Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.

Note: Takes place during seventh year. Voldemort is yet to be taken down. I hope you enjoy this...attempt.

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"The Dark Lord is expecting you."

He looked up, face ashen. Trying to force a smile, but it came out twisted and dark. Dolohov raised his eyebrows, and smirked. The Malfoy brat was going to propositioned today, and his entire family's life hung in the balance.

"Now, Draco."

They walked shoulder to shoulder, Draco slightly taller of the two. By default, his stride should've been longer too, but they were hesitant and timid. Dolohov rolled his eyes, and pushed the door open into the parlour. Whenever The Dark Lord was resting in-between trips, this was the room he favoured most.

Dolohov could imagine way. The low-ceilings and gray décor, could suck the life out of any vibrant and colourful thing. He was itching to stay behind, and hear Draco's latest punishment. The Dark Lord hadn't been happy about Draco missing his cue to kill Dumbledore. Since then, he'd been put on torture duty.

Every person of interest who came (or rather was dragged) through those doors, was put under Draco's care. He had never heard such a hollow voice saying "Crucio" over and over again, with no meaning behind it.

"Master," he bowed, waiting to be dismissed.

"Leave," The Dark Lord didn't bother to look around.

Finally it was Draco, alone at last. But he wasn't alone, was he? The Dark Lord was sitting on a chair, facing away from him, towards the fireplace. Where the heath crackled, but no warmth was added to the room.

"Master," this time Draco bowed.

"I have a special mission, Draco. Especially for you. What do you know about that mudblood friend of Potter's?"

At those words, the contents in his stomach curdled. He wasn't a particular fan of the trio, but this focused attention on Granger was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They were currently on the run, shielding themselves miraculously well despite the odds.

"She is the brains behind the operation," Draco stated. "She is the most prepared, the most well researched. Without her help, Potter is nothing."

The Dark Lord threw back his head and laughed. It was a cruel, drawn out laugh that the deatheaters were often subjected too. Draco had never gotten used to it. Even though he was now Voldemort's right hand man, it made his skin itch every time he heard it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hold her in high regards. Always have done, according to Lucius."

"I have never!" Draco was disgusted at this blatant lie. "She is revolting. She is too over-eagar to please. Although it was a mistake to underestimate her, I have never sought her approval or likewise."

"Then if she were to die?"

"You have my blessing, my lord," he bowed again.

"Come forward. Let me see your face."

Draco masked his face into polite apathy, and walked around the Dark Lord's chair to kneel before him. If he was showing any reluctance before, it had been transferred into submission. Draco met the scarlet eyes of his Lord. Snape had taught him how to block his mind well. Voldemort would never be able to read his thoughts.

"You only say this because she is on the run," the Dark Lord guessed. "You have every confidence she won't be caught. So you falsely accommodate me."

Draco couldn't hide the horror on his face. Truth be told, Draco imagined about Hermione Granger very little. However he was not surprised she was being brought up in this conversation. Voldemort, on occasion, called him in to question how Potter was like in Hogwarts.

The fascination was uncanny.

Potter's sleeping habits. His friends. His favourite meal of the day.

Voldemort wanted to know them all.

Draco answered hesitantly. He could sum up all the conversations he had with Potter into five paragraphs. Granger and Weasley even less. He had spent a lot of time observing Potter at Hogwarts, if only to spot his weaknesses. He knew all the answers to those questions, but they weren't firsthand knowledge.

Draco didn't know where this new angle of attack was coming from. It was like his master was trying to suggest he cared about the outcome of her life. All those times he had raved to his parents, about that bloody busybody who came out on top, was in the strictest of confidences. Maybe his parents sensed the grudging respect lingering there, but it went nothing beyond that.

She was an irritating pest.

Yes, her death was very appealing.

But he wasn't going to actively make it come into pass.

"With all due respect, my Lord, nothing can be further from the truth. She is not a person I have considered a great deal about. Should I, my Lord? Should I elevate her status from a filthy mudblood, to someone who interrupts my thoughts daily? Say the word. I shall do so immediately."

Draco held in his breath, like he was expecting a back handed slap. His tone was bordering on mutinous, but his face was anxious and withdrawn. The Dark Lord considered his daring, and decided not to punish it just this once. The boy still had a little spirit somewhere in his body. It would be entertaining to see what he did with the next task arranged.

"Draco, I ask no such thing. Instead I have something far greater planned. In order to lure Potter into a trap, I wish to capture his mudblood friend first. Torture her for information. Pass her around from deatheater to deatheater."

"To…?"

"Do whatever as they wish. I understand she has two parents she cleverly hid in Australia. Track them down. Draw her out of hiding."

"Why not just aim for Potter?" Draco furrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh, I will. Eventually. But I want to toy with him first. From what I understand, he believes love conquers all. Let that love tear him apart, as I slowly attack his family and friends."

"An easier person to target would be his other sidekick," Draco was still trying to make an easier connection. "He's a sitting duck at The Burrow, infected to the neck with spattergroit. Surely if we catch him, Potter would yield?"

The Dark Lord hissed, warning him not to question any further. Apparently his charitable mood had run out, and Draco had to settle for biting his tongue. Sweat was beading on his forehead. It was starting to dawn on him, he was now the forefront of a mission that would drag him to Australia and back.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Draco apologised. "What you say makes perfect sense. I would be happy to bring her in front of you."

"Leave."

Draco slowly rose to his feet, and placed a hand on his heart, bowing again. It felt like he was swearing allegiance to a monarch, that was now sending him out to battle. The only time he would be allowed back was with news of victory.

Dolohov was waiting to pounce, when Draco closed the door behind him.

"You haven't been screaming," he said with an air of disappointment.

"Should I have been?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"It's the only thing your mouth is good for. Well, what did our master want? I find the fact that he keeps you in his inner circle, quite staggering."

"What's staggering about it?" Draco wanted to know. "Maybe you should share your reasons in his presence."

"You cheeky bastard," Dolohov slapped the upside of Draco's head quite sharply. Draco rubbed his scalp with a pained expression, and resolved to kick the shit out of him someday.

"Are you going to tell me or what?"

"If I succeed, you will know."

"Draco!"

Both men came to a stop, when a clear sonorous voice rang across the hall. Narcissa was approaching him, holding her head up as high as a prisoner in her own home could. Draco felt a pained pang when he saw her. The only reason why he was doing this, any of this, was so his family could survive.

The threat of their executions was what was spurring him on.

"All right, Narcissa?" Dolohov smirked, and wandered off enough to give them space. He didn't go too far though. He lent on a wall further down the hallway, and started whistling an inconspicuous tune.

It was clear what the message was.

They had five minutes to talk.

"Are you hurt? Injured anywhere?" her eyes ran over him, as she asked quietly under her breath. Draco gave an imperceptible shake off his head.

"Good, good," she sighed, like her mind was put at rest. "Come to see me tomorrow."

"I won't be able too," Draco snuck a peek at Dolohov, who was still trying to act like he wasn't listening too hard. "My mission is set. I won't be able to come back until I complete it."

"Oh, Draco!" Narcissa convulsively clenched her hands like she wanted to bundle him up in her arms. The last time that had happened was embarrassing. It took three deatheaters to pry her from him, and still she struggled to continue raining kisses all over his face.

"Can you tell me what it is? Give me a clue?"

Draco shook his head again.

It was time.