cw: This is the one folks. What follows contains blood, gore, and torture. There's also a depiction of a threatened sexual assault. If any of this is a trigger for you, please skip this chapter.

Songs - Fall In Love (Until the Ribbon Breaks) by Phantogram, Nightshade by The Lumineers, and Dark Paradise by Lana Del Ray

Chapter Eighteen: Meiða

Draco woke suddenly. He was disoriented but knew immediately that he wasn't in his flat anymore. There was a sharp, metallic taste in the back of his mouth and a searing pain in his left thigh, neither of which calmed his churning stomach, and he could feel blood dripping down his face from a deep wound near his hairline. His clothes were sticky and damp with what he could only assume was a combination of his own blood and whatever was dripping down the wall that he was chained against. The weight of his upper body pulled uncomfortably at his wrists which were shackled against the wall above his head, while his knees were bent awkwardly underneath his torso.

In an attempt to release the pressure on his wrists, he tried to shift his weight to his feet, but groaned in pain as his legs gave out underneath him.

Fuck, he breathed.

Another wave of pain shot down his spine when he tried to turn his head to look around the room, but he could have saved himself the trouble. It was dark enough that even if his hands had been free, he wouldn't have been able to see his fingers wiggling around an inch away from his face. He took a deep breath trying to settle his frantic heartbeat, inhaling the distinct scents of mildew and soil.

I must be somewhere underground.

As he was straining to remember what had happened to him, trying to recall the face of his attacker, he felt a pair of eyes glaring at him from the darkness.

"Oh good, the blood traitor is finally awake," said a familiar, deep voice.

Draco didn't need a light to know who was in the room with him.

"Hello, Uncle," Draco seethed, struggling slightly against the restraints.

"You made a grave mistake turning your back on us Death Eaters," Rodolphus told him, stepping forward as he flicked his wand to light the room.

The sudden change in light burned Draco's eyes, but finally gave him the opportunity to assess his surroundings. The room he was in was small, the walls made of large stones that were covered in grime, and the floor appeared to be made of nothing more than packed dirt. There was a single door which opened to a staircase opposite his position on the wall.

Well, Draco thought, at least I know there's a way out.

Rodolphus was staring down at him with a crooked smile and was, unsurprisingly, dressed in all black. His dark hair was tied back low on his neck and his beard was trimmed into his signature goatee. The robes on his tall, skinny frame were noticeably frayed and damaged, no doubt from his years in hiding, but otherwise he was just as Draco remembered.

"I didn't realize the fan club was still together," Draco replied sarcastically.

"Ahh, still full of jokes I see," Roldophus observed, running his hand over his beard. "That won't last long, I'm afraid."

So, torture it is then.

"A little ominous, don't you think?" Draco said with a sneer.

Rodolphus closed the distance between them quickly and kicked Draco hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"I'm going to do a lot worse to you before the night's over. It's best if you just keep your mouth shut," Rodolphus warned, his eyes dark and menacing.

"So, this was your grand plan?" Draco finally managed after catching his breath. "To torture your traitorous nephew? I have to admit, it's not really your brightest idea. Kidnapping an Auror assigned to your case isn't exactly going to fly under the radar."

Rodolphus laughed.

"No one has any idea where you are," he told him, his crooked smile exposing his yellow teeth. "In fact, the way I staged your disappearance, your friends at the Ministry and that filthy little mudblood you care for so much will probably assume you ran away like a scared little boy," he taunted.

Draco let out a growl at the mention of Hermione, but otherwise remained quiet. If Rodolphus knew about her, then he knew how to get to her, and that was more terrifying than anything that could be done to him while he was chained up in the dirty basement of whatever godforsaken place his uncle had managed to gain access to.

Fuck.

"I gather from your silence that I have your attention," Rodolphus continued, turning to pace the floor in front of Draco's position. "You see, I've been following you for weeks," he explained, now twirling his wand around in his hand. "It's rather easy to blend in when the people looking for you aren't expecting you to be right behind them. You Ministry lot haven't gotten much smarter in the years since I disappeared."

