A/N: And now, continuing from where I left you all. Enjoy!

Yours forever, Tsona

"You!"

Draco straightened himself, quickly applied the Malfoy mask of his training, his expression sobering, dropping his head slightly to hide the last remnants of fear, of involved interest in his face. With the door open, his mother's paperwhite perfume reached toward him, making him feel as dizzy as ever, too sweet, too strong, floral to his nose and sugar to his tongue. He kept his eyes turned away from her, even as the scent reminded him of days spent in the halls of Malfoy Manor, brighter, warmer corridors despite the muttering portraits of dead ancestors. "Hello, Father. Mother. Erm, Aunt Bellatrix."

As he stole a glance at her, raising his head an inch, his mother beamed at him, his aunt's lips curled back above her teeth in what she clearly meant as a gesture of goodwill, but his father snarled, "Don't you--"

"Lucius!" The Dark Lord, from his seat behind a mahogany desk, raised one long-fingered, white hand in his father's direction. Draco saw his father's eyes dart once to it, then his lips fasten shut. "Come inside, Draco," the Dark Lord said softly.

Draco glanced at his mother again, who smiled, and took the several steps across the threshold. The door slammed to behind him. A roaring fire hissed in the grate, its light catching on the long, coiled body of a great snake that lay on the hearth rug. Draco's eyes locked on the lengths of fearful muscle and he dared not look away, even when he heard the Dark Lord's soft, "Ah."

The wizard let out a series of short hissing sounds and the snake lifted a weary head, glanced at him with golden eyes cut down the middle by slit pupils. Then she turned her head to Draco, who found the air catching in his lungs in a sharp gasp.

"Draco," the Dark Lord said, "meet Nagini."

Unsure what else to do, he said, "Hello," though his voice trembled.

The Dark Lord translated and the snake bobbed her head once before lowering herself to the ground again.

"It's too cold for her here. That's why she stays here all day," the Dark Lord said. Though Draco was still frozen, gazing at the great beast before him, he could feel the heat of the Dark Lord's stare. "She won't hurt you," the Dark Lord added after a moment, "she won't hurt anyone unless I tell her too."

Draco wrenched his eyes from her, turned them instead to the skull-like face of the Dark Lord. "I know," he said softly.

"Then we can move on," the Dark Lord concluded. "We have just been discussing what to do with you, Draco, perhaps you heard?"

"I did," Draco admitted. "And I really am trying."

"Liar!" his father hissed.

Again, he was silenced by the Dark Lord's raised hand. "No, Lucius. The boy does not lie. He tries, or has tried in the past to do what we require of him, even now I think there is some small part of him that yet yearns to succeed. But you have not, have you, Draco?"

"My lord--"

"Just answer me."

"No, my lord."

"No, you haven't. And that puts me in a very disagreeable position. As much as I have tried to make you into the man, the servant I wanted, you have failed me. I think you know, Draco, what usually becomes of those who fail me?"

Draco nodded. The air was tight in his lungs, wasn't quite getting to his brain, was making him dizzy.

"So what am I to do, Draco? How long am I to make an exception for you? How long am I to wait?"

Draco swallowed, "Well, my lord--" his own voice sounded distant to his ears "-- I'd say you ought to wait... forever."

"Impertinent--" Draco's father didn't even get to finish his sentence this time.

"Yes, you'd like that." Draco saw the Dark Lord reach into his pocket, draw out the long yew wand. He ran his left hand over the smooth wood, stroking it as he had stroked Draco's cheek so often. "But I think you know that that may well be impossible."

"I do, my lord, but--"

"But?"

The Dark Lord waited, watching him, Draco cast his eyes about the dark, shadowy room, cast a net out into the pool of his thoughts and memories, hoping to dredge up something, anything to talk his way out of this. All he came up with was, "You said you didn't want to. You said you needed me. More than the others."

"And I do, Draco. Or I did. But what use has anyone for a broken wand?"

Draco gulped past the knot of fear in his chest. It left his mouth dry. "So," he said.

"So," the Dark Lord replied.

The silence in that room hung, panted, waited, but no one seemed willing to fill it. His Aunt Bellatrix turned grey eyes, almost hungry, from the Dark Lord's pale face to Draco's, as though watching a tennis match. No one spoke. Until the snake-- Nagini-- lifted her head. Her forked tongue flickered out and she turned her golden eyes on Draco. The tongue flickered again. Then she turned her head to the Dark Lord and let out a soft hiss.

The Dark Lord let out a long slow breath, hissing back.

