Authors note: I am going off of the books for the most part for my cannon, but drawing a little from the movies at times. I do love both so I am picking and choosing a bit. The First two chapters here are Prologues because they (for the most part) are fairly close to cannon, but written with an overhead of Draco's perspective.

UPDATE DEC 1: went through for another edit, thank you for your patience and comments-did over a dozen little edits on this chapter changing words that had been auto corrected on my phone like 'Prose' to 'proud' etc. Hopefully it's a little smoother reading now. UPDATE FEB 18: Thanks to everyone for the feedback so far-I appreciate each and every one of you.

*TRIGGER WARNING: This story is rated M for a reason. There will be violence, abuse, sex, violence around sex etc. I don't want my story to hurt anyone so please do not read if you are not okay with reading about those things. All of those don't occur from the very start, but they are coming. You are warned.

Thanks so much. I hope you enjoy.

Prologue Part 1-The Malfoy Manor:

Draco sat in the drawing room by the fireplace with his ankle crossed over atop his knee. He was reading a copy of an extremely old, extremely dull, book on potions. On his third try through the same paragraph on newt's eyes and their various uses he let out an exhausted sigh and rubbed his own eyes tiredly. It wasn't that he didn't love potions he just couldn't seem to focus.

He was craving something, anything, to distract him from the chaos that was going on in his house and life. He missed Hogwarts and yearned for the comforting glow of the Slytherin dungeons. He missed his friends and the girls who fawned over him with hopeful eyes and gentle bodies. Hogwarts stone walls felt warm, safe even. The stone of his family's mansion felt cold like a gilded cage.

At the moment he was at the top of all his classes, every single one. The satisfaction wasn't what he thought it would be and he knew it was because he hadn't beat the only person who offered him real competition: Granger. Yes, Potter was the bane of his existence, but Granger...Granger was a challenge. The only one who provided a challenge, as a matter of fact.

She was a wild haired, know-it-all, brat in the earlier years. She was still a know-it-all now but in less of a bratty way and more of as a mature polymath. Time had mellowed her some, though and Draco liked and respected her for it.

Where was she now? Probably off gallivanting around with Potter and the Weasel trying to save the world. He was glad she wasn't at school, not because he didn't want her there. He would never admit our loud that he missed the challenge and the feisty edge that made her so much more interesting than the rest of his classmates. He was glad she wasn't there now because the school wasn't a safe place for people like her anymore.

He had been taught to hate her for her "dirty" linage.

He had been taught she, like so many others, was less than him.

He had been told she was tainted.

And yet, despite everything he did see her as an equal-a fact that he was at war within himself about on a daily basis. He knew he would only feel the 'win' of being the top if he could beat her for the seat at the top.

It was strange how it made him happy to believe she was off somewhere in a safe house, cozy and reading some old dusty tome like him. Maybe likewise sitting reading at this very moment curled up next to a warmer fire in a house much more comforting than his own. Likely with the Weasel. Draco sneered, the pleasant image of her ruined by the thought of the dumb git of a redhead who seemed to hold her fancy.

What did she see in him anyway? There was no way he had half the brain she deserves in a partner. She deserves someone who was a challenge to her, who complimented her...He smiled at the thought then scowled at himself for thinking it in the first place.

His mother's voice caught his ears from down the hall making him sit a little straighter.

"My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter he will know." The words echoed off the walls. Draco shuddered, his fingers tightening against the cover of his book. She was talking to someone, likely a death eater. He didn't want to deal with 'them' today. What had she said about Potter?

"What is this?" his father drawled and stepped forward as the group, headed by his mother, and entered into the room.

No, Draco reeled at the sight of the group. He closed the book gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Deatheaters had caught the golden trio.

The Weasley boy, was half hunched over and looked bloody, and bloody awful. He had clearly been brawling with his captors.

Hermione, looked both scared and defiant at the same time. She was struggling against Greyback's grip. Her little sweater rode up exposing a strip of smooth skin across her stomach. The werewolf leered at the exposed skin and licked his lips.

