A/N: I had so many clear mental images from this plot bunny that I thought I'd try to string them all together into a multi-chap. This story starts in the middle of Deathly Hallows but there will be some major changes and a much heavier emphasis on Draco and Hermione's POVs. We're going to go beyond the ending of Deathly Hallows and explore the aftermath of the war as well!

I really hope you like the story and I'm looking forward to your responses. Hearing from the readers definitely energizes and encourages me, and it's also very helpful in case there are things that I forget or miss.

You can also find me on Tumblr! I'm xxsummersirenxx, and other than here that is the best place to ask me questions (plus on Tumblr I can respond to anon questions which is nice!). Anyway, I hope you'll share your thoughts with me, but most of all I hope you enjoy the story!

Pairings: Dramione, Remadora, Hinny, Theo/Luna, Ron/Lavender, and probably a few other secondary pairings as we go along.

Chapter One

If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he'd never forget the sound of her screams.

They reverberated in his bones, driving Draco Malfoy's shame—yes, shame—to new heights. It hadn't started as shame of course. It had started instead with terror and discomfort, but by the time his aunt Bellatrix had finished carving the word Mudblood into Hermione Granger's arm, those emotions had definitely morphed into a deep sense of self-loathing. He had the briefest image of throwing himself in front of the next Cruciatus curse, but a quick glance at his parents kept him still. Painfully, shamefully still.

If I save her, I kill my parents, he told himself. I kill my mother.

But his mother was a grown woman, a fully trained witch with a wand. Hermione Granger was not. Another scream pierced the air and Draco's self-control, already in tatters, was shredded further. The girl's body arched high off of the floor and then slumped again, and when she opened her eyes they settled on him. Proud Granger, broken at last, forced to plead with him. His stomach rolled over at the realization, and he was very nearly sick underneath the ancient family tapestries. Even in this upside-down world, seeing Granger humbled seemed wrong, unnatural. He had wanted to best her, of course. He'd spent six years trying to do just that. But to break her, to laugh as she was tortured at his feet?

Bile shot up to his throat, nearly overwhelming him. He clamped his lips tight and swallowed it. He realized that he could just make out Weasley screaming too, down there with Potter and Dean Thomas and Loony Lovegood, with a goblin and a wandmaker. Along with Wormtail and the Snatchers and the werewolf they made as sorry a cast as they did a production, and that horrible sense of being lost at sea washed over Draco again. Lost and drowning—Granger or my mother?

He was snapped back to attention by his father responding to a sound in the cellar, a loud crack that Draco himself had only vaguely registered while he was busy with his internal struggle. While Bellatrix dealt with the goblin, Lucius Malfoy turned to his son.

"Go and check on our prisoners," he said, and though a protest immediate jumped to Narcissa's lips, she took one look at the expression on her husband's face and fell silent. Perhaps she wanted to spare her son from the torture for a few seconds. With a curt nod, Draco turned on his heel and left.

He paused outside of the cellar door and sucked in a breath. It was time to make a final decision.

"Stand back from the door!" he shouted. Then, quieter, "I'm coming in, Potter—don't do anything stupid and I might be able to help."

"He's lying," he heard Weasley growl, but if Potter answered it was too quiet to make out. Draco took one last deep breath to brace himself and then he opened the cellar door and stepped in. The unexpected light caused him to blink for a moment, and in that second's disorientation, Weasley lunged at him. Potter was faster. He caught his friend around the waist and held him back, barely. Draco quickly made sure he was out of reach and put a wall against his back. It was only then that he saw something was wrong.

There were too few prisoners in this room.

"Wha—?" His eyes shot up to Potter's. "What's going on?"

The other boy hesitated, his eyes searching Draco's as above them, Granger started to scream again. Weasley struggled hard against Potter's grasp but he couldn't break free and a moment later he sagged, exhausted from his efforts.

"I only have a minute, probably less," Draco hissed. "So don't mess me about. Do you have a way out of this cellar?"

"Harry, don't! Don't tell this rat bastard anything! He'll tell them!" Weasley's voice was ragged from his earlier shouting. Potter ignored him, still searching his rival's expression. Draco wanted to shout, to rail at him for wasting time, but he curbed his impatience.

"If you don't tell me," he said instead, his voice deadly quiet, "they'll call the Dark Lord and turn her over to Greyback. I'm the only one that can get her out."

"You hate us," Potter said. The why should we trust you was implied. Draco only shook his head, unsure he knew how to convey that enmity and envy aside, no one deserved the special hell that Granger was enduring upstairs. In the end he didn't have to. Potter came to his decision quickly and inexplicably.

"Dobby is Disapparating us out of here."

A house-elf, of course. The elf's strange brand of magic could ignore the wards that had been placed on the cellar to prevent the prisoners from escaping. It was genius, and he wanted to ask how they'd gotten word out to the elf, but another scream and Gregyback's growing impatience to 'taste the girl,' underlined his need for haste.

"Where?"

There was another pause, and Weasley was practically begging Potter not to say.

"Damn it, Potter, she's dying. Where?"

"To Bill and Fleur Weasley's. Shell Cottage outside of Tinworth. Draco—you've got to get the sword, too. We've got to have it."

Merlin's beard, he doesn't ask for much, does he? He had no idea how he was going rescue both the girl and the sword, but he was going to have to try. Something about Potter's expression convinced him that the blade was nearly as imperative as Granger's life.

