Welcome to Chapter 16. This has been a much anticipated/dreaded chapter, so as soon as my review replies are done, I'll just get on with the story. Thank you to my fantastic beta, highlyintelligentblonde!

MAGIUSTHEELDER - Deep breaths, my friend.

ZoeyOlivia - Your review made me laugh. I haven't heard anyone call anyone else a 'punk ass' in years.

magicalalice - It's funny, a lot of people saw a cliffhanger coming, and yet they're all still not ready. So glad I could make you squeal when I updated.

mhcalamas - Glad I can give you fun flashbacks - and also, yep! Cliffhanger!

MotekElm - Did someone order drama and inner turmoil?

Shinee's Hypeman - Thanks for leaving a review! That's some speculation.

A - Well shit, indeed.

mollsballs - Yeah, I'd say that 'rude awakening' would be a way to describe it.

Shipslover - I'm so sorry - it's a tough subject.

Kyonomiko - AAAAAAAAAAH

ihbmac - *gasps back*

addictedtoloveandfanfiction - Excited and scared - exactly where I want you to be. I am not trying to kill you, I swear. Just...make you sit on the edge of your seat.

SpuffyCarrie - Glad you're all caught up now! Is it weird that I feel proud to be called evil?

Guests - Thank you for leaving reviews! You're all worried as well - enjoy, enjoy!

TW: TORTURE. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Draco had come to dread the new moon. Without the moon's bright presence, it left the night pitch black and full of unknowns. The only thing left to give him a sense of place on those nights were the stars. Supposedly constant, the stars were guideposts in both navigation and divination – essential and comforting to many.

Draco was supposed to take comfort in the stars. He was named for a constellation, after all. Yet, for all his knowledge of the stars, he took no comfort in them. On nights like these, when he looked out into the blackness of the night, the guidepost he craved was the soft, pale light of the moon.

Where there was moonlight, there was sight, and where there was sight in this war, there was some knowledge of what was to come.

Looking out of the Malfoy Manor library window, Draco lamented the lack of moon in tonight's sky. He couldn't see a thing from where he stood and stared at what he knew to be the path in from the Manor's gate – the Apparition point.

Guests at the manor these days – Death Eaters, mainly – always arrived in this fashion. Draco had taken to spending much of his day perched at this overlook. From here, he could anticipate what was to come. The arrival of certain Death Eaters or lack thereof meant he could spend the day quietly with his parents in the library or alone in his room. Those days were the good days. He tried to distract himself with books in the former location; he mostly paced in the latter.

The arrival of other Death Eaters… namely, his aunt and the Dark Lord, himself, meant a much darker, more sinister day awaited him. There was no reading or pacing on those days. Instead, he often bore witness to torture and murder.

He had participated in the torture occasionally. It had been under duress at first, but he had learned to fall in line. He kept a piece of parchment tucked away under his mattress of all those he had tortured. Some names he knew. Others were muggles unknown to him. An old woman. A businessman. A young mother and her two children.

Draco was grateful to this day that he hadn't been asked to do most of the work on that last one.

He was also grateful he hadn't been asked to murder yet, either. But the more he dwelled on that thought late into many nights, the yet was likely a temporary condition. It was all unknown to him.

Yes, if there was one thing he had come to dread since his time back at the Manor, it was the unknown. So as Draco stared out into the dark of the night on evening of March twenty-sixth, his stomach dropped to his feet when he saw the beginnings of movement out in the courtyard.

"Draco, come away from the window," his father commanded from his armchair by the fireplace. "You'll not be able to see anything, anyway. Have a drink with me."

"It would be better if I abstained. Aunt Bella is here tonight, and I can't afford to get sloppy around her. Besides, we may yet hold a meeting. I just saw movement coming from outside."

His father shifted in his chair, his head tilted to the side. "Is that so? Well, then. We had better give a proper greeting to our guests. We are playing… host, after all."

Draco watched his father as he spoke. Each word out of his mouth was carefully chosen, each facial expression guarded. Though his father had always been a calculating, vigilant person, having the Dark Lord and so many Death Eaters in his home for months on end and brought out these qualities to the extreme, to the point where he wasn't sure if his father was actually capable of revealing his emotions any longer.

Granted, he wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, either.

Except around Hermione. That woman somehow managed to coax hidden sentiments out of him, and he was practically a bleeding heart when he was around her.

