Draco paced in the short hallway, back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Seizing on a moment of surety Draco strode through the door, throwing it open so hard it slammed against the opposite wall.
Stepping in Draco froze, not understanding the sight his eyes fed his mind.
Hermione lay on the floor, hair curling wildly away from her face. An arm pulled tight to her chest and a leg stretched out straight, elevated on the edge of the bed. Seconds passed, as he stared at her. He blinked three times before Hermione rolled her head over to look at him.
"Did you know that there are no pain receptors in the brain?" Hermione questioned hazily, eyes foggy.
"What?" Draco responded, bewildered.
"I guess you wouldn't know, being all down with muggles." Hermione's eyes drifted back to the ceiling.
"What?" Draco repeated.
"Are you broken?"
"What?"
He froze as her words penetrated his haze of confusion. Pain slid through his ribs, her absent-minded words tripped over the question that circled in his mind.
"You keep repeating yourself." He heard the words as if through a wall.
Panic surged in the back of his mind, his breathing picking up as it consumed all thoughts before it. Fear followed panic, its ever-faithful companion. His vision blacked out. Vision returned with a sharpening focus on his hand. Delicate fingers curled around his own. Eyes snapping up he found himself much closer to Granger than he had be before blacking out. Draco wrenched himself back, back slamming into the wall in his haste.
Draco searched her face. No foggy eyes now, only clear, calculating, sharp as rocks brown eyes boring into his own. He scrambled to his feet, Draco ran from the room, slamming the door behind him as if it could erase the last few moments of his life.
Draco fled the house in favor of the empty, freezing gardens. Granger trapped in his attic, and death eaters haunting his basement; chaos reigned. Questions screamed themselves through his mind, drowning out the screaming wind that tugged at his clothes. How had he ended up here? Hiding from everything, contemplating escaping. How far would he have to run to leave this life? Staring up at the manor, Granger crossed his mind. If he ran, she would die, for real this time. No one would be coming to save her, as far as they knew, she was already dead.
A sharp intake of breath; the only sign that Molly Weasley had heard a single broken word her youngest son had said. Eyes forward she watched the charmed knife work its way through the carrots.
"Mum?"
Her eye twitched.
"Mrs. Weasley?"
A tear streaked down her face, swiping at it quickly Molly turned, gathering the two boys before her tight to her chest.
"My boys, what happened?" voice thick with emotion as she questioned them.
Harry curled into the motherly embrace, hugging her tight. She released them, motioning them to sit with her at the table. The dark air of #12 Grimmuald Place accent the dark tale. Ron began, an unknowing mistake, a single word, lead to a chase in the woods. Caught, they did the best they could to disguise Harry. Bellatrix, ready to kill them, had held Hermione hostage when Dobby appeared to save the day. Dobby hadn't made it out, but then neither had Hermione. When Dobby had loosened the chandelier, Hermione had attempted to run, but Bellatrix would not release her captive easily. That split second it took to for free Hermione to herself proved too much, and the chandelier crushed her.
Harry took over the tale, the tears running down Ron's face. Ron and Dobby had pulled Harry away, Dobby taking a knife to the chest in the process. After burying Dobby and ensuring that both guests of the cottage were taken care of Ron and Harry had apparated to the stoop to tell their tale. Together, Molly and her sons wept over the loss of a daughter, friend, champion of good. Together, they mourned.
Draco sipped at his lukewarm tea, low burning fire straining his eyes. No solution had appeared to him. No way around the torture. Granger would never willingly submit to revealing information about Potter or the order. Pain erupted in his chest; he clamped his eyes down hard, forcing away the tears. Crying would not help him now.
A week passed. Hermione could stand on her ankle without shooting pains, though her ribs still reached to each breath. She had scoured every inch of the room, finding nothing to keep her mind busy. About day four she had started to draw in the dust that seemed accumulate each night. Day six found Hermione pacing wildly, something ready to burst. Day seven, things changed.
Breakfast appeared on its normal tray, oatmeal and a glass of water. The door opened about dinner time, Hermione glanced up, hungry for more than a meal. The lack of mental stimulation, or conversation left an ache to feel human.
Malfoy stepped through the door after dark. He turned completely to close it, his back tight. Neither spoke a word, tension filling up the small room. Hermione jumped when his fist connected with the door hard enough to echo. He turned to the wall, yet to make eye contact. Three steps, he spun putting his back against the wall and sliding to the floor. Hermione, seated across the room watched in wonder as Malfoy cradled his hand to his chest, curling in on himself.
Hermione stared at Malfoy, catching the dark purple smear across his left eye, the deep bruise peeking out of the cuff of his dark button-down shirt. Hermione felt a wave of sympathy wash through her, followed quickly by anger and confusion.
Anger won out, "What do you want Malfoy?"
His response came by pulling his limbs tighter to his chest, his head sinking further. He murmured something into his knees.
"What was that?" Hermione spat back in a tasty tone, then gasped when Malfoy pulled his head up.
A black eye so fresh it only could have been given a few hours ago matched the split lip that seemed ready to burst open again at any moment. Malfoy's neck sported finger marks, large and wide.
"I have to torture you, or watch my mother be tortured. I have to choose, you or her."