Author's Note: Let's see… do I have anything to say to you guys up here? Hmm… OH YEAH. Oh my gosh. I don't know how many of you guys are Supernatural fans, but I'm just… sigh. I'm still in denial about Castiel being dead. Cas should come back! I keep hearing that they're going to bring Misha back, but not Cas. And this makes me very depressed, because I liked Cas! :/

Completely irrelevant, but it had to be said, hahaha.

Chapter 88

A few minutes later, Potter says, "Malfoy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, but I may or may not answer."

"Why are you doing this?"

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you going to save Blaise?"

"Are you joking?"

He shakes his head.

"Just because I'm a snake, you think I'd let my best mate die in my place? Is that really the type of person you think I am?"

He looks interested. "I think… it's not the person you are now, but it's the person you used to be."

It's my turn to shake my head.

"You disagree?" he says. "Weren't you the one who attacked first, between the two of you?"

I raise an eyebrow. "He told you about that?"

"Yeah. Pestered him for about a year and a half before he caved," Potter says.

"What did he say?"

"Not much. He said the same thing he'd been telling us—that you two fought over whether or not to join the Death Eaters. He told me that you started the fight, though."

"I did."

We'd originally agreed to join together.

When he backed out, seemingly deserting me, I couldn't hold it together. I saw red. It was as though all our years of friendship—of brotherhood—meant nothing to him. And rather than face the new Blaise who had negated our friendship, I chose to try to kill him, to keep the memory of what had been so that this new Blaise couldn't ruin it altogether.

I snapped, and I'm not proud of it.

"You're not going to elaborate on that?" Potter asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I smirk. "Maybe in a year and a half."

Potter chuckles at this and takes a seat on the couch. Then I glance at Weasley's red armchair and am surprised that I didn't burn the thing already. With a flick of my wand, I Vanish it.

"That thing was hideous," I say.

Potter only shrugs. Then he asks, "When did you kill Seamus? Was it the night he disappeared?"

I take a deep breath. "Yes. I killed him quickly," I say.

"Did you…"

"Decapitate him? Yes."

Potter looks at the ground for a moment. I expect him to say something about getting vengeance, so his next words take me by surprise.

"Hermione tells me that you saved her at Hogwarts, the night that we got ambushed at the Leaky Cauldron. Is that true?"

I nod.

"Then I owe my life to you," he says.

I shrug. "I didn't do it for you," I say truthfully.

"Still. If you hadn't let her go, I'd be dead."

"You got me out of the Room of Hidden Things. Seventh year—I haven't forgotten. You could have let me burn."

We're silent for a long moment.

I remember the searing heat, remember cursing Vince for being so fucking stupid. It was a miracle that Potter decided to come back for us. I still don't really understand why. Must have been that hero complex of his.

"What happened to you?" Potter asks, finally breaking the silence. "You were such a—"

"Coward?" I finish for him. "Yes, I know. I just… grew out of it."

"I was going to tell you that I wanted to get revenge on you for killing Seamus, but—"

"It'll have to wait until this is over," I say.

"I'm not going to."

I glance over at him. "Why not?"

"It was orders, wasn't it? If Voldemort was going to make his earring into a Horcrux, then Seamus would have had to die anyway. The fact that it was by your hand is… practically irrelevant. If I should take it out on anyone, it should be Voldemort."

Again, he surprises me. People really don't give Potter enough credit. I'd never held much respect for Potter as the Boy Who Lived, but Potter the man, the one who's sitting in my living room… him I can respect.

"If you could have saved him, I think you would have," he continues. "We all heard about what you did for the Patils, and I'm sure they weren't the only ones you whisked out from under the knife."

"You're much more levelheaded than you used to be," I comment.

"Growing up does that to you."

I nod my agreement. Then I tell him, "I buried Finnigan. I'll take you there, if I live through this."

"Thanks," Potter says. "Shrunken or not, his head belongs with the rest of him."

Then the charm burns against my chest. "That's my cue," I say as I pull the charm out to look at the back.

Dartmoor, eh? Of course Voldemort would choose Dartmoor. It was the site of the first betrayal he knows of.

"Wait—before you go, I have something for you," Potter says.

I turn and watch as he pulls a tattered hat out of Hermione's handbag. "What the—is that the Sorting Hat?" I ask him incredulously.

He nods.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Just put it in your pocket."

"And what good will it do? Should I put it on Voldemort's head and let it sing him to death?"

"Just take it, all right? It's for good luck."

"Fine," I say, snatching the hat from him.

I take out my own pouch, the one that holds my broomstick, and drop the hat inside. Then I replace the pouch in my pocket and look at the Chosen One.

"If this weighs me down and gets me killed, I'll be coming after you as a ghost, Potter," I say, grinning.

He only shakes his head at me. "Good luck, Malfoy."

I nod. "Good luck, Potter."

I move swiftly down the hall.

Homenum Revelio.

The nonverbal, wandless spell alerts me to one person's presence, and I hope it's Daphne. If not, the plan may be screwed already.

I glance into the next cell and see Blaise, strung up as he had been when he was previously imprisoned here. They even gave him the exact same cell. I pull open the door, and the loud grating noise alerts him to my presence. He shakes his head at me, a small smile on his face.

