A/N: Really quick update this time! I get most of my writing done on the weekends, and had a lot of time this weekend, so I churned this one out pretty fast! While writing this I was listening to "Until We Bleed" by Kleerup ft. Lykke Li. I normally don't listen to this kind of music, but I watched a Draco video with it, and the lyrics actually weirdly fits this story! And the sound of it. You guys should go take a listen to the beatless version, I think it's more eerily beautiful :)

Thank you: renesmeecullenisme, goob21, Your Undoing, Heloise, SkellyChest, DracoMalfoy4Ever, and dizzydazzle for reviewing! I know I say it every chapter, but your reviews seriously make me so happy! You guys are so nice, and your compliments encourage me to update even faster. Thank you so much :)

Chapter 6: Save Me

It took quite a lot of effort to get himself out of bed the next morning. Draco woke with wet cheeks, and shamelessly wiped them away on the back of his hand. He felt somewhat defeated. What was the point of going to Azkaban, anyway? So he could only learn the finality of the fact that Hermione was dead? He didn't know if he could take it. He even didn't see the point of this life anymore. What good was he doing? What was the point of him being here?

You're a tool, and that's it. You were a tool to get Dumbledore dead, and you did it. Congratulations. You ruined the world.

For a moment he imagined how much he would be hated by the majority of the Wizarding world if he had gotten Potter captured, too. If he had been the reason Dumbledore, the only one that You-Know-Who had feared, had died, and if he also got Potter, the world's last hope for the defeat of the Dark Lord, killed too. He could be one of the most hated Wizards in history. But what did it matter? What was Potter even doing to kill Voldemort? Nothing. Just foolishly traipsing off into Hogsmeade for some memories of the good ole days and not even attempting to fight when he was caught. Voldemort was going to win the war. If Potter could not stop him, and Dumbledore was long since dead, where was the hope? If anything, Draco was intelligent. He had chosen the winning side early on, and now he would live.

Live in hell.

So he got to live? Who cared? He hated this life. Maybe if he had chosen Potter's side first, he'd be dead, but at least he would've lived in a life of happiness for a short while, instead of hate. Maybe he and Hermione could've even become something other than enemies, but now that couldn't happen. Because now she was dead; he was sure of it. And that was just it. He didn't want to die.

Death scared him. The unknown scared him. He didn't want to just stop existing. He didn't want to be wiped off the face of the planet, without any good memories for anyone to remember him by. Draco Malfoy would cease to exist. The Malfoy name would vanish, since he had produced no heirs and he was an only child. His name would never be remembered.

But no, there would probably be novels about Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, telling of their tales to attempt to stop Voldemort, portraying them as wonderfully kind heroes that cared only for the greater good. He would be a side character that when everyone read that he had finally died, they would grin. Great, he's dead, that man that only lived to torment Potter and follow in his father's footsteps and become a Death Eater. That man that got the remarkable Dumbledore killed. That sadistic boy that must have known nothing but hate and a thirst for death. I'm glad he's dead.

They were wrong.

Draco rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, pulling at fistfuls of his hair.

I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to turn. Help me.

Help me.

:::

The great gray door swung open, and Draco entered, his head drooping slightly as he surveyed the empty cell before him.

Only, it wasn't empty.

A huddled figure was curled up in the corner, her bushy brown hair falling all around her, sobbing silently to herself.

Draco could've screamed. He could've jumped high up in the air. He could've sunk to his knees. Oh, thank Merlin, she's alive.

"Hermione," he whispered, reaching out a hand to her even though he was much too far to even reach her. "Hermione."

The girl's head whipped around, and she gasped in shock.

Draco saw what was in her eyes.

Fear.

No recognition.

"No. No, no, no." Tears began to fall freely from Draco's eyes, and he didn't even stop them. What was the fucking point? Why was he even trying? Everything had been lost. All their progress, all his attempts, had been pointless. It was all so pointless. Things didn't come to him like they did to Potter. No, he had to get something, lose it, get it back, and completely lose it again. He had tried to do something for the greater good, he really had tried, but it wasn't meant to be. He was meant to be a Death Eater. He wasn't supposed to try to do something good, because it only ended up tearing him to pieces and making him a wreck.

"No…" Draco's knees gave out and he sunk to the ground, his shoulders shaking from his tears that would not stop. "Hermione, it's me. It's Draco. It's Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco." His voice cracked, and he buried his head in his hands. Hope was lost. There was no hope for him. Hermione didn't know who he was. His name kept coming from his mouth, like an endless babble, as if he himself was trying to remind himself of who he was. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, Death Eater. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, Death Eater.

Draco Malfoy, coward, idiot.

