This chapter encompasses only a few moments of time, both at the train station and within Hermione's prison. I've set it up to introduce the character of Neville mostly, but also to kind of bring together the hopelessness of Hermione and Draco's places in the world. I thought I'd post it before Christmas. Enjoy!

LCailan

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The shrill sound of the whistle echoed along the stone walls of the train station as the massive locomotive pulled into the station. It whined down to a crawl and then stopped with a rush of air that rose and melted into the frigid night air.

He knew how to spot those who were coming from England; he had long ago memorized the expression on their faces, the fear, the uncertainty and sometimes even the hope. The hope was the best, he decided. It meant that not everyone had given up just yet and that was important. There would be no one to fight against the wizarding Ministry in England if they all gave up.

Sometimes Neville Longbottom wondered if he had given up. He liked to think he hadn't but there were dark moments of fear when he wished he had died with his parents and his Gran. But they were long dead now and he wasn't and sometimes one had to buck up and keep going. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy. It hadn't been easy since his Hogwarts days and the few moments in the Department of Mysteries when he had thought he would die. One would think after something like that, the rest of life would be a breeze. Too bad it wasn't like that.

He shoved his wide, long-fingered hands into the deep pockets of a black, woolen winter coat just like those ones that the Muggle businessmen wore during the cold months. He liked looking like a Muggle; it helped him fit into the norm and took attention away from what he was doing. And what he was doing required anonymity especially if the Ministry ever got wind of where all the Muggle-borns were going.

Shortly after the whistle had blown humanity began to flow out of the train and onto the platform. Neville stepped forward; he was a short, slightly pudgy figure in a long black coat and a matching hat that covered thick, messy hair and deep, kind eyes.

This time he wasn't looking for refugees. This time it was for a much happier reason. This time he was looking for Luna Lovegood Scamander.

Hermione stared at Draco her breath catching. The tears stopped coming as her eyes widened in shock.

"What have they done to you?" she gasped, choking on her words.

He seemed whole, although his pale, beautiful flesh was marred by purplish bruises and pink swelling. His winter cloak and the clothes he was wearing were still matted with blood and dirt although the rest of him seemed somewhat cleaner. Draco had been beaten and then shoddily put back together and the pathetic sight of him stirred something deep within Hermione making her want to weep and dry heave all at once. The emotions were so intense she found herself glad that she was seated, for she wasn't sure her legs could have supported her frail weight.

"We don't have much time," he replied raggedly, wishing that his head would stop spinning so much because he felt himself quelling the urge to vomit in the corner of her cell.

Each step, each breath, every single move made his body cry out in surrender. Death seemed a blessing and Draco couldn't remember a time when he had ever felt like this. Falling from grace had been unheard of and now he had fallen hard – so hard he felt broken into a thousand aching pieces.

"I won't tell them anything. Don't ask me to. Please."

Her words were hard and final and his response was a mewl of protest for he had little energy for more than that. Hermione saw his shadowed eyes glitter with tears.

"Do you know what they've sent me in here to do?" he hissed.

A part of him wanted to grab her, to choke some reason into her, to destroy the stubbornness that lived in her soul. Draco wanted to make her understand where they were and what was happening. The other part wanted to pull her and crush her to him so that he could find the oblivion that he sought within her arms.

Instead he trembled, feeling a vicious pounding to the back of his head, like a heavy bass drum. It bloody hurt.

"Do you know what they'll do to you if I don't?"

His words were squeaky and he saw the flickering of emotion across her face, the flash in her cinnamon-colored eyes.

"I'm dead either way, aren't I?"

He took a step forward.

"Tell me what they want to know, Hermione."

"You'll have to force it out of me," she replied calmly gazing at him without wavering. "It's what you've been sent in here to do, so you'll have to do it."

Draco stared at her for a moment and then he broke apart inside, exploding like something fragile, like something made of delicate glass.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Do you know what you're saying-"

He gagged for a moment.

"You'd want me to beat you and torture you? To murder you just like they want me to?"

