Cut
He lay on the bed, handcuffed to the bedposts. he was unwilling to fight anymore, it was useless. It was futile. It was...it was something that he used to do. When it first happened, he would shout, scream, punch, kick, summon magic with his hands and try to fight his way out. But Lucius was stronger, taller, better, faster, harder, stronger than the child in his arms. So Draco resigned himself to his fate, eventually. He took what was given to him without a sound. Even at school, he had stopped talking, afraid of the repercussions of that very action that he had grown so used to, and then let go in a single moment.
He thought about what happened every day and inside he felt as though he was dying. At school, without the pain, without the blood, he fell so far in his academic brilliance to a point when Proffessor Snape had confronted him, along with Dumbledor and McGonnalgall about his slipping grades.
He didn't speak. he felt as though if he did, he would be betraying everything he was falling for.
They let him go after resigning themselves to the fact that he wouldn't talk to them. He had hid for a week, reliving what he had grown dependant on, finding everything he ever needed in those memories of pain, hurt.
He derived no pleasure from the pain his father put him through, strapped to a bed, not naked, more like inappropriately dressed. He wore only boxer shorts as pain flooded from his body in crimson rivers over snow white skin. His father cut him deeply with an athame, a ceremonial knife. Draco examined the scars on his legs and his arms, knowing that any attmept to conceal them with a charm would infuriate his father more than he already was.
These days he was so easily upset and Draco wished to show his father that he meant no disrespect to him. So he never got rid of the scars and he could see words, lines, symbols carved into his ivory coloured flesh. Every holiday, he lived the same torture over and over again. So much pain. it made him wasnt to scream, to yell, to fight, to cry. And most of all, it made him want to feel safe in his own home. Mother was a monster by not doing anything about it and Father was evil for doing it to him.
Draco remembered times on that very bed in which he was lying now when his father had burnt him with candlewax, matches and his own wand. With the athame, he got so close to his artery, one sharp puncture could have seen Draco bleeding to death. But Lucius stopped there. He didn't stop, he just cut everywhere else. Now was no different, now he would be burnt, cut and cruicifed to near death, but he would live another day just to satisfy his father. He didn't even know the reason why he was being subjected to such hurt and pain, but he knew that it was necessary to prepare him for what the Dark Lord would do to him.
Lucius walked through the mahogany doors and locked them behind him. He wasted no time in mutilating his sons already imperfected skin. It took three hours, well into the night, for the elder to finish his work. He promised Draco he would be back the next day, the day after that and every day after that one until the school holidays ended. The cuffs were released and Draco closed his eyes, finally allowing sleep, caused by exhaustion and blood loss, to overcome his body and take him into painful nightmares of pain causing more pain.
Fin
Wierd I know, but what can I say? I am just a person who loves the idea of Draco being put through a torture chamber and NOT liking it. It might have had something to do with listening to Outside by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers on a continuous loop. Anyway, tell me what you think because I respect all of your opinions, considering you';ve been writing fiction for a lot longer than i have. See you until next time that one of my contorted, yet weirdly beautiful fics come on the net. By the way, I DON'T own Harry Potter, or Draco, and I don't wish i did. Also, athame is a word i learnt from Charmed so I'm not sure if it's real or not. well, I've rambled for long enough. Bye