A/n- ONE more chapter!!! Thanks to those who reviewed: Natural-181, elspethana, Dwindlingcandle, magic2007, Kitematsu, The Princess Wolf, MRF13, kellyc, and Max Ride Fan 13.

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Summary: St. Mungo's. And this one is suppose to be short-er.

The Other Side of Fate

When Draco's finally moved, his neck felt as if someone had been standing upon it. A sudden twitch overtook his body and he jerked into consciousness.

He was staring at a white ceiling.

"Uh- pain." He murmured weakly as he shifted around in some small, uncomfortable chair. As Malfoy sat forward, he pulled his head from where it was propped up against the wall. The small Fourth Floor waiting room of St. Mungo's rapidly came into focus.

The L shaped row of couch like seats extended on either side of him, wrapping around the three walls of the sitting room alcove; one of the many little waiting areas off the long hallway; mini versions of the larger reception area on the ground floor. The circular table in front of him was piled with half-skimmed magazines.

"Didn't know you read that stuff, mate," a gruff voice suddenly laughed to Malfoy's left. Draco jumped, the voice having caught him off guard.

Goyle started laughing.

"I thought you were Hermione, you bloody idiot!" Draco sighed, a hand fluttering to his bandaged side. The magazine Goyle had previously referred to slid from its crumbled position on Malfoy's chest to his lap as he sat up. He must have fallen asleep mid-read.

"Hermione left to see the Weasel I think."

Nodding, Draco bit his lip and picked the literature up from his lap: Wizard's Quarterly.

"Uh." Draco's eyebrow quirked at the sight of the spiffy looking wizards leaning casually on the frame of their cover picture; all sporting winning smiles and taut fitting robes. "I don't have any idea what this is." He turned to look at Goyle. Draco realized, up close, that the boy was thinner in the face; bulky still, but as if he had taken some disinterest to food. He cast the thought aside. "When did you come down?"

Goyle nudged a small package that sat against the magazine table with his foot. "Just came back from the floor above; Gift Shop. Got Pansy something to cheer her up; she's been under some extra care. Been around to seeing some of the others." He trailed off and fiddled with the bent edge of Draco's discarded reading.

WQ… of all things idiotic…

Malfoy looked away.

Well, at least Goyle had seen the injured. As soon as the large group of Healers, Order members, DA, and the like had arrived at St. Mungo's, Draco had been whisked away at once to treat his broken ribs- two to be exact- in his upper chest. He suddenly felt very guilty that he hadn't checked up on the others.

Malfoy rotated his shoulder, inconspicuously trying to move the tight bandages that had begun to itch his skin. Oh, he wanted to be laying in the Hospital Wing with the comfortable beds and the fine Hogwarts food. After they declared that he was well enough to be discharged from his room, for there were other battle wounded witches and wizards to treat, Draco had been forced to move into the waiting room. Groggily, Hermione had sat with him until he had apparently fallen asleep.

It was nearly comical that the same injury would have warranted nearly three weeks of twenty four hour bedside care by Madam Pomfrey back at the castle.

"What time is it?" Malfoy's throat was so dry from the spells they had used to heal him.

"Nearly four p.m."

They had all come in before seven in the morning.

Draco hid his eyes with a hand. "Ugh. I don't think ten plus hours in St. Mungo's is good for anyone, even the patients."

Goyle laughed, nodding.

More silence.

This was such an impossible moment. Malfoy didn't know what to- this all felt like a dream. Like he had fallen asleep in his Hogwarts bed only to wake up in a strange white-washed sterile smelling muggle world.

The taste of old cleaning solution hung in the air.

"Who-" Draco started finally, as if jerked back into normal thought processes. There were so many questions! Who else had died? How had Goyle escaped? Was Ron all right? Potter? The Weasleys in general? Professor Lupin? Blaise? Fortunately Hermione had been spared serious injury…

"Three."

Malfoy's head snapped back to look at his fellow Slytherin's. Goyle's features were hard, smooth, collected. A silent 'what' formed on Draco's lips. "Three others? Dead?" He ventured; tentative.

Goyle proceeded to tick off on his fingers. "Terry Boot, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Alicia Spinnet. That's assuming, of course, you already know about Bole, Derrick, and Flint. I'm not counting… the adults either." Something flickered over the boy's face.

Oh god… his father.

"Listen, mate," Draco began, shifting to lean towards him, but Goyle shook his head.

"I'm all right. Already Owled mum. Don't worry about me."

Malfoy sent silent. The hard look in Goyle's eyes meant that that side of the conversation was closed. "Fine. But, how did you-?"

At this, Draco was surprised to see his schoolmate crack a wide and slightly mad grin. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it. Not for the life of you." The boy's squinting eyes were alight.

