Log: Complete;

[veiled-faith.livejournal.com]

When; August 01 / evening
Rating; T for Torture
Characters; Draco Malfoy veiled_faith and Lord Voldemort serpenthier
Summary; Draco Malfoy is the only Death Eater in the city. Voldemort wants answers.
Log;

The stars twinkled overhead as night descended upon the City. You couldn't see the stars very well if you were in, say, the town square, but in the forest, the stars were crystal clear. A campfire burned in the middle of the forest clearing, and a woman laid beside it, her eyes closed in slumber, silent. Voldemort paced nearby, checking the sky once or twice, until he finally seemed to make up his mind about something.

Careful not to wake Merope up, Voldemort turned on his heel, the image of the Fountain where he had had the duel with Dumbledore in his mind. The air constricted in his lungs as he traveled through space, and it was with relief that he finally took a deep breath of night air as he appeared beside the fountain.

Draco really should have been ready for it. It wasn't to say the Dark Lord made a habit of appearing and disappearing around the house, but that flighty way he had of getting around- Draco had a feeling half the reason he did it so often was because he was showing off. Truth be told, Draco had been standing rather still- aside from the shift of feet and fidgeting the hem of his robes- and while he had been keeping an eye out (hoping He wouldn't show up), his gaze was averted when shadows took shape of that terrifying wizard.

He managed not to gasp, but his jaw definitely locked, grey eyes flashing to the Dark Lord before quickly averting to the ground, part fear, part disgust, part training as a Death Eater. He hunched, and though it wasn't much, it could have been interpreted as a bow of greeting.

Voldemort straightened himself up; he was every bit fear-inspiring and terrible as he had been in life. He held himself with dignity, gladly casting aside the "devoted son" pretense he had taken upon himself when around Merope, and was more than happy to act more like himself again. "Draco," Voldemort greeted, his high, cold voice cutting through the air like tiny needles. "The Dark Lord is pleased to see that you are well. But we cannot talk here. It is too open, too dangerous for those of us who would be a threat to the blood traitors, Mudbloods, and Muggles. Come."

Voldemort held out an arm to Draco, his red eyes glittering. "Don't worry, boy, I'm not going to kill you. Surely you have done side-along apparition before?"

Draco hesitated, not daunted by side-along apparition in the least- more because he... really had no desire to touch this man. Creature. Whatever. The last time he had been close enough to touch he had been branded one of his followers.

Followers, he thought derisively- though it was lucky Snape was a friend of the family. Draco had been learning Occlumency since before he could talk- or so it felt like. Luckily he was a prodigy- he and Snape were the only people in history (aside Dumbledore) who could successfully block the Dark Lord out.

Nevertheless, Draco wasn't a fool- and was completely terrified of him. So while he hesitated, he made sure to lurch forward (however awkwardly) and take hold of the man's skinny arm before the Dark Lord could give way to annoyance. Annoyance led to anger, which lead to.... not pleasant things.

Voldemort grabbed Draco's left shoulder with a white, long-fingered hand, and turned on his heel, keeping his grip on the boy tight. He knew that Draco loathed being near him; he didn't need Occlumency to tell him that. Draco had the same look in his eyes as Wormtail had, that told him how much he loathed serving his master, but no matter. Voldemort knew that fear was the best thing to instill in a servant - for if they feared you, they would follow you no matter what the cost.

They arrived in the forest clearing Voldemort had just left, and he let go of the boy roughly, striding quietly towards the sleeping woman. Leaning over her still form, he observed her for a few seconds, determining if she was still sleeping or not. Once satisfied, the Dark Lord turned back to Draco, beckoning him forward. "Come here so I can see you."

For a fleeting, stomach turning moment not instilled by the jerk of apparition- Draco stared at the body of the woman, and all he could think of was dinner, and that green flash, and that massive snake. She must be dead. Draco wouldn't put it passed the sick bastard. But after staring for a horrified moment, he noticed she was breathing- and wasn't sure whether that was better, or worse.

Then that cold voice hit him like a slap in the face and Draco visibly twitched as his gaze flashed up to the Dark Lord. His eyes flickered, and once again he really really did not want to-- but once again, he stepped forward. And though it made his stomach flip again, his steps didn't falter at all- though once again his eyes flickered away from those red eyes.

