The reception for the last chapter floored me – thank you to all those who took the time to let me know what they thought, and a shout out to those I can't reply to personally. You are all wonderful. Yes, the update was slow, but I have reasons, really! Firstly, it's fall, and I've got a social life. Yay! Secondly, I'm working on a Samhain challenge at Granger Enchanted, and it's a multi-chaptered fic about Draco, Hermione and an apple. I will be posting that here by Halloween, so look for it. It's going to be cute. Which is scary, because I don't do cute. As you soon will see. On with the story!

LCailan

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

She was gone.

It was strange that he couldn't hold onto something he wanted so much.

Don't you love me, Hermione?

The pathetic words echoed over and over in the recesses of his tortured mind. No matter how many times he cleared his mind, those words returned, mocking, poking at him, as if laughing at him and how stupid he had been.

Perhaps, he had been wrong, and his own feelings had clouded what the reality was. What if his feelings had always been one-sided? After all, lust was something altogether different from love. One did not have to follow the second, for they were mutually exclusive.

She wanted me.

But a good shag, well, he could get that anywhere.

Stuffing his hands into the long, warm pockets of his cloak, Draco had turned and fled, the image of the lights burning within the alienage imprinted on his mind, even after he had been long gone. Home had not been an option; Draco wondered if he was ever going to go back there again. Let Astoria have the damned house, everything in it. It wasn't like he didn't have the money or means to rebuild again, somewhere else. And seeing her face made him want to revisit what he had eaten for supper.

No, he wouldn't be able to see Astoria until after the red faded from his vision and his hands stopped trembling with the desire to choke her.

That bitch betrayed me!

He swallowed this bitter pill.

It wouldn't even be an issue if you hadn't gone and fallen for some silly Mudblood.

It was easy to be angry with Hermione now, Draco realized. He took a few moments to wallow in the feelings of bitterness, even though he knew they were self destructive. Wishing to cause her pain, to see her suffer, and to be angry with her would not bring Hermione back; she had made her choice, and the choice hadn't been him.

What's it matter? Even if she had loved you, she'd still have chosen Lily.

This, too, he wondered about. If he had loved Astoria, the way a man should love his wife, would he have been able to sit back and watch Scorpius suffer at the hand of is own mother? Was it simply his lukewarm affections that had made it so easy to loathe her?

Draco didn't know.

Thinking only for a split second, he apparated into Westminster, for here, even this late at night, the glistening, soggy city still teemed with nightlife. He didn't want to be alone, after all. Alone meant thinking about his losses and cradling a heart that was tattered and battle weary, and he had most certainly lost the battle. He wanted a distraction and perhaps something a bit strong to get his mind off of Hermione.

Draco had forgotten that no amount of alcohol had ever helped get her off his mind before, but he was sure going to try. The inclement weather was keeping most people off of the streets, but he found that many of the pubs were filled to the brim with humanity, both Muggle and wizard alike. He often found it amusing at how this new wizarding society had no qualms about mingling with those they hated. It was outright hypocrisy and it made Draco sick.

He found was he was looking for; it was a rather large pub on the corner of Piccadilly, one of those places with tables lined up wall to wall and a large bar table that was overcrowded with patrons being served by frazzled barkeep. The air was warm, dry and redolent of cigars. He'd piss the night away, hopefully getting so besotted he'd have to be carried back out into the early morning light to find his way home. At least that would be a distraction.

Pulling off the heavy cloak, Draco tossed it over his shoulder and stalked with determination towards the bar, managing to squeeze himself into the crowded space rather gracefully, given the circumstances. Once he had a drink in hand, he turned to survey his surroundings; he hoped one of the small wooden tables was empty, preferably in one of the dark, secluded corners.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side; in fact, he was having the worst luck of the century, he realized, when he spotted Marcus Flint and a group of officials from the Ministry behaving uproariously in the center of the pub. For a moment, Draco wondered if he had made a miscalculation and perhaps, another, more quieter pub was in order. But before he could actually move from the bar, one of them called out.

"Oi, look! It's the King of the Ministry!"

The others burst into laughter that seemed ill suited for a joke that wasn't really that funny. Flint stood up, weaving for a moment and then lifted his stein towards Draco.

"A toast!" he slurred. "To our fearless boss, the git with the irresistible golden prick!"

Draco found the toast rather ironic; the woman he did want clearly had no issues resisting any of his charms, including, apparently, his golden dick.

