A/N: Well, here's another chapter after all of this time! Thanks, as always, to may fabulous reviewers! I really love to hear what people are thinking. But there is a warning you MUST read.

First off, I'm changing the rating to 'T'. Why? Because:

1. I'm paranoid

2. And because of this chapter

Secondly, the italicized stuff is all occurring in Draco's head.

Thirdly, some very dark humor in here. This chapter doesn't contain too much humor.

WARNING: very dark and dreary chapter ahead. If you do not want to read too much of it, go straight to the first asterisks (***), therefore you do not miss too much important info to the story. Also, there is slight "character death" before the asterisks.

I am planning to make this the worst (most depressing) chapter in the story. So I hope I don't scare you off! Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – Falling through Darkness

Draco's days and nights where all just one, endless pit of agony to him, just one unending darkness, never to break its hold. All of this, of course, was the dementors' doing. But an endless torment, never ceasing in its constant battering of the poor 19 year old, nonetheless. Going through his worst memories was just a small breath of fresh air, compared to the other effect the dementors had on him. And, apparently, it just got worse the longer you stayed in their presence, their domain, their kingdom…

"Why, hello, Draco. Did you missss me?" Voldemort hissed at Draco. The ess'es echoed.

"No."

"Aww, Draco, I'm hurt…"

"…"

"You should know better by now to treat your guessstss with hossspitality."

"Y-yes, my L-lord."

"Ahh, but Draco, you lie. You fear what I will show you thisss time. I musst sssay it wasss a fool'sss ssstrategy to anger me Draco, for now, our sssession together will be much worssse than what it was going to be. I shall enjoy every ssecond of it…"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------.

"So Draco, tell me; what shall we do firssst?

"Ahh, that wass a rhetorical quessstion; I have our whole time together planed out…"

In the mere span of a moment, Draco was back at the Manor. His manor; what used to be his home, before he was placed in Azkaban. He had heard that the Ministry had gotten the 'warrant' to burn it to the ground.

As soon as this thought crossed his mind, the house was instantly set aflame. The house was like a major bonfire, the flames licking at the stars and the moon, as if the house wasn't enough to satisfy its grotesque appetite.

Draco then, suddenly, was in the manor, watching his family's possessions burn. One by one, they seemed to appear in front of him, dancing just out of reach, glowing and sparkling in all of its glory, before catching fire and turning to dust before his eyes.

Some began to take the voices of his 'friends' and family, echoing strangely, in a deadpan, emotionless voice, and yet full of emotion; reflecting their faces in the dimming copper, silver, gold, and porcelain. Each word and voice and face, would shove another knife into his already bleeding heart.

Pansy: "Dracoo! Why? Why did you leave me to die? I thought you cared, even a little about me! I died at another's wand because you weren't there to protect me. You weren't even there at all! Why? Why…"

Blaise: "I thought you were my friend. But you don't even know where I am, do you? You only did care about yourself, after all. Why did I expect anything different from you? Just another disappointment…"

Crabbe: "I listened to you all my life, protecting you and doing as told. But when the time came for you to hear my opinion for once, and protect me, you didn't. I died, because you didn't. You just left me to burn alive in that room, while you escaped to live another day. I wasted my life because of you…"

Goyle: "The Dementor's Kiss is a horrible thing, Draco. I pray, for your sake, and your parents, that you don't have to suffer through it like I did. Such a horrible fate…"

Bellitrix: "You were given chance after chance to make yourself great, and you failed. You failed in your mission to kill Dumbly Dore. You failed in preventing Potter's escape from us. You failed in capturing Potter, time and time again. You failed in protecting your friends. You failed in protecting your family. You're an utter failure…"

Weasley: "Why if it isn't the little Death Eater."

Potter: "Yeah, Malfoy, how's that going for you, huh?"

Granger: "We warned you, but you wouldn't listen you pompous prat-"

Weasley: "Hermione, get your facts straight; he isn't pompous anymore! Hah!"

Potter: "Malfoy, you're so pitiful, that even after we've saved your miserable life several times, you've still managed to lose it."

Potter, Weasley, and Granger: "Pathetic."

Weasley: "Always was, and always will be, straight to the grave!"

"Shut up!" Draco cried, but it was lost in the inferno.

