I'm back! Lots going on – a few other projects, plus I'm working on renovating my kitchen (which I'm doing myself, with some help). Thanks so much for all your support, and for the new reviewers and the old – thank you! Here's more. This was impossible to write – I had to walk away a few times and come back. At H&V, this chapter receives a Yew warning – it will be disturbing to some readers, I think. Can't give it away in the author's notes, but just be warned – there is sensitive subject material in this chapter. See you next week!

LCailan

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Draco awoke to pain; it was the first thing he was aware of. The pain paralyzed him, for any movement, no matter how slight, caused him to wince and his stomach to roil with nausea. In the end, the only thing he could do was open his eyes, and he did.

He was in one of the interrogation rooms at the alienage; he knew from the strange, ribbed design in the plaster ceiling. All the offices had the same design. And, as he took a breath, he detected the faint scent of smoke in the air. The fire, he realized. By now, however, it was most likely put out.

How long have I been unconscious?

At that thought, the rest of the night flooded back to him like some impossible, terrible nightmare. He shuddered, and it sent strange painful ripples through his body.

Hermione! Where is Hermione! Let her be all right!

Wetness gathered at the corner of Draco's eyes and ran down the sides of his face in heavy, large tears, and he groaned. The sound caused movement to his left, and then he saw Pansy's pale, scared face.

"You're awake."

Her voice was a strangled whisper, and when he opened his mouth to reply, his voice was gone, as if destroyed by the entire ordeal. The fear of the possibility that Hermione was injured or worse made it impossible for him to say anything, only to stare helplessly as Pansy reached for his hand.

"They think you're responsible."

Her jaw was trembling in her efforts to hold onto the strength she always had.

"We lost a dozen of our own, and over half escaped the alienage. Draco, what did you do?"

He turned his head, staring up at her for a moment, not sure of what to say. He only cared about one thing, and that was to find out what happened to Hermione.

"Are…everyone is dead?"

Pansy let out a soft snort, her face a mask of sadness.

"Not everyone, but you and I are responsible for this. It's my job, Draco. They'll be asking questions, and they found you with that Mudblood, so they'll want to know about that, too."

Draco gulped back the leaden feeling that slammed his very core, trying not to outwardly show what was raging within him. Closing his eyes against the onslaught, he took a breath.

He inhaled.

She has to be all right.

He exhaled.

There's no way any benevolent God would allow her death. Not sweet, wonderful Hermione. Not after everything else she's been through.

He inhaled.

Maybe death would be a blessing. After all, I've brought her nothing but pain.

He exhaled.

But, I love her! If not her, I don't want to live. If she is dead, there's nothing for me any longer.

Draco opened his eyes, his heart beating steadily once again.

"Granger? Did they kill her?"

He expected as such, and prepared himself for Pansy's answer, his heart stopping for those few, silent seconds which seemed like a thousand lifetimes. As he gazed up at Pansy, he knew she was analyzing him, considering each movement, the flicker of his eyes, the way he was breathing.

Finally she spoke, her tone muted.

"No. They aren't finished with her. Flint is in the other room; I gave him the orders to question her, using whatever means necessary."

Though he knew he would pay dearly, Draco sat up in one, dizzying movement, the pain in his head exploding along the rest of his battered body, but his eyes glinting hard as the bore into Pansy's.

"It wasn't her," he spat. "It was Finch-Fletchley. That's what I was doing when they stupefied me. Going after that git. He was already dead."

The lies fell from his lips, as they had in past months, as they had throughout his childhood and his years at Hogwarts. He was a glorious liar; a silver-mouthed snake who could make anyone buy anything he wanted them to. This time, however it was not just about that; this time it was about Hermione's life, his very well-being, because he would not lose her. Not when he had already lost his son. Not when she was the only person he loved in the whole, miserable world.

Pansy blinked, clearly taken aback by his statement.

"You don't get off on this torture thing, Pans," he said softly, hoping to charm her into relenting, into making Flint stop.

"I'll do what I have to, when it comes to my job."

Her hiss melted into the sudden, terrified screams coming from down the hall, and Draco had to steel himself from leaping off the table and running out of the room. Those were Hermione's screams; after all this time, he knew; he could recognize them without even thinking.

