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Chapter 131

Time has lost all meaning. The hours blend together in a haze of pain, darkness, and the cold, unforgiving stone beneath you. The cell in the Malfoy dungeons is a place of despair, and you have become one with it, barely aware of anything outside the constant throb of agony that radiates through your body. 

The bruises, the cuts, the filth that clings to your skin—it's all just part of the overwhelming numbness that has settled over you, a merciful veil that keeps you from fully confronting the horrors you've endured.

The sound of the cell door creaking open barely registers in your mind. You don't move, don't react, too far gone into the depths of your suffering to care who it is. But then you hear a voice, soft and tentative, cutting through the fog that surrounds you.

"Violet," Draco says, his voice trembling. "The babies... they won't quiet. I... I've been sent to bring you upstairs to feed them."

His words don't quite reach you at first. It's as though they're coming from a great distance, muffled and distorted. You can barely comprehend what he's saying, the meaning of his words lost in the haze of pain and exhaustion. But something about the mention of your babies, Esmond and Iris, stirs a faint flicker of awareness within you, a tiny spark of life that hasn't yet been extinguished.

Draco steps closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity, horror, and something that looks almost like guilt. You can see the way he's struggling to hold himself together, to maintain some semblance of composure as he takes in the sight of you—naked, filthy, and broken on the cold dungeon floor.

"You have to come with me," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he kneels beside you. He's holding a robe in his hands, trying to gently slip it over your shoulders, to cover your battered body. "I need to get you upstairs. The babies... they need you."

The robe is soft against your skin, a stark contrast to the rough stone beneath you, but the sensation barely registers. You're still in a daze, your mind sluggish, your body weak. But you feel Draco's hands on you, guiding you, helping you to sit up. You can see the tears he's fighting to hold back, the way his face is taut with barely restrained grief.

"What's wrong?" you manage to ask, your voice a broken whisper. The words feel foreign on your tongue, as if you're speaking from a place far removed from yourself.

Draco swallows hard, his hands trembling as he ties the robe around you, trying to offer you some semblance of dignity. "Everyone knows what he did to you," he says, his voice cracking. There's a deep, wrenching pain in his eyes, a reflection of the horror he's feeling on your behalf.

You blink slowly, the words sinking in, but they don't elicit the response they might have once. Instead, you simply nod, the realization too distant to touch you deeply. "Oh," you murmur, the single word falling from your lips like a leaf drifting to the ground. It's not surprise or shock, just a quiet acknowledgment of the nightmare that has become your reality.

With Draco's help, you shakily rise to your feet, your legs weak and unsteady beneath you. Every movement sends a fresh wave of pain through your body, but you grit your teeth and try to focus on the task at hand: getting to your babies, feeding them, doing the one thing left that you can do.

Draco keeps a firm grip on you as he leads you out of the cell, his arm around your waist to support you as you take each faltering step up the stairs. The climb is torturous, your muscles screaming in protest with every movement, but you force yourself to keep going, driven by that faint spark of life, that need to care for Esmond and Iris.

When you finally reach the bedroom, Poppy the house-elf is there, cradling the inconsolable babies in her tiny arms. The moment she sees you, her large, expressive eyes fill with sorrow and concern. She scurries over to you, her small hands gentle as she helps you onto the bed, her touch as soft as the warm cloth she uses to clean the grime and blood from your skin.