Warnings: explicit profanity, implicit sexual situations, alcohol use, replay of the Malfoy Manor torture scene in the prologue. This work is for fun, not profit. All recognizable characters belong to JKR.

A/N: This story is a revised and expanded version of my submission to the 2014 Dramione Lovefest, moderated by the brilliant RZZMG. Her impromptu beta substantially improved the story and is much appreciated. All remaining typos are my own.

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When the house elf popped into his bedroom and squeaked that young master was needed downstairs to identify three Hogwarts students who had been caught after breaking the Taboo, Draco Malfoy's first thought was, Oh, fuck. Not Granger!

But of course, it was Granger who had been dragged into Malfoy Manor, tied to a spectacled tosser who was arrogant enough to speak the Dark Lord's name and a ginger Weasel who was stupid enough to scream it in a fit of temper. Draco didn't know whether it was Potter or Weasley who was to blame for the Golden Trio's capture, but he would have happily crucio'd both of them for putting Granger in jeopardy. Given his rotten luck, Draco reflected he probably would be ordered to torture Granger instead.

During the short walk from his suite to the drawing room, Draco had used all of his Slytherin cunning to devise a plan. The best he could come up with (which, admittedly, wasn't great) was to temporize in identifying Potter and Granger while throwing Weasley to the wolves - literally, since Greyback led the Snatchers - to be used as a distraction. Then, once Voldemort arrived, Draco would confirm the Chosen Git's identity to the Dark Lord and claim Granger as a reward.

His demented bitch of an aunt thwarted that plan, first by recognizing Granger and then by refusing Weaselbee's stupidly selfless offer to be tortured instead of the girl. Like most Slytherins, Draco was by nature a cynic and a pessimist, an outlook that had only been reinforced since the Dark Lord's return. Still, as he watched Bellatrix grab Granger by the hair and throw her to the floor, he realized this was going to be horrible even by the new standards that prevailed at Malfoy Manor.

Draco trained his eyes on the elaborately carved mantel to avoid looking at Granger sprawled on the drawing room carpet, writhing in pain under Bellatrix's wand and knife. He reminded himself that she was just a Mudblood, nothing but a Mudblood. That voice in his head couldn't drown out her screams, however. Draco had been inside Granger's body, inside her mind, and he knew it was going to shred him to stand by with an impassive face while his aunt tortured her until nothing was left but a mindless husk. But he wasn't a hero like Potter, to sacrifice himself in a grandly suicidal gesture.

Inside her mind. There was something he could do, after all. During sixth year, he had taught Granger basic Occlumency, enough to protect both of them. Her skills were decent, but Draco had stopped far short of teaching Granger everything he knew. He could get into her thoughts and memories, figure out the truth about this goblin-made sword his aunt kept going on about, and then remove Granger to the relative safety of his bedroom.

He anticipated no objection to the last, once Granger gave up whatever information she was concealing: It was well-known among Voldemort's elite that the younger Malfoy had taken Granger's virginity on the very same night he had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. His aunt and father would be coldly amused when he announced he wanted another go at the Mudblood now that he had already broken her in. His mother would be appalled, but she had been a Death Eater's wife long enough to know protest was futile.

His wand was already out and in his hand - all he needed was eye contact to establish the initial mental connection. Draco stared at Granger, fighting the urge to avert his eyes as she arched her back and clawed at the rug, and willed her to look at him. She must have sensed his gaze, because in the moments while Bellatrix caught her breath before uttering another curse, Granger's honey-brown eyes met his.

Draco inhaled sharply. Over the years, he had seen Granger look at him in speculation, annoyance, triumph, anger, dislike, amusement, defiance, grudging admiration, lust and even affection. Never had he seen her expressive eyes so carefully blank. Just as he began to panic that his aunt might have already tortured her into insanity, Granger blinked and he saw the briefest glimpse of disgust and loathing before she slammed her shields back in place. Draco released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as he muttered, "Legilemens," relieved that his stubborn Gryffindor was still fighting.

Instantly, he was reliving a beautiful summer afternoon, with the smell of sun-baked grass on the breeze. He quickly recognized the setting - it was a celebration at the Weasley hovel, on the occasion of the marriage of the eldest Weasel son to the French part-Veela who had competed in the Triwizard tournament. Draco himself had crashed the reception in a Death Eater's mask after the Ministry had fallen. From the position of the sun in Granger's memory, he guessed that Scrimgeour still had a few hours left.

Granger was looking bloody gorgeous in a strapless lilac silk dress that clung in all the right places. She was chatting animatedly with two wizards. He recognized Viktor Krum; the other wizard was a chubby ginger who looked to be a born Hufflepuff. Granger was clearly out of his league, even though she was treating him like he was one of her best friends. As for Krum, the Bulgarian blighter was standing far too close to "Herm-own-ninny," at least in Draco's opinion. Then the Weasel King came bounding up like an ill-trained Labrador, levitating four glasses and a bottle of wizarding champagne. He threw his arm around Granger's bare shoulders and exclaimed, "Everyone - let's drink a toast to Bill and Fleur!"

