You all rock – thanks guys! 'Tis the next update, in which Draco is nobody's savior. Did I mention this is not fluffy Dramione? I think I did, a long time ago. (Yes, that was a hint – what lies ahead is slightly sad). This wasn't easy to write – I hope it's ok. Let me know, I'm a bit nervous about it. :)

LCailan

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the dusty courtyard, all havoc had broken loose, for hell had never seen fury like Pansy Parkinson scorned.

The woman in uniform reached over and grabbed Ginny by the collar of her blouse, yanking her away from the three children and Hermione, causing her to lose her footing and stumble. The enraged Pansy then turned her wand on Ginny with one graceful movement, pointing it at her frightened face, and her free hand clamped down on the other girl's shoulder forcefully, pushing her backwards.

"What are you doing here? I don't house purebloods, even if they are stupid mudblood sympathizers. You should be in Azkaban, you blood traitor."

Her tone was nasty, and her eyes glittered with menace as they took in each of the children.

"The whole filthy lot of you."

Her eyes moved back to Ginny, her wand still raised.

"I don't know why we're here!" Ginny stated defensively. "All I know is that the other morning we were told we were to come back here. They wouldn't allow me any questions!"

Pansy's glittering violet eyes narrowed as she studied the redhead. She had no reason to lie, after all. And even if she were lying, they'd know it soon enough. She let the girl out of her vise-like grip reluctantly, taking a step back but not lowering her wand.

She knew the only other person who had any power at the alienage was Draco.

A part of Pansy's heart whimpered at the thought of him, and the rest of it – the largest part – seethed in anger. She hated him. It was a long standing hatred, because he had never wanted her, not while they had been at Hogwarts together, and not now - even after she had climbed the ladder in the Ministry and now held one of the top positions within it. Pansy had never understood his aversion to her, and therefore, over time had developed resentment in relation to him, although it was only thus because she wasn't getting what she wanted. A part of Pansy knew that if Draco turned those mesmerizing eyes in her direction with even a fraction of interest, she would forget she had ever hated or resented him.

And recently, Pansy knew he had begun to resent her – having to work with her and see her everyday. And for the life of her, Pansy couldn't figure this new side of him, especially the tiny, insignificant things he did…and did not do.

What enraged her most was the fact that she could see these changes, but she had no right to mention them, even if they were slowly killing her inside with anticipation, confusion and a gaggle of other emotions she refused to identify.

And why can't I mention them?

The sun beat down on them and Pansy felt sweat under the collar of her starched uniform. It only increased her irritation as she thought of Draco Malfoy.

Because he's not mine, and no matter how much I want him, I can't claim him whatsoever. Not his moods, decisions or what he's thinking. Merlin knows I should be able to, but I can't.

What did it matter if she held a top official's job, if she was pureblood, if the world they lived in now was quite opportune, if she couldn't have what she had wanted for so long?

How long have I wanted him?

Forever, it seemed. From the moment they had met as ten year olds at one of Lucius Malfoy's gala events.

How dare he marry someone else! How dare he marry Astoria, the porcelain bitch doll and never even consider me! How dare he regard me as not good enough? I am Pansy Parkinson! I have never been denied anything!

She knew she was acting like a petulant, spoiled child, but she hardly gave a damn.

Pansy could not prove it, but she was certain that the return of the bloody Potter family was Draco's doing – and his decision had something to do with Mudblood Granger. She had seen him watching her. Not once, but twice in the last weeks.

The anger she felt was so strong, it felt less like an emotion, and more like a solid train that had hit her. Pansy nearly shook with it. And her anger had an unfortunate way of affecting those around her.

"You!"

She jabbed Justin in the side with her wand.

"Get back to work, you filthy piece of nothing. You're not on a jolly holiday. Go!"

Hermione only had a moment to give Justin a look of sympathy before she whirled around to see Pansy pull Ginny forward again, with increased anger now.

"You're coming with me! We'll get to the bottom of this mess!"

The declaration was followed by a cry from James. His voice was demanding and clear enough that everyone in the vicinity heard.

"You let her go!"

Hermione winced as Pansy turned, enraged.

"You dare raise your voice to me, you insignificant little brute?"

A jet of red light erupted from the tip of Pansy's wand before the words even fell from her lips.

"Stupefy!"

Without thinking, Hermione threw herself in the path of the spell, pushing James aside. The curse hit her and she tumbled forward with a great force, airborne for just a fraction of a second before she hit the dusty earth again, skinning her elbow, both knees and her chin. Only a groan escaped Hermione's dust covered lips. Above her, Pansy was giggling as if what had just happened was the funniest thing in the world.

