A/N: Thanks as always for reviews/alerts/favorites. Only two more chapters left after this! I've already finished writing this story and am on chapter two of the sequel, so at this rate I might have the whole sequel done before I even start posting it :P Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter more than I enjoyed writing it. I'm getting sick of torturing poor Draco. Lol

Hermione ran through the castle without bothering to Disillusion herself, hurting too badly to think straight for the moment. She was disappointed in herself, angry at herself, and most of all, angry at the blonde boy who was the cause of her heartache. But she should have known better than to ever get involved with the Slytherin. She was smarter than this, she told herself, and stronger than this. Why shed a single tear over a boy who had tormented her for six years, then gotten himself enslaved to a murderous psychopath, only to then start snogging her senseless every week for nearly two months? Sure, he had opened up to her and showed her a side that she previously thought he couldn't possibly possess, and he had made her feel as if she were an unquenchable ball of flames every time he touched her, but so what? What had any of it changed? Nothing. She had shown him the way out, offered him the help of the Order, but none of it made any difference. He was still a Death Eater, and too much of a coward to do the right thing.

Malfoy was just Malfoy. How could she expect anything different?

And yet, a small voice in her head reminded Hermione of the fact that if he truly was the git he had always been, and hadn't changed one bit, then he would have kept stringing her along with no regard as to what would happen to her if Voldemort found out about them, and how it would make her the psycho's top Muggle-born target.

So fine, he had learned to actually think about somebody other than himself, she thought. But why couldn't he see that there was a way out his situation, and that there was redemption if he would only reach out and take it? Why did he see doing Voldemort's bidding as an inescapable life sentence when there was the Order, who would so gladly take him and his mother in?

She blubbered out the Gryffindor password to the Fat Lady and threw herself inside the portrait hole, not caring who saw her sobbing. As it was, Harry was the only one who was in the common room, and he stopped her when she tried to run straight to the girls' dormitories.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked as he ran after her and grabbed her arm to keep her from running away, panic in his voice. For a wild moment, he thought Draco may have succumbed to his injuries, judging by the way Hermione was acting.

"Oh Harry," wailed Hermione, throwing herself into Harry's arms, "I've been so stupid! I don't know why I thought he would ever change."

"But he's okay, though?"

Hermione pulled back a bit and blinked. "Wha- yes, he's fine."

Harry's face relaxed some. "I thought... never mind." Then his face hardened. "What did he do to you?"

Hermione took one step back and wiped her eyes with one hand while waving her wand with the other, casting a silencing charm around them. She then launched into the story of what happened in the hospital wing between Draco and herself. By the time she had finished her story and was breathing normally again, they had sank next to one another on a sofa, and Hermione had mostly regained control of her emotions. "So that's it," she said. "It's all been a waste of time."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He took his best friend's hand and said quietly, "I know it hurts... but he's probably right. Things don't ever stay secret for long, and if Voldemort found out..."

"And why is he saying this now, and not two months ago? I suppose he got what he wanted out of me and now wants to be noble and pretend like none of it ever happened."

"I didn't say he wasn't a slimy git," Harry said. "Don't mind me asking, but... are you really in love with him?"

Fresh tears formed in Hermione's brown eyes, and she let out a great breath she had been holding. "You must think I'm mad."

"A little," Harry admitted.

Hermione laughed without a trace of humor. "There's no other explanation why I'd let myself fall for Draco Malfoy. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I don't either," Harry said, giving his friend a sympathetic look with a tiny smile.

Hermione gasped out a hollow laugh and rested her head on Harry's shoulder, grateful to have a loyal, non-judgmental shoulder to cry on.

Both were silent for a moment, until Harry spoke quietly. "Ron broke up with Lavender tonight."

Hermione felt nothing at this news. Her misery was beginning to dull into numbness, and though this was a relief in some ways, she wasn't used to this type of feeling and it was unnerving. "Well, I guess the night wasn't a total loss then."

Harry grinned just slightly. "Guess not."

