"Do you understand me, boy? Have I made myself clear?! Speak!"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Do not forget who it is you serve!"

"N-never, my Lord."

"And will you ever, ever disobey me again?!"

"No more, my Lord. No more…"

The exchange echoed ceaselessly inside Draco's mind as he lay in his cold cell, shivering, weak, his eyes clamped shut with fear and pain. No more, no more… He had sworn to obey and he must. For the sake of his mother, his father, his life. He must carry out the Dark Lord's wishes, or suffer the consequences. He must end another's life, as he had failed to do before, and in return the constant pressure to meet expectations, the constant fear for his and his family's life, might finally cease. No more punishment, no more hiding, no more regret for every decision made on that terrible night – when the one shred of hope he had for redemption had plummeted out of sight forever…

Tomorrow, it would end.

"I think…" Hermione began, the words clawing at her aching throat, "I think I've found him."

The map was still in front of her, the crystal stuck fast, but now the scrying equipment was laid out over the chipped, plastic worktop in the kitchen, and Hermione was not the only one staring down at it. Harry had returned with Lupin, both of whom were now leaning against the kitchen cupboards, poring over the map with the crystal firmly attached to it. Ron was lingering in the corner of the room, his eyes flicking from Hermione to Harry to Hermione, their edges lined with red.

"Very good thinking…" murmured Lupin, one of his hands tracing his lower lip pensively. "And you say he appeared before you? Again?"

"That's right," Hermione said softly, if a little hurriedly. "Look – I know you'll have questions about how exactly I managed to locate him, but the important thing is: we know where he is now, and he's in trouble. If Bellatrix took him, then we know where. We need to get him out of there." She sniffed and reached into her pocket for a scrunched grey tissue.

Lupin eyed her sharply. "Now, Hermione, I know you're concerned –"

"God knows why," muttered Harry. "If he's gone back to Voldemort, then he's probably dead and there's no point in looking anymore."

"Harry –" Hermione paused so as not to sound too desperate. She knew any genuine concern for Draco Malfoy's safety would only irritate her friend; logical reasoning was the only thing that might convince him. "Remember what McGonagall said? If Dra– Malfoy – can really astral project then we don't know what Voldemort is using him for. Whatever it is, it can't be good. We've got to get him out of there."

She took a sip of tepid tea from her mug, wondering exactly why she was having to disguise 'genuine concern' for someone who had spent the last six years bullying her, someone who had never missed an opportunity to display his distain for people of her kind. Maybe Harry or Lupin know the answer, she thought, because for once I can't figure it out…

"Alright, Hermione, I'll tell you what." It was Lupin's calm voice that broke the silence again. Ron had yet to say anything at all. "We'll send Kingsley and a few others over to this place to see exactly what kind of security measures we're dealing with. If Draco is really in the same building as Voldemort, then it may not even be possible for us to attempt to break him out. But we'll look all the same," he added the last sentence reassuringly, seeing the distressed look on Hermione's sickly face.

Ron's silence did not break until Lupin had pulled shut the door to their dingy flat and Hermione had once again taken up residence on the sofa. Her fingernails were resting between her teeth, her eyes wide, when Ron leant against the wall opposite her and gestured vaguely at her hands.

"You never bite your nails," he remarked quietly.

Hermione dropped her hands to her lap. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just –"

"Why?" Ron wasn't quite looking at her. "Why do you care so much about what happens to him?"

The girl kept her eyes focused on a tear in the sofa material, while she heard Harry shift uncomfortably somewhere behind her. For a moment, she felt salt sting her eyes: the last thing she had ever wanted was for Ron to feel distanced from her. Any mumbled explanation concerning some genuine fear for Draco's life would alienate him in a second, just like it would with Harry. But Ron was even more important to her than him: her next words would have to be carefully selected.

"Because…" she began, again feeling the twinge in her throat, "because I've seen what he can do. You and Harry haven't – you don't know how powerful he is."

"You mean just appearing?" Harry's voice snarled from the back of the room. "Anyone can –"

"No, Harry, anyone can't." The stress in her voice was putting a terrible strain on her throat. "It's not like Apparating. I've read about it; it's appearing in the form of your consciousness and leaving your body behind. It can be done completely without detection, which means Voldemort can send Draco wherever he wants without us, or the Ministry, knowing." Hermione paused for breath, not looking at either of her friends. "And because you only appear in a non-physical form, you can't be hexed, or hurt, or stopped. But the body you leave behind when you astral project is completely out of your control."

