A/N: Hello there :) Thank you for taking the time to read my first story EVER! Comments, critiques, anything is welcome- let me know what you think!

Everything recognizable belongs to the master, JK Rowling. I'm blessed to even be able to borrow her characters for a little while.

Enjoy!

Chapter One: Flight of the Dragon

It was dark. A lone torch burned near the door to the cellar, so that the prisoner could barely see the light from where he slumped, iron manacles anchored to the wall. His chin rested upon his chest, which was marked with scars, flecked with blood. Bruises and cuts mottled his pale skin, telling a story of torture and pain.

The small window above his head let in the chill early morning air; wearing only a ripped pair of trousers, the young man was shivering in the breeze, his cracked and bleeding lips trembling. He must be getting sick; how many days had it been since he had been dragged down here? Far too long, in his opinion.

The cellar of Malfoy Manor had been converted into a dungeon, Lucius Malfoy's very own house of horrors. Weapons hung against one wall in a wooden case, padlocked and charmed to open only when the key was used. A medieval torture rack stood in one corner, a heavy wooden table with chains jutting out from the floor at both ends. The cell housing the prisoner was down a short hallway, the first of three cells. The other two were empty.

As the final days began before the battle at Hogwarts, the other prisoners had been killed. Only one remained; this young man, bound and tortured for weeks for his disservice to the Dark Lord. He had failed, and he had felt Voldemort's displeasure. Failure was not an option, and for his mistake he would be killed, but not before the Death Eaters had a little fun with him. Torture was a favorite pastime with the Dark Lord and his followers

His head still bowed, he moved his hand to rest gingerly on his opposite shoulder, which was hanging a bit awkwardly. Grimacing, he pushed it back into place, biting his lip to keep from crying out. The clinking of the chains was the only sound in the silence; the sound was the first he had heard in a while, and the noise was almost startling in the gloom.

"I am going to die." The words came out rusty, his voice so hoarse from screaming. How long had he been down here, waiting for him to come back, to end this poor excuse of a life? At first he fought, refusing to believe this was how it would end, but as time passed, and each day became harder and more painful, he stopped believing everything would be okay.

The end was near; there was no reason to deny it any longer. And what was he dying for? A mistake he made, for a cause he was forced into following. The Malfoys had always dabbled in the Dark Arts, and were expected to be involved in Voldemort's return to power.

Draco had failed. He had been terrified, a mere child, dragged into the plot to kill one of the most famous wizards of all time. He had balked. Hid in bathrooms, confided in a gloomy ghost, and tried his hardest to fail at this assignment. This boy did not want to be a man just yet. His entire life had been pretending to be something he wasn't, and something he wasn't ready to be.

As if he had a choice in the matter.

Draco Malfoy has no dummy; he knew the Dark Lord was furious at his father's decimation of his plan in obtaining the prophecy, and Draco had been given an impossible task. He had been chosen to die from the moment Lucius had screwed up. Voldemort didn't take lightly to mistakes or failures.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and Draco closed his swollen gray eyes slowly. Was this it? Was this the moment of his death? He heard the door creak open, and footsteps heading towards him, echoing off the walls of the hallway. He heard a laugh and opened a blackened eye.

There stood his own father, laughing at his son. He looked tired- dark circles under his eyes, which were alight with a manic look. His robes were shabby, torn at the ends, and there was a bruise on Lucius' cheek. He looked like a shark on the scent of blood.

"Father." He voice sounded weak to his own ears; must his father hear that weakness? He was just so tired, so worn, that he couldn't hide the defeat in his voice any longer.

Lucius smirked, his eyes flashing in the dim light. "Hello, Draco. I must tell you, I'm surprised to see you've lasted this long." He picked at his nails for a moment before continuing.

"Your Aunt Bella must be losing her touch. She used to be the best with prisoners." His eyes flashed to his son once more. "I have been very disappointed in you, Draco. You failed me and you failed your mother. You do not deserve the name Malfoy. If you were to live past this day I would disown you, but since it is your last, I will merely say goodbye. Your aunt shall be down soon to finish you before we leave for the final battle. The Dark Lord will have his victory tonight!"

He smirked, and Draco felt ill. "The end is near, my boy. It is too bad you won't get to see the downfall of Harry Potter, and the deaths of those blood traitors the Weasleys."

"I will be glad to miss it, Father. I never wanted a part of this." Draco wet his lips, his tongue running over the cracked and bleeding skin.

