Authors Note:
Blood Runs Cold
Rated M: Self Harm, Torture, Swearing, Smut, Suicide Attempts
Main Characters: Draco, Hermione, Fred
Summary: Fred has unknowingly been played by the Death Eaters and forced to do something horrible, as has Draco.
Both boys are given an unthinkable task, but who will really succeed? And at what cost?
As for Hermione, she is in more trouble than meets the eye, she is more important than anyone could guess, she is more important that Harry Potter even and even she doesn't know.

There is more laying beneath the surface than anyone could ever imagine.

She knew, she always knew that deep down, hidden beneath his façade, beneath his glowing smile and jubilant laugh, that he was broken. His mind distorted beyond repair, his very soul tarnished and shattered. He had completely retracted inside himself; the Fred they all saw on the outside was a stranger to her. And though he would try to hide it, she could always tell when he had hit rock bottom; some days she would catch his eye in the hallways or across the room at the Burrow, and she would know that inside he was tearing himself apart. She would know. She would clasp his hand and pull him away from the crowd, roll up his sleeves and there, without fail, would lay the cuts; crisscrossing across the old scars. Never would a word escape her lips, she would cover the cuts with her hands and remain silent, sometimes his eyes would mist over at the sight of her small, dainty hands covering such raging, angry marks and sometimes her would shove her away, yanking his arm from her grasp and yell at her to leave him alone. But she never would, nothing could make her leave him alone; his blood-shot, tearstained eyes would beg to her to stay, though his words yelled at her to be gone. She would never let him go.

Sometimes she would have nightmares about him; of the night she first discovered the depth of his depression. He had sat himself down on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor of the Burrow, face pale but eyes red from tears, in his hand a razor and the redness of his blood so stark against the skin on his arms and chest. In each nightmare, like the one before, she would suppress a scream of terror; she would pull shut the door and fly to him. She would press her palms to the fierce slashes and then, like a terrifying horror movie in her slumber, his eyes would shoot open; bright and hazel, crying out in pain and humiliation. He would softly whisper her name like always, urging her to leave him alone; but she would never. He would never move as she stopped the trickles of blood. Then she would hold him close as he cried his tears of anger, embarrassment and shame, the slow dribble of tears wetting her clothes, and then her skin. Not a word was spoken by her or by him, all that could be heard was the choked breath as he tried to stem the flow of tears and then she would wake. Her face wet with real tears and the sounds of Fred's breathy cries circling in her mind and she would have to fight the urge to go to him and ensure that he was safe and unharmed. But she never would.

For a long while he was okay, Hermione could tell that he was coping, then, on the night of Ginny's birthday, something went wrong.
Everyone had gathered at the Burrow: all the Weasley's, Fleur, Harry, some friends and herself. When she spotted him across the long, but still over-seated dining table, she knew instantly that he was hurting. Though he avoided her eyes, when he left the room and ascended the staircase she followed him.
As she followed the creaky staircase up the center of the Burrow, she heard his door close with a soft groan. Hermione stood with her hand on the doorknob, fearfully wondering what would await her behind the wooden door; slowly she turned the glass knob and pushed upon the wood. Fred lay face down on his bed, his long sleeve shirt discarded, she could clearly spy the newest cuts on his skin and fought to press back the sob that threatened to slip from between her lips.

