Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

Summary: Set after HBP. After months of enduring cruel games at the hand of Death Eaters as punishment for his failure, Draco manages to escape. Seriously injured, wandless, and accompanied by a 4-yr-old muggle girl, he struggles to survive. Will he be able to help put an end to the war, or will he suffer a fate worse than death?

Warnings: Dark themes, language

Chapter 2

Nott was back again.

Currently, he rested his skinny frame against the steel bars that annoyingly blocked the way to the stairs. His white mask was absent but he wore the black robes with the hood off.

"It's really not a big deal. You only need them as a child. Once you start school, they become obsolete." Nott shrugged. "Actually, you don't even need them as a child. I turned out okay, after all."

Almost a week had passed since the fake-wand incident. Of course, Draco really couldn't tell for sure, as there were no clocks or windows in his prison, but judging from the six times he received meals and the six times he was escorted to the loo, he could accurately guess that six days and six nights had passed.

Nott tapped his fingers against the steel bars. The pings made a tinkling sound similar to the ringing of a bell. "Admit it, Draco. You're already used to your mother's absence."

Draco was sitting in his usual corner, in his usual position. The trembling was nearly nonexistent today. He could honestly say that he was quite comfortable. Even the warm air settling over the cell like a blanket didn't bother him. He was dressed only in a thin silken shirt, collar unbuttoned, and loose-fitting trousers, although the trousers weren't loose-fitting when he first bought them. His robes were folded neatly beside him.

At the moment, Draco was looking down, fingers playing with his cuffs. Numerous possible responses to Nott's comment floated stagnant in his mind, but he had no desire to open his mouth to say any of them.

The tinkling stopped and Draco heard a swishing sound. Raising his head, he watched as Nott slid down the steel bars to sit cross-legged on the stone floor. Resting his sandy-blond head against the bars, he turned one eye toward Draco.

Draco returned the gaze, a slight spark of interest setting his state of calm detachment awhirl. This was a new development. For the past six days, Nott had visited, said a few words, then left. The things he said were of little value. The words slid into his mind, stewed for a few minutes, then were forgotten. By sitting down, he indicated that he was in for an actual conversation.

Pursing his lips, Nott said, "Giving me the silent treatment won't help you escape. I've kept the big bad Death Eaters from making you play cat-and-mouse for the last six days, and all I get from you is a blank stare? I'm not going to cut off your tongue. Stay anything you like. I'll even let you insult me. Go on."

Nott had his full attention now. Shaking off the last remnants of his prison slump, he leaned forward to better see Nott's face in the shadows of the candlelight.

"I don't want your pity," Draco said. Despite his interest, his voice came out dull and emotionless. He needed longer to escape the fog his mind had been in.

"And you won't get any," Nott replied easily. "You're currently much better off than the other prisoners in the manor. You still even look healthy, albeit a little thinner and exhausted, but you've always been thin, so there's really no difference."

Draco barely paid attention to the words. "You've changed."

The eyebrow above the eye looking at Draco rose. "How so?"

"You talk too much."

Nott sniggered. "Following your logic, I can say you've changed because you talk so little."

Draco wanted to deny it, because he knew he didn't change. In fact, he believed that he was acting more himself than ever. His close-lipped behavior wasn't a result of some inner change. Because he was a coward, because he feared the consequences, he never spoke unless spoken to, and sometimes not even then. Draco understood this. Left alone to contemplate for countless hours in the past few months gave him no one to analyze but himself. He did try to understand the Dark Lord at one point, and his reasons for starting this war, but thinking about that particular wizard for too long inspired in him a fear too suffocating to endure.

"Oh, stop brooding," Nott groaned. "I do hope you're aware that when you do that, your eyes go dull and you stare at nothing and it makes you look like an idiot."

The words slowly trickled into Draco's mind and when comprehension sunk in, he chuckled.

Nott slowly shook his head from side to side. "You really did change. If I said that to you at Hogwarts, I would've gotten a hex up my arse."

Draco brought his knees forward so that he could rest his arms and chin upon them. "If I have my wand, Nott, consider your arse hexed."

