A/n: I find it hard to write new chapters for this story. It's not that I don't have ideas, I just can't seem to convey what I want to post in an interesting way and I'm always rewriting things so that it doesn't come off sounding ridiculous. Thus, this post is late (again). You may be angry now, but at least I'm not giving up! Thanks to my beta loveinthemadness! And as always, check me out on facebook! The link is up on my profile.
It was not pleasant at Hogwarts to begin with for Draco that seventh year, and he did not remain there long. His father's anger and obnoxious loyalty to the sinister Dark Lord Voldemort drew him back to his ancestral home quickly after his last year of schooling began; Snape was Headmaster, and with so many dark wizards teaching, he had hoped the year would be both interesting and away from the direct lines of war. However Voldemort had other intentions for him, and he now resided back in his manor like an unhappy prisoner.
The gashes in his skin were obvious, and though the marks made his mother weep when she found anything new, he never shed a tear. He could not allow the physical pains to get to him else he would break, and to break would mean to forfeit his life. The dark Lord did not take lightly to those who were weak- so weak was unacceptable. Between the dark Lord's spells and his father's 'lessons' he wondered if he would survive the rest of the year, or even ever see the dark glow of a bloody battlefield. The mere idea of death made his skin crawl, and he almost hoped he would be pushed to the side as a secondhand pawn and forgotten while battles came forth.
He was skilled, but he would never be a killer. He didn't have that in him, and if he didn't kill on the battlefield one of his own may just take him out for being a coward. There were few paths ahead of him that would actually result in his survival, and it was that glimmer of hope that convinced him to get out of bed in the mornings and face another wretched day.
That and his mother's quiet sobs from next door. His parents had never shared a bedroom until recently, since Voldemort took over his father's room as his own and Draco's mother's room had become yet another place for the countless Death Eaters to rest. He in turn lost his real room to them, and now slept just across the hall in a room he had always owned but only used to store things. Now it was a sanctuary; a calm place in the middle of hell.
And as it was, he believed very little could make this hell worse. Many of his friends were either relishing in the dark arts or hiding in the shadows like him, and there were so many eyes and ears within the structure all the time that few places permitted privacy to talk. Pansy and Blaise were the only ones he dared to speak to, and Pansy was practically impossible. Bad things had been whispered throughout the halls since he and Blaise took her in a room alone to talk, and since then the boys had kept their distances from the female. She got enough shit for that day, and they knew she had problems now. If something could be done about that, they would help, but for now they couldn't even help themselves.
That was why his heart sank when dear Aunt Bella called him downstairs one day because she wanted him to inspect someone. He had been called to do the same thing few times before, and if that person was deemed unimportant then they were immediately killed by the twisted witch. This was not something he would look forward to.
It ended up being worse than he first expected. Not only did he lie to save Potter's sorry arse, but he got the pleasure of escorting the moron and his ginger friend downstairs into a holding cell, only to return to witness his aunt torturing the know-it-all brunette that sometimes appeared in his nightmares. He attempted to pay as little attention as possible to her whimpers and cries, but it was difficult when the sounds echoed in the large Manor.
He didn't notice when Bella finally got off the shivering girl until she began addressing him and his parents. "I'm making no headway with her, and the Dark Lord will be most displeased to hear this." She glanced at him, and he immediately knew whatever she said next would not be good.
"Draco," she cooed, walking closer to her nephew. He knew that tone very well, and understood he was about to be assigned something very unpleasant. "Be a good boy and prove your worth- take her into your room and get what I need from her. I don't care what you do or how you do it, just get me something!"
He resisted the urge to flinch. She may as well be telling him to force himself on her if she didn't give something up, but he couldn't fathom the idea of doing that any more than death. Nodding he moved past her and grabbed the girl, hauling her to her feet by one arm and dragged her away. He wasn't quite sure what his parents were thinking by then, but he didn't care. He needed to think on his feet and discover something he could do in order to get her away. A dead Granger would haunt his dreams more than an alive one.
Since his room was nearby, he had no problem moving her there and tossing the girl inside. She kicked at him- since she was now wandless- screaming at him to stay away.
"Shut up, Granger!" he hissed, rubbing his head. "If I planned to fucking hurt you, you'd be bound by now." The blonde shook his head then, watching her glare at him through slitted eyes. "And don't continue with that infernal screaming- the people here are going to believe I've already done sinister things to you, and you've only been in here a moment."
Her glare did not ease, and the harsh look on her face on made him think of all those times she had gotten angry at him for their fights in school. Bruising moments that carried through both of their memories, and now would seem like the ideal moment to inflict more wounds, yet he sounded like he was going to pass up the chance.
"You've contradicted yourself in that sentence," she muttered, sitting up to clutch at the new scar on her arm. His eyes glanced there for a moment, but another hard look on her part caused him to advert his eyes. "You say you haven't done sinister things to me yet, but then you began by saying you won't fucking hurt me. What do you really intend to do, Malfoy? If you have so quickly forgotten, I just got to be interrogated by your aunt, so I doubt you can do anything worse."
"Fuck you, Granger," he remarked, turning away as a hand came up to fist his own hair. "I don't plan to do anything to you! It's all Bella's idea to have me try and break you. You're just lucky she appointed this task to me and not my father or uncle or anyone else, for they would not hesitate to test all venues of torture to persuade you to speak." He turned back, again noticing her shiver, this time at his words.
