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?

Note: This story is an AU, although it will have many parallels to DH. Anything that seems familiar is most likely created by Rowling and is not my property!

Warnings: Dark themes, violence, language

Chapter 1

They were actually trying to kill him.

The thought exploded through Draco's head as his eyes registered a flash of green to his left.

This was no longer a game. Those spineless sycophants were really attempting to kill him.

Heartbeat impossibly quickening, Draco changed his course. Instead of continuing on his straight path through a clearing, he veered right, running in zigzags and loops to avoid the curses. His destination was the maze. He should have the advantage there, considering how many of his childhood hours were spent wondering among the tall hedges. A series of green flashes from both his left and right forced Draco to frantically roll right, skip back, leap left, and sprint forward. There was nothing graceful about his movements. Gasping loudly, yelping when the green flashes flew by too close, eyes widening in fear, Draco fled. The stray thought that he must resemble a demented chicken floated through his panic-stricken mind and he promptly tripped over his left foot. The ground flew up to meet him.

Swearing, Draco forced himself up, ignoring the clumps of dirt that clung to his hands and the front of his robes. Disoriented and no longer caring if he was heading in the direction of the maze, he took off once again.

Draco was blind to his surroundings. Succumbing to the senseless panic, he focused on staying away from the pursuers. Gone were the strategic plans he created while rotting in his cell. Gone were the careful breathing patterns he forced himself to follow while running in order to ensure long-lasting endurance. Gone were thoughts of his future. All that remained was the animalistic drive to survive.

It was probably because of this that Draco didn't realize he was trapped before seeing a wall of flame rise high into the air just seven meters in front of him. Hot wind roared around him, whipping his fine white-blond hair so that the dank locks obscured his vision. Gasps that sounded almost like sobs racked his body and his head jerked left and right, desperately searching for a way to the other side of the fire.

Fear painfully clenched his heart as he realized the flames were encircling him. Twisting around, Draco could make out the robed figures trotting casually toward him, wands loose in their hands.

Draco stood, shaking uncontrollably, watching them come closer with dread. The game was over. Once again, he was the loser.

A bitterness crept uninvitingly across the back of his throat. That word defined him. Loser. Draco Malfoy was always the loser. A loser compared to Potter, the blood traitor, and the mudblood. A loser compared to these pathetic bastards who hide behind masks and willingly take orders from a madman.

His pursuers continued forward until they stood immediately before him. There were three of them. One was noticeably tall, towering over his companions, and thin. Another was of average height with a jutting middle. The last was the shortest but the widest, with thick broad shoulders. They all wore the black robes and white masks of a Death Eater.

Draco couldn't tell if he had met these particular Death Eaters before. After facing so many Death Eaters in the last couple of months, the shapes under the black robes all looked the same.

The tall one spoke, the white mask doing nothing to muffle the high raspy voice, "We expected more of a challenge from a Malfoy." His disgust was apparent. The emotions whirling inside Draco were still too strong to allow him to feel any anger toward his enemy.

"Try not to be too harsh, Quinn. The boy had no wand, after all," commented the wide one.

Quinn waved the words aside. "Filthy muggles have put up a greater fight than this one."

"You hear that, boy?" the wide one leaned forward to thrust his face in front of Draco. Draco flinched slightly. "You fall below even muggles. You do not deserve the name Malfoy, much less the Lord's mark on your arm."

Draco could do nothing but stand and stare at them. They had wands. He was unarmed. The uncomfortable heat from the flames warmed his back, causing his already filthy robes to cling to his frame with sweat.

The one with the jutting middle took a step forward. Draco's eyes jumped to his white mask, to the black slits where eyes should be.

"Quinn. Cox. Enough." A hand came up to cup Draco's chin. Draco couldn't help but flinch again as the cold fingers stroked his jugular vein. Droplets of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He barely noticed when the man began to talk. "What happened, my boy? I have heard such promising stories, stories in which you knocked a man out cold with your fists. Another story consisted of you commandeering a wand and using imperio to force a man into strangling his partner. The third member still bears a scar from stopping you, a scar that you gave with a wand that did not belong to you." Draco's breathing quickened as the cold fingers increased pressure upon his skin. "Explain to me, Draco, why you simply ran from us without putting up a fight."

Abruptly, the hand released him. Fighting the urge to wilt in relief, Draco glanced at the other two men before returning his gaze to the one closest to him. He could not yet reply. His thoughts were finally just starting to become reorganized in his mind. Although his heart still fluttered faster than he believed possible, he was slowly regaining his calm state of mind that had kept him alive throughout his life. One unwise remark may bring the most unpleasant consequences.

