Vonne: Okay, so this is an extremely long chapter, so I'm going to make this short. I think the document said this was about 8,200 words on its own without this introduction. Phew! Please, please, leave me a review for this. My fingers are tired!

Tragic Slytherin: I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the last chapter! But I'm going to keep you guessing until the very end- at least, hopefully. Though, this might seem like a nice end to this story, it is not the end. We've still got some things to sort out at Hobb's, with Hermione and Draco, and even that psychotic patient Beevis...

Doni: Thank you! Yes, Draco will definitely realize all Hermione's done to help him out; and appreciate it! He'd better have, too, because certainly Hermione's improved his situation by miles... you'll understand what I mean after this chapter, of course.

Corey Fitzwilliam: It's definitely no problem, I'm happy to hear from you at all. Thank you so much for your compliments, and I'm glad that you like 'Basket Case'. I think I've put more work into this second part of 'Radio', so it means a lot that you feel that you may like this part a bit better. Anyway, thank you again and I don't hold not reviewing against you. Your review just made my day.

Alice Wednesday: Okay, okay, I know, I ended the last chapter rather suddenly, but I had planned to do the entire last courtroom debate in this chapter... so hopefully it makes more sense that way! Thank you so much for your consistent reviews! I love hearing your ideas all the time, you've motivated me to continue with this- and now there's no way I'm not going to finish. You'll find out what's tormenting Draco in this chapter, for sure. Promise!

Dramionefiend: Okay, definitely! Sorry it took a while, but here it is! I hope you like it!

Ali-lou: Thank you so much! You've made my day, really. I hope that I pull off Draco's character in this fiction as well as you say. I'm so glad that you like this! I made this chapter extra long, too! So hopefully it makes up for the delay!

OanDuress: You should charge, you'd make bank. ;)

Pearlrose33: You're going to find out in this chapter! Sorry I'm making all these so short! I wrote such a long chapter and now all these words are giving me a headache. I fear that its going to get a little bit overwhelming- at least, it is for me just typing it, anyways. Sorry for the tiny delay! I hope you like this chapter!

Psychic City: Oh hayyy.

Special thanks to: Le Candeh, Lively McBrighten, MCLanna, Carl, and Bby!


Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Field of Gold

Ron Weasley considered two things. One, why exactly it was that courtroom trials took as long as they did; and two, why Draco Malfoy had just been escorted out from his. Hermione Granger had been behind the massive stone doors for what had seemed like an eternity, though Harry had assured him it had only been a matter of three hours, and the court's main defendant wasn't even conscious. He'd stiffened when he'd saw the back doors to the room slip open, Draco Malfoy's body limp and unconscious floating in the air above two uniform-looking men. Their faces carried spooked expressions, every once in a while glancing back up towards the sleeping body as if it might fall on them. Still, they hustled by secretly, peering over their shoulders before disappearing behind the doors of the Ministry building entirely.

"This place, mate," Ron said, looking at the door even after it had shut behind them, "gives me the creeps, I'll tell you."

"Yeah, well," Harry Potter mused, shrugging. He hadn't noticed Draco and the Ministry Men. Instead, he'd been watching the front of the building, his eyes keenly focused on the figure of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The two had been standing at the start of the hallway for hours, their faces twisted in similarly perplexed frowns. Narcissa, however, had not stopped sobbing since he had seen her, and even Harry had to admit that she looked positively dreadful. Her blonde hair swept out of place, the woman blinked running mascara from her eyes and clung on to her husband's side with desperate intent. Lucius did all the talking. "Got to get used to it, I reckon. If we're going to be Aurors, know what I mean?"

Arthur Weasley's shadow stood next to the two Malfoy's. He used his hands to make friendly gestures and kept a hopeful smile on his face. During his time observing the conversation, Harry couldn't help but notice how carefully the man spoke to Narcissa and Lucius. He had every reason to act pompously, yet he managed to keep his composure. And Harry couldn't help but smile; it was so like Arthur to keep a kind attitude, despite any situation that he had had with the family in the past. Harry noticed that the man had even seemed sympathetic, his tone hushed and secretive at times, as if to keep the pair calm. Harry shifted his posture on the bench outside the courtroom. "Err," he said, cocking his chin towards Ron's father and Malfoy's panicked parents, "what do you think they're talking about?"

Ron's face moved away from the door, his eyes locking back on his father. For a second, the two boys stared at the sad scene ahead of them. Neither of the three seemed to notice Draco's exit from the courtroom either. Instead, they spoke in close whispers, Narcissa's consistent sobs only slightly breaking their quiet conversation. "Probably discussing their chances," Ron said finally, shrugging. "Of Malfoy getting out of Hobb's." With a lift of his brow, he returned his gaze back to his best friend, "what do you think they are?"

"Think what is?" Harry mumbled, watching Lucius' hands tighten around Narcissa's fingers. She pressed her forehead deeper into her husband's broad shoulder.

"The chances, mate!" Ron quipped, nudging Harry slightly. He reached back into his pocket, fiddling with his wand nervously. "Malfoy's chances of... you know, walking?"

"Oh," Harry responded, turning away from Arthur and his conversation, "that."