"It's sickening. Have you ever seen me touch one of them? They're…it's not like they're…"

Human, he wanted to say. They were human, just like she was; just like all of them were. They breathed, the cried, they loved, they hungered…

"I'm going to go in there and stop this madness! I told you who it was!"

Pansy's jaw was set, her eyes glittering in his direction.

"A dead man can't pay for what happened!"

Her exclamation rang through the room.

"I ordered her tortured so she could learn a lesson! You can't truly believe that she had nothing to do with this, Draco! Potter and that child are gone! All of those whom she was close to here are gone!"

Draco's head was pounding something painfully fierce, and he groaned, clutching at it, his vision blurring.

"I need a Healer."

"I know," she replied sternly. "I'd advise you to stay seated. Flint beat you good."

Draco flexed his fingers, his toes, and his body ached in response, his head whirling in the most uncomfortable fashion.

Bloody hell, it's like I took on the role of human punching bag.

"Wanker hates me," he muttered closing his eyes against the vertigo. Pansy said nothing, but when he opened his eyes a crack, she wore a visage of regret.

"He…the worst thing I ever did was get involved with him," she whispered then. "I don't know what I was doing. I still don't know what I'm doing, except that now, with this, Draco, I have to. I can't…let this go. We lost supplies, we lost property and we lost people. The Ministry's going to come down on this, and I'm to blame."

Draco saw the tears of fear shimmering in the depths of her eyes, but he was too worried about Hermione to muster much sympathy for a woman who was as twisted as she was lost. In some ways, he didn't blame her. And in other ways he wanted to grab her by the neck and to hold tight, choking her until she stopped breathing and passed away.

He turned his head away from her, allowing a few tears to escape.

"I need your help."

She said nothing.

"We have to go stop him. He can't kill someone else and those screams-"

His ragged, pain-filled words were cut off by another scream of lamentation. It rang in Draco's ears, rattling him so thoroughly he nearly let out a whimper.

I let it go, so many years ago! I can't let it go now, I can't!

"Help me," he ordered, though it was more of a plea than anything else, and he felt her hand slip into his, pulling him once again to a sitting position. Draco winced through the waves of pain, waiting until they receded, leaving behind an empty, achy feeling.

"I'm not strong. If I go in there, and he tries to stop me, I'll need you."

Their eyes locked, and he send up a supplication to whatever God might have been watching over him. His only hope was this woman turned monster, and he prayed she'd help him.

"I'll be here."

Surprisingly, she didn't refuse. And for that, Draco could only be grateful.

The pain felt like it had resided within her, as if it were the mortar holding her body together, ripping through her in agonizing waves, sometimes unbearable, sending her to the edge of consciousness but not allowing her the sweet respite she needed, and other times in sharp twinges meant to torment, to keep her on edge.

There had been nothing but this pain; Hermione couldn't gauge the time, the place, how long she had been here, and how far gone she was.

All she knew was that she could smell her own fear and sweat, and she tasted the bitter, metallic, ashen taste of her own blood.

"Crucio!"

Hermione wasn't even able to see how it was that tortured her so, for her vision was blurred and uncertain, only suddenly sharpened by the horrific waves of pain. And then, she could do nothing but close her eyes tight and scream her agony.

It burned, rushing through her, awakening everything inside of her, ever nerve ending, making her aware of how truly human she was, how easily she felt pain.

She screamed.

Each scream made her throat raw and her head spin dangerously.

She screamed anyway, terrified, alone and afraid that this was what it felt like to lose your mind. She grasped onto anything she could think of to keep her sanity. She thought of Lily, James and Albus. She thought of Ginny, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. She thought of Harry, of Seamus…

She thought of Draco, of the way he had whispered his love, of the way his arms felt, the only safety she had in the whole, wide world. Was he dead? Was he alive? Had Ginny escaped? What about Lavender and Blaise, what about the rest of WERA?

She held onto those thoughts, crying, screaming through the terrifying pain. Waiting for it to stop.

It always did, and she would fall back against the metal table she was lying on, head hitting the hard surface, and her ragged, whimpered breathing the only sound in the room.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again, bitch. Who told you about the breakout? You knew, I KNOW you knew!"

But Hermione would now allow the Ministry to break her; she would not turn Draco in. How could she? After everything he had done for her?