She sighed, waiting for either Harry or Ron to snap at her again, but neither of them did. "It means," she continued slowly, "if Malfoy projects to do whatever Voldemort's told him to, and he doesn't do it properly, Voldemort can hurt him, or even kill him, without Malfoy being able to defend himself."

There was a long moment before Ron finally lifted his head to look at Hermione. The dull light of the room cast long shadows under his eyes. "I guess that's a pretty good incentive to do what he's told," he muttered.

"Yes," said Hermione, "it is. Which is why we need to find him and stop him, before –"

"Before," Harry interrupted her, "he does anything stupid."

The girl exhaled in a somewhat defeated manner. "Right," she said, and her fingernails found their way back to her lips.

"Something stupid…" whispered Ron, "like showing up here."

It was a minute before Hermione registered exactly what emotion had trembled beneath Ron's words, but when she finally looked up and stared at his wide, glaring eyes, she realised it was fear. He wasn't looking at her anymore: his gaze was focused on a dark corner at the back of the room, near the window with the broken blinds, where a distorted square of dying sunlight patched the shabby carpet. Something was flickering in mid-air, growing clearer by the second. It was the figure of a tall, quivering boy, with pale skin, pale hair and bloodshot eyes. There was a crazed expression on his face, as he straightened his arm to point a wand at one of the room's three occupants.

"I'm sorry…" came the figure's wavering voice. "I have to. I'm sorry…"

"Draco… no!"

Hermione was on her feet and staring at the boy's sputtering outline.

"It's alright, Hermione." Harry's tone was evidently designed to calm her, but he could not hide the tremor of nerves echoing every syllable. "He's barely there at all. He couldn't hurt me if he wanted to."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous! Run – get out of here -!"

"Stay where you are!"

Hermione whipped her head round to face the figure who was threatening the life of her best friend. If ever her sympathy for this wretched excuse for a human being was questionable, it was at that very moment. The fact that he was not truly there made it difficult for Hermione to be certain, but she could have sworn Draco Malfoy had tears in his eyes.

"Draco, p-please…" she stammered. Her head ached. "Please, you don't have to –"

"What the Hell do you know?!" Draco screamed, his wand arm juddering. "They've got my parents! They're standing over my body right now – ready to kill me if I fail again!" He dragged in a breath and stared straight at Harry, who had not moved an inch from standing behind the sofa. "I have to do this."

Ron, who had not said a word, took a step towards Hermione.

"Don't move!" Suddenly Draco's wand was on Ron. "Don't move… just stay where you are. I have to - I have to -"

"Do it, then," Harry spat, his face thunderous. "Kill me. Save your own skin and kill me."

Hermione's frantic gaze darted to the boy with the scar on his forehead. "Harry, what on earth -?!"

"Stay out of this, Hermione," Harry cut her off. "This is between me and him."

There was a moment of absolute stillness in the room, where nothing at all seemed to move and not a sound could be heard. The apparition in the corner still had his arm stretched toward the dark-haired boy, red anger and hatred and terrible fear in his staring eyes. Both of them even seemed to have ceased breathing.

Then Draco felt a jab in the back of his neck. Someone, somewhere, could see what he was doing – someone knew he hadn't killed Potter yet and that someone was going to hurt him for it. He suffered a stab of pain in his chest that had nothing to do with any outside force, and suddenly he saw his mother's pleading face before his eyes. He remembered her screaming and crying and struggling to escape from the dark men dragging her from her own house. He had been there, he now realised: he had been there in that room when they had come for her, and he had been powerless to do anything about it.

I will not see her suffer again because of me. I will not let her down. I will not give in.

He was still pointing his weapon at Potter. The words of the spell were practically on his lips – impatient to be cried out, impatient to kill.

"Draco… you are not a killer…"

Then his mother's beseeching face transformed before his eyes. It became old and defeated, yet still terrifyingly strong. Draco saw the room around him change and suddenly the sky was black and the walls were stone. There were not three students stood before him but a wizened old man with greying hair and eyes that knew too much. The wizard was not pleading for his life, but offering escape. And Draco was frozen too solid to take it.

