A/N: Warning – this chapter is a little graphic (blood and gore). However, I really liked the challenge of writing it. You have been warned – Read and Review!

Chapter 13:

The cellar of the Malfoy Mansion was cool and damp. There were no windows in this cellar – the exact reason why it had been used as a dungeon during the war. The man inhaled through his nostrils a nice distinctive breath. The cellar smelled funny – of mould and decay. The low arches of the ceiling seemed to be covered with moisture and upon closer inspection a thin layer of dark green – almost black – moss.

Rage bubbled within him. So many had suffered here. Yes, the Malfoys had acted mostly under duress from the Dark Lord, but they had their own secrets too. Only they knew how many screams had to be stifled by the charms cast on the rusting steel bars. His plan was simple – kill the Malfoys. However, the Malfoy clan was approaching its end – the only living members being Lucius and his son Draco. And they would be hard to get to. Lucius was locked in the most well guarded prison in all the Wizarding World, and son Draco had vanished into thin air. Thanks to his Ministry connections, he had learned that he was stowed-away at Harry Potter's home awaiting trial. His rage swelled once more as he thought that Harry Potter – defender of the Light and killer of Voldemort – could let such an atrocity occur. All Malfoys were guilty. All Malfoys deserved death.

With a final sniff the man turned on his heel and ascended the stairs into the Manor's main hall. After the war the Malfoy Manor had been emptied of all possessions. The walls – once donned with glamorous paintings and sculptures – were barren. He continued his stroll towards the front door but paused and turned around. This was the way the Manor should have been: empty, unimpressive, dead. He sneered – that's all the Malfoys were now anyways. At least one of them would be. Tonight, his plan would begin. The plan to avenge the one woman he loved the most in his life. The Malfoys had ruined her, and now he would ruin them. He turned around, walking out of the once grandiose home, and apparated on the spot.

oooooooooo

Harry ran cold water over his face trying to calm himself down. Nothing would be able to prepare him for what he was about to do. Nothing could erase what he had just seen. He sat down on his bed and ran a shaking hand through his black hair. Ginny sat on the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs pulled up to her chest. She wore a stunned and confused expression. Harry was not sure if she would cry or vomit.

"Harry. You have to tell him," she told him quietly, "He needs to know."

Harry nodded, "I know. I'm going," He stood and looked back at Ginny, silently nodding at him. She was reassuring him. She knew how hard this was going to be. Usually she would have comforted him, resting her small hand on his face or shoulder. Usually she would have offered to accompany him, to hold his hand through it. But she couldn't. The magnitude of what had just happened, and what Harry had to do stunned them both. Harry would do this alone.

Harry's morning had started normally. He had awoken to his alarm set far too early and shuffled groggily into his shower. He had donned his robes that he had chosen the night before and sat down at his table for a serving of Ginny's freshly cooked breakfast. She smiled at him as she set the steaming plate in front of him. Her eyes still looked sleepy and she had wrapped her robe loosely around her pale pink nightgown. He watched as her eyes darted towards the rumbling fireplace and as she jumped, startled, when Kingsley nearly fell from it.

"Harry! You must come with me immediately. There's been an attack!" Harry had no time to think about what had happened or who was in danger only that the Minister of Magic was squeezing his wrist and that the familiar compressing feeling of side-along apparition had taken over. The last thing he saw were Ginny's frightened eyes as he left the kitchen.

Kingsley let go of his wrist and Harry opened his eyes again. He was standing in Azkaban Prison. He felt some sort of relief that he was not standing in Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, or worse the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. He silently followed the Minister of Magic through dimly lit corridors full of solemn cells. The hushed sounds of inmates guided their way through the maze. The cold was near unbearable and Harry was beginning to feel empty and bleak – a common side effect of the guards of Azkaban.

Harry finally spotted a bright light – almost blinding – and made him realize how dark Azkaban actually was. As the pair approached the bright lights it was harder and harder to see. Harry's eyes finally adapted to the new light and human guards and Ministry workers began to move towards them.

