Chapter Text
Mudblood
Chapter 1
Draco Malfoy appeared with a soft pop on the edge of the wards that surrounded the old Nott Estate.
“They caught Potter’s mudblood,” Goyle whispered in his ear as they fell into step. Draco had disapparated immediately after receiving the wizard’s cryptic note. At his old lackey’s whispered words, an excited thrill slipped through Draco’s many layers of occlumency.
They moved through the familiar walls of the old Nott house. Even after 6 months, it still felt bizarre to walk through the house he had explored as a child and see it so changed. The Dark Lord had commandeered the estate for his personal use after the death of Nott senior and the disappearance of his son. Five years later Draco’s old friend was presumed dead and the Dark Lord held court in his childhood home. It was a daily occurrence to see people tortured in Theo’s music room, or bodies dumped on the pitch where they used to play quidditch.
That earlier thrill of excitement shifted to a pang of sadness.
Theo should be the one standing by his side, not the bumbling Goyle…
Quicker than it would take to blink, Draco took the unwanted emotion and shoved it into the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. Feeble sentiments such as sadness and nostalgia represented a weakness that he could not afford. To show any such vulnerability, especially amongst his fellow Death Eaters was practically suicidal. Anyone of them would jump at an opportunity to earn the Dark Lord’s favor.
Draco couldn't fault them. He would do and had done the very same…
As they filed into the large meeting hall, once a grand ballroom, hushed fragments of conversations reached his ear.
“— got Potter’s mudblood whore—”
”—has to come out of hiding now!”
“—hope we get a crack at her—”
A few of the elder Death Eaters looked Draco’s way as they whispered amongst themselves, their envy clear for all to see. They cannot fathom how, against all odds, he had earned the Dark Lord’s favor.
After the ruin of his family name and being sent into brutal exile masquerading an education, by all rights Draco should be dead. For seven years he studied under the tutelage of the worst witches and wizards imaginable, learning dark magics, poisons, and the finer points of torture. Draco quickly learned that every trial was designed to kill him.
It was hell.
But they forgot that he was a Malfoy and Malfoys persevered.
Draco survived, besting each master and killing them as dark tradition dictates before being shipped off to the next. Until six months ago, when the Dark Lord summoned him home. Then Draco began the monumental task of proving his worth by ending the war.
From the beginning, he dominated every skirmish with the Order. Every captive sang in his hands, providing valuable information. After being at a stalemate for years, Draco had single-handedly turned the tide of this war, proving himself more capable than even the Dark Lord’s senior advisers.
And tonight would be his crowning achievement…
Draco had planned today’s raid on the Order safe house. Potter, the coward, had gone deep underground. With no sightings for almost four years, he knew they needed a valuable hostage to entice the bleeding heart Gryffindor out of hiding. His intelligence had hinted at the possibility of Longbottom, McGonagall, or the big git–Hagrid. All great hostages to entice Saint Potter’s self-sacrificing tendencies.
But to snare bloody Granger…
Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Scar head burst through the door in the middle of this meeting to save his childhood friend. Potter would be putty in his hands and the Malfoy name would be respected again.
The hall doors slammed open and the room fell into complete silence as the Dark Lord strolled in. Behind him walked Snape followed by Aunt Bellatrix, who was dragging the bound prisoner along with her magic.
It was the first time Draco had laid eyes on the Granger girl since 6th year…
She had fought with the Order in the hallway during their escape after Dumbledore’s death. The moment had stuck in Draco’s mind because the mudblood had unexpectedly lowered her wand when she first spotted Snape and him running through the halls. Then Yaxley appeared and sent a curse her way. He didn’t see the outcome but remembered wondering if she died.
It would have been better if she had. Then his father would still be alive…
Curiosity got the better of Draco and he looked the mudblood over. Nothing much had changed since school. She wore the same boring muggle clothes, now torn and dirty from the raid. Her hair was as wild as ever, framing her overly plain face. But her eyes were different. She caught his gaze and instead of the old dislike and annoyance he vaguely remembered from school, Draco saw sadness, desperation, and something he couldn't place.
Why was she looking at him so intently?