"I get it, you're obsessed with me," Draco said snidely. "But you still haven't answered my question. Why am I here?"

Rodolphus walked back into Draco's view and laughed again.

"It's true, I could have taken your father instead. Or your mother – that would have been fun. But I'll rather enjoy making an example out of you."

"Do you really think anything you do matters? Whatever you're hoping to achieve, you won't win," Draco said, his bottom lip splitting as he spoke.

There was a murderous glint in Rudolphus' eyes, but Draco didn't care what he did to him; he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of begging for his life.

"You're pathetic," Rodolphus continued, continuing to ignore Draco's question. "I'm going to make you regret ever turning against the Dark Lord."

"Your precious leader is dead, Uncle. Or have you not heard?" Draco spat.

"Dead, yes. But his ideas live on."

"He wasn't even a pureblood," Draco retorted, unable to hold his anger back. "I bet you were disgusted when you realized you were following a fraud."

"Ahh… yes, very unfortunate," Rodolphus admitted, tilting his head slightly. "But no matter, I will do what is necessary to ensure magic remains accessible only to the worthy."

"By ridding the world of those who aren't your idea of pure? How original," Draco goaded dangerously.

Rodolphus swiped his wand angrily, casting a silent curse, and Draco felt the skin rip apart on his chest. He quickly clamped his teeth together to hold back a scream as a sharp pain radiated through his entire body.

"I'd choose my words carefully if I were you," Rolodphus sneered, his lips spread into a triumphant smile.

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Draco asked rhetorically as he lifted his head again to glare at his uncle. "Pretty sure that was decided the moment you brought me here."

Rudolphus bent down so that he was staring directly into Draco's eyes.

"I'll rather enjoy torturing the mudblood you've grown so fond of," he smirked, the amusement obvious in his dark eyes. "That is before I hand her over to someone much, much worse."

"Stay away from her!" Draco yelled, tugging wildly against his restraints.

"Ahh tsk, tsk Draco. You know better than to shout at your elders."

"Do whatever you want with me, but leave her alone," Draco pleaded.

He knew it was futile to negotiate in his position, but he couldn't stand the thought of Hermione being tortured by anyone, let alone a Death Eater with a penchant for killing people slowly.

Harry will take care of her. She'll be safe with him, he tried to tell himself.

"Whatever I want? If you say so..." Rodolphus said before raising his wand and shouting, "Meiða!"

The word wasn't one Draco recognized, but when the curse hit his body, it no longer mattered. His insides felt like they were on fire, as if every molecule in his body was being ripped apart one by one, and he quickly lost the ability to string together coherent thoughts as the agony rippled through every inch of him. He screamed, unable to hide his torment, but his voice sounded far away, almost as if he was listening to someone else scream from the other side of the room. The shackles around his wrists cut deeply into his skin as his body began to shake violently, causing blood to fall down his arms and onto his shoulders, but he barely noticed. The pain was simply too overwhelming.

And the pain was excruciating.

The effects of the curse were worse than anything he had ever experienced, worse than any of the times Voldemort had tortured him during the war, but what happened next made him want to do something he had never done before. And if had been capable of words, he might just have done it; he might just have asked Rodolphus to give him the death that would end it all.

One by one, bones began to break all over his body as if he was being crushed by an invisible force. Each fracture, each splinter of bone, tore into the surrounding muscles sending new torrents of pain through his nervous system. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, when he thought the curse couldn't wreak any more havoc on his body, blood began to seep from his pores, drenching his entire body in warm, scarlet fluid.

Time passed slowly, and Draco began to slip in and out of consciousness as his lungs began to lose the struggle to pull in enough air. His voice failed eventually, and so the screams stopped, but whimpers still escaped his lips as Rodolphus loomed over him grinning maniacally at his handiwork.

The curse was certainly efficient. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew that he wouldn't be able to withstand much more before the life was crushed out of him completely.

Following a particularly loud snap of bone that echoed eerily across the room, Rodolphus released the spell, providing Draco with a momentary reprieve.