He approached the table, working to remove the look of disgust from his face, knowing if he didn't stop, they'd wonder at his mood. But, if he did, he'd have to spend a significant amount of time keeping company he had no desire to keep, and listening to sicken, innocuous conversation.

"What are you getting on about, Flint?"

Draco took a healthy swallow of his whiskey knowing he'd need it, for more than one reason.

Flint ignored the question, and stumbled back towards the bar holding the empty stein which he had sloppily drained during his oafish toast.

Mulciber grinned, wiping the beer from his chin.

"Don't fret, boss. He's just bitter 'bout Pansy, you know."

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"What about Parkinson?"

"All that work keeps you out of the loop, yeah? He told us she gave him the slip tonight. Kicked him out of the flat and everythin'."

With that, he laughed, as if the idea of a broken relationship, even between two people like Flint and Parkinson, was extremely funny. Draco bit his tongue and took another swallow of his drink just as Flint stumbled back into the table, belching and then draining half his ale in one fell swoop.

It was disgustingly impressive.

"Aw, I don' wanna talk 'bout that minger an'way," he slurred, slipping into his seat and nearly taking Rookwood and Macnair down with him.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes at the disgusting way that Flint was referring to a woman he had bedded for years.

"That so-called minger happens to be your long-term bed partner, you gormless prat."

Flint's dark eyes flashed hatefully in Draco's direction, his face pale and dotted with perspiration. He looked even worse than usual.

"Defending her, are ya?" he challenged. "She'd love that, wouldn't she? Stupid trollop's still hung up on you!"

Draco winced, not thrilled with the direction that the conversation seemed to be taking, and the fact that Flint was suddenly no longer mellow and jovial but angry and territorial. All he needed that night was a pub fight and the repercussions from his aunt that were sure to come, because fighting amongst those in the Ministry was 'conduct unbecoming' of a Ministry official who held high rank.

"I'm not defending her."

He offered a quieter tone, hoping to calm Flint.

It's just that I'd rather her have a distraction in you than to focus all her energies on me.

"Stupid bitch doesn't know what's good for 'er."

Flint took another swallow from his stein, slopping it unceremoniously across the front of his shirt.

"She's off her rocker, she is," Rookwood commented shaking his head.

Then he offered Draco a calculated glance.

"D'you hear about the raid in Paddington? Turns out Zabini really was whoring it up with some Mudblood bint and got her pregnant. They nearly got the babe, too, but I guess the shite got away."

Draco swallowed more whiskey, hiding his expression behind his glass, hoping it was too dark and smoky for any of his drunk companions to guess that he was simply putting on an act.

"No, the poor sod. What happened?"

Flint got to his feet unsteadily, blinking, as if to clear his vision.

"I'll tell ya what 'appened! But firs' I gotta get another drink," he muttered, stumbling through the crowd, and by some miracle, managing to stay on his own two feet.

Draco's heart had stopped. At least he'd get a bit of information out of having to spend time with Flint and his cronies. And the truth was, if he hadn't already sold his soul to Voldemort years before, he would have done it now, just to find out how his wife was involved in the mess with Zabini.

He yanked Flint to a stop, making the dark haired man cry out.

"Hey, geroff me!"

"You don't need another drink, Flint."

His eyes were as hard as steel.

"I know my wife turned Zabini in. Do you know why?"

He remained tense, his fist closed tightly around the sleeve of Flint's shirt.

"Your wife?" he slurred. "Eh, she jus' had the information! It was Pansy. She had it in for Zabini, she did. Bitch was angry because they were taking Lily Potter away from her. D'you hear that?"

Draco swallowed, suddenly feeling a violent lurch in the pit of his stomach.

Merlin's saggy left tit, I'm going to fall over.

The thought hit him just as he reached for the sticky bar counter in an attempt to stay standing. Luckily, he managed to power through the feeling of being sick.

"I…may have heard something, yes."

It was a lie, for Draco had heard nothing, hadn't received an owl, or even a comment. But that didn't matter.

Flint was trying to focus his vision, his eyes crossing from too much drink.

"Rookwood had sent me an owl the other mornin', and when I found out about the child, I told Pansy the order had come from Zabini, ya know. She saw red, she did. Went on a rampage, and she was right bloody livid that she couldn't do anythin' about it."

He gave Draco a lecherous grin.

