Made of You

by Asuka Langley

This is a post-Hogwarts romance b/w Draco and Hermione. ***Chapter 13 Section 1 is up!***

12. Made of You Pt 12

Made of You Part 12

Author's Notes: Okay guys, I'm finally done with this chapter! I'm happy to say that this

is the second to the last chapter of the Made of You series. After this,

I'm going to continue on with my vampire series, and then who knows?

Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter, because I made it especially

long to compensate for the FOUR months of not writing! But be warned,

this edition has some violent scenes in it, and a lot of angst. So if you are

quite young and do not like slight violence, then you should skip some

of the parts. But to everyone else, enjoy!

Disclaimers: I don't own any of these characters.

Exhausted and racked with despair, Hermione did not know when Ron's broom finally landed onto the ground in front of a worn yellow villa. Sagging against his back, she did not even make an effort to lift herself up. Her mind was numb, as was the rest of her body. Somehow, she preferred this numbness to the heartache she knew she would feel if her mind was in clarity. Her fatigue was imminent, for her eyes began to droop against her will to stay awake. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, hands, gentle but steady, pulled her off the broom. She felt herself being lifted into a pair of lean, muscular arms, but was too tired to wonder who it was. From a distance, she thought she heard the steady voice of Ron.

"Take her into the rooms and let her rest, Mac. She's been through enough for one night." It was strange, she thought, how his voice seemed to drift softer and softer still. Were her ears failing her?

"Don't worry. Marie'll take care of her. And what about mister Potter?" Now who was that?, she wondered. She tried to focus, but her head hurt too much whenever she tried to think.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Harry. Just make sure Ms. Granger is taken care of." Ron's voice again.

"Aye, that I will." And that was the last Hermione heard, for the next thing she knew, she was being carried into the house. She knew it was a house, for the air grew warmer, and she thought she could faintly detect the smell of baked bread and butter. She was carried up a flight of steps and into a room. The person holding her gently placed her onto a soft, cushioned bed. Her body, worn and aching, responded to the softness of the mattress in gratitude. Not even realizing that the person had left the room, Hermione began to feel herself drift off to sleep. Yet somehow, before she was able to do so, an image flashed into her head, an image of a man with platinum blond hair and stormy gray eyes. Eyes mirroring suppressed agony… And then there was oblivion.

The torture seemed to last for hours, yet Draco endured it in silence, unwilling to give the Dark Lord any satisfaction in knowing the pain he was going through. His arms and legs were chained against the wall by heavy-wrought iron manacles, which immobilized him. Yet even if he had been free to move, he would not have had the strength to do so, for the excruciating agony overpowered all else but the urge to cry out in pain. His entire body was covered in blood and sweat; he did not know which one there was more of. He had long lost track of the times the Dark Lord had used the Cruciatus Curse on him. Yet with every round, the pain seemed to increase with a rising pitch. He wondered how much more of this abuse his body could take before it would ultimately be left useless.

Before him, loomed the Dark Lord, his hollow red eyes locked frigidly on Draco. "So, heir Malfoy, you thought I'd let you get away with betrayal so easily? You take me for a fool, is that it?" His lipless mouth twisted into what Draco perceived as a cold sneer, yet he could not tell for sure. "So this is how you show your gratitude for all the things I've done for your family? You weak, traitorous fool, you brought this upon yourself. I have no more use for you now other than expendable bait." Then, stepping back once more, he lifted his wand for the nth time, and once again incited the dreaded words of the deadly curse, words Draco had long memorized due to its constant repetition in the previous hours. Almost instantaneously, blinding sparks blurred his vision, and with it, came the unendurable pain. It was horrific, excruciating to the utmost extent. His body convulsed spasmodically, writhing in an attempt to escape the agony. It spread throughout his entire body, immobilizing every pore, from head to toe. Grunting in pain, he clenched his teeth in an effort to refrain from crying out.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the pain began to subside gradually. His body bathed in perspiration, Draco lifted his head and stared levelly at the Dark Lord, all the loathing present in his stormy gray eyes. "Why not do away with me now? Why all this trouble?" he rasped scathingly. There was the slightest hint of mockery present in his voice, challenging the Dark Lord to kill him right then.

Laughing dismissively, Voldemort began to pace the dungeons, tapping his wand in the palm of his hand. Then turning abruptly back to Draco, he eyed him suspiciously, saying, "If I had wanted to kill you, I would have surely done so already. As it is, your worthless life happens to serve some other purpose for me at the moment. But do not think, my foolish traitor, that I will hesitate to kill you when the time comes."

Sucking in a deep breath, Draco fought back the rage that threatened to consume him. He was smart enough to figure out why he was being kept alive. With Hermione out of Voldemort's grasp, there was no other way to bait Harry Potter. The only other solution was to hope that Hermione would come back to rescue him, and bring Potter along in the process. The plan was constructed well enough, thought Draco, except for one minor impairment: they had not counted on the possibility that Hermione was not coming back. Those fools. He thanked God then that she had found out about his betrayal just before the attack. Knowing her, she would never come back for a man who had deceived her as he had. And it was just as well. Better that she never came back than to have to face the Dark Lord.

Yet even with this knowledge, Draco ached to see her for one last time. He ached to hear the sweetness of her voice, to feel the softness of her silk-smooth skin, to breathe in her jasmine-scented fragrance as he held her in his arms… No, he thought, shaking himself from such tormented images, he would not think about her now. Even in death, he would never think of her again. She had been a shooting star, and he was an utter fool to have thought that she would ever truly be his. In many aspects, she was a reminder to him of his own unworthiness, and in his opinion, he would rather be dead than to live with that knowledge his whole life.

Yes, Draco thought grimly, death would be much better. For what was life without the one person you would ever love? To him, it would be the equivalence of a living hell. And with that thought in mind, he made a silent resolve to himself then and there. Lifting his head abruptly, he stared straight into Voldemort's eyes, loathing and insolence reflected in his stormy gray gaze.

