CHAPTER ELEVEN: Torch

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A few important plot questions from readers:

Is Draco's gift something from the actual books? –No. I made it up. Don't go trying to figure it out.
Is Lucius' appearance in the hospital important to plot? –To Hermione's motivations to protect Draco yes, not to plot.
Wasn't Lucius supposed to have been Kissed a while ago? –A specific time was never mentioned on purpose, just "soon" which is apparently not yet. So, no.
Is he blind? – Yes.
What song does Hermione sing to Draco? –It's always something by Frank Sinatra in my stories. You pick the song.

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Hermione walked the wards of St. Mungo's feeling much like Marie Antoinette must have felt on her way to the guillotine. She had spoken to Narcissa. Two words in and Cissy was rushing upstairs to the criminal ward. Job one complete. Easy. But, before she could reach Pansy's private room, she found her missing entourage on the floor waiting room. They stood when they saw her, mixed expressions clouding their eyes.

"Harry! Ron!" she called, running to hug them. Before she could turn to hug Ron, Ginny came up behind her and handed her a cup of coffee. She'd only brought three so she excused herself to get another.

"What up with her?" asked Hermione, concerned. Their eyes were all puffy and bruised from lack of sleep. She took the seat between Harry and Ron, who looked oddly grim.

"She's just tired," answered Harry, shrugging his arms dismissively. "We had to help relocate to Headquarters and it was kind of a hassle. We haven't slept."

Hermione's lips formed a soft "o" shape. She turned to Ron and nudged his shoulder with her own, trying to rouse his spirits with a forced smile. He shot her the most pitiful smile ever to cross those thin, villainous lips.

"How is she?" she asked him softly so he'd feel like it was just them in on the conversation.

He shrugged. "How should I know? How's the vile, loathsome little cockroach?"

Ah. Now she got the source of his angst. "Ron, you don't know what you're talking about."

He scoffed and stood up, seething. "What I don't know is how you're still defending that arsehole! It was one thing when he turned you. You didn't mind. But he lost it with Pansy, 'Mione."

"He didn't turn her, Ron! I promise you!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the others waiting. She shot them all apologetic looks and turned her attention back to Ron.

"How do you know? Because he said so? You're shagging him so of course he must be so fucking virtuous," he said with a laugh. "Sorry to break it to you but you're not going to find his soul between his legs."

Hermione scoffed. She wasn't delusional. She knew Draco wasn't the next rising of Jesus but she also knew what she was talking about. "You think I don't know when he's lying? I'm two steps away from reading his mind. I know when he's plotting, when he's hiding something. I can feel when he has a bloody toothache. And I am telling you I believe him when he says he was only defending us from Pansy. She was already bitten, Ron. And I'm here to prove it."

Harry reached over and gave her free hand a gentle squeeze, a silent "I believe you." She smiled at him half-heartedly and continued on her mission.

"I need to see her," she announced, no room for compromise in her voice. Ginny came back with her cup of coffee at that moment and pointed towards the room at the end of the hall, the only one with a shut door.

Hermione set her still full coffee cup on the table before her and trudged on down towards that guillotine blade. She opened the door and peeked inside. It was dark except for a floor lamp in the back. The bed resembled something one might find at a Muggle hospital, at least compared to all the other wards they'd seen.

"What are you doing here?" growled two yellow eyes in the darkness. "I said no visitors!"

Hermione ducked as a pillow flew by her head. It explained why Ron was waiting outside, why he looked so broken. She wasn't letting anyone see her, probably hadn't since she woke up.

"It's me, Pans. Relax. Draco sent me."

The objects stopped flying. "What does he say?"

Hermione sighed and felt around for the chair by the bed. She took a seat and fed Pansy's curiosity. "He wanted me to find out how you were. No one's told us anything. We've been locked in the criminal ward for two days. He might as well be in prison already."

Pansy nodded and Hermione took her new acquiescence to mean she wasn't mad at Draco the way Ron and the others were. Maybe she knew what she'd done or, rather, almost done.

"Does he remember?" she asked timidly, fumbling with her hands in her lap. She sat up straight. Draco had once said that she didn't like sleeping stretched out, that she kept six pillows by her bed back at the dormitories.

Hermione nodded. "He said you were already shifted when you came towards the Burrow, that you were primed to attack."

It was dark but Hermione knew Pansy was crying. It was the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of dread and remorse turned corporeal.

"I don't remember," she said in a thoughtful, distance voice. "I just know I would never hurt Ron like that."

That caught Hermione a little by surprise. She expect her to say she'd never hurt the family, even Draco, but to mention Ron so exclusively and so openly with such deep remorse could only mean one thing.

"Dear God, you love him. It's not a joke."

Pansy snorted. Of course it would seem like a joke to anyone around them. "Maybe that's how it started but no. I tried to keep him away. I knew I was losing chunks of time but I did nothing so he'd never have to see me like this, like some victim or, worse, some monster."