Cox snorted. "Really, Davis. Why is an explanation necessary? It is obvious that those men were fools. They were the trash among the Dark Lord's followers, only fit for acting as bait for the pathetic Order."

Davis turned, about to answer, when the group suddenly noticed a figure running towards them. Draco resisted the panic that threatened to rise within him again. Why was there another Death Eater? He never had to face more than three.

The group stood waiting for the newcomer in silence. Now stable and in control, Draco's mind quickly ran through statistics. Usually, three Death Eaters meant at most fifteen minutes of punishment. Even the most able of wizards cannot hold a Cruciatus Curse for more than five minutes, excluding the Dark Lord. An extra Death Eater meant another five minutes. Although the prospect did seem unpleasant, Draco was sure he could handle a few more minutes under the curse. Of course, if these Death Eaters proved to be more creative than those in the past, there was the possibility that his punishment may last longer or even be more painful. Draco winced at the thought.

The arriver finally came among them, breathing heavily and muttering darkly about anti-apparating wards and oversized property becoming more of a hindrance than anything else. "You three," he gasped, bending over slightly with hands on knees, "You are to go to the Griffiths' Estates. There have been reports of Order activities there. The Dark Lord wishes those of us in the surrounding area to go and capture the enemies."

"The Griffiths' Estates?" Cox crossed his arms. "Why would the Order be interested in the Griffiths? They ran their ass outta this country months ago. Are they already aware of Malfoy Manor? They know we're here? Will they be attacking here soon? I thought someone made this place completely hidden."

Quinn laughed, a high piercing laugh that irritated Draco's eardrums. "Do not think, my dear Cox. It does not become you." He turned his thin frame towards Draco. "However, I'm afraid we have no time for you, boy."

"Ah yes, such a pity. The chance to punish a blood traitor does not come too often." Cox sighed theatrically. "When the Dark Lord deigns to give him his punishment, I doubt there would be anything left for us."

A tiny spark of hope, a concept completely alien in Draco's life in the past couple of months, warmed a part of his heart. They were leaving? They were leaving without torturing him? Taking in a deep breath, tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth, Draco waited. With the thrill of the chase and panic subsiding, he could now feel the familiar aches and pain rise throughout his body. Despite the warm wind emanating from the flames, his limbs commenced their constant trembling, a result from repeated sessions under the Cruciatus Curse.

Quinn's answering laugh was so high pitched that even Cox winced. "Do not worry, Cox. We can keep it quick." The man waved his wand casually directly in front of Draco's face.

Just when a wave of disappointment began to crash inside Draco, Davis shook his head. "Foolish idea. We must save our energy for capturing the enemies." Without waiting for Quinn's reply, he looked to the messenger. "How many of us will be there?"

The messenger gave a half-hearted shrug. "No more than twenty, I believe. The Dark Lord wishes at least ten Death Eaters to stay here."

"If that is the case, why must we go?" Quinn said. "Could we not be part of the ten that stays?"

The messenger straightened, facing Quinn with shoulders thrown back. "You dare question the Dark Lord's orders?"

Quinn raised both hands in the air, palms facing outward. "Of course not. We should leave immediately." Despite his circumstances, Draco still found it in himself to feel amused at how the Death Eater managed to sound both mocking and placating at the same time.

Davis snorted, then turned in the direction of the main gate. "Yes, immediately. If we are lucky, Cox, we may even capture a few blood traitors for your amusement." Without even a final glance at Draco, he began walking.

Cackling, Cox fell into step beside Davis. Quinn continued to face Draco for a few moments until he finally turned and followed the other Death Eaters. "Return him to his cell," he said over his shoulder.

Draco was left standing with the messenger. As the two stared after the three figures in silence, the wall of fire behind Draco dwindled steadily down until no traces of the spell remained. No charred grass. No ashes. The air cooled down to the customary summer heat of Wales.

After a while, Draco turned toward the messenger and realized that the Death Eater was facing him, not the other three, and had been for quite some time. Draco attempted to straighten from his slouch, to still his shaking arms and legs. Tilting his chin forward slightly, Draco stared back at the white mask. "What is it?" he drawled, his tone reminiscent of the one he constantly used at Hogwarts, "Are you assuming that the task of punishing me now falls upon your shoulders?"