Neither Harry or Ron had discussed Malfoy's chances since the start of the trial. Really, it had been Hermione who had done most of the talking. Because it had taken an entire week to get Draco even released from the asylum building, they had been given seven days to prepare and collect their evidence. And Hermione, of course, had done a vast majority of the research. Though Harry had been through the court system himself and he had known; getting a 'not guilty' verdict was not easy. Yet he couldn't handle the stress of breaking her stride. So hopeful about her chances, Hermione had even started to shift back into her normally joyous routine.

It had been weeks since the two had seen her act the way she had been then. She woke up early, looking presentable and lovely. She ate breakfast with them, books in hand, taking close notes. She talked about the trial and the evidence she'd found, made phone calls and drew up plans. They had not even objected when she'd reached Goyle on the tiny little walkie-talkie and invited him over for tea. Of course, that wasn't to say that they hadn't been happy to hear he'd turned the invitation down. He awkwardly stumbled over himself as he told her, "err, no. Thanks though... I've got, uh, research of my own to d-do." Though Goyle's resistance to make nice with Harry, Hermione, and Ron had not stopped her in her efforts. She'd visited Elaine Galler and Lazarus Patel, showing them her notes and professing to them her determination. She never slept, passing out on occasion in the binding of her library books, her face pressed to her inky notes, her fingers still half-cradled around the bulk of her limp quill.

He remembered the final night, however, before the trial, when Hermione had slunk into the living room. Her notes had been stacked into an impressive pile at the table behind her, her face dripping with sweat. She looked as if she hadn't showered in days, yet her smile was undeniable. Then, finally, she breathed, "I've done it," and pushed her wiry hair from her watering eyes. "I've finally done it!" Nonetheless, when she'd actually managed to direct her tired body to the couch, she was out within moments. Of course, Harry had been rather impressed; the next morning, she'd left to the courthouse before Ron and Harry had even managed to get dressed.

Harry inhaled, running his hand through his messy head of black hair. "I think," he said earnestly, choosing his words carefully, "Hermione's got a bunch of notes."

Ron's face crumbled. Curiously, he asked, "what's that supposed to mean?"

A pause calmed the passed speech between the two. When Harry glanced up, however, his face was twisted into a smile. Then he passed Ron a slight wink, despite his obvious nerves. All he had wanted was for Hermione to be happy again, for everything to be put right. Sure, he had only recently come to terms with Draco, but even he knew that the man didn't deserve entrapment. Then, he said simply, "Hermione's really great at taking notes."

A slight bang sounded out around them and Ron's returned smile faltered, as did Harry's. Both of the young men glanced around, back to the doors that Ron had only recently lost focus with. Something shifted and they finally drew themselves back open, the bulk of a thin, floating stretcher prodded its way through. At the surface of it rest Draco Malfoy, having made his second appearance. He lie on his side, his knees stiffly up to his chest. He looked ill and his body slightly jerked, as if he were suffering from a rather mild night terror. The previous pair of Ministry Men at his side had increased in size; this time, the sleeping Malfoy was escorted back into the court room by no more than five.

"Hey!" Yet again, Harry's head snapped backwards, jumping at the loud voice that had shouted out from behind him. Ron followed suit, turning around instantly to see that Lucius had darted forward, his walking stick discarded to the side. It clamored on the marble floor by Narcissa's feet, yet the man still continued running. "Hey! What are you doing? Hey!"

The five men at Draco's side only ignored the boy's father. They didn't even bother exchanging curious looks. Instead, they shuffled Malfoy back through the doors, once again bringing him away from the Ministry hallway completely. It only took a fraction of a second. Thus, Lucius stopped dead in his tracks, having made it only halfway passed the point of Ron and Harry's resting point. But Ron and Harry only watched, silent as they stood to the sidelines, caught up in the sheer intensity of it all. Lucius, however, did not move. He payed the boys no attention; only, his focus remained on the freshly shut doors that had slammed forcibly shut on him in the distance. He stared on, beyond the exterior of the marble doors, and his shoulders slumped. When he heard the oncoming steps of Arthur Weasley from behind him, he wheeled himself back around, an expression on his face that was angry, yet perhaps even more so petrified.

"What," he breathed, his blond hair cast brutally along the surface of his pale face, "is the meaning of this?"

"It's okay," Arthur explained, his hands out in front of him. Despite his position of higher authority, he still lifted his palms up, as if offering back a surrender. "They're only just doing their job, I-"

"And what's happening to my son?" Lucius cut him off, his eyes blaring with resentment and terror.

Harry and Ron took their stands. Though Lucius could not see their instinctive reaction to his hostility; they stood behind him still, their fists clenched wearily. Yet only Harry managed to glance back towards the end of the hallway, back to where Narcissa stood. Her posture havered responsively, noticing that Harry had glanced back at her. Yet she did not return his stare. Instead, she allowed her eyes to slump to the ground, eyeing the shadow of her husband's discarded walking stick.