"You like this spell?" Rodolphus taunted, twirling his wand between his fingers. "The Vikings were an angry bunch. They were so eager to conquer the world. Their Mages were probably some of the most creative magical beings to ever live. It's a pity, really, that their spells remain so tightly guarded, but fortunately for me, I made a powerful ally."

Despite the debilitating pain, despite the fact that he was clinging to the edge of his sanity, the last part wasn't lost on Draco. Someone out there knew more. Someone, for some ill-advised reason, had taught Rodolphus how to use an ancient, frightening type of magic. To what end? Draco thought as he glared up at his captor.

That is before I hand her over to someone much, much worse.

To his horror, Draco suddenly realized what that meant. Someone dangerous, someone who had taught a Death Eater how to inflict even more pain than he was already capable of, wanted to hurt Hermione.

It was a few moments before Draco realized Rodolphus was speaking again.

"The blood eagle curse* would have been particularly fitting for your death, but it would have been too easy. Too quick," Rodolphus continued, shivering slightly as the name of the curse rolled off his tongue. "Meiða, on the other hand, is exactly what traitors like you deserve."

The Cruciatus Curse, which Draco was intimately familiar with, was designed to inflict pain (and withstanding it for more than a few seconds was certainly no walk in the park), but whatever curse had just been used on him was clearly designed to take it a step further. Deadly mutilation undoubtedly awaited anyone subjected to the curse for more than a few minutes, and since Rodolphus was not the merciful type, Draco knew what was coming next. He barely had a chance to catch his breath before Rodolphus hit him with the curse again.

If he had any voice left, if he had been capable of any sound at all, his screams would have filled the heavy air around him as his bones continued to twist and snap. Instead, he endured the curse silently, grasping for anything in his mind that would keep him from letting go, anything that would give him just a few more moments of sanity before succumbing to the spell.

Hermione.

He tried to focus on her face. Her smile. Her hair. Her beautiful brown eyes.

Hermione.

"Such a waste," Rodolphus sneered while forcefully lifting Draco's head with his hand. "Your whole family is a disgrace. I'm going to take great pleasure in ending the Malfoy line."

Draco was strugglig to keep his airway clear, the blood in his mouth clogging the back of his throat as Rodolphus tipped his head backward.

"Disgusting," Rodolphus said as he roughly let go of Draco's head.

Draco didn't have the strength to keep his head up, and blood began pouring out the corners of his mouth as he hung helplessly against the wall while his body continued to be simultaneously crushed and torn apart by an invisible force. The curse was winning, and he wanted – no, he needed it to end. Whatever this magic was, there was no more fighting it.

It was time to let go.

Tears began to fall down his face, and he wasn't sure if they were because he'd never see her again or because he'd failed to protect her, or both, and it didn't really matter. Hermione was in danger, and if she managed to survive his tyrannical uncle, she would still be alone with no one to warn her about whoever Rodolphus was working for. And it was entirely his fault. He hadn't seen this coming. He hadn't been prepared.

Hermione, I'm so sorry, Draco thought, even though he knew that she couldn't hear him. I love you.

I love you too, came the reply of a soft, familiar voice in his head.

She couldn't be here. He had to be imagining things. He had lost a lot of blood and was inches away from death.

You're not real, he said to the voice.

I am real. Draco please, listen to me…

But Draco's head slumped against his chest and everything went black.

Somewhere above his prison, an earth-shattering scream penetrated the night.

Rodolphus smiled.

Of course, she had come for him. He hadn't expected her to be able to find them, but it certainly made his job a hell of a lot easier.

Hermione doubled over in pain and vomited as she felt Draco's consciousness disappear. Tears were falling down her cheeks, landing heavily on the floor beneath her as her heart raced out of control.

He can't be dead. I need him. We need him, she thought as she clutched her womb.

Remembering where she was and what she had come for, she quickly straightened herself up, wiping the vomit from the side of her mouth, and looked around.

He's here somewhere. I will find him.