And perhaps Mrs. Weasley, a bit. But only those two. He had really just started opening up more when he had mucked everything up by running off and getting caught. He had been like a bud about to bloom in the warmth of Spring, but he had barely grasped at Spring before it had retreated, returning him to the cold stoicism of Winter.

That's what returning to Malfoy Manor had felt like: a regression into the darkest, coldest Winter of his life.

"Yes, Father," Draco agreed, keeping his tone cold as well. "Let's greet our guests."

The two men made their way down to the drawing room of the Manor, where all company was received. As they walked, Draco braced himself for another night that he would have to take out that parchment under his mattress.

His father signaled for him to take a seat near the fireplace in the drawing room as they saw his mother bustle toward the front door. Clearly, whomever it was had been deemed worthy enough to make it past the gates. Straining his ears, he tried to overhear the rough voices coming from outside.

"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" a familiar, gruff voice said.

Draco's stomach rolled. Greyback.

A visit from Greyback usually meant torture and other, even more unspeakable things.

He wanted to vomit, but kept his face steady in case his father looked over. Taking a deep breath, he listened in again.

'If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar. And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been travelling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am –'

The sick feeling in his stomach tripled. Scar? Mudblood traveling around with him? No… surely not.

"Follow me," his mother said. "My son, Draco, is home. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."

Draco heard several sets of footsteps approaching, clicking on the marble floors. Each footprint that tapped on the floor matched the erratic beating of his heart. His mouth had gone dry and his hands had begun to shake. Hermione. Hermione here in the Manor. With his parents. With his Aunt Bella. With Greyback. Surely, they would call the Dark Lord.

He wanted nothing more than to hyperventilate and panic, but months of living with Death Eaters had taught him to school his emotions. He was certainly trying; he could will himself to stop shaking, but the breath was a bit harder to control. Any normal prisoner or visitor wouldn't cause any issue, certainly.

But this was potentially Hermione. His Hermione. And as much as he longed to see her lovely face, this was the last place he ever wanted her to be.

He had to get it together. To protect her.

His mother rounded the corner into the drawing room, followed by several other people. One, he recognized as Greyback immediately. Several others were crowded around three figures. They were scraggly and dirty; their body language spoke of bravado covering for terror.

Definitely Gryffindor, then.

And then he saw her.

Covered in grime and debris, Hermione Granger stood mere feet away from him after months of separation. Tattered clothes covered her body, and something about her demeanor and the way she held herself was… off. Her eyes shone with fear, and when she spotted him, her whole body went rigid.

He wanted nothing more than to curse everyone else in this goddamn room, grab her, and run, but that option would never be in the cards. Not now. With his eyes, he tried to convey his thoughts to her. That he was sorry. That he wanted to keep her safe. That he would try to do something.

That he missed her.

That he loved her.

Though he was certain he kept the rest of his features trained, he allowed the floodgate of emotion in his eyes to open for just half a second, praying she was watching – really watching.

Though he could see confusion and questions creep into her eyes, the overwhelming response in her expression was terror. Her whole body shook as they drew closer. His mother called him to the center of the room so he could get a good look at Potter to ascertain if was really him. Of course, he didn't need to get a closer look. That was Potter, all right. Surely, Hermione wouldn't have been so frightened if all three of them hadn't been found by Snatchers. Surely, she would put up a fight and show off her Gryffindorish tendency to be bold as brass even in the face of evil.

But it was his family that currently held all the cards, not them. And she knew it. Never before had he seen her so small, so terrified. It was almost as though she was curling in on herself. What had happened to her in the past seven months that made her react to intimidation like this? Was this really his Hermione?

Doubts began to creep into his mind.

"Well, boy?" asked Lucius, his voice practically trembling with excitement as Draco got a good look at the supposed-Potter's face.

"I can't – I can't be sure." Much as his father had trained him, he chose his words carefully.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" His father seemed almost manic at this point.

As his parents and Greyback began to argue about whose job it was to tell the Dark Lord, Draco kept his distance purposely. Though he had had his doubts for half a moment, that was clearly Potter beneath the stinging jinx. Years of attending classes together, flying beside him, and following him in corridors to taunt the idiot had allowed him ample opportunity to learn the subtleties of Potter's physicality, even if it had been subconscious.

