AN: And here it is, arguably the turning point of this entire story. Enjoy, because you won't be getting any more for a while. *wicked laughter*

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Dedicated to: Carina and Isa... you guys rock. Also to Katana47, Goosefeathers, and all my faithful reviewers. You're the stuff of motivation. I love you all. :)

Chapter 18: Earthquake

And I could hear this rumbling, like a hungry beast,

and the ground was shivering and shaking, and so was I.

Everything was falling apart around me.

I was screaming, but I didn't know it. It seemed like the end of the world.

- survivor's account of the San Francisco Quake

He could hear them outside his door, the rustling of cloaks and that low murmuring sound they made. But worse, he could feel them there. It hit him, that cold, clenching wave of sickening fear. Coupled with the dread of his mother's news, it was almost too much for Draco.

The newspaper was coming. And with it, news that would surely hurt him. Why else would Mother come all this way just to pass it on to me? Draco thought bitterly, his fingernails raking his clammy skin.

The dementors were coming. And he didn't know what he feared more, them, or the news they brought.

As long as it isn't about Hermione. he prayed to gods he never knew. Hogwarts could be burnt down, Potter could be dead, Father could be raised again...for all I care... as long as Hermione's safe and sound, I'll sleep easy.

The dementors entered his cell and he barely had time to scream before he drowned.

***

They tumbled into bed, his arms locked around her waist and her lips on his. It was flurry of bedclothes as they kicked off their shoes and undid belts and buckles. Hermione sat up, her hair falling out of its bun in a tangle of chestnut curls. She was gasping, she was breathless.

Harry lay on the bed, watching her lazily, a smile like the edge of a knife dancing on his lips. Hermione closed her eyes. "Our first night. Our honeymoon." she murmured to herself, devoid of emotion.

But Harry heard it, and he laughed. There was the bitterest trace of cynical poison in that laugh, and Hermione shuddered. Harry, her dear, sweet friend... what happened to you?

"Our first night? Hermione, after all we've been through... you're thinking of this as our first night? Don't make me laugh. Your gown wasn't even white."

Hermione sucked in her breath. "Please." she whispered, her eyes shut tight. "Let me pretend."

Let me pretend you're Draco. Let me pretend he's still here. Let me pretend he still loves me.

Harry smiled again. "Anything you want, love." He took her by the hand and Hemrione let herself fall.

Let me pretend its Draco holding me. Let me pretend it's his lips on mine. Let me pretend it's his hand twining through my hair, his hand pulling me close, his hand covering my eyes.

Let me pretend.

***

When Draco finally opened his eyes, it was dark, the sun having extinguished itself long ago. He staggered to his feet, eyes blinking blearily. Dear God, this hurt. He held himself with his bony arms, trying to fill himself with the kind of warmth that Hermione had given him.

Long ago. It all seems so long ago. So far away.

He caught sight of the crumpled newspaper sitting near the door, and the fear returned, like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach.

Where did it all go?

He reached for it.

***

Molly Weasley.

She was crying. Ginny held her hand, patting it confusedly. Ron watched worriedly. "What's wrong with Mum?" he asked cautiously. Ginny shrugged, her blue eyes looking concerned. "I don't know. She's been like this since this afternoon. I know she always cries at weddings..."

Mrs. Weasley took a breath. "No, no, it's not that. Thank you... but it's not that."

She looked away, out the window at the cold stars. She could still see that expression on Harry's face, and that concealing smile on Hermione's... something was terribly wrong.

And she couldn't figure it out. And they were getting hurt. And Molly just couldn't take that.

Ron shrugged.

***

Moody glanced at the newspaper headline as he sipped at his coffee.

"Ah. I thought so." he murmured gruffly, as the shadows lengthened outside and the night began to fall.

"It was inevitable. The best of luck to the two of them."

***

Rita Skeeter sat back and watched the amounts roll in.

Apparently, all over the country, wizards and witches were buying copies of her newspaper by the stack. She smiled a toothy, hungry smile as the numbers on her counter sped by, clicking loudly in the small room.

"Don't forget, Skeeter. Thirty percent of that is mine."

Rita whirled around at the sound of the cold voice. Narcissa stood in the corner of the room, the elegant black cape shrouding her in shadows.

