"Your curious mind must be wondering about these seats, Hermione," Jones grinned.

"Not particularly," Hermione said, with an eyeroll.

Draco's entire world shattered.

Two of the spikes, attached to the back of her chair, came down with a loud, sickening crunch straight into her shoulders. Blood as red as his own pooled and spilled as her agonized cries pierced Draco's ears. Horror pulled an unrecognizable, terrible scream through his throat. "NO! HERMIONE!"

The Malfoy heir had never felt so helpless. All he could do was watch, his soul separating from his body at the scene before him. Hermione's screams sliced through him as if it were he who were under the spikes. One by one, more, smaller pools of crimson appeared on her breasts. They dotted her chest like the freckles on her cheeks. The sight quickly turned Draco's horror into rage.

"Well, that's interesting," that Huffleprick that was as good as dead commented.

"The hell are you on about, you sadistic piece of shit," Draco snarled.

Jones brightened. It made Draco sick. "I'm so glad you asked!"

It just had to be Hermione who answered the moment her screams died. Her chest heaved with her labored breathing, and she panted, "It's... charmed... to detect... lies. Apparently... it counts... sarcasm... as a lie."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," The Sick Fuck In Yellow quipped. "But that's not all! Observe Miss Granger's interesting development." Draco swallowed back the bile at the sight of the witch he loved covered in her own blood.

"What about it?" He muttered. "Contrary to what you may be thinking, the potion these spikes are equipped with doesn't create new wounds. It merely reopens old ones. You can quite literally say you did it to yourself. Genius, isn't it?"

Draco's head snapped back to the witch in front of him. "Mi..."

Hermione remained silent, her stare hardening with every drop of blood spilling onto her shirt.

Brown, on the other hand, looked like a kid at Christmas. "What do you know, Robby? Her blood isn't all muddy. I thought it would be... browner."

Jones merely shrugged. "It looks like we're in for a lot of surprises."

"I thought you were supposed to be a Mediwitch!" Draco snapped. "This shouldn't be—"

Brown simply shrugged, bored. "It's not like I actually had to deal with blood. Werewolf, remember?"

"Speaking of surprises," Jones said with a sly grin, "you just slipped up, Drake."

Draco froze.

"When did you and your little mudblood friend get on a first name basis? Nickname basis, even? Last time I checked, you two hated each other."

You need to occlude, Malfoy, immediately!

Draco's sights may have been fixed on the sadistic git that talked to him, but his mental attention was on high alert. He could feel her urgent gaze on him. Her mental voice was stronger than it had ever been.

And she was still looking out for him.

But he wouldn't do it. Not while she couldn't. Not while her blood was being drained right in front of him. He'd have to figure out another way because he wouldn't take the coward's way out again. He wouldn't add this to the steadily growing list of regrets.

So he chose to stay silent.

What the hell are you doing, Malfoy? Hermione's 'voice' all but screeched. What happened to that crap you always spew about self-preservation? Preserve yourself, damn it!

Draco's mouth curved down. Watch it, Granger. You're starting to use real cuss words.

Shove it.

"I don't think he's going to talk, Robby bear," Brown whined, like the bitch in heat she was. Her banana-looking boyfriend grinned. "You might be right, love. That's alright. That's what we've got the mudblood for." Draco's blood boiled. They would be his first two kills the second he was free. The pair of them.

"How about a trade, Jones?" Draco said, echoing his younger self in his pratty, bored drawl. "A question for a question." The prick had the audacity to literally laugh at him. "I don't think you're exactly in a position to negotiate, mate." Draco fixed his expression in place. "Come on, it's not like you don't have the time. I'll answer yours if you can answer one of mine."

Malfoy, what the hell are you trying to pull?

Shut it. I'm working.

The prick stopped, seeming to consider what Draco said. Finally, he shrugged. "Alright, but you first." Internally, Draco dug deep into his memory and worked to summon his inner monster—Malfoy. He allowed the poison that was his younger, snotty, bratty self flow through his veins, invade the surface of his mind. Only when he was sure that he could be one with the prejudiced, bullying little shit, only then did he answer.

"We were on a first name basis at one point. That sort of thing happens when you have the greatest swot who ever lived sitting in your classroom, practically begging for attention by showing up late and dragging sweets with her like the rules don't apply just because she's famous. But, as you can see, that's not the case now."

Draco determinedly did not look over at Hermione. He didn't want to see what he knew he would find there. Worse: her mind was quiet.

