[A/N: I know it has been a long time, thank you to all of you who have stuck with me! Work and school have got me pretty busy this semester. The only way I had the time to write this is because I'm currently in bed with the flu. Hope you enjoy it!

Thanks to the reviewers: LadyBookworm80, ayoAOx, MISS'Hannah-MarieHale'BOOKWORM, MrsEdwardCullen13, Miss Taxidermy, jayd-n33, and ajerickson21. Lollipops for all of you!

Disclaimer: Nope, Harry Potter still isn't mine.]

'Draco…'

It had been so long since she'd last seen him. Out of all of her friends, Draco had been the far most attentive and perceptive. Not only was he experienced as a spy, but he'd spent his life being hurt by his family. When she had begun to show the signs of weakness, Draco had been the first to notice. Brushing it off as illness and clumsiness, she knew she had to stop seeing him before he figured anything else out.

Coming up with excuses to cancel their plans had been easier than she had expected. He hadn't been the least bit suspicious when she said she was busy at work; everyone knew how busy Hermione had always loved to be. Then, slowly, it seemed as though he grew to be busier as well and he had stopped calling. While it had been sad, she knew it was for the best and she had tried not to dwell on it.

Now here he was, somehow, standing with her. His face was the perfect mask of indifference as he looked down upon her, yet his eyes were shining with concern. How had he known she was here? And why did he still seem so concerned when she had blown him off for so long? She didn't deserve that look in his eyes. She didn't deserve his friendship. She deserved all that she had gotten, and she knew it.

Draco watched as the emotions flew across her face with a hint of amusement. Someone really ought to teach this girl how to better mask what she was feeling. However, all amusement left his mind the second he saw the resigned and depressed look settle across her delicate features. He knew that look. He knew it well. His mother had worn it gracefully for his entire childhood. It was the look of a victim who suffered more than just a physical attack, but a mental and emotional attack as well. What was going on here?

"Hermione, can you speak?" His voice was gentle and patient, almost as though he was telling her she could speak and that he would wait until she was ready. When she blinked to clear the tears and opened her mouth, he allowed a small smile to slip through his mask. Encouragement was important in a time like this.

"Yes." Her voice was fragile and shy, entirely unlike what he knew from before. This just wouldn't do. The feel of her cheek moving under his hand while she spoke had registered within his mind that he still had not removed his hand from her face. Gently moving his thumb across her cheek, he began to soothe her before he began his next course of action.

"You know what I am going to do now, right? As your friend, I must know. I cannot believe Scarhead or the Weasel haven't done it yet – or insisted upon having it done since neither of them have the talent. I apologize for the intrusion and hope you understand my reasoning. Leglimens."

Before she had time to prepare herself, he was inside her mind. She fought with all that she could, but it was no use. Tears streaked down her face as she thought of the way he would think of her once he realized how weak and pathetic she was. How utterly useless and pointless her existence had become. As her thoughts turned more and more depressed, she was suddenly aware that he was soothing her from within her mind.

Draco had never been so lost within a mind before. He had always imagined Hermione's mind to be sorted into perfectly organized compartments, yet the second he stepped inside he was caught within a tornado of her emotions and despondent thoughts. Gathering his energy, he reached for the swirling depression and began to sort through it. Weak, pathetic, useless, pointless – he combated all of these thoughts with images of her fighting in the war, organizing the students, and helping to lead him through his depression.

'You are none of those things, Hermione Granger.' His voice rang strong and true within her mind and she found herself calming down. She had almost forgotten who she used to be.

'Focus on my hand.' She complied immediately. Not only was following orders instinct, but it was easy to focus on the warm touch he was providing. How long had it been since someone had been this gentle with her? Even Harry hardly touched her anymore. He had noticed how jealous Ron was and simply took it as harmless, choosing to be less affectionate with her.

