Good evening. Going to do my best to hit some review replies from the last chapter now. I am tired but wanted to post this to satisfy you. Thank you all for your persistent reading and reviewing. It really helps when I have a few sh!tty work weeks to know you are all waiting for more and enjoying it. Hope you enjoy this new chapter!
"Severus, come in."
"I cannot stay long. I was instructed to inform you that your presence, and that of your wife, is requested in two hours."
Lucius Malfoy turned and returned to his seat on the comfortable leather chair by the fireplace in his study. He had the tray of spirits on the ottoman, aware that Severus' thirsts differed by the day depending on what he was brewing and what the Dark Lord had most recently done with him or to him.
"Drink?" he offered politely, gesturing to the tray.
"Nothing today, thank you," Severus said stiffly, tossing the tails of his coat behind him before he sat on the opposite chair.
"That bad, was it?" Lucius said, eyeing his friend carefully.
"I'm not prepared to discuss it," Severus replied.
"Well, you'll be interested to hear what I turned up in my father's diaries," Lucius said, pouring himself a brandy. "Scattered throughout his diary were apparently blank pages, every now and again. I assumed it was merely fastidiousness to leave a clean page between entries, but when I wrote the name 'Hermione' in my blood, a different set of school tales emerged. A Hermione Girard transferred from Beauxbatons at the start of his seventh year."
Severus reached out to the tray and took the firewhisky decanter. "I believe I'll have something after all."
Lucius said nothing as Severus poured himself a stiff drink and took a healthy swallow, then sat back gingerly in his chair, glass in hand. "All right, tell me."
"My father was less than pleased with her presence, although he admitted that she was exceptionally talented. Apparently the Dark Lord took an interest in her shortly after her arrival, and that interest only grew. There were speculations that he would make her one of his followers, but his interests lay elsewhere, as we see!"
Lucius looked like the cat who had got the cream, and Severus felt the beginnings of a migraine forming. He still had to leave the Manor to see what could be done for Draco and, he supposed, look at the fool Weasley boy, although it was doubtful any real assistance could be rendered there. Although Hermione had not said what the Dark Lord had specifically cursed him with, it did not take a genius to determine that it was likely to prove fatal in a highly unpleasant manner.
"So shocking that a teenage boy would think with an appendage other than his brain," Snape drawled. "Really, Lucius, is it so very surprising that the Dark Lord had other urges than a lust for power when he was younger?"
"The real question is, how did Miss Granger find herself back in that timeframe at all?" Lucius' tone was uglier now. "That type of spellwork is breathtaking, Severus. Whoever sent her back, for I do not doubt for one second that Miss Granger was an unwilling participant—that is truly the most powerful wizard of the age. And I would very much like to know if it was the Dark Lord himself or not."
Severus could not like Lucius' suspicious nature at times like this. "Really, Lucius, does not the fact that the Dark Lord sought her out speak for itself in that regard? What, do you imagine that Dumbledore did so from the grave?"
Lucius swirled his brandy in his glass and took a healthy sip, then fixed his stare on Severus again. "Who is to say it was the Dark Lord, Severus? Perhaps Dumbledore was not such a fool after all—perhaps he taught even Mr. Potter such magic? Would it not be the sort of thing in which he would triumph, the ability to pull strings even from the grave? He was a secretive old bastard, and the greatest wizard of his day. A wizard who knew Nicolas Flamel personally, who defeated Grindelwald—it would be unwise to underestimate such a wizard. I merely wish to know if I should 'hedge my bets', as it were."
Severus stood up abruptly. He had no time for Lucius' conspiracy theories. "I must be going. The Dark Lord requires my return shortly. Do try to restrain your more fanciful imaginings, Lucius. Perhaps you should speak to your father's portrait as a reminder of exactly how calculating the Dark Lord is."
Snape set down his glass and exited the room, making for the entrance hall and the gardens beyond. It wasn't as if a spy could simply Floo between enemy camps. He did not see the slight swirl of dark skirts in the hall as the study door closed behind him.
The sun was setting and still there was no word from Remus or Tonks. Harry had felt like the lowest of all creatures as he explained to Andromeda what had happened, the worry lines on her face carving deeper although she was too pragmatic to cry.