Yes, indeed. This was Harry Potter beneath the swollen flesh. There was no question.

And that meant that this was actually Weaslebee and Hermione at his side.

Shit.

"Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

He moved beside his father and pretended to examine more closely; he squinted his eyes a bit, trying hard hide any trace of emotion on his face. He couldn't let them know… couldn't let them see…

"I don't know."

His voice had come out cold that time, and he quickly turned on his heel and retreated to stand by his mother.

"What about the Mudblood, then?" Greyback snarled. Everyone's attention shifted to Hermione. The witch had her arms pinned to her side, her eyes wide with terror. She kept looking down, and then back up again, occasionally flicking over to him.

Look away. He beseeched her mentally. Look anywhere but at me. If they suspected… if they had any idea… Draco shuddered as her chocolate eyes found his again. Please… he begged.

"Wait," said his mother suddenly. "Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter. I saw her picture in the Prophet. Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

He felt his chest turn to ice as his breath froze in his throat. He had to say something. Had to respond. Had to choose his words carefully. He couldn't be too enthusiastic with any answer he gave.

"I… maybe...I really don't know."

Self-hatred filled his whole body as the last word slipped from him. He could see Hermione's expression crumble into confusion for a moment. For some strange reason, her hand moved in front of her at an odd angle for a moment. After only half a second, her eyes went wide, and her hand snapped back to her side, her face filled with terror once more.

What a bastard he was. Truly. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, he supposed. Self-preserving to the very end.

But he had hesitated, hadn't he? There was no way his parents could be more confident than him…

And then the very worst person possible walked through the drawing room door: his dear Aunt Bellatrix. As she drew up her sleeve to call the Dark Lord, Draco's mind began to race. He had to get Hermione out of there somehow. Potter and Weasley too, if he had to. Aunt Bella wouldn't hesitate to summon her beloved master. She, who sat at his righthand side, wouldn't hesitate to cast everyone else aside if it meant presenting Potter to the Dark Lord.

If the Dark Lord arrived, surely, Hermione wouldn't make it out alive. Aunt Bella… she might torture Hermione. She might… play… with her a bit. But she wouldn't go for the kill. Not immediately. And as much as Draco hated to weigh the options in his mind, he would choose Aunt Bella over the Dark Lord.

Torture was hell. There was no excuse for it. But if not done in gratuity, its victims survived to see another day.

Victims that saw the business end of a killing curse did not.

Perhaps, he thought, as the arguing continued, if the Dark Lord was not summoned immediately, they would be placed in the cellar. Maybe then – just maybe – he could find a way to get them out.

It sounded like the most Gryffindor plan of action he could muster. It was stupid, yes, but it could save Hermione. And that meant that it was probably the right thing to do.

Draco wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. He was not supposed to have to choose his preference for something as horrific as torture.

As Aunt Bellatrix and several Snatchers fought over some sword, Draco kept his eyes trained on the ground, only allowing himself to sneak glances at Hermione every thirty seconds or so. She continued to shake, and her pallor had gone sheet white. He could swear that something about her was different, but he just couldn't place his finger on it. He knew he had bigger things to worry about, but he just couldn't help but notice. Somehow, she seemed more… vulnerable? Was that it?

"Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard." His aunt indicated the pile of four unconscious Snatchers she had just disposed of. He hesitated, his feet remaining planted to the floor. He couldn't go. He needed to keep an eye on Hermione. He had to stay wherever she was.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like–"

"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!" Draco watched as his aunt examined the sword they had previously been arguing about with a critical eye. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself ... but if he finds out ... I must ... I must know ..."

Aunt Bella was mumbling – to herself, it seemed. Draco cursed inwardly. When his aunt got this quiet, it usually meant that something was about to burst. He wanted to brace himself but found that Hermione's presence kept him from retreating. He had to stay there. He had to protect her. Somehow.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!"

"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my –"

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" Draco had been right. His aunt had reached such a frantic state that a small amount of fire had erupted from her wand, burning a hole in the carpet.

His mother hesitated before turning.

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

Draco breathed a short sigh of relief. The cellar. Exactly what he wanted. Perhaps, he could find a way to get them out. There had to be a way… there just had to.

"Wait," his aunt said suddenly. "All except... except for the Mudblood."

Draco's stomach dropped to his feet. No. No. No!

Please, he thought, please let her just go to the cellar with the others.

