WARNING: Non-con/rape.

Chapter Five: The Personification of Innocence Lost

Part 1: Sleep-deprivation is a nasty thing.

Draco knew something wasn't right the moment he stepped out of the Floo.

Nothing was visibly different; it was a feeling…and his were never wrong. Yet, it appeared to be just a normal day in the Ministry of Magic. He'd already seen two Weasleys, much to his annoyance. Percy was in a rush for some reason and gave him a stupid wave similar to his brother's. And Mr. Weasley just gave him a polite nod as he passed by, also too busy to chat.

Not that he minded.

Draco had worked half the night on the Marquette case, reading their files and writing notes for the case. All he had to do now was patiently - okay, semi-patiently - wait for the evidence to arrive. If there was any testament to Granger's abilities as a curse breaker, she would've already broken the curse on the house and the team from her company would be checking the evidence before he got his hands on it.

As he strolled through the Atrium, passing through the long rows of fireplaces, Draco just looked around. Everything was still the same; same old hustle and bustle, same old Ministry full to the brim with faces he still didn't recognise. The same people still greeted him politely, and visitors from other countries still marvelled at The Fountain of Magical Brethren, while those who'd seen it everyday passed it without so much as a lingering glance. Inter-Department memos still flew over his head - although there were quite a bit more than usual - as he stepped into the lift to go to his office located on the second floor of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Nothing was different. But, he had a feeling.

When he walked through the doors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his suspicions were confirmed. He'd stepped out of the lift and into total chaos. Bedlam. Chaos. Hubbub. And any other synonym that fit the occasion.

More than anything, he really wanted to turn around and hightail it out of there before anyone noticed his presence and begged for his help.

He had better things to do. And those things were in his office. Damn. So, he took steps forwards rather than backwards. People talked; loudly, angry voices were heard; employees ran around with files and lists and boxes and other assorted crap. Some gossiped and pretended they were working. Some wrote on parchment with wide eyes. There were even people that he didn't recognise, zooming around like they knew the place better than he did, like they actually worked there. Coffee and breakfast pastries were being dispensed like candy (he snagged a cup from a charmed tray hovering in front of some tired-looking bloke and gave his best sneer when said bloke had the nerve to tell him to get his own). Inter-Departmental memos flew around the room; they were being sent off as fast as they were being read.

At nine in the morning, it looked like everyone had been there for a long time.

Those poor, underpaid sods.

Oh well, Draco thought with a mental shrug, better them than him.

As he fought through the chaos in the direction of his office that seemed like a mile away rather than a hundred and fifty feet, he overheard what sounded like a rather exciting meeting going on in the main conference room. With the shouting and pandemonium occurring, he still heard someone yell quite clearly, "Of all the selfish, despicable things—she was your responsibility, a bloody civilian, and you let her get hurt! She's in the hospital because of you and your bloody grudge!"

That was all he heard before someone placed a strong silencing charm on the room.

Unfortunately.

The second conference room was filled with boxes, which let him know that, indeed, Granger was good at her job. The boxes were being magically transferred to a private room, probably deep in the Department of Mysteries, where curse breakers were probably diligently checking them. He had every intention of seeing that process through as soon as he put his stuff down in his office. Nothing was going to happen to anything in those boxes without his say-so. Politely, he greeted more than a few people with a nod, including the secretary of the Wizengamot Administration Services, Shannon Marcela, who gave him a funny look before reaching up for a memo hovering over her head. Draco opened his door—

And nearly jumped out his skin when he saw the disturbing sight of Blaise Zabini sitting at his desk - in the dark.

He half-expected to see a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky, but didn't. The only thing that illuminated his office was the match Blaise used to light up another cigarette before he took quite possibly the biggest drag Draco had ever seen in his life. Draco coughed as he stepped through the doorway; it smelled like a fucking ashtray. Speaking of the ashtray, it was filled to capacity; Blaise had been through thirteen cigarettes, at the very least.

Wait a second.

