Author's Note: I just took a math midterm today, and I figured I could take a break from working. So I decided to take some time out to edit another chapter for you guys! (:

Chapter 30

I sigh and sit up—it's about time to return to the Manor.

I've been lying awake on my bed in the bedroom of my cottage, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of some tactic for freeing Granger.

There is no foolproof plan. The only thing I can do seems to be improvisation. I'm not bad at it, but I wish there was some better way of going about this.

I arrive in my room at the Manor and jump, startled.

The Dark Lord himself is standing by the window, facing outward.

"My Lord," I say, dropping to my knees immediately.

"Ah, yes. It's about time you returned," he says calmly, turning around.

I peek up and see that his tranquil tone doesn't match the fury in his red eyes. I stay on my knees, awaiting orders.

"I sent for you, yet you could not be reached. Why is that, might I ask? You weren't on assignment, but you knew that I intended to use you this morning."

I know it's not wise to speak up, but I can't resist pointing out one thing.

"It's not morning yet, My Lord."

"Nevertheless, this is the second time that I have not been able to find you when you were needed. Do you really think that you have earned enough favor with me to disappear whenever you wish?"

His hiss is venomous, and I keep my head bowed.

"I would never do that, My Lord. I live to serve you."

"Be that as it may, it never hurts to have a reminder," he says.

Fuck.

"Summon your house elf."

After nodding my head once, I call out, "Naree!"

The obedient house elf appears instantly and bows deeply.

"You know what to do," Voldemort hisses, turning away from me and stepping back toward the window.

Naree looks at me, his eyes even wider than usual, and shakes his head. "M-M-Master, please."

I lean down to look him in the eye—even sitting back on my feet, I still tower over him. "You know you have to."

Naree produces a small, jagged knife out of thin air and grips the handle tightly, reluctantly stepping closer to me. I close my eyes. I don't want to watch.

I feel his tiny hand lifting up my arm and carefully pulling up the sleeve. He doesn't want to soil my clothing. A thoughtful, if silly, sentiment.

"Sorry, Master," Naree mutters.

The blade slices through my flesh, creating a deep rut, and I hiss sharply, clenching my teeth. Warm, thick liquid runs down my arm.

"Again," I say through gritted teeth.

"But—but—" he begins to protest.

"Again," I repeat.

The dagger sinks into my arm again, drawing more blood, and the pain makes me wince. I feel a hot droplet splash onto my arm above the two cuts and open my eyes to see that Naree's large eyes are brimming with tears.

Clenching my jaw against the pain, I manage to give him a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine. Again."

Naree blinks, and another hot tear lands on my arm. He drives the dagger into my arm a third time, and his shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs.

Fuck, this is more torture for Naree than it is for me.

"That's enough," Voldemort says.

I glance up, surprised by how soon he ended it. He has turned away from the window.

"Let your elf tend to your wounds. You should know that I let you off easy this time, Draco. If I cannot find you a third time, the consequences will be far more severe. You are to arrive at the camp in Dartmoor in five minutes. Do not be late."

I nod my head. "Yes, My Lord."

He disappears in a puff of black smoke.

"Naree… Naree hates the Dark Lord," the elf in front of me sniffles a moment later.

"What did I tell you about saying that aloud?" I reprimand him.

He snaps his fingers, and the bleeding stops in all three cuts.

"Handy trick," I say, even though I'm capable of doing the same with a wave of my wand. Letting him take care of me is the best way to make him feel better after hurting me.

I still don't understand the reason why he uses this type of punishment on me. It's supposed to be cruel and humiliating, forcing a man to command his own house elf to punish him. But clearly, by now, Voldemort should know that being stabbed or flogged by Naree doesn't humiliate me in any way.

Naree carefully wraps bandages over the cleaned wounds and pulls my sleeve down to cover them.

"Master mustn't remove the bandages for one day," he says.

"Or else I'll have scars," I finish for him. "I know, Naree. You've told me before."

He manages a weak laugh. "Yes, Naree has."

I get to my feet. "Got any Blood Replenishing Potion?" I ask.

"Yes, sir!" Naree says brightly, disappearing with a snap of his fingers. He's back in under five seconds, holding up a bottle.

I smile and take it from him. "Go on, now. It's about time to start making breakfast—the others will be looking for you."

"Yes, Master. Naree hopes Master will stay out of trouble."

"Sure," I say, nodding.

He Disapparates with a loud crack.

I gulp down some of the potion and immediately feel much less dizzy. I set the bottle down and brace myself for what I'll be doing in Dartmoor. Wonder if Voldemort has come up with a new modification.

I wait another minute before Apparating to the Death Eater camp in Dartmoor. I move through the camp and straight to the eight guards. After showing them the Mark, I'm allowed underground.

"You're early," Voldemort says as I enter.

"Better early than late," I reply.

He turns around to face me and scrutinizes me. "I have an interesting new prisoner for you to play with, today."

"Do you really?" I say, showing no emotion.

