Fractured Triangle

Hermione couldn't recall ever feeling quite as scared as she felt, following Professor Dumbledore into his office, her shaking, damp-palmed hands bunching in the fabric of her robes nervously.

All right, yes she had been this scared once before, but that was a different place, a different time, although the face she was about to see was the thing that reminded her of that living nightmare every day.

They had just left her parents with Professor McGonagall, who was showing them around the school, while Harry had explained that he was going to go and practise on his broom for a while.

Where Ron was, he didn't know and stated coolly that he didn't really care.

That had made Hermione's heart sink to her toes, her red-haired boyfriend's face the one she wanted to see the most before going to Dumbledore's office to face her worst nightmare in human form.

Even a smile from him would have been enough to give her the nerve and resolve to go ahead bravely, to show Malfoy exactly why Ron had cared for her and just how strong a muggle-born could be.

It was apparently too much to ask, though.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Hermione?" the Head Master said softly, closing the door behind them.

She opened her mouth, but her throat closed up, tight and bone-dry. She clapped her mouth shut, nodding determinedly, her teeth gritting together so hard she was sure they would snap off at the root.

Placing his hand between her shoulders, he gently drew her forwards and towards his large desk, where he conjured a chair on the near side. Both of them ascended the steps and he looked down at her.

"If you would take a seat, Miss Granger," he said, the formality in his tone making her feel nauseous and dizzy. She was doing this. She was actually willing to face the son of a she-Sirius who had ruined her life.

Sitting down quickly on the large, oaken chair, banging the back of her knees against the wood, she ignored the pain the blossomed out. Pulling her robes over her knees, she twisted her hands together, squeezing them between her knees.

"Wh-what now?" she asked shakily, her skin prickling with insect's feet of unease.

"I will place several protection spells around you in particular, lest he is fool enough to attempt anything under my nose," Dumbledore answered, gazing down at her. The calmness in his blue eyes eased a little of her fear. "This chamber virtually negates any power of his wand, due to the wards and charms placed on it, but I am not willing to risk your well-being."

"A-all right."

With a few incantations and a soft glow washing over her, making her skin tingle, Hermione saw a blurred ring of pale silver light appear around the chair and herself, something she recognised as a protective circle.

"I will ask again, are you certain you wish to follow this course of action?"

Swallowing hard to push down the feeling that her heart was squeezing its way up her constricted throat, she nodded jerkily. "I-I need to show him that I'm not afraid of him anymore," she stammered.

Oh! Ha! Good one!

Not afraid of him.

Oh yes, Hermione, you're really going to show him how greatly you can resemble a deer in the headlights. He's going to be awfully impressed, isn't he?

I'm not afraid of him!

Keep telling yourself that, little girl, if it makes you feel better. Keep telling yourself that you aren't going to freeze the moment he looks at you, that his voice isn't going to make you sob for mercy and run away.

It won't! I-I can do this! I can face him! Harry knows and he'll look after me! And mummy and dad too! And Professor Dumbledore! They care about me and they know I have to do this!

Mmm.

Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! I'm facing him! I have to! I HAVE to!

"Hermione?"

Jolting in shock at her name, raising her stinging eyes to Dumbledore's concerned face, Hermione was startled to realise that her hands were tangled into her hair, her fingernails biting into her scalp.

Stiffly lowering her shaking hands to her lap, she smiled weakly at him, although it felt like her every muscle in her face was straining to breaking point with the effort of forming that single expression.

"If you wish to change your mind..."

"NO!"

It was practically screamed out and Dumbledore clearly understood why.

If he had finished the question, given her the choice of leaving one more time, she knew there was every chance she would take it and she knew that would only make things worse.

She needed closure.

She needed to bring the bastard down to his natural level of the dirt at her feet and kick him where he fell.

"He cannot harm you here," the Head Master said reassuringly, rounding the desk and sitting down opposite her. She nodded once more, licking her lips, which felt like they had been transfigured into narrow strips of sand paper.

Only a few heartbeats passed before the door opened behind her, but those instants felt like an eternity, her heart drumming a frenzied rhythm in her ears, blood rushing dizzyingly in her head.

Squeezing her hands bruisingly between her knees, pain radiated up her arms, but she forced herself to keep staring at the polished front of Dumbledore's broad desk, as footsteps imperiously strode closer.