For a second she hovered over it, yet it did not take her long to bend down and grace her fingers back over it. Her ghostly transparent features shone in the gold light of the Ministry building, making her look ghastly with excessive tears. Thus, when she'd positioned herself to the ground with Lucius' walking stick, she did not readjust herself to a second stance. Instead, she remained on the ground, her gaze back up at the doors that her son had only so recently vanished through.

Lucius' shouts still shook the room and Harry's head snapped back to the blond man. "T-This can't possibly be textbook. How can anyone expect to a-analyze him if he's..." Lucius' face crumbled, "bloody unconscious?"

"He's in good hands, Lucius," Arthur promised, nodding sincerely. His eyes were wide with truth and he looked both certain and sympathetic. He seemed to understand the tragedy of having lost a son, and the marks of age in his face truly signified his loss. Though it had been five years since the Weasley family had lost Fred to the bitterness of war, not a day passed that they did not think back to the very memory of him.

Lucius instantly understood. His aggressive posture fell and his face flattened. For a second, he considered the visual expression of the redhead in front of him. He faltered, eyes watering, and then regained himself, smoothing out the front of his impressive suit and jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers. When he straightened himself, he still sheepishly kept his face positioned back down to the ground, his eyes examining something far more easy to look at. "Right," he said, shaking his head and wincing. When he looked back up at Arthur Weasley, all the muscles in his face had relaxed themselves. "Thank you."

Then, with that, he strode past Arthur, his attention brought on to his wife and his wife alone. He moved towards her attentively and when he finally reached her, he helped her off the floor, fixed himself back with his walking stick, and disappeared for the final time around the corner of the everlasting hallway. It took only a slight second for Arthur to compose himself. He stood, frozen in the hallway, his eyes swimming with the memory of his lost son, and then he too made his way back down the hall. Finally, when Ron and Harry had been left alone again, the two relaxed their stances.

Ron stepped back out from Harry's side, his fingers hanging loosely at his hips. "Huh," he said miserably, "looks like the War's fucked up just about everyone." He shook his head, flopping back onto the bench, his tone bouncing off the delicate walls around him.

Harry stumbled back, too. His feet forcing him back to the bench, where he regained his slumped position at Ron's slouchy side. He drew a long breath, staring back down the hall, and then responsively at the shimmer of his shined shoes. "Yeah," he said in a voice that was unquestionably solemn.

"You know," Ron said, breathing out, "believe it or not, I want Draco to get his 'not guilty' verdict. I want him to get out of Hobb's."

"Oh yeah?" Harry inquired, lifting a brow up in response. "Why's that?"

"'Cause that would confirm it, wouldn't it?" Ron stated, lifting his hands up in a rather defeated gesture. "That, sooner or later, everything gets better." He exchanged glances with Harry, lifting up his shoulders. "Isn't that what they say? Doesn't... doesn't... 'time heal all wounds'?"

For the second time in the evening Harry smoothed back his mop of messy black hair. He turned away from Ron, who had taken up a new staring contest with the marble tiles, and looked back towards the shut doors of the courtroom. Then finally, he breathed back out again, his sigh heavy on the chilly hallway around the two of them. "I dunno," he said conclusively; however, he guessed it wouldn't be that much longer until he could find out.


Draco Malfoy's body gave a tiny little flinch. It was positioned in a distraught and floppy manner, with its left hand dangling over the edge of the stretcher loosely. Hermione passed a steady glance back at Draco, her heart pounding faster, but she managed to keep her composure. But really, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter; the courtroom had focused all their attention on her and her defendant. She couldn't risk giving herself away by expressing any emotion towards the unconscious man in front of her. However, she could not deny the brutal sympathy she felt for him. As his weak chest rose up and down with sleep, she barely managed not reaching forward and giving his hand a tight squeeze.

"How long is he usually out for?" Lazarus Patel inquired. He had not been able to keep his eye off of Draco Malfoy ever since he had been brought back into the courtroom, which was beginning to feel more like a hospital ward all things considered.

Hermione, however, took the change of atmosphere to her advantage, shifting her weight and proclaiming vividly, "it ranges. Usually, he's not out for that long. That is, when's he's not drugged." She shot a bitter look in the direction of Bowen, whose face grew hot on impact. He shrunk back, crossing his burley arms around his thick chest. Hermione was more than relieved to see that the man had took her comment offensively.

Elaine Galler had stepped forward; she had been standing near Draco for quite some time since he had been brought back into the marble room and her face was twisted in a rather solemn frown. Because her hair was so tightly pulled away from her face, her expression had become more grim and far more visible. And even Hermione couldn't help but spot the spot gentleness she had in her presence around him. Every so often, when she would catch her in her scrutiny, Hermione would notice the therapist's hand slip up towards Draco's blond hair and brush it away from his pale face.

In a much more understanding and soft tone, Hermione began again. "I'm sure you all remember Harry Potter's visions... his set backs." She gestured towards her chest, offering a kind expression, "I went to school with him, and I was able to recognize Mr. Malfoy's symptoms in the same way that I grew to recognize Harry's."

"And how would you know what Draco Malfoy's symptoms are, Ms. Granger?" Dr. Bowen fired. He seemed to have gained much more confidence in his inquiry, lifting his eyebrow with a jolting force. Something behind his eyes flickered and Hermione could tell that he was more than feebly determined to not have her prove him wrong.