Draco gritted his teeth but held onto his emotionless mask as the man chuckled. However, the man's reply made his eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. "Really, Draco. You are still as pompous as ever. I'm glad to see the last few months hasn't changed you one bit." Noticing Draco's surprise, he continued, "You don't recognize me?"

Suddenly, the lilting voice brought forth recognition in Draco's mind. The realization almost knocked him back a step. Schooling his face back into his mask, Draco muttered, "Nott."

"Got it in one, my friend," Theodore Nott replied, leaning in a slight bow. "I received the Mark the day after I became of age. Sadly, I haven't done much as of yet. Torturing prisoners in their cells get dry pretty quickly."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I take it that I will become one of those prisoners?"

Nott chuckled again and Draco had to resist curling his lips in anger. He had almost forgotten how annoying this Slytherin could be. Nott raised both hands to show he was unarmed. "Why would I save you from a torture session only to torture you myself?"

"Save me?" Draco couldn't help but sound incredulous.

"Did you really think the Dark Lord specified which Death Eaters he wanted to go capture the Order members? I heard you were out here with them, and I figured you might want a break." Nott reached up and removed the white mask. The thin familiar face peered at Draco with no attempt at masking his glee. Draco was rather taken aback at the other boy's expression, seeing as how he remained aloof and emotionless while in Hogwarts.

"I guess you're having the time of your life being in the Dark Lord's service?"

The Death Eater shrugged. "Like I said, I haven't really done anything." He took a step closer to Draco, his brow wrinkling slightly. "Was I wrong before, Draco, when I said you haven't changed? Normally you would be pelting me with your clever words, not even allowing me to get a word in. Instead, you haven't spoken more than ten sentences to me, some of which actually don't count as a complete sentence."

The words entered Draco's mind, but he could barely make sense of them. What game was Nott trying to play? No matter how carefully he analyzed each word, he couldn't figure out the Death Eater's intentions. He did not know enough quite yet. It was still too risky to take any action against his old classmate. Feeling a strange mixture of suspicion and hope, Draco waited to see what Nott would do next.

When Draco did not answer, Nott sighed. He jerked his head in the direction of the manor. "Let's get you back in your room." He waited until Draco began walking in front of him until he followed a few steps behind.

Out of the corner of his vision, Draco noticed Nott take out a thin brown rod from inside his robes and point it toward the middle of his back. "Don't worry," he said, noticing Draco's shoulders stiffen. "Just a precaution. It wouldn't do for the others to see us traipsing around like mates enjoying a walk, would it?"

The pair walked along in silence. Looking across the field, Draco was slightly surprised at how far he ran. The fear had taken complete hold of him, dominating his mind until nothing but panic remained. The silence stretched on and all the while, Draco was aware of each breath Nott took and the wand pointed at his back.

After a few minutes, Nott began to breathe a little heavier. "I hate this," he grumbled. "Bloody big field." Then, "Really Draco, at least make this endless trek interesting. Stop acting the silent bore and say something."

Despite his circumstances, Draco was amused at the words. Still, he said nothing. They walked on.

"During school, I've watched you." Nott suddenly began. Pausing, as if giving Draco a chance to comment, he gave a small nod. Only a small break in his steps indicated that the blond was startled by his words. "You acted as if you didn't know I existed. When we did cross paths, you treated me as your equal, because I am also pure-blooded. However, I was nothing to you." Draco kept his eyes on the walls of the manor coming gradually closer and listened, interested.

"But I noticed you. You interested me. Honestly, you fascinated me. I was in the dark, living life by myself, never part of the group that followed you around. Despite my isolation, I was drawn to you. You were so bright, Draco. I could not help but watch you. I was constantly in shadows, while you were in the spotlight."

Draco's eyebrows were rising further with each sentence Nott spoke. "It sounds as if you fancied me."

The Death Eater did not seem surprise at Draco's comment. "Not a first, no. At first, I admired you. I admired your charisma, your wit, your confidence. After a time, I did fall in love with you." His tone was matter-of-fact. After a short silence, he asked, "Does it bother you?"

Draco didn't reply. This bit of information did not bother him as much as bring forth a crucial question. Could he use this information to his advantage? Or more specifically, would he be able to use Nott to his advantage? A rush of possibilities swept through his mind and his heartbeat quickened slightly.

"I know you, Draco," Nott continued. "I know you're thinking of using me to help you escape. Please take that notion out of your head. I will not forfeit my life. Once my feelings for you are known, I will be killed."