Tears burned down his aching face and his tone was a mixture of pain and revulsion as he glared at her.

"Do you hate me that much?"

Hermione was crying silent tears.

"Not you," she whispered. "Them. Them. I hate everything they stand for and everything they are. They've destroyed me; they've destroyed everything and anyone they touched and I will joyfully die before I say anything to help them."

She tried to reach out, to pull the chained hand towards his, her fingers trembling just as her lips parted. He shoved away from her with vehemence and disgust.

"Them?" he yelled back. "Are you bloody fucking stupid, Hermione? I AM THEM!"

Tears of pain and rejection coursed down her face.

"Then prove it why don't you! Kill me now! Isn't it why they sent you in here?" she questioned hatefully but with more than a little fear and accusation. "Pansy wouldn't do it, you know. Even she's terrified."

Draco ran a hand through his fine, messy strands feeling fingers of panic reaching for his heart, trying to bring him down, to lock him, to destroy the last remnants of hope that he had.

"Yes," he said emphatically as he fell to his knees before her with a groan of pain. Her trembling fingers found his and she squeezed his hand to silence him. But his silence did not last.

"Yes, that's why they sent me here," he continued in the same, panicked whisper. "But you can stop this madness, don't you see? They want information more than they want you dead! It's not just about your hatred for the Ministry or all of my mistakes, Hermione. Other lives are at stake!"

She snorted with contempt.

"You mean lives within the Death Eater Ministry?" she scoffed pulling her hand from his roughly. "You might as well do it now because if that's the case, I'll never speak again."

He ignored her stubbornness, swallowing away another hateful reply and pushing forward.

"You can tell them something…anything, can't you? Yes! You can use Flinch-Fletchley's name…tell them it was him! He's dead, so what's it matter now?"

Just the mention of Justin's name sent Hermione's heart into a tailspin and she couldn't even speak for a few moments for her guilt and pain were so great. Had it been her fault? Had she caused all her friends and loved ones such pain simply by her being a Muggle-born? One think she knew for certain was that never would she give away those that had loved her.

Sighing, Hermione gazed at Draco and her expression begged for understanding.

"Even if I knew everything how could I turn my own people in?" she wailed. "How could you make me do something like that? How could I ever live with the guilt of a compromise with such evil? They're free! Let them be; Ginny, the children, Dean…Kingsley…all of them deserve that!"

Draco leaned against the wall next to her feeling lightheaded.

"Just a name, Hermione, please…" he begged.

"What good would it do? I don't know anything."

"You know enough."

"I don't know anything."

"You're lying!" he exclaimed, choking for a second on the breath that followed. It rattled in his lungs. "Just like you lied to yourself all those weeks, denying your feelings for me and what was happening between us!"

Hermione felt like she was smacked and for a moment she couldn't speak. He leaned across the distance between them, his dirtied hands running along the rusted chains that bound her and then allowing his fingers to get tangled in the confines of the loose, wild hair around her shoulders. Helpless to him, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as she felt his face pressed against hers; his warm and hers cool. Even under such circumstances she felt at peace and she held onto that sliver of emotion for as long as she could, before it slipped away once more.

"This is different," she hissed thickly, forcing herself away from his warmth lest he pull her under his spell. She would not be convinced.

"This is me protecting the people who protected me! I can't turn on them. Remember? You told me months ago that if it was a choice between the Ministry and me you'd choose the Ministry? Well this is the same thing! I'll die first!"

Draco stared at Hermione.

"No! I don't believe it's just about that! How do you know that protecting them now will help them later if you're dead? You know this isn't just about that!"

She watched, pained, as he struggled to a standing position and she could barely stand the pain on his face.

"Please just do what you came to do," she begged tearfully, closing her eyes against the sight of him. "Please…"

"You want to die so much you don't even give a damn about the fact that I have to be the one to do it?"

Guilt assaulted her and Hermione wished for death more fervently than ever before. If death came, there would be no more guilt.