"This is the second time I'm getting you out of a mess like this, mate," I tell him as I remove the cuffs from around his ankles and wrists.

"Yeah, but this time, you're the one who landed me here."

"I never told you that you had to do this."

"Yes, I know. But then you would have given yourself up, and then you would have died."

"What a shame that would have been," I reply. "Now let's get out of here."

As soon as we step out into the hall, Voldemort appears.

"Rescuing your friend, Draco? How touching," he sneers.

"So it was a trap," I say.

Voldemort smiles sinisterly. "Did you really think that I would let you succeed?"

"Try and stop me."

He stares at me for a moment, then laughs. "How do you think you'll get past me, then?"

I hear a popping sound from behind me, but Voldemort's reflexes are too inhumanly quick, and an electric-blue bolt of light flies past me. I spin around, only to see that the light has disappeared with my best mate.

"Now, would you consider that success? You've just decided to die in the place of your friend, who may or may not survive the curse he was just dealt." He shakes his head. "Disgusting."

I smirk. "Guess you couldn't stamp out the little bit of good I had in me, after all."

It's a front, and I'm sure he knows it. It'd be impossible for me to be so confident. I hadn't counted on Voldemort's reaction time being that fast.

Please let Daphne get him to Hogwarts soon enough for them to save him. If I die to save Blaise, it'll be worth it. But if he dies anyway, I'll have sacrificed myself for nothing.

If I die, that is.

"I must admit," Voldemort says, "I am impressed. How did you locate your friend?"

"An old trick."

Voldemort just looks at me, waiting for the punch line.

"Communimency."

He remains silent for another moment. Finally, he says, "Interesting. An outdated form of magic, but it is undetectable by a third party. And I presume your partner in crime who Disapparated with Zabini had but to whisper the location to him. Clever."

"Thank you."

Then, as though his patience has worn out, he says, "Why aren't you trying to escape?"

"You and I know better," I say, to burst his bubble. "As soon as I arrived outside the camp, you placed a trace on me, didn't you? It's subtle, but I remember the feeling."

"And why would I do that?"

"To find my secret hiding place," I say. "To get back at me by striking where it will hurt me the most."

"I really have kept you too close, haven't I?" he muses aloud.

I don't reply.

"Very well, then."

He flicks his wand once, but nothing happens, and I realize that he must have been trying to Disarm me.

"What arrogance," he says disdainfully. "You thought you could escape without a wand?"

"I knew I'd be caught, so I wouldn't need it," I say. It's not the real reason why I didn't bring my wand, but he certainly doesn't need to know that.

He doesn't respond.

Then pain sets in.

A furious beast claws at my insides, slashing through bones and muscles in an attempt to break out and get a breath of fresh air.

Lava replaces the blood in my veins, putting my body on the verge of melting into a puddle.

A thousand razor blades dig into my flesh, boring thin slits into my skin.

I remain rigid, completely still and silent. My jaw is clenched, and my hands are balled into tight fists. I absorb the pain, accept it, tolerate it.

Once again, I feel like a giant pincushion.

The pain increases even more, concentrating on a point just above my heart.

A single cry escapes my lips, but I clamp my teeth together again and fight for that hard-earned control. I feel myself slipping even as I try my best to hang on. But I can do this.

I force my eyes open and stare dead-on at the dark red slits in Voldemort's face.

"You can't break me anymore," I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.

The pain lifts away, and I take a deep breath.

Voldemort looks livid, and when he speaks, his voice is dangerously soft.

"You will be put on trial. You will be found guilty. You will be tortured to an inch from death. And when you have no ability to control yourself, no ability to feel, you will be mine again," he says with unsettling conviction.

"I would rather die."

"I'm sure you would. But I'm afraid that by that time, you won't even know the difference. You'll hardly be human anymore."

I only glare at him. Never.

He waves his wand once, throwing me backwards into Blaise's cell. I struggle to stay on my feet as a wave of fatigue comes over me.

"By the way," he says as he's turning to leave, "when you are back on my side, your first target will be Hermione Granger. After all, you were the one who released her. And as I'm sure you stowed her away in your safe place, you'll have no trouble finding her. Think about that, while you wait."

Then he's gone.

A headache starts to set in, and I stumble over to the corner, sliding down to sit on the ground. It's hard enough to keep barriers up within my own mind, not to mention hold up against Voldemort.

This is the best I've ever done, even including all the sessions I endured in Russia.

I point my hand at the door and give it an exhausted pull.

Of course, it doesn't open. But it was still worth a try.

I sigh as weariness begins to take over my limbs. That may have been my best performance in resisting the Torture Curse, but it was too draining. I need to rest. Otherwise, I won't have enough strength left for what's coming.

I hear a distorted voice calling my name, but I don't bother responding.

Sleep rapidly claims me.

Author's Note: I recently read a one-shot Dramione that I really, really liked, and I just wanted to recommend it to you guys. It's called "White, Grey, Black" and it's by DaniAndTheChocolateFactory. I feel like it deserves more recognition. It's a war story, and it's not particularly smutty, but I really enjoyed reading it. I feel like it's hard to come by really good war stories, so go read it! Now!

And maybe you could stick around and leave me a lovely little review… ;)