"Didn't you quit smoking three years ago?"

"Fuck you," his best friend mumbled before taking another drag.

Smirking, the blond man turned the lights on and with watery eyes, he opened the room's lone window because he was about to die from smoke inhalation.

They winced at the same time, but obviously for different reasons. Blaise, who winced at the light, looked like he had got hit head-on by a tractor trailer and then spun around on one of those Muggle carnival rides, in rapid succession. Attired in frumpy Auror robes that had a disturbing amount of blood on it, he had bags the size of Hippogriffs under his dark eyes, a frown that marred his usually calm features, hair that needed a good brushing (and maybe a cut too)…all in all, Blaise looked like he'd aged thirty years in one night. Draco winced at the sight of him.

"So what was her name?" Draco joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. He removed his cloak and hung it on the enchanted coat-rack.

Blaise, who was in the middle of another long drag, shot a dazed and confused look his direction and blew smoke out his nose. "What the devil are you talking about?" his voice was gruff and it sounded as exhausted as he looked.

"The woman who kept you up all night, mate. You look like you got trampled by a herd of maniacal centaurs, and that's being polite. She must've been bloody good." He opened his briefcase and took a long drink from his coffee, then frowned. Awful coffee.

A small snort came from the man behind his desk, "I'm well aware of my appearance and no, I didn't get any sleep at all last night. Oh, and her name was Hermione Granger—"

Draco unceremoniously spewed hot liquid everywhere .

Blaise looked borderline humoured as he watched his best friend choke and took another drag. For that, he received a nasty glare from Draco, once he'd recovered and sat his coffee down on the desk. "Granger? You spent the night with Granger?" his voice was disbelieving, at best. Not that he cared, but it was Granger for Merlin's sake! Blaise didn't have high standards, but he wasn't aware that he lacked standards altogether. Besides, he wasn't even over Pansy yet! Most importantly, it was obvious Granger was in a vulnerable state. His mother, who'd had her third Italian lesson with her that previous Saturday, called her a 'fragile little thing' and confessed in private that she felt rather sorry for her because she seemed to be in a lot of pain. And, not only did she suffer in silence, but she suffered mostly alone because she felt like she didn't deserve help.

"Not technically…" he trailed off as he snatched up Draco's abandoned coffee and polished it off.

Draco stared at him, alarmed. Not only did Blaise not smoke anymore or drink coffee, but Blaise hadn't drunk after him since they were at Hogwarts (something about germs: a term he learned from one of his Muggle-born girlfriends in fifth year).

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Either you spent the night with her or you didn't. It's not a hard concept."

"And that's where you're wrong," he tossed the cup in the trash. "I spent the night with her, but I sat in the waiting room."

"Waiting room?" Now he was definitely confused. "What the hell are you going on about?"

Blaise put out his cigarette and fished in his robes for another pack. "You know about the Marquette Manor raid, right?"

"Of course. I spent half the night reviewing their files. They don't have a chance in—"

"Stay on topic, Draco. Anyway, you know she was sent out to take down the wards and break the curse on the Manor, right?"

"Yes, I knew. Did she listen to me about the house elves?"

Blaise nodded solemnly. "She did. That was the first thing she did when she arrived." Draco smiled smugly. "Anyway," he rolled his eyes, "The point is she was injured when she took down the final ward that let us remove evidence from the house."

Injured how?"

Injured rather seriously."

As Draco listened to his best friend recount the events of the previous night, he stared at him in disbelief.

"The entire house was shaking. We couldn't even get in; we had to wait until it stopped. We found her alone, on the floor against the wall. She must've been thrown across the entire length of room."

"Where was her handler?"

"Potter? Oh, he left her," Blaise explained heatedly and lit another cigarette. "The sod abandoned her! Left her alone and defenceless; he knew better! I could tell she didn't want to be left with him and I left her anyway."

Blaise Zabini lost his temper, and all Draco could do was listen with rapt attention.