The mudblood’s eyes roved over him, studying Draco with the same intensity as her school books. Aunt Bellatrix hissed at her to move along and she quickened her step but continued to crane her neck around. Draco shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, which caused his temper to flare and weasel through the cracks of his control.
She was the prisoner! She should be pleading for her life, her eyes to the ground, not staring in open disrespect at her betters. Draco would make her pay for such insolence when it was his turn to break her. The desire to pluck the offending chocolate orbs from their sockets washed over him.
A hostage doesn't need their eyes to be efficient bait, he thought as a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. Maybe I’ll offer them to the Dark Lord when I’m done with her…
Draco returned the mudblood’s stare with one of his own, opening the gates of his occlumency just enough to soften the stone façade of his face and make it as sadistic as possible while promising all the horrors that awaited her. He saw her eyes flare in fear just as she reached the dais where the Dark Lord took his seat.
He and all his fellow Death Eaters took a knee, eyes on the ground. The silence hung heavy in the room until Aunt Bellatrix’s snarl drew Draco’s gaze up.
The girl was the only one standing amongst the sea of kneeling Death Eaters. She stood tall, her back straight despite her magical restraints, and met the Dark Lord’s gaze unflinchingly.
Stupid mudblood…
Bellatrix hissed again, flicking her wand towards her captive.
He watched as the mudblood tensed, fighting whatever wordless spell his aunt had cast. She held her posture for a few more seconds, then fell to her knees with a loud crack on the marble floor. Despite the painful injury, she didn’t murmur a sound and continued to glare unchallenged at the Dark Lord.
Draco couldn’t help but feel a reluctant kernel of respect for Granger at that moment. At least she had an iota of courage and pride. Far too many turned into a sniveling mess when presented to the Dark Lord, friend and foe alike.
His gaze flicked to the throne and noted the playful smirk that touched the Dark Lord’s lips. That was not good. Every victim that was on the receiving end of that smirk had his undivided attention.
There would be nothing left of her to use as bait…
A pity. Draco would have to concoct another plan to flush Potter out into the open and he definitely wouldn’t be given a chance at her. He’d just have to enjoy the show.
“Gentlemen,” the Dark Lord’s cold drawl broke the silence. “We get to play host to a very special guest tonight. Potter’s pet has graced us with her presence. We must be sure she is entertained.”
The room filled with soft chuckles.
“Where is her wand?” He asked.
“Here, my Lord,” Snape answered, producing the wand from the folds of his robes. Snape stepped forward onto the dais and offered it to him. The Dark Lord took it in his hands, held it tentatively for a moment, then snapped it in half and threw it over his shoulder. She flinched at the crack but said nothing.
“Where is Potter?” The Dark Lord asked sweetly.
She answered with silence, continuing to stare back in defiance.
He pointed his wand at her and hissed, “Crucio.”
The mudblood collapsed on the ground, her body twisting and twitching unnaturally, but she did not scream. After a few moments, the Dark Lord raised his wand, releasing her. She stayed panting on the ground, then struggled to stand. With her arms still magically bound to her sides, she attempted to shift her legs and pivot from a sitting to a standing position, but she lost her balance likely due to the muscle tremors from the Crucio. The mudblood fell forward, almost cracking her face against the marble.
More chuckling echoed in the hall, Draco’s amongst them.
“It will be hard to carry on a conversation if we can’t speak face to face,” the Dark Lord said coolly.
The mudblood remained still for a moment, her chest heaving. Then rolled onto her side, and attempted the maneuver again. This time it was successful and she rose shakily to her feet. Her eyes searched the crowd, finding Draco again. Her gaze was pleading.
Did she think he would save her? Had she lost her mind?
Draco would rather have her writhing at his feet than help the filthy mudblood. She, her precious Potter, and their pet weasel were the reason why his father was dead. The snatchers had brought them to the manor all those years ago. His father had summoned his Lord to the manor, certain that it would reestablish their family in his good graces.
But it all went terribly wrong when the trio somehow escaped, taking the captives entrusted to their dungeons with them, including the wand maker. The Dark Lord was furious. In his rage at another one of Lucius’s failures, he killed him.