She was standing in a large, empty room of an old stone home containing nothing but a crumbling set of stairs and two identical archways leading into opposite wings of the building. There were no signs of someone having lived here recently, but that could easily be disguised.

"Homenum Ravelio," Hermione whispered.

Her wand vibrated in alarm. She wasn't alone.

She tried to move quietly to the shadows, but a small noise made her jump. A curse came flying at her from somewhere on her left, and she hastily threw up a defensive shield, only just missing being struck. As the curse rebounded, she jumped in the opposite direction and hid in the corner behind the nearest archway.

"You can't hide from me, mudblood," came a deep voice from the other side of the room.

She didn't need to see the man to know who the voice belonged to.

Rodolphus.

"Where is Draco?" Hermione demanded, clutching her wand tightly. Her body was shaking, but she had never been more determined. She would find Draco even if it killed her.

Slowly, Hermione peeked her head around the wall, hoping to identify Rodolphus' location. But before she had time to blink, another curse came hurtling her way and she was forced to duck back behind the wall.

"You can't save him," Rodolphus laughed, his voice taunting her.

Rodolphus had situated himself behind the wall on the opposite side of the room, and Hermione could just make out the edge of his body as he glanced around the corner toward her. She quickly cast a wordless stupefy but missed his exposed hand by an inch.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to do better than that if you ever want to see your precious blood traitor again."

Three more curses came hurtling Hermione's direction, exploding against the wall. She threw up another shield with her wand and crouched with her hands over her head as the debris rained down around her. A large wooden beam dropped from above as the rest of the ceiling groaned, threatening to collapse.

It was clear her position was precarious, and Hermione began to panic. She was handy with a wand and had survived her fair share of dangerous battles before, but one-on-one duels with dark wizards had never been her strongest skill. That had always been Harry's strength.

I need to find a way to get to him before he brings the house down on me, she thought.

Her eyes desperately scanned the space around her and landed on a small opening in the wall. It would be tight, but she was confident she could squeeze through. She would have to be fast and quiet to escape Rodolphus' notice, otherwise she risked being exposed to his attacks.

Hermione took a deep breath and made for the opening. The hole was about three feet off the ground, a bit too high for her to swing her legs through first, so she put her arms and head through the opening first and braced her arms on the outside wall. Using the position of her hands, she pushed her shoulders and torso through the opening, and then dropped the top of her body down the outside of the building using gravity to help pull the lower half of her body through the hole. When her legs were finally free, she somersaulted onto the wet grass below and crept quietly along the outside of the building toward Rodolphus' location.

When she reached the location where she believed Rodolphus to be, she squinted through a dirty, broken window. The room was dark, but she could see that the space that she thought he had been occupying was now empty.

He must have repositioned, she thought as she stood up slowly.

"Hello, mudblood," said a deep voice immediately behind her.

Hermione tried to cast a spell, but Rodolphus was quicker. The backside of his hand contacted the side of her face with a powerful slap, and the force of the blow threw her hard against the stone exterior, her head meeting rock with a loud thud while all of the air left her lungs. Her vision blurred as pain shot through the back of her head, and in her disorientation, Rodolphus grabbed her wand and threw it behind his back.

"My, my, you are a pretty little thing," he said coolly, bringing his face inches away from hers.

Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Rodolphus had pinned her up against the wall, his wand pointed at her head while his other hand wrapped tightly around her neck.

"I had planned to come for you later, but this is going to be so much more enjoyable," he taunted, his eyes filled with hate.

Hermione recoiled as he wrapped one of her curls around his wand and brought it to his nose to smell. She didn't need to be skilled in Legilimency to figure out his plan for her; it was written all over his face.

"You're vile," Hermione said before spitting on his face.

"You're going to regret that, filthy mudblood," Rodolphus said, wiping his face and then tightening his hold on her neck.

Hermione's hands flew to where his hand was wrapped around her neck, attempting to release the pressure on her airway. A deranged smile spread across the wizard's face as he watched her struggle, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kill her just like this. However, just when her vision started to narrow, just when she thought she had lost, he threw her to the ground, grabbed her legs, and began dragging her back into the abandoned building.

