A/N: Thank you so much to reviewers! I love you all. Sorry it took me a while to update. I like this chapter. Very dramatic – mild language. It's sort of Eastenders-type material. (If you're American – One Tree Hill. If you're Australian – Neighbours. If you're anything else… er. Search the others on Youtube.) Anyway. Enjoy.

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 Forty-Four: The Craziest Thing Of All

DRACO

Everyone burst into war again, Ginny's insane antics forgotten. Except for Draco. "GINNY!" he shouted.

A blaze hot enough to challenge the earth's core was thundering up from the very pits of the dragon's belly, creating fire, and then it poured from its throat. It was almost like liquid, pouring over a flame-proof tongue, and curling past hard, dark lips, and flooding over disconcertingly delicate-looking ivory teeth, yet not damaging or chipping or even burning the fragile white.

And then the fire was upon her.

…

"GINNY!" Draco screamed.

Fire blazed through the sky, lighting up every fast-falling raindrop and sending sparks across the gloomy, sodden clouds. She didn't even scream.

"GINNY!" Draco howled. "Ginny – Ginny -" Tears stung at his eyes, and he let them sweep down his muddy face; he the great Hebridean Black that was conquering the sky as he silently wept for the only person he'd ever cared for.

"What the hell is your problem?" shouted a Weasley voice – Ginny? A crazy part of Draco's head said sharply, but it was a male voice – and Draco turned around to see Ron. The glaring, panting, sweating redhead raised his fist, and whacked him in the face.

Draco crumpled to the mud. He stared up at Ron. I thought we were on the same side. And then: he punches like she does. He was vaguely aware of pain throbbing through his jaw, but it didn't hurt. It was like being poked with a toothpick, like being scratched with a blunt rock – compared to what was going on internally for Draco.

"That's my sister, okay?" Ron bellowed. "My sister – Ginny's – probably dead! And you have no reason to being crying for her! She's not – she's not your – friend – she's not your – sister – why the hell are you screaming for her then?"

Harry was behind Ron, looking equally livid and distressed; blood was streaming from his neck, and his round glasses were hanging, cracked and bent, lopsidedly from his nose. Behind both of them was Hermione – bushy hair matted with blood and mud, a long cut across her eyebrow, tears on her stricken face – and Luna – looking deeply apologetic towards Draco, also weeping for Ginny, pale with lack of blood, holding signs of being Confunded.

Draco's throat was very dry. The words he could never say to Ginny; never dare to say. "I love her," he croaked, feeling his honesty threatening to tear him apart.

Harry's green eyes widened so that they almost stretched past the round spectacles on his face, and his jaw dropped open in an 'o' of surprise. Ron was fuming. Steam almost seemed to swirl out of his ears as his face performed the duties of a Muggle traffic-light: first grey, then white, then pink, then red, then purple, then green, then back to red again, crimson like the now-blood-red sky above. Luna and Hermione gasped, and then they looked up at the dragon with tears anew in their eyes, seeming to look as if they now understood something heart-breaking.

But they know nothing of broken hearts.

The youngest Weasley boy looked as though he would like nothing better than to kill Draco, and he stepped forwards as if to fill his desires, but Harry, Hermione and Luna all wound their arms through his and dragged him back.

Let him go. Let him kill me. I tried so hard. For nothing. For no reason. I tried so hard. Not hard enough, it seems.

Panting through his own anger and breathlessness, Ron growled, "No… no – you don't. You don't – can't – love her. You're using her – you're a stupid Slytherin bastard and YOU KILLED MY SISTER!" his furious growling transformed into a scream of rage and anguish.

The three holding him were shocked into releasing him, but before Ron could race forwards and attack the blonde seventeen-year-old, Hermione ran at him.

"You paranoid sick insecure little bastard!" she screamed, and her hand flew up, striking Ron hard around the face. He stumbled backwards, shocked into silence, his mouth gaping open. "You're so stupid that you can't see what's right below your nose! Ginny and Draco were happy, they were best friends, and they might have even been in love with each other – but you have to spoil everything! You couldn't ever be happy for Ginny, could you? She was happy with Harry, but you spoiled that. She was happy with Dean and Seamus and Terry and Colin and that man from Durmstrang, but you didn't care about her! Your pride was always more important than her happiness! Or ANYONE else's, for that matter!"