"Dumbledore."

There were four dark knots in the wood.

"Lucius."

Seven smaller, paler ones.

"May I know why I have been summoned here?"

A streak that looked almost like a dash of lightening on the wood.

"I believe that Miss Granger would be the one to answer that question."

A chip in the bottom right corner, where it looked like someone had kicked it with a pointed toe in a fit of temper.

"Miss Granger?"

She felt the moment he became aware of her, the very second his expressionless eyes swept over her, ice gushing through her body and making her tremble, but she forced herself to raise her face, shaking violently.

Clad almost identically to the way he had been that night, one hand was resting lazily on the head on his cane, the other on his hip. He was gazing at her beneath hooded lids, his expression inscrutable, but she could see a flicker of an emotion she couldn't identify in his eyes.

She was sure her heart was about to tear through her sternum with the force of the raw beat of it, the rushing of her blood making her head swim as she stared up at him, terror flooding her.

"Well?" he said, in a tone that sounded bored.

Do it! Show him! Tell him! Kick him in the god damned metaphorical bollocks!

"I-I-I..." An eyebrow lifted slightly, one side of his mouth rising derisively.

That smug bastard! How dare he! Kick him! Kick him in the teeth!

Don't be stupid! He's bigger and more powerful than you. You wouldn't dare.

Think about what he did to you! To Ron! He hurt you both and Harry!

The ice-cold terror that had flooded her was rapidly being replaced by a steady ebb of molten burning anger. Drawing a slow breath through her nose, she exhaled it, sitting up slowly and lifting her chin defiantly.

"I'm pregnant."

The hand on his hip slipped slightly, his robes flapping around his legs, but it was the only indication that he was startled. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I fail to see what the charming Miss Granger's promiscuity has to do with me."

He directed the comment at the Head Master, but his pointed disgust was focussed at Hermione, who flinched, fighting every inner impulse she was feeling to bow her head and hide herself.

"I believe that might have something to do with the fact that you sexually assaulted Miss Granger several months ago," Dumbledore replied for her, his hands folded on the desk in front of him.

"Ridiculous!" Malfoy snorted, the expression in his silver eyes revealing that he was thinking quickly. "You summon me here because a stupid little girl goes too far without taking the adequate precautions."

"I assure you, Lucius, Miss Granger is as far from stupid as it is possible to be."

"And you, with your abundantly clear affection for her type," The way the single word was sneered made Hermione feel - for the first time - ashamed of being of non-magical origin. "Automatically believe her false allegations that I would assault her."

Dumbledore smiled, but it was far from his friendly, jovial smile, his aged hands spreading on the surface of the desk. Clearly Malfoy noticed it as well, taking a half-step back from the desk.

"I find it remarkably odd, Lucius," he said. "That Miss Granger would be pregnant, having been unable to tolerate the touch of her other half for nearly four months and, prior to that, had not seen him for nearly a month and a half."

"And you believe her when she pins such absurd allegations on me? I would never touch such a..." His eyes scanned over her, his lip curling. It went without saying why he would deny touching her, but that would be too much like a prejudice that could be manipulated. She was unsurprised when he finished, "Young individual."

"Funny," Hermione managed to say, her voice shaking, staring defiantly back at him, unable to look away from those eyes, lest he tried anything. Her hands were clenched together so tightly, she could feel the bones rubbing against one another. "Because you did it. I-I-I'm pregnant because of you."

"Absurd!" he spat. She almost smirked at the unease in his voice, but the sick feeling swirling in her stomach quashed the impulse. "Even if I had partaken in such a liaison with this... muggle-born." The glitter in his eyes had changed somewhat. "No witch can be..." He cut himself off, glowering at her.

"What were you about to say, Lucius?" Dumbledore said coolly.

"Nothing of importance," the blond wizard said coldly, although his hand tightened on the head of his cane. His eyes flicked briefly to Dumbledore, flashing angrily. "As I have committed no crime."

"Perhaps I can fill in the blanks," Dumbledore said in a calm, even voice, although Malfoy was still glaring darkly at Hermione. "Even if you had touched Miss Granger, a witch can not be forcibly impregnated. It has to come from an incident of mutual pleasure, according to the traditions of old blood, correct?"

