Vibrations shook the auditorium as people muttered to each other while the echo of Draco Malfoy's words died out. Draco and Hermione's eyes did not break from each other's even as the solicitor stood and began addressing the Minister.

His hands were tightening around the bars to a point of pain as though he could pull them apart to reach her. The idea of her in that courtroom, mere floors away from the other Death Eaters they had on standby was painful enough, but even more so when he had no magic and no ability to protect her.

Their words bounced around inside his head, slamming against his skull, nearly causing him to physically flinch; whore, mudblood, Malfoy slave. Word of the Malfoy heir in Azkaban spread quickly and soon enough, other prisoners were shouting their fantasies for him to hear; the things those men wished to do to the Golden Girl made even Malfoy physically ill. He didn't want them to so much as smell her.

Not for the first time, Hermione wished that the link between their minds had not been broken. She wished she could communicate with him, tell him to breathe, to relax, that she was okay. She wished she could calm him down and ask if he was okay. He certainly didn't look it;

If he had been pale before, he was translucent now. The circles under his eyes looked like smudges of black paint in comparison and the silvery-grey was deeply sunken. The toned definition of his body was sharp enough to cut glass, but he was otherwise thin, nearly wasting away. He looked broken - until his eyes found hers and the flat, haunted lifelessness dissipated beneath the heat of quicksilver flames. He looked her up and down with such desperation that she wondered if she should spin around for him to get a better look. The thin smile she gave him across all that distance did little to improve his disposition, but still, he drank it in eagerly. And then his eyes drifted downwards. Hermione watched as the anger seemed to dissipate. He sagged against the bars, finally stopping the useless prying even as his grip on them became the only thing holding him up. His eyes traced the curve and swell of her belly and his wife could almost feel the caress of his hands against it. His eyes were wide and rimmed with silver as he studied the place that housed their ever growing baby.

However, the anger fanned again as he realized that it appeared as though every ounce of healthy fat on his beautiful wife had migrated to that one spot. Draco had been so preoccupied with his overwhelming need to be close to her that he hadn't realized just how unhealthy she looked. It was like… it was like back then.

"...Hermione Granger." she flinched at the booming sound of her name echoing throughout the chambers before she realized that she had not heard a single word leading up to it.

"Ms. Granger?" Mr. Bowman urged again, beckoning her down to the floor. Ginny shoved her gently with a hand at her back. With that, she inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and determinedly marched down the stairs to her husband's solicitor.

Percy Weasley's pretentious brow was lifted as he watched Hermione make her way towards him with utter hatred in her eyes and she hoped no one else noticed the way her hand shook slightly where it cradled her belly.

Bellamy offered his hand to her as she approached the last step and she took it gratefully. The older wizard squeezed her hand reassuringly before releasing it and gesturing for her to take her seat. She hesitated as she stared up at all the people staring down at her. The panic clawing its way up her throat at the all too similar memories tasted suspiciously like bile and she was starting to think she couldn't do this. But then-

"Granger," Draco whispered. And it was the first time in months she had heard his voice. It sounded like it rolled off of a sandpaper tongue and it was blanketed by whispers and rumbles and people growling slurs for them to hear - but it was his voice. "Breathe," came the order. And she did - she remembered what she was doing this for- who she was doing this for, and she sat.

"Ms. Granger," the solicitor began again, clearing his throat. Her eyes confidently met his as she awaited the first question. "What is your relationship to Mr. Malfoy?"

"Draco is my husband." her voice didn't shake. It didn't catch. It didn't waver. She used his first name- anything to distance him from the Malfoy family as much as possible. The murmurs increased in volume.

"And how long have you been married?"

"Four years, sir."

"You have children?"

"Yes, sir. Two. Two boys." She pictured their little faces and clenched her fist to stop the tremors before they began again.

"You were," he hesitated and cleared his throat again. "You were...Draco's during the war, yes?"

And this, this was where their case grew tricky… nuanced.

"Yes, sir."

"And can you tell the Ministry a little bit about that? About your treatment there? Give us a bit of a recap. Why do you think Draco Malfoy won us the war?"

That age old Gryffindor fight expanded in her chest. Pride blossomed and she looked at Draco with love flaming in her brown eyes. When those same eyes focused on Percy Weasley, that flame grew until it was a blaze of hatred that threatened to consume the entire chamber. The Minister at least had the sense to balk at the intensity he found there as Hermione looked toward the wizard beside the pensieve.

