Draco lay sprawled, facedown, on the cold stone floor unable to move. He managed a cough, a deep, racking, cough, that left him spitting blood when he'd finished. He felt numb, which was a blessing: he couldn't yet feel the throbbing mass of raw nerve endings that was his body.

A rat scuttled in the corner of the dungeon he was currently occupying and he closed his eyes to avoid looking at the blood red eyes that chillingly reminded him of the thing that had nearly ended his life a few hours ago with no warning of what had been about to happen. He felt like giving up, holding his breath till he passed out and whatever else lay in the darkness waiting could come and claim him. But the knowledge that his mother was, possibly, out there somewhere in the hands of those people…

He kept breathing.

ooo

Time passed as it does. Hours must have passed. Draco had passed out into the darkness of sleep and when he woke he was somewhat surprised to do so. He could move now. He pushed himself up off the floor onto his knees. He grunted against the pain, he wouldn't scream, he couldn't scream, then waited patiently until the dizziness passed.

It took some time to work through the pain and nausea but he managed to work through it and stood. All his limbs worked: there were no broken bones anyway, though every movement was a testament to the long-term effectiveness of the Cruciatus curse. He stood waiting, blood pounding in his ears and he didn't have long to wait.

He could soon hear footsteps on the hard stone floor in the hall, then the rasping of the key in a long disused lock before the heavy oak door was pushed open on protesting hinges. Draco winced at the stereotypicalality of it.

The face that greeted him was one he did not want to see ever again. Bellatrix Lestrange smiled widely to see him standing defiantly in the middle of the damp dungeon. If she had known what that simple act cost him she mightn't have been so proud.

She didn't speak, just stood back to let him pass her into the hall, where a robed Death Eater stood waiting, wand out, to be his escort. Draco wondered just what they thought he could do, wandless as he was, that they were taking all these precautions with him. Bellatrix walked ahead, leading the way, and the unnamed figure followed after gesturing for him to go ahead.

Every step he took was a lesson in pain until he could feel the darkness begin to encroach on his vision. The stopped moving in time. His breath came swift, though he suffered more for trying to keep it quiet, until his vision cleared once more and he could see where he was.

His heart stopped beating in his chest.

He'd been lead into the same huge hall as the night before. The crowd seemed to have swelled even more, frightened by the Dark Lords torture of the son of one of his 'favoured' into an even greater piety. They lined the walls, nearly twenty down and three deep. Voldemorts power was indeed great to have amassed such numbers within only two months of 'coming out', as it were.

Voldemort sat on the huge throne, there was no other word for the huge seat chiselled in black stone, where he looked down on his subject before him. He beckoned one taloned finger and Draco was nudged forward. He walked down the people-made path, head held high, ever the Malfoy.

This seemed to please the thing watching him. A thing because nothing human had ever had lidless slits for eyes and a gash where he mouth should be. And while the whole effect was reptilian, Draco had never known a reptile to project such an air of menace, of evil.

When he stood before the raised dais on which Voldemort held throne he stopped. There was a beat where Voldemort surveyed him, as a snake does a mouse, Draco supposed.

Draco couldn't hold his gaze for long and look away. Because of this he missed the gleam of triumph on his fathers masters, for lack of a better word, face.

"I have a job for you Draco." The addressed looked up, supremely surprised. After his treatment the day before he hadn't expected anything like this. "And I hope you won't fail, like your father before you. Or I shall have to find someone to punish. Even if you have evaded my grasp."

Draco gasped.

"Mother?"

"Your father is not so far from my control either." Voldemort smirked. "Do you accept this last chance to redeem the family name and honour?" The threat was barely veiled and Draco knew he had no other choice if he wanted his mother to get out of this unscathed.

"Of course, Master." Anything you want, Master. But only while you hold the cards. Voldemort seemed to know the simmering anger that lay beneath the cool exterior Draco was projecting. Maybe he did. Maybe he could read minds. Draco didn't know, nor did e particularly care at that moment in time.

He waited to hear his job specifications but clearly Voldemort didn't want the whole hall to hear of it. It was enough for them to see the Heir of Malfoy bow before the Master. The room cleared quickly after his barked order, nobody wanting to lag behind and perhaps bear the Masters wrath.

