horror of what he was experiencing. He looked at Blaise with something akin to hope.
For those used to Draco' s characteristic indifference and iron-plated fa?ade, the change in him was astounding. Blaise, for all that he resented the other boy, was not entirely unmoved by the raw emotion on Draco's face.
"Oh, Blaise, what did you do"
"WHAT I HAD TO!" Blaise shouted, his voice breaking. "Did you think I wanted to? She was not the one who betrayed us. It was your father! But she resisted-"
"Does Bellatrix Lestrange know what you did to her sister?" Draco spat. His voice was shaking, but he was powerless to stop it.
Blaise did not answer, but his previous distress was replaced with an eerie confidence. He was rationalising Narcissa's murder in his head, Draco surmised.
That was good. Doubt was good.
"She doesn't, does she? Answer me!"
"It was Bellatrix who gave the order to terminate Narcissa if she refused to comply," Blaise answered quietly.
That had not been what he wanted to hear.
Draco shut his eyes. He was still asleep. That had to be it. Maybe he was still at the Cobblestone Inn with Hermione curled up in his arms. This was a nightmare, but he would wake up soon. He would hold her and she would love him. Hermione loved him. Really, truly, loved him, despite what and who he was and the horrible way he treated her.
He didn't need to pretend she was out of her mind any more. Despite his silent denials, he had realised that to be the truth the moment she had told him. Not just because the girl had more honour and integrity than anyone he had ever known, but because he could feel the truth for himself.
Fida Mia breeched the great, wide gulf between them. It was the conduit that had delivered each startling, wonderful revelation for how she felt about him.
But he wasn't feeling any of it now.
What he was remembering, all of a sudden, were the remnants of a dream he wasn't supposed to remember, but knew he had had, all the same. The recent, mysterious unease about Hermione seemed to intensify.
What was he supposed to know?
First things first, he had to escape. He absolutely had to.
Draco refocussed, gathered his control about him like a cloak. It was what he was good at. He kept his voice even and calm, even if inside, all he wanted to do was scream and scream until his voice gave out.
"Zabini."
Draco stared at the friend he used to play chess with in second year until the small hours of the morning, at the boy whose life he had saved when a childish dare had turned nearly lethal. He didn't see the sheepish boy who had asked him to keep a secret that afternoon they had awakened together in St Mungos.
What he saw now was a monster. A product of so many wrong things with their world.
"Look at me, Blaise."
Blaise, seemingly caught in the middle of his own dark memories, raised his eyes to Draco.
"You can end this," Draco nodded, not quite pleading, but he put all the will he had left into the performance of his life. "How many people have to die before you can see what you're doing?"
Blaise thumbed his nose. "Not nearly enough at the moment to make me doubt myself. I know what you're doing, Malfoy. We're too much alike."
"You have no idea what you're doing."
"I do," Blaise said, softly. "What' s that silly Muggle saying? You need to break a few eggs to make an omelette?"
Draco stared at him in dumbfounded amazement. "You killed my mother." He enunciated each word as if to etch it into Blaise's very flesh.
"I know," Blaise said, sadly. "I'm sorry, but it's going to get worse for you before it gets better. Tell me Draco, what do you hold most precious in the world?"
Draco opened his mouth to deliver a smart retort, but what came out was a sound of physical pain. He doubled over, clutching at his midsection as if he'd been punched in the gut.
In that moment, he knew. Terror such as he had never known seemed to turn his blood to ice in the space of a heartbeat. He was consumed by it for several seconds.
"Where is she?" Draco hissed. He had the look of an injured, caged animal about him. His breathing was ragged and he was looking at Blaise with undiluted, feral, rage.
"Here. With me."
"If you give her to Voldemort, Zabini, I swear to whatever