"Do what you will then," he whispered menacingly, wishing with his soul that he had just signed his own death sentence.

Lethargy…such sweet, sweet heaven. To be oblivious to the world around her was pure bliss for Hermione. She had chosen ignorance over knowledge, dreams over reality, for the truth was too painful to bear. What person wouldn't drive herself to the state of oblivion if they were under the same circumstances? Yet every once in a while, a flow of reality would wash in, like the waves of an inevitable tide being held back too long. She tried her best to hold them off, but the task became more difficult as the hours ensued. It was only a matter of time before the tidal wave broke over her gilded peace.

Presently, Hermione heard the soft creak of floorboards, and knew someone had come in. Please do not disturb my peace, she prayed fervently, for she knew that if she was shaken back into reality, her heart would not be able to bear the horrific truth. However, her prayer was not to be answered. The footsteps progressed to where the windows were, and in the next instant, she felt warm rays of sunlight bathe her face. Frowning, she obstinately turned to her other side, putting her back to the sun. Leave me be.

Unperturbed by her actions, the person walked over to the bed, stopping in front of Hermione's sleeping visage. Through hooded eyelids, Hermione saw worn, buckled shoes and a pair of long, slender legs. A moment later, she was being gently shaken, the hands on her shoulders warm and soft with patience. Opening her eyes, Hermione found herself staring at a slender young girl of no more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was slender, with light brown hair that reached to her shoulders and curled towards the bottom. She smiled warmly upon seeing Hermione, which made her green eyes glint like emeralds. Another witch, perhaps?

"So, you are finally awake." Her voice was soft and clear, much like that of a bell. It served to clear Hermione's mind of its final cobwebs, bringing her fully back into reality. Yet with the regaining of her senses, a sudden surge of panic ensued.

"Where am I?" she managed to ask weakly. She found her voice to be low and raspy, mainly due to the dryness in her throat. Her body ached with exhaustion, despite the certainty that she had slept for more than was usual for her.

"You are in my house," the young woman said patiently. "My name is Marie. Mr. Weasley brought you here late last night along with Mr. Potter, after an attack by death-eaters."

Death-eaters… The images came back now, blurred but comprehensible. Images of Harry in Malfoy Manor, the letter, Draco, Lucius and the ambush, Pansy, and finally, Voldemort… Dear God, it was all coming back to her now. Covering her face in her hands, she tried with all her will to block out the onslaught of memories, tears seeping through her clenched eyes.

Above her, Marie waited quietly till her rush of emotion passed, then continued on. "In a way, I partly blame myself for what has passed." At her words, Hermione's body suddenly stiffened, tensing. Seeing her response, the maid sighed with an air of remorse, pausing briefly before progressing with her story. "Yes, I was partially at fault. You see, I was placed in Malfoy Manor by the Ministry of Magic several years ago, to serve as their maid. In truth, my sole purpose there was to spy for the Ministry. When I first began this task, the situation with the Dark Lord had not yet been so grave. I was not suspected, and my façade became one of the few valuable information that the Ministry had on the Dark Lord. Then, when Mr. Potter recruited my help in saving you, I became suspicious, for I knew he worked under Dumbledore, a man whose actions were not always wholeheartedly approved by the Ministry. Yet eventually, his genuine concern for your well-being finally convinced me to trust and aid him. It was through me that he was able to penetrate the many curses guarding Malfoy Manor. However, I blame myself for not warning him of Lucius when I had the chance to. If I had, none of this…" She suddenly broke off, seemingly disturbed by the knowledge of her folly.

At the same time, Hermione was trying her best to listen without losing herself to her emotions once more. The memory of the previous night would forever be burned into her memory. Harry's arrival, Draco's betrayal, Lucius' attack, Voldemort's appearance, and then ultimately, Draco's sacrifice… The memory sent a chill down her spine.

"Where's Draco?" she suddenly asked, a deathly pallor spreading over her face. Yet she already knew the answer, even before she had asked the question. She still recalled Ron's rescue, and how he had left Draco behind, choosing to save Harry instead.

Turning away, Marie cast her eyes down to the floorboards, her countenance regretful. "He's in the Dark Lord's hands. We do not know what has been done to him, nor if he is even alive." Her words confirmed all of Hermione's horrors. He was under the hands of the Dark Lord. Oh God, how could this have happened? She knew she was a fool, for despite his betrayal, she found that she could not stop loving him, just like she could not stop herself from breathing in the air around her. But at the moment, concern for his well-being overshadowed the pain she felt from his betrayal. Right then, she would not have cared if he had betrayed her time and again, as long as he was alive and safe.

"Is there any way to save him?" she finally asked, her eyes mirroring her desperation. Yet as she had feared, the maid did not answer, but merely shook her head in silent regret. The simple gesture was like a thousand knives piercing her chest. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Hermione doubled over, racked by dry sobs, for her well of tears had finally been used up.

Witnessing her imminent grief, Marie realized the full extent of Hermione's feelings for Draco Malfoy. When she had first seen them together in the mansion, there had been nothing but loathing in the young woman's countenance. Yet how had her feelings changed so drastically? She realized then that their affection for each other would be another hindrance for the Ministry. But who wouldn't be touched by such signs of pure devotion? Looking down at the grief-stricken girl, she decided that it was necessary to leave her alone for the time being. Without another word or distraction, she turned on her heels and treaded softly to the door, closing it behind her as she left.

Left alone now, Hermione rolled back onto the bed, her body folded protectively into a fetal position. She felt ill, and the desire to retch was becoming stronger by the minute. Yet the sickness of her body was far outshadowed by the sickness in her heart. Dear God, why had she fallen in love with him, why? Even now, she could not erase the image of him from her mind, the way he looked into her eyes, the way he held her, loved her… She knew that if anything happened to him, she herself would not be able to go on. And once again, she wondered how many times a heart could break so thoroughly before it finally lost the ability to feel.

