Hermione thought she knew what torture was. She'd spent nearly every moment for the past several years worrying about her best friend dying horrifically. At the young age of nineteen she'd wiped her parents memories with a simple mutter of the incantation obliviate. She pined after Ron while he drooled over Lavender Brown of all people for years. She'd been lonely, friendless, and bullied. Hermione had been attacked by trolls, mean classmates, toxic plants, teachers, and nightmares. Hermione thought she knew what torture was. Then she arrived at Malfoy Manor.
It was there that Hermione learned torture was not waking up in the middle of the night, cold, sweating, and gasping for air. Torture was the metallic scent filling up every sense of her being as she laid in the dark with her mind blank. Torture was every memory, emotion, and thought being violated and poured over by a stranger. Her thoughts and goals paged through then tossed aside like an old book. It was the feeling of every angry thought, bitter memory, malicious wish, and every shred of sorrow being ripped from your body and being made to relive them. Every nerve in her body was screaming as heat cracked along each bone and flames stung each follicle of her skin. She did not want to look down. Words were screamed at her, completely meaningless. She was wracked with sobs at first. Big salty tears poured down her face then into her hair and ears. Her hair clung to her face from the sweat, blood, and tears. Hermione pled and begged and screamed for her tormentor to have mercy and let her go. Nothing worked. Eventually she laid still, letting the pain wash over her. The heavy copper smell still hung in the air and a distant metallic scraping noise was audible. She was quiet. She pled silently now. At the beginning she only prayed not to die from the excrutiating pain and the thoughts invading her mind. Near the end she only prayed for mercy, for her tormentor to finish her games and simply leave her there to pass through the veil. It was every nightmare brought to life, dancing before her eyes. What was real did not matter. There was no real. Only what she believed to be there, and what others believed to be there. Sometimes during the screams they were the same. Sometimes they were not. Her mother and father came and went. Her friends screamed for her, her friends screamed at her. Everything before now was completely petty and meaningless. She was petty and meaningless. What did those tiny, fractured moments of happiness mean now? What was there purpose? To only delay the inevitable pain that is always to come? Every looming, the dark shadow of death now seemed cruel and cold, yet still a positive alternative to what she now faced. She wanted the torture to end.
Draco thought he knew what torture was. His whole life he was told what to think, what to believe, and how to feel. He was told that Voldemort was the Dark Lord, all powerful and great. He was told muggles had once threatened all the wizards and witches, and that they wanted to burn them. If muggles knew they existed, they would hunt them done and kill every last one. Muggle-borns could carry these same ideas as their parents. His puppet strings were plucked and pulled as he was fed these ideas of right and wrong. Truth twisted and manipulated into a shapeless abstract thought pushed from thought. Draco grew up controlled by fear instilled in him by his parents. The muggle-borns are like their parents. Muggles are blood thirsty. They torture and kill anyone suspected of practicing magic. Yet the ministry protected them. Albus Dumbledore protected them. This was twisted and wrong. The muggles were happy to be left alone. The witches and wizards were happy to be alive. Instead of being mercilessly persecuted. So why did people like Albus Dumbledore want to merge the two worlds? It would bring disaster, war, death, famine, poverty, destruction. When he arrived at Hogwarts, everyone hated him. They hated him because he wanted peace. They hated him because he wanted mutual happiness. Why? Draco couldn't understand.
But this was torture. His worst nightmares were unfolding on the drawing room floor. There lay someone he knew, even cared about, dying. Crystal droplets glistening in her eyes, hair, on the floor. The thick scent of blood filled his every sense. The worst part was the dark red that dripped onto the floor slowly. The heavy droplets slowly rolled down the girl's pale arm. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away. Her look was tragically pleading. Her eyes were glazed over and her expression blank. Hermione gazed upwards at nothingness as she wished for nothingness. Draco could see it in her eyes. He could do nothing but watch. He could see the feral features of his aunt. His heart pounded. Nausea overwhelmed him with every breath Hermione took. With every twitch of Bellatrix's lips his hand tightened around his wand. Don't you dare smile. Draco wanted the torture to end.