It went on, just like this, as he went from floor to floor, room to room, watching each of his items disintegrate before his eyes. Each room held a voice, each a voice from the past, each equally carving his heart from his chest, leaving him internally bleeding for eternity.

He was very dimly aware of the voices outside the house's crumbling walls, whispering, and yet shouting at the same time:

"Burn!"

"Let it all burn!"

"The Malfoys are no more!"

"Their home will burn to the ground!"

Everywhere, there was chanting:

"Burn!"

"Burn!"

"Burn."

"Burn…"

He was once again outside of his house. Draco, with a tear streaked face, fell onto his knees, watching the consuming flames, which now spread to the Malfoy Gardens, where he'd spent many a day, wasting his time there to plant and tend to it. All of the flowers were grasping at the flames, and burning, slowly curling in on themselves. It was a terrible and horrifying sight, and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the devastation.

The flames suddenly surrounded him, like a ring master's circle in a circus of torture. There were the voices again, but the ones chanting "Burn!" were just the background music.

"Utter failure!"

"Little bitty Draky poo, all alone. No one to care for the worthless little Malfoy."

"Where are your friends, Draco?"

"He has none!"

"Didn't you hear?"

"He left them to their fates, to die!"

"And now, he has not a single soul to even give the time of day…"

"All alone…"

"Worthless…"

"Coward!"

"He isn't alone"

"Oh, yes, he has us!"

"What more could little Draco hope for?"

"Pitiful…"

"Useless"

"failure"

"He even abandoned his parents!"

"That will do, my friendsss," Hissed the voice of Voldemort.

Silence.

"Draco… I know you didn't kill Dumbledore, and that you've failed in every task ever set to you. You do remember what I told you would happen if you failed me, Draco?" No response was required; they both knew that the words were engraved into Draco's brain: If you fail me Draco, you and your family will no longer be of use to me; I will get rid of you myself.

No, he didn't need a reminder. "Draco, would you like to see how I'd have killed your parents, had I lived? Or, shall we just cut to the chase of the matter?

" No. I want you to see your parents' lives disappear before you. The only problem I'm facing is, how to do it? There are so many ways… So many choices… the human life is so fragile and easily broken…"

Suddenly, the people he thought he would never see again were before Draco… his parents. It was hard to tell which one was worse for wear, Narcissa, or Lucius. Their once beautiful, soft, golden hair was practically brown with mud; their fine array of clothes gone, replaced by the garments of Azkaban; and both of their aristocratic, proud visages were no more, exchanged with the hollowed out, dead, and gaunt look that only Azkaban can carve into a soul. Draco was shocked by the sudden realization that he must look no different.

Lucius and Narcissa, at the sight of each other practically leapt into each other's arms, crying out how much they had missed the other. Then, they saw Draco.

Draco was unsure what to expect; how would his parents treat their failure of a son?

Narcissa's eyes filled with tears and her hands went up to cover her mouth. Lucius's eyes shown with more emotion than Draco had ever seen in them, and that was saying something, especially after a few emotion sucking months in Azkaban!

As one, father, mother, and son rose off of the ground and ran toward each other, much in the same way that people would run to each other in a sappy love story. But when they were just one millimeter apart, they hit an invisible wall, separating them from a loving embrace. Narcissa banged and screamed at the wall, desperate to reach her lost and lonely son, digging her long, unclipped nails into it, all the while screeching Draco's name. Lucius proceeded to try helping wife by slamming his entire body weight into the barrier, while Draco did the same as his father, except kicking and punching at it too. It was all to no avail; the wall held firm and strong.

"Aww. How touching is this? My heart is breaking, really it is," Voldemort's voice dripped with sarcasm, and was obviously not trying very hard to hide it. The Malfoys decided to ignore Voldemort, especially Draco, who now remembered why his parents were there at all.

It took a moment to hit Draco as to why the wall was there; there were several reasons behind its existence. Voldemort knew that they would want to embrace each other, so he set up this invisible force to keep them separate, and, in trying to break desperately through, they would be weakening themselves more than they already were. Voldemort also knew that if he tried to kill Draco's parents, Draco would try to interfere, and thus the 'Force' was born. But Voldemort wanted to make sure that Draco could see his parents' demise, and so made the fence transparent.

Draco sunk to the ground; if he wasn't crying prominently before, he was now.