"No!" Weasley shouted, his voice cracking. "You can have me, keep me!"

Draco couldn't help the pang of jealousy that sprang across his chest in that moment. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to scream those words, himself. His whole body hurt just watching the alarm in Hermione's face rise with each passing second, her breathing becoming ragged. Yet, she still kept her hands pinned to her sides as though they were bound with a sticking charm.

Draco watched in horror as Aunt Bella took a silver knife and cut Hermione free before dragging her to the middle of the room by her hair. Though she didn't make a sound, he could see her mouth open in a silent cry of pain. Her eyes met his for just a moment, and again, he tried to convey some sort of hopeful message to her – his love and strength, somehow.

From down the corridor, Draco could hear Weasley fighting tooth and nail as he was being dragged away.

There was an eerie moment of silence before he heard Greyback speak. "Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, Ginger?"

The words carried back to the Drawing Room, and as they reached Draco's ears, his blood boiled. He practically saw red as it became apparent that Hermione had heard these words, too. She closed her eyes, scrunching her brow.

At first, Draco perceived that she was trying not to cry. She was shaking so badly that it had to be the answer. But then, out of the blue, she stopped. Her whole body went stock-still.

And then she opened her eyes. Draco was shocked at what he saw. Though the fear ran through her eyes as an undercurrent, an odd determination now filled them. She had clearly steeled herself for whatever was to come.

It seemed Bellatrix had noticed the change as well.

A flick of her wand and the words flew from her mouth like poison. "Crucio!"

With a bloodcurdling scream, Hermione dropped to the ground in an instant, her body contorting with pain. Draco felt his heart rip in two. It was almost as though his own body had begun writhing internally from the moment the torture began. He was with Weasley. Take him. Leave her. Anyone but her.

The screams subsided after a moment. Bellatrix towered over Hermione, wand pointed directly at her heart. Hermione drew into herself as she lay on her right side, her legs curled up part way.

"Where did you get this sword?" Bellatrix hissed. "Tell me or there will be plenty more where that came from."

"We found it," Hermione croaked, her eyes focused on something unseen.

"What a pity you're lying." Aunt Bella's tone turned poisonous as he began to yell. "Now, I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"

"We found it – we found it–" Bellatrix raised her wand again. "Please!"

"Crucio!"

Draco watched in horror as Hermione screamed again. As she writhed on the floor, Draco wracked his brain for something he could do to help. He wanted to say something – do something, anything – but one toe out of line, and he'd be on the floor as well. Then they'd both be sunk for good. No, he had to find the right way to help her. It had to be subtle.

The screams subsided again, and this time, he noticed, Hermione's jeans had soaked through with urine. She had lost control of her bladder muscles under duress of the curse.

"Disgusting!" Aunt Bella spit on her, but Hermione somehow managed not to flinch as it landed on her cheek.

Draco felt rage bubble in his stomach. He had to act. Now. With all the subtlety he could muster, he did the only thing he could think of. Taking a deep breath, he whispered a quiet spell. "Legillimens."

He wasn't sure if it would be possible, but he wanted to help her find something to focus on – something to get her through this. He could figure something better out later, but for now, this would have to suffice.

As Aunt Bella continued to scream at Hermione and taunt her, Draco searched the thoughts that came to the forefront of her mind. The two of them eating ice cream sitting on the sidewalk. Her parents. Potter. Weasley. A little jar of blue flames. A stack of books. A small telly with a black and white picture.

Though each of these images was a little fuzzy, Draco could feel Hermione's emotions clearly as each image flashed past her. When the image with the telly came to the forefront of her mind, Draco felt an odd burst of determination fill her. Though he didn't understand it, clearly, this was a powerful, positive memory. He lingered here, digging his heels in as his Aunt yelled again.

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault. Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

Hermione screamed again.

The sound tore at his very soul, but he held on, trying to keep Hermione mentally focused on that happy memory. The longer he immersed himself in the memory, the odder it seemed. It faded in and out, sometimes coming into sharp focus and other times seeming like nothing but a blur. In the clearer moments, he could make out that the black and white picture on the telly was moving in an odd sort of way. Nothing else on the periphery of the memory came into focus much, but whatever was on that telly seemed to continue helping her to fight.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth, or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Bellatrix brandished the silver dagger in her hand. When Hermione didn't respond, she knelt beside the girl.