"They're still alive," was all she said, before turning back to Teddy, who was waving his fists at a toy dancing above him. "And you did retrieve the Longbottom boy."
Draco was withdrawn and uncommunicative after Apparating them both back to the house. He hadn't even bothered going inside, simply leaned against the house, taking in the sounds and colors outside despite the chill in the wind. Harry found himself at loose ends, as Andromeda was busy with Teddy and clearly not in a mood for idle chitchat. Reluctantly he sought out Malfoy, who stood with his arms clenched over his chest, staring at the sunset.
"How are you doing?" Harry asked, his voice a bit rough. Of all the things he was feeling guilty about, Malfoy was the most unexpected.
"Just peachy, Potter," Draco snarled, tightening his hold on his chest, his face like granite.
"Has he called you?" Harry asked, realizing that Draco didn't look well. He was pale in that familiar way that had haunted him all through sixth year, and he could practically see his ribs with how tightly he was clutching his shirt.
"What do you think, Potter?" Draco said, ripping his left arm away from his chest and pulling up his shirtsleeve to expose his Mark. It glowed red, writhing beneath the skin. Harry could almost swear he smelled flesh burning, although there was no visible damage.
"Jesus," Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the Mark and briefly meeting Draco's eyes before Draco shoved his shirtsleeve down and clenched his chest tightly again with both arms. "How long can you resist that?"
"I don't know!" Draco shouted, his arms exploding from his chest in a sudden burst of violence. "It's not like there's a fucking handbook, Harry!"
Draco turned away, mad at himself for slipping like that. Sloppy, Draco, sloppy, he chided himself. He focused on his Occlumency again, the only thing that was helping stem the clashing tides of pain and want that were crawling through his magic.
"You don't have a wand," Harry began, and Draco clenched his jaw.
"I imagine that eventually wandless Apparition will be the more appealing option, even if I do splinch myself to death."
Harry really didn't know what to do. "Look, Malfoy—I have your wand, okay? If it comes down to it, I'll give it to you."
"You really do hate me, don't you, Potter? Has it not occurred to you that death by violent splinch is likely to be kinder than whatever the Dark Lord is going to do to me?" Malfoy's eyes were hot, the color shifting like liquid mercury. He turned his face away from Harry again, staring stubbornly at the trees.
"Look, Malfoy, I know I fucked up. Hugely. Like, end of the Order, potentially loss-of-the-war kind of fuck up. But let me ask you, when you had to leave Crabbe in the Room of Requirement, did that not make a part of you die, just a little? He was one of your best friends, maybe even before Hogwarts for all I know. And I'm just saying, that is what Hermione is to me, and maybe she was more to Ron. I know it doesn't excuse it, and it certainly doesn't make up for that," Harry gestured to Draco's forearm, "or for Ron, or Tonks, or McGonagall, or all the other people who've been hurt today. But we never intended for anyone to get caught up in it, and I certainly didn't intend for you to show yourself to him. And, I'm sorry, really sorry. I'm sorry, Draco."
Draco sank down onto his haunches, refusing to let his butt touch the ground. Once he sat down, it would be that much harder to get up, that much harder to avoid the fetal position he could so easily see himself curling into as his mind ripped itself to shreds. "Shut the fuck up, Potter."
It didn't seem right to leave Draco by himself. Harry sank down to his haunches, too, next to Malfoy. He didn't know how long Draco was going to keep himself together, but at least he wouldn't be alone.
Remus felt the heat from the amulet in his pocket, a reminder that there was a world still spinning out there past his wife's cot. Poppy had gotten her to stop morphing, but the damage from the hex or curse that Voldemort had cast was apparent all over her skin, and her magic was dangerously close to being drained.
"I'll be right back," he said, then stepped out of the cave, making quickly for a safe apparition point. He appeared quite suddenly in the clearing, spotting Snape lurking in the woods.
"I don't have much time," Severus said hurriedly. "As you may well imagine, the aftermath continues from your little jaunt today. I have spoken to Ms. Granger, alone, and I would like to see if there is anything to be done for Mr. Weasley. Are you prepared to trust me with his location?"
