Hello! I'm rewriting this. It has been 4 years, but hopefully these chapters will turn out better.

Please comment! It would make my day (and any edits/suggestions)!

"Mister-, Sir-, I-" A death eater stumbled into his office, tripping slightly on their cloak. There was a time in Draco's life where he had found it quite amusing. The more power that he managed to amass seemed to exponentiate everyone's nervousness around him. But now, he just found it annoying — the more time someone spent stuttering like a fool in front of him was time wasted from other more important things. Still, sometimes when he was stressed, he languidly let them tremble in front of him.

"Spit it out," He growled, placing his quill down, "and it better be worth it. Every second you eat of my time is another second added to your Grey."

Greying, of course, was another plan instituted by Voldemort to encourage his followers to be obedient. Darkness was the ideal shade, the darker you were, the better. But greying, now that was the opposite of where someone wanted to be. That means they had too much light in them; they were growing soft. All followers that were incompetent were sent to get Greyed, where they received some quite painful encouragement to perform better.

Draco never bothered to attend Greying ceremonies. They were always the same — begging for reprieve, that they will do better — but of course they would, the Greying is a reminder that they would.

"They've been captured." The death eater breathlessly gasped, their eyes trained obediently to the ground. Draco leaned back, trying to hide the way that his heart jumped. Well that's good news, "I present to you, their wands." The three wands were set on Draco's desk and he could immediately identify which one was Granger's.

"That's wonderful to hear," He drawled, "you're dismissed." Draco heard an audible sound of relief as the man shuffled out of the office.

It meant that Granger was somewhere in the depths of the dungeons. His hand twitched — he had imagined the day that he could look at her in the eyes. Draco scoffed, there was no possible way that she would harbour any sort of emotion but contempt for him. The Dark Lord's preference towards him was no private matter. He was more than sure that news had travelled to the Order of the Phoenix. Being the prodigious adopted son of the Dark Lord certainly doesn't win him any points.

He slowly stood up, tucking the hood of his black cloak over his head. Nevertheless, Voldemort would be pleased with the news and he would be the first to deliver it.

Ever since he had been crowned Lord Voldemort's shining pupil, everyone had known to not cross Draco Malfoy. It came as no surprise — the favouritism was clear ever since Draco had killed off Dumbledore. The praise and glory that Voldemort had cast around him was like a protective barrier. Even his father, Lucius Malfoy, had been a mix of proud and jealous for a few minutes.

With the public declaration, he had ascended the ranks to seat at number two. Surpassing even Voldemort's most loyal and senior followers. Aunt Bellatrix's sneer had put him in a smug high for weeks. During official meetings, Draco's only superior became the Lord himself. Surely, all it proved was that power was more important than love. He was more than confident that he was certainly not loved — but who really needed it anyways?

"My Lord," Draco kneeled, making sure that his knees pointed towards Voldemort and only him. Afterall, there is no one else Draco needed to bow to pay respects.

"Draco, my boy," Voldemort called. In these times, Voldemort almost played the caring father — but his endearments held no warmth. He was no better than Lucius Malfoy at playing daddy dearest, but at least Voldemort could give him something.

Draco rose once acknowledged, "I have just received reports that they had been captured." He didn't need to elaborate any more.

"Draco," Voldemort smiled. It was not an expression that improved his features, "There is a reason why I have named you my successor. You never fail me."

"Come, lets meet our latest recruits."

The dungeons were dark and dingy, lit up with flickering lanterns. There was a certain dampness to them, as if the cells were drowned in water years ago and never got fully flushed out.

"Your mask," Voldemort said, flicking his wand so Draco was equipped with their standard anonymous gear.

"How charming," The Dark Lord crooned. Ron Weasley sat in the corner, his normal red hair was matted and dirty. At the noise, he had looked up and gave them the most reproachful look he possibly could have mustered.

"Nice of you to come visit," Weasley spat.

"You should be honoured," Draco replied, twisting his wand in a nonchalant way.

The weasel scowled, "I would be surprised you would want to get your shoes dirty, ferret." Draco stiffened, he didn't expect the weasel to recognize him that easily. It has been, afterall, years since they had any sort of formal conversation.

"It's a shame that the Weasleys are a pureblooded family," Draco clicked his tongue, "all this potential to be wasted on a bunch of hot-headed Gryffindors. How unfortunate."

"I would rather be a squib than be with the likes of you!" Weasley growled, trying to stand up without success. His arms and legs were shackled to the concrete wall.

"It's a shame that purebloods could land on the wrong side of the war. I'd be willing to give you some reprieve, Weasel," Draco sighed, "afterall, your blood is much better than your other friends. We wouldn't want some half bloods muddying the genetic pools, wouldn't you agree Ronald?"

"Don't talk about them like that!" He yelled, pathetically swinging his arms. The death eaters had de-wanded them.

"Can't do wandless magic weasel?" Draco cooed, each word laced with poison, "Since you're of a... semi-reputable pureblooded family. I'm inclined to give you some special accommodations." His wand was still dancing through his fingers, "Join our ranks."

"And I get what?" Ron snarled. Draco was surprised, he had thought it was going to be a clear negative. He could almost feel Voldemort jumping at a chance to Crucio the weasel. Lucky for him, Voldemort had allowed Draco to be in charge of the transactions.