Draco nodded, then asked, "How did you hide your feelings from the Dark Lord?"

"Passion." Nott began, his voice overly dramatic. "Love is a kind of passion. Hate also begets passion, albeit a different kind. However, it was simple to make one passion seem like the other. It was easy to make it seem as if I hated you. So easy, I bet even Potter's Weasley could've done it. It also helped when I showed our Lord many memories of you ignoring me at Hogwarts."

Once again, Draco nodded. After a few seconds, he had another question, "You think you know me?"

Nott smiled. "After six years of watching you, yes, I do think I know you." He lifted up one finger from the hand not holding onto the wand, which was still pointed at Draco. "The first thing about you is that you are a coward."

Immediately, Draco whirled around, anger rising quickly within him. It was an automatic response, one that he would've given while still in school. Glaring, he curled his lips, about to retort, a witty comment already poised on the tip of his tongue. However, the sight of the pointing wand abruptly took the anger out of him. Thoughts suddenly thrown in disarray, he froze, raising his eyes from the wand tip to the pale blue eyes of Nott's.

Nott chuckled. "See what I mean? So quick with words, yet when a physical threat comes along, you run away. You are quick to put the blame on others so that you can escape harm. When faced with danger, you drop your cool façade and run."

They stared at one another. The slight breeze ruffled their robes. The bright sun forced them to narrow their eyes.

"You like to feel superior. You have the ability to analyze those around you and use your knowledge to make them believe they are inferior to you," Nott continued. "You are spiteful. You hold grudges." His voice softened. "When you feel troubled, you cave into yourself. You turn away from those you made into your subordinates. When danger comes upon you, and you have nowhere to run, you face that danger on your own. You ask for no help. You don't expect any help. You rely solely on yourself." He gave a slight smile. "When you are knocked down, despite your fear, you get back up without hesitation. You persevere. You do everything it takes to get out alive. You never give up. You are a survivor." His smile widened, and he lowered his wand to his side so that the point faced the green grass. "However, that last bit is pretty questionable now. I mean, how could you not kill Dumbledore? Kill him, you survive. You didn't and so you will die." His tone had a mournful undertone, yet he was still smiling.

"Then help me escape," Draco blurted out. Nott's words were making him uneasy. He could not deny that any of his points were false. However, what did it mean for him to have this frail boy from school analyze him so successfully? There were not many who understood him. His parents were one of the few. The Dark Lord could also be another. How will Nott impact his future? Will he have an impact at all? Draco swallowed, although his mouth was dry, and waited for a response.

The pale blue eyes slid from Draco's gaze to rest upon his own left arm, where the Dark Mark was hidden by his black robes. "I can't. The Dark Lord does not wish for your freedom and so I cannot help you." He looked back up and gave a crooked smile. "Sorry."

Draco sighed, and turned around, suddenly aware of how weary he was. The blindingly white walls of the manor were harsh on his eyes.

The morning's activity of running for his life exhausted every drop of energy he had gained while resting on the cold stone ground of his prison. The memory of his cell ignited a small spark of anger inside of him. Draco Malfoy, a prisoner in his own home. It was absurd. There had to be a way for him to escape.

The lack of movement behind him told him that Nott had not raised his wand. Steadying himself, Draco moved his right foot forward, as if he were getting ready to start walking back to the manor. Immediately before his foot touched the ground, he swirled on the tip of his left foot, raising his right leg high.

His inner shin collided with Nott's left shoulder. The Death Eater let out a small grunt as he landed hard on his wand arm. Immediately, Draco dropped to the ground, knees pressed against each side of the other boy's waist, hands pinning both thin arms above his head. Nott's right hand still held the wand tightly. Pushing his face forward until only centimeters separated their faces, Draco grinned.

"I have to get out of here, Nott. Give me your wand."

Adrenaline was coursing though his already spent body. The thought of escape brought excitement, increasing the shaking of his hands. Draco gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on the bony wrists.

The Death Eater's face showed no surprise. His eyes darted everywhere, as if to find a way out of Draco's hold.

Draco snarled. "It's no use, Nott. Even living off of one meal per day, I am still bigger than you. Give me your wand." When there was no answer, Draco inched his left hand higher, toward the wand.

When the tip of his fingers grazed wood, Draco lunged forward, grabbing the wand and yanking it out of Nott's hand. He rolled on the dry grass and stopped on a knee. Without giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he whirled around, pointing the wand at the figure slowly picking himself up off the grass.