Yet his comment had done its purpose; Hermione stalled. Uneasily she shifted her weight from one side to the other, chewing distractingly on her lower lip for support. For a moment she considered herself to be far out of her league. The men and women in front of her, they'd been doing their jobs for years. They'd seen court case after court case, convicted people for years when they were not fit to properly defend themselves. Thus, inwardly frantic, Hermione glanced back around the room; yet Elaine Galler seemed to be staring at her with an expression that held no damnation. Instead, she nodded her head and leaned away from her ex-patient, lifting a wiry finger.

She said professionally, "I can explain that one, actually."

Dr. Bowen's face hardened. Yet, nonetheless, he lifted his palm and swooped it across the space in front of him, as if giving her the floor. "By all means," he responded.

"Hermione was actually an assistant to me during the times Draco Malfoy was in my care." She lied as if such a thing came easily to her. Not even for a moment did her face shift; instead, she remained rather sure in her testimony, speaking with casual tones in a way that was admittedly rather impressive. "At the time, Draco Malfoy had experience one of his episodes in the hallway. Hermione was actually quite the help at the time."

The stern look on the aylum doctor's face shifted. He glanced from Galler, to Hermione, and then back again. However, his pride overwhelmed him; he did not have the will to drop the subject. Instead, he lifted up his broad shoulders, shrugging in a slightly demeaning manner to ask, "meaning?"

Elaine Galler's shrug matched his. She looked back at him calmly, ignoring Hermione as she gawked back at her. "Meaning Ms. Granger was more than happy to fix Mr. Malfoy back up. Needless to say, she had witnessed his symptoms then once." Then, hurriedly, she added, "if you don't count the two other times Mr. Malfoy passed out in my hallway, or in the waiting room, in fact."

The cocky attitude that Dr. Bowen had been carrying faltered. He seemed to have bought the therapist's story, despite managing to keep such an atrocious front to mask it. Nonetheless, he leaned back, red in the face, and remained oddly quiet in the moments that a thick silence wound around the room. "And so," Lazarus Patel spoke up again. He seemed to ignore Bowen in his obvious pout, and instead kept his focus locked on Draco, whose breathing had become far from steady. "What exactly are these symptoms?"

"In the way that Harry could see Voldemort, Draco can, as well." Elaine offered, still ignoring Hermione's uneasy gaze. Hermione had always considered the woman unbearable; the woman who had suggested Draco's admittance to Hobb's in the first place. But now the woman seemed so keen on helping out her previous patient. Yet Hermione was so fascinated in her carefree way of doing so, as if perhaps it had been her intent all along. Certainly, she had brought unneeded stress into Draco's life... or had it been Hermione who had concluded this so quickly? "He also suffers from vivid nightmares."

Malfoy's face twisted. His brows furrowed together in his sleep, and from his throat, he emitted a soft and miserable moan. It was one that Hermione knew to well, yet the rest in the room had frozen, perhaps due to their own reasons. Lazarus' face was horrified, yet Bowen's face was bitter- surely, he had not wished for more evidence to pile up against him. Nonetheless, the squirming body of Malfoy only progressed. Dazed, he slipped his hands up to his head and rubbed his cheek against his palm. For a second he lie still, though it was not long before he brought his knees back up to his chest in a submissive and tortured manner. Quickly, Elaine Galler brought her wand down, touching the temple of Malfoy's head. She looked strained for a moment, but when she pulled the tip of her wand away from Malfoy, a long, silver strand of the boy's memory had been lifted. Malfoy's torso stopped shaking, and his face fell to an expression that appeared far more content than before.

"So that's it then?" Lazarus stammered, glancing at the dangling silver memory with wide-eyes. His face found the Penseive in the corner of the courtroom; he had finally understood as to why the Ministry had insisted it be brought in, in the first place. "T-That's Mr. Malfoy's memories?"

Elaine Galler nodded stiffly, her head tilted as she too took in the sparkling thing. "One of many, Mr. Patel," she said, and Hermione stepped back. "This, however, is just a memory of a nightmare." She nodded towards Hermione and it was the first time she had truly looked at her since her performance earlier. "Ms. Granger," she said, nodding towards the Penseive in the corner of the dark room, "if you please."

Hermione wasted no time. Stumbling over herself, she retreated back towards the marble thing, staring down into the water for a moment before she had time to react. Then, when she had her fingers firmly around the edge, she staggered back over to Elaine and the unconscious body of Malfoy, steering the Penseive back in front of the panel in the room decisively. "Mr. Patel?" Elaine offered, scooting back the thing in the breathless man's direction.

Lazarus Patel faltered, looking anxious, like a deer caught in the headlights. He straightened his long silver tie and smoothed back his hair with the fingers on his chubby hand. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to pass out, yet something about him seemed driven; diving into the memory was his job, and he knew that he had to do it. Nonetheless, he chewed hastily on his lower lip, looking up at the crowd of people behind him, and then back at the Penseive nervously.

And the shaking of his hands made his anxiety obvious. Yet his nod came back to both Elaine and Hermione as curt and what was at least fractionally ready. He leaned forward, craning his neck out over the surface of the Penseive, and then, within seconds, he was gone.