Fight, she told herself as she gasped for air. You have to fight.

She kicked her legs wildly and threw her hands out, trying to grab onto anything to stop him from getting her inside, but he was stronger, and everything she managed to grab onto, slipped right through her fingers.

Her thoughts were frantic as he continued to drag her, his fingers never once loosening their grip on her ankles, and she realized quickly that without her wand she needed something, anything solid and hard to fight him off. As they neared the back entrance to the building, she caught sight of a rock partially buried in the long grass and as she was dragged past it, she closed her fist around it and concealed it in her palm, praying that she got the chance to use it before he decided to attack her with magic.

Her continued struggle only seemed to excite Rodolphus, and when he turned to look at her with a crooked smile, she knew this would be her only chance.

"Maybe, you'll be more compliant if I strip you down first," he said, licking his lips.

Rodolphus moved a hand from one of her ankles to reach for his wand, and Hermione didn't hesitate. With her newly freed leg, she kicked upwards forcefully into his groin causing him to growl in pain and let go of her other leg. Then, with the rock concealed in her palm, she hit him as hard as she could across the head. The force of the blow threw Rodolphus off balance; he fell to his knees and dropped his wand, and before he could react, Hermione had it in her hand.

"Meiða!" she yelled as she brought herself to her feet above him.

The curse hit Rodolphus in the chest, slamming him against the wall behind him. He was twitching and screaming in pain, his body being visibly mutilated under the weight of the spell. There was no doubt that his was the same curse he had used on the little boy, and although she had no idea how the words had found their way into her mouth, Hermione took pleasure in watching the deranged man suffer.

"I figured out your secret, Rodolphus," Hermione said standing over him, breathing heavily as her hands shook uncontrollable.

She felt a powerful surge of magic fill her body as she spoke, tickling her limbs almost as if to instruct her to enjoy the power of watching the life drain out of the man on the ground in front of her.

"You see, when you failed to kill the young boy you left a single memory, one of a black Ash tree," she continued, her eyes still at fixed on Rodolphus' pitiful face. "I'll admit, it took me awhile to make the connection since Yggdrasil wasn't black, but when I did it all became so obvious."

She was taunting him now, not that he was really listening, but she didn't care. Whatever this magic was it felt… well, it felt amazing, and she didn't want it to stop.

"You've been digging up ancient Norse spells," she said, keeping the wand raised. "Our modern spells are ineffective against them because our ways of binding nature to our spells have changed. But I, a filthy little mudblood, figured it out."

When the last sentence left her mouth, she shivered.

What am I doing? she thought, blinking and finally focusing on the carnage in front of her. If I kill him, I'm no better than him. If I kill him, I may not be able to find Draco.

And so, despite the euphoria she felt from casting the curse, Hermione released the spell and pointed the wand at Rodolphus' temple.

"Tell me where Draco is," she demanded. "And maybe I'll let you live."

Rodolphus laughed, blood spilling out of his mouth. His injuries didn't matter; he was going to enjoy what happened next.

"You're too late," he spat. "He's already dead."

"You're lying!" Hermione shouted pushing the wand hard into his skull as she fought the urge to torture him again.

"Go see for yourself," Rodolphus said with a bloody grin. "He's down there."

Hermione followed the broken man's gaze to a trap door on the other side of the room.

Draco.

It was the only thought she needed to break herself free from whatever trance the magic had put her under, and she quickly bound Rodolphus in a thick set of ropes before dropping his wand to her side. As much as she would have enjoyed watching him die, as much as the magic she had just used called to her, she knew that wasn't who she really was. Nothing mattered more than getting to Draco. Nothing.

I'll leave him for Harry to find.

She stupefied him and checked that the ropes were tight before turning away. Then, unsure if she could cast a Patronus with a Death Eater's wand, she Accio'd her wand from the grass nearby and snapped Rodolphus' in half.

Ignoring the pain on the back of her head, she lifted her wand and took a deep breath.

"Harry. I found Rodolphus. He has Draco. Come quickly," she spoke before releasing the spell.