She remained in that position for what seemed like hours, without the slightest movement, seemingly struck dumb by her grief. Then, like an outside intruder, the door suddenly opened, revealing a fairly disheveled Harry. For a moment, he merely froze at the door, uncertain of what to do. He knew she was hurting, yet did not know how to rid her of her pain. The only thing he knew was that he could not stand seeing her live like a soulless eggshell any longer. With determination, he finally stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. Walking carefully towards Hermione, his eyes devoured her small, pitiful form upon the massive bed. He was shocked to see that she was only a shadow of what she used to be. Dark circles surrounded her once luminous eyes, making her look older than she seemed. Her skin was tinged with a deathly pallor, her lips devoid of its once rosy color. Unable to contain his anguish any longer, he suddenly swooped down upon her emaciated form, taking her into his arms.

He cradled her silently, asking no questions and offering no explanations. He knew her grief was for Malfoy, and for no one else. Yet he could not fathom why she would still care for a man who had toyed her as bait, used her to achieve his own selfish means. It did not make any sense, yet it was an undeniable fact. Upon waking, Harry had found himself back in one of the rooms in Marie's villa, his head aching terribly. Ron had been by his side, and had wasted no time in recounting the events of the previous night to him. All he himself had remembered was the excruciating pain in his scar, caused by the arrival of Voldemort. Then he had passed out. Yet, according to Ron, Harry was not the only one whom the Dark Lord was after. For, after he had been done with him, Voldemort had attempted to use the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione. And if Malfoy had not thrown himself between her and the spell at the last minute, Ron's own rescue would have been impossible to pull off.

Sitting on the bed, listening to the unraveling tale, Harry had felt wave after wave of shock seep into his very bones. And after learning of what Malfoy had done, the rest of the story had become drastically insignificant. He had then been haunted by one single, persistent chant in his head. Malfoy had sacrificed himself for Hermione. Dear God, it was unfathomable. Even the most fearless, experienced wizard had qualms in the face of the deadly Cruciatus Curse, no less a hideless Malfoy. The knowledge of this had brought on shame. Shame that he had not been the one to protect the woman he loved, instead passing out in the face of danger. The bitter fact only served to further prove his unworthiness. For, how was he ever going to live with himself, knowing that he was just an utter, useless fool?

Forget that, he suddenly told himself. Prove yourself to her now. Forget about the past; look into the future. He pulled her closer to his chest then, in an act of possession, unwilling to let her out of his sight ever again. Nestled within his arms, Hermione did not make any move to encourage or discourage his actions. She merely lay limp in his embrace, too tired to react. They stayed that way for a long period of time. Then, extricating himself from her, Harry grasped her shoulders lightly, holding her at arm's length so he could stare into her eyes. Her brown gaze did not meet his, but merely darted sideways instead, focusing on some distant object. Unable to contain the silence any longer, Harry finally decided to speak up.

"Why are you so sad, Hermione?" His words rang hollow, for he knew more than anyone else the reason for her grief. Wincing at his foolish choice of words, he continued awkwardly. "Are you not thankful that we are finally safe, together? " At his last words, her eyes suddenly focused on him, and a flash of pain passed though its hazel depths. For a long moment, they merely stared at one another silently. Then, when she finally spoke, it was merely to say,

"I need to return to Malfoy Manor." Eyes widening in shock, Harry did not reply to her statement. When long moments passed, and still he did not respond, she continued, by saying "I need to go back, for Draco." Her words were like ice water being thrown into his face. How could she think something as absurd as this, no less say it? But on closer speculation, he realized that her countenance had somehow gradually changed from despair to determination.

"Why?" he finally asked, suddenly engulfed by bitterness. "Can it be that you still love him?" When she did not respond but merely looked away in guilt, his bitterness began to turn to bile. Pulling his hands away from her, he moved back to put distance between them. "How could you still care for him, after what he's done?" His words sounded resentful, even to his own ears, yet he did not care anymore.

"Even if I do love him, I could never go back to him, don't you see, Harry?" Her eyes had darted back to his, and in them veiled the look of abject desperation. "He betrayed me, and I could never forget that. But he also sacrificed himself for me, and the least I can do is to give back what he has given me."

For the briefest of moments, he paused, then said bitterly, "You still love him, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter," she said quietly.

Suddenly engulfed by anger, he grabbed her by both wrists, pulling her up against him and shaking her with a passion he did not know he possessed. "To hell it doesn't," he whispered roughly, emerald eyes blazing. "Have you become a fool, Hermione? To fall for a man without morals, without a conscience…"

"Stop it, please!" she yelled, pulling herself away from him. She stumbled back from the bed, her face covered in a mask of sorrow. "You don't understand, do you? Do you think I want to love him? Dear god, if only I could forget…" She suddenly broke off, unable to continue further.

Sorely regretting his actions, Harry slowly moved forward, gently taking her back into his arms. He enfolded her in his embrace, stroking her soft hair the way he used to a lifetime ago. "I'm sorry, so sorry, love. Please forgive me. I did not mean to be so harsh to you. It's just that…" He paused, not wanting his voice to waver. "It's just that I love you so. Do you know that I have never stopped loving you, Hermione?" At his words, her body suddenly stiffened against his, tension seeping into it. "Yes," he laughed bitterly, "I was an utter fool to have let you go that cursed day five years ago. But you do not understand; I only wanted to protect you…"

Pulling back, Hermione abruptly put her fingers to his lips, stopping his flow of words. "The past does not matter anymore, Harry. I have already forgiven you."