Draco Malfoy's dream was not just a dream; it was a nightmare. And for him, it was a reality.

Lazarus Patel could see the boy, far off in the distance, his long limbs barely carrying him over the majority of dry wheat that crowded at his feet. And Draco was heaving, his face covered in a mixture of blood, and sweat, and tears. The tattered appearance of his clothes had been unmistakable and it made Lazarus almost physically sick to his stomach. Malfoy's white button-up shirt was torn and covered in his own red blood, dripping intensely in thick sweat. The hem of it had come halfway tucked out of his black trousers, and his polished black shoes were scuffed and untied. Around his shoulders, his deep black tie flapped in the wind, almost completely undone from his neck.

His lip was split, and his black eye was obvious. And despite having heard rumors about the boy's current unpresentable demeanor, this vision of Draco was far more beaten than Lazarus had seen him in the courtroom. Yet all the blood had been dried on his face; he sported an ample amount of bruises that had barely healed over. Above the cloud only darkened, churning with the onset of gray clouds, threatening a storm or a hurricane. But it seemed as if the frightened young boy was alone, somewhere off in the field of golden grass, breathlessly running through the emptiness, his solidarity confirmed by the harsh echo of his own thundering breaths.

Something shifted in the burnt and ashy brush behind him.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, twisting around mid-step. He shot his wand out, pointing it at the sudden new rustle in the woods. And he did not stop running. Lazarus could tell that his sides were splitting; he looked as if he had run for miles without stopping and his pain was obvious. Thus, once he'd shouted his spell, he darted, still staggering- and Lazarus finally noticed the limp in his step, the lagging sort of stumble that made the man ponder whether his leg was even suitable to have been put to use.

Nonetheless, Draco pushed on it, oblivious to the damage he was facing. Though the shifting around the sky had been obvious- even to Lazarus now- who stood with his face cocked upwards, his mouth half-way open, watching the scenery around him. Lazarus could see it now; the shadows, they were everywhere. They stood in separate places, barely moving, only analyzing. Their wands sat lifelessly between their slender fingers, a smile on their shaded faces. In the moment that everything was silent, they took their time to waltz forward; a playful game that they deemed as necessary. However, when the slight moment of odd serenity passed, one of the shades lifted up her wand and pointed.

Her voice rung out in a tone that was bitterly sweet, high pitched, and sadistic. "Impendimenta!" she cried, and the jet of light jolted out from the tip of her wand, hitting her target within the very instant. And, breathing wildly, she pushed her messy black hair out from her face that was both terrible and strangely captivating. Bellatrix Lestrange watched as Malfoy let out a little whimper, and fumbled. His feet catching back over one another, crying out as he was hit directly in the back.

The side of his very skull hit the ground first and he slammed down into the dry grass in full force. And even from his distance, Lazarus could hear the boy sob, his sore throat blatant even in the whoosh of the oncoming storm. "Tag!" Bellatrix giggled, a broad smile across her face. She pulled her hair back with the tip of her wand, tilting her head to the side as she took her slow steps towards her nephew. The overwhelming joy she took in harming Draco was unmistakable, and she practically glowed when she said in a rather tisking tone of voice, "you've not been so good, now have you, Draco?"

The cluster of dark figures followed her out, though they remained far less animated. Their wands were lifted then, and they glided forward like specters. They paid no attention to the oncoming storm, no attention to the crackle of thunder from above, or the writhing boy in the golden grass below. And they remained strictly quiet, allowing Bellatrix to do all the talking as they slid across the waving grass, their eyes grazing Malfoy as he attempted to lift himself back up, yet only managing to fumble back down in the process.

"Running isn't going to do you any good, Draco," spat one of the male shadows, finally, his voice heavy and powerful- Yaxley.

Malfoy reached forward, still trying to lift himself, despite all efforts. He'd made it to his knees, stretching himself forward to get a proper stance. However, it was Amycus Carrow who was far too quick for him. "Crucio!" he shouted, extending his wand around outwards, hitting Draco with the spell instantly. Thus, the slender body of the boy fell forward again, a new yelp sound out from his throat, and he curled forward, hugging his stomach and crashing back into the grass onto his side. Yet the pain was far too much for him and the spasms made his sweat double. His head scraped against the sharp grass, his fingers loosening with the volts of electricity running through his very core.

Lazarus stepped forward, taking advantage in his ability to invade the memory without being seen, and watched horrified. Nonetheless, the crowd continued forward, casual to Malfoy completely. But when he was finally released from the Unforgivable Curse, they had finally met their destination. Though, by then, Malfoy was almost too weak to move anyway. Instead, he remained on his side, helpless as Yaxley lifted up his foot and delivered a hard kick to his stomach.

"Disloyal," he spat, then reaching down, and hoisting Draco back up to his feet. The boy staggered and then swayed, hunched over in a desperate attempt to keep himself from doubling back down to the floor again. Yet his fingers found the circumference of his slender wand again, and he took haste in the split second that he found himself being left alone.

"Petrifi-" he started, thus once again falling far short.

