As with every torture he’d witnessed, a coiling nausea struck Draco but he didn’t look away, forcing himself to swallow the pooling saliva in his mouth. Potter didn’t look any better, sitting on the couch, head bowed and running his hands through his hair recklessly. Both of them attempting to ignore the way Granger’s taut whining hums had loosened to become sobbing moans. Draco had never heard her broken like this and he found he didn’t like it. A Granger who submitted, if she chose to, had been a wild fantasy for years now. One who was subjected to pain-ruptured delirium felt anathema to who she was.