The cell was small, cold, and damp. A faint dripping noise could be heard from a leak in the corner. A constant drip drip drip that Draco remembered from his own time down here, as a prisoner in his own home. Drip drip drip. It never ended. He tried to take some comfort in the fact that it wasn't him locked up and in chains, not anymore. No, this was his chance to change his fate to turn his future around, to prove himself. Drip drip drip. A table had been set up for him in the corner lit only by a candle flickering away on the wall. He crossed the room to look at the items placed there. The first thing he noticed was how wicked the tools looked under the firelight. How sharp each different blade looked. How shadows fell over the whips and light danced over the glass bottles whose labels he couldn't quite make out, whether it be from the lack of light or the stinging in his eyes, he couldn't tell. The book caught Draco's attention easily. It was a plain book, bound in black leather, with the name 'Moriarty' etched in gold on the front. It looked so simple and out of place surrounded by the weapons of torture. As innocent as it looked it contained some of the nastiest spells and potions the wizarding world had ever seen.
Draco remembered having to stay up all night reading this book from cover to cover so that he'd know what spells his father would randomly use on him and if he couldn't get it right then he'd use another and another. Draco balled up his fists in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hands. Drip drip drip.
Draco took a deep breath and turned away from the table. Other candles were flickering along the walls, sufficiently illuminating the room. Almost giving off too much light. He didn't particularly want to see in much detail what he was going to do. No, he'd have to put out some of the light before he got started or he wasn't going to be able to make it through this, and he had to make it through this. A chair was sitting by the door he remembered all the times his father sat in that chair looking at him like he were a disobedient house elf. All the times he sat looking bored as he cast curses on his only son. Draco felt he was going to be sick but he swallowed down the nausea and pulled the chair across the floor, scraping the legs against the rock floor trying desperately to drown out the constant drip drip drip drip drip. Once the chair was directly in the center of the room Draco allowed himself to sit, to take his face in his hands and try desperately to push the memories back. He couldn't do this if he was battling his own experiences. He didn't want to look at the room anymore. He didn't want to see the shackles hanging from the ceiling where he'd spent so many nights he lost count before his 13th birthday. He didn't want to see the bloodstains that were splattered around the floor that was almost exclusively his. He didn't want any of it.
Footsteps flooded in from the hallway outside of the cold damp door and Draco leapt up from his spot. Soon he'd find out who he had to hurt. Who he had to extract information out of and for the first time in his life he prayed to any gods that would listen please don't let it be anyone he knew. And as the footsteps grew closer and closer and closer he had a sinking feeling in his chest and in his stomach. He stood there unable to mask the shaking unable to hide the panic as the door swung open he felt he was ready to collapse. But he didn't. He held strong and squared his shoulders painting on his evil smirk.
"Mister Malfoy, we've brought you your first assignment." a figure cloaked in black said, monotone handing him a short piece of parchment before turning on his heel, "bring him in." he barked at whoever was standing outside the doorway. Draco heard them dragging somebody in, heard the sound of chains clinking together, the sound of shackles snapped around someone's wrists, the sounds he grew up with. He heard all this as he read the parchment.
Information on the order of the Phoenix, information on harry potter's whereabouts, information on blood traitors whereabouts in correspondence to harry potter. And traitors that could be infiltrating the death eaters.
He tried to read over Harry Potter's name, he tried not to let it sink in that of course, of course, he would be used to get the boy, of course. He never expressly thought otherwise he just didn't let his mind wander that far into his new reality. He looked up from the paper as the two death eaters slammed the door leaving him alone with his victim. Relief spread over Draco as he realized that this was not someone he knew. This was a stranger. This was somebody he had no connection too.
This was somebody who was difficult to break. But Draco had done it, getting a few of his questions answered before he accidentally cut the wrong artery. He sat at his table and carefully moved the things over as he wrote out what information he could get from the screaming man.