"He left her and went home without saying anything! He was at home when Johnson found him after we got Granger to St. Mungo's, sitting on his couch with his girlfriend and watching a bloody Muggle movie about a talking chimp! Chimps, Draco, talking chimps! Not a bloody care in the world!"

And then he realised just why Blaise was so livid.

The story so far had invoked the strangest emotion in Draco Malfoy; an emotion he never thought he'd ever experience on Granger's behalf.

Draco Malfoy saw red.

He rose from his chair and paced the length of his office as Blaise continued, unable to sit down any longer.

"Granger's wand was broken in several pieces and her leg…the blood…Tarsiers threw up at the sight of her…"

There was a small 'humph' from Draco. "He always was a wuss. I don't know how he managed—"

Blaise shook his head and crushed another cigarette in the full ashtray. "No, you don't understand, Draco. I thought I was going to be sick and nothing disgusts me to that point."

True.

"Draco, her leg was…awkwardly twisted. We knew it was broken beyond simple magical repair. And her arm," he shuddered at the memory and took another long drag before explaining, "She looked mangled. There was so much blood coming from her head." He shuddered again, "We're not trained to deal with that kind of stuff. I don't know what happened to her in that room, but I'm shocked she was as conscious as she was when we found her."

"She was actually conscious?" Granger was stronger than he ever thought.

"Barely. She was moving her lips, her eyes were bleary, and she was talking about how it was her fault. I could've cursed Potter for having her think it was her fault."

"How did you find her?"

"We saw the sparks of raw magic from outside. It looked like a battlefield; or like someone set off fucking fireworks and trapped her in the room…and Potter. It wouldn't have been that serious had she not been abandoned, she could've been excavated safely. The protocol…the fucking protocol."

Granger abandoned by Potter? Hurt? Mangled? Leg? Arm? Protocol? What? And he, Draco Malfoy, was angry on Granger's behalf?

Well, of course he was angry! It was one thing to treat her like the scum of the universe and embarrass her in front of everyone; it was another to ignore the code of ethics basic to his job and blatantly disobey orders that led to a civilian getting hurt that seriously. Draco had worked with Potter quite a few times and that type of unashamed disregard didn't seem like him at all. He was bloody noble, annoyingly so, but he did his job, he did it well, and he never set a toe out of line, until now.

"She looked at me, whispered my name, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she started shaking. None of us knew what to do. We're not bloody Healers or Muggle doctors or anything like that; we're Aurors. So I just picked her up, she was still shaking, and I Apparated to St. Mungo's. I thought I'd Splinched her because I heard something crack and it was…it was just the broken bones in her arm rubbing together..." Blaise took a long drag of the cigarette that was nearly burnt to the core as Draco held back the queasiness that wanted to rise in his chest.

For the next few minutes, Draco watched his best friend fidget with his clothes; he'd gone through another cigarette and his hands were shaking. It was obvious that the thing with Granger was something that he'd remember forever simply because it had scared him shitless.

Not that he would ever admit it aloud, but it probably would've scared Draco too if he'd witnessed something like that.

Even after hearing it all, he just couldn't believe it had happened.

Of course he was indifferent to her and furious at her for comparing him to his father before that damn meeting, but Draco took everything he did seriously and if it was his job to protect her, it would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever abandon her like Potter had. Hell, he wouldn't even leave the Weasel like that and he hated him.

As a personal rule, he never let his feelings towards someone, whether hate or love or anything between, affect his job.

He sent the parents of some of his best friends growing up to prison without thinking twice and he was about to do it to the Marquette family. It didn't bother him a bit; it was his job. So the fact that noble Potter abandoned his integrity because of Granger made him realise that whatever happened between them was more serious than he ever anticipated and that made him only more interested in the truth...and a bit wary at the same time.

"Is she okay?" Draco questioned in noncommittal tones.

His conscience wanted to know more than he did, or at least that was what he told himself.