She stamped her foot on the last word, and Ron, terrified that he was going to be hit again, fell backwards into the dirt, near where Draco was. He was staring up at this terrifying beast that sweet, innocent Hermione Granger had become – a monster, in the insanity of death, war and the craziest thing of all called love. He opened his mouth: "Hermione -", but was cut off.

"DON'T SAY A WORD, RONALD! I don't want to hear it, okay? Ron, I really thought that you'd changed from that arrogant fool you were in our fourth year – but you haven't! You're so blind, and stupid, and paranoid, and…" Hermione screaming stopped abruptly, and there was a silence between Draco, Luna, and what had a few minutes ago been the Golden Trio. Her hair was crackling with fire, and her shoulders with shaking with fury. She took a deep, attempting-to-calm breath, and, with her voice trembling, she finished, "and now I wish I'd never kissed you."

Everyone gasped.

Ron: "w-w-hat?"

Everyone else: "YOU KISSED?!?!?"

"Yes," said Hermione shakily as tears glistened in her chocolate-latte eyes. "And I wish desperately that I hadn't." She looked down at Ron's broken, crushed expression for a moment, and then with a tiny sob, said, "No, Ronald," and turned away, Luna comforting her.

Ron stood and staggered in the opposite direction, swiping at his own face, moaning, "No…"

Draco and Harry were left behind in the centre of the battlefield. Blue eyes and green eyes met for a second, and there was a silence stretched between them. "Um," said Harry, "for what's its worth… thanks." When Draco only gave him a quizzical look, Harry sighed, and continued awkwardly, "I mean… I haven't seen Ginny so happy in a long time. She's never really had a best friend, even though she's popular. I didn't know what it took to make her truly happy – and if I did know… I didn't have it."

Harry stretched out a hand and pulled Draco to his feet, before giving him a clumsy hug, muttering, "Gotta go… Ron… grief… kill himself… war to fight… you know…" and disappearing in the direction that Ron had headed in.

Feeling defeated, and as if there was a gaping hole in his chest that could never be fixed where something (or someone) was supposed to be, Draco raked his blonde hair out of his eyes, and sprinted back into the battle. If I never think about it – or her… - again, then maybe… maybe I can forget she ever existed. Spells were flying left, right and centre, and Draco concentrated on the skirmish, pushing away heavy-hearted thoughts of petite redhead girls with heart-shaped faces.

"STUPEFY!!" he yelled, taking out his anger on a Death Eater who was sneaking up behind Professor McGonagall. A tall, wide man that turned out to be Macbain fell to the ground.

"Why, Malfoy – thank you," gasped McGonagall, wheeling around and clutching at her heart. "That was too valiant of you!"

Draco wasn't listening. He was staring down at Macbain, chest heaving, blue eyes transforming into glowing coals from his rage.

"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.

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.

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.

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. 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.

Eyes narrowing to slits, Draco raised his wand – no. Her wand – and hissed, "Ennervate." He wanted Macbain awake; awake so that he could feel his body being shredded, feel pain coursing through his thick, stupid body.

Macbain coughed up blood and then sat up. The first thing that he saw was a glaring, angsty seventeen-year-old ex-Death Eater with an icy stare directed at him. "Draco," he choked out.

Draco did not ease his unfriendliness. "I'm not a Death Eater anymore, Macbain. So to you, that would be Mister Malfoy Junior, I believe," he said frostily. He pointed his wand directly into the fallen older man's face.

"Dra-" Macbain started.

Wand thrust closer to his face, emitting deadly-looking sparks.

"Mister Malfoy Junior!" Macbain hastily corrected himself. "I mean... what're ye doin'?"

"What does it look like?" Draco roared. His – HER - wand crackled lethally before the man's nose, and Macbain flinched. "You," Draco said, his voice dangerously low, not caring that McGonagall was watching in horror, "are scum. I would not give a damn if you died… in fact, that's actually why I'm here."