Rita nodded. "Yes, yes. I know." She turned her sharp eyes back to the counter. At this rate, she could comfortably give away more than half this money and still live on Easy Street for the rest of her middle age.

And Narcissa had earned it, yes she had. By confirming what everyone in the entire wizarding world had suspected and by giving the story to only one newspaper, Narcissa had broken records all over the world.

Rita's eye fell upon Berna, standing beside Narcissa and looking less than half as elegant. Something wrong with that girl over there. Rita thought, noting the pallor on Berna's skin and the way her blue eyes seemed to be duller than they were before.

Narcissa smiled, a smile like the edge of a newly-sharpened blade. And she said, to nobody in particular: "I can't wait for him to find out. The only drawback is that I won't be able to hear him scream."

***

His mouth went dry as he finally registered the headline. Draco grabbed the paper and began to read, hungrily incredulous. All other thoughts flew from his mind, and he forgot everything. He could feel it building up inside him, like a fist tightening around his heart.

It was choking him, blurring his vision as he read the story over and over, unable to believe it. Unable to take it in. Unable to breathe.

It welled up in him, a lump in his throat, a scream in his lungs, tears in his eyes.

The newspaper fell from his limp hands as the prisoner staggered against the wall, one hand on his heart... a heart that had loved one woman so fiercely... a heart that had withstood years of prison and mental torment with the one thought of that woman... a heart that had finally given way.

"It can't be true." he whispered. "It can't... no... please." He searched for reason behind reality, something to explain this breaking of his heart... anything.

"No, it's Skeeter... she lies, she always does." he thought frantically, reaching for fourth-year memories in Hogwarts. He scrabbled for the paper, his eyes focusing on a tiny sentence that said too much.

"As told by Berna Guerrero."

And he remembered Berna. And he knew she wouldn't lie about something like this. Not the way she had loved Potter.

He could feel it. It was coming.

And he didn't scream.

He laid the paper down, and sat down. His lips were pale, bitten and chapped, as they formed one word: Hermione and the saddest prisoner of Azkaban closed his eyes to the world... finally submitting to cold, hunger and fatigue... but most of all, utter heartbreak.

***

The Leaky Cauldron was alive with intense gossip and laughter as witches and wizards milled around with drinks in their hands and stories to tell.

"Have you heard?"

"Of course, who hasn't?"

"The Finnegan boy down there... he was invited!"

"I heard they were classmates, same batch at Hogwarts."

Babble filled every corner of the small pub. Everyone had turned out to discuss the sensational news.

"Oh, he finally settled down."

"The poor boy..."

Outside, a cold wind began to blow, as it smelled of tears and spring rain. Rose petals danced along it, like drops of blood let fly to the wind. It whispered as it danced along the street, a whispering that cut up the conversations in the pub, like the shards of a broken mirror... each telling it's own story and each displaying it's own glittering reflection.

"...she married before?"

"... ended up in Azkaban..."

"... damn Malfoys... really happy..."

"... was covered up..."

"She applied for..."

"... terrible..."

"... divorce?!"

"... without his knowing..."

"So sad."

The wind knocking at the door seemed to hear that last sentence, and it carried it out, repeating itself to anyone who would listen.

So sad. So sad. So sad.

And he heard it, in his cell far, far away as he curled up on the floor and listened to the breaking of his heart.

So sad.

His tears were bitter but few.

So sad.

"How could she?"

So sad.

A discarded newspaper floats lazily down the dim street on the same breath of wind.

As it flutters to the cobblestones, the headline that had broken so many records, broken so many hopeful hearts... and broken one lonely man sitting forlornly in Azkaban... could be seen by the sparse, cold light of the lanterns.

Harry Potter Finally Married

The dashingly handsome Boy-Who-Lived is now a man, finally marrying his Hogwarts sweetheart, Hermione Granger, who after a divorce from her estranged husband who is detained in Azkaban prison, is happily living with Harry Potter in her residence...

***

He opened his eyes, eyes the color of a storm at sea and whispered as the frigid winds blew through his cell, through his bones, and through his soul.

"It's Hermione Malfoy."

No, it's not anymore.

"A divorce?"

Yes, a divorce. She left you, Draco.

"... happily living with Harry Potter?"

The voices inside his head had no answer for him, so he lay on the stone and listened to the sighing of the wind outside.

So sad.