"Relasho!" the Death Eater grunted, his eyes burning bitterly. Draco was forced backwards, his entire body lifted from the ground and sent flying. When he finally landed with a crash back into the wheat fields, he had lost hold of his wand; somewhere in the middle of all that wheat, it sat alone.

And Malfoy's sobbing now had come through the air more petrified than ever. He could not catch his breath, and he scrambled to his feet far too slowly; Amycus delivered a harsh blow to the back of the boy's blond head, and he slammed back into the ground brutally. The Death Eater bent forward, lifting Malfoy up by the roots of his hair and slamming his heavy fist into his face instantly. The sound split the air, cracking with the thunder above, and it forced Draco back down, his nose pouring with a fountain of fresh, red blood that dribbled down the front of his white shirt like a fountain. Still, he reacted, even without his wand, and lunged back at the stout man.

But the seventeen year old was absolutely no match for the group of Death Eaters alone. "Levicorpus!" Yaxley bellowed, and Draco's body was lifted up harshly by the ankles. He gasped, the wind clearly knocked out from his lungs, but he'd been unable to free himself. As the nearing Death Eaters made their way in his direction, he only lifted up his arms to protect his face. "You bleeding little prick!" shouted Amycus, who had only just noticed that his fellow Death Eater had saved him from a blow to the back of the head. "You useless little swine!"

Rapidly, he lifted his arm, redirecting it to Malfoy's gut, and pulling Draco's arms away from his face. He'd had him from there; once he'd managed to render him completely helpless, he delivered a third punch, this time out of pure fury, his knuckles colliding with the side of his cheek. The blood tumbled from Malfoy's open mouth, and he coughed as it tainted the yellow wheat below him. He couldn't help but cry now, screaming uselessly in the bulk of the thundering storm. Thus, when Yaxley finally released him from the curse, he slammed back onto the ground, his skull colliding with the side of a sharp rock in the process.

Malfoy let out a pained moan, his eyes overflowing with tears that watered excessively down his cheeks. He arched his back up on the floor, struggling to produce a proper breath. Choking, he managed all he could. "P-Please d-don't kill me," he begged, a hoarse and timid tone to his ill voice. He inhaled thickly, his chest rising and his face twisting. "Please," he continued, desperate, "don't kill me."

An echo of choir-esque laughter sounded out around the open space of swaying filed. "I'll make sure the Dark Lord kills you," hissed Amycus, his wand out in front of him like a loaded gun. "And he will, too, you fucking coward! He'll leave your corpse to Nagani, or your spineless little friend, Goyle."

Amycus took a step forward, watching new blood blend in with the messy hair on Draco's split head. "I think we'll have Goyle take care of your remains, hm?" he continued, watching Malfoy's hands feel the ground. Despite the injury to his head, he searched the space for his wand, lost in the golden bristles. However, Amycus' reactions were to be predicted; he made grab for Draco around the neck and let a smile cross his face when he'd had the boy back on his feet.

"Imperio!" shouted Amycus, directing his wand back in the boy's direction. At once, Malfoy was slammed back down to the ground, forced on his knees. His arms dangled by his side ineffectively, and the blood drooled down the front of his gashed face. From out of nowehere, Fenir Greyback's shadow was cast alongside of Amycus' short and unfortunate one. However, the smaller of the two Death Eaters pressed onward, grabbing Draco by the collar of his shirt, and serving him a second blow to his eye. Fenir's grin doubled.

"We'll have Goyle carry your pretty little remains into the streets of Hogsmeade," the hairy man sadistically smiled, "of course, you'll be severed up into a million bits and pieces by then."

Alecto Carrow strode out from the darkness; Lazarus had not noticed her there beforehand, but he'd assumed that she'd remained in the background all along. Alecto's frumpy frame matched up dually with her brother's, and she wore the same twisted expression as he had. "First Goyle will cut off your arms," she said, and leaned in. Her fingers made an instant find, grabbing onto Malfoy's right forearm and snapping it out of place.

He was forced into the chest of the Carrow brother, only to be met in the stomach by the front of his forceful knee. "And then he'll slice into your stomach."

Malfoy cried out, tears pooling down the front of his face, slipping down his swollen cheeks. But under the Unforgivable Curse, he couldn't move, and he was helpless when Yaxley's steady shadow approached him again. He lifted his hands, grabbing the front of Malfoy's chin and pinching it upwards so that he could perhaps get a better look into the boy's flooded eyes. And Lazarus was astonished to see that he'd made it this long without passing out, his consciousness hovering with ever moment that his bruised eyes rolled back into his skull. Yet Yaxley made it impossible for him to find safety in unconsciousness.

His fingers locked within Malfoy's hair for the second time and, with his free hand, he grabbed the discarded rock that had been sitting in the field next to him. "And then he'll saw off your head from your shoulders," he said, dragging the stone against the side of his face.

"Please, don't kill me." The blond struggled to speak. His hair had turned almost a deep shade of red, and it stuck across his equally bloody visage in a horrible and distinct way that made Lazarus cringe, even as a spectator. Though, despite being under the Impervious Curse, Draco was allowed the freedom to shake his head, blinking tears out of his eyes while he hiccuped, popping bubbles of vibrant red blood from his open mouth.