"Given the outcome of the reeducation center, how do I know he has not sent you here to take us down, to let in more of your friends and rend us further?" Remus retorted.
"You don't," Severus said sharply. "But I promise that Ms. Granger will be disappointed if I cannot relay some news of her former friends to her. She is hardly surrounded by bosom bows at present, and I cannot see that changing as a result of today's escapades! That little stunt nearly killed her!"
"What is going on, Severus? What exactly has happened between that girl and the darkest wizard of this age?" Remus demanded, his wand still flicking anxiously back and forth in his hand. "I cannot fathom how this came to pass."
Severus had no intention of divulging Hermione's admission that the Dark Lord had sent her back in time to his younger self. That was dangerous information, and frankly the Order did not deserve it with their bungling of the straightforward rescue of Longbottom. They were headless and, apparently, witless, with no one prepared to accept the responsibilities of making hard decisions that were likely to get people killed. Governing by committee was hardly a successful model in the wizarding world.
"For a start, he can find her no matter where she goes. Hence her reluctance to be 'rescued', as she knew that she would draw the Dark Lord straight to you all! Secondly, Ms. Granger is recovering from a very nasty accident with her magic, and is not supposed to be around any casting at present. You can imagine how well she was tolerating her attempted rescue when the Dark Lord was alerted to the problem."
Remus frowned. "How was he aware of what was happening?"
"Do you honestly think the Dark Lord would bind himself to a witch in an ordinary manner?" Severus' tone was cutting, as he intended. He did not have the time to coddle and cajole. "I was with him myself, and I have never seen such a response. Which brings me to the issue of their marriage bond—whatever it is between them, it is deeper, darker, and more irrevocable than anything that any of us have likely encountered."
"So she truly is lost, then," Remus said, turning his head to look at the waning moon and rub his face tiredly.
"I told you this already!" Snape hissed. "Now are you going to prepare the Weasleys for the loss of their youngest son, or are you going to let me see what the boy has foolishly brought down on his own head?"
Remus' expression hardened. "Come on then."
Snape permitted side-along Apparition in lieu of an alternative, but shook his robes in displeasure upon arrival. He ignored the whispers that crept like cockroaches through the scattered witches and wizards, noting that at least they had the great good sense to prevent the underaged sympathizers from joining their efforts. He went straight to the Weasley boy's bed, wordlessly making eye contact with Poppy Pomfrey before snapping his wand out of his sleeve, utterly ignoring Molly and Arthur.
"Step back, please," he ordered brusquely, clinically assessing the damage.
Lord Voldemort had been pissed indeed to begin carving up the young man like a Christmas goose. The Dark Lord was usually not one for direct bloodletting, preferring instead to quickly dispatch his foes via the Unforgivables when they were not worthy of his attention. The fact that he had toyed with Weasley was an indicator of the level of his anger. Poppy had put as much tissue as she could back together or, failing that, under stasis, but it was clear that Weasley was still racked with pain despite the application of stasis charms and pain potions.
"Exsculpo perscindo," Severus muttered, looking up at Poppy briefly, who nodded tearily. "You gave him the Carnicula Confervo philtre?"
"Yes, but it made it worse," Poppy said. "I reversed it as quickly as possible, but further damage was done—his liver, spleen, left lung…"
"Yes, I see," Snape said impatiently, turning his wand to the deeper issue. It was not surprising to him in the least that the Dark Lord had actively planted booby traps for those who would attempt to help the boy. He was a vindictive bastard when he felt wronged, and there was no clearer example than the shredded organs of the boy before him. That, however, was the least of Weasley's concerns, his wand touching something very dark indeed.
"What is it?" Molly Weasley finally broke her silence, stepping forward toward Severus. "Please. Tell me. I need to know."
Snape drew his wand down, finally looking at the drawn expressions of Weasley's parents. "Mr. Weasley, one moment and I will explain as I am able," he said to the boy, who was fully conscious if not particularly able to talk at present. He stepped out of earshot of the bed, casting a Muffliato before speaking.