"No," he replied fervently. "At least let me tell you the truth. I cannot rest with myself until you know the real reason why I pushed you away." His face was now set in hard determination, and nothing at the present moment could have deterred him from his decision. "You see, I lied to myself, Hermione. I pretended the only reason I wanted to send you away was for fear of your safety. I even convinced myself that having you by my side would be both a danger and a distraction to my work. What an utter fool I was then. The truth is, I was afraid, truly afraid. My whole life, I had never loved anyone before, save for my parents, who were only a fragment of my infant memory. And even with them, I only loved an image, never the real thing. Of course, I had friends, but none of whom I could truly say I loved. Then you came along, turning my scruples inside out… I didn't know how to react, Hermione. For once in my life, I experienced genuine, all-consuming love, and I did not know what to do with it. I was ecstatic, yet at the same time, more afraid than ever. Afraid that I would lose you like I had lost my parents. I couldn't bear that, do you not see? That was why I ultimately pushed you away, because of my own cowardice…" His voice trailed off, his mind lost in the misery of what he had done.

Upon hearing his confession, Hermione found herself at a loss for words, and at the same time, felt a sense of guilt rise within her. If she had been her old self, she would have been overjoyed to learn that Harry still loved her. Yet this was not so, for she was far from the innocent girl she used to be. The Hermione who stood before Harry now was not the one he remembered back in Hogwarts, but the one whose heart, body, and soul now belonged to another. If her well of tears had not been dried up, they would surely have been streaming down her face by now. As it was, her eyes remained dry, yet they reflected the pain that he must have been feeling as well. Slowly, her hands reached up to his face and stroked his cheek gently.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. You know I'll always love you as a friend, no matter what happens, and that I would die for you if I had to…"

"But you could never give me your love." he finished for her, smiling sadly.

"I did love you once." she replied sorrowfully.

"I know, and I was a fool to have let you go. But we shall always be friends, shall we not?" His face mirrored regret, yet there was the slightest glimmer of hope in its depth.

"You know we will, always and forever." And with that, she leaned forward, kissing him tenderly on the forehead. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her soft lips against his skin, knowing that it might very well be the last time he ever felt them again. Wrapping his arms around her small form, he embraced her, putting all he had ever felt for her in that one, single action. The feel of her softness was heaven on earth. She was his angel, his sole savior, and he knew he would never fully forgive himself for letting her go.

The tender moment was suddenly interrupted when a knock sounded on the door, causing them to pull back from one another. A second later, the door opened, revealing Ron. As usual, his hair was disheveled, his clothing tucked in at the wrong places. He sauntered in cheerfully, apparently unaware of his disturbance in an otherwise private moment. Stopping in front of Hermione, he grinned widely, pulling her into his arms for a quick bear-hug.

"So, the sleeping beauty has finally awakened. I wondered how long it would take without a prince this time." Laughing, he pulled away, his eyes shining in playful merriment. "It's good to have you back Hermione, after all these years. Contrary to popular belief, we actually missed you."

Hermione smiled feebly at his attempt in humor. "Thank you for your rescue last night, Ron. We would not have made it if it was not for you." She squeezed his hand affectionately in a gesture of gratitude.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to save Malfoy, Herm. It's not that I didn't want to, after witnessing what he did for you, but that I just couldn't, without the chance of risking all your lives." His voice was now regretful, devoid of any humor.

"I understand," she replied quietly. "But I have decided to go back." Hearing her words, Harry, who had been silent until now, began to protest. .

"Do not be foolish, Hermione Do you think to go up against Voldemort by yourself? You have witnessed his powers firsthand, and know that it is not something to be tampered with. And even if you were able to defeat him, there is no guarantee that Malfoy is still alive."

"Harry's right," Ron chimed in. "You're risking your life for a lost cause."

"No, it's not a lost cause," she said with certainty, as if trying to convince herself. "Draco's not dead. If he was, I would be able to feel it." At her words, both men exchanged a perplexed look at one another. "And I do not fear the powers of the Dark Lord. True, there may be a good chance that I will lose my life, but at least I will know that I had done something." Looking at her face then, both men knew it was useless to dissuade her from her goal. Yet before they could say anything, another knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Harry barked out impatiently. The door opened, revealing a somewhat distraught Marie.

"Narcissa Malfoy is downstairs and she insists on seeing Miss Granger immediately. I do not know what to say to her."

Harry and Ron both looked at one another, stunned and not knowing what to do. Hermione, on the other hand, reacted instantaneously and was out the door even before the others knew it. Running down the staircase, she suddenly found herself in the living room of the house. It was decorated with only two plain couches and an overstuffed armchair, which faced away from her. She suddenly realized that there was someone occupying the armchair. At the same moment, the person must have heard her advance, for she now rose from her seat and turned to face Hermione.

At first sight, Hermione became stunned by the image before her. The woman standing in front of her was tall and elegant, her silk-woven platinum blonde hair twisted gracefully above her head, with a few stray wisps teasing the nape of her neck. The rays of the morning sun enhanced its silverness, forming a halo around her soft, heart-shaped face. Her skin was the color or purest ivory, white and undaunted by the passage of time. Her rosebud mouth was soft and supple, complimenting her gentle aristocratic features. Yet the most alluring feature were her almond-shaped eyes, mirroring the color of a storm-tossed sea, turbulent yet beautiful. She was the epitome of beauty, elegance and nobility, and Hermione found herself mesmerized by the presence of such a woman. But despite everything, there was an undeniable sense of sorrow that emanated from her being, intermixing with an air or long-sufferance. So this was Narcissa Malfoy, mother of Draco.

Advancing forward, the older woman reached out, taking both of Hermione's hands in her own. She squeezed them affectionately and made an effort to smile, but the trace of tears in her eyes could not be missed. The once clear grayness had now been clouded over with a shadow of sorrow. When she finally spoke, it was with an obvious effort to keep her voice from wavering. "At last we meet, Hermione. My son has told me much about you." At the sudden mention of Draco, the pain that Hermione had been fighting to keep down surged forth again. Unable to respond, she merely nodded in silence.

Releasing her hands, Narcissa, turned away, walking over to windows. She looked out at the lovely scenery before her, the flowers in pure blossom and the songbirds singing merrily. She remained silent for a long period of time, merely observing the outside world, as if such sunshine was rare to behold in her everyday life. When finally she spoke, Hermione detected the tone of tears behind her otherwise clear voice.