Malfoy said nothing, although his lips pressed together, going white. He clearly was aware that either way he chose to answer, he would be admitting that he partaken in some kind of sexual relations with the muggle-born girl.

"L-Lavender Brown told m-me about the traditions," Hermione stammered, forcing the words out before her throat closed up again. "Sh-she explained how I... how you did this to..." Grey eyes narrowed slightly. The fingertips of her right hand biting into her left forearm through her robes, Hermione trailed off weakly. "T-to me..."

The muscles in Malfoy's cheeks tightened, his eyes flashing in silent threat, warning her, once more, that if she said a word about what had come to pass, he would be sure that he would make her regret it.

With the utmost effort, Hermione forcibly tore her eyes away from Malfoy's ice-cold ones to Dumbledore's warmer, gentle ones, finding there the comfort and support she so desperately needed to see.

The Head Master met her gaze and dipped his chin in a nod. It almost felt like he had placed supports under her fragile nerves, strengthening her resolve. Swallowing hard, Hermione turned back to Malfoy.

"You have some further futile argument to make?" he sneered. "You think you can stand against the old blood traditions, when we both know quite well that I could never be a father to any bastard you might bear."

Stiffening her back and trying to steady her shaky nerves, she nodded. "Y-Yes," she said, although it felt like every drop of sizzling acid in her stomach was agonisingly eating it's way through her shivering body. "You forgot one thing. Your r-rules don't apply to me. I-I'm not an old-blood witch. I'm a muggle-born."

The momentary lapse in Malfoy's rigid control was barely noticeable, but she saw it and knew that Dumbledore would have too. His lips parted in shocked realisation, his eyes widening slightly, flooded with panicked dismay, but - almost instantly - the horrified understanding was masked.

"You see, Lucius, you appear to have underestimated Miss Granger, both in intelligence and courage." Dumbledore said with quiet confidence that Hermione wished she possessed a fraction of. "You may have believed her to be easily broken, but she is most certainly not. Her presence here should be enough to assure you of that." There was a brief pause, Malfoy's right eye narrowing slightly, then the Head Master finished quietly, "She is not afraid to testify against you in Court, under veritaserum, if necessary."

"Nonsense!" he spat. "You are simply on a vendetta against me, as a duty to your beloved Mister Potter." He flashed a glare at Dumbledore, although Hermione saw his eyes twitch slightly. "Seeing as you have wasted enough of my time, dragging me here in regards to this rubbish..." He turned and started to stalk away.

Eager to escape, Hermione knew hazily.

She knew she should try to stop him, try to move, try to anything, but her body felt so utterly boneless with exhaustion that even holding her head up a moment longer would be asking for too much.

He had given too much away with his actions and the only thing he could do was try and get out of Dumbledore's lengthy reach before he was brought before the powerful enemy in the form of the Ministry of Magic.

"There is no hurry to depart, Lucius," Dumbledore's voice was as jovial as ever, as he surveyed the blond wizard, a small smile on his lips. "Actually, I would consider it beneficial to your health if you were to remain here."

"I'm afraid I don't have time for any more of your crackpot nonsense and flimflam, Dumbledore," Malfoy snapped smartly, turning to walk out of the door.

Hermione shrieked in fright and Dumbledore smiled serenely as an arm shot out of thin air by the door way, grabbing Malfoy by the front of his robes. "You can not say I didn't give you ample warning, Lucius," he remarked.

There was a swish of material and Ron appeared from beneath an invisibility cloak, his expression more furious and dangerous than Hermione had ever seen it before. "I think you and I need to have a little... chat, Malfoy," he spat.

Malfoy didn't even have a chance to respond verbally, as Ron jerked him sideways and, with a savage push, physically threw him into the staircase that lead down from the tower, the older wizard falling out of sight.

"P-Professor?" Hermione was shaking like a leaf. She felt dizzy and delighted all at once at the sight of Ron hitting Malfoy like that. Her heart was pounding painfully fast and she wasn't sure if it was relief or anger.

Dumbledore met her gaze across the desk, allowing a small smile to show, his blue eyes twinkling a little. "Mr. Weasley has been present throughout the whole interview, Miss Granger," he said gently. "He witnessed everything from the moment that you entered the room."