Amycus' face lifted into a smile. Nonetheless, he dropped the rock, letting it hit the ground next to Malfoy's knees and turning around dully to face Yaxley, Fenir, and Alecto. "Did you hear that?" he asked aloud to the group around him. "I think we've scared poor Draco..." A second fit of chuckles erupted around the crowd again and when Amycus turned back to Malfoy, his expression was serious and rather intense. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Draco, not yet." He said calmly, "I think, though, that Crabbe will enjoy it, when it does come."

The man released Malfoy, slashing his wand at the same moment that the boy's torso slipped forward. Once again, he made grab towards his stomach, curling up on his knees, and hugging himself closely. And while only his head lolled forward, his shoulders heaved up and down with his sobs. Bellatrix Lestrange, however, had finally made her approach. In the churning clouds, she walked like a bride on her wedding day, step after every prolonged step, until finally, when she reached his level, she squatted down and lifted his chin with a pinch of her long fingers. "He's coming now, you know..."

Then there was a crack in the sky; it seemed as if the world had split.

There, in the field of gold, Voldemort stood in flowing black.

"So," he said, snake-like, "it's true, then." He cradled his wand in his hands delicately, and Malfoy jolted upwards. He fumbled back, his bloody palms as his only support, but was stopped in the middle of his crab-like crawl when Bellatrix's foot collided with his back. She shook her head teasingly, but looked fascinated when Voldemort spoke up again. "But alas, I had to see it for myself."

Lazarus was unaware, but he continued to listen in silently, taking a stance at Malfoy's quivering side. He was close enough to sense the boy's fear, close enough to hear his heart beat wildly under his bloody shirt. But the ghost of the half-dead man only floated forward, gliding across the nature-filled floor with such ease. His face was blank, but his eyes were ablaze, and Malfoy's panting was almost unbearably obvious. "Your friend Goyle wasn't much help in finding you, I might add." Voldemort informed him carefully. "We couldn't have that; and he was punished for it."

Bellatrix cocked up her chin, gesturing back towards Yaxley, whose grin widened. "Yaxley here made sure of that." Lazarus watched Draco's face crumble, and his eyes swell up. Despite the blood dripping from his nose, mouth, and skull, his real fear was for his friend. He looked utterly crushed- Lazarus realized this by the contortion on his pale face, both guilty and mournful, as if he had caused the assumed death of what had been perhaps his only friend in the entire world.

"Crabbe, on the other hand," he looked down at Draco, his face soft and falsely understanding, "... he kindly offered us his help."

"Said you slipped out of your cot in the night, he did," Alecto clarified, anxious and over excited; Voldemort, however, did not seem to mind her contribution to the conversation. Instead, he permitted her to talk, laughing simply as she did so, her smile wide and profound. "Told us how to find you and everything, he did. He even showed us out the back door."

"It didn't take long, either," accompanied Amycus, his eyes narrow with the memory of the scene that had happened only hours ago. "Fenir... he could smell you."

Malfoy's throat clenched and he remained slumped, still utterly curled into himself. Voldemort, on the other hand, continued forward. "You know what has to happen now, don't you, Draco?" He approached the balled-up boy's figure, snatching his face upwards by the chin and positioning the end of his crooked wand to Malfoy's neck. Without another word, he drew the wand down, and the white skin at Draco's throat split open. Malfoy whimpered, but the cut was not deep enough to kill him. Instead, a vast amount of fresh blood drooled back out from it, coating his shoulder and drenching him completely.

Yet the Dark Lord had not finished with what he'd had planned. Instead, he reached out the palm of his hand, drawing his wand across it as well, and splitting the skin on it open harshly. He did not even wince. Though, when he turned back to Draco, he wasted no time in apprehending him. Once he had split open the skin across his palm, he seized Draco's neck and pressed his bloody hand against it. And his face shifted as he did so, matching Malfoy's distressed expression, his eyes flinching before pressing shut entirely. Yet when he finally backed away, his face had turned; the grimace on his face deepened, more furious with Draco than ever, still determined to make him suffer for his attempt in running away.

He hissed, "Incarcerous," and a thick, wound rope found its way around Malfoy's bleeding neck. The rotting man shifted, lifting himself up from Malfoy's torso entirely. He ignored the heavy sobs that emitted from his throat, watched him unsympathetically as he coughed and sputtered the blood from his mouth, curling back up into himself. He had lost desire to search for his wand, lost almost any desire to move at all. Though, of course, it was not as if he could have anyway. One of his arms broken, dangling, and useless, Lazarus could tell that the way in which his left leg barely supported him that it was broken.

Lucius Malfoy's son swayed, his hands gripping on the roots of his famously blond hair. He choked out something about Goyle, sobbed incomprehensibly about his father, and then broke down completely. However, Voldemort only passed a blank stare back on to the lot of his followers that had him surrounded. "Leave him."