Draco’s fingers itched to grasp his wand and wipe that look from her face himself, but the Dark Lord would be displeased if he acted without permission.
She flinched at the hate in Draco’s eyes, then turned to her captor, chin held high.
“Your stay with us will be much more pleasant, Miss Granger, if you are compliant to our wishes,” the Dark Lord said softly, offering fake mercy. Those who took it in the past ended up no better than the ones who didn’t. More often they ended worse.
The Dark Lord hated disloyalty in all forms.
Draco saw her jaw tighten, but still not a sound escaped her chapped lips. Not even when Crucio was cast again.
“Have it your way then.”
It went on for hours. The Dark Lord asked her the whereabouts of Potter, Death Eater prisoners, the Order headquarters, and supply channels. Her only answer was more silence and he responded in kind with a Crucio. The first sound to escape the mudblood’s lips was when Snape had been ordered to help her back to her feet when she could no longer stand on her own. He gripped her arm and a hiss slipped through her pursed lips before she pulled away.
Draco once thought that he would never tire of seeing the mudblood writhing on the floor in pain, but with the repetition, he was getting bored. Proper torture techniques require variety, so the victim doesn’t know what to expect. She was never going to break like this.
The Dark Lord must have come to the same conclusion.
“I think it’s time to change tactics. Bring the girl to me.”
Snape and Bellatrix grabbed her by the arms and half dragged her up the stairs of the dais. The second sound to escape her lips was a whimper as her eyes flashed Draco’s way again before she was forced forward. They knelt her at the foot of the Dark Lord’s throne. His long spider-like fingers tugged her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Draco studied the Dark Lord’s face unobserved while he worked. As an accomplished Legillimens himself, he could tell it hadn’t taken long to breach her mind. You would think as the swotty know-it-all from school, she would be better prepared. His snake-like eyes flickered back and forth like one does when reading a book. That’s what her mind was to the Dark Lord, an open book for him to peruse at his leisure. His face grew more intent the longer he delved. Draco watched his expression turn grave, then blank. A moment later he released her chin.
She sagged to the ground, boneless, tears streaming down her face as silent sobs wracked her body.
“Draco, step forward,” The Lord commanded, his eyes still trained on the girl.
Draco’s heart leapt. He was going to get a crack at her.
He tried to suppress his anticipation as he approached the throne. If the Dark Lord sensed Draco’s eagerness, he would likely take this opportunity away.
Then the dark wizard’s slitted gaze shifted towards Draco, murderous and rage-filled.
“Crucio.”
Intense pain exploded across Draco’s body, more severe than he had experienced before. The Dark Lord’s rage burned through him. It felt like he was being peeled apart, layer by layer. First his skin, then the muscles, and then every nerve ending was split. It went on and on, but after years of experiencing painful demonstrations of techniques firsthand and aided by his occlumency, Draco was able to compartmentalize his suffering.
He was moderately aware of what was going on outside of his body.
The room was in an uproar, the Dark Lord was hissing orders and a woman was screaming.
Mother?!?
No… Mother was in the manor in southern Hampshire, permanently damaged from the Dark Lord’s treatment. She was in no fit state to walk the gardens, let alone come here.
So who was screaming?
Draco tried to push the pain farther down, even as it intensified. Having something else to concentrate on helped.
“Please! Please, stop! You’re going to kill him!”
That was… that was the mudblood. After hours of silence, she was pleading for someone else’s life…
Had Potter shown up after all?
No… if that were the case then he wouldn’t still be the target of the Dark Lord’s spell…
Why was he being Crucio’d? What had Draco done to displease him?
His thoughts grew more hazy as the pain grew… it was becoming harder to suppress as his body approached its limit.
The screaming turned to sobbing pleas.
“Please don’t kill him… don’t kill Draco…”
She was… She was pleading for him!?!
Draco could barely register his confusion. The black fog of unconsciousness was creeping up the edges of his thoughts.
He tried to resist it, but it was a losing battle.
“Take the blood traitor and his mudblood to the dungeon. I will make him pay dearly for his treachery.”
The pain started to fade and Draco’s mind receded into nothingness.