Disclaimer: You know. Yeah.

AN: I'm a dork. I should probably not go to college. Applications are such a hassle. (sarcasm…..)

Argentina for Christmas! YES. Barbeque.

-------------------------------------------

Voldemort watched Draco carry Hermione into the living room like a groom would carry a bride over the threshold. It was disgusting to watch. Draco, who was a tall and pale pureblood with handsome aristocratic features, greatly contrasted with the unrefined, ruddy-complexioned mudblood in his arms, her hair more unruly than usual. But their contrast and the intimacy of their position strongly reminded him of the prophecy.

…Dark and light…Lord of Amacy…

Why did those parts of the prophecy come to mind so rapidly? But then it hit him. He knew who "Lord of Amacy" was. How could he have not noticed before? After all, Lord Voldemort was an anagram too.

"Draco Malfoy…" Lord Voldemort said slowly and deliberately.

"Yes?"

Voldemort smiled at his own cunning. "Put the girl on the coffee table." After Draco had done so, he commanded, "Bring me a silver knife, a glass goblet, two mixing bowls, dragon blood, and an animal fetus of some kind, if you have one in your stores."

Draco did what was asked of him immediately. He did not ask questions, for he knew they would go unanswered. He gathered everything quickly, for he was eager to see what the Dark Lord was going to do. He set the ingredients on the parts of the coffee table that Hermione was not occupying, and then stood away from the table at attention.

Voldemort slowly circled Hermione, and came to stand by her left arm. Picking up the knife, he ran it along her arm, pressing down hard. A crimson stream gushed from the wound, which Voldemort caught in the first bowl. He put down his knife, and reached for his wand.

"Medeoro," he incantated while tracing his wand over the open wound. The cut healed immediately.

He poured a drop of dragon blood into the bowl and then set it on the table. Voldemort looked up. "Lucius," he called. There was the sound of footsteps at the top of the grand staircase that lead down into the entryway, which was next to the living room they stood in.

Draco stepped over into the entryway and looked at his father. He was still haggard from being in Azkaban, but no longer did he look dead.

"Draco, my son. Welcome home," was his father's greeting.

"I should say the same to you; welcome back," Draco replied.

Lucius reached the bottom of the staircase, and they both walked into the living room.

"Is there anything you needed, Master?"

"I need some of your blood."

"Yes, of course." Lucius then held out his arm and walked a bit closer to Voldemort. The Dark Lord once again took up the silver knife, and repeated the process with Lucius. Lucius winced the moment the blade severed his skin, but did not complain. Voldemort healed Lucius' arm once he had gathered the necessary blood, and sent Lucius back to rest upstairs. He cautioned Lucius to lock the door and not come out until Hermione was gone.

While Voldemort was pouring the dragon blood into the bowl with Lucius' blood in it, Draco asked, "Why did you need my father's blood?"

"I needed pure blood."

"So why did you not use mine? My father is ill."

Voldemort looked at Malfoy severely. "Do not question me."

Draco quickly apologized before Voldemort's temper resulted in the cruciatus curse.

The Dark Lord then proceeded to cut off a small piece of tissue from the fetus (Malfoy had explained that it was from a cow), which he placed in the glass goblet. Picking up the bowl with Hermione's blood in it, he poured the blood onto the knife, and it ran down the length of the blade into the glass goblet. Voldemort repeated the process with Lucius' blood. Voldemort reached for his wand again, which he used to stir the blood together until the fetus tissue dissolved, all the while muttering a spell under his breath repeatedly.

After a while, Voldemort removed his wand and inspected the blood carefully and expectantly. "Draco, do you see any mud?"

Draco looked at the goblet of blood and replied, "No, sir."

"Good." Voldemort looked very pleased. "That means that we need not look any further than the girl you see before you for a weapon. She is the mudblood we've been looking for."

Voldemort paused, and Draco saw that he was thinking hard about something.

"Draco, what house does she belong to?"

"Gryffindor."

Voldemort was silent for a long time before he began to speak again. "I need you to get close to Miss Granger. More specifically, I need you to make her do work for our side. I think it best that she does not know that she is doing our bidding. Furthermore, because these Gryffindors are so headstrong, you must make her fall in love with you. That is the only sure way that she will follow your advice so easily…you are enemies, are you not?"

