A/N: I've never written a Harry Potter fanfiction and lately I've been really into Dramoine. I haven't written in a while and hopefully this comes out alright.
I also don't know when I'm going to update this, but there should be a Hermione chapter comingup soon.
I know this is also quite short, but I promise longer chapters in the future!
It's been three years since Lord Voldemort has won, the streets of Dark London are now crowded with deatheaters. Draco Malfoy is the Dark Lord's best student; powerful and merciless with no weaknesses. Except for one: Hermione Granger.
Black robes hurriedly swished through the dark streets of London and the crowd subconsciously parted for him. Whispers rose through the hushed onlookers as they recognized the familiar subtle gleam of green lining on the cloak. The figure weaved through the cobweb maze of streets, the steps silent but steady, blending in with the oncoming night. He stopped in front of a victorian-styled church, the large wooden doors opening with a hollow creak at a wave of his hand.
As usual, he arrived minutes before the Dark Lord.
"Draco Malfoy." The Dark Lord apparated in front of him. He didn't need to bow in his presence anymore, Voldemort had declared them equals.
"Lord Voldemort," Draco's voice was calm, "I was under the impression that our lessons have stopped."
The Dark Lord paced around the empty room. The pews have long been discarded and the stained glass windows have faded with time.
"It has come to my attention that the Order has been growing," He said, "There has been an increase in resistance violence in random areas of the city." Draco eyes followed the Dark Lord's every step.
"You of all people know that we cannot allow them anymore freedom," Draco's hand tightened around his wand once Lord Voldemort stepped out of his field of vision. His power was rival to the Lord's, but he wasn't in any eager position to test out the theory.
His mind flashed to Hermione. Draco knew that she was alive, he made sure of it. His reliable information stated that she was at the revolt near the Lestrange house. The situation was quickly subdued before he arrived, but the Golden Trio had fled as quickly as they had appeared.
"My Lord," Draco fingered the tip of his wand, relaxing when he could see Voldemort's face again, "When has the Order ever succeeded within the past three years? I was personally there when we drove them underground - for good."
"One can't be too sure of themselves, Draco." The Dark Lord's eyes settled on him, "You are my best pupil. You should know that."
Crucio.
Mind-numbing pain filled his body, but he was well used to it by now. Draco barely flinched, standing still in the middle of the church, trying to resist his urge to send a defensive spell.
A cruel, satisfied smile settled into the Dark Lord's features, "My best pupil, indeed."
"I want Harry Potter, and his little Golden Trio," Lord Voldemort finally said, "I'd like for the Order to fall apart before I run out of time. I trust you to finish my request, think of it as a little gift from me." A little gift?
"You'll understand it when the time comes," He said, "You are excused."
No one lived in the Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were long gone and Draco was pushed with the duty as head of the house. Not that there was much responsibility either. For all he knew, he might be the last of the Malfoy lineage.
A little gift? The last time he remembered that was during one of Voldemort's training sessions.
"Draco, one day you will be grateful for all that I have given you," The Dark Lord said, looking disappointingly at his student's shaking wand hand.
"Mercilessness is a valuable trait. I suggest that you hold onto it quite dearly, you'd need it in the future. I'd like you to get as much information from these people as possible." Voldemort paused by the door, "One day you'll look back and think of how easy this task was. You'll think of this as a gift."
The Dark Lord's eyes paused onto the chained victims' bodies before walking out.
Draco had killed many that day. Mckinnons, Westenbergs, Parkinsons. By the end, twenty bloody figures were heaped on the dungeon floor and the screams were nothing but white noise to him.
Voldemort's training were successful. During fights, nothing affected him, the only keeping him back was his own endurance. Which, under the specific training lessons could last him several days in battle.
His mind drifted to Hermione. The last time he had seen her was a few months ago, across the battlefield, wand in hand, bloodied and bruised. She had escaped to a safe-zone and apparated out. Behind his mask, she couldn't recognize him but the look in her eyes made him want to drop his deatheater status.
An owl landed by his windowsill and dropped a letter.
Draco -
Word has it that the Order is planning an attack near Hogwarts tomorrow. I have also heard of the Dark Lord's request of you. I will be there tonight.
T. Notts.
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