"Are you going to kill me?" Draco asked, his voice rasped somewhat, embarrassed him.

"That's what Nagini has just asked."

"And what did you tell her?"

The Dark Lord regarded him for some minutes longer. "Not yet. I don't think so."

"But my lord," Draco's father broke in, "surely--"

"You want me to kill your only son, Lucius?"

Draco's mother whimpered.

"Well, my lord," Lucius said slowly, "why should he be treated differently than... than any of the rest of us? It'll go to his head, my lord."

"He's not like the rest of you," the Dark Lord said sourly. "And if I followed your advice, he won't have a head for my... mercy--" he pronounced the word as though tasting it "--to go to."

"Mercy. That's not something I often hear you speak of, my lord." Lucius' eyes were narrowed, veins of silver in a marble face.

The Dark Lord regarded him with raised eyebrow ridges. "Besides, Lucius, I can remember a young man, not much older than your son, who thought quite highly of himself when first he came to me. I seem to remember a great deal inflating his head and yet I never raised a finger to him... on that account."

Lucius cut his eyes away, his expression softened and he murmured, the fear returning to his voice, "Of course, my lord. Forgive me. My lord always was merciful."

"I'm not sure it's my forgiveness you need on this account, Lucius. But for now, let us pass over that. The time will come for that conversation." He turned his burning gaze upon Draco again, whose round eyes had traveled between the two men throughout this exchange. "You remember our conversation of the other night, Draco?"

Draco nodded numbly. There was a culture where a rebellious boy such as yourself could be brought to the town gates. And the town would turn on the boy and stone him for his impertinence.

"We are again before the gates," the Dark Lord said. "That same culture said, Draco, that forty lashes would kill a man, but that thirty-nine was an acceptable punishment."

"So you'll beat me to the brink of death, but not beyond it." His mouth was still dry, his voice still hoarse.

The Dark Lord nodded once. "I think, Draco, that perhaps a small reminder..." He raised his wand high in the air. "Shall we begin?"

Draco's eyes flew to the yew wand. He could feel its power building beneath the blunted tip. "What will you do?"

The wand snaked through the air and a long line of black shot forth from it. The tip of the spell struck Draco across the shoulder. The lash cut across the flesh there, took the skin up so that the hand that flew instinctively to the site as Draco cowered beneath the lash came away bloodied.

"Draco, I have warned you again and again that I cannot tolerate disobedience from you, any sympathy for my enemies. And yet these feelings still seem to arise in you. Do you deny it?"

The wand lashed out again, the spell caught him on the other shoulder. Draco was ready this time, had gotten his knees locked beneath him, but even so he bent beneath the burning pain of the contact.

"No, my lord."

"Then you understand. These feelings are like a growth in you, Draco, a thorn bush I keep cutting to the roots, but which keeps coming back."

This time the spell struck him in the stomach, bent him double.

"I must purge it, Draco, if I cannot talk this weed out of existence, then I must use fire."

This time across the shoulder blades. His knees were shaking beneath him, threatening to collapse beneath the weight. "My lord, the-- the Cruciatus seems more-- more like fire."

The Dark Lord laughed softly. "You think I have but one trick, Draco?"

The second lashing across the shoulders sent him to the floor, where he cowered on his knees and elbows, his face down and his hair a thin, useless veil between Draco and the red eyes that were beginning to burn all the more fiercely with the thrill of pain.

"No, I have many. And you have grown accustomed to the Cruciatus."

This time the lash was able to cross his whole back lengthwise.

"Enough to ask for it. It is not a punishment for you, not like this. Your mind blanks out during that spell, doesn't it, Draco? Is overwhelmed?"

The first line across his back was crosshatched.

"Yes." The word trembled from his lips.

"Not during this, Draco. No. I want you to consider each lash, feel each. I want you to think of your sins, remember them as I hurt you this time."

The next spell scoured his neck, sent Draco's forehead into the floor, a moan pushed from where it had hidden in his throat.

"Perhaps that way, we might make some progress. Perhaps these lashings will mean something to you."

This time, across his hands where they laid fisted before his face. The spell burned too as it passed close to his face, a wave of heat that was enough to make him recoil even as he drew in a sharp breath at the pain smarting across the backs of his hands.

A/N: Sorry this one was so short, I cut it at the natural break and hoped that would work, despite its length. Please read and review. Chapter 11 will be up very shortly; it's already written and just needs to be edited, but it will be up quicker if I get reviews on this one. ;)

Yours forever, Tsona