Hermione was spasming in the aftermath of three bouts of the Cruciatus curse. Though she appeared weak on the outside, Draco could still feel strength radiating from her mind. She wasn't going to break. She couldn't. He wouldn't allow it.

Aunt Bellatrix leaned right beside Hermione's ear and began whispering things. Though Draco couldn't hear exactly what was being said, Hermione's face contorted with fear, and she gave a whimper of pain as the blade of the dagger cut into her forearm.

The image in Hermione's mind had shifted. No longer filled with hope and determination, experiencing this memory brought her worry. This memory was fuzzy at first, like the others. He tried to help her focus on it, directing all his energy into his legillimancy.

Clearly, this tactic hadn't had nearly the results as her previous one. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

Hermione screamed louder than she had ever before. The sound echoed in Draco's brain. It reverberated through the drawing room and made his skin writhe and all the air empty out of his lungs.

Aunt Bella remained drawn right beside Hermione throughout the duration of the curse, their faces nearly touching. She was so concentrated on intimidating and breaking the girl before her, that she wasn't paying attention to the rest of her body.

But Draco was. Draco saw. At least he thought he did.

For a split second, Hermione's appearance shifted. It was as though she grew… had actually gained weight instead of appearing emaciated. But just as he saw it, it was gone – returned to its previous state. Was she under a glamour charm? Draco knew Hermione to be incredibly proficient at them. But why would Hermione need to glamour her appearance now? Was she hiding something?

This train of thought carried him just far enough away that his concentration broke and his mind detached from Hermione's.

Unfortunately, dear Aunt Bella chose that moment to cast another Cruciatus curse.

Hermione screamed worse than before.

Panic was beginning to well up in Draco's chest. He needed to get back into her mind now… had to do something to help…

Taking a deep breath, he cast the spell again and entered her mind. He wanted to find that happy memory again. He had to. But the memory that swam to the front of her mind was different this time. It was definitely happy, though. Possibly even happier than the telly memory.

There was nothing complicated about this memory – nothing Draco didn't immediately seem to understand. In the memory, Hermione sat on a bed of some sort. She was gazing down and rubbing her stomach. Was she hungry?

That would be an odd choice for a happy memory.

But then, as the memory came into sharper focus, he noticed something about Hermione's stomach. It wasn't flat, as he had seen it all those months ago – as he knew it to be. Instead, it was large and rounded and hardly contained by the shirt she was wearing. As she rubbed the globed stomach, Hermione felt content. Calm. Peaceful. Full of joy.

Draco felt confusion.

In the memory, Hermione hummed to herself as she gazed at her stomach with… affection?

All the air left his lungs in an instant.

No. It couldn't be. No. Oh, Gods, no. Nononononono. No.

Fuck.

"Crucio!"

Hermione shrieked and twisted on the ground, her back arching. Tears began spilling from her face as she gave a heartbreaking sob. Again, for that half second, the glamours faded before snapping into place.

Draco gave the tiniest of gasps. Just as in the memory, Hermione's stomach was large and rounded.

She was pregnant. Very, very pregnant.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight!" Hermione cried, her eyes scrunched closed. "We've never been inside your vault… it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!"

Draco continued to reach out with legillimancy, but he forced himself to stretch his mind in two directions; there was too much going on for him to invest all his mental energy in one place. While he helped Hermione to focus on her stomach, he was trying to figure out as much of the puzzle as he could under duress.

Her memories told him that she was pregnant, and the flickering stomach beneath the glamour seemed to confirm it. Hermione was a powerful witch. This he knew. Any glamour she conjured was likely to be tenacious. To have it waver like that meant that Hermione's concentration was on the brink of being broken.

And if he had noticed her stomach, someone else may have. His parents? Or worse, Greyback?

If she was going to get out, it needed to happen soon.

He vaguely heard his father give directions to fetch the goblin. Knowing he could not disobey a direct order – not yet, anyway – he felt himself walking in a daze toward the cellar and down the steps. It pained him to leave Hermione, but if he managed to be quick about it, hopefully, he would be back to help her before his aunt could torture her more.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall," he ordered through the door before unlocking it.