For the first time in what felt like a century, at the sight of the other boy's excitement, Draco felt a faintly familiar filter of jittery thrill within the pit of his stomach. Oh Merlin! He was still capable of normal human feeling! Praise! Draco smirked, tilting his chin up.

"Try me."

Goyle rolled his shoulders, his hands out as if to set the mood. His eyes were wide with a strange fervor. "So, there I was, all right mate? Just after you left.

There was so much activity, all of 'em Deatheaters running round your Manor; so I crept into the hall coat closet at decided to wait it out. Big mistake, mate, let me tell you. I was there from the time you left until Blaise and the rest of the willing Slytherins went out after You-Know-Who. I ended up sleeping there during the day with the door locked and sneaking out into the kitchen at night. Nothing I could do!

And that closets not the roomiest place either, mate.

Well, finally, there was all this flurry of activity, and I didn't know how many days it had been then, but all the Death Eaters were right excited. Suddenly, all of 'em was gone, eh mate? Must have Apperated over to the Ministry and to your Number Twelve.

That was it then; I'd had enough. I knew it was only the other Slytherin boys and girls left; they didn't bother me any. I unlocked the door with my wand and stepped out into the darkness.

And it was dark. Seemed the lamps in your Manor hadn't been turned on since Merlin knows!

Anyway, I started creeping along your hallway until I could hear the noises of some of the Slytherin girls. All the kids- First year to Seventh- was rounded up sitting at and around your Dinning Room table! Zabini was up by the fireplace, leaning on it, sickeningly. His eyes were watching the flame; head bent, back to the rest of the House, wand clutched tightly.

And Blaise was yelling at Pansy- kind of thickly come to think of it; I suspect he must have gotten into your father's liquor. He was slurring some of his words, pointing his wand first at the flames and then over his shoulder at her as she stood in front of some of the younger Slytherin kids.

'N I tell you she was yelling right back into his face. She must have been fed up with Zabini, you know mate? Just bloody screaming at the bloke. Apparently he was threatening all the kids who were not willing to fight- all the young ones and the girls basically. They didn't want to follow the Dark Lord no more.

I hid until he was done; he was cut off by the clock you have standing in your Entrance Hall. They must have been waiting for You-Know-Who to signal them or something because right then the fire blazed green. One of the boys sobered Blaise up right quickly with a charm and Zabini started yelling everyone to arms.

Now, I said not everyone was up to Blaise's proposal. So what's the bloody bastard do? Body binds the rest up! Him and the other Slytherin thugs just did it by magic and left.

Well, I had to step out from the shadows by then… get Pansy unjinxed. She organized the rest, took the willing Slytherins with me to help Harry Potter and sent the younger kids and older Slytherins right to St. Mungo's with Floo Powder.

Thanks to her really; all of it."

The boy sat back against the chair as if his own story had taken the last bit of his energy right out of him.

Malfoy shook his head; had Gregory ever really been such a bumbling idiot? He'd grown exponentially. "You are amazing." Draco said weakly.

Goyle laughed once, his voice booming, before he heaved a deep breath "Poor Pansy's so thin though, frail…" He looked away. "Blaise really did one on her, mate. Scared her half to death. I was surprised she could even fight."

"What about the other Slytherins?"

"The ones who fought? Or din't?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Either." He was still in awe by the whole situation. Who would have thought? Malfoy ran a hand through his soft hair.

"Well, all the Slytherins who didn't fight been reunited with their parents I 'spect. Some of the wounded are still bed though. I don't know what's going to happen to Blaise and his gang, eh?"

"Mmm." Draco scratched his neck absently; arching his back forward A satisfying pop rattled his spine. "Ahh." Goyle shook his head, smiling. "Look, I'm glad your doing fine, but if you need anything." Malfoy patted his friend's broad shoulder.

Goyle smiled and nodded. "Well, I'm going to visit Pansy." He stood up and picked up the package he had bought for her, shifting it in his arms. "Find me at the end of the day; I'll buy you a Fire Whisky or something."

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah, we'll talk more of this…this madness." He looked up through his long pewter eyelashes after a long moment of contemplative silence. "I'm glad no more were killed."

They looked at each other.

"You're a good Slytherin, Malfoy." Goyle bit his lip. "You're a good man."

Before Draco could respond, his classmate walked off towards the Special Care Ward down right corridor. Malfoy stared after him, wondering if he should settle down into another magazine or find food- his stomach gurgled unpleasantly.

Sitting up a little too fast, a sharp hiss of muted pain escaped Draco's lips.

Perhaps food didn't sound so appealing after all.