Draco had long since forced his childish, embarrassing crying to cease. He had also pretended to be in a deep sleep when Madam Pomfrey had reappeared next, keeping his eyes closed tightly and hiding his discomfort when she applied more dittany to his wounds. It stung less each time it was applied, but he wouldn't have cared either way. His pain was coming from somewhere much deeper than exterior wounds, and it only got worse as the night went on.

Coward. His whole body tensed at the memory of Hermione's words. How could Gryffindor's annoying little princess call him such a thing? She had no idea what it was like to be him. She had no idea what it was like to grow up in Lucius' shadow, and to have your fate pre-determined. Just because he didn't choose to go and have himself and his whole family killed on a whim of reckless bravery to "do the right thing" didn't mean he was a coward. It just meant he had a sense of self-preservation, unlike the blasted Golden Trio, and was realistic enough to anticipate that a scar-headed teenaged prat wasn't going to be able to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard of all time.

But he couldn't deny the allure of safe haven. For the first time, he allowed himself to fully consider Hermione's unending suggestions to join the Order of the Phoenix - not seriously, he assured himself, but just as a change from his usual thoughts. He imagined being holed up somewhere remote with his mother, away from the coming war, away from everything, and safe. He wouldn't have to see that terrible, excruciating look in his mother's eyes anymore when she looked at him. His soul would be intact, and maybe - just maybe - he could have some control over his life and his future after all.

It was in the midst of these thoughts that Draco drifted off to sleep. It was late in the night and he had fought so hard to stay awake, but he could no longer hold off the inviting cloud of unconsciousness that was enveloping him.

It felt as if he had been sleeping for no more than a moment before the dreams began. This time, he was in a darkened, strange house, sitting in a drawing room with his mother, who looked happier than she had in years. The pain was gone from her eyes, and she seemed to breathe easier. There were voices coming from other parts of the house, and he recognized them. He heard his old professors Moody (the real one) and Lupin, several unmistakable Weasley voices, Potter's obnoxious warbling, and the feminine sounds of Hermione's voice. He was with the Order of the Phoenix but not really a part of it either, which wasn't surprising, since if he were the Order, he wouldn't fully trust himself or his mother either.

But then there was a loud crash, followed by cackles and unhumanly savage growls and grunts, and he and Narcissa jumped to their feet. The whole house became lit with green and red light, screams and thuds, and Draco began to run to the scene. Narcissa was grabbing at him, telling him to just run out of the house and Apparate away with her, asking what he was doing, but he paid her no attention. He heard a scream that he knew belonged to Hermione, and ran faster, wand out but nearly tumbling out of his suddenly shaking hand.

Draco reached a large kitchen that was attached to another drawing room and saw black hooded figures everywhere, though three of the attackers were unmasked and most visible - Lord Voldemort himself, who was holding Potter by his throat against a wall; Draco's aunt Bellatrix, who was the source of the gleeful cackles he had heard, and who was smiling proudly as she stomped on the body of her latest kill, her own niece Nymphadora Tonks; and Fenrir Greyback, who was tearing out the throat of one of the Order, a girl, but Draco couldn't see who...

Then Greyback tossed the body aside like a ragdoll, and Draco saw a flash of bushy brown hair hit the floor.

And then all he saw was his own white-hot rage. He burst into the kitchen and sent Killing Curses everywhere, all sense of self-preservation lost, all rational thought lost. Nobody had seen him coming and his curse hit Greyback, to his pleasure, and he had also hit a hooded figure who had been standing beside the werewolf. He felt strange, like he was losing control of his own magic and that he might explode from the inside out, but then he heard the mad voice of his aunt and both he and his mother were petrified.

Unable to move, Draco watched as the Dark Lord finally defeated his nemesis, and the Boy Who Lived was no more. Potter's limp figure was levitated triumphantly in the air by a coldly laughing Voldemort, who was desecrating the boy's body so badly that Draco thought he was going to vomit, but as he was petrified, he couldn't avert his eyes.

Once the victorious snake had his fill, his eyes turned to the two Malfoys who were lying as if stones on the floor. His high voice pierced the air.

"Ah... I see we are joined by our two filthy traitors."