He noticed the second she had calmed down enough – her memories began floating in front of him slowly. Many memories of the past, her wedding, her honeymoon, times spent with Harry, nights out with Luna and Ginny… It didn't make sense. All of these memories were short, floaty, and happy. He pushed a bit further, searching for what she was hiding. With a bit of pressing, he found a door and instantly her mind began trying to keep him away from it.

'Impressive, you've mastered a small bit of Occlumency. Let me in, let me help you.' He was insistent. She would be safe again, he would make sure of it. With one last push, he was through the door. He barely heard her gasp as he was instantly surrounded by her hidden memories. His fury was barely containable; this was impossible.

She was a beautiful bride, smiling happily up at the Weasel. They were alone in their house and it was their wedding night. She shyly began to undress and Draco watched the Weasel's eyes gain a hardened look. The second her dress hit the ground, he pushed her backwards on the bed. She was instantly afraid and began asking him to slow down, but he refused, continuing his assault. As the tears began to flow, Draco knew where this memory was heading. This was how she had lost her virginity – she'd tried to offer it and instead had it stolen. Before seeing the end of the memory, he swept into another.

She was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready. The Weasel arrived home from work and appeared to be furious that dinner wasn't prepared for him already. With a strangled cry, his fist connected with her face, knocking her backwards against the wall. Draco watched as the Weasel looked around, noticed that she'd been using her wand to light the stove to cook, and then he grabbed her. Tossing the food aside, he pressed her hand upon the hot stove. Her scream pierced Draco's heart as he quickly sped to another memory.

Hermione and the Weasel were out to eat with Scarhead and the She-Weasel. When they parted to go their separate ways, Harry gave Hermione a tight hug. As the memory switched to Hermione's home, Draco watched as she was mercilessly beaten for hugging her best friend. The way Ron spoke to her made Draco's fists clench – no one had the right to say those things to her.

He skimmed through the rest of the memories, having no desire to see the rest of them in any greater detail. Endless accounts of his fist, his belt, his knee, his foot, any object nearby, and even one awful memory involving a knife. It seemed as though the Weasel never used his wand upon her, for which Draco wasn't sure if he was grateful or concerned. The worst memories were the sexual ones, where her face looked so distraught and broken that it shook him to the core. This was the life she led?

Before leaving her mind, he quickly skimmed for the incident that had landed her here in this bed specifically. He'd need it for evidence later if he decided to go to the authorities. The image of her standing nervously next to such an amazing dinner was adorable, until the Weasel came storming in. With one swift punch to her stomach, she was on the floor. Only a few more select kicks and she was unconscious. It was definitely one of the less severe memories, in contrast to what he'd seen. Most of the damage must have been done after she was unconscious, the filthy bastard.

As he pulled out of her mind, he became aware of how much she was shaking. Focusing his eyes on her, he frowned slightly at the immense amount of distress she was in. She was shaking violently as her body wracked with sobs. He went to remove his hand from her cheek and paused mid-air when her eyes opened and focused on his. She opened her mouth to try to speak, but was caught with a coughing and hiccupping fit that seemed to be impossibly painful with her injuries.

"S-sorr-y…" Her voice was faint and raspy, but she got the whole word out. Immediately he realized his mistake in withdrawing his hand. In her state of mind, she thought he was blaming her for everything he'd seen. Giving her space had been a gesture of kindness in his mind, and a motion of disgust and disapproval in hers. He slowly reached back down, giving her time to register that he was going to touch her again.

His left hand cupped her cheek once more, and then slowly his right hand cupped her other cheek. Leaning down towards her until he was about a foot from her face, he locked his gaze intently upon hers. The message he was about to convey was crucial and he must make sure she understood.

"None of it, any of it, was your fault." Simple, to the point, and from the ways her eyes widened – at least slightly effective. He had to work slowly, step by step. She had helped him through some of the worst times he had had, now it was time to return the favor. Conjuring an armchair next to her bed, he slowly settled himself in it and took her hand reassuringly.

"I'm staying right here. Sleep."

After she'd drifted into a sound sleep, he allowed himself to begin to doze as well. Happy, happy dreams of mangling a certain Ronald Weasley.