"Awfully big words from someone that's been living with her, Drake. Bigger from someone who was just screaming, 'No! Hermione! Mi!'" Jones' grin was feral, his mockery of Draco's own words hit like a punch to the gut.

"What?" Draco scoffed. "You're the one who's going to have to deal with Brown when she has to clean all that up later." The words felt like acid on his tongue. Jones, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted. "How considerate," he purred. It took a monumental effort for Draco to roll his eyes. "Without a wand, she's going to have to physically touch it. And you say I'm the one who's not a gentleman."

"What do you mean, no wand?" Brown laughed, and Draco knew he'd struck gold. The looney witch, in the far corner of the room, lounged in a folding chair—twirling his wand between her fingers.

Perfect.

Bingo. I must say, Malfoy, that was pretty brilliant.

Of course, it was. It was my plan. That was worthy of an O, even.

Don't get too cocky, Draco.

"Can't get your own wand still, Brown?" Draco drawled, covering the thunder in his chest. "Got to have Daddy Huffleprick steal one for you?"

Draco's head snapped to the side under the force of Jone's fist slamming into his jaw. A sharp pain shot through the side of his skull, though it was nothing compared to the lash of a whip. The familiar taste of copper coated his tongue; a taste he once thought would be nothing more than a bitter memory. Draco's mouth actually pulled into a wide, sarcastic smile. He spat his own blood onto the floor before turning back to the git who finally got his own hands dirty.

"Not bad, Jones," Draco said. The words came out in a bitter laugh, a tone reminiscent of days that were supposed to a distant memory.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione cried. "You're going to make it worse!"

The bastard chuckled. "I'd listen to your little girlfriend, if I were you. We both know she's the brains here." Draco swallowed and forced himself to say something he wished weren't true. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh?" Jones took a few steps back, toward Hermione's chair. He reached a single, filthy hand out and let it hover just beside her neck. "So, you won't mind if I...?" His grubby fingers grazed the skin of her neck, and Draco saw red. "Get your fucking hands off her!" He snarled, trying to launch himself out of his chair. He'd kill him. He'd bloody kill him! Hermione jerked as far out of his reach as she could, shooting him a matching, menacing glare. "Don't. Touch me," she hissed.

"See? Now we're getting somewhere," Jones said cheerfully.

Whatever happens, Draco, don't give him any more ammunition. Not matter how much you might want to help; the truth is we're stuck until help comes.

Tell me how I'm supposed to say calm when you're cut open and he's touching you.

Draco couldn't breathe when Hermione met him with the calmest, most resolved steady gaze he's ever seen.

Be Malfoy.

I already tried that; in case you didn't notice.

"It must have been pretty hard getting all that mud out of your mouth, eh, mate?"

NO, Draco. Don't play the part of Malfoy—be him. You hate my hair, my clothes, even just my presence in the room. I disgust you. Remember that I am the walking, talking, breathing—depending on the day and how well I'm doing—reminder that everything you were ever told was a lie, and you loathe it.

Draco's face was smoother than any mask he ever wore.

I... I don't, though, Hermione. I...

No. You don't, but Malfoy does.

I'm not sure I can—

Hate me, Draco. Hate me and make it out of here alive.

If Jones and Brown didn't kill him, it would be Hermione's demands that he be cruel and ridicule her and recommit every sorry thing he regretted that would do the job. He knew he was probably right. After all, if he couldn't feel, he couldn't give himself away and set off their lie-detecting charm.

But the truth was she had already silenced that bastard.

So, Draco did something he hadn't done in two years. He dove back into the dark recesses of his mind. He closed off his emotions, one by one, locking them all away in the depths of his mental trunk. He locked up his most precious memories—every single one that had anything positive to do with her—and then... he tossed away his heart. Then he threw away the key.

"Yeah," Malfoy said flatly. "I still haven't got the mudblood taste out of my mouth. I'll likely be doing extra cleanings for years."

Jone's eyes widened—surprise, maybe?

"So, when are you letting me out of here, Jones? You and I both know this is stupid."

Jones had a calculating look that made his already stupid face look even more dense. He slowly made his way behind Granger's chair and brushed her bird's nest to the side. Granger tried and failed to withhold a wince. Jones wrapped his hand around her throat.

"First thing's first, Drake—"

"Draco, you idiot."

Jones snorted. "I'll call you whatever I want. Now, you just need to tell me what I want to know. What are you planning to do with that Philosopher's Stone you're trying to make? You wouldn't be trying to pull one over on the boss, would you?"