"Wait for the elf here. I'll meet you at the cottage with Granger and the sword."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ducked out of the cellar, slamming the door shut behind him. He could hear Weasley's howling protests and Potter's attempts to calm him, but he shut them out of his mind. If he was going to get Granger and that blasted blade out of Malfoy Manor, he was going to have to wait for just the right moment. His timing would have to be perfect. His only advantage was the element of surprise. Even if they all thought his support of the Dark Lord was suddenly more lackluster than it had been a year before, not even Bellatrix would expect him to betray his parents and leave them at Voldemort's mercy.

He swallowed and pushed away the image of what Voldemort's mercy was likely to be like. If he thought about that, he'd be lost all over again. By the time he'd reentered the drawing room, his expression was composed. He was so tense that he nearly vibrated with it, but he forced his face to relax.

"They were trying to free themselves," he said. "I took care of it."

No one questioned him further. Bellatrix had turned her attention back to the Malfoys. They were arguing over which of them should summon the Dark Lord, and Draco's eyes swept the room. His aunt was under a huge glass chandelier, and his parents were close enough to her that they'd be distracted by its fall but not badly harmed. Wormtail and Greyback were another problem. The former had come over, hovering close enough for Draco to smell him. The later was pacing, his eyes locked on Granger's form. She looked small and too still, and he could see blood pooling under her body. In a small stroke of luck, the goblin they'd captured was standing within arm's reach of her, clutching the sword Potter wanted so badly.

He gripped his wand and forced himself to concentrate, to shut out Wormtail's smell and Bellatrix's shrieks. He tensed all his muscles, hoping that his old seeker's reflexes were up to this impossible task. He shot his mother one last look, wishing he could save her too, and then he couldn't delay anymore. His aunt was raising her arm, about to press her fingers to the Dark Mark—

His spell neatly severed the chain that was holding the great chandelier above her head. He spun and elbowed Wormtail in the nose and in the same motion brought his wand around and shot a stunning spell at Greyback. Wormtail doubled over, clutching at his face, and Draco yanked his wand out of his blood-slicked fingers. He darted toward the werewolf, hitting him with a second stunning spell just to be safe, and then took his wand as well.

In the crucial seconds that he'd been disarming the others, Bellatrix was struggling to pull herself out of the wreckage of the chandelier. She'd been struck and she was dragging her leg, but she wasn't out of the fight yet. The goblin was pinned under some of that same wreckage but Granger hadn't been caught in the worst of it, thank Merlin.

He sprinted forward, dodging a curse from his aunt's wand. He shifted the wands in his hands so that he held them all in one fist and dove toward Granger.

"Filth! TRAITOR!" Bellatrix shrieked. She lifted her wand again just as Draco's fingers closed around Granger's wrist. He saw her mouth, saw her lips start forming those fatal words, Avada—

"Stupefy!" Narcissa screamed, and her aim was true. Her spell hit Bellatrix square in the back, and Draco didn't waste this opportunity. He hauled a barely-conscious Granger up to her feet and yanked her forward, making a desperate grab for Bellatrix's wand.

"Draco!" His father was shouting, his face white with shock and betrayal, but he couldn't think about that. He didn't dare think about that. His mother had attacked her own sister to save him, he couldn't stop now. He shoved the extra wands into his pocket and grabbed the goblin. With one last, anguished look at his mother, he turned on the spot and disappeared.

Draco staggered when his feet hit solid ground, and Granger listed dangerously to the side in his one-armed grasp. He released his hold on the goblin to catch her with his other arm, steadying her against him as he straightened back up. She moaned his name and he tried to hum at her in a comforting manner, but the noise that came out of his throat was thin and broken as he searched the surrounding area for any danger. He smelled the sea and caught sight of a shadow against the night sky that was probably the cottage Potter had told him about. Around them, he could hear the sound of bugs and the not-so-distant crash of waves. They had made it. They were, for now, safe.

Granger's fingers were curled into his shirt and she was clinging to him with all the strength she had left. Draco shifted her in his arms to better take the brunt of her weight. Then he glanced down at the goblin. The creature was dazed and bleeding, and he was covered in cuts from the broken chandelier. He was still clutching the sword, but weakly, and Draco pulled it free from his grasp. He ignored the growl he received in response; goblins could be cunning, and Potter had needed this sword enough to risk Granger's rescue for it.

"Hermione!"

Draco's head turned toward the shout and he spotted Weasley and Potter nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to get to her. She had started crying, her tears soaking into Draco's collar, and she was saying their names over and over.

Weasley reached them first. He immediately grasped her arm, trying to pull her away from Draco, but she didn't release her grip on his shirt. The look Weasley shot him then was so full of malice that it took every ounce of willpower Draco had not to hex him into next week. He felt the bitter twist of his lips and was about to take a chunk out of the redhead's hide when Potter pushed his friend gently away.

"You got her…you got them both." The gratitude on his face was too much. Draco turned his gaze away. He lifted his hand to uncurl Grangers fingers. When she'd finally relinquished him, Potter and Weasley each took an arm and helped her toward the cottage. Still clutching the sword, he helped the goblin up and followed the others toward shelter. He didn't know what else to do, didn't have anywhere else to go. The thought was terrifying, but he'd be damned if he crumbled now. All he needed was sleep, he could figure the rest out in the morning.

A/N: Yup, Dobby survives! We'll see a little more of him later. Don't worry, Harry still convinces Griphook to help even without the burial scene. Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 will be up very soon!