"Then that sweet thing you call a wife happened to be there. I don't think that was a coincidence."

Draco's fingers closed more tightly around his glass as he stared at Flint. No, it wouldn't have been a coincidence, he knew. Astoria was as ruthless as she was beautiful, and even though, under normal circumstances and what was deemed appropriate for a woman of her standing, he would have never guessed her to do something so underhanded, he also knew that when in one of her bouts of rage, he would put nothing beneath her.

Including, apparently, breaking into my office.

Now, Draco was sorry he had ever mentioned Ministry business to his wife, whom had never shown any interest. His mind flickered back to numerous nights when he had been subjected to sitting with his wife in the same room after dinner, and making small talk to keep the tension at a tolerable level. He couldn't remember all that he had told her, for most of it had been minute work detail – talk that he had never imagined her to be interested in. Indeed, she had often laughed him off, telling him she had no time or patience for the horrid place he worked.

But clearly, he had underestimated his wife; she had managed to read between some of the lines and had remembered that the issues with Zabini went back months and months. He knew he HAD mentioned the rumors about Zabini – maybe not in great detail and never with any of his suspicions, but he had made talk about it all the same.

She must have been planning this! But why? And why Pansy of all women?

Though Draco was no conceited enough to believe that Astoria felt any great affection towards him, in spite of their nearly seven year long marriage, he was no fool and he knew that both Pansy and Astoria loathed one another. Pansy's hatred was easily definable; he knew Pansy wanted him, and he was married to Astoria. His wife's hatred of Pansy had always been more difficult to understand. In the end, he had chalked it up to Astoria's propensity for selfishness and territorialism.

So what are they doing?

The idea that his own wife had been plotting against him made Draco's blood run cold. Had he been so wrapped up in Hermione that he hadn't seen it? No. Impossible. Though Granger, for whatever reason, was his weakness, he hadn't ever been so blind-

"Oi, you wanker! You listenin' ta me?"

Flint had spoken over a fresh pint of ale, his eyes glazed. Draco offered a congenial smile.

"I apologize," he responded, giving his best effort at chumminess. "My wife, as you know, can be rather determined, so no, I don't think it was a coincidence."

Please, please, please let him know why!

It wasn't like he could come out and ask, so he could only hope that Flint would be drunk enough to tell. And, for once, luck smiled down on Draco.

"She's got Pansy watchin' ya, mate! The regular jealous wifey, she is, eh? Maybe you haven't been slippin' it to her enough, yeah?"

Draco's face paled, and his lips turned down into a livid sneer.

"What are you talking about?"

Flint let out a hyena-like laugh, spilling some of his drink.

"Are your daft, mate? Astoria is jealous! Even a blind wanker ought to see that, eh? I don't get it, Malfoy! You're not exactly a pleasant fellow, are ya? And yet, you've got every bitch in this city panting after you like the bitches they are. So explain that to me, or at least let me in on your bloody secrets. Pansy and I had a thing and you've gone and fucking ruined it."

Draco stared down at the top of the bar, blinking for a moment, completely taken aback by what Flint had just revealed. He had expected any number of vapid reasons for Astoria's motivation, but never had he believed it had anything to do with-

She's made a deal with Parkinson to watch me? Could she really be jealous? This whole time?

He shook his head, floored by that possibility for it gave him a heady, dizzying feeling of control. That faded within seconds, replaced by what he knew was the truth.

"She's not jealous, you dimwit. You'd think, meeting her enough times, that you would know what she's like. It's about propriety for her. Appearance. What things look like, not what they are. She doesn't care about me."

Flint drained his ale and blinked at Draco blearily.

"Maybe. She wants to know if you're fucking the Mudblood."

Taken aback, Draco swallowed.

"She's delusional!

His lie was nonchalant, but inside, terror gripped him.

Flint rolled his eyes.

"Actually, come to think of it, both of them want to know."

Draco shook his head.

"How do I even know you're telling me the truth?" he hissed leaning towards Flint. The thoroughly pissed man laughed.

"Payback is a barmy bitch, mate. She'll get what's comin' to 'er."

Draco nodded. This, at least, was true.

One good turn deserved another, after all.

The two women sat side by side, clasping hands. The hard plastic chairs that sat outside of Pansy Parkinson's office were more than just uncomfortable. Hermione wondered if that's how Pansy wanted it; anyone who came to visit her would be on edge from the beginning.