"Minister, what will we do with the body?" asked a plump female Auror that Harry had seen around the Ministry before. She fell into stride with Kingsley as Harry followed behind them.

"How about notifying next of kin?" another Auror with sandy-blonde hair asked, walking on Kingsley's other side.

"Trudy. Paul. Those questions can be answered after I inspect the crime scene," they both nodded curtly and bustled towards the blinding lights. Kingsley turned now to face Harry, "Harry, I must warn you," he started in a tone that strangely resembled Dumbledore's, "What you will see will appal you, but for your sake and for the ones you care about, I need you to be strong and save face." Harry nodded in acknowledgement but all he could think about were questions about this crime scene. Who had died? Did he know them? Why was it so important that he save face? He followed as Kingsley approached the cell illuminated in lights.

Harry saw what the light was directed at and felt bile surge out of his stomach into his throat. Lucius Malfoy was bound and gagged to a chair in the middle of his cell in a pool of his own blood. Harry had seen blood and gore before, but never as deliberate as this. Lucius sat ramrod straight in his chair, with course ropes snaking around his body. They started at his feet and ended at his neck. The flesh around the rope was raw and red and somewhat bulged – a sign that the poor man had been bound way too tight. The floor below Lucius' chair and feet was covered in a large pool of blood, the source of which seemed to be the eldest Malfoy's arm. Harry thought he would surely vomit then. Missing from Lucius' left arm was his Dark Mark.

"Who do you think did this?" Harry managed to stutter out. He was standing next to Kingsley now at the entrance to the small cell. He looked up at the Minister of Magic to see his eyes wide and jaw slack, as though a tired yawn were pulling at it.

"We haven't been able to figure that out yet. There was no trace of magic and no weapons were left on scene. Of course the Aurors have a few ideas. Most likely an insane Death Eater who thought Lucius had betrayed them. They're the only people who could get him here." Kingsley answered solemnly. He started to move forward and allow the Aurors to take him through the crime and explain what they had discovered.

It took hours to process the scene. Harry and Kinglsey had to walked through every inch of the prison cell. They had to listen to testimony for every guard or inmate in Lucius Malfoy's vicinity. The two Aurors Trudy and Paul hadn't stopped babbling since Harry had arrived. His patience was running thin. Returning into the cell for the final check, he couldn't help but feel a cold chill run down his back.

Harry eyed his old enemy, trying to avoid looking at the gaping hole in his left forearm. He was practically unrecognizable. All Malfoys were pale, but Lucius had become translucent. His neck and chest were covered with prison tattoos, and hair had grown even longer than before. Yet, his hair was no longer the classic platinum blonde colour, but a salt and pepper grey. It was wiry and oily sticking to his neck and face. His face was thin and his eyes sunken back into his head. His open, unseeing eyes were sad and had lost all fight and malice. Lucius Malfoy had aged. He looked as though he would have soon died in prison if the monster that killed him hadn't done it first. He looked around the room. There was a small cot with a thin, ruffled sheet on it. The floor was a cold, thick stone, now covered in crimson. In the opposite corner of the cell stood a small desk. There was a large group around it and Harry followed as Kingsley approached. There in the centre of the table was a chunk of Lucius arm tattooed with a fading Dark Mark. Underneath it, written in the eldest Malfoy's blood, said 'One Left'.

"We haven't really been able to figure out what this means Minister," the plump Auror Kingsley had called Trudy babbled, "We've tried everything. We stepped once to the left, looked left, we even looked in the cell immediately to his left. We just can't get it!" Harry was amazed at how bubbly and loud she was being right now. He fought the urge to shout at her.

Kingsley turned shakily back to Harry who was now fighting a cold sweat, "Harry. Do you know what this means?" The realization hit Harry so quickly he thought that he would fall over. He had to get out of there. Back to Grimmauld Place. As fast as he possibly could.