"It is strange how nature mocks a person's grief. If the weather was to reflect my current emotions, the skies would be ravaged with thunder and lightning." She turned back around then, the tears she had been fighting to hold back suddenly letting loose, like a broken dam. "I do not even fully know why I came to you today, only that I could not allow you to continue in believing a lie about my son. I know he has betrayed you, yet it is far more complicated than what you perceive it to be."

Hermione was caught so off guard by her sudden words that she did not respond for one whole minute. How did lady Malfoy know about her relationship with Draco? And if she knew, then how many others knew as well? "It does not matter," she finally said, acting calmer than she really felt. Because despite everything, she was desperate to know the truth, for she wanted more than anything to erase the memory of Draco's guilt in her mind.

"You are wrong in saying that, because it does matter. To you, my son may seem like a heartless man, achieving his ambitions without the slightest guilt or conscience. Maybe you are right on a certain level, but there are many other facets to Draco that is more than just that. Growing up as a child, he was completely deprived of a father's love, and rarely bestowed by a mother's affections. I had yearned with every fiber of my being to give him all the love he needed, yet was forbidden to do so. His father, afraid that tender affections would ultimately soften his manhood, forbade me to even get close to him. I was only allowed to see my son once a week, and even then, our visits would be brief and impersonal, always chaperoned by one of Draco's many nurses, who also served as Lucius' spy. As you can imagine, the effects of such a childhood could only serve to cut off a person's very emotions. Yet it was even worse for Draco, for, as the Malfoy heir, he was expected to master the secrets of the Dark Arts, a task that many have died trying to achieve. All these factors and then some more eventually forced him to grow up at an early age, turning him into a bitter man. His whole life, he has never truly cared for, much less loved, anyone or anything. But that was not the case with you, Hermione. With you, he finally learned to love and be loved. You were the miracle that finally saved him from what he would have ultimately become."

"But how did you learn of Draco and I?" Hermione finally managed to asked, unable to believe what she had just heard about his childhood. A disturbingly clear image suddenly flashed through her head, of a young blond boy, peering through the cracks of a half-opened door, eyes widening in shock and horror. She shuddered at the unnerving image, shaking it from her mind.

"Because, my dear, at the time you found out about his betrayal, he had been with me, confessing his love for you." At her words, Hermione's eyes widened in shock, suddenly realizing that that was the reason why he had left her on that fateful day. Unperturbed by her reaction, the older woman continued. "He had been grievously torn over revenge and his love for you. Not knowing where else to turn, he came to me in an act of desperation. He admitted to using you as bait for revenge, but he also confessed that he had gradually, eventually fallen in love with you. And in the end, he had decided to choose your love over hate. But what was a man to do in his position? You defied everything he had ever believed in, and were the only other thing that came between his sweet revenge. Was he to merely forget about his tormented past and look into the future with you, or was he to sacrifice the one woman he would ever love in order to destroy the man who had ravaged his life?" She stopped then, tears streaming in rivulets down her face. Unable to contain the sob building within her chest, she sank down onto the floor, covering her face in her hands. It was then that Hermione realized she herself was crying too, the tears she had thought were long used up now flowing freely down her cheeks.

Oh God, Draco. It was her fault. Because of her, he was now in the hands of the Dark Lord. He had tried to explain to her, but she had foolishly, stubbornly turned down his attempts in an act of hurt and anger. Why had she not thought clearly before lashing out at him? You fool, she thought bitterly. If anything should happen to him, how would you go on? The thought brought on a sudden renewal of her previous resolution to free Draco, and with it, a sudden surge of newfound determination. She also knew then that the reason his mother had come to her that morning was partly for the same reason.

Walking over to Narcissa, Hermione gently reached for her shoulders, grasping them gently. At the feel of hands on her shoulder, the older woman looked up, finding a tear-streaked but determined face looking down at her. The two women stared at one another, each realizing the thoughts of the other. Words were not necessary for communication in that instant, for they understood each other with complete clarity. Both had the same exact goal in mind, and it seemed as if both knew exactly what to do.

Eventually, it was Narcissa who finally spoke, and even then, it was merely to say, "It shall be done." Nodding in agreement, Hermione squeezed her shoulders in gentle acquiescence, showing her unquestioned approval. And with those simple words, a plan was formed.

Upstairs, Harry paced anxiously across the floorboards, at an utter loss for ideas. Sitting on the bed, Ron watched him with slight bemusement, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Realizing he was under such speculation, Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks, frowning.

"What're you grinning about? This isn't the time to crack jokes. Heaven knows what Narcissa Malfoy wants with Hermione. As far as we know, she might be coming under the influence of her bastard husband. And…"

"…and even if she wasn't, the news she's bringing is bound to be something about Draco, which is gonna make Hermione ballistic again, am I right Harry?" Surprised that Ron had already guessed his thoughts, Harry merely nodded. The redhead, on the other hand, had more to say. "So what happened between you and Herm right before I barged in? Seemed you guys were in a tight situation there, eh?"

The sudden memory of Hermione's confession of love for Draco once again sent Harry's insides churning. "Forget about it. It's over between the two of us, and has been ever since the moment I let her walk out of my life. She loves Malfoy now, not me."

The realization was still too painful to bear, and realizing this, he abruptly changed the subject. "But that is not the point right now. The point is, we have to do something about our current situation. Hermione believes it's her duty to save Malfoy, and knowing her, she won't give up until she does. But we can't let her do this, because you know just as well as I that this is pure suicide. No matter how powerful a witch she is, she has not been practicing magic for years now, which becomes a major hindrance to her. And even if she didn't need practice, her powers are still no match against the Dark Lord or Lucius Malfoy. As you can well see, all the odds are against her."