Strange, wayward thoughts nibbled on the edges of her conscience, and the whole of the morning she had spent in a daze, not even certain if Ginny, Justin or anyone had tried to speak with her. She knew that, several times, Ginny had tried to talk to her, but for the life of her, Hermione could not recall now what had been said.

She was gripped by fear, her hands and other extremities icy with it, and her stomach had been unsettled for hours, churning violently so that she had vomited up her meager breakfast. Luckily, there hadn't been much, for Hermione had forgotten how bad it as at the alienage.

That morning she had awoken her toes and fingers frozen, to find that during the night the officials had come and taken away a group of Muggle-borns to replace the new ones to come that night. Her heart had wept for the ones that were now gone, hoping that their deaths had not been too painful. Then, she had begun to think of Marcus Flint inside the row buildings, and finally, of Pansy Parkinson to whom she would soon belong.

But, that was worth it.

It has to be. I have to be strong, and this is the right thing for Lily, and for Ginny. They didn't deserve this hell. No one does, but least of all them! They were too good to me all those years.

So, instead of sobbing into her lumpy pillow, Hermione had swallowed her fear, and gotten up, trying to keep her threadbare blanket around her shoulders to ward off the cold.

Thankfully, Ginny had taken Hermione's arrival at the alienage in silence, not asking any questions, not making any comments, although her eyes had flickered in the other woman's direction several times with concern. If she had wondered why Hermione was no longer working for Malfoy, she didn't ask.

The worst part, Hermione had come to find, was Lavender.

The blonde woman had watched her all morning with a mixture of contempt and knowing that drove Hermione mad. The look in Lavender's blue eyes was one of understanding.

She knows where I've been, and what's happened. She knows how I feel about-

Yes, it was the worst part, because those knowing blue eyes reminded Hermione of Malfoy, of what she had left behind, of all the things he had told her the night before.

I love you, Hermione.

She closed her eyes as a shield against her feelings.

Don't you love me?

What did it matter, even if she had? What did love have to do with Lily and the position they were both in? Would love change the fact that he had taken the Dark Mark so long ago? Would it change the fact that her parents had been Muggles?

What we had doesn't even matter? I only did it to save Lily's life, and now I know I shouldn't have trusted him!

That part hurt the worst, and no whispered admissions of love had lessened the sting of betrayal. It was what it was, and now, Hermione had the means with which she could help Lily, and she would focus on nothing else.

What could have been is over. What could have been is impossible, and what was shouldn't have happened. That's all.

She winced, her heart aching with every beat.

It doesn't matter what I thought I felt. What I was hoping he felt. It just doesn't.

Ginny's touch broke Hermione's sad reverie, making the other woman jump slightly.

"You all right?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'm fine."

The hallway of the building was empty, but it was blessedly warm, unlike the rest of the alienage. It filled Hermione with a feeling of bitterness.

That's right. You can spend the whole of the coming winter keeping warm while those around you freeze to death. So long as the Ministry is well and thriving, that's all that matters, yeah?

Next to her, Ginny sighed.

"Hermione, I haven't asked much about what is going on."

The two friends gazed at each other for a moment.

"I just want to know what's going on. Why we're here. I don't want to see that woman."

Ginny shuddered, and it made Hermione feel bad. Even worse than what she already did. She liked her lips for her mouth felt incredibly dry.

"I promised you I'd help make sure Lily was all right, and I'm doing just that. I promise," she vowed, putting her hand over Ginny's.

She flashed back to the night before, turning herself into the night officer, telling him she needed to see Pansy Parkinson. He had reported the request, and Pansy had agreed instantly, setting up an exchange that morning. Hermione felt like a prisoner; she was offering one life to spare another. She didn't believe Pansy would allow her a sweet death, for that would be too easy. She knew the possibility of what she was facing and-

And, I won't think of it. I won't until I have to, and even then, I won't think of what is happening. I'll think of him. I'll think of him because he loves me.

He loved her, and she had walked away from him.

A tear rolled down her face and Ginny, distraught, reached over to wipe it from Hermione's pale cheek.

"Please, talk to me."

"I can't."

The silence was only broken by the occasional word or laugh from behind closed doors, and the sound of footsteps as they passed from one place to another. Hermione never said another word, but she wondered what was keeping Pansy Parkinson.

She was late.

