A/N: Thank you so much to reviewers! I love you all. Late February. This isn't a very nice chapter, so if you're extremely squeamish, I recommend you skip it.

WARNING: Dark chapter. If you don't like icky things like death… you suck… and I think you might like to skip this chapter.

Disclaimer: I am not lucky enough to be as smart enough as to invent these characters myself. They are not mine. Too bad. –pout-

The Stone Speaks

Thirty-Two: Unnoticed

DRACO

"Ginny…" Draco murmured into her ear, holding her tight to him. He never wanted to let her go. "Yes?" she asked softly, turning in his arms, so that her face and his were millimetres apart, her hazel eyes the most beautiful jewels he had ever seen. "I love you," he told her, and then he crushed her lips underneath his own, she was so beautiful –

"Draco?"

He blearily opened one eye. Victor Crabbe was staring at him suspiciously. "What?" Draco snapped groggily, sitting up angrily. "Is there something you have to say, or are you just waking me up for no reason?"

Crabbe frowned. "I was trying to wake you up – but then you started muttering in your sleep. It was freaking me out," he said.

"Why were you even trying to wake me?" Draco asked, shuffling down and reaching for his wand to swish the curtains closed around his bed.

Crabbe bit his lip nervously, and looked over his shoulder at Gregory Goyle, who looked as spooked as his friend did. "Draco," Goyle said solemnly, "the… the fire wants you."

Draco's eyes snapped open instantly. "What?" he said harshly. "Why? How do you know?" Oh no, oh no…

"It was saying your name," Goyle explained. "It was a little weird, so we tried to wake you up. That's when you started talking to yourself."

"What did I say?" Draco asked, almost fearfully, hoping desperately that he hadn't said anything about Ginny out loud.

Crabbe snickered, and Goyle, the nicer of the pair, elbowed his best friend in the ribs. "Erm," Goyle said, "I hope this doesn't upset you that we heard…"

"What did I say?"

"Um. 'I love you'. That's all that you said, again and again."

Draco groaned, and buried his face in his hands for a second with the humiliation, before remembering the mysteriously talking fireplace.The Dark Lord, he knew. He slid out of bed, and advanced towards the hearth when he realized that he was in his boxers. Somehow, he thought dryly, I don't think that Lord Voldemort would like to see me in my underwear. He snatched his robes from a nearby armchair, wriggled into them, and then continued to the fireplace.

Draco looked backwards at Goyle and Crabbe, who were staring at him, then knelt, gathering his robes around him so that his boxers weren't on display, and then stuck his head into the flickering flames. There was a moment of feeling stupid, before Draco's head spun and swirled through a thousand fireplaces. He closed his mouth and his eyes in an attempt to stop himself from being sick.

At last, the twisting stopped, and Draco gasped for breath in Bellatrix Lestrange's fireplace. When his eyes settled back into their proper places in his skull, he saw a crowd of extremely angry Death Eaters. "Um. Hello… my Lord," he said respectively to the most important one in the room.

Draco got no answer – he was suddenly seized around the throat and dragged from the fireplace (Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini all screamed like girls when they saw Draco's lower spine, boxers and legs suddenly disappear into the fire). He was thrown onto the marble floor, given no time even to scream.

Instintively, he rolled over onto his back so that he could see what was going on. The Death Eaters were all glaring at him, grouping around his head and shoulders; Lord Voldemort was at his feet so that Draco could see him. There was a terrible silence, broken only by Draco's shallow breathing, before he asked, afraid, "My Lord – what's happening?"

"How dare you!" Bellatrix screamed, pointing her wand into his face. "Don't you dare be so insolent, boy – you have betrayed our trust!"

"What?" Draco said, "I've done no such thing! I've been loyal, I swear, my Lord -"

"Loyalty?" the Dark Lord sneered.

"Loyalty, Malfoy, is not usually described as waltzin' with the bloody enemy!" Rodolphus Lestrange roared.

Draco paled. "I was – getting information out of her," he gabbled.

"On Valentine's Day?" inquired Bellatrix. "Now, Draco, mostly, we get information by torture – not by dates!"

"It wasn't a date," Draco threw out desperately. "Please, I swear, I wasn't -"

"Do not swear a lie to the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix screeched. "It is one of the utmost rules of the Death Eater kinship!"

"Yeah, and another one is not killing other Death Eaters!" Draco snarled, speaking without thinking over his actions. He immediately regretted it, as every face darkened.

"What?"

