Notes: A couple things. First, many of you have sent such kind words my direction, so thank you. Every bit of your feedback is valued and appreciated.

Second, I am occasionally reminded by some unkind words that we need to remember than fanfiction is simply for fun. Yes, I am putting a lot of myself into this story (discussed a bit below), but I am not expecting it to be everyone's cup of tea. That's the awesome thing about this world, there are so many stories, so many writing styles, nearly an infinite number of choices. I would ask that we all remember to be kind to one another and to display decency and respect as we navigate through these written gems. Not every one will be the diamond in the rough for all of us, after all. I never mind feedback that is critical as long as it is respectful and I think that would be true for most authors. I was a high school teacher for several years and I've built up a bit of thick skin when it comes to being insulted and called names, but that doesn't mean I'm not human inside. So go kindly into this online world and into the world beyond your door.

I wanted to also take the time to talk about Draco's conversation with Hermione about pain before they made love in the previous chapter. I felt it was very important to address pain in relationship to sex. For me, pain is the most limiting factor when it comes to intimacy and the amount of shame and inadequacy that truth generates is sometimes unbearable. I mean, it's a basic human function that I am unable to perform on a whim because of the pain I experience (my pain is isolated to my pelvic region). I feel I miss out on so much because of this and it just plain sucks. For Draco, it's not quite so debilitating, but I wanted to increase awareness of this issue and to show you the depths of trust and vulnerability those of us who suffer like this must share with our partners.

Okay, on to something pretty full of feels...

WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of torture

~*~ Thirty Seven ~*~

Grindelwald made them wait a week. A week of doubt. A week of Tom edging ever closer to the Austrian fortress. A week of discovering all the facets she could of Draco Malfoy. Despite the impending doom, the uncertainty of their future, let alone their future together, she found the days in purgatory calming. They'd been on the run and then in the midst of war together, but they'd never had the time to breathe, to know what it felt like to wake in each other's arms, to let gentle hands caress bare skin in the sultry heat of the day. They hadn't wasted a minute, exploring the depths of the other with hunger, hands learning every contour, mouths every taste.

But it wasn't a hazy, lust-fueled escape. There was sex, but it was deliberate, its purpose to bring them closer together, to claim access to the depths of his soul that she couldn't find without him buried deep inside of her. Every touch was emblazoned with love, every passionate whisper a declaration and a promise. He taught her the true language of love, a far more shattering vocabulary than the empty desire she'd known.

Her body had grown lethargic, accustomed to luxurious caresses on balmy nights, lazy days of simply sitting together, observing the defiant alps conquer the azure sky, listening to the tittering calls of the native birds. She knew Tom was coming, that Grindelwald still held their fate in his devious hands, but she couldn't bring herself to care when Draco was beside her.

Hermione sighed, relaxing further into his bare chest, head resting carefully away from his cursed leg as she used him as a pillow. She could feel his gaze settle on her, blood rushing to the surface at the intensity of his stare. His hand traced a line of molten fire down her jaw.

"You're beautiful."

She canted her head to look up at him, his hand falling to her neck. "I don't—"

"You are," Draco insisted, voice rough, a warning in his stormy eyes. "I don't care what you think. You are completely breathtaking and I can't believe I lasted this long without giving in to you."

A wry smile fell across her lips as she broke their charged stare. "I'm pretty sure I was the one holding out, not you. And you used to make fun of my hair and my teeth…"

She was only teasing, but his abs tensed beneath her, hand cupping her chin to return her focus to him. "I was an idiot."

"I don't hold it against you, Draco. Not for a long time now."

He searched her face, tempests going quiet at whatever he found there. When he spoke, there was a teasing undertone she'd not heard before. "You did look a lot better after Madam Pomfrey fixed your teeth."

Gasping in mock horror, Hermione pushed upward enough to land a hard blow to his shoulder. He merely laughed, unfazed by the minor violence. She had the childish urge to grab his hair, currently falling enticingly across his bronzed skin, and tug. So she did. He yelped, scowling as he scrambled out of her reach.

"Merlin, that actually hurt!"

She grinned up at him before collapsing in a fit of giggles. "You scream like a girl."

His gaze went murderous, but in the way that made her stomach flip and her skin flush. Draco was on her a second later, hands digging into her flesh in all the sensitive places. Her laughter grew to a fever pitch, but his tickling didn't abate. Her chest hurt, the very act of breathing difficult, but she didn't want him to stop. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so carefree, so untethered to the grim reality that had become her life.

Of course, that had to be the moment Grindelwald found them, sweeping into the room with imperious flare only to stop short at the sight of their partially clothed bodies entangled, laughter spilling from their lips. He cleared his throat, but it still took a moment for Draco to stop, for Hermione's brain to regain enough function to understand she needed to stop howling like a hyena. Draco recovered first, drawing back to stare at Grindelwald with an unrepentant scowl.

Hermione pushed up from her spot on the sofa, tugging Draco's black t-shirt further down her bare thighs. Realizing her state of undress was more inappropriate than his, Draco tactfully passed her a blanket that had fallen on the floor.