Her Patronus startled her when she saw it because instead of an otter, which it had been since she had first learned the spell, a silver dragon exited her wand and disappeared into the night. While on any other night she would have stopped to digest what that meant, tonight she didn't even bother.

She ran.

When she reached the trap door Rodolphus had pointed out, she threw it open and raced down the narrow stairs, her heart beating so furiously that she thought it might jump out of her chest.

He can't be dead. He can't be.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she casted a Lumos and cried out when she saw a broken, bloody figure chained to the wall on the other side of the room.

"Draco!" she screamed.

He didn't respond.

She ran over to him and placed her hands on his chest, but he wasn't moving.

No. No. NO.

She took his head in her hands and lifted it up, horrified at what she found. Every inch of his porcelain skin was covered in blood, and more prominent tracks of blood traveled from the edges of his mouth down his chin. She brought her fingers to his blood drenched neck, searching for a pulse, but found nothing.

"NO!" Hermione's legs buckled and she fell to the ground in front of him sobbing. "Draco, please. You have to come back to me. I'm– I'm pregnant. I can't do this without you."

Hermione lifted her shaking hands and cast every healing spell she knew, but nothing happened. She threw her head against his body, incoherently begging for him to wake up, hoping against all odds that her voice would rouse him. But when he still didn't move, she screamed, clinging to his body and ignoring the blood – his blood – that was quickly soaking through her clothes.

She was still screaming when they found her.

Hermione didn't hear the sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs. She didn't feel Harry pry her away from Draco's body or hear him yelling for help. The pain was too overwhelming.

She had failed.

He was gone.

Hermione awoke with a start. She looked around confused, slowly taking in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the light. She was dressed in a simple white hospital gown and was laying under a set of soft blue blankets in a sparsely furnished white her head. Harry was asleep on a chair next to the bed, his head bent strangely as if sleep had taken him by surprise.

St Mungo's, she thought sighing to herself.

Shifting her body upright, she tried to remember how she had ended up in the hospital. Her mind was hazy, and her thoughts were slow almost as if she had been drugged, but she knew something bad must have happened.

She could feel it in her bones.

As she sat there trying to remember, a set of piercing grey eyes flashed behind in her eyes. They were so beautiful, and whoever they belonged to, she wanted to stare at them forever. But then another image invaded her mind – blood, so much blood – and her body recoiled in horror.

The image was real - too real. It couldn't be some forgotten nightmare, couldn't be some side effect of a drug she had been given; she had seen this before.

What happened?

And then, like a freight train, her memories came flooding back.

"Draco," she whispered, the weight of her loss crushing the breath out of her as tears streamed down her face.

Next to the bed, Harry stirred, her cries bringing him out of an uncomfortable sleep.

"Hermione!" he nearly yelled as he blinked his eyes open and realized she was awake. "Thank Merlin, you're alright!"

Harry sat up in his chair, his eyes filled with anguish. They had needed to sedate her after pulling her away from Draco's body, and while she had been asleep for only a few hours, he hadn't been sure what would happen when she woke up. A shiver traveled down his spine as he tried to push away the memory of Hermione's heart wrenching screams as she had clung to Draco's limp, bloody body.

Hermione blinked, looking over at her friend, but the look on Harry's face was too much. She couldn't look at him. She could barely handle the weight of her own pain and couldn't handle the addition of someone else's.

"Hermione–"

"I don't need your pity, Harry," she said harshly, lifting her head. "He's gone. I was too late."

"Hermione, listen to–"

"Why?!" she interrupted again, this time raising her voice. "So you can tell me that I did everything I could? That there was nothing else I could do?" She looked at Harry with chilling ire, daring him to tell her she was wrong.

"Hermione! Listen to me," Harry managed, grabbing her hands softly in an attempt to keep her from coming unhinged. "Draco is alive."

Her heart stopped. Alive?

"Hermione, he's alive," Harry said again, his eyes glassy with his own tears.

And suddenly, she couldn't breathe.