Draco looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, we are, but are you sure that it is absolutely necessary that I make her fall in love with me? It's going to be much too difficult."

Voldemort's eyes glittered with anger. "I told you never to question me!" Voldemort raised his wand. "Crucio!"

Draco felt the familiar, unbearable pain shoot through him and began to scream. His bones were on fire, and his skin felt as if it were being cut with a thousand knives. It was excruciating. After a few minutes, Voldemort released Draco from the curse.

"That ought to teach you some manners, boy. I have been far too lenient with you. Now, put everything away, and make sure you show this Granger girl extreme civility. It will be more than your life is worth if you fail to control her. I will give you further instructions once I have studied the prophecy sufficiently. Good evening." With that, Voldemort disapparated.

Draco, on the floor from the extreme pain of the cruciatus curse, remained there a few more minutes recovering. After he was able to stand up, he took all questionable items from the room. When he was sure that he and the room looked presentable, he moved Hermione to the sofa, where he brought her back to consciousness with a spell.

"Hermione, are you all right? You collapsed as soon as you came in the house." He tried his best to look concerned.

Hermione looked a bit confused at her new location. "Yeah, I'm alright." Sitting up, she asked, "What time is it?"

Draco pulled out his watch. "It's nearly seven o' clock."

Hermione looked alarmed. "I need to go back to the Burrow immediately. They'll be worried; I've been gone far too long."

She stood up immediately, and began to walk towards the door, but Draco, anxious to make her stay so that he could get to work on acquiring her regard, stopped her, and under the pretense of worrying over her health said, "You've just gone unconscious, I can't let you leave. Stay here a while, your well-being demands it."

Hermione looked surprised. "Are you worried about me, Malfoy?"

Draco, still quite proud and unhappy about his instructions, said, "I am not so much worried about you, as worried that if you fall unconscious again, and somehow get hurt or die, I might be somehow liable."

"That's how it always is with you, isn't it?" Hermione asked seriously. "Don't you ever do anything just because it makes you happy, or because you want to?"

Draco immediately took offense. "I do things that make me happy."

Hermione scoffed. "Right, because bullying makes everyone feel warm and fuzzy inside."

Draco's face began to darken with anger. "I play quidditch."

"And here I thought you only played because of the popularity. So it doesn't bother you that the only reason you made the team was because your father bribed the captain? And that you always seem to lose?"

In carefully measured words and a dangerously low voice, Draco spoke. "You accuse me of bullying, yet here you are, belittling me." His voice building up to a crescendo, he continued, "You accuse me of using devious means to achieve my ends, and yet now, when no one is looking, you act in opposition to the truce we made. Is that not devious as well?"

Hermione was taken aback by this comment. Draco, taking her silence as agreement, calmed down. With his emotions back under control, he quickly planned a way to start fulfilling Voldemort's instructions.

Looking remorseful, he spoke. "I suppose I haven't given you much reason to trust me. It took an effort to befriend me when you knew I most likely would hardly appreciate the gesture. And who can blame you for breaking our truce when I rarely honored it?"

-------------------------------------------------

I was dumbstruck. It was the only reaction I thought would be appropriate at seeing Malfoy being genuinely considerate to a muggle-born like me. It was the closest thing to an apology I had ever heard Malfoy say. I was so astonished that I allowed him to help me sit back down on the most expensive-looking sofa I had ever seen in my life. He told me that he was writing to Molly, telling her I would stay at the Manor at least until the next morning. Everything happened so fast, I didn't disagree.

He left, and brought back his owl, Hermes, along with parchment and a quill. I found it ironic that he named his owl Hermes. Sure, it was the name of the messenger of the Greek gods, but it was also the male version of my name. As I watched him scrawl out a quick letter, I entertained the idea of telling him so. I didn't though, because I wasn't sure about what his reaction would be. He was behaving very strangely. He finished up the letter, and sent Hermes off in the direction of the Burrow.