Her legs now fully concealed, he turned back to Grindelwald, arms crossed and brow raised. "I take it you've determined our fate, my Lord."

"I have," the elder wizard replied, distaste still etched on his severe features. "Although I have to say I am surprised by how the two of you have chosen to spend your time."

"What we do behind closed doors is absolutely none of your business." Draco's reply was frosty at best. "Get to the point."

The other man glared with a bit more venom, but continued. "Because of what I have learned about you, and that includes your duplicitous nature, Malfoy, as well as the full extent of your knowledge of the Dark Arts, I am unable to release you from my custody. You are a danger to this time and letting you go would be irresponsible of me."

Whatever endorphins their laughter had spawned were purged by the cascade of terror that trembled down her spine. "What?"

Grindelwald's focus shifted to her. "I will help you when Mr. Riddle inevitably finds my front door, but I will not allow you or Mr. Malfoy back into my time or my world. The knowledge you have is too critical."

"To you," Draco accused, the line of his spine rigid. Hermione laid a hand on his back, stroking the tense muscles. He relaxed a fraction before continuing, "You have no right to hold us here."

"You gave up your rights when you decided to leave your own time and change the course of history, Mr. Malfoy. Such feats should generally not be attempted. And if they are, must be done with the utmost caution." The condescension in his tone set her teeth grinding as Draco's hands tightened into fists at his sides.

"Yet you would kill the man who would kill you," she pointed out, words nearly spat into the space between them.

"Perhaps I should put this differently as it seems the moral argument is not to your taste. I have the power here, Ms. Granger, and I will always have the power because I have the instrument to ensure it." His smile was cruel now, the first true sign she'd seen of the madness she'd been told existed within him. Perhaps there was no way to embrace the Dark Arts without succumbing to its thrall. Her gaze slid to the trembling of Draco's fists. Had it touched him too?

She shook her head, clearing away the thought. It didn't matter right now. "The Elder wand can be won from you."

Grindelwald blinked, unable to contain his surprise, but he recovered quickly, sneer chasing away all signs of the emotion. "Your knowledge won't help you this time, Ms. Granger. I am aware of the limitations of my wand, but it is hardly the only thing that gives me power. I will have what's inside that pretty little head of yours."

Draco's snarl reverberated through her as he lunged, closing the distance to Grindelwald in the blink of an eye. His hands were in the wizard's robes, violent and unyielding as he ground out, "You don't know what I'm capable of, Gellert. Speak to her like that again and I'll leave you in pieces, no matter how much we might need you to capture Riddle."

Eye twitching, Grindelwald peeled Draco's fingers from his person. "I am the most powerful wizard in this room, Malfoy."

"But I'm the most ruthless," Draco hissed, still a hair's breadth from the other man. "As you've learned, I'm a master at deception. But that's not the only skill I perfected during my time with Lord Voldemort."

It was the first time she'd heard him say the honorific and the name together and it packed a punch she didn't expect. To hear it reminded her of so much she wished could be forgotten, of paralyzing fear and infinite loss, of the darkness beneath her skin and the certainty of Draco's crimes. Grindelwald had no such reaction, merely curling his lip as he said, "I don't fear you, boy."

"Perhaps you should." Hermione's voice cut across the room, making Draco turn to look at her, stare brimming with chaos. "There are stories the Order would tell, to make sure new recruits fell in line, to make them understand how dark our war had become. They were stories of a man with a talent for pain, with the patience to destroy, one drop of blood at a time. They said he took your soul with him and by the time he was done, not even your corpse was recognizable. They said you begged for death for weeks, months, and that the end never came, not until you'd given up every last secret hidden inside, not until you were as inhuman as he." Her focus left Draco's angular features, the swell of agony behind his eyes, to find Grindelwald. "They weren't stories."

The elder wizard held her stare and she let a memory of one of Moody's more horrific tales float to the surface. She could feel the moment he took the bait, the moment he understood just how dark Draco Malfoy was. He turned back to Draco abruptly. "You are in violation of wizarding law in every country for this… escapade through time. After we have confronted this Tom Riddle of yours, we will revisit the terms of our agreement."

"Get out." Draco's voice was brittle, ice on the verge of cracking.

"This isn't over, Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy."

"Nothing ever is," Hermione replied, mouth acrid and bitter.

The door slammed shut behind the departing wizard, but neither Hermione nor Draco moved. She couldn't see his face; he was angled toward the balcony now, silhouette dark against the bright afternoon light. She let the blanket drop away from her lap after the minutes had stretched too far and the terror within her chest had grown too large. She put one foot in front of the other, slowly closing the gap between them.

"Don't."

His strangled plea stopped her instantly. The tightness in her chest ratcheted up, her hands beginning to shake at her sides. "I didn't mean…"

"Yes, you did."