"The bones in her arm and leg were completely destroyed, she had a skull fracture, five broken ribs, and two slipped disks in her back, a broken pelvis, and a broken jaw…what do you think? I don't think she'll be okay for a few weeks, if ever. They spent all night fixing her up, re-growing bones, and fixing some internal bleeding. They called in a few Muggle specialists, but yes, she's alive at least, but not conscious. They put her out for her own good."

"Well, I'm sure her family and friends are hounding her."

Those bloody Gryffindors stuck together through thick and thin, no matter how they felt about each other at the time.

Blaise looked at him as if he were out of his mind. "What are you talking about? She doesn't have family or friends and she sure as hell doesn't have a next of kin that's related to her. I know. I had to send the Patronus—that was the only reason I stayed. Her boss came by, but he was so livid they had to escort him out. So, he came to the Ministry this morning and continued his tirade, which I'm sure you heard," he shook his head.

Well that explained who the yelling man was and who he was yelling at, but that realization was overshadowed by his words. Granger? Alone and friendless? No, that didn't seem right. Draco dismissed that crazy notion. After all, Blaise was sleep-deprived.

In the wake of that dismissal, there was a question that pressed to get asked, "Who was her next of kin?"

"Pansy."

And the plot thickened.

ooo

Part 2: Fifty-seven minutes

It took Draco seven minutes to set his affairs in order for the day.

It took seventeen minutes (and a well-aimed jinx) to pry the cigarettes from Blaise's hand and send the haggard man home by Floo with a dose of Dreamless Draught before he smoked himself to death or drove himself crazy. He'd be better with some sleep.

It took twenty-seven minutes to make up an excuse as to why he had to leave early.

It took thirty-seven minutes to find tea and seek out Pansy Parkinson.

It took forty-seven minutes to gain access to the floor where Granger was being held.

And it took fifty-seven minutes to knock on the already ajar hospital room.

It was only then he realised he had no real devious plan up his sleeve.

Damn. Oh well, he was already there.

When he wasn't immediately hit with a curse, Draco slowly pushed the door open all the way.

He didn't have to see her face to know she was upset; the fact that she didn't hear him enter the room was a testament to just how upset she was. Pansy wore the same clothes which she'd worn the previous day at lunch and he watched as she tentatively rested a dainty hand rest on Granger's gauze-covered forehead that remained obscure to him.

"Damn Potter for leaving you," the black-haired witch mumbled audibly; her voice did nothing to hide the anger that practically radiated off her skin. "Damn you for naming me your next of kin. What were you thinking? You think I like seeing you like this?" Pansy snapped her lips shut and heaved a heavy sigh.

She was tired.

There were a lot of things Draco remembered as he stood there and observed the scene before him.

He remembered her telling him that Granger needed protection, that he needed to stay away to avoid being sucked into the hailstorm that was her life, and that the two women weren't friends. The latter was beaten down by the raging contradiction before him. Pansy's affection for the comatose witch was undeniable.

"Would you like to explain how the hell you got up here, Draco?"

Draco was almost amazed she identified him without turning around. Amazed, but not surprised.

He kept his answer vague. "I have my ways."

She turned in her chair and calmly rose. Her pink-tinted cheeks and her lack of mascara gave her secret away; she'd been crying at some point. Still, she squared her shoulders in an attempt to retain her façade of strength and laced her voice with sarcasm. "Great. You have ways. Use them to strut your arse right back out that door."

"And we're back to the guard dog routine. Its terribly old."

She took a deep breath; like she was seriously trying to refrain from smashing his face in or breaking down in tears, he didn't know which. "I don't need this right now, Draco. I just don't. Be my best friend and don't start a fight with me, be my best friend and stop whatever you're planning before you start it, and be my best friend and—and," her shoulders sank and her features softened. "Just be my best friend."

There were exactly a hundred and twenty-seven comebacks in the works, some were already on the tip of his tongue, but the wretched and drained look on Pansy's face made him suppress every single one of them.

Damn his conscience, damn her pitiful words, and damn him for actually caring about Pansy.