Triumph swelling throughout his body, Draco looked at the slight boy. So thin, he couldn't even fight off a starving prisoner. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and taunt at his prey like so many had done to him recently. Tightening his grip on the wand, Draco took a step forward. Stray parts of a plan whipped through his mind. "Nott, you'll help me escape."

The Death Eater did nothing but stood and stared back at him. Draco took another step. "You'll take me to my mother, release her, then let us leave."

Suddenly, Nott's face changed from an emotionless mask to a mask of sorrow. "Draco, for the last time, stop thinking that I will help you. I will not die for you."

"I may not have killed Dumbledore, Nott, but I'm not going to hesitate to kill you if you don't bring me to my mother." He sounded desperate, but he didn't care. He was so close.

Nott shook his head slowly. "Why do I have to keep repeating myself? I've watched you for six years. I know you. I know you can't kill me. You can't kill anyone. Besides," he shrugged. "Even if you did completely change these last few months, and you do have it in you to kill me, you won't be able to."

"Why not?" Draco spat. His limbs were shaking badly now. He had to calm down; he was straining himself too much. However, despite his efforts to regain his calm, his mind was still in chaos with the possibilities of his future when he escaped.

A hand rose and gestured at the shaking wand pointed at him. "That's not my wand," Theodore said, smiling sadly. "Actually, that's not even a wand. It's a stick. A plain old non-magical stick from your ridiculously large field."

Draco widened his eyes. A stick? Horrified, he looked at the wand. What he was looking at was not a polished wand with intricate carvings. Instead, what he was holding was a thin, gnarled, insignificant stick. Disbelief, anger, and sorrow whirled inside him. How in the world did he mistake this piece of garbage for a wand?

Foolish. He was foolish.

Nott placed his hand in a pocket and removed his real wand. He pointed it in Draco's direction. "There now. You have proof that I do indeed understand you. I knew you would attempt to overpower me, so I brought along a fake wand." His smile brightened. "Despite my physical weakness, I can be quite formidable. I'm clever, Draco. I might be cleverer than you. Why did you think the Dark Lord accepted me among his ranks?"

Draco stayed silent. Once again he was the loser. He was crushed, depressed, and there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to curl up in a corner of his cell and fall asleep. Today was too much. He was not strong enough to endure this roller coaster of emotion in the short span of a morning.

"I'm sorry," the Death Eater said, and he did sound sincere.

Draco nodded once, then set off toward the manor. Nott followed him, walking to the right of him instead of behind. The wand was angled toward his throat.

They walked in silence until there were only a few meters to a side entrance into the manor.

Draco held no anger toward the Death Eater walking beside him. Any anger left inside him was directed toward himself. It seemed like he could do nothing right. A weight settled itself more heavily upon his shoulders and he wilted. Every step was a chore.

Catching a look of concern on Nott's face, Draco attempted to straighten his shoulders and back. That concern reminded him uncomfortably of his mother.

They entered the manor still in silence. Throughout their trek, Draco ignored his surroundings. Seeing what the Dark Lord and his followers did to his childhood home was too hard to bear. They met no one as they made their way across the elegantly furnished sitting room, through dark hallways, down gilded staircases, and down plainer and dirtier staircases to his lonely cell.

As far as Draco knew, he was the only prisoner in this part of the manor. Any other prisoners were kept elsewhere, probably in the dank dungeon below the cellar. His cell was dry, moderately clean, and private. The perks of being the heir to the estate.

The sight of his dark solitary prison threw him further into depression. Despair threatened to push against his chest, smothering him. A dull ache pulsed gently at the back of his head.

Nott opened the door made of steel bars. He looked regretfully at Draco, waiting for him to enter.

Draco stood, just outside his cell. He didn't want to go in. A pressure began to build inside him. It grew steadily stronger, and Draco felt that if he didn't do something, he would explode.

"They cut off my tongue," he said abruptly, staring at the empty square room within. He was barely aware that he had spoken the words. Even when he heard the words coming out of his mouth, he no longer cared. He didn't care that he was speaking to a Death Eater willingly. He transferred his gaze to Nott's face. The Death Eater looked surprised.

"What?" he asked.

"In the beginning, when they started the tradition of chasing me around and cursing me, I never stopped talking. I ridiculed them. I laughed at them. I insulted their families. I wormed out their secrets and exposed them." His voice was monotone. "Three Death Eaters captured me, held me down, and cut off my tongue. I almost died gagging on my own blood. I was delirious from pain, so I did not think to spit the blood out. They stopped the bleeding, but did not restore my tongue. I lived without a tongue for a little over a month, and throughout that time, they served me all my favorite childhood food."

