A/N: Thank you so much to reviewers! I love you all. Late February. This is another nasty chapter, sorry. Had to do it. The name of the chapter is a bit grim but no fear! Anywho. Read it.

WARNING: This is another dark, icky torture chapter. Skip it if you wish. If you're normal and don't care because its fictional, continue.

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

Chapter Thirty-Four: Hooks

DRACO

Hours passed. The sun fell. Darkness filled the house, and Draco could vaguely hear a clattering of knives and forks above. It was dinner time; his stomach grumbled, but no food would come, he knew. The blood had dried on his back long ago, and he had decided against moving – the healing wounds cracked and bled more. His legs were the worst; walking was impossible. Standing was agony. Sitting ached terribly. Staying in the same place, curled up on the ground, hurt.

However, the physical pain was nothing compared to how his mind felt. The Cruciatus Curse. His father had told him about the bodily side of it – being stabbed, being torn apart… but the mental… it worked for one sole purpose. To take your worst fears and show it to you, only bigger, and a thousand times worse.

It was fake. It was fake. Draco said it to himself non-stop; mostly in his head, but sometimes aloud, though it hurt his throat and he needed no more injuries. Ginny's blood-stained face was floating in front of his eyes all the time. He tried to conjure up images of her laughing, singing, dancing, blushing – but then, mid-laugh, mid-song, mid-dance, mid-blush, she screamed, writhed, and bled terribly all over again.

Just thinking about it made him start to shake again. Draco closed his eyes, and he shivered – but, he realized, not because of the pain, emotional or physical… because it was cold. Why is it so cold, Draco wondered, and he craned his neck to look up.

There.

A window.

It was small, barred, and very high up. However, Draco knew that he could get out if he really tried. It was small, but he couldn't fit through if he wriggled a bit. It was barred… this was a problem. Draco didn't have his wand. It was high… another problem. He couldn't stand, let alone jump and drag himself up to the window height.

I don't care. Macbain might not be true to his word. I know that I'm far from Hogwarts, but if I can get there before he does, I can protect Ginny. I might not be able to get Macbain away, but I'll die before she does, Draco decided, and he looked up at the faulty window again. It was letting in the freezing February night air; he might freeze to death before he even got to Ginny, if his luck turned out badly.

"Oh well," joked Draco to himself. "At least I won't need an ice-pack." Grunting, he reached across for one of the chains, trying to reach it without having to move. A spasm of pain racked through his spine and he fell flat on his face. After a moment of lying still, trembling with the pain, he sat up slowly. At least his fit had brought him closer to the chains.

They were coated with his own blood, and even touching it, Draco felt sick to his stomach. He wrapped his aching fingers tight around the links though, and pulled the chain towards him. A few seconds' contemplation of the distance between window and boy passed before Draco picked up the chain, weighing it in his hands.

If I threw it perfectly… Wincing at the prospect of the loud noise it would make, Draco lifted his arms higher to bring the chain as close to the window as possible. Then he threw it.

The chain whistled through the dank, cold air of the basement, and then struck the bars on the window, instead of sailing through the bars as it was intended to. The chain clattered deafeningly and then fell to the floor with a tremendous clang that shook Draco's skull. Aah, too loud! The Lestranges will hear! He waited in terror for the thundering footsteps of Rodolphus or the petite pattering of Bellatrix; nothing came. They must be upstairs.

Draco gathered the chain back, and hefted it in his hands again. Then he hurled it out. CRASH. Draco winced. There was no way that the Lestranges couldn't have heard that. However, oddly enough, they did not rush down to torture him again, and Draco dragged the chain towards him. He ran the rough chain through his fingers. "Third time lucky," he muttered.

Out the chain flew… towards the bars… through them – Draco's breath caught… do I dare to hope that it will work?- the chain hit the window… bounced back… yes yes yes… slid down the windowsill… yes yes yes... and curled around the bar, catching and remaining there, hanging from the chain. "Yes!" he hooted, remembering too late that he had to stay quiet about his escape.

Cringing inwardly, Draco waited… but Bellatrix did not burst through the door, blazing and shouting. She must be … busy… upstairs with Rodolphus, he thought, grimacing at the thought of Rodolphus and Bellatrix together. Ew.

Draco took a deep breath. This would be the painful part. He shifted slightly away from the wall, and then carefully started to turn around, still sitting with his knees tucked up. Soreness shot through his legs every time he moved his feet, but that was nothing compared to what he had already felt – he may have felt close to suicide during the torture, but as the saying went, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Anything that remotely hurt he could deal with; he could just think, hey, it's not as bad as the torture or I've dealt with worse, this is no big deal.