"Hermione," he breathed her name like one would say the name of a lover, though his voice held neither joy nor love in it. With tentative steps she approached him and sat beside his facedown, shivering form.
Placing a hand on his back, she realized that his skin had an unearthly chill to it, as though he had been standing outside on a cold, drafty day.
"You're cold."
"No."
"You're shaking," she rubbed her hand slowly up and down his back, causing goose-bumps to arise.
"I don't know why. Why are you here?" He rolled over onto his back and turning his face to her. She sighed, "you know perfectly well why," her hand moved down his arm and to the countless cuts that littered the inside of his wrist and forearm, rubbing her thumbs across the scarred flesh.
"Don't, Hermione."
"You can't make me leave, Fred."
He made no sound, but pulled away from her hands and turned his face away. She followed, taking his hand. When he made no move to force her away, she placed a hand on his face, turning it back to her; his eyes full of angry defiance.
"There is nothing you can't tell me, Fred."
"There is nothing I want to tell you!" he snarled, jerking away.
"I won't leave."
He faced away, "fine, I don't care, stay, I will simply ignore you."
This did not bother her even slightly, she pressed her lips to one of the more ragged and deeper cuts, when she felt his body heave in a choked sob Hermione reached up and stroked his hair, "Fred, what's happened?"
Slowly he pulled himself up, back pressing against the wall and Fred looked at her out from behind his shaggy, red fringe.

As she smiled at him, his heart lurched.
God, how can I be doing this to her?
A tear ran down his cheek, but he didn't notice. It was now or never. If he didn't live up to his end of the bargain, he would never be free.

Hermione sat beside him and pushed the obtrusive hair off his face, "Fred, please, talk to me. It's just you and I, like always."
He turned his head away, sighing, "I'm sick of being worthless, Hermione. I'm sick of being everyone's scapegoat. I'm sick of feeling like the world is on my shoulders while the 'Golden Child' spends his time with the girl he stole from me. Even my mom and dad don't care about me as much as him. I'm sick of it all! And I can't deal with it anymore," his voice cracked as tears began to fall.
She wordlessly let him fall into her, she wrapped her arms around him, "it isn't fair. I can't do it anymore."
"Something else happened, didn't it, Fred?" she whispered.
"I didn't know she was that bad. I thought she was doing ok, you know? I – I didn't know, and I only just found out," he stopped talking, voice shattered by sobs.
"Who?"
"Erin."
Fred had mentioned her before, his best and only muggle friend, they had met when the two ran into each other in a muggle joke shop when Fred was doing research for the Weasley's Wizards Wheezes, "what happened?"
"She died."
She held in a sharp gasp, "when?"
"A few days ago, they found her hanging from a rope in her cupboard."
Her heart thudded in her ears, imagining what it would feel like to find Fred in such a state, her chest tightened painfully and she forced back the shudder that rolled up her spine.
"It wasn't your fault you know," she managed to force out.
After a moment of tense silence, he suddenly pulled back, shifting from her arms to press himself against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chin; a strange look distorting his face. This sudden change of his demeanor confused her; he had never acted this way before, at least not with her.
Seconds ticked by, then minutes until the crushing silence became too much and she reached forward, intending to place a hand on his arm. He caught her hand mid-way and then quickly released it. So fast she barely noticed what had happened, her frown deepened as she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong.
"Go, Hermione," he breathed, a strange, glazed-over expression in his eyes, as if they we frozen over. He didn't look at her, or look anywhere aside from straight forward, pausing for a split second she contemplated what she had done wrong.
"Fred-" she began.
"I said go," he said, a little louder, his voice filled with unexpected hatred, he still did not meet her inquisitive gaze. Frowning, she touched his arm, vaguely registering the feel of scarred flesh beneath her fingertips; "I'm not going anywhere."
He jerked away from her touch roughly as his head snapped up, eyes flashed viciously, the hazel orbs stabbing at her with acid knives; "for Merlins sake, Hermione! Go! Get lost! Why the hell are you always hanging around me! Just fuck off!"
Though she started at the sudden outburst, her heart told her to stay; "I won't leave you like this."
Her voice was filled with the same fierce determination it always was when he was unwell. She could never bring herself to desert him, even if he wanted it.
He jumped to his feet, grabbing her by her forearm and wrenching her off the bed and to the door; ripping it open, he shoved her out; she stumbled and crashed down on the floorboards, jarring her knees. "Stay away from me, Granger," he growled, spitting her name at her as though it was poison he was trying to rid himself of.
Holding in her tears of shock and pain, she peered back over her shoulder in time to see the door slam shut.