When the room was empty of just the two of them Voldemort rose from his seat and left the dais to stand before Draco, face to face. Draco tried not to flinch as he met the gaze of he who had tortured him the day before. But he couldn't stop himself when one taloned finger stroked along his cheek, nor could he stop his gasp as his jaw was traced in the same manner.

"Have you heard the rumour Draco? That I have a spy inside Dumbledore's sacred school?" Draco shook his head, including in the movement a few steps back, out of reach of the scheming Dark Lord before him. "Of course not. That is one rumour he does not want flying around. It is true. But I have needs of another. Someone less likely to be seen." He seemed to be thinking something through, though Draco was sure that was only for his benefit. Whatever Voldemort was going to do had been long decided, he felt. When he next spoke, it was in slow, careful measures Draco had never heard the Dark Lord use.

"Perhaps what I need is someone with no ties, so to speak. An orphan." Draco reeled in shock at this further threat. "Oh, but then of course there is none to hold to ransom, so to speak." He laughed. A dry rasping laugh that grated on Dracos nerves. "Hmm, how about this," He looked Draco in the eye, his own held no emotion, for maximum effect, "a mother dead, father imprisoned, stripped of any last dignity. The child almost destroyed by that which he was raised to believe in."

Draco shuddered, he looked away from the thing standing before him, but refused to give in to the red-eyed stare or the tears threatening to choke him.

"Do you think Draco, that this would be believed, that high-and-mighty Dumbledore would be taken in by my… little… fib?" Each word was deliberately placed and Voldemort was not disappointed as Draco snapped. Roaring his anger he attacked Voldemort, his arms outstretched.

He was stopped in midstep as Voldemort gave a sweep of his wand and a bolt hit him in the chest. For the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours Draco writhed on the stone floor, voice gone as he attempted to scream in agony. As the pain died and blackness claimed him, he hoped for good this time, he heard the hated voice speak once more.

"Kill the mother."

ooo

Draco woke to warmth. A softness under his head that suggested pillow, and a scratchy-scratchy texture above him that said blanket and for a moment he thought it had all been a dream. When he tried he found he could move without pain. But then he opened his eyes.

The unfamiliar room wasn't a welcome sight, neither was the dumpy, red-haired woman in front of him, holding out an unsightly potion for him to drink. Wondering if it was poison he drank hearthily. Dreamless sleep took him once more.

ooo

When he opened his eyes again she was gone. The person who had replaced her wasn't anymore welcome.

Albus Dumbledore sat near the side of his bed, watching him gravely as he struggled to sit up. Cleverly he didn't offer help. As he sat up he realised the blood soaked robes he last worn were gone, replaced by hideous orange pyjamas with something vague to do with cannons.

They spoke softly. Dumbledore telling him quietly about the death of his mother, excuted by the Dark Lord himself. Of how they had rescued him from near death. He wasn't to leave the house, he was told. Nor would he be told where he was, for security reasons, although whose security he wasn't told. He guessed his location anyway, from the clothes and the 'nurse' who'd attended to him earlier. He would make do with the clothes and school books he was offered. He would be reunited with his own belongings when he was back at school.

Draco pretended to be unaffected by all the news and rules he was given in such a short time but as soon as the headmaster had left the room, he huddled beneath the blankets again, not even giving the room a cursory glance now he was alone. He managed to sleep again. This time when he awoke it was most definitely morning and there was a knocking on the door.

It opened without waiting for a response. The first thing Draco noticed was the breakfast tray being carried. The second thing he noticed was the warily smiling person carrying it. He knew on seeing her that Voldemort was a mind reader, he must have to realise the strange connection that had developed between the two before the beginning of the summer and the way things would go once the situation was returned to, notwithstanding the role reversal.

She sat down of the stool left vacant hours before by Dumbledore, leaving the tray down across his lap as he sat up.

"Why are you here?" He growled at her. Hermione only smiled wanly.

"Just returning the favour."

And Draco knew Voldemort had gained himself the perfect spy. One who had the trust and friendship of possibly the smartest young witch in Hogwarts, and more than that, best friend to Harry Potter.