Draco withdrew the cup he kept behind his back and held it out to her.

"I brought you tea. I figured you might need it. It's ginseng."

Pansy let him stay and made sure the door shut behind him.

However, as soon as he saw Granger, he wished he'd left the moment Pansy had sensed his presence.

Blaise had been right.

The sight of her had the same effect that acid rain has on rocks; only now it was his rock of indifference towards her that had eroded.

No, it wasn't enough to corrode it completely; it just ate away at it. A lot.

What happened to her wasn't something she deserved for being such an insufferable know-it-all, nor was it fair. Draco knew the injustice wasn't going to stop. He'd heard hints and rumours that the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wanted the incident buried with as little fallout as possible, and though he didn't believe the Ministry would stoop so low to protect its hero, he wasn't at all surprised.

Not another coherent thought crossed his mind as he stood over Granger's bed, because all he could do was stare.

She looked positively…mangled, like she'd been savagely attacked by a wild bear or thrown around by an ogre. Pale, bruised, and beaten; the sight of her chilled him to the bone. The only reason he knew she wasn't dead was the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Due to the warmth of the room, blankets were draped lazily at her waist and he saw her bruises. They had covered almost every inch of visible skin. Granger's hair, though clean, was positively atrocious and matted – more than usual. The dressing on her head wound needed to be changed because bright red blood slowly started to stain the white gauze. She had a black eye, a split lip, and a bruised cheek, probably from where they'd fixed her broken jaw. Dressed in the standard St. Mungo's gown for comatose patients, he quickly noticed her left arm was encased in a cast of sorts and the other was covered in light bruises.

"Thank you for not probing and for the tea; it was just what I needed."

Draco's eyes were still locked on Granger when he mumbled, "You're welcome."

"She looks a lot better than she did this morning," Pansy appeared at his side, fresh from throwing the Styrofoam cup away.

Draco found that impossible to believe.

"Potter is a foul git for leaving her like that and the second I see him, I'm going to eviscerate him."

Silently, he agreed and slowly turned his eyes away from the comatose woman.

All was silent as Pansy dutifully straightened the blanket that covered her. The kind action threw him off. He was about to comment when she spoke up, "I just called a mediwitch to come and change her head dressing. Hopefully, they'll let me do something to that hideous head of hers. It's already tangled enough, as it is. It'll probably look like steel wool when she wakes," she rambled as she used her wand to open the curtains in the room.

"How long will she be out?" Draco didn't mean to ask, but the damage was already done.

"They don't know, probably another day or two, but not any more than three days. Well, I don't think. They're not done healing all her broken ribs; they spent most of the night trying to mend her leg and her arm. The swelling has gone down and I think they're going to finish after the mediwitch checks her out in a few. I hope they do, so she can wake up."

Pansy only rambled when she was worried and she needed to get her mind off what was going on.

"They told me to talk to her because they said she can hear me, but I think that's complete rubbish…where is that mediwitch? I told them to come now…"

For a moment, Draco just stared at his best friend. Never in his life had he seen her take an interest in anyone other than herself, him, Blaise, or her father when he had been alive, "You care for her, don't you Pans?" His voice wasn't accusatory, it wasn't curious, hell, it wasn't even in a questioning tone.

It was more like a statement of the obvious.

Pansy froze and looked at him. With a sigh and a moment of silence, she admitted in soft tones, "We're not friends. Not because I don't want to be, but because she doesn't trust me enough to believe that I won't stab her in the back. I suppose I don't blame her, because she's still in so much pain from the emotional blow she took recently. You're right, though. I do care for her greatly. I would do anything for her; I'd do anything to take her pain away."

"Why?"

"She gave me back my life, Draco, and I trust her, almost as much as I trust you and Blaise, even if she doesn't feel the same way about me."

"But why?"

"She saved me…twice."

As he watched and listened to Pansy fuss with the mediwitch over Granger's hair from his chair in the corner of the room, he allowed her words to repeat, ever more quickly, in his mind.