He felt a pang of loneliness and shame as he heard her get to her feet, a muffled cry reached his ears though the wooden door and he grimaced.
He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he knew that he had pushed her far too roughly; he had heard the bang as she fell to her knees. He felt the telltale angry tears rising in him and clogging his throat as he slowly walked back to his bed. A flash of silver caught his eye and he spied a pair of scissors resting on his bedside table. He reached for them, holding the singled edged blade in his palm, seeing his reflection in the mirrored metal. In the glinting surface he saw what he had become, he tried to remember what he had been like before all this had happened.
He couldn't.

On a sudden, angry, shame filled impulse, he dropped the slightly blunted blade to his arm and sliced through his skin, filling himself with a strangely familiar, bittersweet warmth. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body let out an involuntary shudder; he had long since trained his body, somehow, to perceive self inflicted pain as an almost pleasurable sensation.
He no longer felt the piercing cry of his skin screaming in protest to the seemingly unending barrage of slices, tears and cuts that tore up his flesh.
The warmth of his life's blood trickled down his arm and left a strikingly bright, ever-growing patch of scarlet in his peripheral vision.
He let the scissors slip from his grasp and finally lowered his eyes to the shockingly large and deep gash across his inner arm. He was vaguely aware of the dull clang as the blood smeared scissors struck the wooden floor, showering the floorboards in a spray of blood. An alien thought invaded his mind; the depth of this cut was one of the worst he had inflicted upon himself, recklessly he had dug the mirrored steel into his flesh not knowing that if he had been only a few centimeters higher he would have punctured his artery and slit his wrists. He blinked once, then twice, wondering what he would have done if that was the case, wondering what his family would do, think and say if they were to come upstairs after the celebrations and find him dead in blood-soaked sheets.
Wondering what Hermione would do. Would she care?
Would she be angry?
Would she feel guilty? He half-reached down for the scissors, then stopped as a few drops of his blood ran off his fingers and struck the floor like light drops of red rain warning of an encroaching storm. It was and almost surreal experience for him. Then again, whenever he harmed himself, it was a surreal experience.
Almost automatically he reached his clean hand into the folds of his pillow and withdrew a small roll of white bandages, spotted with dried blood. Not even wincing as the material abused his raw, open wound, Fred methodically wound the tainted, white fabric around his forearm. His eyes remained glued to where the three solitary drops of his blood had landed.