The Dark Lord surveyed the boy closely, noticing the glance he gave towards the sleeping form of Merope. Voldemort gestured to the woman sleeping behind him. "That is my mother, Merope Gaunt. You will give her the same respect and obedience that you give to your Lord, do you understand?" He said, his tone deadly. He watched the boy to make sure that he had understood; Voldemort had learned very quickly that the Malfoy's were not fools when it came to their son, having taught him how to shield his mind - for the Dark Lord had tried, and failed when it came to extracting memories from Draco - and so he was left with faint impressions and the boy's facial expressions which were just as effective as Occlumency itself.

Voldemort pulled out his wand, twirling it in his fingers. "Hold out your arm," he commanded. "I want to try an experiment....you know which arm I mean." The red eyes narrowed.

At that, Draco did finally look up- once again sharply, almost startled. He knew exactly what the Dark Lord wanted, but-- on him? He was the youngest Death Eater in the history of the Dark Lord's Reign. Then again- and his stomach dropped sickeningly with the thought- so far as Draco knew, he was the only one in the City. And if he was right-- then this wouldn't work.

It wasn't the impending pain of the burn of the mark that scared Draco now, it was what the Dark Lord might do to him when the call didn't work.

He swallowed, locked his jaw and without a blink of an eye reached for his arm, rolling up his sleeve, hand in a fist. There, taking up the entirety of his left right forearm was a grotesque black tattoo, a skull with a snake twining in and around it. It was still a deep black from being at the Manor, and that had to be the only reason he wasn't immediately aware of the Lord's presence in the City.

A surge of delight filled Voldemort to see the Dark Mark etched as black as ebony on the young boy's fair skin. It made him simply drunk with pride and power when he saw his follower's Dark Mark's burning; it was because he was near that caused them pain, and he took a sick sort of pleasure out of it.

"Hold still...this is going to hurt," he said, a smirk on his face as he pressed his wand to the tattoo, willing the call outwards to the other Death Eaters. Come to me, he willed, come to your Master. Bow before his might, and assist him in this foreign place. Come, I command you! Come to me! NOW!

He removed his wand from the boy's arm, and his red eyes scanned the skies, waiting. Waiting, and waiting....how many would come? How many could come?

Draco clenched his jaw tighter- it was almost giving him a headache, and his eyes snapped shut when that bone-like wand pressed to his arm. It was like fire all through his veins, scorching down his arm and flashing like lightening through his body.

"Ngh-nh--" Every part of him wanted to let loose the shout of pain that lodged in his throat, but Draco hadn't given him the satisfaction when he was branded, and he wouldn't do it now, either. Though he couldn't stop the pained sound leaving his throat, or twitching against the sting. He gasped softly when the wand was removed, blinking tears furiously from his eyes and swallowing hard.

Part of him selfishly hoped someone would come, just so he wouldn't face the consequences.

The Dark Lord's smirk grew even wider as he had heard the boy's struggle to keep back sounds of pain - ever defiant...more like his rival than he cared to admit - but knew full well that one day Draco himself would learn to enjoy inflicting pain on others. The boy just needed time was all. He wasn't like his father and those like him; he had to learn from scratch. Baby-steps.

He was still waiting. All there was was the sound of the fire crackling behind them, the noises of the creatures that lived in the forest scurrying in the darkness. There was no swish of a cloak, no devoted "Master...Lord...", no servant bowing at his feet. They would not - no, could not - come. This did not please him.

"....Why is it not working...?" Voldemort muttered to himself, making a mental note to inquire the Major as to why his followers could not go to him. He turned to the boy then, trying to decide whether he should punish him, if it was the boy's fault, or if he should just punish him anyway, simply for the sake of doing it.

"....CRUCIO!!!" Came the curse, and a twisted smile appeared on the wizard's face.

Draco knew it was coming. Knew it from the way he shifted. The way confusion filtered to annoyance. It wasn't Draco's fault, but that didn't even matter. When those eyes landed on him, his wand hand twitched, but Draco was never so brave as Harry Potter, and so when the spell came, he buckled.

Pain. White hot lancing pain and Draco's body twitched, flinched and curved into a bow. He lasted maybe thirty seconds before his jaw unlocked and he was screaming, high and agonized, and he almost appeared suspended by the spell, body jerking hard.

Voldemort closed his eyes, relishing in the sound of screams of pain; he had wanted to hear screams ever since he had arrived, but had been unable to torture due to his mother's presence. It was a miracle she didn't wake up to the boy's screams, but she slept soundly as a newborn babe.