"I just want to straighten it or something."

"Miss. Parkinson, I don't think I can—"

"You can and you will. Look at it! It's absolutely atrocious! It's going to be a tangled mess when she wakes."

Hermione Granger, noble Gryffindor, savoir of Mudbloods and magical creatures alike, actually saved bigoted Pansy Parkinson's life? From what he knew they hated each other, but apparently he knew nothing about their relationship as of late.

"I don't know any charms…"

"What the bloody hell do you mean you don't know any charms? Are you some kind of idiot or something?"

Twice? Granger saved her life twice? And what was she talking about when she said she'd taken an emotional blow recently?

"I—I apologise, Miss. Parkinson," the mediwitch stammered.

"Damn right you need to apologise. For Merlin's sake, do I have to do your job for you? Step aside, Helga."

"Umm—"

"Move!" Draco didn't hear the charm she used, but he heard her smug words, "See, that's how you do it."

"It is rather pretty and it doesn't interfere with the dressing on her head."

"I know, Helga. I used my brain. You should try it sometime."

He knew about the first time, but what was the second?

Draco was immediately snatched from his thoughts when a team of Healers walked in, conversing amongst themselves. Pansy, who appeared in the chair next to him out of nowhere, rested her hand on his shoulder before she gave him a little shake. "We have to go, they're about to take her in to finish mending her bones now that the swelling has gone down. I need a shower, lunch, and then, we need to talk."

ooo

Part 3: The Catalyst

A few minutes later he found himself in Pansy's home that she'd inherited from her parents.

While she showered and changed, Draco sat in his living room and collected his thoughts. He tried to figure out just how he would approach the topic without getting hexed into the next year. There were fifteen ideas in his head by the time they finished lunch, but he didn't have to use a single one.

"I visited my mother." Pansy told him quietly as the plates were cleared by one of the three house elves in her possession.

Draco said nothing. There wasn't anything he could say.

Pansy was her father's daughter to the core and wasn't close to her mother, not at all. During her teenage years they had fought about everything from school to marriage. Though she wasn't the brightest or the most dedicated student, Pansy cared about her education and thought of her seven years at Hogwarts as a great learning experience. Her mother felt the opposite and always emphasized the importance of getting married and settled as soon as possible.

"She had no idea who I was, and, I suppose, that was probably for the best. If Mother knew I hadn't visited her in almost five years, there would be no Silencing Charm strong enough to shut her up," Pansy chuckled ruefully.

The entire engagement idea to Blaise had been her mother's, and Pansy blamed her mother for inadvertently causing her father's death. After all, she had no one else at whole she could point her finger and so used her mother as a scapegoat. After she was tortured into insanity and housed with the Longbottoms', Pansy rarely spoke of her, never visited, and Blaise's attempt at helping her bury the resentment towards her mother ended with a cataclysmic row between his best friends that Draco had observed with tired eyes.

Soon, Blaise left the topic alone and hoped she'd find solace on her own.

"And…I think…I think I'm finally ready to let go."

Draco looked at her, but said nothing; he figured she just needed him to listen.

"It wasn't her fault, and, if anything, she saved all our lives with her Patronus. I've known that for a long time, but I've been stuck on myself and my own pain. But I think I'm finally ready to let some things go. So with that said, I need you to do me a favour."

"What?"

"Use Legilimency."

A blond eyebrow jerked up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me…use Legilimency on me."

"Pansy."

"Look," she huffed, "Even though I've gotten over it with years of therapy, I still can't actually talk to you about it. I'd rather show you the memory through my eyes."

And that was how he found himself in her living room, Floo blocked and lights dimmed, as he stared at Pansy, who now sat in an armchair, waiting patiently. As confident and as at ease as he appeared, Draco Malfoy wanted nothing more than to Floo away from her house and drink himself silly.

But running never accomplished anything, as much as he wanted to believe otherwise.