Tears of relief filled her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure to be of service, Miss Granger," Dumbledore answered gently, rising to his feet. "But now, I do believe that we ought to go and make sure that Mr Weasley doesn't do any permanent damage..."

"But..."

"I meant before the trial, Miss Granger."

Nodding, Hermione stood up as well. It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders, now that Ron knew everything, although there was still that bitter twist at the thought of Malfoy.

Following the Head Master onto the spiral staircase, she clutched at his arm as the staircase descended, closing her eyes to fight down the nauseous feeling that using the stairs always gave her.

Before they even reached the bottom, she could hear the sound of blows and cries of pain, her hand tightening on Dumbledore's forearm. He gently patted her hand as the sight came into view.

She knew Ron had grown in the last year and a half, but only seeing him there made her realise just how much.

He towered over Lucius Malfoy and he had the blond wizard pinned against the wall with his left forearm pressed against Malfoy's throat. Malfoy's cane lay, useless, on the ground, several paces away.

There was a sickening crack as his right fist connected with Malfoy's jaw, clearly for at least the third time, judging by blood and spittle splashing down the front of the wizard's expensive robes.

Malfoy's hands were desperately clutching at Ron's arms, trying to force him back, but Ron was relentless, landing another blow to Malfoy's gut that doubled the blond over, gagging.

"You shouldn't have touched her, you filthy bastard," Ron snarled, driving his knee up between the man's legs with enough force to lift Malfoy off the ground, a feeble choking sound escaping him.

Stepping back, panting, he released Malfoy's throat and let the wizard drop to the flag-stoned floor, where he landed one last hard kick to Malfoy's gut before turning towards Dumbledore, leaving the blond wizard on the lip of unconsciousness.

"Are the Aurors..." his words trailed off when he noticed Hermione was watching him. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat or six as he stared at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. "Hermione," She shivered at the awe-filled tone in his voice. "Oh my God, Hermione..."

The tears that had been building in her eyes started to spill down her cheeks. "Ron."

He closed the distance between them in half a dozen paces, stopping right in front of her. His hands came up to frame her face and he stared at her with such an intensity she was convinced her legs were melting under her.

Then he did something she never would have ever expected, or even imagined.

Dropping onto his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, he stared up at her. His expression was so despairing and apologetic that she wanted to hug him. "I...I want to say that I'm sorry for what I said, for listening to them...and not listening to you, Hermione," he said, his voice shaking. "I...I was a bloody idiot and if you...you know...don't want to know me anymore, you'd be...well, I wouldn't blame you."

"Oh, Ron," One step closed the gap between them and she wrapped her arms around him, as he rose on his knees, his arms going around her waist. Even kneeling, he was nearly as tall as she was, his cheek resting against her chest. Pressing her lips against his shocking hair, she whispered. "You don't get rid of me that easily."

His arms around her tightened and she could a damp heat spreading through the front of her jumper and shirt. He...oh God...he was crying. Ron was crying. Ron never cried. Not ever. Not once in all the time that she had known him.

"Ron...?"

He looked up at her, tears coursing down his face that looked so pale that she could see every single freckle standing alone. "I don't deserve you, Hermione," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't deserve anything after the way I've been treating you."

"I...haven't exactly been honest all of this year either, have I?" she tried to smile as she said it, but her lips refused to respond.

Ron lifted up one of her hands and kissed her palm, lowering his eyes. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "But you had good reason, though. I was just a pillock."

"Can we deal with no more lying and no more not believing each other?" she said, stroking his cheek, warm and damp against her shaking fingertips. He felt so safe, so very reassuring, so utterly... Ron that she wondered how she could ever have kept it from him.

"I can if you can," he replied, slowly coming to his feet, still holding her small hand against his cheek with one of his own hands. The expression in his dark brown eyes made her stomach flip. "When I heard what they were saying... I... I went kind of crazy. I didn't want to believe it was possible... but they wouldn't let up... they... I tried not to listen... I didn't want you to go... I-I love you too much to lose you, y'know."

All right.

It was official.

The very stones that formed Hogwarts were melting away beneath her feet and she was sinking into the gooey heap that remained.

Ron loved her.

Ron Weasley loved her.

He had never actually said the words in that way before, especially not in the way that said he couldn't go on if she wasn't there with him, he had never really needed to because she had always known it, but now that he had said it...