Draco gulped. There was no going back now. "You killed my parents," he said shakily, "you shot a curse at the wall next to them; it crumbled and crushed the life out of them!" The last few words became painfully similar to a sob, and Draco had to press his lips together hard to stop anymore from coming out.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," said Lord Voldemort softly. "Poor Draco. His parents were tragically killed… just like the other eight million orphans who inhabit the planet. I don't care for any of them, Draco. And I don't care for you, either. Do you know, if you were to die right now, I would not shed a single tear…" said Lord Voldemort, his voice lethally gentle.

Draco trembled slightly before he could stop himself; it made a few other Death Eaters laugh at him, especially the Lestranges. Professor Snape's lip curled dangerously, and the Dark Lord let out a low chuckle. "Draco, do you know why I had your parents killed?" he asked.

Draco's breath snagged. "You – you murdered them!" he gasped, feeling tears stab at his eyes. "They were your followers and you… you… murderer!"

"I thought we were all in general agreement with the fact that he's a murderer," Rodolphus drawled. "Or, perhaps, we would all be followers to someone else?"

Lord Voldemort shot a death glare at him, and then returned his focus on Draco. "We killed your parents because they were getting cold fingers. They wanted to settle down, earn a pension, live peacefully and watch their son grow up," (tears stung Draco's blue eyes again), "but do you know what? I didn't want them to. I don't like people who leave my forces. There are many ways into the Death Eaters… but there's only one way out. Your parents wanted to leave so much – I had to give them their wish. We were going to kill them anyway… we don't like disloyalty."

Draco didn't have anything to say. He was terrified. The Death Eaters had murdered his parents for disloyalty. He had been disloyal. Put the pieces of the puzzle together.

He was screwed.

"And now, Malfoy, we do the same to you," sneered Lord Voldemort, "we've decided to let Macbain get the Weasley girl. He can be as creative as he wants – shame, really, I would have thought you'd like to be there. You still can, if you want," he turned, "Macbain!" he barked, "when you get the girl, bring her here. Malfoy wants to see her squirm."

"No!" Draco begged. "Don't hurt her – please."

Bellatrix stood, and, knowing what was coming, Draco closed his eyes. The slap hurt more than he had expected, standing out, a red handmark against white skin, but he didn't cry out. "Please," he said pleadingingly.

Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Love sickens me," he spat. "Take him away."

Two strong arms curled under Draco's armpits and hauled him backwards. He did not struggle. He did not shout. He lay limply as they dragged him to a room that he'd only seen in his nightmares. When, finally, Macbain hurled him across the floor so that he slid and hit the wall, Draco gasped out, "Macbain – wait."

Macbain's eyes narrowed. "Whaddaya want?" he grunted, cracking his knuckles.

"I know that you like killing people. I know … please – sir – if you could maybe take the necklace from Ginny, but… leave her alive… then," Draco gulped, "you can have as much… fun… as you wanted with her death… as you can have…with mine."

Macbain's lip thinned with displeasure. "Girls are more fun," he growled. "I dun' think I'll take ye up on yer offer." Draco lowered his head, hitting it against the floor. There was a terse quietness for two seconds; then, Macbain spoke again. "Malfoy. Draco. Whoever ye are… I'm not gonna hurt 'er… just…" he waved his thick, short wand, miming a spell, "avada kedarvra. It dun hurt, Malfoy."

Draco didn't move.

Macbain stood quietly, not doing anything. Memories were welling up in the gruff old man, memories that the Dark Lord had forced him to push away. A beautiful girl with long black hair… kisses… "She is not important, Macbain"… "SHE IS!"… Macbain shuddered, and then looked up at Draco again. "Oi," he grumbled, "I'll… I'll save 'er. For ye."

Only now did Draco lift his head. Gratitude was shining in his icy eyes, and the smallest of smiles pulled at his thin lips. "Thank you," he whispered, and then Macbain left, slamming the door loudly behind him, leaving Draco to his own despair.

Draco pretended to be a Death Eater; he pretended to be a murderer for the Dark Lord. Before that, he pretended to be a tough, cold-hearted bully for his father. "I don't want a silly little wimp as my son," Lucius had jeered. He turned, and picked up the pale five-year-old sitting on the carpet, "you're my big, strong boy, aren't you?" "Yeah," said Draco, "m'a big boy!" A sensitive, quiet child wasn't worth anything. No-one wanted the boy who played with ladybirds and envied his female cousin for all the lovely things she got.

He curled up into a foetal position, not wanting to see the horrible room he was in anymore. Draco did not want to see the blood-stained wooden table or the chains hanging from the ceiling, each rusty link coated in dry blood. He did not want to see the locked door in front of him; all he wanted to do was sit, cry for the death that awaited him, and hope that Ginny would be happy without him in her life.

