There Is This and Then There Is Reality

Wasn't it the ache that brought us here?

Wasn't it the fever that kept us up all night?

-Keri Noble

***

The day slipped by, somehow, and so did another one. Hermione was steadily losing her hope of ever being able to leave the dark, hard dungeon, but refused to give up. She had searched everywhere for some sort of exit, pushed pretty much every stone on the wall looking for a loose one. Nothing had so far given her any hint that there might be a hidden way out.

Her third night the light from a wand woke her up. She opened her eyes slowly, and saw two men clad in robes standing in the walkway between her own and Malfoy's cell, a pile lying on the floor between them.

"They're both taken," one of the men said, swiping the light across her cell, then across Malfoy's. She closed her eyes quickly so they wouldn't know she was awake.

"Let's throw him in with her, they're old friends after all," the other man said.

A feeling of dread swept over Hermione. They apparently had someone there with them, someone she knew. She hoped it wasn't Harry or Ron. She hoped they hadn't been foolish enough to come running after her.

"Are you an idiot, he'll kill her," the first man replied, lifting Hermione's spirit a little. No one she cared about would fit that description.

"Oh, all right," the other man said, and continued, "We'll put her with the Malfoy-boy then."

The two men left the pile on the floor, heading for Draco's cell. Hermione didn't dare move so she could see, but from the sounds it seemed like they were grabbing Draco and dragging him towards her cell. They opened her own cell door, and for a wild moment she thought about charging towards them. She came to her senses, however, when she noticed one of the men keeping all his attention focused towards her, his wand pointed at her head.

Draco was thrown forwards into her cell, and slid so far that he almost hit his head on the far wall of it. He didn't move. The two men slammed the door shut and focused their attention to the pile on the floor, heaving it into the cell across from Hermione's. Slamming this door shut as well, they turned and left.

Hermione waited until she was sure they had left for good before she moved. She turned around, trying to see who was in the cell opposed from her, but couldn't make out anything that gave away their identity. The person was lying too far into the cell, with their back towards Hermione. She gave it up, figuring she'd see them soon enough. She turned her attention towards Draco, and noticed that he hadn't moved since he had been thrown into her cell. She could hear him breathing, but they were long forced breaths, as though breathing was hard for him.

"Malfoy?" she called out, tentatively.

"Get lost," came weakly from the floor.

She sat up and slid silently off her bench. As she approached Draco, she could hear his breath even better. It sounded as though he had something stuck in his throat, and was trying to force air past it. He was still not moving, even as he heard Hermione approach. She sat down right next to him. His face was white, his skin almost see-through, and his eyes were half closed as though he was desperately tired but didn't want to go to sleep. His forehead had drops of sweat on them, but he still seemed to be shivering. Assuming he must have a fever, Hermione moved her hands towards his forehead to check.

"Keep your filthy hands off of me," Draco said sharply. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at her with a rather dazed, yet still determined and hateful, look.

Hermione ignored him, and finished her movement, placing the back of her arm on his forehead. His skin was clammy and he was burning hot.

"Malfoy, you're burning up!" Hermione exclaimed.

Draco made a small movement that resembled a shrug.

Hermione hurried over to her water tray, picking up her cloak, which was looking less and less like a cloak every day, on the way. She ripped off two more pieces of it, and soaked them in what little of the cold water that was left, before taking the tray the rags and the cup back to Draco. The cup scraped across the bottom of the tray as she tried to get it as full as she could. She put the tray down behind her and held the cup out to Draco. He made no movement.

"Can you drink?" Hermione asked.

Draco still made no movement, nor did he give any indication that he had heard her. His eyes had gone back to their half open, dazed state, and he wasn't looking at her, or at anything, as far as Hermione could see.

"Oh, come on," Hermione said desperately, "you have to drink!"

She drew a deep breath to steady herself. Slowly she lifted Draco's head to her lap, so he was half sitting, and brought the cup to his lips.

"I'm going to pour some water into your mouth now, okay?" she said, so as to not startle him when she did.

He closed his eyes slowly, and opened them again, and Hermione took this as a sign that he had heard her. She tipped the cup slowly, filling Draco's mouth with cold clean water. He swallowed, and she could hear him give a sigh after. She took this as a thank you, and helped him empty the rest of the cup. Still holding his head she reached out for his cloak that was lying not far off. She rolled it up and put his head gently down on it, then went to pick up the wet rags.

As she turned, she felt Draco put his hand around her arm. It was clammy and cold despite his fever, but his grip was rather strong. She turned around and looked at him. His eyes were trying to focus.

"Don't let me fall asleep," he said.

His gaze was intense, and almost begging. This was a way she had never seen him, and she was moved by his expression. She nodded.

She placed one of the wet rags on Draco's head, and took to cooling his hands, neck and chest, and any other area of bare skin she could get to, with the other. As she lifted up his shirt, she got to know close up how bad his wound really was. Her own wound had started healing now, and she was feeling very relieved about that. But if hers was starting a healing process, surely his would be well on its way? And surely, no wound should ever look like this.

