Author's Note: I was going to update yesterday, but I didn't sleep the night before and I had a headache and homework to finish, so editing this next chapter just didn't get done. And I'm still unsure whether or not I really want to start a new story. I sort of just feel like plowing through to the end. I certainly don't feel like coming up with a title for the continuation…

On a totally random note, I usually don't like country songs, but for some reason I haven't been able to stop listening to "Remind Me", a duet by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood. If you haven't heard it before, check it out! I love the melody, the lyrics, the message of the song… it's great.

Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few, but I hope you like it anyway!

Chapter 47

"Crucio!"

Fuck!

I hold back a scream and strain to remain on my knees, but thousands of red-hot knives are plunging into me simultaneously, and I want more than anything to just roll over and die.

My legs give out beneath me, and the cold, stone floor comes up to meet my tortured limbs. The pain redoubles with a fury, and I know that he's punishing me.

For what?

What have I done wrong?

No, no screaming. I will not make a sound.

I curl up into a ball, trying my best to shut the pain out.

It's all mental.

There aren't really thousands of daggers piercing my body and dragging through my flesh. There aren't really millions of needles pricking my skin like I'm a giant pincushion. There aren't really a dozen wolves ripping at my body mercilessly.

Why can't I just die already?

Then the pain lifts, and I lie on the ground, panting.

"Abysmal," he hisses from above me. "You're beginning to disappoint me, Draco."

I pinch the bridge of my nose as a painful headache starts right behind my eyes. "Sorry, My Lord."

"I already told you that the Torture Curse is completely mental. Pain is in the mind. You're such a talented Occlumens—surely you can close your mind to it?" he sneers. "Again—on your feet."

Fuck. I ignore the ache in my limbs and get to my feet. I lurch slightly and wonder how many times it's happened tonight.

No, I won't think about pain. I have to close out… the pain. But the pain is clearly inside me. How do I close my mind to myself?

And then a sharp, excruciating pain hits me in the chest, and I know that he's using his modified torture curse on me. My legs immediately buckle, and gravity slams me into the ground. A tortured cry tears from my lips as the pain magnifies. Maybe I'll pass out.

Please let me pass out.

There's something gnawing at my chest relentlessly, and I begin to scratch at myself deliriously, trying to get it out.

Then it disappears, and the pain begins to fade away.

"Pathetic."

I laboriously pull myself up into a sitting position. "You can't expect me to master this in one session."

"I can expect whatever I want from you," he says sternly. "Do not be naïve enough to think otherwise."

"You can keep this up all night, but I doubt I'm going to do much better than this," I say, pushing myself up onto my feet.

"Then you do not think highly enough of yourself. Prepare."

I close my eyes and wait for the pain, but when it doesn't hit me, I open my eyes to find that Voldemort's watching me quietly.

"My Lord?" I inquire.

"Let me show you how to do it successfully," he says.

He passes my wand back to me, and I stare at him, surprised and a little frightened. He can't possibly…

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Was that not obvious enough?"

I point my wand at him. "Crucio."

Voldemort hardly even flinches as the curse hits him, and my eyes widen. I suppose I should have expected that he was able to do it himself, if he was trying to train me. But looking at him right now, I would never suspect that he's under the Torture Curse. How the hell…?

I try to increase the intensity of the curse, but I feel so tired, drained. Voldemort's lips curl into a sneer as he easily throws off my weakening curse.

"That was pitiful," he says. "It's no wonder that the Mudblood didn't cave to your torture. Is that really the best you can do?"

It won't do to wallow in self-pity, or to make excuses. He won't take that from me.

I point my wand at him again, trying to focus past the blinding headache that has developed behind my eyes. Crucio Locus!

Voldemort's eyes flash in anger as he staggers back a step. Then he throws off the curse and Disarms me.

"I expected more from you," he hisses.

"I mean no disrespect, but don't you think your ability to withstand the Torture Curse might have to do with your incomplete soul?" I ask.

His red eyes narrow to slits. "Before my first Horcrux, the Torture Curse already had no effect on me. Don't make excuses. Excuses are for the weak."

I nod. I don't want this to keep going on.

"Again," he says. "Brace yourself."

I grit my teeth as the pain sets in again. Claws rip my chest and arms into ribbons.