"I didn't," she managed to choke out, swallowing back her own blood. "I didn't. I was told to go, and I went. Please, I didn't!"

She closed her eyes again, weaker each time as the pain enveloped her in its agonizing grip and she writhed on the table.

Let me die! I can't do this much longer…please please please…

There was a crash from somewhere nearby, but Hermione's ears were ringing and she couldn't be sure. There was muffled shouting, and she was trying to catch her breath so she could hear what was going on.

Scuffling, more shouting and then footsteps, a weak, but warm grip in her own. She was too weak to respond, only sighing. Her eyelids fluttered open as a hand brushed away her dirty, sweaty curls.

What she saw when she opened her eyes was salvation.

"Dra-"

He stopped her, gently whispering for her to be quiet, to not say a word. His hand was gentle and warm in hers, but the panicked look in his quicksilver eyes caused her to fall silent and lip against the cold, metal table she lay on. As long as he was alive, as long as he was holding her hand, she could wait.

Head swimming, Hermione was only half aware of what was going on around her, or the fact that Draco had withdrawn his hand from hers to join Pansy, who had just lifted her wand to aim directly at Flint's heart.

"Don't you see? She's nearly dead, you big oaf! You'd kill our only source of information, would you? And why is that? To play out your sick fantasies?"

Her eyes flashed with disgust and hatred, and Flint took a step back, his wand lowering with trepidation.

"I'm sick of you, stupid bitch!" he hissed. "You're as bad as Malfoy, aren't you? Weak and afraid! That's right," he continued, seeing her eyes flash with growing contempt. "You're pathetic, Pansy! Pining after some loser like he's the second coming of Merlin!"

His obsidian eyes glittered within a round, ugly face framed by lank, black hair.

"You both make me sick!" he cried out. "What do you think that Mudblood is going to tell you, huh? What are you going to do, hold her hand and politely ask her to admit what she's done?"

Draco felt dizzy as he took a step back, putting himself directly between Hermione and Flint, just as Pansy advanced, still holding her wand high.

"You throw another curse at her, and it your ass, Flint. I'm warning you. Don't you forget who you are and what I am here!"

"I'm sick of your false bravado!"

Draco saw everything in slow motion, as Flint lumbered forward with full force. He wasn't strong enough, and the way his head pounded made it difficult to move, to act, to do anything, and he felt himself being propelled backwards, crashing to the ground in a riotous explosion of pain. He fought against it however, seeing Flint's true intent: the woman on the table, who still lay helpless to the whims of the sadistic monster advancing on her.

"Stupid Mudblood bitch!" he nearly shrieked, reaching down and grabbing her up by her dirty and bloodied clothing. "Disgusting liar!"

He threw her onto the ground, an object and not a human any longer. He kicked her once, twice – hard, swift kicks. At first the girl on the ground struggled, but soon, she was still.

"Stupefy!"

Pansy's strangled shriek rang out in the room, and Flint fell, dead still. Then, there was only breathing. Draco crawled like some sort of insect, pushing aside two fallen chairs, tears of pain coursing down his face. His body felt like it would break at any moment, but he could only think about Hermione, fallen and bloody on the ground. Somehow, he did not have the strength or the mind to do anything but stare, and it was Pansy who leaned down, pressing her ear against the other woman's chest.

"She needs a Healer," she managed to whisper. "I'll go, quickly. You stay. Don't say a word. We need her alive."

Getting up, Pansy pushed through the mess in the room and out the door, letting in a cold rush of smoke-scented air. It felt like a blessing to Draco, who was struggling to breathe.

"Hermione," he whispered, using the rest of his strength to gather her battered and worn body into his arms.

She did not stir. He gazed down at her bruised face, the swollen mouth, lacerations that painted her delicate skin. More scars, he knew. More scars for her to remember and to hate him for. He tenderly traced the lines of her nose, her chin, and then placed a trembling kiss against her forehead, brushing aside the soft, metallic and ash scented strands of her hair. His fingers wrapped around hers, bringing her hand up to his mouth. For a moment, he flashed back to the courtyard, months before, recalling the humid night of the hottest day of the year, when he had held her in the same way, wondering at her beautiful hands.