Malfoy watched Granger take a sharp breath. She was still bleeding. Her eyes were round, wide with something that looked a lot like shock or recognition. Possibly both.

"I'll do whatever I bloody well want with something I bust my arse to make," Draco deadpanned. "It doesn't have a thing to do with my agreement with Greengrass."

Jones turned his sights onto Granger. "You know..." He squeezed her neck. Granger gasped. She couldn't breathe. "I'd like to know what it is you've got over this one." His eyes flicker downward. "Would it have something to do with that missing scar?"

He turns his head. "Check him, love."

Brown scurried over. She yanked up Malfoy's sleeve. Her jaw dropped. "It's... it's gone, Robby."

Jones turned back to Granger. "Now, how did he get you to pull that one off?"

Granger's face was starting to turn purple. It didn't look right. It was... unsettling.

"I don't think she can answer your question, mate," Malfoy said flatly.

Jones let go. "Right."

Granger gasped for air. Something like a knot loosened.

"He must have told you his plans for the Stone," Jones muttered quietly.

"He told me nothing," Granger hissed.

"Are you sure?" Jones asked, a stupid grin stretching across his face. "He already got you to do the impossible. How do I know that he didn't put that brain of yours to work on... other things?"

Granger looked like Granger when she was red faced and glaring at him. It was a familiar look. He hadn't seen it in a while.

"How do I know that he didn't... convince you, somehow, that he'd save your pathetic life with that Stone? Promised you the world when he—"

"Fuck off, Robert!"

"What did he do?" Jones cackled. "Did he tell you he loved you when he popped your cherry?"

Granger's glare somehow looked even more... Granger-like.

"Holy shit, he did!" Jones laughed. Brown nearly fell off her chair with cackles that sounded like a Blast Ended Skrewt dying. "You really are more pathetic than I thought."

"Here's where you're wrong," Granger gasped. She couldn't breathe. She was still bleeding. It looked wrong. "It's you who's pathetic. I'm not the one kidnapping people and looking for a rock that doesn't exist."

Jones narrowed his eyes. "Lav."

Brown grinned wickedly. "Gladly." She held something in her hand. It looked like some sort of button.

Two spikes swiftly came down into her arms. He heard a heavy crunch.

Her arms shot out blood.

Granger screamed. Loudly.

Something in Malfoy stirred.

A lot of things in Malfoy stirred. Things that weren't supposed to be there.

The fog that clouded Malfoy's mind started to clear.

Fear. He felt fear. And it wasn't for himself.

Anger came next. It didn't take long for it to start boiling his blood.

Nausea came next.

It wasn't the M that came first, but thin slashes across her wrists.

Then came the M... and the U... and the D...

Agony. Malfoy died once more in a pit of agony that rocked him to his core.

Draco didn't know how he was going to stay in place. To keep his own screams from escaping.

All he knew was that if he didn't do something soon, Hermione would die.

"Don't you hate him yet?" Brown gloated. "All these cuts, tsk tsk. Who knew you had such a problem? And look! He doesn't have a single mark on him. Who made you do this? Was it Drakey?"

Draco's stomach plummeted when the last letter appeared on Hermione's arm. He took a good, long look at her and couldn't believe what he saw. Nobody could survive so much at once. What had happened? She couldn't... she didn't... did she?

She was strong. She wouldn't harm herself.

Draco took another look at her. His heart fell. The placement of each wound... it would all be easily concealed. No. No, no, no, no...

"Why... do you... want to know... Lavender?"

Fuck. NO.

"Come on," Brown all but purred. "We're friends! You can tell your friends about your dirty little secrets, can't you?"

Draco couldn't believe it when Hermione actually fucking smiled.

"If I didn't tell Harry and Ron, why would I tell you?"

No. No, no, no, no.

Brown literally growled. "Well, maybe this will be some incentive." The bitch stomped over to Draco's chair, and he bit back a growl of his own when he grabbed him by his hair. Hermione weakly lifted her head, but it didn't stop the look of terror in her eye when she saw it.

"No, Lavender," Hermione choked. Draco couldn't stand it. Everything in him rioted against the scene. She was going to die, and it would be his own fault.

"Don't say anything, Mi," Draco bit out.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and a lump formed in his throat.

"I don't hate him," she wheezed. It seemed like it was taking all of her strength just to say that.

"DON'T!" Draco screamed, struggling against his chains. The pair of idiots cheered at the sight.

"As a matter of fact," Hermione panted, "I love him."

None of the spikes moved. Draco's soul fractured.