Draco finally completed his full rotation, and was now facing away from the direction of the window. Get ready for pain. He took off his belt with a little difficulty, and clamped it between his teeth firmly. Then he started to lie down. He had to stretch his legs out at some point, and that would not be easy.

The instant that his legs flattened out, the blood cracked and the slowly healing wounds in his legs split. The healthy skin tore and pain twisted his brain, yelping… but he drove on and only ceased when his legs lay flat. Fresh blood was streaming onto the floor, and Draco sat back, gasping through the pain. He waited until his legs' suffering stopped, and then continued.

He flattened his back, too, with a lot of pain as he put pressure on the cuts in his back, and then carefully Draco turned over. Each twist of his body brought new boughts of pain, but he clamped down harder on the belt between his teeth and did not stop.

Once finally on his stomach, Draco stretched his arms out and shuffled forwards, in a weird, injured version of an army crawl. It didn't hurt too much unless he moved quickly or if he suddenly distorted his legs or back into a shape that the healing wounds couldn't handle.

"Come on, come on," he grunted as he crawled a few inches further. He was nearly there… just a bit more… there. Just underneath the window. Time to sit up. He pushed his arms up; his elbows were shuddering. He was weak. He wouldn't be able to do it… One final push, and then Draco rocked back onto his heels.

PAIN-

Draco yelled out, but his own shout reminded him of-

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 begged as the memories of the Cruciatus curse came flooding back. "Please…" he began shaking again, and his legs caved in, sending him tumbling against the wall.

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."

"Please stop…" he moaned desperately, curling his hands into fists again, once again digging into his bloody palms. The stone wall was cold, and, pressing his cheek against it, Draco's shuddering slowed to a slight tremble that rocked his movements every few seconds.

A pause. Draco retrieved the belt which had fallen from his mouth and landed a few inches away on the floor, sucked in as much air as he could, and then grabbed the wall. "Please don't give in on me," he told his legs, and then pulled himself up.

PAIN PAIN PAIN –

Draco clenched his nails into his palms again, using the small amount of pain in his hands to distract him from the agony tearing through his back, legs, and, most importantly, his mind. Grinding his teeth together so that he could not cry out, he dragged his body up until he was standing to his full extent, though leaning completely on the wall.

He reached up and grasped the end of the chain that was hanging around the bars of the window, and pulled. PULL. Gasp for breath. PULL. Gasp for breath.

Not working.

Come on, Draco, Ginny could be - 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 – DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT

Draco slid back down the wall and sat. Back to the drawing board. He looked around the torture chamber again. There were several sharp hooks on the other side of the room that could be useful… Draco hauled himself to his feet again.

PAIN PAIN PAIN – ignore it! – one shaky step… PAIN… another… Draco yelled out and fell down. Blood seeped from the back of his legs and pooled on the floor; he coughed and rasped as he tried to subdue the agony whirling through his body. "Pull yourself together… coward," Draco spat, and then brought his hand to his face, fast. His own slap made his ears ring, but he shook the aching away and struggled to stand again.

One step… two steps… three… "I'm on a roll," Draco grimaced, "I can do this." Four steps… pain pain pain make it stop, just sit down, sit down, please, it hurts… five… he tumbled down again, skidding across the stone floor and grazing his cheek. "Stupid… legs…" Draco grunted, leaning his head backwards, eyes closed. It was too difficult. He hurt too much. But Ginny was still vunerable. He had to go on.

As Draco unsteadily stood, he realized that he was doing now what he had always so despised Potter doing – playing the hero. Yeah, but this is different, argued Draco's head. Potter played the hero because he wanted to stick his nose in everyone else's business. He got his godfather killed because of his need to try and save everyone. It felt weird doing Potter's job, and he chuckled bitterly as he took his first steps.

If he could do five steps last time, perhaps Draco could aim for walking seven or eight this time. Slowly… slowly he could get back the use of his legs… escape… and save her. One – two – three – here we go – the pain was less no – it still burned – four – five – yes, yes, yes – six – seven – eight – LOOK AT ME GO – nine – ten –

DOWN.

This time, he fell against the wall, so it wasn't such a chore to stand up again. His legs were on fire… they should be resting… no… unstable, grunting with pain, he straightened and staggered a few short, insecure steps closer to the hooks. He had crossed half of the roof, moving sluggishly around the blood-soaked table in the centre of the room. Draco could see the hooks, glinting now, rusty and red with the blood of many victims.