With a twitch of his wand, the boy was released. Voldemort waited, giving him time to recover himself. One he deemed that the boy was fit enough to talk again, he began his interrogation. "...Draco, tell me exactly what happened that night on the tower. Tell me about how Dumbledore died, your confrontation with him. I need to know everything." His red eyes gleamed in the firelight, and he looked almost like a grotesque corpse.

The curse lifted and he crumpled, falling forward and barely catching himself, fingers shaking as they gripped at the sparse grass in the clearing. He gasped, and though he couldn't really remember screaming he could feel it in the scratch of his throat, eyes blown wide as he fought to focus. Then that voice again, and he glanced up, hyperaware of his prone position in front of the most feared Dark Wizard in history.

"Tower-- I don't know--" It came out stuttered, gasps. Why did he want to know this now? He didn't need to know Dumbledore's offer- didn't need to know that Snape had saved him and not because the Dark Lord ordered him to.

A frown crossed over his face, although he felt smug now that the boy was prostrate before him. "You were there, were you not? Or have you been lying to me all of this time? The Dark Lord does not appreciate liars."

The story that Severus had woven was good enough at the time. Voldemort was pleased enough to know that the Headmaster was dead. However, with the Elder Wand now at his attention, he had to know that the boy had not lied. He needed to know if Draco had indeed become the master of the Elder Wand...and that, in turn, Harry Potter had become its master as well. He had to know what had gone wrong in that duel.

"Speak up, Draco, you try my patience," Voldemort hissed.

Though many might not guess it, Draco's stubborness ran deeper than just childish play. He was stronger than his father. More defiant than his mother, and he clenched his jaw tightly. It was a stupid move, he knew it, he knew it was only so long before he would be forced to spill. It was either that or end up in St. Mungo's. But- Voldemort wouldn't knew if he lied-- He wouldn't--

"I-- I--" He wasn't fast enough this time.

"CRUCIO!!"

The curse came again, and Voldemort was growing angry...very angry. "You will tell me now, and tell me the truth, Draco, or else I will torture the information out of you!!!! You cannot shield your mind from me forever!" A vein had begun to pulse in his neck, and his face was a frightening mask of insanity as he kicked the boy in his side. "TELL ME NOW."

The shriek fell from him like a thunder clap, writhing on the forest floor. He had never been the brunt of a Cruciatus curse from the Dark Lord when he was this angry. Draco had fallen victim to the Cruciatus curse before- but it had never been anything like this. When the spell lifted again his robes were torn and his skin was smudged from the dirt and debris on the forest floor, his entire body shaking, clawing at the earth as though he could crawl away--

Then the kick to his ribs and he yelped like a dog beaten, tears streaking his cheeks and he gasped, his voice rough and scratchy from screaming so loud. "Dumbledore-- I cornered him-- He- He was-- We were alone-- nobody- else had-- come up--" He didn't even realize he wasn't saying what the Dark Lord wanted to hear.

"You disarmed him, didn't you? Tell me!!!!" He demanded, reaching down to clutch at the front of the boy's robes, shaking him. "DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT DISARM HIM???" His teeth were gritted so tight that he was surprised none of them broke. If Potter still had the connection of Voldemort within him, he would have been in as much pain as Draco had been, so great was the Dark Lord's anger.

There was no way around it. None at all, and the Dark Lord was directly in his face and out of reflex pale, now-drity hands flashed up to grasp the thin fingers twisting his robes so tight it almost took away his breath. He wasn't sure what this was all about, why was that important? Why did it matter who disarmed him? He hadn't killed him, wasn't that the entire problem?

"YES!" The cry was torn from him, broken and hoarse, and his eyes were squeezed shut, fearing what the consequences of that confession would bring.

There was a moment of silence, and the hands that grasped Draco's robes so tightly relaxed, and released its grip. Voldemort stared past Draco into nothingness, his mind going haywire. The boy...hadn't lied. He was right. He was right about everything, and Dumbledore...Dumbledore, too-!

Voldemort gave out a cry of rage, and pointed his wand into the trees at random, shrieking "AVADA KEDAVRA!" There was a small cry as an unknown animal was struck dead, and the Dark Lord began to pace, his eyes fixed on his wand as he twisted it through his fingers, his mind racing.