"I do not know how long he has, but it will not be pleasant. The Dark Lord has used a curse of his own making on him. As far as I can tell, it is designed to eat away at him from the inside out, using his own magic to sustain him for as long as possible."
"That sadistic bastard," Arthur began. "I'll tear him apart myself, cursing a boy like that! It's monstrous—"
"Oh Severus, please, tell me there is some way to reverse it, a potion to stop it, something…" Molly sobbed, but Snape shook his head.
"Your son took it upon himself to attempt to kidnap the Dark Lord's wife, without understanding how she came to BE his wife, and without paying attention to my explicit instructions to Remus to forget about Ms. Granger precisely because I knew that the Dark Lord's hold over her was severe indeed!" Severus said impatiently. "What the bloody hell did he think the Dark Lord would do in response, simply say, 'stop, get out'?"
Arthur pointed his wand at Severus instantly, his face as hard as stone. "Do not mock my son."
"I do not mock, Arthur, and put your damn wand down unless you'd like me to leave your son writhing in his own vomit and bile until he dies," Severus said nastily. "I came here to help, and I don't give a damn if you don't like hearing that your son was foolish, but that is exactly what he was! Now, am I leaving him to his fate, or do you want to hear how to slow it down and give me some time to find some way of bargaining with the Dark Lord to relinquish the curse?"
"Arthur, please," Molly said, her eyes suddenly dry. "This is the darkest of Dark magic. We cannot possibly counter it without help."
Arthur's face was as hard as stone. "Fine. But let me say, Severus, that I find your behavior in general to be despicable."
Severus cancelled the Muffliato with a stroke of his wand and walked back to Ronald's bedside, ignoring the angry Weasley patriarch as he got down to the boy's level so he could meet his eyes. "Mr. Weasley, it is my recommendation that you take the Draught of the Living Death. It may slow the curse the Dark Lord cast upon you, and if it should result in your death, it will be a far kinder one than awaits you from the Dark Lord's handiwork, as you can doubtless attest."
He stood again and swept a curt bow to the Weasleys and Madame Pomfrey. "I will leave it up to you all to consult as to your preference. Remus knows how to contact me."
He pulled the werewolf away from his wife's bedside to speak to him briefly about Draco on the way out.
"I believe the Dark Lord will be calling Draco today after witnessing him save Potter's arse. I will do my best to put him off, but if the boy is to have any hope of fighting the pull, he will need a salve and spell to make it tolerable. With any luck I will be able to make it and the draught for Mr. Weasley before I am required again."
"Severus, is there any way the Mark could be used to track Draco?" Remus asked urgently, and Snape shook his head.
"No. It is designed to render those who possess it insensible of all else when we are called, but it does not have any component of a locator spell. Those who have been caught after ignoring it have done so because they were rendered so insensible of their surroundings that they made significant errors which revealed their location to those hunting them." His tone was grim, and it pissed him off that Draco had behaved so foolishly, and for no good reason that he could discern.
"Thank you, Severus. I am sorry that they did not take your warning seriously."
A day late and a tuppence short, just like all the Order's apologies, Severus thought to himself. Just to be perverse, he disapparated directly from the cave in trademark Death Eater fashion, making a mockery of their wards. Clearly Filius had not been involved in setting them; although if he were being truthful, working on the Hogwarts wards with the Dark Lord had taught him a bit more about ward making and breaking. After the unpleasantness flung in his direction, however, he was not inclined to offer additional kindnesses, even in his own mind.
"My lord."
Severus bowed low at the waist, seeing that the Dark Lord was in a vicious mood. Lucius Malfoy was taking the brunt of it, but Draco was not evident and Severus feared that the longer the stalemate lasted, the more damaged the senior Malfoys would become. Narcissa appeared intact thus far, but if the Dark Lord turned to breaking her mind it would go to hell quite quickly. The Blacks were more proficient with Occlumency than most, but Narcissa had not hardened her skills under the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban as her sister had. It put her at a distinct disadvantage.
"Severus. Tell me, how does Mr. Weasley?" Voldemort flicked his wand away from Lucius, who gasped for air like a fish out of water, his skin feeling as though hundreds of bugs were crawling over it.