"Draco" he whispered. He looked to Kingsley's nervous eyes once more. Kingsley inclined his head ever so slightly giving Harry the permission he had been looking for. Harry turned on his heel and ran out of the cell down the whispering corridors and out into the evening sunset. The familiar squeezing sensation hit him before he could squint out the rays of sun.

ooooooooo

The man stood at the door of the cell and admired his work. Lucius Malfoy – his enemy from the start – was tied to a chair in the centre of the small room. He was sweating profusely and his breathing was laboured. His pale blonde hair was matted to the translucent skin of his wrinkled forehead. The man bore his teeth. Lucius deserved this. He deserved the pain in paying his debt for others. They had suffered worse: they had screamed, fought him even, but Lucius never batted an eye.

He watched as the eldest Malfoy's blood seeped onto the stone floor. What else could he do? What would really startle the Ministry? He looked at the bloody cloth he held in his hand. This was going to be his trophy; a way to always remember what he had accomplished to avenge her suffering. But trophies were a risk – they could be found. Why risk his anonymity when he could make a statement?

He set the bleeding piece of flesh in the centre of the desk off to the left of the cell and took the cloth, gingerly dipping it in the still breathing Malfoy's blood. As he knelt down next to the struggling man and grimaced, "It's a work of art isn't it Lucius. They'll find you dead and won't have a clue who killed you." He seemed to look down at the man with all the malice his energy could muster. He left Lucius to paint the small table, writing 'One Left' in his blood. He turned to see the eldest Malfoy still glaring at him. The man was unimpressed, "What is it Lucius, wanted to give your snake of a son a last goodbye?" At this Lucius writhed in his chair, muffled screams escaping his mouth. The man smiled, he knew he had hit the spot, "Don't worry. You can tell him yourself. You'll see him soon enough."

He did an about-face and sauntered out of the cell, not looking back to the Lucius – spending every last ounce of his energy until he went limp. He silently prowled the halls of Azkaban watching the white eyes of the inmates observing him. He finally approached the exit and before slipping out the doors, sent a curse screaming toward the direction of the presumably dead Lucius Malfoy's cell. It wouldn't be long, he thought, they would find his masterpiece soon.

ooooooooooo

Hermione leaned forward to set the heavy book down on the square coffee table and jot some notes. She skimmed what she had just written then rubbed her eyes. It seemed as though she had been reading for days. She leaned back again resting her back against the tall spine of the sofa chair. She watched as Draco slept contently on the couch next to her. She had been questioning him earlier about his past crimes and deeds. It had clearly drained him. She had begun delving deeper into his history and past actions, and he seemed to be becoming more and more uncomfortable. She thought of the questions she had asked him earlier, "Malfoy! Think! When did you figure out you father was a Death Eater?" She had not regretted her harsh tone then, but now she did.

Malfoy had grimaced and run his shaky hands down his face, "Granger for the fourth time: I don't KNOW!" he was getting frustrated with her, but she had continued to press him. At one point he had paced the room trying to remember. Then after finally answering that it "might have been first year when Professor Quirrell had visited the Manor one weekend then being dead the next," he had plopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Hermione had gone back reading and scribbling notes down on her many sheets of paper and she had not noticed when the blonde lying across from her dosed off.

She scolded herself once more as she ran a clammy palm through her hair, gathering it into a messy ponytail. Her workload had definitely grown these past two weeks. She had taken it upon herself to help not only Harry, but also Draco, working through files and files of precedents. Everyday she was getting closer to proving that Draco had acted under duress and out of fear for his life and that of his family.

She had kept Harry informed of her progress everyday. She owled him at least three times a week writing lengthy letters and attaching documents and references. He seemed impressed and happy with her, but she knew that he was still stressing. That was Harry's downfall; he cared too much for those around him. He had to rescue Malfoy and Goyle from the Room of Requirement. No innocent blood should ever be spilt. Harry had always been vulnerable because of his weakness. Hermione remembered their fifth year when Harry had been positive that Sirius was trapped in the Department of Mystery. It had been Voldemort's trick. For a moment, the thought that Draco was manipulating them crossed her mind. No – he had changed. Draco had divulged more to her in the past two weeks than Ron had in the first six weeks of their romantic relationship.