"Ah," Nott said. He shuffled on the ground until he completely faced Draco. "So, back to topic. Do you think about your mother at all?"

Draco sighed. "I told you already that I did."

Nott shook his head slightly. "Okay, but you never have the desire to see her, right?"

The question made Draco narrow his eyes. "Of course I do."

Nott pursed his lips. "How about, if I told you that you will never get the chance to see your mother again, you would be fine with that, because you're used to not seeing her."

Draco lifted his head up. "What happened to her?" he asked, the sick feeling of panic rising within his chest.

"Nothing. She's safe in the manor," Nott waved the question aside. "I'm just saying that you'll be fine without her."

"Why are we talking about this?" Draco asked.

Nott shrugged. "I'm just trying to convince you that it's wasteful to worry about your mother's life on top of your own. When you stole my stick, you wanted to save your mother, although you should've just tried to escape. I mean, I knew how much you looked forward to her letters at Hogwarts, and how excited you got to see her after a term ended, but sacrificing yourself for her is foolish."

"Sacrifice?" Draco was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Nott shrugged again and his eyes slid to the floor. "Just worry about yourself, is all. Don't worry about your mother." He suddenly looked back up to Draco with a smile. "You're a Slytherin, after all. We're supposed to care about ourselves more than anyone, remember?"

Draco stared intently at Nott, trying to read any messages in the other boy's eyes. He stopped trying when the shadows warped the Death Eater's face into something resembling an evil monster. After a moment, Draco asked, "How are they treating her these days?"

Nott was silent.

Alarmed, Draco furrowed his brow. "Nott? How is she?" The feeling of panic returned and he was dismayed to notice his hands continue their trembling.

"Why does it matter?" Nott answered shortly. Draco blinked. He sounded sullen, disappointed. His face was turned away, shoulders slumped.

Draco grew impatient. "It does matter, Nott," Draco said, his tone cold. "We're talking about my mother." What was up with his old schoolmate? Nott was fast becoming a new addition to the short list of people he could not understand.

Draco waited for the Death Eater to explain himself, but no reply came. After a full minute of staring at the back of a sandy-blond head, his impatience disappeared, only to be replaced with a strong annoyance. "How is she?" he repeated.

Draco saw a thin shoulder rise up in a half-hearted shrug. "They're still treating her like a house elf. She's still cleaning. She's still cooking. She's still being ordered to do humiliating things. A couple days ago, she let a fire go out while a few Death Eaters were still in the room. They forced her to punish herself by beating herself with the poker."

Feeling quite sick, Draco closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his knees.

Suddenly, Nott's voice became more excited. "Her cooking has gotten better, but I try not to eat here if I can. A lot of the manor is closed off, since it's impossible for her to clean the entire place by herself. They call her the 'last house elf of Malfoy Manor,' I believe. Although, I can't see how that is accurate because your mother still wears clothes. For now."

The memory of his family's house elves being burned alive seared Draco's mind. He remembered how the elves writhed silently on the burnt grass, finally letting out moans when the pain became unbearable. From his mouth came the orders that they could not stop the fires, could not scream, could not even cry. They obeyed him. They had to, because they belonged to him. In his turn, Draco had obeyed the Dark Lord, because he belonged to him.

"Your mother's miserable, Draco. I wager she'd rather be dead than continue to serve us like a house elf." Nott's voice grew more intense. "Draco, your mother wants to die."

Draco winced. Although he hadn't seen her for many days, he still couldn't imagine a life without her. She was the one constant in his life, a person who could never let him down. The people at school may annoy him, infuriate him, harm him, and his father may bring up feelings of dread, anxiety, and fear, but his mother had the ability to make him feel better even through a few sentences written hastily on a piece of parchment. He could not stand to hear her brought so low.

"Fuck off, Nott. That's not true," Draco murmured. The feeling of helplessness threatened to drown him. There was nothing he wanted more than to burst out his prison and destroy the bastards who dared to harm his mother. His desire to see them suffer and to have his mother be her free, beautiful self again burned brightly enough to drive back the suffocating helplessness.