If she loved me… maybe she'd be devastated… the thought of Ginny being in love with him momentarily comforted, but then, seeing an image in his head of her sobbing over his grave made his heart hurt again. "Please be happy," he begged. Draco knew that he was talking to himself, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore. I'm dying for you, Ginny. I hope that you can marry Harry and have lots of tiny Ginnys. Please be happy.

The lyrics that they had danced to only two weeks ago came back to Draco.

I will never let you fall

I will stand up for you forever

I'll be there for you through it all

Even if saving you sends me to heaven

"How ironic," Draco laughed through his tears. "They couldn't have worded it better." He began to sing it softly under his breath, over and over again, imagining that Ginny could hear him and knew how much he loved her.

A cruel, heartless boy who no-one had ever loved… he had survived through so much, never really knowing why. But the thing is, Draco finally realized, why are we all alive? I had no reason to survive. No-one loved me… and I didn't love anyone in return. It was a fair exchange. Funny, isn't it, how now that I finally know what love is… how now that I finally have a reason to live – I'm going to die. For her.

"I love you, Ginny," he said to his knees. "I never had a chance to tell you – and you can't hear me. I don't give a damn. I just want to say it. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I love you more I love myself, for heaven's sake. If you wanted it, I would get you the world – and I'd wrap it in gold paper for you! With a ribbon on top… and a note. Hello Ginny, it'd say. Hello, and I love you. Always have and always will. Love, Draco. And – and then, I'd put loads of kisses. X-X-X-X-X-X-X. For all the years that I've wasted hating your family when there was something so much better that I could have had."

Draco closed his eyes. "I want to see you… one last time… red hair… hazel eyes… heart-shaped face… and that lovely way that you blush whenever you say something stupid. I love the stupid things you say… they're always so much better than the adoring crap that Sanchia came up with," he mumbled with a bitter laugh.

"Will you shut up? God, you've been rambling on for fifteen minutes straight," snapped a sarcastic female voice.

Draco looked up. He wished he hadn't. He saw the merciless eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, who had probably never loved anyone but herself; he saw the torture instruments scattered throughout the room. And she saw his tears.

"Aw, he's been crying," pouted Bellatrix. She crouched beside Draco, her skirts swirling across his feet, and then pinched his cheek the way a doting grandmother might. "Diddums."

"Don't touch me," said Draco shakily. He moved away from her, backing into the wall again. "Get the hell away from me."

Bellatrix raised one slender black eyebrow. "Oh, feisty," she hissed. "What are you going to do, Malfoy? Bite me?" she cackled. "Face it, you're helpless. I have your wand… and my own. What fun we'll have."

Draco fought to keep his body still. His hands were shaking but he clenched them to hide his fear. "I thought that Macbain was going to kill me," he said flatly. "Or have you decided to take it in turns?" Sarcasm, ever-present in danger.

"Not a bad idea, that," Bellatrix said, mocking that she might consider it. "But, the Dark Lord says that I'm to have my fun… and then Macbain can throw the ultimate party… if you get my meaning."

Draco glared at her. "Pity, really, I'm not really a party kind of person," he sneered, "I am a bit of a loner, I must admit. Oh well," he shrugged, "I suppose that's what working for a lunatic does to you."

Bellatrix turned purple with rage. "Do not insult the Dark Lord," she snarled, and, this time, Draco was not prepared for the slap. It lifted him from his foetal position and tossed him into the corner of the room.

"Can I just say," Draco said dryly, "that you should really pursue another career. May I suggest female wrestling? I mean, that was some slap."

Bellatrix tossed her wild black curly hair over her shoulder. "No, I don't think so," she leered, "after all, slapping is fun… but nothing compared to the entertainment I get with these babies…" she gestured, almost fondly, towards the chains.

"You sick freak," spat Draco. "You're an insane murderer. You killed your own sister. You killed your brother. You're about to kill your nephew, too. Not to mention the fact that you have your own torture chamber in your basement. Your parents must be so proud at what a psychopath they've raised."

"Leave my parents out of this! Crucio!" Bellatrix shrieked, jabbing her wand forwards.

Draco saw the flash of blue light before he felt the pain. A million burning daggers were being stabbed into him, his skin was being ripped off, make it stop make it stop, he was screaming and screaming, Bellatrix was laughing – then, mysteriously, the pain stopped. Blue light was still flowing into him, but he felt nothing. He rasped for air; then the room started melting.