Central London

The little girl stood behind Pansy, her wide, green eyes round with anticipation. Pansy had told her they were going back to her mother, and for the first time in months, there was emotion on the child's face, tears glittering in her green eyes, and she made a strange sound, to which Pansy nearly smacked her.

How she had loathed the child! How she had hated doing this – taking care of another human being that she hadn't even wanted to, all in hopes of securing what she believed should have been hers from the beginning.

Finally, she had received the communication she had hoped for; Hermione Granger had offered herself in exchange for Lily's Potter's return to the alienage.

Sure took bloody long enough!

She questioned as to why now, and not before, but she wasn't stupid enough to contemplate or voice her questions. She would simply accept the offer, and then make sure the Mudblood never saw the light of day again. It's not like she gave a bloody damn about the other woman, it was more that Draco seemed to, in spite of his marriage and in spite of everything. That was what bothered Pansy; that was what she loathed more than anything else in the world.

And so, she was going to make sure that he wouldn't have anyone else to care about. She wasn't worried about Astoria, for she believed wholeheartedly that Draco cared nothing for his wife. But, the Mudblood…well, that was entirely something different. She didn't understand it, and inexplicability bred fear within her, and that fear motivated her.

It wasn't like she could kill the Mudblood outright. The Ministry would ask too many questions, and in some way, Draco would resent her. No, she'd have to find another way to get rid of her. Perhaps, send her away to be killed elsewhere. Have someone else do it, make it look like an accident. She had options, but she needed time. And while she waited, she'd keep the woman close, for having her close meant having ultimate control.

Draco wouldn't interfere; she would do as she pleased.

Pansy turned towards the child.

"Move, we're leaving now," she ordered, and just as the little girl took a step forward, there was a sharp, hard rapping on her door.

"Bollocks," she muttered under her breath, thoroughly irritated that someone had to come calling at just that moment.

Pink-faced, she swung open the door.

Draco Malfoy stood on the stoop, his silver eyes flashing dangerously. He looked disheveled; it seemed as he hadn't slept. His platinum hair was plastered to his face from the earlier rain, and there was dirt on his boots and the bottom of his heavy traveling cloak.

The smile he offered was menacing.

"Surprised to see me, Parkinson?"

He sneered at her.

"Bad time?"

Pansy swallowed. She knew something was not right, and all her earlier concerns and thoughts faded in light of Draco's unexpected arrival.

"I was just leaving, but if you have something you need to speak to me about, I'll be at the office in the alienage."

Draco took a step in, and he left muddied footprints behind him.

"Yes, I do have something to talk to you about, but, no, I won't be talking to you at the alienage. We're going to have it out now."

Pansy rolled her eyes, reaching for her long coat.

"Says who? Do you declare yourself in charge of my personal life, where I go, who I see, and when you and I will speak? Sorry, Malfoy, I'm leaving."

She moved forward, forcing her head high even though she was a bit afraid of the look on Draco's face, but he stopped her in one harsh, yet graceful move.

"You're not going anywhere."

His voice was smooth, a whisper of sibilant quality. She pushed against him, but found him unyielding and his expression unforgiving.

"Get out of my way, you complete prat!"

As she watched, his lip quivered up into a satisfied smirk.

"Not until you give me the child."

Pansy smiled in return, which caused his smirk to fade, replaced by uncertainty.

"Is that what you want, Draco?" she purred.

He paused, confused at the sudden change in her. At first, he had been glad to see she was afraid, but now, she was offering him a secret smirk of her own, as if the whole situation amused her. This made Draco livid.

"It's not even about what I want. It's about what I'm going to get. Now. Hand the child over."

This time, Pansy laughed.

"I already have!"

She stepped away from the doorway, allowing him to see the child. Lily stood still, watching them in silence.

"I suppose both of you finally came to your senses, didn't you? Bloody time, I say. As I said, I'm going to the alienage to make the exchange."

She smirked once more.

"Hermione Granger's mine."

The pleasantries in her tone caused Draco to snap. Moving quickly, he yanked on Pansy's shoulder, pushing her back into the apartment and slamming the door shut behind her. Then he advanced on her, his face white.

"No, she's not."

Pansy laughed at him, a mocking, cruel sound, in spite of it's beauty.

"Oh? Pray tell me how you've gone and decided that?"

"Trust me, once you know what I know, you'll do as I say."

Then, with that, he dragged her out of the living room so they could be alone.