He heard Nott sigh. "Draco, listen to me. Don't waste your energy to try and save her."

Draco didn't bother to answer. Although not even five minutes had passed since Nott visited, he was tired of the conversation. Actually, he wished he could forget it.

A few minutes of silence passed, during which Draco tried his best to bring back the fog in his mind. Only the fog could block out his worries.

"Our Lord will arrive tomorrow."

Those words dispelled the fog as successfully as if a tornado had swept across his mind. Draco jerked his head up, eyes widening in fear. The panic for his mother returned ten-fold, except this time, the panic was for himself.

Nott bit his lip. "I'm sure you'll be fine. He wouldn't keep you alive this long if he just wanted to kill you."

Draco was too overcome with worry to answer. The Dark Lord will come tomorrow. His long-awaited punishment will surely come with his arrival.

Nott stood up, his movements slow and reluctant. "I should go, but remember what I told you."

Draco wasn't listening. He didn't pay any attention to Nott as the Death Eater turned and disappeared through the archway that would bring him to the stairs. He was buried under his fear of what was to come next.

The pain. The suffering. The humiliation.

Draco could easily imagine the Dark Lord's punishment being multiple times worse than the Cruciatus sessions led by his Death Eaters. The image of his face loomed terrifyingly in Draco's mind, and the accompanying feeling of nausea made him slump back, weak.

The memory of those eyes turning blood red, staring intently through Draco's eyes, arose uninvited in his mind. He remembered the pressure inside his head growing agonizingly strong, but he never allowed his shields to fall. Even as the pressure grew sharp, excruciatingly painful, he denied the Dark Lord access into his mind. His mind was the only thing left to him. The people he cared for, any power he had, were taken from him, but his thoughts and memories were his own. Although the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse was strong and long-lasting, Draco never regretted his defiance. His mind was his own.

Draco shook his head as if that could dispel all his frightening thoughts. He had a feeling that trying to come up with a plan of escape would only bring him back to his terrifying memories of the Dark Lord. For the briefest of seconds, Draco felt a stirring of disgust toward himself. Why are you so weak? The question came abruptly to mind, but Draco didn't want to admit he was weak, much less answer the question.

Stifling down a strong feeling of dread, Draco recalled his lessons on Occlumency and brought back the numbing fog. It was easier this way. And besides, he was too tired to think.

O_O

The screeching slide of the small lift built into the center of the steel bar gate brought Draco out of his self-induced fog. His noontime meal was here, and he was hungry. But then again, he was always hungry. Despite eating only one meal each day for over two months, his stomach adamantly refused to become used to the new food schedule.

Draco's eyes were glued to the small opening and subsequently to the plate entering through it. A generous slice of meat pie sat upon the plate. Although the crust appeared to be slightly burnt, Draco looked forward to eating it.

He got up from his position without too much difficulty, and walked the few steps to the gate. Holding out a hand to receive the plate, he raised his eyes to meet the deliverer.

It was lucky he didn't yet grab the plate, else he would've dropped it and wasted his one meal quota of the day.

For the first time since he was dumped as a prisoner in his own home, Draco looked into the inky black eyes of Severus Snape.

"Professor Snape!" Draco exclaimed, shock clearly evident in his voice. A sudden onslaught of too many different emotions almost had Draco falling and landing on his bottom. Draco stared at the familiar face, at a loss for words.

His former professor's face was unreadable like always. No emotions showed from his pale, gaunt features, and his lips were still stuck in their forever pursed state, as if everything in the world never could be up to his standards. Draco's parents usually shared the same expression.

Suddenly, the eyebrows on the gaunt face rose. "Not hungry, Draco?" The voice was familiar too: monotone, uninterested, resonant.

The question triggered something in Draco, and he blurted out, "Where have you been?" He winced inwardly at the slight reproach in his tone. From Professor Snape's blink, Draco knew his godfather noticed. Biting his lips to keep from saying anything more embarrassing, Draco quickly reached forward and took the plate of food.

