A/N: So, I'm taking a shot at a Draco/Hermione fanfiction. I've been reading a lot lately and was compelled to right this fic, so here it is. I'll continue if people like it, if not, I'll just take it down, so…I hope you all like it!
Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own it.
Darkness. Devastation. Destruction. Death. Had there ever been light? Did such a thing as happiness exist?
Muggles and muggle-borns were dirt. Nothing. Scum. They deserved to live the life of slavery they were living. They deserved to live in the filth and mud, to sweat and cry and bleed working for the Dark Lord against their will. They deserved to be used as whores every night whenever one of Voldemort's followers felt like it. They deserved to feel pain. They deserved to work around the dead bodies of their fellow slaves as each one fell. They deserved to die.
Slaves was what they all were, born into it, working pointlessly in a pit and guarded by Dementors that constantly sucked away every hopeful and joyful thought they had until they were driven mad.
Hermione was on the brink of death when she was taken out of the muggle killing camps. Apparently Voldemort had learned of her capture and not been too thrilled with the fact no one had told him of her imprisonment. He demanded she be brought to Azkaban, which was now under his control, for interrogation and torture.
Pain was all Hermione knew. It clouded her vision until there were no more rational thoughts, until she couldn't remember a Harry Potter, a Ron Weasley, a Hogwarts…until she couldn't even remember her own name.
Draco was having mixed feelings.
His primary duty in being a Death Eater was feeding the prisoners. This in and of itself was an slur on the Malfoy name. It was a fool's job. It was his retribution for failing to kill Dumbledore, and he hated the dishonor of it, the other Death Eaters jeering at him as he walked around Azkaban taking trays to prisoners.
And yet, he was relieved the job was his. He hated death. The look of it, the sound of it, the smell of it. It was something he simply could not handle. He had proved it when he was unable to say two words to end the life of Albus Dumbledore. He had been a coward, and his entire family was being punished and ridiculed for it. But he hated death more than anything. Death was not something he enjoyed, like the other Death Eaters, especially his aunt. Bellatrix seemed to take pleasure in it, and he couldn't understand how she tortured or took life so easily without it haunting her.
The prisoners that were Draco's job to feed always disregarded him, or shrank against the wall in fear of him. They were all terrified of him, and it wasn't as comforting as he knew it was supposed to be. He had used to love watching first years squirm at the sight of him, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, but this was not the kind of fear he enjoyed. This was pure terror. Fear of death. Fear that most people had now, now that Dumbledore was dead and Harry Potter was no longer a source of hope, of faith, only a once famous name that had been reduced to nothing by his lack of apparent action, now that the Dark Lord was so close to victory. With a sigh, he opened the last door, one that had been recently added to his rounds.
There, on the floor in the far corner, lay a girl with wildly untamed hair. She was quivering tremendously, her clothes were reduced to mere torn rags, and as she looked up at him her brown eyes showed no recognition or recollection, only horror as she shrank against the wall with a terrified whimper.
It was Hermione Granger.
A/N: Review! Like it, hate it? I know it's short, but it's just the prologue :)