"Www-what," she stuttered, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. "No, I saw him. He wasn't moving. He was covered in blood. His body was– Harry, he didn't have a pulse."

An obvious flash of pain crossed Harry's eyes.

"When Dean and I pulled Draco out of the dungeon, he woke up and tried to speak to us," he explained, pausing to take a deep breath. "He lost consciousness again as we rushed him here, but somehow he survived."

"Where is he?" Hermione demanded, her body trembling. She didn't care about the details. All that mattered was him. She needed to see him. She needed to be with him.

"Hermione, I think we should let the Healers check to make sure–"

"Harry James Potter, you take me to him right now!" Hermione shouted, her eyes wide and frantic.

Harry was quiet for a moment before he spoke.

"Alright. Okay, I'll take you," Harry said softly, offering his arm to help her out of bed. He didn't argue. There was no point. If he was in her position, if Ginny had been tortured the way Draco had been, he would be acting exactly the same way.

Hermione's legs were weak, but with Harry's support they were able to shuffle out of her room and down the hallway to Draco's room. When they reached the last door on the right, Harry stopped. He had been quiet as they walked down the hall but felt that he should warn her.

"Before I take you in–"

"Harry, if you don't help me through this door right this second, I will start screaming."

He swallowed and then nodded. He wanted to prepare her for what she was about to see, but it was clear her patience was wearing thin. Carefully, he pushed open the door and led her inside.

Hermione gasped when she saw what was waiting for her in the room.

Draco was lying in the bed, his body bloodied and mutilated almost beyond recognition. Most of his body was covered in blood stained bandages, and the parts that weren't covered were deeply bruised. A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, beneath which his signature platinum hair was stained red. His chest, where her hands had spent so many hours memorizing his perfectly shaped muscles, was contorted and concave. One of his arms was bent awkwardly, while the other was in some sort of cast. She couldn't see his legs under the covers, but blood had soaked into the blankets above them. If she hadn't seen the oxygen supply feeding his lungs, she wouldn't have believed that he was alive.

"Is– is he– will he be okay?" Hermione asked, shaking with the shock of the image in front of her but unable to look away.

"He's in a coma," Harry explained quietly. "The Healers haven't been able to wake him up, and they're struggling to heal his wounds. Draco's memories are so scattered that we haven't been able to figure out exactly what was done to him."

"You have the man who did this to him," Hermione said with a look of disgust on her face. "Why haven't you asked him?"

"Rodolphus is being treated for injuries very similar to Draco's, although they're not quite as extensive," Harry started carefully. "Hermione, what happened? Did you–"

"He was using an ancient Norse curse," Hermione told him, refusing to tear her eyes away from Draco.

"Norse curse?" Harry repeated.

"The tree. It was an Ash tree, just like Odin's tree." She paused, lifting her hand to the side of Draco's face and gently ran her fingers along his cheek. "Rodolphus was using an old Viking hideout. I assume the curse he used was one that the Vikings created to conquer and bend people to their will."

"Vikings?"

"I don't know how he knew about it – the curse, it's powerful," she tried to explain, still not taking her eyes off Draco.

Hermione's body trembled as the memory of using (and enjoying) the same curse on Rodolphus flooded her mind.

"If you know what Rodolphus did to Draco, the Healers will need to speak with you," Harry said softly, not entirely understanding what she was trying to tell him. "Hermione–"

"I have notes and books at your house," Hermione mumbled, no longer able to focus on anything but the broken man lying in front of her. She would explain the details later.

"I'll send someone to grab them," Harry said quietly.

He knew it wasn't the time to push her, so he decided to wait to question her further. It was clear something terrible had happened, that Hermione had done something she probably shouldn't have, but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to believe that she was capable of using dark magic on someone, not even someone like Rodolphus.

Hermione stared at Draco as if she was in a trance. Her eyes glazed over as her breathing became labored. What if he never wakes up? What if he's stuck like this, in pain forever? Tears fell silently down her face, but she didn't even bother to wipe them away.