The moment she lifted the hem of the shirt a strong smell hit her nose. As she folded the shirt up higher, she could see clearly why Draco was in the state her was. She felt incredibly bad when seeing the yellowish thing snaking across Draco's stomach. Quickly she ripped off another rag and tipped the water tray so that she could soak this one as well in cold water.

When the first drop of water hit Draco's stomach he drew a sharp breath, but made no other objection. All through Hermione's work on his stomach he kept blissfully still, something Hermione admired, since it must have been hurting him a lot. From time to time she looked up to check on him, but he never let his eyes close, just lay there with his half open, dazed gaze. When she was done she ripped up a part of the robes she was wearing to dress the wound; her cloak was now becoming rather dirty as well as ragged.

She sat up with him all through the night, honouring her promise not to let him sleep. In the end she ended up behind him, sitting with her back to the wall, and him sitting up against her. That way it would be easier to keep him from sleeping, since he was sitting up, and she could both keep him comfortable, and keep the rag on his forehead to keep him cooled. Aside from the first harsh comment, he made no objection to her touch. Of course, he was in no position to talk about Muggleborns right now, but Hermione appreciated it all the same.

At the break of dawn, a robe clad figure came by with an extra tray for Draco, and refill for Hermione's food and water. The man cast a quick look on the two of them sitting in this sort of embrace and snorted. She could feel Draco's muscles tightening, and he let a small pained sigh escape, but made no move to get away from Hermione.

***

The stranger in the opposing cell didn't move that entire day. There was no way of telling who he was, because all you could see from Hermione's cell was a heap of raggedy robes. Not that Hermione had time to care too much about him, nor did she bother caring. She had too many of people she cared for on her worrying list, she couldn't be bothered with adding a Death Eater. But then again - she had to remind herself - that was exactly what Draco was. His mark was there on the inside of his arm, as ugly as ever. She had seen it when she first slid one of the wet rags over his arms, but said nothing. After all, he wasn't a very good Death Eater, having been unable to kill anyone.

She didn't really know that the person in the cell across from them was indeed a Death Eater, but she had assumed so from the minute the guard had said the stranger would kill her if he was put in the same cell as her. Even if he wasn't, Hermione had her hands full with Draco.

Draco appeared to have been scared of sleeping for days now, and was obviously exhausted. Hermione kept him drinking water and tried to keep him cooled down, but felt very helpless without her wand. He seemed to be getting better though. He was still clammy, and his eyes were still dazed, but his breath seemed to come a little easier now. That could also be because Hermione had started getting used to it, even assured by it. As long as she could hear him breathing she knew he was still alive.

"You need to sleep," she told him, as he was shaking his head to keep from dozing for who knows what time.

Draco didn't give a response, but Hermione could see his eyelids closing heavily.

"I'll watch out for you," she said gently.

***

As daylight broke, Hermione hadn't slept at all. She was starting to understand how terribly exhausted Draco had to be. Draco was sleeping peacefully, breathing steadily, but although there had never been a point through the night where she feared for his life, she didn't dare take the chance of sleeping herself, just in case that moment would happen.

When the small light filtered through the small window in the other cell and hit the man lying on the floor there, he finally began to stir. So far Hermione had not seen him move, and for all she knew he might have died during the night. His slight movement therefore caught her attention immediately. She had thought a little about who the man was, but her concern for Draco had kept most of her attention. She hadn't been too curious anyway, as she presumed he was a failed Death Eater. As he now turned over in his cell to face her she learned that wasn't the case.

"Remus!" she cried.

Lupin strained to make his eyes focus as Hermione ran over to the bars of her own cell.

"Hermione?" Lupin asked, and quickly continued, "Oh no, say it isn't you."

Lupin had obviously been through a lot. Perhaps he had been living with his fellow werewolves. His robes were torn and dirty, and he looked shabbier than she had ever seen him. He looked like he hadn't showered in weeks, his face looked much older than before and his eyes looked tired and worn.

"What happened to you?"

She had not seen him for so long, not since sometime around Christmas. She, along with Ron and Harry, didn't have much contact with him, or much knowledge of what he did. He would come in and report to the Order once in a while, but they knew this only because sometimes Mad Eye or Mr Weasly mentioned his name in passing - they never actually saw him. He had been treated no better than Draco had been, it seemed, his hair was falling off in big lumps, his robes were ragged and he looked tired and sick.

"What have they done to you?" she asked defeated. Lupin gave her a weak smile.

"Don't worry about me," he said tiredly, then his eyes strayed over towards Draco on the bench, and she could see his eyes becoming worried. "Who is it you have with you?"

"Draco Malfoy," she answered quickly to reassure him. He looked confused.

"Why would Lucius Malfoy imprison his own son?"

Hermione shrugged. She had guessed Voldemort had not been very pleased with Draco's failure to kill Dumbledore, and thought he might be setting an example, but she hadn't thought to ask Draco. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.