"I'd rather show you."

Six Years Ago

Sheer terror. That was it. That was the only thing that seventeen-year-old Hermione Granger was capable of feeling. It pushed in on her until it was like a living, breathing thing tightening around her body with every breath she took.

Harry was alive. That ebbed the crushing grief, but as he rose from the dead, the fury on Voldemort's face shook the very foundation of the earth. She swore she heard the cracks running up the stone of Hogwart's walls.

It played out before her like a silent film. She heard nothing. Ginny's nails were digging hard into her wrist, and she barely even felt that. She watched red and green clash once again, watched them war with each other and fight for dominance.

Green won out for the second time and it ran up through Harry's borrowed wand before the wood shattered in his hand and the boy was forced to his knees. Voldemort's head threw back in what Hermione was sure was a blood curdling scream. Ginny lurched forward as they watched the Dark Lord stalk towards Harry. Ron was wrapping his arms around his sister's waist, hauling her back, kicking and shouting.

It was becoming glaringly obvious that they couldn't kill each other. Still, there was a lot of room for other horrors between life and death. A pale white hand reached out with its wand, using the tip of it to tilt the Chosen One's head up to look at him. And the longer Hermione stared, unblinking, the more certain she was that whatever Voldemort had planned was worse than death.

She had been right.

After the Savior fell, the Death Eaters swooped in. A ring of Fiendfyre closed around them, keeping them corralled. Something like a muggle bomb hit the center of the ring of witches and wizards, red light exploding up and outward. Every last rebel soul fell, stupefied.

By the time she woke, she had no idea how long she had been asleep. Hermione only really knew two things as consciousness returned. One, she was absolutely freezing. And two, she could feel the rough stone scraping against her breasts as she breathed; she had been stripped of her clothing. That thought alone sent her staggering to her feet, swinging blindly as she did so.

Laughter floated down from above her, disorienting her further and when her eyes opened, it was the sole fact that her stomach was empty that kept her from vomiting.

Hundreds of Death Eaters stared down at her where she stood in the middle of the floor. In the Minister's seat before her sat the Dark Lord himself. At his feet, the image that finally broke her:

Harry Potter was kneeling beside Voldemort's chair, a literal collar around his neck, the leash to which the Dark Lord was twirling between his fingers. Harry's green eyes gleamed with guilt, fear, anger and apologies - all of which he tried to convey to his friend through that look.

They had lost.

"Potter's Mudblood," Voldemort hissed. His snake eyes flitted up and down Hermione's body and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"You haven't won." Hermione croaked. "You never will." Tears trailed down her cheeks and with a flick of his finger, Voldemort sent Nagini slithering down to her.

"Begin," he drawled. She thought she was dead. She thought the snake would consume her and that would be the end.

That was, until wand tips rose into the air, lit with various colors and every Death Eater began shouting over each other.

"Silence," Voldemort said after a few moments of the chaos. "Young Malfoy," Hermione twitched and eyed her schoolmate as he made his way down the stairs; predatory grin plastered on his face. "This one is yours." the final syllable hissed out between his teeth.

"No," Harry roared. Hermione flinched, concerned eyes darting over to Harry.

Draco sauntered up to her until his Death Eater robes were nearly brushing her chest. If she inhaled too deep, they would. He smirked at her, looking her up and down with a small shrug. Hermione met his stare without wavering.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Voldemort inclined his head and with another flick of his wrist, a masked Death Eater came forward, dragging a Cauldron with him. Harry was shouting and fighting against the collar around his throat.

"Your crest," the Death Eater crooned, stretching out a gloved hand. Draco handed something over without looking away from Hermione. She refused to back down, refused to give him the satisfaction, even as something boiling hot sizzled to her left. The terrified curiosity was threatening to bring her to her knees but she held her ground.

She held her ground until blazing hot metal touched the small of her back, melting her very skin - branding her with the Malfoy family crest. A bruising grip on her upper arms was the only thing keeping her upright, until the piece of metal was pulled away from her skin. Only then did those hands allow her to crash to the ground, knees cracking against the stone floor.

"The fights begin on the first of the month, Young Malfoy." Hermione's glassy eyes gazed up at her classmate as he sneered down at her.

"She'll be ready, My Lord."