For a long moment, Ron merely stroked his chin in silence, contemplating the situation. They were at a great disadvantage, with the Dark Lord's powers reigning above theirs, and Hermione at such an irrational state of mind. And what does Narcissa Malfoy want, anyway? There was a niggling sense of suspicion in his head, for it was more than unusual for a Malfoy to seek a witch on enemy lines so openly. Something was definitely wrong here. "There's nothing we can do but wait and see. Let her take the first move. Whatever she does, we follow suit. It may not be the best solution, but it's the only one right now."

"And how long do you think we'll have to wait?" Harry questioned doubtfully. "It may be a while before she makes a move, and what if we don't make it in time to follow?"

Surprisingly, Ron did not seem perturbed by such doubts. In fact, the smirk that had been threatening to come forth suddenly spread across his face. "Just in case you've forgotten, my friend, we have a fellow Malfoy downstairs. With her arrival, I'm sure the next move will come sooner than you anticipate."

At those words, a sudden understanding dawned upon Harry. It was all so clear now… Why had he not thought of it sooner? "And all this time, the facts were staring at me right in the face," he said out loud. "You know Ron, you're right. You are a genius."

"Now you realize it?" he asked with mock indignity. But his eyes shone with mutual understanding like they always did when they were in silent agreement. And without actual words, a decision was made.

Agonizing pain lanced through every muscle in his body, making even the effort to breathe unbearable. The cold, dank cell reeked of blood and death, and the harsh stone walls emitted a chill that crept into one's very soul. The iron manacles that restrained him cut into his wrists and ankles, causing them to bleed. His mind constantly slid in and out of consciousness, until he finally could not differential between reality and fantasy. In his dreams, he pictured an angel with chestnut brown hair and luminous, hazel-colored eyes. She beckoned to him, teasing him with her smiles and ethereal beauty. If he had not been so weak, he would have called out for her stay, but it was not so, for his voice seemed to elude him. And each time, to his dismay, she would eventually disappear into thin air. That was the moment when he would snap back into reality and realize the truth of his circumstance.

Having believed Draco to have had enough torture for the day, the Dark Lord had left him hours ago, promising to return when next the sun rose. He had been genuinely disappointed by the fact that Voldemort had not finished him off, leaving him to his suffering instead. In his current state of mind, he would have been better off dead than alive. All hope had long been crushed from his soul, leaving only bitter despair. There was nothing more to look forward to but the end. He had never been a man who was afraid of death, and he embraced it now. There was nothing else left to live for.

His delirious mind played over childhood memories, ones he much preferred to forget. They danced in his head like silent phantoms, invoking an anguish he did not wish to feel. The images haunted him better than any ghost ever could. It was strange, he thought to himself, how the bitterest of memories were the ones he would finally bring to his grave, not the sweet, tender ones. And against his will, his mind played back to the first time he had learned the cruel, harsh rules of being a Malfoy.

"Father, why are we heading into the woods?" Draco asked with a bit of trepidation. "We never go there." Lucius did not respond, but continued to pull his son further into the forbidden-looking forest. His strides were long and purposeful, making it hard for Draco to catch up. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they reached a clearing surrounded by tall, dark trees. At first, Draco did not understand why he had been brought here, until he spotted something tied to one of the trees. Then, as he got closer, he realized it was not something, but someone. Bound to the trunk was a beautiful girl with raven-black curls that reached to her waist. A kerchief had been tied around her mouth, undoubtedly to keep her silent. Her skin was like ivory and her eyes the color of lightest lavender. Looking into them, Draco detected the unmistakable countenance of fear. What she wore resembled the poor remnants of a white dress, now mutilated by severe tearing. On further speculation, he discovered several bloodstains on the muddied fabric. He then saw that there were many scattered cut marks on her arms and wrists. The sight made his gut twist in dread, and without realizing it, his footsteps began to slow. However, seeing his son's hesitation, Lucius tightened his grip on Draco's arm and pulled him along with an almost violent force.

They had now come to stand directly in front of the girl, and Draco realized that she was no more than twenty years old. What could his father possibly want with such a young girl? Yet before he was given the chance to ask anything, Lucius spoke up, reaching out simultaneously to stroke the frightened girl's cheek.

"Such a beauty we have here, don't we, Draco? A pity that we can't keep her for ourselves." At his remark, the girl began to squirm, attempting to free herself from Lucius' repulsive touch. Seeing her reaction, he merely laughed and continued by reaching down to stroke the contours of her breast. "You see, my son, tonight you will learn the sacred rules of being a Malfoy. There are five in all, and you will eventually learn that one cannot function without the other four. So, without further nonsense, I order you to kill her, now." His hand dropping from the girl's breast, Lucius suddenly produced a sharp, bejeweled dagger from his cloak. He extended it out to Draco, his face now a mask of deadly ferocity. "Make it quick and efficient, a simple slit to the throat. I want no messiness, is that clear?"

At his father's words, Draco's blood ran cold. For a long moment of time, he merely stood there, not knowing how to react. How could his father ask him to kill an innocent young girl? It was unfathomable…evil…he could not do it. Finally, a single, silent word escaped his mouth. "No."

The reply caused a flash of rage to flit across Lucius' face. And although it was only for a brief instant, the look terrified Draco. He attempted to shrink away, yet before he could react, his father had grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against he nearest tree. The sudden, hard impact knocked the wind out of him and caused his nose to bleed. Pressed hard against the tree trunk, he felt the coarseness of the bark bite into his flesh, eroding the skin. Against his will, tears began to form in his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. Sensing this, Lucius brought his head close to his son's ear and whispered dangerously, "Rule number one: never cry"

The words slowly sank into Draco's mind, and little by little, he willed the tears away. After he had done so, Lucius once again pulled him to where the girl was bound, and handed him the knife. "Rule number two: make the kill quick and clean, allowing no chances for escape or remorse."

