Looking up at the Dark Lord, first, he couldn't believe he being dismissed. Then, he realized that while he was free to go, Dedra was still chained to the chair. Drawing the shirt over his wounded chest, he took a few deep breaths. Standing his ground, he asked, "What about her?" After all, the Dark Lord had given him permission to ask questions freely and had not taken that away yet, why not here.
"Get out," he hissed, narrowing his snake-like eyes at the young Death Eater threateningly. Though Draco hadn't been easily harmed or hurt, Voldemort hadn't really exercised any of his full torture capability. "Be gone, right now." It was clear now, if it hadn't been before, that Draco's permission to ask questions was currently void.
The last time Voldemort told him to leave, he had done so and now regretted it. Dedra had been hurt further because of his fear of what would come, he would not do that again. "I will not leave here again. My lord, if she stays, then I will too." He stated firmly, not letting any sign of weakness in his voice. Looking back to Dedra for a moment, he barely caught her eyes before looking back to the Dark Lord.
"You dare to defy me?" he inquired, shocked, and yet taken aback that Draco dared not to follow his orders. "Well, if you stay, I'm afraid that just wouldn't please me, wouldn't do at all." With that he made a dash for the table cheerfully, looking to Dedra's caged arm sadistically before picking up something covered in a sort of acidic, flesh-devouring slime and placing the sharp object over her arm, slowly beginning to lower it onto her skin once he reached her chair again.
Startled when Voldemort began examining her hand, she resumed bucking and tugging at the chains that held her to the black leather chair, whimpering and starting to cry again, afraid of what was to come. Then, when he held the horrid, painful-looking device over her arm, she began to scream, recognizing it.
"NO!" He cried, hearing her screams of pure terror he dashed across the room, placing himself beside the chair. "Please my lord, please don't hurt her..." Draco stood beside her, his hand covering the other that Lord Voldemort wasn't focused on. His hand shook over hers as he held it gently, his blood running down his arm. Thinking frantically, he suddenly blurted, "I'll do whatever pleases you, if no harm comes to her. Anything you wish! Just as long as she feels no pain, I'll do it."
"No thank you, Draco," Voldemort replied simply, continuing to lower it near her skin at a blood-chillingly suspenseful, slow speed. "I'm not interested," he added, yawning casually and smacking Draco's hand away from Dedra's. "Be gone, Draco, for the last time."
Not ceasing her whimpering but indeed stopping her screaming, Dedra watched Voldemort fearfully, intently, until Draco's hand was over hers, blood from his arm beginning to flow down it. Once again horrified by the blood on his arm, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see what Voldemort was going to do to her nor what Draco currently looked like.
"My lord...please..." Draco was at a lost, not quite sure what to say. All he knew was he couldn't let that -thing- touch her skin. He couldn't let it touch her.... "My lord, please, torture me instead...use that on my flesh. Surely you know how she'll react, wouldn't you rather hear new screams?" Draco pleaded, not exactly sure what he was getting himself into. "I would not resist you, fight you like I did before...please, my lord... I beg you..." Slowly he knelt in front of the Dark Lord, his head bowed slightly.
Intrigued, cold eyes looked Draco over, firstly as though to see if he was being serious, and then with another thought. "Very well," he smirked, moving it away from her arm and eyeing him, as though decided exactly where and in what manner he wanted to inflict pain on Draco next. "You do realize she'll be required to watch, correct?"
"No, Draco, don't…" Dedra sobbed helplessly, parts of her words caught in her throat as she struggled to speak and breathe normally. "No, M'lord, please, don't listen, don't hurt him, please…" she attempted to contradict, her tired, anguished pleas probably not enough to prevent future events.
Looking up to her, he gave her a weak smile, one that could be reminded of the tragic hero's smile before he dies. Standing, limping on his unhurt leg, he nuzzled his unburned cheek to hers, whispering, "Dedra...I love you..." to her pleading and begging is all he said. While he wanted to explain how much he loved her, because of that he could not possibly allow Voldemort to hurt her or their child, it didn't seem to be the right time or place. Hearing the Dark Lord consent to his giving of his body for torture, he flinched at the last question, "Yes...my lord....I understand..." He ground out, swallowing hard in his pauses. "As long as you promise to not harm her, I agree."
The added bit at the end of his agreement put a kink in the Dark Lord's plans. He had wanted to torture her when he became bored, but that little sentence would ruin that entirely. Sighing, he responded, "And you think that I will keep my promise? I could simply restrain you and do whatever I wish…but considering her state…" He made a point of looking down to her stomach at this. "I believe it would unwise of me to harm her. But understand this, any type of fighting on your part and I will harm her, do you understand?"
Draco nodded slowly, unable to speak. What had he gotten himself into… He just begged the Dark Lord to torture him and agreed to not fight him! But he did not care for his safety right now, it was hers that drove him to do such self-sacrificing things. His love for her went much further than his self worth and he would anything to keep harm from coming to her.
"Superb," the Dark Lord answered plainly, a mild grin on his face. This would truly be delicious. He was used to begging for mercy, but begging to be tortured? Not even his most masochistic of Death Eaters requested it in such an insistent, pleading manner. Mainly because no matter how masochist you were, Voldemort could very well make it so that pain did hurt, and you didn't enjoy it. Flicking his free hand towards Draco, the youthful Death Eater was consequently thrown against the wall, and immediately shackled to it.
Waiting for the subsequent pain to arrive, he did not like the particular smirk on his face. It just wasn't a good sign when you knew pain was to come and he was smiling. But the waiting wasn't long as his hand was ripped away from her and he flew back against the stone wall. It was hard and immovable and knocked the wind out of him again. Coughing a bit, he struggling to breath as his lungs fought to work. Next came the shackles and attached him to the wall, tugging lightly, he found them just as unyielding as the cold wall behind him.
"Here is a hint, Draco. I'm not going to hurt you the most when you expect it the most," the Dark Lord commented offhandedly, beginning to ignore Draco's presence upon the wall as he strolled casually over to his black table and his assortment of torture tools. He decided he would save painful spells and potions for last, and would use enchanted instruments for now. They would suffice, and Draco wasn't half used to them, in contrast to his reaction to the Crucio spell.