McGonagall made an odd whimpering noise, and scurried away as Draco inspected the tip of his – her – STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT – wand.

Macbain gulped. "I – er – Mister Malfoy Junior, I didn' do nuffink, I swear," he gasped out.

"Apart from trying to murder -" Draco struggled internally for a few seconds, trying to force out the word. One word. Two syllables. Five letters. G… G… Gi… "MURDERER!" he shouted, brandishing his wand.

"Wha-?"

"You tried to… tried to…" Draco brawled with his own emotions. "You… murderer…"

Say it. You have to say it. Let him know what he put you through.

I can't.

You have to!

I… I can't say her name…

DO IT, DRACO!

It… it hurts…

SPEAK, DAMNIT!

"You… tried to kill… G…" Draco stammered. He squeezed his eyes shut, before forcing them open wide, and said flatly, using every ounce of his strength, "Ginny."

PAIN – ripping through his chest – tearing him apart – she was gone – the dragon – no – PAIN -

"What?" said Macbain incredulously. "Dra- er. Mister Malfoy Junior, we alreadeh talked about this! I promised not te 'arm a 'air on 'er 'ead! We talked about it."

Draco was shaking.

Er… Draco? What are you doing?

Shut up! I'm going to kill him. Painfully.

Why?

For what he did to G-……… her.

Draco… you know that was fake, right?

… I HAVE TO HURT SOMEONE!

Calm down, it's –

NO! SHE'S DEAD.

Draco felt overwhelming guilt; he was preparing to kill a man for something that he had never done, and was never going to do. He would be a cold-blooded murderer all over again. But at the same time, he felt a burning need to destroy, to kill, to torture – Ginny was dead, and those who had killed her would pay.

But Macbain didn't –

SHUT UP, I KNOW!

He lowered his wand, beaten by the truth, and looked at his feet. Taking another deep, shaky breath, Draco said darkly, just loud enough for Macbain to hear, "Get out my sight."

Macbain grunted some sort of response, heaved himself onto his feet and scrambled away. Draco stared down at the mud for a second, before turning away and finding someone who he could hurt, someone who really was guilty. A ferocious gnawing was going on inside him, and to balance it out, he needed to terrorize every Death Eater he saw.

Blood pumping through his head, he turned. Two fourth-years were grappling with three Inferi. "IMPENDETIA!" he hollered at it. Purple light sparked and crackled from the tip of the wand he held, and then the violet punched through one Inferi, cuffed the head off of another, and knocked the third backwards. The third Inferi was attacked with the least power, as most of the spell was directed towards the first two – the last surviving (if it could be called that, being a imprint of the deceased) Inferi was still wrestling a fourth-year Slytherin that Draco recognized as shy, but unpleasant, Roger Lacing, to the ground.

"Bifurus!" Roger cried out, and then the Inferi was thrown backwards by what looked like a transparent, floating blue punching-glove.

"Nice." The conceited drawl was past his lips before Draco could stop it. Perhaps if he locked himself away – like he had for the past seven years – before you met her, that is – then it wouldn't hurt so much.

"Are you gonna help me or what?" demanded Roger, ignoring his companion, Howard Ewan, who was blood-stained, bruised, and moaning in pain.

"Hey, Lacing, considering that I just saved your sorry life, I think a thank you would be nice," snapped Draco.

Roger snorted. "Since when do you care about being nice?" he sneered.

Blood… boiling… don't… answer… "Just because you're a insensitive arsehole doesn't mean that we all are," Draco retorted.

"What, and you're sensitive?" Roger laughed cruelly. "Oh, that's right! Let me guess… you're in love…" he scorned.

When he pulled back just enough so that he could quietly murmur against her lips, "Go, Ginny", she opened her eyes and stared up into his own eyes, hazel into blue. She flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tight, tears spilling over, brushing her lips against his, and then turned on her heel and ran.

And then the fire was upon her. Fire blazed through the sky, lighting up every fast-falling raindrop and sending sparks across the gloomy, sodden clouds. She didn't even scream.

An artery pulsed in Draco's temple, and, self-consiously, his grubby hands curled into tight fists, cutting back into old wounds made by his fingernails at the Lestrange castle.