Now that he knew everything and he still said it, said that he loved her...

She felt like she could dance up the walls and do a quick tango across the ceiling, the giddy delight she felt washing away all the dark, paranoid whispers that had still been niggling at her.

He loved her.

Nothing had stopped it.

He loved her.

He would make sure nothing ever happened to her again.

He loved her.

She was still standing there and staring at him like a guppy, her mouth opening and shutting without making a sound and probably looking very silly too.

Ron opened his arms, raising his brows in a hopeful way. It all came down to her reaction to him now, she knew, the beseeching expression on his face suggesting that he was still worried that she might turn and walk away.

She would do no such thing.

Pressing close against his chest, Hermione let him enfold her in his arms, the soft, steady thumping of his heart against her ear the most comforting sound she had heard in many days.

"Ron," she whispered, lifting her face up to his. He nodded down at her. Pulling him down to her level, she was still forced to rise on her toes as she kissed him chastely on the lips for the first time in months, his words, his gentle touches, his LOVE blanking out the self-loathing that still lingered beneath the surface. "I love you too."

His arms tightened around her, holding her to him and, despite the tremor of panic that instinctively flushed through her, she didn't pull away. Holding onto him, she felt the panic fade as he kissed the top of her head, his arms still around her.

"Are... are you afraid of me, Hermione?" she heard him whisper softly, but there was no anger or frustration in his voice. "I mean, I'm... if I touch you... will you be scared of me doing what he did?"

Tilting her face she looked up at him.

Just looking at his face, she knew she couldn't be afraid of him. Perhaps some touches would remind her of the nightmare, but not Ron, not him, not when she knew he would do everything to look after her.

But he had hurt her, not with touches, but with words.

"I-I-I..."

Ron's hand rose and lightly cradled her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You know I'll never hurt you again, Hermione," he promised, as if reading her mind. "And if I do, you have my permission to kick me in the bollocks."

"I-I might take you up on that," she replied shakily, clinging to him and pressing her eyes shut.

Ron nodded. "You know how bad I am at doing the apology-thing, but if it helps, I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it," he said, his brows drawing together at her expression. "What is it, love?"

"Th-there's one more thing I have to do," she said, lowering her head and turning.

Closure still hadn't come.

Both of them looked over to the heap of tangled robes that was Malfoy. Beyond him, a quartet of Aurors... had just entered through the arched doorway that lead out onto the grounds, each of them armed with their wand.

"D'you have to...?"

Hermione felt his large hand squeeze her shoulder and she nodded. "I need to," she said quietly, shivering - and not in a bad way - when Ron bent and brushed a light kiss against her cheek.

"We'll be here, love," he said. "If you need us..."

"You can charge in and kick his arse," she finished for him, a wan smile on her lips.

He returned it, equally watery, his hand falling from her shoulder as she walked towards Malfoy, although, it could have been called more of a rigid stagger, her legs refusing to cooperate with her, her hands clenched into moist fists.

Her heart started pounding wildly again as she approached and she was almost sure she could hear the rhythm of the Lone Ranger's theme tune as her blood thundered in her ears.

Nearing him, she stopped less than a foot and a half away from him. Malfoy turned his face - contorted with hate - in her direction, blood trickling from one side of his mouth, giving him a strangely vampiric appearance.

"Come to mock me, little girl?" he spat, pushing himself up on one arm, the heel of his other hand smearing the blood across his chin, his eyes flashing. "You think the Ministry will listen to a filthy little whore like you?"

Although his words struck like a blow to her gut, she forced down the tears and pain that spread through her, gritting her teeth together and staring down at him with all the contempt she could summon.

"You are nothing," she said with quiet disdain. "No, you're less than nothing."

Malfoy snorted, the sound so full of derision she actually took a nervous step back, almost willing to turn and run back to Ron and the Head Master, his icy eyes locking with hers, mesmerising like the gaze of the cobra.

"You believe so, little girl?"

There it was again.

The name he called her.

A swell of sickness rose in her and dizzy heat flooded her face. Her head throbbed agonisingly and she drew a breath to calm herself, wondering if she stoop to his level and kick him in the face.