He could see his parents were telling him not to give up, and to keep trying, due to the way their lips and mouths were moving. But they didn't get it! They didn't understand! Oh, but they would, soon enough. They would get it, soon enough. Too soon…

Draco looked up at the dark silhouette that was the Dark Lord when he began to speak: "Lucius, Narcissa, my old friendsss. How nice of you to join us. Lucius, you look absolutely prim, while Narcissa, I must say, you've let yourself go, haven't you? Tut, tut. But that's what dear old Azkaban'll do to you," Voldemort gave an evil little chuckle that wasn't unlike the sound of bubbling tar; personally, Draco preferred the bubbling tar.

Lucius's face was stock-still and unmoving as his eyes watched the Dark Lord with a bright light within them. Narcissa, on the other hand, looked as though she might faint, with how white her visage appeared. Draco didn't know what he looked like, but he knew his mouth was dry. It was very dry.

"Lucius." Lucius didn't even have the will to fight as the Dark Lord drew him magically near him. Draco's father was dumped unceremoniously at the Dark Lord's feet. And there was that tar-pit chuckle again; oh, how Draco was really coming to detest that unearthly laugh.

"Ah Lucius, I could always count on you to come crawling back to me and lick the ground my presence walked upon. In fact…" Lucius had raised his head to look at the face of the Dark Lord with hate, fear, or emptiness; Draco did not know, for he could not see his father's face. "Imerio!"

Draco turned his head away as if his eyes burned at the sight; his father was kissing the Dark Lord's feet and the bottom of his robes, while the Dark Lord laughed as if he just heard the most entertaining joke in the world. (Knowing him, it probably was.)

"Now, roll around in the dirt, where you relate to the most," The Dark Lord couldn't keep the purr out of his voice as he said this. Lucius began to twist and turn around on the ground like a hyped-up puppy on steroids or someone who is determined to get a perfect grade in Stop-Drop-and-Roll classes.

But after awhile, even the Dark Lord became bored with humiliating his once vehement follower, for he began to draw amusement from Lucius writhing on the ground in a new way… through the Cruciatus Curse. Draco's father's cries of misery, pain, and torture cut through the night, as if with a physical blade. The Dark Lord did not remove the curse as Lucius's body convulsed and struggled for breath, fighting off the inevitable.

Finally, the world was silent again, except for the unending, evil sound of laughter coming from the depths of the Dark Lord's maw.

Draco was struck with an overwhelming feeling of grief and loss, and the tears began to shed anew, with full-force as he looked at the glassy-eyed gaze of Lucius's dead, blank eyes that were visible, even from this far a distance. Draco only broke his gaze from his father's unmoving body when an unearthly wail sounded just to his right: his mother. Draco had forgotten about her in all of the horrors being played out, right before his eyes.

Narcissa looked ashen, with tears of her own making rivers down her face, and her lower lip trembled. His mother appeared to have lost half of herself, along with all aloof pretences and manner. It tore deeper into his heart to see her like this. He could do nothing as his mother got up off of the ground, where she'd apparently been sitting to help give Draco comfort and receive some in return, and ran over to where her husband's lifeless form lay to fall on top of him and mourn, while Draco's quiet pleas were lost. He should have given her that comfort.

Now, Draco was helpless again to protect his one remaining parent, as the Dark Lord turned the Unforgivable Curse upon Narcissa Malfoy, her cries of agony and suffering joining to be one with her shrieks of misery and grief. The Dark Lord had apparently gotten his warm-up entertainment through Narcissa's anguish, plus, she wasn't so much of a devoted servant as Lucius was; the entire preamble felt impersonal here, somehow.

But, eventually, Narcissa's cries soon ceased and Draco did the stupidest thing ever; he ran to where his parents' dead bodies lay, growing cold on the ground. There, he completely broke down.

Maniacal laughter filled the cold night air. "Oh, Draco… Now, it is your turn." Draco wanted to face his would-be murderer with courage, maybe like Potter did when he knew that the Dark Lord was going to kill him in the Forbidden Forest, but he was so terrified, that he couldn't move.

"Draco… I have a special demise for you…"

Out of nowhere, a dementor-like being swooped down upon him and swallowed Draco whole.