The body bind was lifted and Draco and Narcissa were free to move but stayed where they were, knowing there was no way out of this. Voldemort's red slitted eyes were alight with victory but also full of hatred for the two blondes in front of him. "Bellatrix," said the Dark Lord, "take care of your disgraceful sister."

Narcissa kept herself silent for as long as she could while her own sister tortured her, but eventually the pain became too much to bear, and her screams filled the air. What was left of Draco's heart was shattering as he watched his mother twist and writhe in excruciating torment, and it seemed to go on forever. The times Draco attempted to look away his eyes were magically forced back open and on his dying mother by Voldemort himself, who said, "This is what happens to traitors, young Draco. This is what will happen to you next."

When Bellatrix finally ceased the torture of Narcissa, it became evident that the time hadn't merely seemed to be ticking by slowly. The torture really had gone on forever, and Narcissa stared at the ceiling with blank, deadened eyes, while her lips uttered nonsense.

"She's been Longbottom-ed," Antonin Dolohov announced happily, and Bellatrix let out her most gleeful cackle yet.

Then Voldemort's wand flashed green, and Draco's mother was dead.

"Such a pity," Voldemort said. "I shall take care of you myself, dear Draco."

A wave of the most sickening, debilitating, destructive pain seemingly possible struck Draco and spread evenly from his head to his fingertips, and to the tips of his toes. His eyes were fixed open and bulging in a silent scream, his voice dead, everything about him dead, nothing left in the world but the faces of his dead mother and first love, and the quickly approaching insanity that this pain would surely bring. He just wanted to die, just wanted it all to be over and done, he never wanted to feel anything ever again...

And then Draco was awake and Madam Pomfrey was shaking him, even slapping him as she tried anything she could to wake him. His eyes slowly focused on her frantic face, and the pain in the dream dissipated. Now he felt a different pain, like the wounds on his chest were about to reopen and flood the bed with his blood.

"Mr. Malfoy! Are you alright? I heard your screams all the way from my quarters, and I've been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes!"

Draco's chest was heaving with great, shuddering breaths, and his entire body was drenched in a cold sweat. The terror was horribly fresh in his mind - his mother's torture and death, Hermione's limp, bloodied, and half-eaten body, and his own unimaginable pain - and he dissolved into tears. His crying was interrupted only when he threw his head over the edge of the bed and vomited all over the floor.

Pomfrey momentarily had no idea what to do with the boy. There was nobody in the school to summon for the boy, because he hated all of his teachers and she wasn't aware of any close friends of his. So she did all she knew to do, and hurried to her stores to pluck out a calming draught, then poured it down the boy's throat upon her return.

Slowly Draco's terror ebbed and he felt an involuntary warmth trickling through his veins. The warmth numbed his pounding head, unraveled his tangled and lurching stomach, and he could feel himself regaining his ability to think.

"Is there anyone I can get for you, dear boy?" the healer asked quietly.

He shook his head. Besides the fact that he couldn't think of a single person in the castle who could help him, he didn't want anybody to see him like this. Madam Pomfrey sighed, walked away, and then returned with a handful of small vials containing clear liquids.

"This is more calming potion, and sleeping potion," she explained, pressing the vials into Draco's still trembling hands. "But I suggest you speak to someone about whatever is causing this. If you don't feel comfortable with anyone else, I shall be available."

Draco said nothing, but gave a nod. Pomfrey cleaned the mess he'd left on the floor with a flick of her wand, and she said, "I will be in my office if you need anything further."

This meant the healer had clearly given up on the idea of sleeping tonight. Draco couldn't feel any guilt at that, however, because he had already begun employing certain aspects of Occlumency once the calming draught had taken effect. He was emptying his mind and dissociating as he would if his mind were attempting to be invaded by Legilimency. Absently, he realized this must be why Severus Snape was the way he was. Nobody, possibly with the exception of the insane Bellatrix, could live this life and allow themselves to feel anything. That was the key, he realized. He had to stop feeling. He had to stop thinking of anything that could cause him to feel. Essentially, he had to be dead inside.

When his mind was as empty as he could manage, he drank one of the vials of sleeping potion, and ignored the ache in his heart that no amount of control could ever erase.