He heard more footsteps, and fought his weak body to stand, forcing his long limbs to obey. His legs shook at the strength it took to hold himself upright- the Cruciatus curse had done the most damage; it has sapped all of his power and left him limp and trembling.

Lucius smiled in a twisted way. He looked forward to his only son in agony. "And here she is, Draco. Have a pleasant evening." He laughed, as if he had made some funny joke.

Draco could hear his aunt approaching, muttering something under her breath. As she rounded the corner, her face lit up at the sight of him- must be the blood and bruises he thought, narrowing his eyes at her gaze.

"Draco, darling." She smirked, her eyes following his body. He felt violated; what kind of a family does this to their own?

A crazy family, one that's completely ensnared in a mad half-human's plot to take over the Wizarding world and kill everyone he deems unworthy. Voldemort was a half-blood himself; Voldemort is a hypocrite, in Draco's opinion. Power-hungry; his followers were Purebloods, so he used the very ideals that they whispered behind their hands to each other to lure them into his service.

Bellatrix opened the cell and walked slowly over to Draco, her heavy lidded eyes watching him closely. She reminded him of a tiger, stalking her prey. "Drakey poo," she murmured, "I've got a surprise for you." She turned to Lucius, who was watching fervently, his eyes alight. "Leave us, Lucius. You'll only be in the way."

Lucius turned to glare at his sister-in-law, and reluctantly turned to go. He shut the cell, giving Draco one last look. "Your mother sends her love, son. Goodbye."

And with that, Draco was left alone with his aunt, who was hungry for bloodlust.

"Get it over with, Aunt Bella." His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. Bellatrix laughed, her voice echoing on the cold stone walls. "Oh, dear boy, this will be enjoyable for me, and agony, I am sure, for you." She grinned eagerly. "It's not very often one gets to kill one's own family, and I sure have gotten lucky."

She pulled out her wand, caressing it with her fingers like a long lost friend. She turned her eyes to Draco, who was watching without comment. With a determined look on her face, she said, "The goal, dear boy, is to get you to cry out as many times as I possibly can." Cocking her head to one side, she met his eyes.

"Crucio!"

Draco was floating. He felt nothing, and from afar could hear his aunt screaming with anger. Had he cried out? He had tried so very hard not to, but with all the curses cast at him, he couldn't remember. How long had this agony been going on? He prayed for the end to come quickly; he didn't think he could take much more.

He refused to make a sound. Part of him wanted to beg for her to stop, for her to just kill him. Get it over with! his mind screamed as pain wracked his thin body. Living had become too difficult; all he wanted was a reprieve from the ache he couldn't get rid of.

Draco held on to his pride, the only thing he had left. That part of him that reminded him of his lineage refused to allow him to give in. It will soon stop it whispered to him, don't give up.

Suddenly, Draco felt nothing. The pain had left, only the aftershocks lingering. His mind could not understand what would have made his psychotic aunt stop torturing him.

Was this was death felt like?

He had always been told there would be no pain, but maybe the stories weren't true; after all, the ones who informed him on death were not dead yet.

Bellatrix was oddly silent. He could hear noises, but as if they were fuzzy; a side effect from the curses, no doubt. He lay there like a rag doll, unable to move even if he wanted to. Maybe she had stopped, so as to surprise him with the next curse. She did say she would try to get him to scream as much as she could, and Bella was a professional when it came to inflicting pain and death.

The wait made him tense; he just wanted it to end. Finish me off! his mind screamed, starting to become weary of waiting. With the risk in mind, Draco cracked open an eye to take him the room around him. Bella was in the hallway, scuffling with someone. He heard a muttered spell and his aunt gasped, became stiff as a board and collapsed. And that is when he saw his savior.

He had never thought anyone would risk searching for him, especially after his attempt (albeit, botched attempt) to kill Dumbledore the previous year. He especially didn't expect to see his bushy-haired savior with a gash in her cheek, mouth set in a fierce line.

Hermione Granger stood there, her wand still raised, and Draco could feel his heart skip a beat. She had saved him. This girl, who he had ridiculed and harassed for six years at Hogwarts, had braved the Manor where she had been tortured before his very eyes not too long ago to save him.

She took his breath away. Involuntarily a thought came unbidden to his mind: she is like an angel.

As their eyes met, cinnamon brown and stormy gray, Draco felt his body give in. He let out a cry and fainted from exhaustion as he heard her call his name.

"Draco!"