Draco was falling…He was falling through a deep impenetrable darkness… Yet it was different from falling off his broom in the air, because there was no wind… There was nothing to prove that Draco wasn't just at a standstill, except for the sensation of plummeting - of falling… Draco was barley even aware of his own being; everything was empty darkness…

Through the darkness, came the evil, echoing voice of the Dark Lord- or maybe it was just in his head- "Good luck with your Trial, Draco…"

The dark voices hissed inside of him, "We'll be waiting for you, Draco…" As the voices were fading: "Together forever…"

Draco awoke to the sound of screaming and a very wet face. When he realized that he was the one who was shrieking, he stopped.

Draco sat up on his "bed", and placed his back against the wet, cracked wall of his cell, pulling his knees to his chest. Draco closed his eyes, and started rocking back and forth.

They're not dead. They're not dead. They're not dead. Draco repeated again and again in his head. They aren't dead. They're not dead. They'll be- Draco was about to think 'OK', but he knew he'd be lying to himself if he did. Instead, he continued to chant: They're not dead, over and over again in his head. The dark voices in his head said, "Sure. Just keep telling yourself that."

"Shut UP!" Draco yelled out loud. The darkness just laughed at him.

In that moment, Draco knew he was doomed in his Trial. Oh, who had he been kidding to think that there was some way he could possibly win it? He'd been a fool to hope otherwise. But, he still said in a small, raspy, whispered voice, "Help…" The word echoed emptily in the cell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~.

In a small room on the other side of a tall building, a long blond-haired man jerked awake. He slowly sat up, as if in a stupor. Anyone would have thought the ragged man fine, until he let out a low, solitary moan.

"My son… Oh, my poor boy… my only son! And my wife… Oooohh! My family. WHY? I thought, you my Dark Lord, would always protect those who showed you loyalty! You've only lied to us! Why?" The man soon began to weep.

~~~~~~~~~.

A woman in a diminutive room shocked herself into the waking world by screaming her head off. But when she was conscious, she did not stop her pitiful wails of grief and misery.

"My husband… oh my husband, and – hic – and my son! My little baby boy! My poor little Dragon! No!"

***.

The sky was past twilight, and yet, the blackness yawned as far as any eye could see, unbroken by any spots of light; there were no stars out. Two cloaked figures were making their way down a winding, cracked, cobble-stoned path, leading to a broken-down little cottage. The falling-apart building would have seemed quite homey, except for the aura of evil that seemed to just seep from its walls.

The two companions reached the door, and entered without seeking invitation. The stout one entered before the taller one, therefore making it to the meeting room first. Inside the room, there were already two others, also cloaked, but one more ragged than the other. Raspy breathing soon filled the room.

"You are late," the other translated.

The tall figure removed its hood and the man spoke, "We are very sorry, but we are very busy as of late." There was more harsh breathing.

"No excuses! My time is precious also! We are very busy with the extra mouths to feed! And being Head Dementor is nothing to laugh at either! When you say we are going to meet, I'll accept no tardiness," said the translator.

"Of course, but we waste time now, arguing," the man stated. "We shall get this over as quickly as possible.

"All of the information we need is collected, and the preparations for the Trial are complete. Yet there is still the very slightest chance they will win their freedom. But be assured that the chance is very unlike-"

Furious breathing interrupted the man. "No! We must be certain of victory. It was your oversight to inform the public wizarding society! There must be no uncertainties! They are a great source of power to us, but I will not lose the boy; his depression is great and feeds us well. We will not accept failure!" And, just to prove his point, the Chief Dementor swooped down upon the translator, who let out a terrified shriek.

"Expecto Patronum," the words came from the small figure in a sweet voice that would have made flowers keel over, and a lightly glowing cat leapt from the wand and shooed the Chief Dementor away from the translator, who huffed out his thanks.

In a sickly sweet, girlish voice the woman stated with conviction, "We will not lose, and the boy will remain yours."

***.

The sky was well past dusk, and it was a thick, black blanket, yet the first few stars were daring to appear across the endless expanse; specks of shining, brilliant light, in the darkness.

***.

A/N: And that's an end to another chapter! The longest so far, too, I think. I really hope people are still sticking to the story, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, please tell me if I got the rating right on this; if I didn't, would you tell me which rating you think is suitable?

Please don't forget to review! Those who do, hypothetically push Voldemort off a cliff! (The Astronomy Tower is reserved for a different bastard later in the story. ;D)

Now, I wonder what our other heros are up to?