How I longed to be back there. Malfoy Manor was large, dark, and empty. I already missed the warmth and busyness of the Weasleys' home. But now I was obligated to stay.

Malfoy sat next to me on the couch. With a look of concern on his face, he asked how I was feeling.

"I feel fine," I replied.

"Have you eaten?"

"No," I replied. "Have you?"

"I have not. Shall we dine together?" he asked with utmost cordiality.

Once again, I was caught off-guard by his civility, even if his formality was a bit much. "If it is no trouble to you."

He rose, and helped me up from the silk cushion of the antique chairs. "This way." He led me through a maze of corridors until we reached a large room, richly furnished with a long, polished table. There were large windows that showed it was already very dark outside, and between them were portraits. I guessed that they were of Draco's relatives.

He pulled out a chair from the table to allow me to sit. He pushed my chair in as I sat down. He then rang a bell that had been in the center of the table. Almost immediately, a house-elf peeked in at the doorway. It was dressed in a green tea towel bearing the Malfoy crest. I felt the anger begin to creep in through my mind.

"You keep house elves?" I asked contemptuously.

"Yes. Is that so surprising?" he replied calmly. Then a sudden look of realization washed over his face. "Oh, yes. You believe house elves should be free. You're the one who started that organization—what was it called? Puke? Retch? Am I close?"

"It's S.P.E.W., and yes, I believe that house elves are not treated well at all." I could hear my voice rising with every word I spoke. "They work day in and day out, and they don't even receive pay for their efforts. No vacations, and some are even subjected to abuse by their owners. How do you justify keeping them in servitude? They're practically your slaves!"

Draco gave me an angry look. "Are you accusing me of inhumane treatment of my elves? I'll have you know that we are nicer to our elves than most people are. And besides, they don't want to be free. They enjoy working."

"How can you say that?"

"What, you don't believe me?" He gave me an incredulous look. "Do you want me to prove it?" he asked, pulling his shoe and sock off. "Bandy, come here," he addressed the house elf.

Bandy went ever to him trembling. He was obviously afraid of Draco. When Bandy had gotten close enough, Draco stuck out his hand, which held a sock. For some reason, Bandy recoiled from it. I had seen house elves look offended anytime I brought up freeing them, but the fear in the little elf's large eyes was tremendous compared to the usual reaction. Draco thrusted the sock forward, and the elf took a step backward, whimpering.

Draco turned to look at me. "Don't you see? They're frightened if you offer them freedom."

"How do I know you haven't ordered them not to accept clothes unless you explicitly order them to?" I asked.

The little elf erupted in tears. "Please, miss, don't ask the master to free me! Bandy is scared to leave. What would the other elves think? They'd think Bandy is a bad elf. Please!"

This outburst made me feel unsettled. Harry and Ron had always thought I was bonkers to try to get elves their freedom, but I hadn't taken them seriously until now. The distress in Bandy's voice…

Draco interrupted my thoughts. "Granger." Handing the sock over to me, he said, "You free him." Looking back over to the elf, he said, "When she hands you the clothes, you are to accept them."

At this, Bandy began to shriek and wail. He began banging his head on the floor, screaming incoherently. I couldn't bear to watch the display. My heart gave a lurch, and my eyes flooded with hot tears.

"Stop!" I cried. "You're hurting yourself!"

"Contain yourself, Bandy," Draco commanded. Bandy stopped screaming, but he was trembling uncontrollably. Draco looked at me. "Don't you see the misery you cause by trying to 'help' these creatures? They need to be protected by wizards. They were meant to serve us, and by freeing them they are vulnerable to those that would not be so kind to them." I wiped a tear from my cheek. "Certainly they give up some of their freedoms, but I have found that safety is necessary, and most people would give up anything for it." Putting his hand on my shoulder, he said, "But I suspect that Gryffindors forget that not everyone is as brave as they are."

------------------------------

AN: I know this chapter is crap (well, the end of it anyway…) but I wanted to post something before I leave on vacation.

1: For those who didn't figure it out, Draco Malfoy is Lord of Amacy.

2: I tried to make Draco's last two sentences seem as if he was talking about himself. (In relation to his alliance with Voldemort.)

Have a great vacation, you guys.