"I know it," she said, the tremor in her voice almost masked by the malevolence with which she spat the words. "You are going to stand trial and I'm going to watch you get sent to Azkaban and I'm going to think about you rotting in there and I," She took a step closer as she said, with a cold expression, "I'm going to smile."

There was a glitter of malicious amusement in Malfoy's cold eyes. "That will never happen," he sneered, bracing one gloved hand on the floor beneath him. "You live in a dream world."

"The Aurors... will arrest you, the Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me and you will never walk free again," Hermione stated, although the creeping unease was always rippling through her.

What if he did get away with it?

"You are wrong on all three counts, little girl," he breathed, grinning at her, his teeth stained pink. Staggering to his feet, his right hand clutching his side under his robes, he looked down at her. "No Malfoy will ever go to Azkaban."

"You will," she said with certainty, taking a step back from him, the unnatural glitter in his pale eyes making her tremble. "You know you're guilty... I know it... they know it... they'll take you in..."

"Them?" Malfoy gave her an amused look, arching an eyebrow. "You believe that, little girl?"

Hermione's eyes darted to the Aurors...

That was her mistake.

Malfoy's hand shot out, grabbing a handful of her thick hair, pulling her in front of his body, her back against his chest. Hermione shrieked, Ron's curse reaching her ears as an ice-cold blade pressed against her throat.

The Aurors... and Dumbledore had their wands out, directed the him, but Malfoy had pulled back against the wall and if they tried any spells, there was a great chance that they would hit her.

"Come closer or try any spells," Malfoy hissed, his left hand savagely jerking her head back so his chin was pressing against her temple, his voice a chilling hiss against her skin. "And you'll find out just how clean the wonderful Miss Granger's blood is."

"Let her go, you bastard!" Ron started forward, but Dumbledore seized his arm as Hermione uttered a choked gasp of pain, the knife pressing harder against the exposed skin of her throat.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Weasley," Malfoy replied with mock-sincerity, edging along the wall, his back against it, never relinquishing his grip on the witch, who was shaking with terror. "You see, I have this rather silly... dislike of being condemned to wizarding prison."

Stumbling, her breath catching in her throat, Hermione was panting and trembling, panic washing through her body. She could feel the sharp edge of the knife coming dangerously close to breaking through her skin.

Her hands had risen, gripping Malfoy's right forearm in a futile grip. Strange, she noted wildly, as he pulled her along with him, that she was doing everything that a person in a film would, when grabbed around the throat.

What would Kathleen Turner do in a situation like this?

Not whimper and tremble she bet.

Think, Hermione, think...

Be strong, like she is. Remember Jewel of the Nile... be practical...

Knife against throat! Sharp knife against my throat!

"Move," Malfoy inclined his head to the Aurors..., each of whom were pointing their wands at them. Pointless really, Hermione knew, since - if any of them tried anything, even started the most basic of spells - he would probably slash her throat and make a break for freedom anyway.

Once he was out of the building and onto the wild grounds, where there were at least a thousand places to hide before he could make it off the grounds when no one was looking and Apparate away, there was every chance he would get away.

NO!

He couldn't!

Not after everything he did!

"I might take you with me, little girl," his voice was sibilant in her ear, slippery, insidious, making her stomach twist as if a thousand snakes were nesting in it, the only words she could pick from the blur of throbbing sound around her. "Filthy little slut that you are... we'll make you scream..."

Her breathing ragged, she pulled futilely at his forearm, gagging as he pushed his arm harder against her neck. "Why?" she croaked, her vision darkening around the edge. "Why me?"

"Why not?" he retorted in that sickening hiss. She could feel the pressure of his arm against her neck bruising the skin, trying desperately to swallow, helpless clicking sounds escaping her throat. "So easy to get to... even with your friends," he spat the word, saliva dashing her face. "Near you... without them to help you, you're nothing, Granger... you're less than nothing. A filthy, useless, obnoxious little mudblood..."

"No..."

Her vision was almost entirely obscured and blurred beyond recognition, her lungs frantically grasping at the thin whispers of air she was managing to draw through her constricted throat.

