The Final Truth

Hermione woke slowly, confused by the weight of the blankets, and by her thoughts. Someone hit me... who would hit her? What happened? Had all of... that... been a terrible dream? A horribly realistic nightmare?

Opening her eyes, she realized that she hadn't been dreaming. It was the reality that she'd been trying to deny... Oh, if it had only been a dream...

Silently, lying still, she took in her new surroundings. She was lying in a bed that was pushed into a corner of the room. The small table next to the bed was covered in bottles of various sizes; they contained potions for her, no doubt. A quick swipe at the table produced no result other than her arm bouncing back- there was an Untouchable Charm on the table and its contents.

There were two windows in the room, each of which opened onto a beautiful mountain view. By the light coming through the first window, it must be dusk, since it grew darker each minute. The moon shone over the tallest mountain peak, full and glowing, illuminating the pine forests and the stream that coursed lazily beside the house. From the other window, she could see what had once been a small town, but was now a small, secluded city. The lights in the windows blazed cheerily, throwing strips of colored light across the glittering blanket of fresh snow.

Turning back to her room, she saw that there were multiple bookcases on the far wall, which were all jammed with books. Between two of the central bookcases, there was a small alcove. There was a chair in the alcove, with a side-table. There was a small lamp standing on the table, which threw light over the deep red of the carpet, chair cushions, walls, and bedding.

A smaller door in the wall turned out to be a restroom, when she got up to investigate. She shut the door to the room, noting that there was no lock on it. Then she followed the short hallway into the room itself, and forgot about that detail as she saw the room.

It was nearly an exact replica of the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts. There was a large bathtub sunk into the red-tiled floor, with dozens of taps lining the sides. There were several large, fluffy towels hung on a rack between the toilet and the sink. A large mirror hung over the sink, reflecting the room back at her.

The only differences here were that the portrait of the mermaid was missing, there was a small window that opened onto a beautiful forest scene, and that everything was dyed the same shade of red as the other room.

She resolved to take a bath once she finished her investigation. But, out of sheer curiosity, she looked into the mirror, and was shocked by what she saw.

Most of the bruises on her face were gone. When she peeled back the long nightgown that she was wearing, she saw that most of the bruises on her arms and legs were gone as well. The knife wounds were healing into smooth white scars, and her assortment of broken bones was nearly finished healing.

This brought her back to the most interesting question of all- how long have I been here?

Lost in thought, she slowly wandered back to her bed. She climbed back onto it, and pulled the blankets all the way up to her chin. Being so preoccupied, she didn't notice the door opening. Nor did she notice the men who came through it, carrying a dresser filled with her clothes, and a small chest of things to be hung in an unnoticed closet by the bathroom door.

Inside her head, her thoughts formed a whirlwind. She wasn't sure, but she thought that she had only been in this place- this room, here (not there... hereherehere...) for a few days at the most. But she wasn't sure. It was possible that she had only been here (...here...) for a matter of moments before she woke. Maybe it had been weeks since she was brought out of that hellhole...

She dimly remembered things happening after she had been hit. She remembered, faintly, the sensation of being carried like a small child, cradled in a pair of strong, warm arms and listening to screams of agony recede behind her... the frightening feeling of the safety of those arms draw away, leaving her on the bed, and her unbearable agony easing... the goblet, resting against her lips and the taste of a mixture of potions... the soft nightgown and bed sheets against her battered body as she thrashed, trying to escape from a half-remembered threat... a voice, barely heard, telling her to rest, and to stop fussing... and a brush of soft, warm lips against her forehead as she fell into the haven of sleep.

The next thing that she remembered was waking here, nearly healed and utterly perplexed. There was so much that she wasn't sure of. But there were two things that she was sure of: the first being that she needed to get out of this room and return to the Order, and the second...

First things first.

She knew already that there was no way that she could Apparate, since she was a prisoner. The room would have been spelled against it. There was no fireplace that she could climb through or use Floo powder in, and of course there was no broom that she could ride. And anyway, the windows would be spelled against breaking and removal. So the only exit to the room was the door, which was, without a doubt, securely locked.

And as she looked around, there was nothing that she could hurt anyone, herself or someone else, with. Everything in the room was either too light to cause major amounts of damage, or too heavy for her to lift. There was nothing remotely sharp anywhere in the room, and her wand was on her bedside table at the castle. So she hadn't a chance in the world of breaking down the door or slicing her way through it.

It seemed that things were hopeless. At least, for the time being.

So she forced herself to get out of the bed, collect some clothes from the dresser- jeans, a nice shirt, socks, a sweater and underclothes- and then went into the bathroom. She closed the door and walked into the bathroom, anticipating, but also dreading, a bath.

She turned on several of the taps, and then stripped off her nightgown as the tub filled. Once it was full, she walked down the steps into the water, one hand on the handrail, and the other turning off the taps closest to her.

As she finished turning off the other taps, she realized that there wasn't very much blood on her, not as much as there should have been after she had been cut like that. She remembered the numerous times that that had happened, and it didn't make sense. She had bled so much! And yet, there was so little blood on her.