His old classmate blinked a few times, appearing awkward for the first time since their encounter.

"They took away my only two sources of defense, you see. My words, and my wand. For the first time, I was truly helpless." Draco's eyes slid to stare at the ground. "Those days were the darkest in my life. Not only could I not defend myself, but thoughts of my parents constantly haunted my dreams. What were they doing to my mother? When will the Dark Lord steal my father away from Azkaban to kill him? I didn't know anything, and I had no way to find out."

"How'd you get your tongue back?" Nott sounded curious.

Draco suppressed the urge to snort. "The Dark Lord found out that I was mutilated, killed the three wizards, then ordered Professor Snape to brew me a potion that gave me a tongue again." This time, he let out a small chuckle. "Reassuring, isn't it? If you ever find yourself with your tongue removed, there's a potion for that."

As interesting as the stone ground was, Draco decided to return his gaze to the Death Eater. Nott was still standing near the gate, shifting slightly from foot to foot, expression thoughtful. "The Dark Lord considers you as his property, and his property only," he commented.

Dull grey eyes slid to Nott's left forearm. "Aren't we all his property?" Draco gave a small smile to hide the faint shadows of fear that stirred within him. "We are all at his mercy."

"Ah!" Nott exclaimed, and Draco raised his eyebrows. To hear such a sound coming from this boy was quite odd. The Death Eater pointed a finger upwards. "Those three that I sent to the Griffith's, weren't they using the killing curse on you?"

Draco stared at the thin boy, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance upsetting his empty stomach. An image of him running, rolling, and diving in no apparent direction popped up in his mind, and he couldn't help but grimace. "Yes, but I doubt they were aiming at me. They were leading me toward their trap."

"You knew their plan? You knew…and fell for it?"

Draco wanted to spit in the other's face when he detected disappointment in the question. "You said it yourself. I am a coward." He looked into his cell and walked inside. "I guessed their plan afterward, while you talked with them."

For once, the air was cool down here in his personal prison. Although no windows allowed sunlight, sconces on each wall provided flickering candlelight. One might assume that a room lit with many candles would seem cheerful or romantic, but Draco's prison was the exact opposite. The flames created more shadows then light, and the unsteady glow produced writhing dark shapes upon the walls and floor.

Draco headed toward his usual far corner. When he arrived, he lowered himself gracefully, settling his back into the crevice created by the meeting of two perpendicular walls, stretching out his long legs before him, and leaning his head back until it was just as secured between the walls as his back. He forced his limbs to relax, to rest before another group of Death Eaters roused him for another game. It would be better if he stretched every part of his body, but this time, he was too tired.

He hadn't spoken so much in over two weeks, and speaking was quite exhausting.

Once his body felt sufficiently loose, he closed his eyes and worked on his mind. No more scheming for escape for now. That failure with Nott was enough frustration for the day. Instead, he attempted to clear his mind, recalling the methods his psychotic aunt taught him during his Occlumency lessons.

Seemingly from a long distance away, he heard the steel bar gate clang shut and the clink of the key in the lock.

"Draco."

The word was softly spoken, but Draco heard it. Without opening his eyes, he turned his head to face the gate.

After a short silence, the Death Eater spoke, "The Dark Lord will be back soon. Once he finishes his goals wherever he is, he will return here, and he will stay here until he is ready to kill Potter." Another short silence. "Ready yourself."

Draco opened his eyes. One glance around the small area outside his cell told him that Nott was gone. The undulating shadows could not hide a human, even a human as thin as Nott.

Reclosing his eyes, Draco conjured up Nott's face in his mind. The thin nose, thin lips, high cheeks, blunt chin, pale blue eyes, wispy sand-blond hair. So plain. So insignificant. A perfect face for blending into the background. How will this boy, who claimed to love him, affect his future?

Almost immediately, Nott's face was replaced with the death-white face of Lord Voldemort's. His eyes, sometimes a dull yellow, other times a dark red, were narrowed, staring. Lipless, his mouth moved, giving words that demanded the death of Dumbledore.

Draco sighed, forcing the image of the Dark Lord away with his breath.

He had to survive. Somehow, he had to survive. He could not die.

Draco sat still, surrounded by dancing shadows.

No matter what, he will survive.