"It's better this way, don't you see?" she begged him and when Draco looked at her he saw that she had lost all hope now. She was just a shell of the woman he loved so much it hurt. "If you do it, I mean. That way I'm with you when it happens and they won't get the satisfaction-"

Draco whirled on her his face flooding with indignant color and eyes flashing a stormy gray.

"Stop this insanity!" he screamed at her, his fingers reaching over to clasp her thin shoulders in their grip, tightening almost painfully against her flesh. She only whimpered with discomfort waiting for the moment. She didn't care; she wasn't ashamed. She only wanted death.

"Stop this, Hermione," he begged as he fought tears. "You've got so much life in you! You've got something to live for!"

She snorted with contempt and a sudden flash of self-hatred and despair.

"What does a woman like me have to live for?"

Her voice was broken and shameful.

"I'm a Mudblood and no one will ever see me otherwise," she sobbed. "I put my family in danger and my husband died because of who I am. I put Ginny's children in danger and one of them was tortured by the Ministry because of me! Justin died because of me!"

Her voice grew tremulous and angry.

"What does a whore have to live for?" she asked him hatefully. "Especially one who shamed herself with a Death Eater and a married one at that!"

The hateful, unbelievable words fell from her lips and shattered him completely. For a moment he was still and then his hand came up, smacking her across the face in his rage.

"How could you say that?" he cried out. "After what we've shared? After we found love amidst such darkness?"

She watched the disgust on his face and fought to remain strong against her guilt as he spoke.

"If Ron could see you now he'd roll over in his grave!"

Hermione gasped at Draco's words and the disdain with which he uttered them. Her hand came up as she let out a strange wailing sound. He felt the sharp blow as the palm of her hand connected with his face. His eyes closed at the impact and when he opened them again she was glaring at him, her body taut and pulling against her metal bonds.

"You loathsome bastard!"

"You selfish bitch!"

"Go to hell!"

Draco realized how hopeless the situation was; he could see now that he was fighting with the only person in the whole, cruel world that he loved. And somehow the Ministry was destroying even something as pure as that. He had prayed...he had hoped that their feelings were untouchable but the words, her slap, his actions were tainting the purity, smearing it with the darkness that had taken over the rest of the world.

"I'm ALREADY THERE!" he screamed in frustration, color lighting up his pale face.

"Don't you see, Hermione? We're BOTH there! THIS is hell. This is torture and we're allowing it to destroy us just like the Ministry is destroying everything else! And you have a way to help us! You can tell them what you know and spare us this…spare ME this living hell! But you won't because you'd rather die!"

Tears of anger burned down her face as Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"There's not guarantee!" she raged back. "Even if I do betray the WERA and tell you what I know they won't let me live even if I WANTED to!"

"But at least you'd die trying, wouldn't you? Why should be sit back and let them kill us when we can fight them the whole time?"

She began to sob in earnest.

"There's no point. They'll kill us in the end and I'm so tired, Draco! So tired!"

"There's death all around us, every day. You've seen it and God knows I have even though everyone thinks I've had it so easy! The truth is that they won't allow anyone to live in peace! They've stolen our lives and our souls and now they're trying to destroying everything else that we have and hold dear! There's death and misery all around us and yet, somehow, you're still alive!"

The tears slowed as Hermione's face changed from one of anger to one of disbelief.

"You'd act like the fact that I'm still alive is a privilege?"

"Isn't it?" he mocked. "When all others around you are dying, isn't it a blessing that you still live?"

"Shut UP!"

"No, you shut up and listen," he spat. "You're alive and you can still fight to stay that way and help others who have lost hope. Because of you and what you are I've found new meaning and I'll die first before I'll let you just…give up like this!" he exclaimed with vehemence, grasping her hand on the dirty, mildewed stone floor between them.

"You saved me and in turn, I took care of you."

She yanked away from him, trembling.

"Shut up."

"I fed you."