Draco shrugged, "The mark is a gift within itself weasel. Wouldn't you want to put your poor Gryffindor loyalty towards the winning side?" He let out a cynical chuckle, "Or should I say, the side that already won?"

The weasel gave them a dirty glare, but otherwise stayed silent. So he knew that they had lost. Draco's bargain wasn't exactly a bad one, it was a new start for him. True power meant that Voldemort had to have members from all four Hogwarts houses. Ravenclaws were easy to persuade, they tended to follow the winning numbers. Hufflepuffs were easily intimidated and would cave easily under severe threats. Gryffindors were the hardest to recruit — their house loyalty was almost as strong as Slytherins. Their abrasiveness and head-strong personalities were hard to persuade, but there were still Gryffindors within their ranks. Afterall, no matter which house you were in, no one wanted to be on the losing side of the war.

Voldemort smiled. To the outsider, it might seem like a grimace to how deformed his face was, but Draco knew him well enough that it was something a little more pleasant. "I think we're done here," Voldemort said, his robes swished against Draco's pants as he turned around.

"Isn't this just so delightful, Draco?" Voldemort asked, "I've always dreamt of a Hogwarts reunion, but I don't think I'd be welcomed back."

"I don't think Hogwarts would be particularly fond of my presence either," Draco responded dryly.

"Thank goodness I'm bringing the reunion to you," Voldemort chuckled, "It would be nice to clear up some old histories wouldn't it be?"

When he saw who was sitting on the cold floor, his breath caught briefly. She was just a run down version of who he had previously seen. Albeit all the previous occurrences were just Draco catching flashes of her hair across glowing hexes and jinxes. Every time Granger was in the same vicinity as him, he stayed far away — he couldn't sit and watch her die, but he couldn't overtly protect her. All he had to do was trust that Potter and the weasel would do their due diligence — but apparently they hadn't. She sat in the dungeons now, silent to the Dark Lord and Draco's footsteps.

"How wonderful," the Dark Lord said, "a mudblood within our walls." He turned to Draco, "Why don't you greet your classmate, where are your manners?"

Draco shuffled forward, his throat felt like it was closing up for a second, "Granger." He choked out. She remained unresponsive.

"I'd suggest you show your future Dark Lord some respect," Voldemort snarled. Draco's eyes shot to Voldemort's face. It was the first time that the Dark Lord had expressed his rank in such a forward manner. It wasn't that Draco didn't think that Voldemort would die, it just never crossed his mind very often. Of course, when time came, Draco would have access to the entire empire. The thought frightened him.

"Death eaters do not deserve any respect," She spat, still refusing to look them in the eyes. Draco preferred it that way — that way he didn't have to face his decisions. Especially when they were reflected in her eyes. But still, he would rather suffer than Granger to suffer. Just kneel, he begged in his mind, if you know what's good for you. But he knew she was such a bloody Gryffindor — too much pride in their veins.

"Very well," Voldemort said, "Crucio." And then she was screaming, heart wrenching screams that tugged at Draco's heartstrings. But he stood stiffly behind Voldemort, grateful that the Dark Lord's attention was too focused on Granger to take notice of him. His hand twitched against his wand, wanting to at least stun her to relieve her of this misery.

Granger's chains clanked against the wall as Voldemort aimed at her knees, forcing them to buckle and kneel. Draco could trace where Voldemort centered the curse as her body twisted into a praying position at their feet. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

She was a fixture in the back of his mind everyday. Draco knew that he was untouchable, but Granger... He cursed himself, it was partially his fault that she was suffering now.

"I think we're done here Draco." Voldemort said, turning to leave. He was pleased that Granger was on the floor, silent and staring at the cracks in the floor.

As he turned to leave, he heard her shift, "Malfoy."

Draco paused, it took all of his willpower to not look at her. He could imagine her, still on the floor, brown eyes focused on his back. He heard her spit at his feet. He deserved it. He really did.

"I hope you're happy with yourself." She said, "She wouldn't be happy."

Draco refused to show any weakness in front of Voldemort. Draco knew Granger was talking about his mother — Narcissa Malfoy.

"Granger," He said slowly, making sure that his eyes revealed no emotion, "I'm confused as to what you're talking about." Narcissca was never on board with her husband and son's decisions, but she was family loyal. Draco had done almost everything to get rid of any suspicion that Voldemort harboured over his mother. It wouldn't be good for Granger's comment to send his mother into danger again.

Draco's rise to power seemed to protect his mother for the current time being. But the Dark Lord was volatile and ready to kill any traitors within his ranks. Not that Narcissa would become a traitor, but even Draco's mother was not above Voldemort's plans.

He headed out of the cell. Before he could leave, he took one look back. In the brief moment, he locked eyes with Granger, her form still curled up on the floor, expression covered with pure hatred. Hate me, Granger, as you should.

"I will be leaving now, Lord." Draco bowed, he really had no interest in Potter.

"So soon?" The Dark Lord asked, "We still have yet to meet our prized possession."

"To be completely honest," Draco said, "I have nothing to say to Potter."

Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow, "Very well Draco, I shall see you later."

Draco deeply bowed and apparated away, Hermione's form burned in the back of his mind.