Looking into his father's eyes, Draco knew that if he did not kill the girl, he himself was going to end up dead. Yet with all his heart, he did not want to take the life of an innocent person. What was he to do? Finally, knowing he had no other alternative, he closed his eyes, his heart nearly jumping out of his throat. And with a anguished cry, he suddenly lunged forward, slicing the young girl's throat with a single movement. A muffled scream rose from her throat, and then there was silence. Opening his eyes, he observed with horror the dark blood that flowed freely from the girl's cut throat. It streamed down her dress, staining it crimson. He suddenly had the urge to retch violently, knowing it was his own hands that had committed such evil. Dropping the dagger onto the floor, he buried his face in his hands, unable to suppress his self-horror at what he had done.

Seeing his son's pitiful reaction, Lucius strode forward, grasping him roughly by the shoulders. "Rule number three: feel no guilt for what you do." The words drove him over the edge, and at that moment, Draco knew he hated his father. Bastard, he thought, I'd rather die than let him do this to me again. Crying out, he attempted to shake off Lucius' hands, but they were too strong. The next thing he knew, his body was thrown onto the ground, his father's foot resting on his skull. Slowly, he drove the heel of his boot into Draco's head, causing blinding pain to sear through it. Unable to bear it any longer, he finally cried out in agony. This did not make the pain stop, but only served to heighten it. Then, just when he thought he was going to pass out, the pressure suddenly seized. Next, he felt Lucius bend down, and whisper threateningly into his ear, "Rule number four: admit no pain."

A sudden noise interrupted Draco's horrific memories. It had come from the locked dungeon entrance, and, an instant later, the heavy iron door was thrust open. Light poured into the pitch-dark cell, causing his eyes to wince at the sudden brightness. His first thought was that Voldemort had come back. His lips twisted bitterly, anticipating the next onslaught of torture, hoping it would kill him this time. Yet, as he saw the shadow that descended the staircase, he realized it was not a man's form, but a woman's. It suddenly became hard for him to breathe. Breath held, he watched as the figure came closer, dreading and anticipating whom it was going to be. Finally, when the figure reached the entrance of his cell, he recognized the form. Hermione.

It could not be…it was not really her. It was only another figment of his feverish imagination, come to torture him with such impossible images. He was afraid to speak, to even breathe, for fear that the image would disappear at the slightest hint of disturbance. For minutes, they merely stared at one another, neither moving nor making a sound. Then, like the voice of a heavenly angel, she called out his name, one syllable, yet spoken with so much emotion; emotions he thought would never be directed towards him again.

"Draco." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she bit down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. He saw pity in her eyes, but he did not want that from her. He wanted much more. Things she would never be able to give him. The knowledge was like salt to an open wound.

"Why are you here?" he whispered hoarsely, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. Yet at the same time, he also felt panic, knowing the imminent danger she was in, for at any moment, there was a chance that the Dark Lord would return.

At first, she did not respond, but simply stared at him with an expression of sorrow. Upon closer inspection, he realized that her form had grown smaller, her face pale with dark circles under her eyes. Dear God, what had happened to her?

"Is it not obvious why I am here?" she finally answered, after what seemed like an eternity. Those simple words bespoke volumes, and in that instant, Draco dared to hope. He whispered her name then, putting all the emotions he had ever felt for her in that one sacred word. If that did not make her realize his love for her, then nothing ever will.

For a moment, she merely stared at him, different, conflicting emotions playing on her face. Then, with an anguished cry, she rushed forward, throwing her arms around him, clinging onto him with a force he did not know existed in her. She buried her face against his neck, her tears anointing his skin. They stayed that way for a long moment, each with so much to say, yet loathing to break the sweet silence that loomed between them. The feel of her skin, the smell of her scent, was like a narcotic that sent Draco's mind tumbling into blissful oblivion. His body was no longer aware of the previous pain it had endured. The only thing he was aware of was the way her sweet body pressed against his, and the way she held onto him, as one holding onto an anchor.

"Dear God, I'm sorry," he finally managed to say hoarsely. "I never meant to hurt you, Hermione…" But his words were cut short when her mouth suddenly swept down upon his, silencing him. When their lips came into contact, it was as if lightning had struck them both. Their mouths fused together in a dance of long, unrequited passion, their tongues mating in the way they would have yearned to at the moment. The kiss was neither soft nor tender, yet it reflected the fierce intensity of their love, a love that could no longer be denied. It was an explosion of all the emotions they had ever felt for one another, fused into a moment of passionate abandon.

Draco felt the wetness of her tears, could even taste it in his mouth. He inwardly cursed the manacles which bound him, for he ached with the intense desire to hold her in his arms. It was a long time before their lips parted, and when they did, they were both gasping shamelessly for air. They stared at one another, the words they had wanted to say reflected clearly in their eyes.

"I love you," Hermione finally whispered.

"As do I," Draco responded hoarsely, in an attempt to keep his rampant emotions in check. "And I always will." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that they were the truth. He would never be able to love anyone the way he loved her, for a man such as he only loved once and forever. "I'm sorry, so sorry that I have hurt you."

"Shhh," she whispered softly, placing her fingertips to his lips. "Speak no more, for I am as much to blame. If I had but listened to you, you would not be…" And she suddenly broke off, tears once again filling her eyes.

"No," he replied fiercely, "do not ever blame yourself for what has happened. Ever." His eyes blazed then, with an intensity that caused her to tremble.

But their moment of intimacy was sudden broken by Narcissa's presence. They had both been so caught up in their reunion that they had not even noticed her. She stood by the door of the cell, a look of urgency present in her eyes. "Time is running out. We need to leave, now."

"Why are you here, mother?" Draco suddenly asked, clearly surprised.

"Because I could not let you fall under the hands of the Dark Lord," she replied gravely. Her confession caused a sudden realization to hit him. And with it, came anger.

"You do not mean to say that it was you who brought Hermione to this cursed place?" When his mother did not respond but merely looked away, his anger mounted. "How could you care so little for her well-being? Do you even know the risks of bringing her here? What would have happened if I had not been alone, if the Dark Lord had been here?"