"Poorly," Severus said shortly. "My lord, if I may, I believe I have an idea as to where the younger Malfoy has been residing. If I may share my thoughts with you…?"
Voldemort's eyes glittered dangerously, and Severus knew he was pushing the limits of the Dark Lord's scant patience. "You have thirty seconds."
"My lord, I believe Draco has been residing with the werewolf and his family, and quite possibly with Potter himself. As such, he is advantageously positioned to spy for you, and prepare to deliver them all to you in one fell swoop at the time of your choosing."
"This does not explain his failure to report himself," Voldemort snapped, circling him once and Severus knew at least one Cruciatus was coming his way, mentally cursing Draco for it. "Crucio!"
The pain of the Cruciatus was a fuckload more annoying on top of maintaining his mental shields, as one of Voldemort's favorite little tricks was to worm his way into the minds of those he was cursing. Thankfully the Dark Lord flicked his wand back to Lucius for good measure, causing the arrogant Malfoy to twitch and kick on the ground again.
"My lord, Draco is his father's son. He always has motive upon motive for his actions, and he knows you have the full loyalty and support of his parents, whom he loves. I beg you to consider his actions in light of a faithful servant, if perhaps misguided in his attempt to maintain his cover so perfectly," Severus said, controlling his breathing as much as he could manage and keeping his head bowed as he spoke.
Voldemort's gaze flicked to Narcissa and Lucius, then back to Severus. "Continue."
"My lord, I have led the werewolf to believe that I could block your summons with a salve and a spell, that it was possible to make it tolerable for Draco even if you called him."
The tip of the Elder wand dipped as he laughed, a hard-edged chortle that echoed in the chamber. "And they believed you?" he asked, incredulous.
Severus knew he was making headway now, and he could see from Lucius' expression that he believed the same. "My lord, they do not possess the Mark, and all who have defected with it have died for doing so. How would they know what is and is not possible concerning its magic? No one knows how you created it, much less how to counter it."
That is not precisely true, Voldemort thought to himself with amusement. Out loud he said, "I am intrigued by your cunning, Severus. You are truly worthy of your House. Tell me, how do you propose I make Draco accountable for his actions, then?"
"I will deliver the salve to the boy, and inform him that you will call him again, late this evening at the time of your choosing—and this time, he is to come in secret and account for himself and his actions. Then you may instruct him as you see fit, and confirm what I have told you about his living situation." And discipline him, Severus privately added, but that went without saying. He could see the glimmer of hope on Narcissa's face, while Lucius was now focused on fighting the effects of the Cruciatus and whatever other delights the Dark Lord had inflicted on him prior to Severus' arrival, raising himself stiffly to his feet. Obviously Lucius believed the imminent danger had passed.
He was correct. Voldemort tilted his head and nodded to Severus. "Not tonight. They will be watching him. Inform Draco that he can expect a summons within the week." He paused to think, then turned a sharp gaze on his potions master. "I expect that you will present a convincing front during this delivery, Severus. I would hate for your position as well as Draco's to be compromised as a result of this little escapade."
"I shall serve you perfectly in this as in all things, my lord," Severus said, causing Voldemort to draw near to him, a dangerous look in his eye.
"See that you do."
Voldemort turned back to the Malfoys. "I shall expect great things from your little project with young Mr. Longbottom, Lucius, after this disappointment from your son."
"All shall be exactly as you need, my lord, I promise you," Lucius said hoarsely.
"Ah. The Boy Wonder. I do hope you appreciate what you have wrought today," Severus said with a sneer. Harry didn't have a chance to reply, however, as Severus' attention instantly shifted to the boy beside him. "Draco, let me see your arm. Now!"
Draco was incapable of replying, and Severus had to pry his left arm away from his chest. He had been listening to Harry drone on about his childhood. While life as a small child at Malfoy Manor had been no picnic, he recognized in the part of his brain that was shielded by Occlumency that Harry was treated far worse by his Muggle relatives. Frankly it did nothing to improve his opinion of Muggles in general. He was jerked back to reality and reminded of the immense pain in his forearm as Severus forcibly removed the limb from his chest, rolling up the sleeve and then applying the foul smelling salve.