"If Draco didn't bite you and I obviously didn't, we might have a bigger problem. How long ago did you start losing time?"

"October 16th," she answered definitively. For the second time, Hermione was taken aback by her answer.

"You know the exact date?"

She nodded and sniffed. Hermione handed her a tissue from the bedside table. "It was a Hogsmeade weekend. I visited my – and Draco's – favorite pub. It's pretty hidden so I'd planned to meet with Ron but I woke up back in my room and figured I'd just had too much to drink. I was still clothed but I don't remember having any bite marks, none that I could see anyway. God, if I'd just slept with Ron maybe he would have found it."

Hermione tried not to laugh because it was a serious issue but she managed to give a knowing nod. She leaned in closer so Pansy could see the look of pity and understanding in her eyes.

"I see. I'll do whatever I can to figure out who did this to you, okay?" she said, trying to soothe. "But you can't let Draco go down for this. They've brought up what he did during the summer. The Ministry is charging him for murder, Pans. You have to tell them you aren't pressing charges."

Pansy nodded. Hermione, feeling like her job was complete, went to stand when a strong grip wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back down. "Do you know what he did in Spain? Has he told you?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"No, but I know he's talked to you about it."

"Listen, we're not—"

Hermione shook her head and pulled Pansy's hand off her wrist. "I get it. It's okay. I have Ron and Harry to confide in. You're his other."

Pansy formed a crease down her forehead. "It's not what you think. You know him better than I do now. He told me because he was afraid you'd only be able to see the monster, a murderer. He knew you'd understand, that it was in self-defense, but he couldn't stand it to have you see him any different, not for a second."

Something gathered in Hermione's throat, something bitter. She sat back down and took Pansy's hands in her own. For a moment, in the dark, Hermione let herself believe this little girl was Draco – that same frightened, haunted, sick spirit that had crash-landed at the Burrow that summer. So, though she wished she could be the one to wave her magic wand and cure her the way she hoped she'd done to Draco, it was not her job to cure Pansy. She had unknowingly passed the world's most sadistic torch onto another and Pansy had to be the one to let him in if she was ever to embrace this new future she'd inadvertently carved for herself.

Hermione braced herself and said, "Pansy, I need you to look at me and listen to everything I say because I do not say it lightly. You and Draco are one and the same. You have this horrid sense of selflessness based off shame and it's killing you. I know you think you're just sparing him pain but you're not. Trust me – someone who's been on the receiving end of your people's 'kindness.' You are only hurting him more by keeping him at bay. Either you man up and let him love you or you'll be this monster forever. You'll be this pathetic insect in front of me and you'll be alone. Forever. Because if you can't let someone who already loves you in, how will you ever learn to love another?"

Pansy wiped away a tear as surreptitiously as possible and nodded. After a moment of soft weeping, she announced, "Send him in." Hermione turned and left feeling no different than when she came in.

She gestured for Ron to enter and his eyes lit up with confusion and hope. He tried not to seem too hurried as he walked to the door. Pansy was still sitting up on the bed, playing with her wand like it was a baton. She was trying anything to avoid looking him in the eye. He lingered by the now-closed door, his hands behind his back like a brave soldier before his queen.

"How are you?" he spoke first, his eyes hard set and his jaw stiff. It hurt to speak, to move, when he was standing so close to her and so unable to help her. It felt like he was chaining himself to the door so he wouldn't climb atop her. Oh how he longed for her warm arms around his torso like their last night together at Hogwarts, hiding in the Room of Requirement. Now, it felt like a wall of pride was dividing the room so it felt like crossing whole continents.

"Good," she replied lamely, her eyes crinkling in pain. There was a long silence, the longest of their lives, until Pansy looked to the chair beside her bed and Ron understood the hint. The wall suddenly collapsed and he crossed the continents easily. A few horribly long moments later, he reached out for her hand on the bed and squeezed it tightly, shooting her the tiniest smile.

"We don't have to talk," he said, hoping he was doing the right thing. "I just want to be here, okay?"

She smiled and reached over to caress his cheek with her free hand. She nodded and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you," she whispered, the last words of the night.

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When Hermione returned to the criminal ward, Narcissa was already gone. It should have been an instant sign that something was wrong but Draco was waiting for her with such a brilliant smile and rested eyes that she didn't really care what he'd told his mother. He was sitting, a white rose in his hands. He'd transfigured it out of a tongue depressor most likely but she didn't care. She bent down and kissed him and went to sit back down when he made a noise telling her not to move.

"What is it? Why so jolly?" she asked, bringing the rose up to her nose. Yup. Smelled like wood. She chuckled softly, finding him horribly infectious. No pun intended.

He smiled brighter, almost deviously, and took a moment to answer just to tug at her emotions further. "I'm being released."

She squealed and jumped up and down then bent to kiss him again. "We get to go home? Well, I know it's house arrest but it's still better than this place."

"Yuppers," he joked, caressing her hair back from her face. He sobered quickly and remembered to asked, "Did you talk to Pansy?"