"Aw, isn't that just precious," Brown mocked. She sounded nauseous, and Draco didn't care. "Now, enough playing. If you don't want pretty boy to get it," she hissed, "I suggest you tell me what you know."

Draco swallowed.

"The charms only work if I'm lying, unless you press that button in your hand," Hermione said, somehow smug through her wounds. "And even then, the button works on the chair of the person who's speaking."

For Draco, time stopped.

"So, with that being said," Hermione breathed, "I'll tell you what I know. Hogwarts has one hundred and forty-two staircases."

Brown narrowed her eyes. Hermione grinned. Draco couldn't breathe.

"The Room of Requirement is on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. You have to walk in front of the hidden opening three times and think of what you need before you can enter."

Brown fumed.

"There is a lot of debate on whether it was Rowena Ravenclaw or Helga Hufflepuff that created the Room."

Hermione wasn't done. Blood poured out of her like a flood, but her voice, though small, remained strong. Draco couldn't look away, frightened and horrified for her as he was. In the back of his mind, he was quickly trying to figure a way out of his shackles.

Hermione reminded him immensely of the warriors from his stories as a small child, making their last stand before meeting Death in a blaze of eternal glory.

"Pronunciation is every bit as important, if not more so, than wand movement when casting a spell."

"Wendelin the Weird is famously known for being burned at the stake multiple times, in various disguises."

"The door that leads to the kitchens is directly to the right of the Professor's table in the Great Hall."

"Professor Binns' first name is Cuthbert."

"Peeves has haunted the castle since the school's founding, circa 993."

"Moondew was first discovered by the Irish druidess Clionda."

"Unicorn horns are said to have purification properties that dissolve poisons, and that's why they are used in the antidote."

"A manticore's body assumes the combination of a lion with a scorpion's tail and a humanlike head. Part of what makes it so difficult to defeat is the fact that it has the capability to think like a human."

"SHUT. UP!" Brown screeched. Meanwhile, Draco's mind was reeling—until Brown smashed that bloody button in her hand one last time. The spikes came down inside Mi's legs, and Draco roared.

Hermione's screams filled the air once more, but this time Draco's magic exploded with him. A light brighter than any witch or wizard had ever seen beamed from him in all directions. Jones and Brown flew to opposite sides of the room, hitting the walls with a bang Draco couldn't care less about.

But it still did nothing to unshackle him from the damn chair.

Draco raged, vision turning the same shade of crimson that pooled on her inner thighs.

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!" Draco cried, fighting with all his might to break free of the shackles that bound him. Hot, agonized tears streamed down his face, furious screams ripping from his throat that it was all in vain. Everything he had done—everything he tried to do—amounted to nothing.

Rage. That's what he felt. It burned like Fiendfyre. Everything had been futile in the end.

"One... last thing... Draco," Hermione whispered.

"NO!" Draco cried. "Don't talk like that. Please don't talk like that!"

"Listen... idiot..." She weakly laughed.

Draco couldn't look away. He wouldn't.

"Lavender... key... in her pocket. Try... accio."

"NOW YOU TELL ME?"

"When... did I... have a ...chance before?" She breathed.

Draco didn't waste any time. "Acc—"

"Draco!"

He stopped on the spot, frozen by the strength behind his name.

"I love you."

"Hermione, please. I'm sorry. Don't... don't you dare leave me!" The words shook on his tongue, his panic spiking by the second. It sounded like she was saying goodbye.

His blood ran cold at the smile that spread across her face. It looked final.

"I know," she whispered.

Her eyes slid closed.

Her chest stopped moving.

No. No. "NO!" Draco howled. "ACCIO KEY!"

It figured that would be the moment that the door to the cellar opened.

The first thing that Draco heard was Potter's screams. Draco didn't care. The witch he loved just left him. Bloodied, mangled, mutilated, and yet again, he had been right there and unable to do a fucking thing.

He didn't even notice when they released his shackles. It didn't occur to him that he was being led out of the room. It didn't matter much, he supposed. She wasn't there anymore.

He didn't notice that Potter wasn't there with him when an Auror took him down to the Ministry. He didn't care.

She wasn't here anymore.

Someone put their wand to his head. Something silvery came out of it. He didn't care. They could take whatever they wanted.

She wasn't here.

He didn't know how he got back to the castle. It was better, he guessed, than going back home.

She wouldn't be there.

That night, anguished, tormented, tortured howls thundered throughout the Professor's Wing. Everyone heard them, but no one said a word.