Potter had the Elder Wand. But the Potter that was here, was weak, and younger than the one he had encountered before. What if....what if he killed the boy here, in this place? If he killed the boy...if he destroyed him...then wouldn't that mean that he would live? That his death would have never happened?

Yes. He knew there had to be a loophole, a way to get around this fate which was death. Oh yes. He would conquer death once and for all...and the Malfoy boy would help him.

Whether he liked it or not.

"....Ah, Draco, Draco...so proud and stubborn like your parents, fools that they are," Voldemort murmured, turning to the boy. "But you know better now, don't you? You know not to disobey the Dark Lord Voldemort...yes? No? Or do you need more persuading?" He pointed his wand at him again in warning.

It was impossible not to flinch when the train-rush flash of green shot passed Draco's head. He heard the spell and-- was surprised when the fire continued to crackle, the swish of the Dark Lord's cape still audible. It didn't compute at first. He should be dead- right? Anyone else would be--

But not a lot made sense to him at the moment. It was difficult just to breathe- he was sure he had a cracked rib- his chest was tight and his throat was sore and he couldn't. stop. shaking. That high voice spoke again and, trembling, wet grey eyes lifted, looking through pale eyelashes up at Voldemort. And in that moment he realized how precarious this situation was.

Reflexively he flinched, shoulders hunching, eyes squeezing shut as he shook his head almost violently- headache screaming as he did.

"....Very good. Your Lord is pleased....you will be rewarded in the near future, once what gifts this place can offer is determined," Voldemort said, obviously satisfied. "Now, Draco, listen closely. Are you listening? I would not want you to fuck up like your parents did...they would be devastated if their son never returned home."

"Nh-" Lashes fluttered as he nodded and the headache lanced again. Though it was a small price to pay, really. He didn't want to think what could have happened if the Dark Lord had continued. Still, it was the comment about his parents that jerked his full attentino around again, and though his eyes were bright with pain and his mouth had a strange taste of copper, he gasped out, "I'm listening--"

"....You are my only Death Eater here, as you well know by now. You will follow my lead. Listen to everything I tell you. Disobey me, and I will kill you, and make sure your body returns to your parents, so they will know what happens when you cross Lord Voldemort.

"You will help me destroy Dumbledore, any and all blood traitors, Mudbloods, and Muggles that may defy me. But above all else, you will help me kill that damned boy!!!! Earn their trust. Play the Devil's Advocate. Do what you have to. Their blood will and must be mine," he whispered.
"...I will not tolerate disobedience. You will speak of this to no one. Do you understand?" He asked, his eyes glinting.

Part of Draco wanted to up and sneer at the Dark Lord for thinking Draco would follow him as blindly as the others. Part of him wanted to laugh in his face and tell him he's making the same mistake as he did with Snape.

But for all of Draco's arrogance, he wasn't sure he was as clever as Snape. He was positive he wasn't. And the fear of what his death would do to his Mother and Father turned his blood ice cold. He couldn't do that to his parents. The threat stilled him, caught his heart and squeezed it viciously. He closed his eyes a moment, then slowly looked up at Voldemort, expressionless.

"...I understand."

He smiled. A cruel, cold, insanely - happy? Or just mad? - pleased smile.

"...Very good. Now go."

That was definitely something he didn't need to hear twice. Though it did take him a few tries before he could stagger off the ground, tripping sideways into a tree. It didn't stop him, though, and though his muscles screamed in protest he shoved away and ran, sprinted, away from the madman and his-- his-- that woman.

His legs felt twice as heavy as they normally did, and Draco knew it had nothing to do with fatigue. He wasn't even thinking as he half-stumbled through the City towards Tia Dalma's shop. The only place he could equate with safety.

The Dark Lord's eyes remained on the spot where he had watched the boy rush off into the darkness, more than happy to leave his presence. Voldemort tilted his head in contemplation, lost in thought, when an earthly hiss came from his lips. "Come to me," he commanded in Parseltongue, and a small snake slithered out of the darkness to stop at the feet of the wizard. "I need to enter your mind. Let me."

The snake hissed back in acknowledgement; the Heirs of Slytherin always had a close relationship with snakes, and could control them with ease. Taking a seat next to his slumbering mother, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to take over that of the snake's, and before he knew it, he was slithering across the ground faster than he thought, following the smell of the boy.

Draco Malfoy would not get away from Voldemort that easy....oh no. For the Dark Lord always knows.