Before he can reply, I hear my father's voice.

"Draco!" he barks. "What are you—"

His voice fades as Voldemort turns to face him.

"My Lord," he says, immediately falling to his knees.

"Lucius," Voldemort hisses. "You would do well to show Draco some respect. He is a credit to your name. Your greatest contribution to my cause was to provide me a son."

Suddenly it's harder to breathe. What the fuck did I just hear?

When I glance at my father's face, I see that he's staring at the ground, trying to hide his shock with little success. He's clearly thinking along the same lines as I am.

"B—but My Lord, I am your faithful servant. I—" he begins.

"Enough, Lucius. Return to the Manor and await my arrival."

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort walks past him, and my father gets to his feet. As he passes by me, there is an emotion that I rarely see on his face: bewilderment.

"Come," Voldemort says when my father is gone.

I follow him silently, still wondering what he meant. Your greatest contribution… was to provide me a son. Holy fuck, I don't want to be his son, if that's really what he means. Being the son of the Dark Lord has to be a worse fate than being the son of Lucius Malfoy.

He stops in front of a cell and points his wand at me.

"You should have brought your mask and cloak," he says.

"I apologize."

He flicks his wand, and duplicates of my mask and cloak appear in front of me. I put them on quickly and wait for more instructions, but he turns and continues walking down the corridor. I follow quietly and cast a nonverbal Muffling Charm. Then I voice my request.

"My Lord, I'd like it if you… if you clarified what you meant when you were speaking to my father."

He doesn't respond, and I start to wonder if I'm pressing my luck. But I've already started speaking, and it'd be cowardly to stop now.

"Specifically, I only need to you clear up one sentence for me."

He suddenly spins around, and I immediately stop walking.

"I know what you want me to explain," he says.

I nod my head. "Of course, My Lord."

He doesn't speak for a long minute, and despite the anxiety growing in my gut, I maintain a mildly curious expression.

Then his thin, pale lips twist into another one of those rare smiles.

"Why do you think that I teach you those spells, and not the others?"

"It never occurred to me that I was the only one receiving instruction," I say truthfully.

The smile fades. "I am immortal," he says. "Do you believe it?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Do you know why I am immortal?"

"New Horcruxes?" I venture a guess.

"Precisely. It is a foolproof method of keeping me alive, forever. I can be killed and reborn, much like the precious phoenix that the late Dumbledore treasured so dearly."

I nod but still don't quite see where he's going with this.

"But I can be killed, if only temporarily," he says.

Oh. I see now.

"And after building up so much power, it would be a pity to watch it crumble to pieces yet again, the way it did when I first fell. I need a… a successor, of sorts, to take power when I do not have the ability to command. And to resurrect me when I fall."

"But My Lord, you would never—"

"It is not likely, but I wish to be prepared. Last time, I was rash. I was arrogant. I thought myself above death. And I thought that my faithful followers would seek me out, raise me from the dead. Instead, they scattered to the wind, left me behind. It will not happen again."

I take a moment to mull over his words, and they make sense. It's right for him to choose someone to take over if he's "killed", so that the Death Eaters won't disperse again. But…

"Why me?" I voice the question that I hardly dare ask.

"Draco, Draco, you don't understand," he says. "The Death Eaters who returned, your father among them, were not truly faithful to me. If they were, then they would have searched, searched until they found me. Instead, they hid, lied, began to serve the Ministry."

"Aunt Bella—"

"Oh yes, I considered her. Her loyalty is unquestionable. But her wrath, her anger clouds her judgment. She is, after all, but a woman."

Still, the question remains. Why me?

"Indeed, why you?" he says, lifting the question right out of my head. "I saw great potential in you, Draco. From the beginning. You failed when the time came to kill Dumbledore, and my faith in you faltered. But you have since proven yourself an invaluable asset. A credit to your name. And with the skills that I will transfer to you, you will be unstoppable."

"Don't you question my loyalty?" I say. "I'm practically a child, compared to the others in your service."

"I know your head, inside and out—I've been looking into your mind for years. There is nothing you can hide from me," he replies confidently. "Is there anything else you would like me to… clear up?"

I shake my head.

"Good."

He undoes the Muffling Charm with a wave of his hand. Then he pulls open the door of the cell that he had stopped by and steps back, gesturing for me to enter first, as is usual when he supervises my sessions here.

My heart stops as I enter the cell and take in the occupant's identity and state of undress.

"Now, let me reintroduce you to Miss Hermione Granger."

Author's Note: I feel like I might've made Voldemort a little too "human" here… but you know what, it's my version of the universe, so there :P Hope you guys liked the chapter, and I'll update again soon!

By the way, in case you guys were curious, this chapter makes it even between Draco and Hermione; each has 15 chapters from their point of view! And because I'm nerdy like that, I added up the words for each of them just to see how even I've been writing so far: Hermione has 34,033 words and Draco has 28,777 words. Don't know what the point of that was, just a few fun facts, I guess ;)