"Stupid Mublood always getting in the way, aren't you?"

She prodded her in the side with her booted foot, and Hermione wondered why Pansy Parkinson seemed so…embittered. She pushed herself up on her hands, scrambling forward, away from the woman who held her wand aloft. Her heart pounded inside her chest.

Do they really all hate us this way? How can anyone hate without reason?

"You think you might want a duel?" Pansy was mocking now, calling after her gleefully. "How would you fight me, Mudblood? With your hands?"

Pansy laughed cruelly and twirled her wand with nimble fingers.

"Hmm…let's see what else might be fun," she murmured suggestively before leaning down over Hermione's prone, yet still struggling form.

For the second time in only over a month, the curly haired brunette began to writhe in burning pain, just as Pansy whispered, 'crucio' in a voice that perhaps a lover would use. Hermione could see the rage in those violet eyes just before her own fluttered shut in pain. Closing them tightly, she stilled herself with determination. She would not scream.

I won't scream. Won't scream. I won't. I won'twon'twon't-

The quiet courtyard, with its sun baked ground and stale hot air, was suddenly filled with the sound of tormented screaming.

The rest of the world, the Potter family, all of it – was gone. Instead, Hermione saw stars – stars that burned behind her closed eyelids and lit up the darkness. Darkness that was riddled in pain, and the pain seemed to grow, to unfold like some sort of hellish flower, so that soon enough she felt like her nerve endings were raw and on fire.

Hermione did not even know that the screams were her own until suddenly she could breathe again. It was as if just as suddenly as the pain had come, she was free of it, and lay on the hot ground, limp. Her tear smeared eyes opened and a wretched sound escaped her, and only then was she aware that she was on her back, staring up at the deep blue sky through a watery haze. Her whole body burned and she couldn't move, not even to check on Ginny and the children, or to find out where Pansy was.

Hermione knew she needed to gather her bearings so she could face whatever Pansy had planned for her next. Trying to help James would cost her dearly, but she was more than willing to pay the price. She rolled over on the ground, coughing weakly, expecting Pansy to laugh and mock her once again. But what she heard was a commanding voice – a voice very familiar – and undeniable. It stirred fear in her pain weakened heart.

But what made Hermione sick with shame was the fact that along with the fear, it stirred hope within her.

Hope?

How can I put hope in Draco Malfoy? How could I even think something like that?

"Parkinson!"

A bark – no – more than a bark, really. A command that dared to be defied.

"Take the blood traitor and the children to the kitchens. We're short handed today."

Hermione, only vaguely aware of Lily's soft crying, tried to move, to shift on the dusty, hard ground. But she couldn't.

"Mudblood, you get up."

And just like she had at the Weasley's decimated flat a month ago, Hermione struggled to follow orders given by a man whom she hated. But her body refused, torture having spent her completely. Her eyes were still wet with tears of pain and she opened her parched mouth to speak.

"I…I-I can't."

Her words were hoarse and thick. Her eyes watered once more.

This time, the tears were not from pain. This time she cried because she was ashamed of her weakness, of the fact that these others had such control over her, and that she was nothing – just a silly little mudblood they were going to play with until they decided to kill her. She cried because in this new world, she didn't have the strength to move.

And it shamed her to have to say she couldn't.

Hermione watched, helpless to shrink back, as Malfoy reached down and yanked her forward, on her feet, pulling – pulling hard – and for a moment she felt she was going to be sick. The dizziness was overwhelming, and she bent over, trembling, holding back her meager breakfast, afraid of shaming herself even more. The sun beat down mercilessly, and Hermione wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with a trembling hand, and only then did she stand up straight, her brown eyes haunted with pain and helplessness.

No. I won't be weak. It's what he wants, and I won't allow him to break me. I won't show him I fear him. I won't ever hope in him, I won't.

The thought renewed her, and with that Hermione lifted her chin, giving him a glare. Nothing. There was nothing in those eyes, and nothing in his expression which alluded to what he was thinking. That was, if he was thinking anything at all.

He simply stared at her coldly.

"Go."

Malfoy had stepped behind her and with a rough shove she stumbled forward across the courtyard, moving away from the rest of the compound, towards the long drive in the distance. Hermione moved mechanically, her limbs obeying him, even as her heart and mind raged against him. The others who happened to be about pretended that they hadn't seen what had happened, and acted like she didn't exist. The wiry haired witch floated across Hermione's weary conscience once again.