Draco caught himself nearly snarling at a memory until he realized what Granger was doing. She was rubbish at traditional Occlumency; he had always been able to exploit her Gryffindor feelings to find a chink in whatever walls she constructed. So his clever Mudblood had discovered that she could turn the tables and distract him by replaying her interactions with other wizards, since any strong emotion - like jealousy - was incompatible with effective Legilemency.

He focused on the ruby-encrusted sword, trying to force his way through her mind to the information he wanted. Granger pushed back, keeping him in her memory of that summer wedding reception. He watched the uncouth Weasel insist that Granger try the champagne. Draco could understand her lack of enthusiasm - he had given her wizarding champagne (of a much better vintage) on the evening he had seduced her, so she was well aware of the drink's properties as an aphrodisiac. She took a few token sips during the toast and then politely excused herself. Draco followed the memory as Granger walked away from the three boys, increasing her pace as soon as she was out of their sight, but still barely making it behind a concealing hedge before she vomited onto the ground in front of an audience of gnomes.

Draco suppressed his anger at the message implicit in the memory Granger had selected, thinking instead of goblins and swords. She was still effectively keeping him out, as the next thought he picked up had nothing to do with either. Instead, it was Granger alone in a Muggle bathroom stall, sitting on the closed toilet with her head in her hands. From her clothing - a sleeveless blouse and denim shorts that gave Draco an admirable view of her tanned legs - he could tell it was still summer. In the memory, Granger flipped over what looked like a stubby white wand clutched in her hand and began swearing. "Fuck, no. Please, no. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She threw the wand away, now sobbing. Then she turned around, yanked up the lid, and began retching into the toilet.

Granger was presently heaving the contents of her stomach onto his family's heirloom rug in reaction to the Cruciatus curse. As his mother vanished the mess with a wince and a flick of her wand, Draco wondered if Granger's present nausea had led her to show him an utterly disconnected memory. He was feeling rather ill himself, but pressed on with his attempts to penetrate Granger's mind, unsure if the frustration he felt as he did so was his own or hers.

She practically flung the next memory at him. Granger, wearing a drab pink hospital gown, was sitting on a paper-covered table when a white-coated Muggle healer walked into the room holding a clipboard. "I understand you're about seventeen weeks?" At Granger's nod, the woman continued with a slight frown. "You've left it a bit late for an initial antenatal visit."

The witch shrugged, indifferent. "I've been taking my vitamins and read some books on what to expect."

The Muggle consulted her chart. "Everything looks fine in terms of your initial blood work, other than a touch of anemia, so I'll prescribe some iron supplements. If you come back in a fortnight, we can perform the scan for any abnormalities and find out the sex, if that's something you'd like to know in advance."

"You can bring one person with you," she continued. "Maybe your mum or the baby's father?"

"My mum's out of the country and the father is . . . irresponsible. Is it all right if I bring a friend?"

"Of course," the older woman said with sympathy. "Chin up, dear." Reverting to her professional manner, she spoke briskly. "Now, if you'll just lay back, I'll do a quick exam and then we can listen to the baby's heartbeat."

Only years of training kept Draco from dropping his wand in shock and losing access to Granger's mind. He offered no resistance as she nudged him into another memory, where she was pacing restlessly outside a mean-looking tent on a cold winter night, wand at the ready. He could see her breath in the air and her now-distended belly, apparent even beneath a heavy parka. Suddenly, she doubled over and groaned, fluid gushing between her legs.

Granger, now curled in a fetal position on the drawing room floor, echoed the groan he heard in his mind as Bellatrix redoubled her efforts. Draco bit down hard on his lip as he felt an all-too-familiar burning begin in his skull and race through his extremities, and suddenly realized why his fellow Death Eaters never used the Cruciatus curse and Legilemency at the same time. The pain from a Crucio was mental rather than physical, which meant he inadvertently had tapped into it as he shared Granger's thoughts.

The pain was less agonizing than the typical Unforgivable cast by Bellatrix, which surprised him until he realized he was experiencing a fraction of what she was inflicting on Granger. Draco was certain he hadn't made any sound, but Narcissa's sharp blue eyes darted towards him, noting the sweat beading on his forehead and the pallor of his skin. Silently and subtly, his mother's wand moved in a pattern he had seen countless times during his childhood and adolescence when his father punished him. Draco felt a sudden wave of relief and regained enough focus to delve back into Granger's thoughts.