"What the—" Draco began, but Severus silenced him quickly.
"Be quiet! I will explain shortly," he hissed under his breath, then turned to look at Remus, who was watching them with concern. "It will take a few minutes for this to take effect," he said more loudly, aware that Potter was watching them as well. A distraction seemed in order.
"Tell me, Potter, are you pleased that your co-conspirator is now under the Draught of the Living Death, in the hope that the Dark Lord may be persuaded to be merciful?" Severus' tone was unctuous and offensive, and Remus sighed loudly.
"Severus, this is not helpful," he said, but Severus drew Draco upright. The Malfoy heir stumbled slightly, wincing from the pain of the unanswered summons.
"The Dark Lord will cease his call in exactly three minutes. You WILL go later this week when he calls again," he whispered in Draco's ear as he helped him to his feet, his curtain of lank hair hiding the movement of his lips from watchful eyes while Draco's own groans disguised his words. He drew back slowly, catching Draco's eye as he pretended to assess his readiness to stand on his own two feet.
"Draco?" Remus asked. His face was sallow and Harry felt the twist of guilt anew, because he had returned with Snape and without mentioning Tonks once. "Is the salve helping?"
Draco felt the sudden cessation of the summons, the absence of heat echoing rather than any real coolness. His arm felt like it was burnt to a crisp, and he doubted that would improve quickly. "Yeah…yes. It's…numbing it, almost."
"Is it bearable?"
This question from Potter. Severus arched an eyebrow at that, but no one noticed it.
"I think it will be," Draco said, meeting Severus' eye. He had understood. He didn't know how Draco would obtain a wand or exit the house to answer the summons, but he would. Severus nodded brusquely and said,
"You expected anything less?"
Hermione fervently hoped that Snape had been able to speak to someone in the Order, and possibly help Ron. She was confused by Draco's behavior, however. Clearly he had taken refuge with the Order, but he had completely sacrificed himself to save Harry. It was just not something she could see Malfoy ever doing, and he had no reason for doing so, given that Voldemort would most certainly punish his parents for his failure to come forward immediately after the battle. So why had he done it?
There was something she was missing, something that was teasing the edge of her memory. Voldemort had mentioned Draco, she was sure of it. The realization fired along her synapses, her mind retrieving the relevant information and reassembling the pieces to make a sensible picture. What was he doing now?
"Verity," Hermione called, causing the house elf to pop into the room.
"Mistress?"
"I need to speak to my husband, now. Please tell him."
The house elf's eyes widened, but she nodded, "Yes mistress," before popping away.
"Are you unwell?"
Hermione turned to find her husband far closer than any noise would have suggested. His wand was stowed away in his sleeve, but he stroked his thumb along her temple, studying her closely. "Your headache has not returned?"
"No." Hermione said, laying her hand on his wrist as she began to speak. "You knew Draco was alive. What was he supposed to be doing for you?"
"My lovely mate, you miss nothing as usual," he breathed, his eyes kinder and sharper than she had seen of late. "Were you not the one to advise me to judge on the basis of talent? I am certain you recall what I said to you about dear Draco."
Hermione looked at the collar of his robes, smoothing the edge where it met the skin of his neck before looking at him again. "You said he had other talents than killing, and that was why he was still alive."
"Indeed he does," Voldemort murmured, letting the backs of his fingers trail down her cheekbone before cupping her jaw. "Unfortunately, I am less than certain that he has been fulfilling the commission I gave him."
His eyes had flared in that manner which Hermione associated with his rising temper, but she wanted to get to the bottom of what he was doing with Draco. She needed to persuade him to let her attend whatever meeting he had with him, however unpleasant it may be.
"I never liked him in school, you know," she said. He chuckled at that.
"I am well aware. The younger Malfoy is reasonably adept at Occlumency now, but it was not always so. I have had a full catalog of your many sins at school, I assure you."
His eyes practically danced with mirth, and Hermione turned her head to press a kiss on his palm. His aura flared in response, the soft whoosh of his breath inward a visible sign of the effect she had on him. She wished she could respond in kind, but she didn't have the capacity for it at present, the fatigue dampening her response like water washing out the colors of her aura.
