyes.

Hermione went over to sit on the bench instead. Walking hurt, as almost every fibre of her body was battered and bruised, but looking over at Draco she felt happy she could walk at all. She did not know, exactly, why she was still alive. She assumed it had something to do with getting Harry to come look for her, a thought which pained her. Harry coming after her unprepared and losing to Voldemort would be the worst thing that could ever happen.

Her wand had been taken away, of course. She was discovering just now how helpless the wand had made her. To think that until the age of eleven she hadn't even thought of using magic to help her through her problems. The thought of how hopeless it was to try to get out of a wizarding prison made her sigh. Tears welled up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them come forward. This was something she was going to have to do; she could not afford to break down.

She shifted on the bench and felt something prodding into her thigh. Reaching down into her pocket she adjusted the hairpins she had removed the night before. Suddenly she remembered something about Fred and George, and how they had acquired the ability of picking locks. She pulled the pins out in a hurry, and bent one apart. She had never actually learned how to do it, but she thought she had a good grip on the concept of picking a lock. With a newfound enthusiasm she made her way over to the door and started her work.

You could never get a good concept of time down in the dungeons, but if Hermione should have guessed she might say that she had been working on the lock for two hours, perhaps three, when it finally gave a click. The work had by then become less of a real effort to get out, and more of a way to keep her busy to avoid losing her mind, so the loud click came as a rather big surprise to her. She jumped up and stared at the door, hardly willing to believe what had just happened, but the click had been rather evident. Draco had even snapped his head up and was now looking at her with curiosity.

She raised her hand very slowly and gave the door a small push. Nothing happened. She pushed a little harder, but the door still remained shut. Feeling all her hope draining out of her, she pushed her whole weight to the door, but it would not move even when she slammed herself towards it. Finally she gave up, and with that, tears of resignation finally started flowing down her cheeks.

"I reckon it's locked with magic as well. I doubt there would be only a mere Muggle lock to keep prisoners inside here," Draco said quietly.

Hermione was breaking down now, and was unable to control her anger and disappointment.

"Well then why didn't you tell me sooner?" she yelled at him. "Why would you let me work myself up, get my hopes up, if you knew it wasn't going to work?"

"I was rooting for you," Draco said simply, quieting Hermione's rage towards him slightly. "I was hoping despite everything."