He had wanted to find out Granger's secrets, not Pansy's. Granger's secrets were easier to handle; he didn't care about her. Draco did, however, care about Pansy. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that what he was about to see was the reason why she'd had that massive breakdown immediately after returning from Australia. It had taken him and Blaise nearly five months to convince her to check herself into St. Mungo's.

"Hermione saved my life twice," she told him when he pointed his wand warily; "I know I told you that, but I needed to repeat that. The first time was the night my father died. And the second was about nine weeks later in Australia. She calls the memory I'm about to show you 'the catalyst', the beginning of the end of everything she once knew. It took me years to understand why, but now, I think I do."

As she spoke, Draco remembered when Pansy showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, begging him to drive her to the airport. Her father's estate had just been turned over to her and she said she needed to escape London, needed to leave because everything reminded her of him and it was too much to deal with. She needed a break, so she left. Nobody knew she was gone until the next day. Blaise was understandably upset.

"Are you ready?" he asked, still wary about the memory she was letting him witness.

He was interested about the memory being the catalyst in Granger's life and he was interested in why and what followed the events of that night, but he really was uncomfortable about knowing Pansy's role in it all.

"Yes."

"Legilimens!"

The next thing he knew, he was reliving a memory through the eyes of Pansy Parkinson.

The faceless man caught her around the waist as she tried to run and threw her body ruthlessly into the brick wall of the building directly next to the alley. The impact was brutal and she cried out in pain as speckles of black blurred her vision. And then, there he was, pushed up behind her, so close now, he was so close—she smelled his alcohol-laced breath on her face and it almost made her gag. Something poked her in her lower back and the vomit that was lodged in her chest nearly completed its quest to the surface. She knew what it was and it sickened her.

"You're such a pretty girl, how old are you?" the faceless man whispered, running his fingers through her black hair as she trembled in fear.

Pansy wondered just how she had found herself in that particular situation and wracked her mind on a quest to find out just where it all had gone wrong. It was supposed to be a shortcut to her hotel. The bellhop told her about it as she had left earlier. She hadn't expected to be grabbed…she hadn't expected to be wandless…she hadn't expected to be quickly overpowered.

Suddenly, his grip on her hair tightened and she moaned in agony, "Answer me, kitten…"

"E—eighteen. Please don't hurt me."

"I wouldn't define what we're about to do as 'hurting you'. It may hurt a little, but you'll enjoy it as much as I do. I promise," The faceless man whispered in her ear and inhaled her scent, "Mmmm, young and ripe, you smell heavenly, kitten. Like strawberries, fruity…oh, you're gonna be more memorable than the others," he dropped a sloppy kiss on the side of her neck and husked, "Tell me, kitten, have you ever been with a man before?"

Pansy didn't answer; she was too focused on her escape attempt to really pay attention.

She jerked her head back suddenly. It connected with his lip and he let out a stream of curse words as he covered his bleeding lip with his hand. Pansy didn't hesitate one moment before she stomped on his foot and took off running down the alley, screaming at the top of her lungs for help.

But she didn't get far before he caught her by the hair and threw her on the hard ground where she burst into sobs.

"Please! Please just leave me alone!"

The faceless man's voice was calm; he smiled in all his bloody-lip glory "Not until I get what I want, kitten."

And he kissed her. The bile rose as he forced his tongue into her mouth by grabbing her throat and squeezing. She let out a strangled gasp and his tongue plunged in. Pansy grunted, tried to push him off, even got a few hits in, but it was useless.

Finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily, "How did you like that, kitten?"

Pansy spat in his face and immediately regretted it.

"You bitch!" Seizing her by the throat, the faceless man lifted her off the ground. She kicked furiously, gasped for air, and tried to force his hand from around her neck. Nothing worked. She was going to die if he didn't release her soon.

But he threw her on the ground instead and when the pain swept through her, she wished he would've just suffocated her. He punished Pansy mercilessly; kicking her, stomping on her back, punching her, choking her to the brink of unconsciousness and actually slapping her awake when she actually passed out.