Draco felt the strong and sudden urge to punch Greyback in the face, with his fist and then hex him with a wand. Not sure where the desire had bubbled up from, he clamped it down, or rather tried to and failed. He didn't like the way the older man was looking at Hermione-it made his skin crawl.

Hadn't he just been imaging her safe and sound? You should know better than to hope by now, he chastised himself. He realized he was staring at her. Her sharp eyes met his and locked with him. He couldn't handle, didn't want to bear the weight of the anger and the pleading he saw there and he looked away from here and to the final member of the group.

There was something wrong with the last captives face, but who else could the one in front be other than the third member of the golden trio?

"They say they've got Potter," his mother announced and turned to him. "Draco come here."

Draco wanted to protest and turn heel and leave; that wasn't an option though, so he stood, setting the book down on the table next to him as casually as he could manage. His mind protested with every step. I don't want to be the Judas, the thought ran through his head. He tried to dismiss it. He didn't even like Potter, hated him actually, but that didn't change the fact that he did not want to be the wizard responsible for handing the wizarding worlds supposed savior over to the devil that was Voldemort.

His father saw handing over Potter as a chance at eternal glory. A few months ago he might have seen it that way too. That was before Voldemort had asked him to kill Dumbledore. It was before the old man had stood there so stoically and fearless and shown him kindness even as he held a wand like gun against the old man's head.

Draco shoved the memory aside violently. He didn't want to think about that day, think about how he had failed in two ways. Failed to live up to his family and the Dark Lord's expectations, and failed to save an old man, unarmed, and unprotected, from death.

Greyback pushed the disfigured boy forward. Draco walked over and stood at a distance in front of him. He didn't want to get close. Even from where he stood he could see that yes, it was Harry. Potters face was pink, swollen and ugly, quite hideous to behold. It was obvious to Draco he had been cursed. The clothes were right, the glasses, and the company he was keeping certainly gave it away. More than any of that Draco simply 'Knew' it was Potter.

"Well boy?" rasped the werewolf.

Shut up you dumb dog, Draco answered in his head, saying nothing out loud. He swallowed, his throat feeling dry.

Potter wouldn't make eye contact. Draco would have sneered if he wasn't so focused on remaining calm or at least, maintaining the illusion of calm in a room full of people.

Truth was he was anything but calm.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? You weren't supposed to get yourself caught you dumb twit, he growled inwardly at Potter. Why does everyone expect this of me? He knew why, because of his parents, because of his blood. The privilege he held felt like a noose tightening around his neck more and more each day.

"Well Draco?" Lucius asked avidly. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Yes father, the chosen one is kneeling right in front of you, and you can't even recognize him for yourself, Draco almost glared.

"I can't-I can't be sure." Draco looked away, not wanting to condemn Potter and his group. Why couldn't they just figure it out for themselves and leave him out of it? Why did it have to fall to him?

"But look at him carefully. look! Come closer!" Draco felt his father's excitement and it made his stomach turn. He sneered inwardly. How had he…why had he looked up to his father for so many years? Why had be wanted to make him proud despite the cruelty, despite the berating him constantly for coming second to the 'Mudblood'?

With that thought Draco glanced over across the room at her: The mudblood. How was it that he hated the sound of that word only when used to describe her? Even just saying it his head felt somehow wrong. He had called her that before. Had meant it at the time. He had been cruel.

She looked desperate, begging him with her eyes to protect them all with a simple lie. She knew he knew. He could see it in those beautiful eyes

He hated her for all the times he had felt the sharp bite of his father's cane so the unfounded and very off-putting desire to play hero to her in that moment wreaked havoc inside him.

You're an idiot. You'll never be the hero. Even if you saved them they would all still hate you for what you've done to them in the past, especially her.