Don't. DON'T, Draco. It's not worth it.

HE – LOVE – MAKE – STOP – NO –

Draco, calm down! He's not worth it –

SHE'S – NO – PLEASE – GONE – NOT –

"Oh, looks like I've hit a sore spot," derided Roger, mock-sympathy. "Dear, dear."

HE'S THREE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME! I COULD RIP HIS HEAD OFF! I DON'T CARE – I COULD JUST – RIP – TEAR – KILL – NOT – NO – STOP – KILL – HIM –

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" said Roger spitefully. "Did she break up with you? Reject you? Maybe Death Eaters weren't exactly to her taste. Or did she die?"

The little voice in Draco's head screaming all of his thoughts fell instantly silent. Every muscle and nerve shut down. He couldn't see, or hear, or smell, or taste, or feel, or breathe… He was staring blankly at Roger, who was still talking, sneering on and on vindictively, but Draco couldn't hear him.

Or did she die

Or did she die

Or did she –

Then Draco was upon Roger, hitting, scratching, clawing, tearing, punching, pummelling, kicking, dragging, fighting, knocking him to the ground – and when Roger was lying helplessly, the seventeen-year-old threw himself at the younger boy, straddling him and pinning him down to punch him again and again until blood was coming from Roger's face and Draco's knuckles, but the pain didn't matter, the pain didn't matter, the pain didn't –

"Malfoy! Lacing!" shouted Professor Snape. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Go – kill – now – not – kill – no – gone -" roared Draco, not ceasing his beating of the fourth-year Slytherin.

"Get him off me!" screeched Roger Lacing, scrabbling in the dirt. "He's going to kill me! He's gone mad!"

Snape wound his arms through Draco's and hauled the furious boy backwards. "Mister Malfoy!" he barked. "What the hell is the meaning of this?"

Draco did not answer; he only pulled forwards, grunting and gasping, trying to wrench himself free from his Head of House's grip.

Now that Roger was protected, he was back to his usual arrogant and cocky self. "I'll tell you Professor," he drawled callously. Draco fixed a stare on Roger, as if saying don't you dare, but the younger boy ignored it. "Malfoy's," he paused, and then, putting on a high, silly voice, simpered, "heartbroken."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF BROKEN HEARTS!" Draco screamed, bent over in his anguish, struggling from Snape, and it was then that the Potions master noticed the genuine, tormented tears sliding down his pale, gaunt face.

"Psh," sneered Roger, though he was a little taken-aback at his out-burst. "Broken heart. My arse. You don't have a heart. And I doubt that little Weasley's death could ever give you one."

"Weasley?" said Snape quickly. Something incomprehensible scrawled across his face, like a distant suffering, and then he masked it.

"Don't say her name!" Draco snarled, his voice cracking with held-back sobs. His shoulders shook. "Don't you dare," he said brokenly, looking at his feet in despair.

"Aw," cooed Roger maliciously. "Poor Draco."

"Lacing," spat Draco. "Bear in mind… the next time your being throttled to death by Inferi who want your soul in exchange for their own, I think I'll just leave you to them."

"Malfoy!" snapped Snape, sounding outraged and shocked by Draco's words.

"Don't patronize me," the older of the two quarrelling Slytherin boys growled. He twisted away from his Professor, and muttered, "Have fun getting yourself killed. I'm leaving."

Roger grumbled something that sounded oddly like 'loser' as Draco stalked away. Fire blazed and blood soaked into the ground, turning the mud into a sick, russet-coloured sludge. And all around him, death reigned.

A/N: Omg!! You know, I think, just to annoy, I'm going to let Ginny burn horrifically, die in Draco's arms, and then the Dark Lord triumph. Then I'll do a sequel all about Draco's pain. Yeah, that sounds cool. Ginny-fans, say your goodbyes. UNLESS, of course… I COULD possibly be swayed, by, say, I don't know, a review? Oo Why don't you try? xD

By the way, the thing with Snape is that ol' Snapey saw himself in Draco – an unwanted, abused, Slytherin reject of the social world, who fell in love with the beautiful redhead, only to have her stolen away by Potter and then killed.