We're all dead, don't you worry.

Behind the large building that housed the kitchens stood a smaller building made of brick and stone, and it was here that Malfoy stopped her, yanking roughly on her tattered skirt.

"Maybe a day without food and water will remind you that you're not in charge here, you dimwitted wench."

His words were uttered in a serpentine like fashion, his eyes narrowing into glittering slits, a storm raging in their depths.

"I have enough trouble keeping people in line here without you picking fights with Pansy Parkinson!"

He shoved her behind the building where she could see a small, wooden door.

Hermione was hot, tired, in pain and humiliated. Yet something in her still rebelled and before she could stop herself, the words slipped from her mouth.

"I wasn't picking a fight!" she shot back heatedly. "I was defending a child! She was trying to hurt James!"

She stared at him, her breathing hitched and uneven, and he gave her a shove which sent her flying backwards against the building, the cold of the brick seeping into her bones. At least this felt good. Before she could gather her bearings, or even manage a proper breath, he was in her face. Hermione was startled and more than a bit uncomfortable, although something in the pit of her stomach lurched. His gaze was undeniable, and she couldn't muster the effort to tear her eyes away. She had never taken the time to even half notice him when they had been at school together, but surely she would have remembered a gaze like his. Certainly, something so commanding, something so…so beyond what was happening would have caught her attention before! But now-

Malfoy was evil. Heartless. A Death Eater.

That mark. He is as ugly inside as that mark on his forearm.

Hermione trembled even as he began to speak, his words slow and deliberate. His wand came up to press against her cheek. Hard.

"I know you're not deaf or retarded. So you listen to me, and you listen well."

Hermione shivered as his breath tickled her hair, and his warning was emphasized by a sharp smack of his wand against her cheek. She winced but he refused to let her move away from him, shaking her with each of his next words.

"She is in charge here. What she says is what goes. There's no arguing with her, no fighting back. It's not your place to speak, argue, or to even talk back unless we say so. You are nothing, do you understand me? How dare you even consider crossing her?"

Malfoy's gray eyes flashed hatefully and Hermione flinched, but she didn't respond. She refused to acknowledge his words, and this gave her a sense of satisfaction much like what she had felt the night she had lied to him before he had taken her wedding ring.

She could see the beginnings of a sneer cross his pale face and she found herself distracted by the fact that somehow, he wore it well.

"Nothing to say?"

His words were a sibilant murmur, and the look on his face infuriated Hermione so much so she felt herself quiver for a moment.

"At least I'm not afraid to be honest!" she challenged. "I don't hide behind Pansy Parkinson's sadistic skirts, or have my little team of heartless hit wizards do my bidding. You always were a coward, weren't you?"

Hermione could see that her words had finally elicited a response from Malfoy; he grew pale and his grip on her shoulders slackened. She grew bolder.

"That's right, Malfoy. I remember that day at Hogwarts when your parents begged you to join them and you went. You went even though you weren't sure, were you? Afraid of daddy, weren't you?"

Her eyes blazed with triumphant hatred.

"I don't care if you're afraid of Pansy. I don't bloody care if you're afraid of the whole world. I'm not! I don't care what you think."

His face flared with color and he let out a strange yelp. Before Hermione could think, his hand came up, and his palm connected with her cheek.

The smack was hard – the crack was louder than it should have been. At least, in Hermione's ears, which were ringing. Her face hummed with a sort of numbing pain and she suddenly felt a trickle of blood along the corner of her mouth, her hand coming up to cover it quickly. She wondered how hard he had actually hit her, for she was too numb to actually think.

Her eyes, which had welled up with tears of pain and surprise, turned up to lock with his defiantly.

Then her own hand came up and she reared back, giving as good as she had gotten.

For a moment, Draco thought everything had been going well. For a moment, he thought bringing back the Weaselette and her insignificant offspring had been the right thing – for he could see the joy in Granger's eyes, the light that was still there, like a fire that refused to die. Yes, for a moment, it had been worth it.

But then, everything had gone horribly wrong and now he stood there, and watched with disbelief and hidden amazement that she had the nerve to lift her hand against him. The smack stung impossibly, and his own hand came up to his face, his grey eyes widening. Her face was bright pink – from the smack, the heat and her anger. Her scraped chin was turned up defiantly and her brown eyes snapped like viciously.

Draco felt himself explode suddenly.

"You hit me, you stupid bitch!"

"You hit me first!"