She pulled her knees to her chest as she watched Draco sleeping across from her. He was troubled – even in his sleep. Not like that night when she had stumbled into his bedroom. Then his face had been relaxed, happy almost, but now it was only etched with worry. His eyebrows creased together and his eyes squinted. She watched as he twitched ever so slightly. He pursed his lips and his eyes fluttered – she could tell he was dreaming. His body was curled up like a child's and he hugged one of the sofa pillows to his chest. A smile crept across her face – he was still a child at heart. She had really learned a lot about him these past weeks and had really grown fond of him. Hermione blushed in embarrassment as she remembered what had happened a few weeks prior, when Harry had told Draco about his court date. She had been denied by him. Did he even like her? Surely he did because he had kissed her the night of his birthday. His lips had been so soft and gentle against hers.

The day after Draco had gently nudged Hermione out of his bedroom and denied her the chance of kissing him had been awkward. Hermione didn't know how to approach the situation and couldn't judge how he would act around her. She had started cooking breakfast for them and heard him bound down the stairs, "Oh good! You're up! I'm starving!" She was taken aback. How could he be so comfortable with her? Especially after the bad news that he had just received!

She mumbled back, "Oh right. Well I'm making eggs." She felt so weird and exposed. She hadn't felt this way since Ron had gotten together with Lavender. But she had eventually gotten over it. They were now acting just like they had been before Draco's birthday, before he had found out his trial was approaching quickly. They were friends. They would joke and laugh and talk. But they would never touch. God forbid his arm brushed hers or she poked him playfully. There relationship was painfully platonic. One touch could ruin all they had worked so hard to cover up.

Draco sniffling on the couch snapped her out of her thoughts. His jaw was clenched and his brows still creased. He twitched violently and his leg suddenly kicked out. Hermione realized he was having a nightmare. Should she wake him up? She would need to shake him. To touch his arm. Was that alright? Would he care? Would he be upset with her? She had read somewhere that waking people having sleepwalkers even those having nightmares could be bad. They could become disoriented or even aggressive. She could handle of disoriented or aggressive Draco Malfoy, right? She was so caught up in her thoughts that she did not even hear the fireplace rumble in the next room.

Harry practically fell into the reading room, startling Draco awake. Hermione squeaked in surprise, almost falling off her chair. She took one look at Harry's face and knew something was dangerously wrong. His hair was wild and unruly – more than usual – a sign that he had been running his hand through it numerous times. A worried frown was etched onto his face. Hermione had only really seen him this upset and nervous after they had nearly escaped Bill and Fleur's wedding. Draco jumped to his feet and Hermione could tell he sensed it too.

"Harry! I wasn't expecting you" Hermione asked. Harry walked further into the room so that he was directly in front of the standing Draco and still sitting Hermione.

"I have some bad news…" he blurted out, "Draco…" he paused and looked around the room nervously as though someone would jump out and attack them at any moment, "Your father's been murdered."

ooooooooooo

Draco was running. Towers of junk and books piled upwards around him. He was in the Room of Requirement. He turned his head quickly to look behind him and saw Crabbe and Goyle struggling to catch up with him. The room was unusually warm. His feet skidded to a halt as orange flames erupted in front of him. The Room of Requirement was on fire.

He stood stunned for several seconds unable to comprehend what was happening. "CLIMB!" Goyle screamed at him from behind. He whipped around to see him and Crabbe scaling the columns of books and rubbish. He started to climb too. As he got higher and higher he felt the heat licking at his feet. The fire was approaching them. He turned his head right and left checking if his friends were following him. He saw Goyle climbing under him, but Crabbe was nowhere to be seen. In far a corner the Golden Trio were fumbling with brooms. The red-head briefly let go of Grangers hand to grab a broom and hand it to her. Granger. Hermione. She was in trouble. His adrenaline rushed and he climbed higher. He and Goyle got to the top of the column just as the Trio flew over their heads. "They're going to leave us here!" he screamed in frustration.