As she pulled herself up, she felt her knees cry in protest. Her body shrieking with pain and rejection from the blow that Fred had dealt her. It wasn't the way he had thrown her from his room, it was his words; the pain that those words had inflicted upon her hurt more than anything. She had always been there for him, always, she had been a shoulder for him to cry on and a person he could vent to. She had been everything and more to him and he had treated her like… like Malfoy had at Hogwarts.
Slowly she trudged down the stairs, back towards the still raging celebrations. Music pumped loudly, forcing the concoction of people to raise their voices in order to be heard.
She surveyed the scene before her; the room was a blur of red-hair, every Weasley had shown up to celebrate Ginny's special day. She saw the strikingly shiny mop of black hair of Harry push its way through the cloud of orange, to the dirty blond, sleekly styled hair and hazel eyes of Cormac McLaggen. Since their awkwardness in her 6th year, Cormac had become rather good friends of the Trio, despite him already graduating from Hogwarts.
She then noted, with distain, that Angelina, George and Kyle, another boy in the twin's year, were all seated separately from the rest of the congregation. Ignoring Angelina's smiles and waving, she stepped out into the colourful, loud bunch of people crammed into the Weasleys dining room. Looking around once again, she noted with slight disappointment, that Luna Lovegood was missing from the bunch but before she could contemplate why the cooky, white-blonde girl was missing she voice in her ear; "Hermione," she felt a hand clasp her arm, "how are you?"
Hermione turned and saw Angelina smiling brightly, Hermione's frowned, "hello, Angelina."
Her bright face faltered, "is something wrong?"
"Of course not," she smiled a slickly sweet smile, "I was just wondering what compelled you to stand up a wonderful man like Fred and have the nerve to date his younger, twin brother and then show up to his little sister birthday party to simply rub it in his face."
Angelina's red mouth opened in a small 'O' shape, "how did you-"
She laughed, a mirthless glee in her eyes, "I know everything, Angelina, and you really hurt him."
"I didn't think he'd mind…"
She laughed again, this time bitterly, "God, Angelina, you stood him up for his twin! His Goddamned twin!"
"Well, George and I get along better," she seemed unperturbed by Hermione's cry of outrage, she examined her nails absentmindedly and it was all Hermione could do not to slap the smug smirk off her face.
"You don't care?" she asked incredulously
"He'll get over it, Hermione, he's a big boy…" she paused, "oh, George!" spotting the younger twin, she hurried off to join him as they went to wish Ginny a happy birthday.
"Stupid, stupid, bimbo!" she grumbled to herself, turning to face Harry, who had come over during the altercation.
"What happened?"
Placing her hands on her hips, she began; "that stupid cow stood up Fred and went out with George instead! And she doesn't even care!"
Harry sighed, "it's her loss, I think. George should know better, but it's her loss."
"But Harry, she doesn't even care!"
"Like I said, it's her loss."
Hermione ground her teeth, fighting back words of anger; "so what did you get the birthday girl?"
He perked up at this; "Quidditch Throughout The Ages and a silver necklace with diamonds in it. The change colour depending on her mood."
She cocked an eyebrow, "special, Harry?"
He flushed red, nodding.
"Did she like it?" he nodded again, "and, did you finally ask her out?"
"N-no, not yet."
She sighed, laughing slightly, "you should hurry up, there are many people after her. Or so I have heard."
His brow creased in a frown and she gave him a small hug, "it's inevitable, Harry; if you don't, someone will."
"Tonight, then."
She laughed, "good luck Harry."
She turned away from him, in search of Ginny so she could finally give her the birthday present Hermione had selected out specially and she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and someone press a kiss to her neck, "Hello there, my dearest Hermione!"
She giggled, squirming out of his grip, "Cormac! As if you do that in public! I have a respectable reputation that I would like upheld, Mr. McLaggen, if you don't mind."
He laughed a hearty laugh and pulled her into a proper hug, "respectable my arse, Hermione, how are you tonight, anyway?"
Smiling, she said; "I'm great, its quite a party actually, and Ginny is having a ball."
"That's true," he grinned, "how about you treat me to a dance, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione spied Ginny across the room, and, looking back to Cormac, she gave him a small, reluctant smile, "sorry, Cormac, I'll have to take a reign check, I need to give Ginny her present before someone steals her away, again! But next song, I promise"
"I'll hold you to that, Granger," he winked and pushed his way through the bunch of people.
Smiling to herself, she pushed herself through the commotion towards where Ginny and Percy stood talking in the far corner.

Fred's tears had long since subsided as he stared absentmindedly at the back of the door.
He saw a blur of motion outside his window, frowning, he got to his feet and stood peering out the window. Nothing. He continued to gaze outside for a long moment, waiting, just in case the sign were to suddenly appear in the sky.
A flash of light blinded him momentarily and he felt his heart throb, not tonight, please, not tonight.
Another flash of light shocked him again, and he had to rub his eyes. He had hoped that they wouldn't call on him tonight of all nights, but he knew had no choice but to obey.

He ignored the insistent throbbing of his injured arm and pulled on a shirt, ensuring the sleeves were long, and then opened the door, heading down the steps, looking briefly over his shoulder out the window once more.
The silent flash of light greeted him a third time and a sigh shook his whole body.
Fred had hoped with all his heart that he wouldn't be called on tonight, but he knew, that out of sheer spite, they would ask him tonight.
This is wrong.