When the door swung open, he found the prisoners in position as ordered; Ollivander, the goblin, Lovegood, and Thomas, the Manor regulars, stood with their backs against the wall in the very rear of the cellar. Having been made intimately familiar with this place, he felt tremendously for these four. Especially Luna. He had managed to sneak down to the cellar a handful of times to bring food and a bit of conversation, and she had always seemed delighted to see him.

Even now, she gave him a dreamy smile as he entered.

"Why hello, Draco," Luna said, waving from across the room.

The two boys on her lefthand side looked at him and then back to Luna as though she had gone mad.

Potter and Weasley.

"I need the goblin," he stated coolly, trying to keep up appearances. If the Dark Lord saw this memory somehow, he couldn't be obvious. As Draco approached the line-up, though his body headed straight for Griphook, his eyes stayed glued to Hermione's travel companions.

He wasn't sure how to convey everything he wanted into just one look, but he sure as hell was going to try. As he stared at them, they stared back. Their own faces, much like Hermione's were gaunt and disheveled. Potter looked like a wild man and Weasley looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

Did they know about Hermione's pregnancy? They had to. Keeping a up a glamour that immense and detailed was draining. Surely she hadn't been doing it for… how many months pregnant was Hermione?

Draco mentally shook himself. He didn't have time to dwell on the details. He could process this later. He had to focus on getting her out. Getting them all out, if he could.

But try as he might to focus on the task at hand, as he continued to stare at Potter and Weasley, a cruel, twisted thought floated through his mind: what if it wasn't his?

Hermione had been traveling around for months with her two male best friends. In winter. They had to have been lonely. Been cold. Craved connection and warmth. Draco could feel his heart break at the mere thought.

The two of them looked back at him with wary expressions, though Potter had an odd sort of gleam in his eye.

"Malf–" Potter started, but Draco cut him off with a hiss and a violent shake of his head.

Now wasn't the time to get caught up in the minutia of his own personal concerns. Whether or not the child growing in Hermione's stomach was his, he had bigger things to deal with. He had to get back to her side. Immediately. Every second he lingered down here was more time he couldn't protect her.

Turning away, he grabbed Griphook by the arm and dragged him back upstairs. Upon his reentry into the drawing room, he found his aunt kneeling beside Hermione, the dagger drawn once again. Practically dumping the goblin on the floor, he watched as Bellatrix ran the flat edge of the blade up and down her forearm, whispering something likely sinister in her ear.

Hermione's eyes were no longer shut, but rather open, her face defiant as she stared his aunt down.

His heart plummeted. Why couldn't she just look away and be compliant? Gods, she really was a goddamn Gryffindor, wasn't she? Staring down his aunt? Utter madness. He just wanted to scoop her up and run away.

He would never have the guts to do such a thing.

But there was one thing he could do, even as a coward. Taking a deep breath, he reached out with Legillimancy once more. He had to get her to focus on what was important. Not on defiance. Not on some ideal. She had to survive. She and the… the baby had to survive. He sifted through blurs of memory, looking for something for her to hold onto…

In that moment, Bellatrix brought the knife down onto her skin and began to carve.

Hermione screamed, tears leaking freely from her face as she thrashed the rest of her body.

Panicking, he kept searching for something – anything to keep her mind focused – keep it safe. But nothing – nothing seemed happy enough. Draco felt his own mental state start to crumble as Hermione's wailing pierced his heart. Panic began welling in his chest as the glamour flickered again.

It was then that Draco noticed a tiny trail of blood on her jean leg.

His whole body shook. No. No no no no no no. Gods no.

Think. He had to think of something. Anything. But his brain seemed to have stopped working. All he could see now was the life begin to drain out of the girl he loved and the child she carried.

And then, without warning, Bellatrix stood and moved over to Griphook, her focus shifting onto his interrogation.

Draco was left with a direct view of Hermione. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for any sort of signal that could tell him if she would be all right.

He was met with stillness.

Already soaked with urine, her trousers were beginning to darken with blood. If he was going to do something, it had to be quick.

Then he saw it: carved in her forearm, raw, bleeding, and vile, the word that had poisoned his tongue for far too long.

Mudblood.

He wanted to vomit.

Before he had time to even think what to do next, Bellatrix pushed her sleeve back and touched her finger to the Dark Mark.

Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh shite.

This was it. It was the moment. It was now or never.

His eyes focused on Hermione has his mind raced. Perhaps, if he claimed her, he could take her back to his quarters. Heal her. Yes, that would have to work. He would have to speak up now.