Draco wasn't sure if they had heard him or not, but at that moment Harry, led by Hermione turned back towards them. Harry zoomed in front of her and scooped Goyle onto his broom and sped on. Hermione was getting closer to him and extending her arm. A surge of heat scarred Draco's face and he closed his eyes losing his balance and starting to fall backwards. In front of him somewhere in the distance he heard a dull rumble and someone stumble clumsily.

Draco opened his eyes not to see the cluttered mess of the Room of Requirement but instead the intricate pattern of the couch he had fallen asleep on. He readjusted his view to see Harry Potter regaining his balance in the doorway of the reading room. He stood fidgeting and his face streaked with worry. As a reflex, Draco stood up. He then realized that Hermione was sitting in the chair behind him, still shaken by Harry's loud entrance. The three of them stood staring at each other for several seconds before Hermione finally spoke, "Harry! I wasn't expecting you."

The black-haired wizard paced forward so that he was right in front of them. His eyes were shifting around the room and he was starting to break a sweat. If Potter had not looked so incredibly upset, then he would have probably cracked a snarky comment. "I have some bad news…" he started, his eyes finally falling on Draco, "Draco…your father's been murdered."

Draco's eyes narrowed. No. Harry Potter was messing with him. Lucius was untouchable. He could never die. His eyes circled around the room. Hermione had crumpled down and leaned her back against the chair. Her eyes were narrowed in thought and she was smoothing down her hair. A thing – he had learned – she only did when she was nervous or upset. Harry was still staring at him intently. This wasn't a joke. It wasn't a joke. He felt himself falling. Lucius was dead. He reached out a hand to grip the couch and steady himself. His father was dead. He had no one left. Not one single person. He was alone. "I think I need to go." He murmured. He released his hand from the sofa. His head was still spinning, but he would make it. He dry heaved feeling the bile starting to seep into his throat. He stumbled blindly up the stairs. Tears stung his eyes. He practically fell through his door and seemed to cross his room in one step. He collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling trying to regain focus. He blinked a few times. The tears were falling freely. He was crying. Sobs racked his body. He tried to breathe to calm himself down. Nothing was working. He turned shakily to look out the dark window. His vision was blurred. He would never get out. He would die like his father. He was alone. He was dead.

He turned again on his back to look at his ceiling again. He counted his breaths, trying to make them deeper and deeper. He eventually calmed. He just lied on his bed eyes staring blankly. He was there for what seemed days. Not moving. Barely breathing.

He heard the quiet click of his door, but did not want to look at her. He felt her get onto his bed and shift onto her back. Her small framed radiated heat next to him. He glanced sideways at her. She lay on her back, just like him, and stared at the ceiling. Her soft hair was gathered by her shoulder. He looked back at the ceiling and wondered what she was thinking.

"Hey" she whispered quietly. He heard her turn her head to look at him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He silently waited and she eventually returned her gaze to the ceiling.

"Hey" he responded also in a whisper. They lied there together for several more minutes. Not talking, just staring at the ceiling. Draco liked this. He liked not being alone. He felt her start to move around and eventually she sat up and got out of his bed.

"Well I just wanted to check on you…" she said awkwardly, "Listen, Draco. I know your father and I never really got along, but he was still your father. I'm really sorry." He felt her eyes bore into him. He could barely stand it. "So…I'll just be going to bed." She started to turn and walk out of the room. Draco could stand it anymore.

"Hermione" he started and watched as she stopped in her tracks, "Stay…please. I don't want to be alone tonight." For the first time that evening he looked at her. He let her see. He showed her how hurt he was. He wanted her to be there with him. To hold him. To make it better. He wanted Hermione Granger.

A/N: I decided to take Parvati48's wise words and put these little blurbs at the end of my chapters! Just easier that way! Anyways…

So how do you guys feel right now? Too scary? Too bloody? Poor Draco is actually showing emotion for his father and to Hermione! What do you guys think about the way Lucius was murdered? Any thoughts on who could be the creepy lurking guy?

Thanks for reading! Read and Review!