Well, he supposed it was time to go find Hermione. Draco had the rapidly growing urge to drag the girl into some broom closet and ravage her…

The sickening men on the Wizard's Quarterly magazine winked up from the floor. Malfoy picked up the catalogue and tossed it face down onto one of the uncomfortable seat cushions.

He turned and started down the left corridor, opposite the one Goyle had taken.

Where had she gone again? To see Weasley? Faintly, in the back of his mind, Draco wondered if Katie Bell was still in one of the rooms he was walking by. Perhaps, instead of Bell, it was one of the DA, one of the Order, one of Pansy and Goyle's Slytherins.

Malfoy shoved his hands into his pant's pockets and was mildly perturbed to realize that the white pants he was wearing were not his own- the hospital's perhaps? It disturbed Malfoy further that the only reason he still had on his black shirt was that the blood stairs there could hardly be seen. Obviously his slacks had been in worse shape.

But, ugh. Other people's cloths.

Draco shuttered, amazed at how in the aftermath of death, one's pants could be the dominating concern. Ah, the human psyche.

After three of four minutes, it came as a sudden realization that, as Malfoy had been looking for rooms with their door either open or with their shades pulled back, that Hermione could be sitting in a room with the door closed and the shades drawn.

He could have walked right by her and not even known.

Grumbling, Draco turned to double back. Perhaps a Healer could point him in the right direction.

Movement made him stop.

Draco had seen, from his angle walking down the hall, a woman reclining in one of the hospital beds in a room to his left. Now, as he turned around and was able to see more fully into the other side of the chamber, Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a women lying in a hospital bed, yet it was the figure moving to kneel as the side of the bed that chilled Draco's heart.

Three Aurors stool in the room; two at the door and one standing directly over Blaise Zabini as he cradled his mother hand in both his own. Slowly, the woman's long fingers were pressed to the boy's cheek as he raised her palm.

She wasn't dead; she seemed to sleep.

Malfoy was frozen in stride, his upper body twisted, his hands balled into firsts in his pockets. Staring, Draco noted the way the strikingly beautiful women lay limp and still. There was a bandage wrapped around the woman's brow.

Hadn't Malfoy seen Blaise's mother fighting along side Bellatrix? Had she taken a bad spell to the head?

Dreamlike, in two strides, Draco was at the large window, its shades pulled back halfway. At his movement, one of the Aurors caught his eye, raised his wand a few centimeters, yet did nothing. Draco laid his hand against the cold glass. Zabini looked up in surprise, yet his face was a careful mask of calm; like a condemned man whose only bid for sanity was calculated detachment.

The bruise on Zabini's temple had been magically healed.

Slowly, Blaise placed his mother's hand back onto the bed sheet, dark eyes locked onto Malfoy's wide, grey gaze. Draco's breath hit the glass, a quick cloud of condensation flashed there momentarily.

A memory, locked away, resurfaced.

Blaise hated women because of what his mother was. She had married how many men? Had Blaise ever known his father?

His mother was in it for the money; her husbands dying mysteriously once the two adults had been married long enough for the women to get her hands on the man's wealth. And hadn't Pansy been perusing- at lease in the beginning- the Malfoy name simply for wealth and power?

Zabini had pinned Pansy and his mother together. Pansy was the object at which Blaise could torment and get away with it.

But, still, had Blaise ever known his father?

How simply did some throw that way, that privilege to have a father; Zabini had never known his and yet Draco had…. his own…

The look in the young Deatheater's eyes wilted Draco's resolve. He wanted to comfort the boy. Even with the torment Blaise had had inflicted upon him, Malfoy wished he could rush in and save the idiot from the punishment he would undoubtedly endure.

Yet, he was only human- and still a Slytherin- and even a snake's wounds take time to heal.

The Auror standing behind Blaise tapped the keeling boy's shoulder. Eyes still on Malfoy's, Blaise stood.

Time. Time would be the savior of them all.

Draco stepped back, away from the room and back into the sanctuary of the stale hallway. Breathing in, the sweet sickening fumes of St. Mungo's flooded his lungs.

Embarrassed, shamed, his lowered his gaze from his fellow Slytherins'.

He still had to find Hermione; he couldn't deal with Zabini's problems.

Find Hermione.

.o.o.o.o.

"There's the Ferret!"

"Oh, you must be delirious."

Ron grinned as Draco slipped into the hospital room, clicking the door shut behind him. Hermione looked up where she was sitting next to Ginny on an old and patchwork couch; Potter sitting on the Weasel's bed.

Malfoy raised both his eyebrows as Hermione's tender smile; she was smoothing Ginny's hair. Ginny slumped onto Hermione's shoulder and said nothing, her gaze unfocused and on the wall in front of her.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

"How's Lupin?"

Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably on the crisp white bed sheets. "He's alright, I suppose."

Draco felt his stomach contort, clench painfully. "How's Snape?" He said at last.

"Dead."

Ron's gaze settled on the ceiling, Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. Yet, for Malfoy, it wasn't such a shock. He knew, he knew, no matter what would happen, Snape would have ended up dead- or very nearly close to it

Standing still in the middle of the room, Draco didn't know what to do with himself. "That's why you were called back into Number Twelve. He was still alive then…" And Potter was nodding, nodding. "What did he say?"

"Look at me."

Hermione's head swiveled around.

Confused, nonplused, a long sigh escaped the Slytherin's lips. "What?"

"That's what he said; 'look at me', pressed a small vial of into my hand, and just… died."

"Vial?"

"Bottled memories."

Memories? His own memories?

The room was silent; and Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to ask anything further. How could people just die like that?

Remembering how, days before, Draco had looked into Snape's cold eyes from the floor of the Malfoy study, he wondered briefly if at that time, the man knew he was doomed. He had double-crossed the Dark Lord twice and hadn't survived.

Ginny started to cry, sobs that hiccoughed at the end. She was shaking very slightly.

Ron looked helpless with his leg propped up, bandaged, as his sister broke down. Harry didn't even have the strength to comfort the girl; yet she didn't seem consolable anyway.

Slowly, the red head stood and flung herself at Draco. Malfoy flinched away at the sudden movement, never quite comfortable with such close contact. Grudgingly, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and wrapped his arms around the Gryffindor's frail shoulders. Ginny sobbed into his horridly dirty shirt, clutching at him.

She motioned to her left temple and tried to formulate words, the only sounds issuing from her lips a jumble of breathy noise.

Ah, Blaise Zambini.

Sobbing into his chest was the thanks for saving her life?

Feeling a little more awkward then he would have liked, Draco patted the mini- Weasel's back, tracing oblong circles between her shoulder blades in order to calm her.

Hermione caught his eye and smiled she smiled muzzily. Ginny's sobs slowed and she slumped on Draco's arm, out cold. Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. Malfoy delicately swept the girl into his arms and moved towards the hospital bed.

Gently, the redhead snuggled next to her brother's pillow. Ron reached over and pulled the hair away from his sister's eyes. With a groan, Malfoy sat beside Hermione.

"Saw Goyle." Draco murmured as Ginny murmured admits her slumber. Harry pulled up a squat little chair around the side where she was laying; his chin was resting close to the girl's face. Hermione laid her head on Malfoy's lap, her legs handing over the side of the couch.

She smiled and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I know; I left him there with you."

"He went to see Pansy."

"I know; he bought her a stuffed bear."

"Quaint, to be sure."

Playfully, she gave Draco's arm a soft nudge with her own. "It's quite touching, actually." Yawning, Hermione arched her back and wrinkled her nose. Draco kissed it.

"Mmm."

Closing her eyes, Hermione snuggled into Malfoy's lap. He kissed the shell of her ear and rocked gently, his grey eyes calm. The room was a sanctuary of quiet in the wake of some hurricane.

The clock on the wall ticked.

It was amazing, Draco thought, his mind turning to Snape when he caught Potter's tired gaze- it was amazing how such a man could cover his tracks so well.

He was working for Dumbledore since the beginning, wasn't he? Protecting Draco was just an added bonus once his mother had weighed in on her son's safety.

He had freed Goyle, had saved Malfoy, had killed Dumbledore when Draco should have, was impersonating him so he could be safe.

How much Malfoy truly owed to Severus Snape could not be expressed in words.

There was a sharp rapping on the door of Weasley's room before it creaked open. Draco's head snapped up, as did Hermione's. Ginny was wide awake in seconds, most likely afraid the Deatheaters of her nightmares were going to barge into the room.

Two cloaked Aurors stood framed in the doorway. They gazed around the room.

"Draco Malfoy?" The stern witch clipped curtly.

"Yes?" Carefully, Hermione's head was lifted from his lap as she sat up, as Draco stood.

"Will you come with us, please?"

All the muscles in Draco's body tensed delicately. He was careful to keep his face blank of all emotion. "Why?"

"Please come with-'

"I need to know why."

"It concerns the death of your father, Lucius Malfoy. Now, will you come with us please?"

Hermione looked horrified, yet there was no flicker of surprise over Draco's features. "I'll be back." He said, without looking at her.

The three stepped out into the whitewashed hall of St. Mungo's and Draco shut the door firmly behind him.

A/n-

Sorry for the wait, but I've had SO much homework it's not even funny.

ANYWAY! The Epilogue is next! YAY!!!!!

Please review!!