"I have to…" He heard his own voice as though from miles away.

"…you are not a killer…"

There was another jab in the back of his neck and then something smacked against his spine. It was as though he had just been thrown hard onto the floor, and had hit it flat-out without any resistance. The pain jerked him back into reality, and the darkened sky and tower bricks melted away in an instant.

"Draco… Draco…"

He closed his eyes. There was nothing before them except total blackness and he could hear nothing but the whisper of the man he tried to murder. The words of the killing curse danced on his tongue and his fingers clenched even tighter over his wand.

"I have to… I have to… I have to -"

"Draco!"

His eyes snapped open. He felt a rushing sensation in his stomach, as though he had just plummeted from an incredible height, and then a numbness swept over his entire body. The pain in his spine ebbed back swiftly until it was overwhelming, and for a moment he felt completely paralysed.

There were faces before him, but they were not those of the three students in their murky Muggle hideout. Nor were they the terrifying, flat-nosed and red-eyed tyrant who had dominated his nightmares for the last year of his life. These faces were blurred and distant, and they were talking to each other in tense, hushed tones. One of them was struggling against her captors.

"My son! Let me see my son! Let go of me!"

"In a moment, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son is a dangerous fugitive who has been –"

"Let go! Draco! Draco!"

Mother…

Something clattered onto the floor next to him, and he managed to tilt his head far enough to see that it was his own hand. The wand, that had been clutched so tightly within it, was rolling slowly away under the iron bed beside him. However, the noise as his hand hit the floor had shaken his mind awake once more, and now a horrible sickness accompanied the sting in his spine.

He was back in His cell. He had not killed Harry Potter.

He had failed Him again.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy –"

"Draco!"

"Incarcerous!"

"No – don't hurt her!"

Again, Draco heard his own voice as though the words were being shouted through thick walls. He found he could not even turn his head back from watching Hermione's wand lie still in the darkness under the bed. He could not lift himself to his feet and, once again, he could do nothing to help his mother.

"Draco – he spoke! He's alive -!"

"Get her out of here," instructed a gruff, authoritative voice – the same one which had spoken before. Suddenly Draco found himself being lifted off the ground and manhandled onto a kind of stretcher. His eyes fluttered closed and open and finally rested shut again. There were a thousand questions buzzing painfully in his mind, but for the moment he was content to leave none of them answered.

The coldness had gone. The fear had left his heart. His mother was close by and still calling out to her son, and Draco was certain that the tyrant, the monster, the Dark Lord Himself, was no longer anywhere near him…

"…Apparently they had all gone by the time Kingsley got to him."

Someone shuffled slightly in their seat. "Why did they leave him behind?"

A pause. "Lupin said they're not sure. It might be because Voldemort detected the Order nearby and thought Dra- Malfoy – had to be the only way they could have found him. They were in a hurry to get out of there. They even left his mother behind."

"What about his father?"

"No one knows."

Another pause. In his blurry, semi-conscious state, Draco felt his stomach churn at the girl's flippant response.

"Why didn't they kill him, then?" one of the other two asked.

"Well, that's the bad part," Hermione continued. "Obviously… they still need him. And, one day, they'll come back for him."

There was a squeak as someone pushed a chair back across the floor, then three sets of footsteps fading as they reached the door. The boy lying broken and still in the bed heard the trio continue to whisper to each other as, one by one, they left the room. His mind crawled weakly and hesitantly between questions of the kind that were painful to even consider contemplating.

His mother was alive and his father was missing. And He doesn't know where I am… or does he?

He tried to lift one of his hands, to even turn his head, but his back screamed in protest at every movement. When he had come crashing back into his body after the failed murder attempt, he must have hit the ground hard. It didn't matter anymore. He would be happy to know he never had to move again. Except…

"One day, they'll come back for him." That's what she said, wasn't it? One day… they'll find me again…

"Well, it bloody well better not be soon," one of the trio muttered.

Then the most important person in the fight against the Dark Lord pulled the door shut behind him, and left Draco Malfoy alone with his thoughts.