"Faes hi takēm kātha, don't," he said calmly. "You have been through a trying day."
"Then do not tempt me so," Hermione said plaintively. "I am not going to pretend we are not each aware of the effect we have on one another. And I do not quite see the end of my day yet. I want to see how you treat Draco."
"Do you now?" Voldemort murmured, his thumb tugging her lower lip down briefly. "And why would you want that, irrespective of whether or not I will allow it?"
"Because if I am there, he will gawk and let something slip to whomever he has been hiding with. It will do more to convince the Order of my willing participation in our bonding rites than anything that trickles out via another source. It is hardly a secret that Malfoy hated me in school. If anyone would pick up on the Imperius, it would be Malfoy crowing about it."
"I will think about it," he offered, letting his hand slide away from her face. "Now, please tell me you are done trying to wheedle things out of me. I want to see you in bed. Since you seem to be less fatigued than I thought, I can think of better uses for your tongue."
"And I, yours," Hermione retorted smartly.
"My lord," Draco groaned, his body writhing still from the effects of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus. He had lost track of how many times it had been applied. As if it hadn't been difficult enough to feign sleep and then steal Andromeda Tonks' wand, putting her under a sleeping spell so he could leave the house, he had then had to put Potter under as well, finding him nodding off at the door. If the werewolf had been in residence he doubted he would have gotten away with it. Later he would damn Harry in his head—at the moment he was focused on keeping the Dark Lord out of it despite the immense pain from his torture.
"Did you think that you were serving my interests by allowing Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to escape me yet again?" Voldemort demanded. "Crucio!"
Hermione forced herself to be as impassive as possible. It was a decisive victory to be allowed here in the first place, and she had to pick the right moment to intervene. Tom was pissed in the same manner he had had when one of his Knights was out of line, only now he was more powerful and his magic was harder to control when his temper flew high.
"My lord," Draco gasped. "My lord, I WAS serving you! He could not just disappear! They would claim all sorts of things, turn him into a martyr! My lord, please, I promise you, I had not thought I would be allowed to hide in the same decrepit hole as Potter!"
Draco could barely breathe, but getting out his explanation was more important than that. He was dimly aware that Granger was still there, dressed in robes the likes of which he'd never seen her in, and wearing a fixed expression of endurance, not the blank look of someone Imperiused.
"My husband, if I may—" Hermione paused to let him decide, aware that appearances were of the utmost importance to Voldemort. He nodded curtly, and Hermione stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. This, too, she knew to be deliberate. He would not have anyone see him bending to accommodate her desires as it pertained to his rule.
"I am surprised he has been staying in the same location as Harry."
It was as much as she was willing to admit to him, but it seemed to be enough to temper his anger for the present. Voldemort exchanged a glance with his wife, then fixed Draco with his maroon stare.
"Explain."
It was a cold command, but Draco took it for the life ring that it was. He went through the months spent gaining the Order's trust, the circumstances that had led to Harry staying in the same place, the conversations they had had at night. He held back what was irrelevant, focusing on how his position could be used to the Dark Lord's advantage without any mention of any other interests.
"And they are relying on you for information about the Manor and the Death Eaters?" The Dark Lord queried sharply, his eyes flicking from the supplicating Malfoy to his wife.
"Yes, my lord. I would never give them anything that was truly valuable, my lord," Draco said.
"Except for the attack on my wife and the loss of Neville Longbottom!" Voldemort hissed, and Hermione mentally chastised Draco for being such an idiot.
"Have you not said that Longbottom is Lucius' concern now?" Hermione asked, point-blank, before he could torture Draco again.
"Indeed," Voldemort said, turning to look at the Malfoy heir with a critical eye. "You may continue where you are, for now. You are to report weekly. I don't give a damn how you get away from your jailers, but you will do so, and frequently enough to satisfy me. If you don't do this, I will begin sending you pieces of your mother. Am I understood?"
Draco paled further than his complexion allowed, and he rasped out, "Yes, my lord. Perfectly."
"Very well. Go run back to your hidey hole, Draco; but remember who put you there."
"My lord."