"Don't you say another word-"

"I clothed you and protected you while everyone around you-"

"Why won't you shut your bloody mouth!" she shrieked fighting against her bonds and the guilt that raged in her heart.

He was right; she had given up and for that she felt guiltier than she could ever have imagined. Ron was dead and so was Harry and more would die before this was over and she was still alive and if there was anything to be thankful for-

"And you want to die," he spat. "How shameful!"

"Get away from me!"

Draco managed to stand, his head spinning.

"What about Ginny's children?" he asked in a whisper. "Their grandmother, uncles and father are dead."

Hermione's body jerked visibly at the mention of the Potter children and Draco took the opportunity to play this new side of her emotions, swallowing the guilt that he felt at doing so.

"How many Weasleys are left, Hermione? There's only one twin left and what of the older ones?"

He paused, thinking about Blaise and the WERA for a moment and wincing at what he was about to say.

"They had a funeral last month. For Percy and Arthur Weasley. God knows that family is massive but how soon before they've all fallen for the cause and those kids are alone and orphaned?"

Hermione's face, when she looked up at him, was a painting of bleak brokenness and pain. He hated himself at the sight of it.

"Potter would want you to take care of those children; Ginny, too, if anything ever happened to her. All you've done, everything that you've gone through has been for THEM. Why do you want to give up now after all that? You can fight this, you can fight for the children and when you're free, you can find them again!"

He fell once more to his knees before her, his eyes begging.

"Please, fight now. I know you've been dealt blow after vicious blow and I know it hurts. I've long ago stopped feeling anything but numb until you walked into my life, Hermione. You have to find it in you to try and continue. For the children…and even for me, even though Merlin knows that I'm a part of this damned mess."

She was cracking; he could see her relenting, see the way her face softened as she gazed up at him and her dirty, trembling fingers reached to stroke his face tenderly.

"The children and you were my only reasons," she whispered and he caught a ghost of the light that shone deep within her. "My only reasons," she repeated breathily. "I'm just so afraid."

"I know," he replied, pulling her close against his body for a few, precious seconds. "I know. And I know I'm asking a lot of you," he continued plaintively. His fingers gently brushed aside rogue curls from her tear-streaked face so that he could see her better. Her eyes reflected reluctance and fear.

"There's very little reason for you to do this," came his admission. "Except that I'm telling you to, and you've trusted me. I'm asking you. Hermione, I'm begging you."

She bit her lip a choked sob escaping her. She sounded small and lost.

"I'm sorry I said those things about you. I love you, you know that…and I didn't mean it."

"And I'm sorry I hurt you. Over and over again."

She touched his face once more.

"Forgive me?"

"Tell me what you know," he whispered, holding his breath.

Hermione wondered if God would forgive her; she wondered if Ron and Harry would approve if they could see her. She knew that it was evil, turning in her own but if something happened to Ginny and the Weasleys that were still alive –

Oh, Gods, are Arthur and Percy really dead - ?

She would need to fight; she needed to try and stay alive in case…just in case.

"Justin told me…it's Kingsley," she admitted. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lee Jordan and Seamus Finnigan.

Forgive me, God. Forgive me Harry and Ron. I have to do this. I have to.

Draco's rigid, white face melted into relief, the edges softening, his jaw relaxing and his lips opening to speak. He looked positively weak from relief. But before he could actually speak, there was a strange yelping sound beyond the doors and then a laugh. A moment later there was a heavy thud and then the doors beyond the cell flew open. Fenrir stood framed in the doorway, his dark eyes flashing menacingly as his cracked lips turned up into a smile. Draco shuddered; the man looked more like an animal than a human. He charged at them, wand still aloft, the grizzly lines of his face turned down in determination and hatred.

"Time's up, poppet!" he called out to Hermione, his sugared tone marred with poison.

Hermione's eyes filled with fear and stubbornness and hanging her head she mumbled something and Draco could only stand statue still and pray…oh God, he was praying that she say something.

Say it. Say it…oh fucking Merlin on high, SAY IT!