So what if he had tried to save her before when the death eaters had attacked the world cup? She didn't know that. She had no clue. Her friends were too dense to pick up on his hint. If he had said it one more time even his own father would have picked up on what he was doing and there would have been hell to pay.

He didn't want her dead. Not then, not now.

She was too good to want dead.

His father leaned in in earnest when he spoke next.

"Draco if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-"

"Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" said Greyback Menacingly.

"Of course not, of course not!" Lucius moved closer and Draco took a step away, happy to distance himself from the mess. "What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?"

"That wasn't us."

If it wasn't them… Draco's thought trailed off and he looked back at Hermione. She must have done it.

She was smart enough, a quick thinker. He hadn't known she had it in him to hurt someone she cared about even if it was to save them. It made him feel a little proud of her. Yes, it had to have been her Weasel, the great clod wouldn't think to disguise Harry's face. He glanced at her and knew it to be true. She had done it. Probably hurt like a bitch. Draco smiled to himself at that thought, and then shook his head.

"Looks more like a stinging Jinx to me." Lucius leaned in closer "There's something there… It could be the scar stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?" Lucius grabbed the back of Draco's neck and dragged him in close to look.

For the first time Harry looked up at Draco. Draco's chest tightened. If he hadn't been sure before he was certain now, beyond any trace of a doubt. The eyes said it all. It didn't matter the scar on the forehead-distorted as it was-the truth of his identity was clear in the pair of eyes that looked back at him.

Draco swallowed, he had the urge to run and fought it. Instead, he choked out the words: "I don't know," and walked back towards the fireplace where his mother was standing. I won't be responsible for the fall of the world.

Narsissa tried to catch her son's gaze but Draco refused to make eye contact. He could sense his mother wanted to help him, and he could sense too that she wanted the family to be safe again.

Lying put them in danger. If he lied and said it wasn't Potter his family could be marked for death, but the truth...the truth would bring the wizarding world crashing down. Voldemort would be called, Voldemort would come and then he would kill Harry Potter and every wizard after who got in his way as well as every wizard who wasn't pure. He would Kill Hermione, probably make a show of it.

Draco wanted to protect his mother. She had always protected and looked out for him, more than his father ever had. He also wanted to protect Granger. He knew he would choose family. He had to, but he didn't want to have make the choice at all.

Narsissa turned to Lucius warning him that they had to be certain. Draco tried to tune them out. He rested his head against his arm on the mantel.

"What about the Mudblood, then?" Greyback shoved Hermione forward and Draco's head shot up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. He watched in the mirror as Hermione struggled against the werewolf's rough hands. He felt his cold blood boil.

If you paw at her I'll kill you, you great mutt, thought Draco. He turned to face them, careful to keep his movements unhurried. He didn't know where the protective urge was coming from but it was almost out weighing his desire for self-preservation.

"Wait," said Narsissa sharply.

No, don't mother, Draco silently pleaded with her. If no one else could positively identify Potter then they had time and if there was anything he knew about the trip it was that they had a rabbit of making use of time to escape danger. Narsissa ignored, or didn't see, his expression, caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment.

"Yes-Yes, she was in madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the prophet!" she a most smiled, he could see the desperation in her face. The desire to keep him safe. She felt she was doing what was right for him "Look Draco isn't it the Granger girl?" His mother inclined her head in earnest, seeking confirmation of what was fast becoming blatantly obvious.

Draco looked to his mother, then his glance darted briefly to Granger.

All the eyes in the room were on him. He felt his heart thud in his ears, his pulse pounding. A headache started at his temples.

He couldn't lie and say no, couldn't stall anymore, if he did everyone would know he was lying and then what? Then they would think him a traitor. He would be handed over to the dark lord.

The dark Lord would kill them all.

Powerless, he felt-once again-utterly powerless.

"I…" he looked at his mother "Maybe…" time slowed, the room held its breath. He looked to Hermione. Forgive me Granger. His next word felt like a nail in his own coffin. "Yeah."

Thank you for reading, please let me know what you thought. Cheers.