"What?" he gaped as the walls and the ceiling disintegrated. Then he was seeing Macbain, stalking angrily through a forest… and there was… "Ginny!" Draco cried. Tears of relief burned at his eyes – she was there, beautiful and happy and safe… what was Macbain doing? He lifted his wand-

"CRUCIO!" Macbain shouted. A beam of blue magic hit Ginny squarely in the chest. She fell to the ground, screaming, high-pitched and anguished, writhing in the leaves, tears pouring down her freckled face.

"NO!" Draco yelled. "Stop it! Please, please stop it! You – you – no! STOP! Macbain, stop!"

Ginny was screaming louder than ever, her lovely voice raw and desperate as she screeched, "Please make it stop!" She twisted her hands into claws, digging into the ground, her screams loud and terrible. "What do you want?" she sobbed.

"NO! NO! PLEASE, STOP IT!" Tears were flowing down Draco's face. The pain to his actual body had stopped long ago, but this was worse, much worse, his insides were being torn apart. "PLEASE STOP IT!"

Ginny was screaming the same words as she thrashed about it the dirt; Macbain was laughing his head off as he cut the curse. Ginny collapsed in a heap, weeping through her cries of agony. "What do you want?" she howled as she staggered to her feet, trying to run. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, but ye have," sneered Macbain. "Sectumsempra!" Purple light flashed, and then huge, gaping wounds sliced through Ginny, her chest, stomach and head slashed. Her legs took a laceration as well, and she collapsed backwards. Blood was pouring down her gaunt face, so crimson that it made her hair seem pale and dull; her clothes were stained scarlet as she slowly bled to death.

"NO!" Draco ran forwards desperately, but there was an invisible bubble around Ginny and Macbain, and he couldn't advance. He pounded his fists against the dome as he sobbed hopelessly, clawing at the barrier. "Let me through," he pleaded to Macbain; the other Death Eater ignored Draco and pretended that he couldn't see him. It was shredding him to pieces… he couldn't take it anymore, and screamed, "YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T HURT HER!"

Ginny choked out, "Why me?" before her head tilted backwards. She no longer had the strength to do anything but lie there in a large and steadily growing puddle of her own blood, not knowing that the person who loved her most in the world was only a metre away, trapped to never get close enough to hold her.

"HELP HER! HEAL HER!" Draco screamed. "I WAS CURSED! WITH THAT SPELL, BUT – BUT – I GOT BETTER! YOU HAVE TO HELP HER!" He beat his fists harder. "MACBAIN, HELP HER!"

Macbain stooped so that he was near Ginny's face. "Hey, darlin'," he leered, and snatched the necklace from her throat. Then he bent closer, darted his tongue out and licked her ear. Ginny didn't even flinch… she couldn't.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" Draco screamed. "GET THE BLOODY HELL AWAY FROM HER – Ginny, Ginny, no -" Macbain strutted away, leaving Ginny to die, alone and in agony. "NO, GINNY… please… I love you… someone, anyone, please save her…" Draco sobbed breathlessly. Then Ginny's head rolled to the side; she would never laugh, blush, or hurdle the sofas in the Gryffindor common room for fun again.

"NO!" Draco screamed. "GINNY!" Then, suddenly, he was back in the Lestrange torture chamber. There was blood dripping from his hands from where he had clenched his fists so tightly that he had cut into his palms. It was fake… Ginny was okay… She's alive, she's alive… Draco reminded himself, but the image of blood dripping down her once-beautiful face was stuck in his mind. He sobbed into his hands, but then he was hauled to his feet and shoved violently into the wall.

The chain struck again and again; Draco's body buckled but he could barely feel the pain. He was shaking from the images racing through his mind of Ginny. Hot, wet, sticky blood was dripping down his back, and he could barely stand. Stay strong… don't give in to them… then the chain struck his knees, and as his legs were cut open, so like what had happened to Ginny's, he crumpled, and lay uselessly in the corner.

"Please leave me alone…" he sobbed.

Bellatrix bent and slapped him hard again. Her nails cut into his skin, but that was nothing compared to everything else. "Dear nephew, I hope that your death is… painless," she cackled, and sashayed from the chamber.

If only Sanchia could see me now, Draco mused, I wouldn't be such a heroic gentleman anymore… I'm just a coward. He hid his face as he cried into the wall. No-one would comfort him… even when he had been a small child with his parents still alive, his injuries had gone almost unnoticed. No-one would notice him now.

Not even Ginny…

A/N: Sorry, it was a bit of a depressing chapter. I did warn you. ACK! Nearly finished.. I'll be so sad to end this… ah well. Please review.