Draco had a horrible thought. When the victim dies – how are they disposed of? Frightened, he glanced around, expecting to see rotting flesh hidden around the room. Where will I go if I don't escape? However, he tried not to think of that, and took a few more steps. Twelve… thirteen… I hope Ginny's okay –

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 –

"STOP IT!" Draco screamed at his brain, but that only made it worse -

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!"

"NO!" Draco fell backwards, landing hard on his back. PAIN – but it was nothing compared to –

"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.

"PLEASE STOP IT!" Draco twisted as he brain conjured the same thing, spitting it out again and again –

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.

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.

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.

"STOP IT!" Draco screamed, kneading his head furiously with his fists. He dug his bloody nails into his forehead, any pain to stop his insides from being ripped apart by the memories. "LEAVE HER ALONE!"

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.

Draco lurched forwards, standing on his hands and knees, and then was sick on the floor as tears poured freely from his anguished blue eyes. He scooted backwards, pushing himself into the wall, hiding his face and crying his heart out like he had always been deprived of doing before, when his father hit him or his mother snarled insults. "Please," he said brokenly, "make it stop." He didn't care any more if Bellatrix or Rodolphus Lestrange were listening on his babyish wretchedness.

"Just leave her alone… I love you…" Draco whimpered, burying his face into the crook of his bruised elbow. And so the night went on.

The Next Morning

Draco blearily opened his eyes. His face was swollen from crying and beating himself up, but none of that mattered. He was still in this God-forsaken torture chamber and she could be –

Don't think about it! …please…

Draco felt like crying all over again, but he had wept himself to sleep and there were no tears left. After a moment of self-pitying, he hauled himself to his feet once more. The scabs cracked and bled again, but he was glad for the pain. It was something else to concentrate on. One step… closer to the hooks… they were gleaming so sinisterly… four steps… "nearly there," Draco said to himself. Seven steps…

The hooks were so close that he could almost touch them. Just a few more paces. Draco had to be incredibly careful; if he fell now, he could impale himself on the hooks. He leaned against the table for support, not really noticing that his hand was in a mess of someone else's dried blood. Taking a few steadying breath, he moved forwards again.

Each time that his foot rested down, a pang of soreness jolted up Draco's leg, making him wince – but it wasn't far now, and he could be out once he got the hook. He reached forwards, and his slim fingers closed around the filthy metal. There was also a sticky green substance on it that looked suspiciously like vampire blood. These matters aside, Draco pulled it away from the wall and, holding it far in front of him so that he didn't stab himself if he fell, staggered back to the window.

It was easier to walk. The sharp stabs of pain were now just a dull throbbing that ached through every portion of Draco's body, occasionally setting off a nervous breakdown, due to which he collapsed. Instead of the numerous spills that he had taken getting the hook, he only fell once, his face landing dangerously close to the curved point of the hook; Draco couldn't help but wonder fearfully how it must feel to have it dragged through your skin.

Then Ginny's head rolled to the side; she would never – "No," Draco ground out angrily. "I'm not going to think about that. It was fake, and Ginny is alive." Or so you think, his conscience taunted. Shaking the thoughts away, he propped himself against the wall, and attached the hook to the chain.

"Here goes nothing," Draco said, and, holding the hook gingerly in both hands, began to stumble backwards, getting the other side of the chain as well, pulling the one around the bar out taut. When the chain wouldn't come any further, Draco pulled it – and let go. He tugged the first chain, and cringed in expectation. Work, please work! The chain flew back to the bar. The chain passed through the bars easily enough, but the hook clawed into the bar, chewing away at it and –

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

Draco turned so fast that he fell, hitting the back of his head painfully against the wall. Rodolphus Lestrange was standing in the doorway, looking livid, with a sneering Bellatrix just behind him. Rodolphus stepped forwards, "explain yourself!" he bellowed, raising his wand.

"Dolphus," snapped Bellatrix. "Calm down." She dodged her husband's hip and moved close to where Draco was huddled on the floor. "Dear nephew… I trust you slept well?" she sneered, lowering her thin, malicious face close to his.

Draco flinched away from her. He wasn't prepared to tell his aunt that he had cried his eyes out all night long, and he wasn't prepared to subject to torture again without a fight.