I clench my jaw and force my body to stay rigid under the onslaught of pain. When my legs threaten to buckle beneath me, I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms. That gives me a tiny bit of control over some of the pain, however small.

I let out a cry of frustration and pain as nails hammer into my skull. I fall onto my knees, clutching my head, hardly capable of thought.

I only want it to be over.

Fuck, when will this be over?

At long last, Voldemort lifts his wand, and I draw in long, repeated breaths, sitting back on my heels.

"Finally, some progress. On your feet."

My muscles scream in protest as I get to my feet. "You say that pain is only in my mind, but in the aftermath—"

"It is still in your mind," Voldemort says. "Such weakness, Draco. I thought you had more control over your mind. I will keep your wand until I am satisfied with your performance."

I frown. "I'll need it."

"For what? I expect you should be rather adept at wandless magic by now. Take this as an exercise. We meet at the same time, tomorrow."

I want to protest, but before I can even open my mouth, Voldemort morphs into a cloud of dark smoke and slowly disperses.

I curse loudly. Then I move to the exit of the cavernous room, with the intention of Disapparating, but I find that I can't—I don't have a wand, and I'm not strong enough. I sigh heavily and take my broom out of the pouch in my pocket. I mount it and take off.

I'm so fatigued that I almost fall off twice while in the air.

I'd originally planned to go to Rowle's to pick up the dagger tonight. I won't be able to, not unless I recover or get my wand back. Damn, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I consider sending Naree instead, but I don't want to involve anyone else with something as sensitive as the Horcrux. Potter will just have to wait.

All pain is in the mind, bollocks! What the fuck is wrong with Voldemort? No human should be able to block out pain like that.

Then again, he's hardly human, is he?

When I finally touch down in the gardens of the Manor, I dismount and stow my broom away. I stumble into the house and move up to my room, where I collapse onto the bed, exhausted. I want to sleep, but I feel so filthy, covered in dried sweat.

I get back up and walk into my private bathroom, stripping down for a shower.

As the warm water beats down on me, the silver charm burns on my chest, and I lift it up so see the words, Please come.

I sigh. Looks like I won't be getting much rest tonight.

I close my fist around the charm. 30 minutes.

I finish showering quickly, rushing so that I'll have some time to sleep and at least partially recover. I can't possibly make it to my home without resting. Before drifting off, I summon Naree and command him to wake me in twenty minutes, if I'm not already awake by then.

He gives me a salute and disappears.

I glance at the huge volume sitting on my nightstand and run my hand along the spine. Hogwarts, A History. It's a bloody awful book, but I just can't seem to part with it.

Every time I see it, I think of her. I remember how she looked sitting at a table in the library, surrounded by a barricade of books so that she wasn't visible from the front or sides, except for that distinctive bushy hair of hers.

I never paid much attention to her as a girl until fifth year. I think it had to do with Voldemort's entry into my life right after fourth year. Death became real to me and, as a result, so did life. I started really opening my eyes then, reevaluating all of the people in my life.

And when I looked at for the first time Granger through those new eyes, I didn't see dirty blood, unkempt hair, or her neat school uniform. All I could see were those honest, perceptive, breathtaking, brown eyes. I remember throwing some careless insult at her to mask the moment, sure that it would never repeat itself. But time and time again, every time I was in her presence, I found myself wishing for those brown eyes to notice me, to sparkle with delight when she saw me.

Blaise was the first to notice and acknowledge my new attachment to Granger. On some subconscious level, I was probably aware, but I was in denial.

Not anymore. I hate these feelings for her, but I know that my life would be… empty without them.

No, no more thinking. I have to rest, or else I won't be going anywhere tonight.

Time to sleep.

Author's Note: Yeah, I know there probably isn't supposed to be a way to resist the Torture Curse. But Old Voldy's always doing the impossible, and I figure I've already let him invent a "new and improved" torture curse, so he may as well have figured out a countercurse for the Cruciatus.

My muse has been awfully quiet lately, leaving me to flounder around on my own, so it's relatively slow going. I blame upcoming finals. They might have scared her away. Anyway, I'll try to keep updating. And I'll let you guys know ahead of time whether or not I decide to split the story.