"Look at your situation, Granger," the whisper continued, tears burning in her eyes with the pain, the humiliation, the terror. "They're letting me take you again. They could have saved you by now, you know, but they're won't. They're going to let you die. You and your filthy little bastard brat. Your friends... they don't need you... if they did, they would have helped you by now, wouldn't they? They don't need you filthy, useless, muggle-born carcass to whine and moan and cause them misery. They want you dead. You'll be more use to them dead."

Hermione pressed her eyes closed as he continued to haul her backwards with him, tears burning down her cheeks.

He's wrong, her mental voice whispered, he's wrong! Don't listen!

But he's right. They could have helped you. They didn't.

The arm against her throat loosened and she drew panting gasps of air, her eyes snapping open as she felt a rush of cold air against her skin, her feet slipping as she stumbled down the stairs backwards, still pulled tight against Malfoy's chest.

The ground seemed to grow softer and the scent of open air hit her.

They were outside.

Her vision began to clear from the musty veil of darkness, her lungs filling with much-needed air and she tried her best to stay on her feet, the blade of the knife still stingingly pressed against her jugular.

Around her, the blur of barely recognisable sound started to clear and she could pick out words, voices, one voice ringing with panic, fury and every emotion that she was feeling right at that moment.

"Hermione!"

Squinting in the direction of it, she saw a blurred person, red hair, pale face...

Ron.

Ron!

Staggering, she heard Malfoy curse, jerking her upright again by her hair.

No!

She had just got Ron back!

She wasn't going to lose him again!

"Let go of me," she rasped, trying to pull Malfoy's arm from her throat.

"I think not, mudblood," he spoke directly into her ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive lobe making her shudder with revulsion. "You can't fight me on your own, so why should I give you up, when I can still have so much more fun with you?"

It was almost as if the black sheet that had covered her eyes moments earlier had been replaced with a red one.

Panting, drawing rapid breaths through clenched teeth, Hermione's hands dropped from his arm and she balled her fists. "I said," she snarled, digging in her feet and not moving. "Let go of me!"

The words were punctuated by her raising one foot and slamming it down hard on his, making him curse in pain, and - in the same motion - jerking her sharp elbow backwards as hard as she could, aiming for the wizard's gut.

Unfortunately for Lucius Malfoy, he was much taller than she was and her pointed aim struck a much lower and more sensitive target on his anatomy. A gurgled gasp escaped him and his grip on her tightened for a heartbeat, then he just seemed to drop away. He fell to the ground, curling in on himself, his pale face even whiter than it usually was.

Swaying on her feet, Hermione stared down at him, amazed at herself, her hands trembling over her mouth. "I-I did it," she whispered in astonished disbelief. "I-I showed him... I showed him..."

A hand on her shoulder made her jump and she tilted her head to find Ron standing over her, his arms wrapping around her. "Bloody hell, Hermione," he whispered, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Me too," Hermione croaked, her throat raw, as she leaned into his arms, her head resting back against his.

The Aurors... bore down, surrounding and restraining the fallen dark wizard, all of them making sure he was concealing no more weapons as Hermione raised a hand to massage her throbbing throat.

"Love you," Ron whispered against her ear. "Love you so bloody much..."

Smiling shakily, feeling strangely drawn and dizzy, Hermione couldn't find the energy to reply. Her smile faded, her expression shifting as she felt a damp warmth against her fingertips.

Withdrawing her left hand from her throat, she stared at it.

Red.

Odd.

My hand isn't normally red.

Looking down, she blinked at the sight of a spreading dark stain blossoming down from the collar of her thick, dark blue jumper. She could feel a dull throb in the left side of her neck, a little painful.

"R-Ron?" she stammered.

"Yeah?"

Unable to answer, she held up her shaking, scarlet-stained hand, looking up at him in confusion, her lips parted slightly. She vaguely registered him swearing and shouting Dumbledore over. The dizziness was building and her legs buckled, Ron catching her and sinking to the ground with her cradled in his arms.

She felt cold, suddenly.

So very, very cold.

"Ron...?" She stared up at him in bewilderment, wondering why he looked so scared, since Malfoy was out of the picture. Everything seemed to be slowing, her ability to think, to form simple words grinding to a painful stop.

"Hold on, Hermione," Ron whispered urgently. "Hold on."

Her vision fading out of focus, she raised her hand and touched his cheek, leaving dark crimson streaks on his near-grey face. "I love you," she whispered, before the blackness enveloped her entirely.