He still wouldn't look at her. She swallowed, heavy and wrong. "I wanted him to back off." It wasn't an excuse; it was simply the truth. Grindelwald had threatened to take their freedom away and she had fought back. But she hadn't thought about the impact her words would have on him, on the pernicious truth she'd once again unearthed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

At this he spun around, handsome features cleaved by devastation. "You're sorry? You have nothing to apologize for, Hermione. You have done nothing wrong. I am the monster here, not you."

"I forgive you."

"No, you don't."

She didn't know which of them was right. She wanted to forgive him, to absolve him of the horrors he'd perpetrated, but they were not her wrongs to forgive. She'd never been one of his victims, had never known pain at his hands, had never been broken by him until she was a mess of flesh and unhinged memory. She likely had no idea the extent of his sins and yet, she still wanted to chase the suffering from his turbulent eyes, to tell him he deserved her love no matter what he'd done.

"I…" but words failed her now, as he stared down at her with only pain, harsh and undeniable, contorting his face, his eyes, his soul.

"I swore I would never tell you," he bit out, low and wretched. "I swore. I never told her. I kept that vow at least."

She realized what he was saying, what he was about to do. The air swept from her lungs in an instant leaving her breathless and stumbling. He didn't attempt to steady her as she tumbled backward onto the couch below. He merely kept dull eyes, storms eerily absent, focused somewhere to the left of her face.

"It started with the Cruciatus, as all torture does. That was easy. You don't get out of the snake pit without learning how to do that one. Then it was darker spells, some that Snape had crafted for him, some of his imagination, eventually some of my own creation. They made your blood boil, your mind believe your limbs were being severed, your skin cook from the inside out, your lungs collapse at will. We took apart the human body and found a million ways to cause every facet of it pain.

"Then there was the humiliation, the prisoners smeared in feces and drenched in urine, their spilt blood a mere afterthought of bodily fluid." He paused, lips drawn thin. Draco swallowed, once, then again, before continuing. "They would scream for days, weeks even, before their throats would finally give out, before we could no longer pry every truth, before they'd lost every last dreg of their dignity. Then he'd let the more lecherous Death Eaters at them. They were more corpse than human by then, but they could still shake with pain as those men took their bodies in ways that should never be experienced. I never participated in those violations, but I watched, I condoned. I might have been saving my wife, but I was damning those poor, wretched souls to a fate far worse than death. I never even killed them when I had the chance. He would have known and even the barest hint of mercy would have damned me.

"But that's what I didn't understand, you see? I was already damned. I'd been damned the first moment I lifted my wand for him, to save my mother, when I was sixteen and scared shitless. The moment I chose the security of those I loved, I also chose him and it was over for me. I told myself I was fighting for good people, but you don't turn yourself into the heart of evil just to spare a single soul, you don't let yourself bathe in blood just so your wife can live another day." He finally looked at her and all she saw was acerbic truth. "You can choose now, but I doubt forgiveness is on your lips."

She wiped at the silent tears that had escaped as he spoke, her heart cracking with every tortured word he uttered. She'd heard, had known, had imagined, but still it cut through her, tearing down every belief she'd built of him. But she fought the horror, the revulsion crawling just beneath her skin. He was everything he described and likely more, but he was also the boy whose laughter had echoed off the walls less than an hour before. He was guilty, so guilty she ached at the depth of it, but he was also a victim of Voldemort's madness. To a much lesser extent than the lives he had destroyed, for sure, but undeniably a victim still.

"I still love you," she managed to murmur. "I'm still in love with you."

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"Yes. I heard every damn word you bloody said, Draco." She palmed away her tears, rising to her feet to stand before him. "I heard it all. But I am neither judge, jury nor executioner. You will never be on trial with me. My love isn't contingent on who you have been, merely who you are now. And right now, Draco Malfoy, you are a good man."

"I…"

Draco trailed off, clearly unsure of himself, of the new weight of truth suspended between them, of her unrelenting declaration. She closed the distance between them, flinging her arms around his stiff frame, pulling him against her with all her strength. "You have to live with it, just like I have to live with my marriage to Tom. It gains us nothing to endlessly berate ourselves for such poor choices. And that's what they were, poor choices made with the best of intentions. I'm not saying that's any sort of absolution, but it's true. We are more than the sum of our pasts. I have to believe that."

He dropped his forehead to rest against hers, and she cupped his cheek, the moisture of his tears smearing between them. "I don't know how to live with this, Hermione. I don't want to live with this."

"We're nearly finished." She wasn't sure what she was talking about exactly. Was it that Tom was nearly to Nurmengard? Or that their struggle was nearly at an end? But there was no rosy future she could see. Even if they did escape Grindelwald's designs, they would never be safe in this foreign time. Was it even possible to return to the future, to exist as they were in a world where events had unfolded drastically different? Or would their return be simply impossible with all they had done? They were thoughts she'd compartmentalized away, unwilling to face them alongside their current struggles. But now the doubts cut deep, the blade of reality slashing harshly across her dreams.

"I don't know how," Draco repeated hollowly into the silence and Hermione had no answer this time.