"Draco, let me tell you something," she said malovently, "you can try all your fancy little routines to pry those bars with torture instruments… but do you really think that Rodolphus and I hadn't already thought of that? Nothing short of a tank could get those bars off from the inside… except for, of course, a counter-curse that will only work if performed by my wand. On the outside, they're quite weak, which is a bit of a waste. But I doubt you'll ever go outside, so… my wand is your only hope."

Bellatrix Lestrange held her wand above Draco's face, taunting him to try and steal her wand so that he could escape. Draco stared past the wand, in his aunt's merciless eyes. She laughed at his defiant gaze, and stroked his hair, mocking love. "So if I were you, darling, I wouldn't bother. It's a waste of breath," she sneered, emphasising 'breath', mocking that her nephew's life was growing shorter.

Draco didn't know what came over him, but he screwed up his nose with repulse for the people he had once called 'family' and then spat in Bellatrix' face.

"UGH!" Bellatrix shrieked.

"You insolent toad!" Rodolphus yelled. "CRUCIO!"

"NO!" Draco screamed. "NOT AGAIN!" PAIN, ripping through his body, being killed a thousand times over, each of his bones was being broken one by one – why was he still whole – every inch of his skin was being stabbed, sliced, and pulled off…

The walls began melting again… "NO!" Draco screeched. "PLEASE! Don't make me have to see her -" A faint humming cut through his shouting. DON'T LOOK, his brain screamed, but he had to, he had to…

There she was, singing softly. It was the song that they had sung together at the Yule Ball. She twirled on the spot, and came face to face with a hulking shadow that was Macbain. "Whoa!" she cried, clutching her chest. "God, you scared me. I'm sorry." She tried to step past him, but Macbain blocked her.

"NO!" Draco howled. "PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME HAVE TO SEE -"

Macbain drew his wand.

"PLEASE, NO!" he screamed.

"CRUCIO!"

"NOOO!" Draco turned and ran. He couldn't watch it. But there was yet another dome – trapping him to watch her. "LET ME OUT!" Her harsh, high-pitched screams were still audible, amplified a thousand times, it seemed. He couldn't hide away from it. "STOP IT!" he screamed. "GET AWAY FROM HER!"

She was writhing, twisting horribly in the dirt, crying out in her death throes. Her hair was coming loose from its neat ponytail, hair flying over her distorted face. Now came something that Draco had not seen before: a Muggle knife.

"NO!" Draco screamed; he sprinted the other way. He hit the other side of the giant bubble, but refused to turn around to see Ginny dying. But then she and Macbain were in front of him as well, and he was watching her squirm in pain. "STOP IT!" he wheeled around. She was everywhere, screaming, thrashing, bleeding, weeping… "PLEASE, I DIDN'T MEAN TO BE DISLOYAL!" he sobbed. "JUST LET ME OUT! I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS! PLEASE, PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! DON'T HURT HER! STOP IT!"

Shaking uncontrollably, Draco fell to his knees. He had seen this once, and he would never be the same now. "It's fake, it's fake, it's fake," he screamed to himself, blocking his ears and staring down so that he didn't have to see it. Then, suddenly, on the ground beneath him, she was there. Ginny was gasping for breath, screaming as she died, twisting beneath him, her beautiful eyes wide and terrified. "Please, Draco, stop hurting me!" she screeched.

Draco leapt to his feet and staggered away. "NO – no – GINNY – it's not me – it wasn't me – GET ME OUT!" he screamed again, falling, throwing up, stumbling up again and racing away. She was everywhere. "PLEASE!" he yelled. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS! I'M IN LOVE WITH HER! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE, BUT I AM, AND NO HUMAN BEING SHOULD HAVE TO ­- please, Ginny, please, no…" he sobbed breathlessly, curling up in a ball.

Back in the torture chamber.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix were cackling with pitiless, hysterical laughter as Draco returned to the real world. He was back, Ginny was safe, it was fake – but he was still screaming, still crying. "DON'T HURT HER!" he shouted. "PLEASE! STOP IT! LEAVE HER ALONE! TAKE ME INSTEAD, JUST PLEASE PLEASE STOP HURTING HER!"

Bellatrix screamed with laughter. "I haven't had this much fun in years," she giggled evilly.

Draco had been wondering about the hooks.

He found out.

A/N: If you made it this far, well done. You're not a squeamish freak! –hug- Sorry, it was pretty much the same old boring stuff as the last torture chapter. Don't worry, this is the last torture chapter for poor ickle Drakonus. I luff him. Please review.