There was a strong tug at the end of the rope around Malfoy's neck and for the third time he was jerked backwards. Beaming, Fenir Greyback stood at the other end, and he took great pleasure in dragging him back. He shifted, moving him along the wheat grass, watching the boy's feet struggle, his arms attempt to free himself at the neck. Yet, as predicted, his struggle came to no use. He was forced back into a large trunk of the crooked tree, and Fenir wrapped the end of the rope around it, securing him there at the end. Much to his satisfaction, Draco had stopped trying. Instead, he lie lifelessly on the ground, his broken limbs sticking out painfully before him. And the severity of his wounds had seemed to finally hit him; as the moments passed, more and more he seemed to finally submit to unconsciousness.

"Now, be a good boy," Fenir taunted, nudging Draco's cheek with his barefoot. Voldemort's black figure had vanished completely from sight. Only Bellatrix, Fenir, Amycus, Alecto, and Yaxley remained left behind. They stood at a slight distance, staring eagerly back into the woods that followed the clearing all the way back to the Manor. Finally, the werewolf turned on his heel, retreating away. He was followed by the four others, all moving whimsically in the night. Though Amycus, however, could not resist; as he passed, he shoved the end of his hard heel into Draco's bloody nose.

Then, they'd gone, as quickly as they'd come. And, for a moment, Lazarus stood still, watching as Draco's body heaved in desperately for air. On the ground he didn't move, didn't even try and attempt to manage lifting himself. It seemed that something had faltered from him- Voldemort's blood literally ran through his veins, and the notion had made him ill and unimaginably weak. Nonetheless, he stayed rooted, fixated to the trunk of the black tree by the end of his noose-like leash. And above the clouds twisted, cackling thunder up ahead and echoing around him eerily, as if adding intensely to his misery.

But the scene was still going, and Lazarus knew that it was because Malfoy's memory had not ended. And Lazarus stood over him, his eyes wide with disbelief. He was not even completely certain how long he'd stood over the boy, watching him stare up at the sky, his eyes tearful and glazed over completely. He looked crushed, absolutely destroyed. He appeared to realize that no one was going to come for him, at least not any time soon. He knew that his father could not, had probably not been informed of the situation anyway. A connection seemed to have been made; he would lie there until he was permitted a release, or lie there until he bled to death.

The boy's gray eyes rolled back in his head, struggling for another breath. But despite everything, he was still fractionally conscious. He sobbed, the last of the night, and finally, his slender body stilled. As Draco slipped eventually into complete unconsciousness, Lazarus could feel himself being pulled away from the scene and the wheat field entirely.


When Lazarus Patel stumbled back out from the surface water of the Penseive, he had a rather distinct look on his face that was both prolifically horrified and unquestionably daunted. His features were paled, and his eyes were slumped downwards, glossy with what might have been tears. He breathed, heavily with a struggle, and felt for his throbbing temples, light headed and completely winded. "That," he said, shaking his head back and forth and wagging a finger at the Penseive, "was horrifying."

Elaine Galler's face remained blank; she had been suspecting such a reaction. Yet Dr. Bowen's face was twisted with outrage, "and what does this prove?" he asked, lifting his hands wildly. "Mr. Malfoy lived in a house with a bunch of Death Eaters. His life was bound to be undesirable, yet it was something he choose..."

"He didn't," panted Lazarus, who had stumbled back, pressed against the stone wall. Sweat poured down his face, made him shiny, and Hermione felt her own figure drain drastically. Nonetheless, Lazarus was persistent. He insisted, "he was trying to run away." A intense hush fell upon the room, and Malfoy's body remained still and graciously peaceful without the burdens of a bad dream. "They had him trapped... a-a storm, and a big field of wheat." The man's face was red with exhaustion, but he continued. "Voldemort definitely preformed some sort of spell; he slashed his neck, and gave him his blood."

"So," the Judge at the front lifted a brow, "Ms. Granger's theory is right; Mr. Malfoy's not mentally unstable."

Lazarus shook his head sternly; no.

Thus, the head of the room lowered his shoulders. It was not, however, done so with defeat. Instead, a relieved tone of voice overtook his previously strong one. In turn, Elaine Galler's posture softened, her expression simplifying with an equal amount of excessive relaxation. She looked down at Draco, her hand running though his sweaty hair, smoothing it back behind his ears and away from his face. She looked overtly pleased when the Judge continued out loud. "The court rules in favor of Mr. Malfoy. He will be released from Hobb's after tomorrow, where they can keep a watchful eye on him until he wakes up," he said; Dr. Bowen gaped, but remained silent. "From there, he may gather his things and return home. Furthermore, a rather intense scrutiny will be taken over your institute, Dr. Bowen..."

And the declaration took a moment to hit Hermione the most. She stood frozen, unable to smile, but really, unable to move at all. Her body shook and his fists clenched, and it was her turn to feel light headed. Her hand flew to her mouth, a happy sob rising in her chest. Her eyes found Malfoy as they pooled over tearfully, watching the courtroom sigh and make their exits. And she watched the Ministry Men regain their positions at Malfoy's stretcher, leading him out from the room. The others followed along, clearing the space and leaving Hermione alone for only a moment.

So she positioned herself on the ground, because the room would just not stop spinning, and smiled to no one in particular.


Vonne: Long, long, long chapter... but not the end. ;)