Character: Draco Malfoy

Story Warnings: Violence

Drip…drip…drip. The sound of his blood hitting the cold stone floor in the dark, dank dungeon was the only sound he could hear. His body shook, the wet air chilling him to the bone. The last thing he could remember was running through the forbidden forest, a hood over his face to hide his identity, leading the trackers away from the golden trio, then a sharp pain in his head and…nothing, just black. When he came to, he was in the position he was in now, chained with his arms above his head, bare chested, and his blood pooling on the floor around him. He knew these dungeons well, it was where traitors of the dark lord were taken before a gruesome death. He knew when they were finished with their victim, death became a blessing. He forced his eyes open, taking in his dilemma. His hooded robe was missing, which he used to conceal himself, his top was bare, as were his legs. He was in nothing but his shorts. (May as well get as much of the canvas empty I suppose.) He thought to himself. The one thought that scared him the most, however, was that no one knew he was here. Nobody knew he was a traitor, he didn't even know he was a traitor until his spur of the moment choice to lead the trackers away from Harry Potter and the gang. It worked, they followed him instead. He never did willingly give himself to the Dark Lord, so it was only a matter of time before he fled and joined the light side. He just wished he would have done it in a more secret way, and, bless his soul, told someone of his intentions before just jumping into it. He didn't think anything through, and now he was paying for it. He shivered once more, causing the chains above his head to rattle. He closed his eyes, letting his pounding head fall. His ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps approaching his cell, but he had no desire to lift his head back up, so he let it lie there, even as a key jangled into the lock, or as the door opened with a harsh squeal.

"Pick up your head boy." A familiar harsh voice snapped into his head. He slowly began to lift his head, a glare cold as ice plastered to his normally stoic face. His silver eyes met his visitors eyes; his blood running cold.

"So it was you who led our trackers astray. I can't say I'm not surprised, no. I am sickened that my own son would go against all we taught him, and for what? A group of people who don't care that you are going to die for saving them. Do they even know, Draco?" Draco, lifted his chin, a strained laugh leaving his lips.

"I'd rather die, knowing I did the right thing, than live knowing I took the cowards way out and joined a side I despise." Lucius sneered, grabbing a handful of Draco's hair, ripping his head up until their noses were almost touching.

"You are nothing but traitor scum, and we have some plans for you." Just then, Bellatrix and Peter entered the room, both holding simple tools; Bellatrix a dagger, and Peter a whip.

"You will tell us where Potter and the others are." Bellatrix said, trailing the dagger down his arm, a thin pink line showing where she had broken the skin. Draco smirked, trying to appear stronger than he felt.

"Jokes on you. They don't know I did this. As far as they know, I'm still death eater scum, like you." Peter cracked his whip against Dracos bare chest, a small scream of pain escaping his throat. Lucius turned to leave.

"If he doesn't confess by sunrise, let me know." He left Draco alone with the two lunatics who would torture him. And torture they did. A slash down the arm, another whip against the chest, opening up old lacerations. More crucio curses to last him a lifetime. As they grew more and more adgitated, their torture increased.

"Tell us where Potter is." Peter said, sending the whip cracking into his ruined torso. He kept his mouth shut, refusing to make a sound. Bellatrix's grin grew.

"I have an idea." She took a torch off the wall, holding her dagger in it. The silver metal began to glow red hot. "If he doesn't' want our brand, we can give him a new one." Peter began to laugh as she walked over to Draco, who was having trouble holding his weak body up, resting mostly on the chains, his hands purple from lack of blood flow.

"So, I'll give you one last chance to answer me. Where is potter." Draco looked at her, his body felt defeated, but he truly didn't know where they were, so he just laid his head back in defeat. "Very well then." She dug the dagger deep into his chest and began carving. Draco began to deafen himself with his own screams, the pain from the brand almost unbearable. The seconds felt like painful hours, tears brimming over his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. She finished her brand, telling Peter to get a mirror.

"You will like this brand much more, it actually fits you!" She cackled, twirling the bloody blade in her hands. Peter returned with a full body mirror, and placed it in front of Draco before him and Bellatrix left the dungeon, and Draco to his own misery. He slowly lifted his head, and he could hardly suppress his sobs any longer. It was all in vain. He did nothing to help, and now he was going to die, bloody, bruised and mangled. What hit him the most, was what Bellatrix took the sloppy care of carving into his flesh, and his sobs grew louder. In large, jagged letters, read the word:

TRAITOR