And then someone else was gently clutching his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face, someone else was caressing his cheeks and wiping away his tears, someone else was crying, someone else was crawling into his lap, someone else was there, saying his name, over and over again, "Draco, Draco, Draco," and Draco was grabbing onto her for something to hold onto and pulling her closer, burying his face into the nook of her shoulder and continuing to cry out his worries, his fears, his hatred. Hermione soothingly rubbed his back in circles, her cheek pressed against the top of his sleek blonde head, her eyes closed, tears falling. The two cried together, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor, the Mudblood and the Pureblood, the boy and the girl, because each other was all they had. There was no one else to turn to, no one else who understood, no one else to hold on to, no one else who they could show their weaknesses to, no one else to trust, no one else to love.

:::

"I thought you were dead." Draco finally whispered. They had embraced for a lengthy time, simply allowing themselves to give in to each other and cry away their fears. As Draco spoke, Hermione lifted her head, and Draco moved his from her shoulder nook. Hermione wiped away the trail of tears from her face, and Draco had the strange want to wipe them away himself. Her eyes were puffy and red, her nose pink, and Draco wondered if he looked the same way.

"They gave me Veritaserum." Hermione said shortly, glancing away as if ashamed.

"Did you tell them anything?" If they had found out anything vital…the war could be coming to an end, in Voldemort's favor.

Hermione shook her head, biting her lip, as her tears began to pour out even harder than before. "I-I didn't know the answers to the questions they were asking. I-I didn't know. S-So they tried to t-torture it out of me, but I c-can't remember the a-answers to what th-they're asking."

Draco felt no comfort from these words. In fact, they made his insides feel icy and cold. If what Hermione said was true…she had run her course. She was no longer useful. Her overdone torture and the violation of her body had driven Hermione into insanity, making her truly forget the information she had once held inside her. Voldemort must have figured that Veritaserum would bring it out of her, but it didn't.

She could now be disposed of.

Draco was mildly surprised, but very grateful, that they hadn't done it already, but the battle at Hogsmeade must have been right after the interrogation and they decided they could get rid of her later.

Draco returned his attention to Hermione, feeling fear grip him in its icy clutches. She was going to die. They were going to kill her.

Hermione was watching his expression, her eyes stormy and clouded. Did she know? Did she know what this meant? Did she know her death was now horribly, terribly close? A Death Eater could walk in at any moment to finish the job.

Draco had the staggering need to run. He needed to get away from here. He couldn't see her die. What could he possibly do to save her? Nothing. He was useless to her. He could not save her.

If he attempted to sneak her out, the guards would see and detect his lies and kill them on the spot. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth them both losing their lives over. There was no back way out of Azkaban. And he didn't know how to Apparate straight out. Only Voldemort and occasionally Bellatrix could do that, not him.

There was nothing he could do.

Draco felt utterly helpless. He stared at Hermione's heartbreaking gaze, at her falling tears, at her innocence. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. But what had he expected? What had he planned to do after Hermione gained some sanity? He couldn't waltz her through the front doors; that was impossible. And even if he did somehow manage to get her out, where would they go? She didn't know where the Headquarters of the Order was anymore. She didn't remember. They would just be found by Voldemort and murdered. Why should he try?

But he couldn't just let her die!

The sound of the door opening shattered Draco's world.

Light filtered in.

A shadow filled the doorway, a horrible, menacing monster, come to take everything away from him, come to destroy them all, come to end the world, come to take hope away.

It was Macnair.

How chillingly fitting; that Hermione's executioner had once been the executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. What a callous humor the world had.

Draco was not even aware that he had jumped to his feet, or that Hermione had crawled all the way to the back of the cell. "Draco, feeding the prisoners, eh?"

Draco surveyed the cell. There was no trace of food or crumbs showing that he had been there with food. Perhaps it was his luck that Macnair was so dull of mind. Draco silently nodded, refusing to meet Hermione's gaze, knowing he would see pleading, a cry for help, something he could not bare to even glimpse.

"Guess you can stay to see the show," Macnair growled, twirling his wand in his right hand with a sick smile. Hermione whimpered, and it tore through Draco's heart, slicing his insides, making him want to grab the front of Macnair's robes and beg, plead, you can't kill her, not her, please don't kill her.

"Hey there Girlie," Macnair said, turning his attention to Hermione, who Draco still refused to look at. I'm sorry, I can't do it, I can't help, I'm sorry. "It'll only hurt for a second, then it'll all be over." There was a sick twist in his words, one that made Draco's insides squirm. Was he not going to torture her? Torturing had never been Macnair's specialty. Just extermination.

Macnair raised his wand arm, grinning sadistically.

Draco looked at Hermione.

She was not looking at Macnair. She was staring straight at him. Her brown eyes swam with pleading, she was scared, scared to die, just like he was, and oh if she died there would be nothing left and he would regret it all his life even if it was a short life but what was he supposed to do if he saved her they would both die but maybe not maybe he could save her maybe he could save them both but how?

Macnair took a deep breath. Draco's hand itched for his wand, begging him to do something, you can't just stand here and watch her die, she's looking at you, you can do something, you can make a difference!

Was it worth the risk?

"Avada Kedavra!"

A/N: I'm cruel, I know :)