"Hermione, I think you might be in shock. I should take you back–"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Hermione shouted, tearing her eyes away from Draco momentarily to glare at Harry.

"Okay," Harry said, throwing his hands in the air. "I need to send a few owls, but send one of the nurses if you need me."

When she was finally alone with him, Hermione inched forward in the chair and placed her hand softly on top of Draco's twisted fingers. She almost expected his eyes to snap open at her touch, but they didn't.

"Draco– Draco, it's me," she whispered. "Please wake up. I need you to come back to me. Please. We need you."

Nothing.

The panic settled in next. She thought seeing him alive might calm her down, but this was almost worse. He was broken, and it was her fault. She would never forgive herself. Why had it taken so long for her to put the pieces together? How could she have let this happen?

Harry walked out of Draco's room and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. The horrors of the Battle of Hogwarts still kept him up some nights, but the image of Hermione clinging to Draco's bloody, horrifically disfigured body in the dungeon of an old, abandoned building would haunt him for the rest of his life. While he had no idea how she had managed to find the damn tree, and while he had been furious when he found out she had left his house without calling for backup, he knew that Draco wouldn't be alive if she hadn't.

"Harry," came a voice from his left.

Harry opened his eyes and let out a small sigh of relief.

"Dean, I was just about to send you an owl," he said quickly, pushing himself off the wall. "I need you to run to my house and grab some things Hermione was working on. I think she knows something about what happened to Draco. She's in shock though, so I'm not entirely sure what you're supposed to be looking for."

"No problem," Dean said quickly before adding, "Narcissa Malfoy is here. I left her in the waiting room with the guards, but I'm not sure how long they'll be able to keep her there."

"Yes. Probably best considering…" Harry trailed off. "I'll go talk to her once Hermione has had some time alone with him."

"How is he?" Dean asked, motioning his head toward the closed door next to Harry.

"I don't know," Harry responded. "The Healers aren't even sure how he survived. His injuries are horrific. They don't know if or when they'll be able to wake him up."

"I don't– seeing him down there like that–" Dean swallowed heavily, unable to finish his thought. His eyes glazed over as he stared blankly down the hallway.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of nausea passed through his body.

"It was– he–" Harry choked on his words. "I can't believe he's alive. If Hermione hadn't found him…"

The two Aurors were quiet, neither of them able to articulate the horror of what they had seen after answering Hermione's Patronus. Both men had witnessed terrible things during their time as Aurors, but something about what had been done to Draco was different. Something about the torture, about whatever magic had been used, was more terrifying than anything they'd seen. Despite Rodolphus' proclivity for violence, it seemed odd that he, a Death Eater who had been in hiding for nine years, had stumbled upon something so powerful on his own. Whatever this magic was, Harry doubted they had seen the last of it.

"I know it's late, but we need to call everyone in," Harry said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We may have captured Rodolphus, but something tells me this is just the beginning."

"I'll get out the call after stopping by your place," Dean replied, nodding. "I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Harry watched until Dean disappeared down the hallway, and when he was finally alone, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he was completely unsure about what to do next.

While Hermione had been asleep, a Healer told Harry that she was pregnant and that fortunately whatever had happened to her in that house hadn't harmed the baby. It had certainly been a shock for him, but then again, it definitely explained some of her actions over the past couple weeks. She had probably known for a while, he reasoned.

"WHERE IS MY SON?!" a voice bellowed down the hallway.

Harry turned in time to see Narcissa Malfoy with her wand raised, speeding past the guards at the end of the hallway.

"Fuck," Harry grumbled to himself.

a/n: Y'all really didn't think I'd kill Draco off, did you?

Anyways, I do apologize for all of the gore, but it is an important, albeit unpleasant, piece of the puzzle, and so I didn't want to leave it out.

*I will not describe the Viking's blood eagle execution method here because it is unbelievably disturbing – on par with or worse than being hanged, drawn and quartered. Google (or watch one of the couple scenes of this from Vikings) at your own risk.

meiða (Old norse) ~ maim, injure, hurt, damage. The Norse letter ð is pronounced 'th' like in there.