Then, he had mocked and derided her for her need to reach out and comfort another. He had wondered with disdain at why she was so willing to put herself aside to help someone else. He had wanted to laugh at her folly. He had wondered at how many others she had touched. Never had he imagined then, where he would be now.

Never had he believed he could love her, and that she would love him, too.

Never.

She touched me! I was one of the lucky ones! I'm loved by her! How could anyone want more?

His heart hammering so hard he though he might faint with it, Draco held her more closely.

"I love you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I failed, I know. I swear, I didn't know this would happen, but, but God, Hermione…I'll make him pay, I will. Oh, God…please…"

His tears made any more words impossible, and he simply leaned down, holding her closely and wept. He wept for everything that had happened, and everything that he had done. He wept for the world, and the way it was. He wept because he was terrified that she would die and he'd never be able to tell her again how much she meant to him, and how she had saved him in spite of his damnation.

For a moment, there was nothing but peace and the feel of her cool body against his, and then, Draco was startlingly aware of growing warmth between them. His mind slow and confused, he didn't realize at first what it was, but then…then…

Blood.

Hands and fingers shaking, he pulled away from her to look down between them in alarm. It was a crimson stain, garish and terrible, spreading along her shabby clothing like a dark flower blooming.

"No," he breathed, eyes widening as his hands covered her, as if it would help stave the flow.

No, no, no, no, no….

"Hermione," he croaked, but she only fell to the side, unmoving.

"NO!"

Ignoring the screaming protestations of his own body, he lifted her, limp and bleeding, and stumbled towards the door.

Though Draco was unsure of how much time had actually passed, the courtyard stood in shambles, two black, burned structures still standing around it, like hovering, black skeletons. The ground was littered with dirt and ashes, remnants of clothing and other suck objects, and the darkness made it impossible for Draco to see beyond the tears that blurred his vision.

He managed to see that Pansy was moving back towards the half-burned offices, leading a man who wore robes indicating that he was a Healer. With a groan, he stumbled forward, nearly falling over. Hermione seemed so heavy, she seemed so…

The elderly wizard knelt down next to the fallen Ministry official, checking his pulse.

"He's not doing too well," he said to the woman who had introduced herself as the director of the alienage. "But I must attend to the girl first. She is bleeding rather quickly and it is alarming."

Pansy, pale faced and stern, nodded.

"Do what you must, but help him. He's in charge here, and we can't lose another official, not after…after what's happened, and I…"

Terrified and ashamed, Pansy fought a bout of bitter, hot tears.

Without a word, the Healer lifted his wand.

"Locomotor corpus," he whispered, and Pansy watched, feeling a sense of relief as the two bodies that had fallen at their feet, one pale and the other bleeding profusely, were lifted up and began to float.

"I'll need some time, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy nodded, staring down at Draco's lifeless, pale body as it hovered in midair.

"Take all the time you need. Help him. Help-"

The Healer brushed past her, his face of the utmost seriousness. He left Pansy feeling alone and more helpless than she could ever remember. Now what would she do? How could she face Bellatrix and Dolohov and those others she would have to answer to. And what of the Lord himself?

She recalled how last year, one of the newly hired officials had hung himself in his office. For the first time, Pansy could understand why death seemed such a blessing.

Draco winced as the Healer applied the last of the burn healing paste to the wounds on his chest and arms. He looked down at his own torso, wincing at the glaring, unsightly marks that peppered his alabaster skin.

When did all that happen?

He couldn't remember, but then again, he was rather glad for it.

"Here, take this," said the elderly wizard, holding up a metal cup with something purple inside. Draco shook his head.

"I can't," he muttered, recognizing the liquid as a sleeping draught. He pushed away the concoction, looking towards the woman who still lay unmoving.

"What of her?"

The wizard sighed, putting the potion to the side.

"She had several broken bones, but nothing I couldn't heal."

Pursing his lips he continued.

"The blood loss is what I was concerned about, you see. I have replenished her blood, but I cannot give back everything she has lost."

Something inside of Draco stopped, twisting and tightening so that he could hardly breathe. Lungs aching, he looked up.

No.

No.

"You see, she was with child."

In many ways, Draco was a lucky man, for the building that housed the infirmary was far enough away that none heard his plaintive wail except for the Healer.