She stored that question away for later as she finished her hurried scrubbing and got out. She hadn't wanted him to come in and find her in the bathtub, or even half-dressed. It didn't matter that he'd already seen her body- she'd had no choice then. I'll be damned if I let him see me that way now!

She walked over to the sink and began to clean her teeth. As she worked, she ran through, and discarded, several ways that she could have escaped from any other place. What could she do? What would help her?

As she was rinsing the brush, a thought came to her. Dropping the brush in the sink, she hurried back to the main chamber, sweeping thick, damp curls out of her eyes. The bookshelves! Why hadn't she thought of them before?

As she faced them, she realized how futile the idea had been. Draco knew how good she was at finding important information, and even wandless, she'd be able to find something to help her. No, the books on the shelves would be for pleasure, or perhaps extremely detailed encyclopedias or bestiaries, but none of them would so much as hint at where she was or give her the faintest clue of how she could escape.

She walked back into the bathroom and cleaned up the rest of her things, putting the toothbrush on the side of the sink, and re-hanging the hastily dropped towel on the towel rack. She walked, slowly, back to the main room and threw the clothes into the empty hamper in the bottom of her closet.

Turning, spinning in the center of the room, she finally let the tears that she'd held back for so long flow down her face. She cried tears of fear and disgust, tears of relief and pain, tears of anguish and helplessness, tears of loss and loneliness, tears of bitterness and worthlessness. As she spun, she let them all flow away, and then she collapsed onto the chair next to the bookcase. She let all of her emotions melt, and she sobbed them all out, each in turn, until there was nothing left in her system but a feeling of grim determination to get out of the miserable, unknown hellhole that she was trapped in.

Worn out by her crying, she reached up to a shelf and pulled out a book, not caring what it was. Then she began to read, letting herself become lost in the simple magic of reading and writing.

But before long, her haven was destroyed by a long shadow falling across the book. Looking up, she felt her heart turn to ice in terror of the shadow's owner.

Draco was back.

She quaked with terror and hatred inside, but kept her emotions hidden as she slowly marked her place and shut the book. Then she sat quietly, waiting for him to speak.

Silence settled over the room, thick and smothering. The volume of it rose and rose, threatening to shatter her resolution to stay quiet. Just before it broke her promise, he made his move.

He leaned across the book, which had fallen open again, and gripped her shoulders tightly. Leaning in to her, he pressed his lips hard to her unresponsive ones, trying to force her to respond. While he was kissing her, he slid his hands slowly down her arms and gripped her wrists tightly, keeping her from trying to escape his hold. She felt her eyes fill with a loathing, and a measure of her inner terror, because as he glanced into them, he pulled away and began to laugh.

"Ah, so you do fear me. And here I thought that you were the fearless, all- knowing Mudblood-"

At this, she snarled, and attempted to strike him. He easily held her arms at her sides, and switched his grip so that he held both of her hands in a crushing grip of one of his. Then, lifting his free hand, he struck her. Once, twice, three, four times he struck her, and when he stopped, her head was ringing and she was whimpering unconsciously, no longer the rebellious prisoner, but the docile slave.

"Listen to me," He pleaded, his face growing softer, in a voice so low that the guards beside the half-open door couldn't hear him speak, "I'm going to help you, but you must act like you did when I saw you last, and I as I did. But you must trust me, because I'm the only one that can save you."

Then his voice rose, but she noticed a comforting gleam in his eyes, and did her best to play her part.

"As I was saying, I thought that you were fearless, above such petty emotions and trivial hurts as name calling. But it appears that I was wrong.

"And who knows. Perhaps a little fear will help you learn more quickly. But then, perhaps not."

He let go of her wrists, mouthing at her that she must attack him. She sprang out of her chair, her face filled with rage. But before she'd had the chance to do more than rise, he had his wand on her.

"Stupefy!"

She fell back, frozen but still aware of the treachery going on around her. She fought the spell with all of her might to no avail. She had been taken in by one of his schemes without so much as a word against him.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when hid hands lifted her like a child again, and then laid her on the bed mere moments later. A goblet was pressed against her lips, and by the smell of it, it was a simple sleeping potion. Then the goblet tipped slightly, and she received more than she could hold in her mouth, limiting her to one of two choices: swallow, or choke.

She swallowed, and more was poured into her mouth. She'd swallowed about half of the goblet before it was set down, and her face gently wiped of all the spilled potion. Then Draco's other hand brushed her hair out of her eyes, and he looked her in the eyes, mouthing her new directions. She blinked, and he freed her from the spell.

As soon as he'd done so, she began to pound his arms with her fists, beating it over and over with weakening fists. Soon she was just barely touching him, no longer able to fight to potion. He gently let her upper body fall onto the bed, watching her as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

Before she fell completely asleep, he leaned over her and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, his warm lips just barely brushing her skin, and he whispered a few words to her.

"Trust me. I will get you out of here. And... sleep well, darling."

Then he was gone from the bedside.

She had just enough time to think of two things before the potion finished its work: was Severus, her love, asleep? And why had Draco called her "darling"?

Then sleep, heavy and all-encompassing, flooded over her, and she thought no more.