Her outcry was high pitched, angry, tinged with self righteousness. He watched her fall back, slack against the building, as if all her strength had gone into that one smack and she was withered once more. Whatever sudden defiance she had been imbued with was gone now.

"You deserved it," he hissed against her face. "How dare you?"

Hermione refused to look at him.

"I deserved it?" she asked bitterly. "After I did nothing wrong? I thought those parents of yours raised you better, Malfoy. You're supposed to be higher class, or am I wrong about that? Aren't you purebloods the epitome of perfection? What with your impeccable manners and breeding? Didn't daddy ever tell you not to hit a woman?"

Her voice mocked him, dripping with hatred.

Draco felt increasing anger boiling within the pit of his stomach, and every inch of him stiffened with the confrontation, although he fought to stay cold and disconnected. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed this girl, this Mudblood, would ever raise her voice and hand against him. It was impossible. In this new world, it didn't happen. And yet it had.

"You're right. A wizard should never raise a hand against a woman. But you're not a woman. You're a Mudblood. You're filth. You're nothing."

He glared at her coolly, without emotion. Staring down at her like the nothing she was. He watched as she lifted her eyes up towards him, but looked away not wanting to look at her right then. She continued, her voice broken.

"That's what you say!" she cried out. "But I'm still human! I still have feelings! I can't help what I was born anymore than you can! Blood status can't dictate someone's humanity! You can't be mad enough to think that!"

It was then that made the unfortunate mistake of looking at her.

Draco had prided himself on his self-control, and he thanked God for it now. For, had he not been well practiced in such things, he would have gasped. Nothing had prepared him for the look of total devastation, helplessness and pleading that waited for him in the depths of those brown eyes.

She was crying.

He shoved away from her then, almost violently, and then yanked open the door of the storage cellar. Everything in him wanted her gone – for she made him feel things he didn't want to. Guilt was unacceptable. It just was. He wouldn't feel it. He would fight it.

"Shut up!"

He had meant it as a warning, but Draco heard the sound of his own voice, and it was hoarse and weak.

She would not, however, grant him such a favor. Her cinnamon colored eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

"You could have killed me the day you saw me on the street. Why didn't you? You could have killed me the night you raided our flats, but you didn't! You could have stood by and allowed Pansy to destroy me in the courtyard, but here I am! Doesn't that define your humanity? Doesn't that make us the same? I can't just stand by while they torment children!"

Tears oozed out of eyes that were impossibly expressive, and Draco felt himself trembling on the edge of a breakdown, because the truth was staring him in the face, and he just couldn't face it. Not now. Maybe, not ever.

"I told you to shut up!" he shrieked. "I'm nothing like you! Don't you dare compare yourself to me!"

Hermione stumbled backwards with the force of his vehemence, towards the small wooden door of the storage building.

"They're children!" she cried out painfully, still fighting. "Helpless, poor children! How can I stand back and allow her to hurt James like that? After everything the Weasleys have done for me?"

The tears had turned to sobbing, and she choked on her words. Draco felt disgust well up from within him, but that disgust was colored with something else. Something he refused to acknowledge.

"You're nobody's savior!"

He realized he had screamed only after the words had tumbled from his mouth, and then there was a heavy silence between them, the only sound being his uneven breathing.

Control. He needed control.

A breath. Another one. Just like before.

Draco didn't know why she had gotten under his skin, why her words and pleas seemed to touch a part of himself he was unable to protect. He felt himself grow angrier because he couldn't stop himself from caring.

"Get in there. You'll pay for what you've done. For everything you've done."

He watched as she stumbled through the small door and turned around, staring at him in silence, in pleading. She was no longer the woman she had been a second ago. Her eyes begged for his help, and Draco was both horrified and stunned at his own reaction, which he quickly hid, for it would have done him no good.

He had thought it would be fun to break her in – to see her cry – but now, it was as if all the pleasure was gone from it. Nothing remained but bloody guilt.

He slammed the door shut without another word. His face stung. His heart raced. He hurried back towards the alienage, wondering why the look in those eyes had made him want to apologize.

She was a stupid bint. She was nobody's savior. His heart twisted strangely within him. Although, perhaps they had more in common than he had originally believed, and denied with such vehemence. Her words echoed in his mind like a terrible, broken record.

You could have killed me the night you raided our flats, but you didn't! You could have stood by and allowed Pansy to destroy me in the courtyard, but here I am! Doesn't that define your humanity?

In spite of what she had just said, Draco knew he, too, was nobody's savior.