"The WERA is being led by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Lee Jordan. They have a hideout somewhere in London and they're the ones who broke into the alienage. You'll need to find them. That's all I know."

Fenrir had shoved Draco out of the way and Hermione could smell him; it was a strange, metallic scent…body odor and something else.

"Is that so?" he asked, his shadow falling on the tiny woman that was crumpled in the wet, moldy corner.

His wand traced a line down her shoulder and into her long, curly hair. She was a sweet thing; she was sweeter in some ways even than Astoria Malfoy. The late Malfoy had been beautiful in an obvious way but this Mudblood, she was beautiful in ways that could not be described. She was a tiny, burning light amidst the darkness that the world had been plunged into. She was hope when the Ministry would have wanted hopelessness. She represented all the sodding good left in the world and Fenrir decided that having her in every way possible would be pleasant indeed. When they were done with her she would be his. Just like all the Mudbloods before her. He would take great pleasure in playing with her and then taking her apart piece by piece.

"And where, pray tell, can I find them, Poppet?" he growled out, moving slowly to crouch next to her.

Hermione fought with great difficulty not to gag, and setting her jaw she glared into his black, soulless eyes.

"I told you, I don't know."

Her voice was clear and unwavering. Fenrir offered a husky chuckle.

"That's not good enough then, is it?" he asked, pointing the wand at her. "Some live and some die…but you already know that, don't you, Mudblood?"

Draco sprung into action, knocking Fenrir's sinewy arm off balance so that the hairy man turned, glaring at him with contempt.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? I daresay you're in no bloody position to be touching me, are you?"

He advanced on Draco a moment.

"I wasn't going to really kill her, mind you. I want her alive for later," he growled huskily, his long, snake-like tongue running along the lines of his ragged lips. "You know what I mean."

Then he offered a grimace.

"But you…well, I never did decide what to do with you though Madame Lestrange is going to see you both dead anyway. I reckon she won't mind if I'm the one to start the festivities."

Draco moved until his beaten body hit against the wall and then for a moment he saw his whole, miserable, cold, unfeeling life flash before his eyes. Death had arrived, but Gods, he was glad that they had TRIED to stay alive. He only wished he were holding Hermione's life-saving hand while it happened.

The screams started then, angry, indignant screams that echoed down the long corridor and made Draco's head hurt. The three in the prison cell whirled around, Draco's face hopeful and Fenrir's one of surprise.

"What in the name of Voldemort-"

There was a crash and then light filled the corridor…green and then red. There was yelling and another thud and before Fenrir could make a dash for the doors Pansy flew into the room, out of breath.

"Stupefy!" she cried out.

At the sight of her, Draco suddenly realized that in spite of the darkness, there WAS still a God.

Neville spotted Luna over the crowds because she wore a queer little pink cap over her long, thin hair. There was also a scarf to match and the set brought out the gray in her lovely eyes.

"Luna," he called out, lifting one large, awkward hand waving it so that she wouldn't miss him. Not that she could, anyway. He wasn't exactly the kind of bloke one missed…a bit too short, a bit too heavy and much too ungainly. As she approached him a smile lighting up her face, Neville nearly tripped over the lumpy bag of a disgruntled looking man in front of him.

After he excused himself, Neville reached Luna and she hugged him tightly.

"Neville!" she exclaimed and then pulled away, studying him critically. "That hat is covering your head but I can tell you didn't get a haircut!"

Neville found himself turning a bit pink from her scrutiny but he couldn't help the smile that was on his face. He rather liked it when Luna noticed those little things; it made him feel like she cared for him as more than a chum. It helped the ease the small ache in his chest where he had nursed a crush on her from the time they had been in school. Luna had been the first girl to make Neville feel like more than just a boy; she had made him feel like a hero after what had happened to them, Harry, Ron and Hermione and the others in Dumbledore's Army.

"The most sought after Healer in all of Wales can't be going around with a proper trim, you know," she added playfully, leaning up to give him a kiss on his plump cheek.