The violence was something she'd never experienced in her life. Pansy screamed, begged, apologised, cowered, shielded, scrambled; she did any and every thing possible to get away. The pain she felt was worse than being cursed, worse than Crucio, worse than anything she ever experienced in her life. And she cried, she pleaded for mercy for the first time ever, she pleaded for her life.

But he didn't listen. No, he was too busy tearing her clothes off. He didn't care. He hurled all kinds of names at her.

Cunt. Bitch. Whore. Slut. He spat on her and she'd never felt so low in her life.

"Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone." She begged through her sobs, clutching to her stomach with one hand and kept him at arms length with the other (though just barely).

Cryptically, "You won't tell anyone anyway. Not when I'm done with you. You'll be like all the others..."

When he lifted her skirt and dug his nails into the skin of her thighs roughly, she cried out.

It was then that Pansy accepted her fate. She'd fought and fought and fought some more, but apparently she wasn't destined to win.

He unzipped his pants with one hand while the other kept her firmly in place. Her legs wiggled around, scraping against the concrete. They felt raw. "Please stop," Pansy begged almost in a whisper.

"Shut up you little bitch and stop squirming or I'll kill you right now rather than wait."

His pants were bunched around his knees and it was only then that he gained control of her squirming legs. The faceless man pried them apart. Pansy let out a howl as if she'd been beaten with a lead pipe. "No! Stop! I—" her words were cut off with the delivery of a hard punch that nearly rendered her unconscious. There were bigger black spots in her eyes and she stared at the Australian sky, weak and broken.

Blood seeped from her mouth and the sound of fabric ribbing was all she heard.

Too tired and beaten down to fight him off any longer, Pansy thought of it as karma for all the wrong she'd done in life.

And she cried for all the things she'd lost along the way and for what she was about to lose.

She screamed in pain when he ruthlessly pushed three fingers inside her and savagely pounded the screaming girl with his fingers. The faceless man just smiled, enjoying the torture he inflicted on the innocent girl. "Oh, you're so tight," he positioned himself at her entrance…and then he destroyed her innocence in one thrust.

Pansy's head collided with the ground as she howled in pain, sobbing like a broken woman. He didn't stop to let her adjust. No, that would be too nice. The pain was unbelievable and she screamed until her voice gave out and kept on screaming thereafter.

With every word he said, he delivered a brutal thrust that made her teeter closer and closer into unconsciousness:

The world went green and the faceless man fell on top of her, dead.

Initially, she didn't know what to do. He was still inside her and her body was in shock. Convinced he was going to get up and resume, she didn't move a terrified muscle…

Well, for about fifteen seconds.

That was when the shock broke and she regained her senses. Pansy screamed in terror and relief; she didn't know which overrode the other. With laboured breathing, her body trembled and her stomach wretched at the sight of his naked body on hers. Coincidentally, the faceless man's face was positioned dangerously close to hers, enabling her to look directly into his unmoving dark eyes for the first time.

Her body shook uncontrollably as she disconnected their bodies with an anguished sob, heaved him off of her, and sat up with much pain and discomfort, immediately searching the alley for her torn clothes.

All she wanted to do was run away because leaving London was the worst idea she'd ever had. All she wanted was to forget about this night, forget his face, forget fingers that plunged into her roughly, forget about him being inside of her, forget about her lost virginity, forget about her loss of innocence, and forget about the fact that she would've died as soon as he'd finished with her…had she not been saved.

She wanted to forget about everything, go back to her hotel, take a shower, and sleep until the end of time.

Instead, she came face-to-face with the person that saved her.

Hermione Granger stood there, wand pointed at the dead man as silent tears ran down her cheeks.

Tears filled Pansy's eyes as the other girl shakily whispered through her own tears, "Oh, god, what have I done?"

As Draco fell to his knees in the middle of Pansy's living room once he broke the connection, his only coherent thought was that they both were the perfect personification of innocence lost.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks to kazfeist and Guard of the Heraldi for their beta work.