Even in a second-hand memory, the harshness of the hospital's fluorescent lights was enough to make him blink. Once again, Granger was wearing a drab pink hospital gown, but in this memory the fabric below her waist was damp with blood and other fluids, while her hair was matted with sweat. Her legs were splayed wide, knees in the air, with a Muggle healer at the foot of the bed, instructing her to push as she moaned and cried like an animal in a trap, echoing the Granger on the floor in front of him.

Potter was there in the hospital room, standing behind her shoulder and mumbling worthless platitudes while oh-so-bravely wincing at the death grip his best friend had on his hand. The rage that Draco felt at that sight was so strong that Granger easily could have expelled him from her mind if she hadn't wanted him to see this memory. He should have been the one holding her hand, not the fucking Chosen One. And unlike Scarhead, who apparently didn't know how to use his wand to scratch his arse without Granger's assistance, Draco never would have forgotten that he was a wizard with access to spells and potions to augment what were obviously ineffective Muggle painkillers.

Granger had brought him into her memories very close to the actual birth. "Almost there, luv. I can see the head. Just a couple more pushes," the Muggle midwife coached. Draco could feel echoes of remembered pain as her contractions waxed and waned in tandem with his aunt's Crucio; then a burning sensation that drew a muffled cry from Granger; and finally a tremendous sense of relief as the baby slipped from between her thighs into the midwife's waiting arms.

Draco was so caught up in Granger's memories that he barely registered Bellatrix had lowered her wand in response to Granger screaming that the sword was a fake. In her mind, there were three endless heartbeats of silence, broken by a loud squalling that reminded him of an angry cat. "A strapping boy!" the Muggle announced.

"Draco, fetch the goblin," Lucius ordered. "He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

His father's command snapped Draco out of Granger's thoughts before he could catch more than a glimpse of the baby. He was tempted to tell him to shove off and get the goblin himself, but unwilling to take the risk that his disobedience would incite Lucius to lash out at Granger, laying prone on the floor within easy striking distance of his cane. His mother caught his eye and jerked her head imperceptibly towards the door, all the while keeping her wand trained on the young witch huddled on the rug. Draco understood her message: she would watch over Granger until he returned.

Draco quickly left the drawing room and sprinted down the cellar steps, doubtful of Narcissa's ability to keep Lucius and Bellatrix at bay for long. His voice was harsh as he called through the locked door to the prisoners. "Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!" He needed to get back to Granger and had no time to waste on Potter's attempted heroics. Draco marched Griphook into the drawing room at wand-point and arrived, too late, to the sound of Granger's renewed screams.

"May I take over with the Mudblood, Aunt Bella, while you question the goblin?" he asked politely.

Bellatrix was always delighted when he showed initiative as a Death Eater and genially agreed as she lowered her wand. "Of course, darling, but keep her here in case I have any further questions for the filth."

Draco hid a grimace as Granger looked at him in shocked betrayal. He pointed his wand, cast a wordless Legilemens, and then a clear, confident, "Crucio!" Granger's screams again filled the room.

He rummaged through her thoughts, one question paramount in his mind. Where is the baby? Show me the baby, Granger. She was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to hold out much longer, and he quickly was able to grasp a clear mental image of Granger sitting up in a hospital bed, looking down at the swaddled baby cradled in her arms. Draco marveled at the translucent eyelashes and tight grip the newborn had on his mother's finger. The white-blond Malfoy hair was hidden beneath a soft knit cap, but he was transfixed by the blue-grey eyes peering up at Granger. Minutes passed until, with a start, he realized that the witch had again succeeded in distracting him.

He focused his thoughts. Where is he now, Granger? She bombarded him with disjointed images that made no sense: his mother as a young woman preening on a moth-eaten tapestry, Ginny Weasley laughing at a witch who had a pig snout instead of a nose, Potter shooting hexes while flying on a broomstick behind a dark-skinned wizard in bright African garb. He forced his way past them to a memory of Granger and Potter walking up a stone path to a modest but well-tended home with yellow stucco walls and dark green shutters. Granger was holding the sleeping baby in her arms, and Draco noted approvingly that she had him well-bundled against the cold in a hooded blue snowsuit. Just as Potter raised his hand to knock on the front door, his aunt pressed down on his wand hand and broke the connection.

"That's enough, Draco dear," she crooned. Granger's screams cut off and she curled onto her side, eyes shut as though she was barely clinging to consciousness. "You'll want to leave a bite or two for Greyback."

Draco's protest was cut off by Weasley's shouting as he and Potter burst into the room in a typically reckless and poorly planned rescue attempt by the Boy Who Lived At The Expense Of Others. Once they had been disarmed, Draco closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his aunt slit Granger's throat.

He snapped them open as the drawing room chandelier crashed to the ground on top of Granger. His strangled cry was drowned out by a loud crack as the Weasel grabbed her limp, bleeding body and Apparated away.

Draco, with blood and tears on his face, was left standing amidst the crystal wreckage of something that had once been beautiful, wondering if that was an apt metaphor for his life.