A couple of minutes passed as Draco stared determinedly at the meat pie, waiting for an answer. He could feel Severus's gaze on him and it made it even more difficult to suppress the emotions bubbling unpleasantly inside him. He no longer thought the meat pie looked appetizing. His stomach was too upset to accept food. Instead, he wanted to throw the plate towards the distant man and yell at him for leaving him to suffer the Cruciatus Curse for days on end.

Finally, his godfather spoke, "I've been following orders. There were also some matters to settle concerning Hogwarts and keeping this manor hidden."

The mention of Hogwarts brought yet another unpleasant jolt. Death Eaters certainly did not belong there. Suddenly, holding the plate of food became too risky as Draco fought down the feeling of nausea. He bent down on wobbly legs and set the plate on the stone floor. When he straightened, he raised his eyes to look at his godfather's face. Emotions that he kept buried during the two months burst out of his inner-shields. Worry, regret, and self-disgust caused him to crinkle his brow. "I didn't know they would let the werewolves in," he whispered.

"What's done is done," Severus replied shortly. His eyes wandered over Draco's face and Draco wondered what he thought of him right now. Did he think him a coward? A weakling? Someone who did not deserve the Malfoy family name? "I will be leaving soon to prepare for my headmaster position at Hogwarts."

Yet again, a jolt went through him. "Headmaster? I thought…I thought…" Draco trailed off as the image of Severus's killing curse hitting the weakened headmaster replayed itself in his mind. The memory of the horror he'd felt during that time left his mouth dryer than usual.

"The Dark Lord will see you in a few hours," Severus continued. "I will be gone by then."

Although the words should've made him throw up in fear, Draco could only feel a cold numbness washing over him. "A few hours? But…b-but I heard tomorrow." The words came out as a whisper.

"Our Lord has business tomorrow. He will see you today," Severus repeated. After a pause, he said, "I trust you to keep yourself alive."

Draco wanted to snort, wallow in self-pity, and cry, but he chose to let out a long sigh instead. He clasped his hands together in a tight grip to reduce their trembling. "Will that even be possible?" he asked bitterly.

"You failed to fulfill your orders and kill Dumbledore. You failed to get yourself out of this prison, even though you had ample time without the supervision of the Dark Lord. If you fail to survive today, you will be the sorriest excuse of a pureblood ever to exist."

The words were like a punch to the gut. Draco curled his lips but bit back a retort. His godfather's words were true.

"There has been a change to the manor wards. Can you feel it?"

Surprised, Draco wrinkled his brow to concentrate. If he focused hard enough, he could make out the intricate spell work that formed the wards of Malfoy Manor. He sensed the usual wards for fire protection, anti-apparation, and other various protection spells that he never bothered to research. Although he could not detect anything specific, he could feel something was off. "The wards feel more…strict," Draco answered.

Severus gave a curt nod. "If you happen to find yourself at your manor's boundary, make sure to stick out your left arm in front of you before taking another step. Instead of merely preventing burglars into the grounds, the wards now prevent anyone without the Dark Mark from entering. Those who fail to present the Mark will burst into flames. Prisoners must be in physical contact with a Death Eater to be allowed through the wards." His godfather's emotionless face suddenly grew more grim.

"Do you understand me, Draco? I don't care if you never again understand another one of my potions lessons, but I do want you to understand that you need to stay alive, no matter what the Dark Lord forces you to endure."

Before Draco could react, his godfather abruptly turned and disappeared through the archway. Although Draco strained his ears, he could not hear his footsteps going up the stairs.

Why did Severus want him to survive so badly? Never in his life had his godfather even looked at him fondly, much less begged him to stay alive.

The Dark Lord will come for him in a few hours. He needed to stop thinking about his godfather and think up a plan. Draco never could understand the man anyways. He did agree with Severus, though. He needed to survive whatever the Dark Lord threw at him.

He returned to his corner to ready himself for the ordeal. He needed to spend the remaining time he had left to strengthen the shields in his mind and brace his body for pain.

The plate of food lay forgotten on the stone floor.