"She's not pressing charges. She agrees that she was bitten elsewhere. We think it happened at some club you both like in Hogsmeade but Draco, that's still—"

"I know," he interrupted, not wanting to dwell on reality further. "I know it's not going to get me off the hook. It's okay. We'll figure it out."

"So now what?"

He took a deep breath and looked down at the sheets over his legs, throwing them off. "I try to walk."

Hermione looked around for someone to help but it was just her, the only one awake. She hurried to the other side of the bed and let him use her shoulders for balance as he painfully stretched out his legs and stood. He held onto his side for a moment, gritting his teeth from the pain. He shook his head and fell back down.

"Dammit," he said under his breath. Hermione went to check that he hadn't aggravated his wounds but he just swatted away her hands. "I can do it. Give me a second."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I know I'm a brilliant healer and everything but they do know you got mauled by a werewolf two days ago, right?"

"They know," he grunted, trying to stand again. "Fucking sleeping potions. They're releasing me early to avoid dealing with the press. They think if they don't release my release date, nobody will know."

Hermione's eyes shot open. She gulped and stammered out, "The—The—The press?"

"Uh, yea. I thought you knew."

Her eyes opened wider and she took a step back into the curtain. "I haven't seen anything but sheets, bedpans, and prisoners for the last two days! How am I supposed to know anything that's going on in the world? I just saw my friends out there for the first time!"

She began to miss that brilliant smile he'd given when she walked in. Now, it just looked like he had some tragic news to give her like Crookshanks had been run over by a car or her parents were getting divorced. Her eyes opened wider as she started to understand the gravity of the situation, of what Dumbledore had said.

"They know about you," he told her, "what we are."

She knew it was serious, that it could mean the end of everything as she knew it, but she didn't let it get in the way. So, she pretended the press didn't exist and shook her head to make sure he knew her intentions as well. Pretend. Rearing its ugly head again. Oh what an expert he'd become in it.

"Matter of time, right?" she finally said, softly as though in defeat.

"We can deny it," he countered, not wanting to give in just yet.

She shook her head. "Nope. It'd only cause more trouble. Hopefully, they'll realize I really am as boring as I look and leave me be."

He didn't know how to respond without offending her in some way. They did their jobs well and pretended it was all fine. She shook it all off and enthusiastically helped him stand up. Once he practiced standing, it was just a literal step away from walking. By the time they were ready to leave, it was the early morning of December 21st. Draco was getting dressed in the clothes Harry had brought for him.

"PLAID?" she heard him screech on the other side of the curtain. She pulled it open and found him standing there in his usual blue boxers and a wide open shirt two sizes too big and bright yellow/white plaid. "Are you serious? Is Potter high? I look like a gay lumberjack."

She snorted and covered her mouth to hide the laughter. "I think you look… dashing. Very Village People. No no. More like one very large, used Q-tip."

He narrowed his eyes at her but buttoned his shirt nonetheless and put on the little cap Moody had dropped by. All his clothes were at Grimmauld Place and nobody wanted to risk being followed there. They – meaning Draco, Hermione, and a merry troupe of Aurors – were going to take a floo to a nearby safe house before flying, invisibly, to Grimmauld Place. Like the Burrow, it was now warded against Apparition and floos, which was only sane considering the increasingly larger werewolf population within the Ministry.

Hermione took the time to look off at the now empty bed by the window at the end of the ward, the bed once belonging to Lucius Malfoy. She wondered if she had dreamt it, if it had been a figment of her imagination, but she wasn't insane. She couldn't deny herself the truth so easily. And she couldn't tell Draco – she was dead set on it, not an ounce of remorse in her decision. She turned back to him as he slipped on some plain black trousers and waited for her to point the way. He hadn't exactly been conscious when they'd first dragged him in. She took his hand and they went mainly undetected through the passageways. They met Shacklebolt at the front desk, as instructed.

"Why aren't we going out the back?" asked Hermione. "I mean, if we're going through all this trouble to be incognito."

Shacklebolt looked especially apologetic and admitted, "All the entrances and exits have been covered, I'm afraid. This was the only way we could properly secure a coach."

"I don't understand," said Hermione.

He pointed off to the front doors in the distance. That's when the world went to Hell.

A crowd of reporters awaited them, bustling against ropes. Flashes went off everywhere and smoke riddled the only passage out of the hospital. Lights, screaming… it was a media frenzy. Draco's throat closed just by looking at it. They took a few steps forward after Shacklebolt, hand in sweaty hand, and paused before facing the million questions and quills flying in their direction.

They turned to each other and whispered at the same time, defeat clear in their voices, "Oh crap."

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References: "…you're not going to find his soul between his legs." – from "Coconut Skins" by Damien Rice, official song for this fanfic.

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Christmas dinner coming soon plus a special NC-17 scene that I'll have to post elsewhere. It's that dirty.
Reviews are better than emotional silences.

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