"She is not to blame," Hermione's voice cut in. "Besides, I am fine; I did not run into the Dark Lord, and the most important thing is, I've found you." She touched his cheek tenderly. "And freeing you is all that I can think about right now. Even if your mother had not guided me here, I would have come myself. So please, do not blame her for a decision I have made myself." And in the next moment, before he could respond, she whispered an incantation, which suddenly freed him from his bonds.

However, his body had suffered gravely from the effects of the curse, and without the support of the manacles, it did not have the strength to stand. Grunting in pain, he tried to walk, but his knees suddenly gave way, causing him to fall. He attempted to rise, but a sudden wave of dizziness prevented him from doing so. Frantically, Hermione rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Lady Malfoy," she cried, "I do not think he can walk by himself!"

"Then we will just have to carry him," Narcissa replied grimly. "We do not have time to lose."

"That you are wrong, my dear wife. You do not have time…period." At those words, Narcissa's face suddenly turned a shade of pasty white. Whipping around, she found herself face-to-face with her husband, a cold, triumphant sneer on his face.

"Where…?" she tried to ask, but the question eventually died in her throat. From where she stood, Hermione suddenly felt a cold shiver of despair creep up her spine. Next to her, she sensed the sudden tension in Draco's body. He clenched his fists, hard, fury suddenly leaping into his gray eyes.

"Where what, darling? Where did I come from?" he asked casually, his hand coming to stroke the stray strands of her platinum-blonde hair. However, there was nothing casual about the lethal look in his predatory gaze. "Weren't expecting me, were you, wife? Trying to bring her here three hours early, so they could escape?" He suddenly took fistfuls of her hair, pulling it hard. She cried out, trying free herself from his hold, but he held her hair like a leash. Had she tried further to dislodge his hand, she would have succeeded in pulling her hair out.

"I told you to bring her here three hours later, and you disobey me?" He pulled her face close to his, his face contorted with cold rage. "If I had not been suspicious of you all along, you would have been the cause of their escape. And do you know what would have happened to you then?" Filled with fear, Narcissa could not respond, but merely shook her head, tears forming in her eyes.

"I would have killed you!" he roared, pushing her against the cold stone wall. She hit it with a dull thud, falling to the ground in a heap. Next, Lucius' eyes fixed on first Draco, then Hermione. The cold sneer was back on his face, and he sauntered toward them. Stiffening, Hermione squared her shoulders, prepared to face whatever was coming her way. Then, before she knew it, Draco had gotten up from his position on the ground, and suddenly lunged himself at his father. He knocked Lucius off balance, and drove his fist into his stomach. The older man groaned, doubling over in pain. Seeing that he was down, Draco used his elbow and drove it into his father's back, causing him to crumple to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

Having spent what had been left of his energy, Draco suddenly slid to the ground also, weak and out of breath. "Hermione," he managed to rasp in between labored breathing, "leave now, before it's too late. And bring mother with you."

"No!" she protested in horror, not believing what he had just proposed. "I am not leaving here without you. If I die, then so be it." Her tone was set in determination, her eyes stubborn and uncompromising. "We leave here together, or not at all."

But before Draco had time to respond, Lucius suddenly stirred to life. Extricating his wand from his cloak, he suddenly pointed it at his son. He chanted the spell to the Cruciatus Curse, and instantaneously, sparks flew out of his wand, directed towards Draco. Within seconds, he was writhing on the floor in excruciating agony.

"Draco!" Hermione cried out, horrified that his own father had actually used the Cruciatus Curse on him. Turning to Lucius, her eyes sparked with sudden fury. "You bastard," she seethed, "how could you do this to your own son?"

He laughed at her words, the sound harsh and cruel. "That's not all that I can do." And with a wave of his wand, he pinned her to the stone wall, immobilizing her. She tried with all her strength to move, but found the effort impossible. And before she knew it, he was advancing towards her, a cold sneer on his face. "I still haven't gotten even with you for that time you tried to hurt my royal jewels, sweetheart." His words brought on comprehension, then sudden fear into her eyes. Seeing this, his smile broadened. "Thank goodness you didn't manage to damage it, for then how would I be able to taste your sweet body now, hmm?" He was but an inch away from her immobilized body, and with a sudden, swift movement, he parted her thighs, lifting up her skirt, which had only covered up to her knees.

She was on the verge of being raped by Lucius Malfoy. Dear God, this was not happening, she thought to herself. Earth-shattering horror consumed her, and she was helpless to prevent it. Freeing himself from his confines, he pressed himself against her, stroking her intimately. Tears of fear and rage streamed down her face. She promised to kill herself afterwards when this was over. She would never be able to live with herself, knowing what had been done to her. She focused her hate-filled eyes on the man before her, vowing to kill him as well.

Trembling from the previous effects of the curse, Draco's eyes were hooded and blurry. He tried to focus them, and the mere task was enough to send him gasping for breath. From a distance, he heard his father's voice. But where was Hermione? It was then that his eyes suddenly came into focus, and he froze at the image before him. Pinned against the wall was Hermione, her skirt lifted up to her waist, his father poising against her. He attempted to move then, his body breaking out into a sweat, yet in the end, he did not even budge an inch. Move, dammit, move!, he told himself. He could not let his father do this, he could not! He'll kill he bastard himself. With one last effort, he tried to will himself to stand.

And then, like the deafening clap of thunder, he heard her scream.

Okay guys, I know what you're probably thinking right now. You're probably like "Asuka's gone insane, how could she put such a disgusting scene like that in here?" But, my dear readers, do you really think I would actually let anything happen to our beloved Hermione? If you answer a certain way, then you really do not know me. But for the rest of you, rest assured. Anyway, I'm hard at work on my last installment. I have to make it top-notch in order to please all you fabulous audiences, right? Many people have sent me e-mails telling me all sorts of ways to end the story, and I have been thinking, should I end it with a happy-perfect ending, with a twist to it, or a bittersweet, but memorable one? I'm really undecided. So once again, it's up to you guys to decide. Tell me what you like and I'll see what works best, okay? Until next time, then!