It was these things that warmed Neville's heart. She was playful and kind. She had been his friend for years but something about the way Luna was often made Neville feel like they could have been something else even though they never had been. She had gotten married to another bloke; she had given birth to twin boys. It was never going to be the way Neville had imagined. Not that he was truly disappointed; he had never been the kind of bloke women dated anyhow and over the years he had gotten used to that. In fact, the only woman that had ever really noticed him had been Pomona Sprout. Neville had never thought on it much but in the grand scheme of things it was rather pathetic for any man to only be noticed by his Herbology professor.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, Neville offered Luna a lopsided smile, his cheeks flushing.

"Well then I suppose you'll have to take me to a barber."

She giggled at this; he rather liked her giggle because it reminded him of better times. It reminded him of when they had been just first years at Hogwarts and although they had known that evil existed (after all, she had seen her mother die and he had been raised by Gran because of what had happened to his parents) they hadn't been faced with it quite yet. They hadn't known how evil could darken everything in life and wipe joy and smiles from the faces of their friends. And erase the sound of laughter.

And now Harry was dead and much of the hope that had rested in his life was gone, crumbling along with the wizarding world that had fallen to Voldemort. These were dark times. Impossible times for the Muggle-borns and difficult for those that were fortunate to be called pureblood.

Except I don't feel fortunate! I'd give up my status if I knew my friends were safe and sound!

That's why he had kept in touch with those in London. Neville had felt like a coward at first (that never seemed to be far from his mind) because he had looked into the eyes of evil (and he really had because Voldemort had been right there) and then left Hogwarts and Scotland behind.

Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny had gotten away or so he had heard. There had still been hope then. Some of his friends had died, but he had been happy to know that most of them had gotten away. Some had fled to London and others to places he knew not. It wasn't like he had been connected to any of them anyway and during the panic that had ensued after the fall of Hogwarts; no one had cared where he had gone anyway.

So he had fled to Wales.

And at some point continued on with his education hoping to become a Healer because his Gran had always said he would be good at that. Plus, Neville had always secretly believed that Healers were like Angels. He liked the idea of being an angel. Some people fought on the battle lines. But there needed to be those who would help them when they were wounded. That's what Neville had decided hewould be. His Gran had told him warm, whispered stories of those who were secret angels, helping when all seemed hopeless. Gran was gone now and so were his parents but that didn't mean that he hadn't taken her words to heart. He had, and he was trying to be hope in the darkness.

Luna slipped her hand (covered in a bright pink mitten) into his. She smiled up at him and Neville thought that in such moments, he had made the right choice.

Hermione let out a rush of shocked air as Pansy dashed over Fenrir's body.

"Hurry!" she rasped as Draco sprung into action, his heart racing furiously.

"Diffindo!" he whispered, his voice quavering with each heartbeat.

Just as before, Hermione felt her bonds breaking and she tried to move as quickly as possible though her arms and legs felt thick and useless in the face of such desperation. Stumbling over the fallen monster's body, she followed Draco and Pansy.

The hallway towards the doors seemed a mile away and no matter how quickly they moved it didn't seem fast enough. Perhaps it was because he knew how desperate the situation was or the fact that he was suffering from the earlier tortures.

As they neared the doors the fallen body of who was obviously Bellatrix lay in the way.

"Just go," hissed Pansy as Draco slowed, his eyes taken on a shocked look. "I stunned her but we don't have much time!"

Draco hesitated turning around.

"Draco!"

"No, we have to buy more time. If I just…"

He pointed his wand.

"Obliviate!" he whispered. For a moment he could only stare down at the Death Eater's body until Pansy yanked on his dirtied sleeve.

"Hurry!" she urged again. "The others will be down soon; they've heard the commotion because Bellatrix put up a fight."

Without another word or thought to what had happened or what they were moving forward to face, Draco reached for Hermione's hand the trio hurried out of the bottommost confines of the Ministry and fumbled with fear towards the light.