"And I think," he heard Bellatix say, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

Draco opened his mouth to interject, when a cry of, "Nooooo!" reverberated from a corner of the drawing room.

Time seemed to slow down as Draco watched Weasley run forward and cast a disarming charm on Bellatrix. It was a bold act that he hadn't had the guts to even consider.

So that was why Weasley was in Gryffindor.

Potter flew into the room just after and Stupefied his father. In the confusion, Draco took just one second too long to process the chaos around him, and by the time he whipped around, Aunt Bellatrix had Hermione in her grasp.

Hermione was still unconscious and still, miraculously, holding her glamour.

Bellatrix held a dagger to her throat.

Draco froze, his heartbeat hammering in his chest so loud it echoed in his ears. Tremors had now taken hold of his hands, and they shook uncontrollably as his aunt's terrible voice filled the room.

"Stop or she dies!"

Weasley and Potter peeked out from their hiding places.

"Drop your wands," Bellatrix whispered in a dangerous hiss. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

She repeated the order moments later, the dagger pressing into Hermione's throat. Draco's panic reached absolute maximum as he saw blood begin to appear there as the metal broke the surface of her skin.

Two wands clattered to the floor.

"Good! Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

Draco stiffened, recognizing a direct order when he heard one.

But his aunt was wandless. The other Death Eaters were fools, his father was unconscious, and his mother wouldn't dare…

This was it.

Draco crept over to the spot where Potter and Weasley had dropped the wands; he bent to pick them up, but as he rose again, he met Potter's gaze.

"Help me," he breathed.

Potter's eyes grew wide, though he schooled his expression quickly.

To his shock, the man actually gave the tiniest of nods in return.

Wands in hand, he overheard his aunt and mother making conversation. To his horror, his mother was nodding along in agreement. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

Draco gripped the wands in his hands with a vice grip, hot anger such as he had never felt before filling his whole body. His mother? No…

And then, from above, an odd sound.

The chandelier came crashing down. Draco hardly had time to dive out of the way; though he avoided the better part of it, glass sprayed everywhere, cutting his face. Adrenaline pounding in his veins, he felt no pain. Instead, he fixated on his aunt, who had dropped Hermione when she moved out of the way, herself.

Instead, the chandelier had fallen directly on top of the goblin and Hermione.

Draco had been about to scream when he saw Potter hurtling toward him. Weasley had flung himself at Hermione in a clear rescue attempt.

Let the Dark Lord come. If Weasley could get her out of here, it mattered not what happened to him.

Please get Hermione out. Please.

Potter practically slammed into him, taking all three wands into his hands and yanking them away. Draco felt the thin pieces of wood slip from his fingers, though he found that it didn't matter.

Get Hermione out. Get her and the baby out.

Draco's heart twisted. If the Dark Lord came took out his wrath on those left behind, the likelihood that he would meet this baby was close to none.

He would die here tonight.

Just please, please get them out.

At once, a hand encircled his wrist, dragging him out of the chaos and… away from his aunt? Draco's head snapped up to see Potter pulling him to the opposite side of the room, where Ron was headed. Hermione was already there in Weasley's arms, still unconscious and bleeding.

The glamour had faded entirely now, her distended stomach solid and plain as day.

He was coming to her. He was so close.

As Dobby disarmed his own mother and declared himself a free elf, he heard Harry shout for Ron to go.

Yes. Good. Get her out of here.

Potter bent to retrieve the goblin and grabbed hold of Dobby's hand. Praying he knew what was about to happen, Draco clung to the Boy Who Lived for dear life.

As Draco began to fill the familiar tug of apparition, he got one last look at the drawing room of his family home.

Dark. Cold. Violent.

In the blur of these final images, he saw the silver of Bellatrix's blade as it hurled toward them. He heard his mother screaming as it flew.

"Nooooo!"

And then it was gone.

As they flew toward some destination unknown to him, the image of Hermione's bloody pregnant stomach remained glued to the inside of his eyelids.

He only hoped that when they arrived to wherever they were going, it wouldn't be too late.

To save them both.

Well, the cat's out of the bag. Please don't kill me. How many of you saw this coming? Did it play out how you thought?

Come follow me, ask me questions, and bug me on tumblr biscuitsforpotter.

Review and let me know what you thought!