"Then what do you plan to do? I doubt any of the Death Eaters will be forgiving or understanding if I leave here with no more marks than I entered with. I don't see why you intend to be gentle towards me, since you will only be costing yourself."
He chuckled darkly. "I realized that already." Pacing the length of the room, he rightly ignored her eyes following him as he thought. It would be easy to leave some marks, declare that she was being a stubborn bitch and send her on her way to meet more horrors in another room. But the idea of casting someone off to suffer unimaginable fates ate at his coscience, and no matter what he couldn't convince himself it was right- even if this was just Granger.
"What are you doing here?" he finally said, pausing in front of her. She had moved to sit on his table, and he had half a mind to tell her to get off but resisted. It wouldn't do any good at this point, even if he did worry about her dirty skin touching his things. "Don't tell me you and the rest of your little trio fell into the hands of the Death Eaters so easily; you're smarter than that."
The brunette scoffed, shoving her hair away from her face to address him. When she finally spoke, there was nothing but venom in her voice. "Scabior and his group brought us here after chasing us through the woods."
"Yes, he isn't the kindest man, now is he?"
She looked away, refusing to give him a response. As the silence stretched on, she dared to voice another question. "Why didn't you immediately tell your aunt it was Harry?"
"Don't ask inferior questions right now; they will only waste time." He resumed pacing the room, rubbing his face as he walked. "If you and your bloody friends remain here until Voldemort arrives its over for us all. There will be no grand futures for anyone."
Hermione finally picked her head up and met his gaze straight on. "Are you saying you don't want your lord to win?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm saying it won't bring me an extremely positive future!" he snapped. "You need to get out."
She stood, throwing her arms out. "You have got to be joking!"
"Beg pardon?"
The girl began walking towards him. "You have been leaving marks on me for three years! You've been practically giddy about it. And now you have the perfect opportunity to hurt me to your heart's desire, and you turn it down? Something isn't right here."
He recalled the welts on his arms and torso and unconsciously grabbed at the sleeves of his shirt with his fingers, insistent on hiding his skin. "I've been through many things recently that have changed my perception of bruises and marks. I'm not going to give you a long story Granger; you don't deserve one."
She huffed, looking away again.
"You do have to get away though, and soon. Bella will come searching momentairly." He rubbed his head, looking away as well. "Grink!"
She jumped lightly as an elf appeared, the poor creature looking frightened about being called. Hermione immediately opened her mouth to complain about house elves as always, but he never gave her a chance to speak.
"Take her downstairs to the cells; take her to her fucking friends. Don't get caught, and don't draw attention. Take them where ever they need to go, but do not remain once they arrive. They will be on their own from there." He met her eyes.
The brunette took a step towards him. "You have nothing to gain from helping us," she said quietly.
"Actually, I do. If I didn't see something for me out of this deal I would've thrown you around a bit and then handed you back to my aunt." He advanced towards her as well. "You are nothing to me Granger, except something to use to my own benefit." Her gaze hardened a bit at this. "Grink?"
"Yes, Master?"
"You will tell no one of this. Take her downstairs, now." The elf walked up and grasped her hand, but her eyes remained fixated on the blonde boy before her.
"They will be angry with you."
"I'm quite aware. I have a plan though, and you will do well to mention none of this to your two boy toys downstairs. They will assume there is something between us- which is of course bollocks." He waved her off. "Go before we are caught.
She took a step away from him, still hesitant with the plan. If anything went wrong they would all be killed- except Harry, who she was sure would be saved for Voldemort specifically. They exchanged no more words, and he watched with dead eyes as the pair disappeared.
"Crink," he called, summoning a much more personal house elf. The creature appeared where Granger and Grink had been only a moment ago, looking a bit less frightened but just as mistreated.
"Yes, Master?"
He nodded towards his shelves. "Take that bottle and break it over my head; I want you to hit me until I can't recall what I've done."
The elf's eyes widened to a horrified degree. "Master! Crink could never harm-"
"If you refuse to harm me, Crink, and stage a half-decent scene, then Bella will only have to peer through my mind, upon her return, to see my lies. If I can't remember what I've just done, then there will be nothing for her to discover."
The small, little creature still looked terrified, but brought the glass bottle to him nonetheless. "Master will bleed."
"I'm aware. Do not clean me up once you've finished; Bella will be along soon, and she will either heal me to figure out what happened, or let me die while I'm unconscious." He shrugged. "Either way, it works for me. Now, do it before I am caught in the act."
Crink nodded, and Draco politely crouched down to his level to give him a better angle. As the bottle was raised, he spoke once more. "And Crink?"
"Yes Master?"
"You will tell no one of this conversation or events, ever." The elf nodded, and Draco beckoned for him to proceed. With scared eyes he raised the bottle and obediently struck the blonde over the head. It hurt and crumbled him a bit, but he didn't protest. It didn't take much to cause jets of pain to rocket around his head and send him into the ground. He relished when the pain subsided and the darkness took over.
He would pay for this later when his father heard of his failure, but just then he didn't care. He liked the darkness as it set in, drawing him from reality for a little while.
Or perhaps forever, but he doubted he would get a free ride out of this hell that easily. It would only be a matter of time before he was forced to rejoin the conscious world again.