The order of the Phoenix operates outside of Hogwarts school and its headquarters is somewhere in Muggle England. Known members; Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Molly and Arthur Weasley. Blood traitor Dean Thomas is in a relationship with half-blood Seamus Finnigan both of who fight by Harry's side in the D.A. (the victim did not know what the D.A. was just that he heard about it a few times.
Draco's hands shook as he started to write the last bit of information he had gathered. Harry Potter will be moved to a new safe house the day before his birthday. Draco closed his eyes against the rush of guilt that flooded his thoughts. He had to protect himself. He thought fiercely before walking out of the room leaving the man hanging limp, blood draining from the already lifeless body, to deliver the news to his father hoping it was enough. It was never enough.
The next day Draco had someone knew to torture and then a few days later someone again. Anytime anyone was captured they found himself in Draco's dungeon where he cut, beat, and spelled the information he needed out of them. Weeks went by before the guilt dissipated each time he turned in new information. He hadn't accidentally killed anyone since the first guy. His father sat him down and made him read book after book about arteries and where caused the most pain and where to stay away from lest you wanted the person to die.
And he was punished. Of course, he was. But since then he got better at his new job. He continued to get better as more and more people were sent to him. And then the orders came to kill them when he was through. Now it was part of his job to murder every single person brought to his cell. His cell that still made him feel like a prisoner. His cell that now had a small bookshelf and a basin to clean his weapons and a cot for him to sleep because he wasn't allowed to leave. His cell with the constant drip drip drip drip in the corner. His cell. After a month of his new position they brought a girl in. He'd never had to hurt a girl before, only ever men. But here she was hanging from his ceiling. And he couldn't touch her, he didn't want to. He didn't know who she was but she was wearing Hogwarts robes. She was taken from the school. Her long hair hung in front of her face and he was so afraid to look at her closely enough to recognize her even slightly. He could feel her staring at him, could feel her eyes piercing into him.
"Draco Malfoy." the girl said as if she wasn't surprised. He didn't say anything and he didn't look at her, he was ashamed and he was afraid and that was two things he'd never admit to any girl. He faced away from her looking instead at the table in front of him. "Harry Potter is going to kill you for this," she grunted pulling at her chains. Of course, Harry Potter was going to kill him for this he thought bitterly, but his resolve was fading quickly and the bitch wouldn't shut up. Draco clenched and unclenched his fists. "You know you don't have to do this," she whispered after a long long stretch of silence.
"Yes, I do," he whispered trying to convince himself trying to force himself.
You'll always be a death eater, she had said. You can never be saved not after this. You're a monster. She wasn't wrong. No, of course, she wasn't. He was a monster. And he sat there crying until someone came to check on his progress hours later, where they found him whimpering under the table, the girl was knocked out via spell to shut her up. His father was not happy about that and Draco was made to watch his father beat and break the girl, never asking any questions never giving her break until she'd pass out and when she awoke he'd start again. For days and days, he was forced to witness things his father did to a poor schoolgirl. For days and days he listened to her beg him for help, he listened to her insult him, he listened to her divulge information even though none was asked of her. For days and days, he heard her beg to die. She begged him to kill her in the nights when his father went to sleep. For days and days, his father cut and beat and spelled her to death.
After that, he didn't have a problem with the girls. Or rather, he pretended not to have a problem with the girls. He thought it was better him than his sorry excuse for a dad. It was better him because he still had a hint of mercy. There were still spells he wouldn't touch against another human being.
After a few days, he almost thought maybe he'd be able to get through this. Maybe he'd be able to get through and past this war. Maybe Harry Potter would save the world like everyone always thought he would and maybe on the other side Draco could start over somewhere where nobody knew him. He could begin again. Change his ways, or hell, even change his name. He wouldn't have to wake up to the smell of blood and sweat every morning, he wouldn't have to hear the screams of his victims ringing in his ears and echoing through his head as he lay awake every night. Maybe Harry could still save everyone and maybe Draco could be a part of everyone. Or maybe harry potter would save the day, save the world and come for Draco and kill him just as the girl had said. He wasn't sure yet which outcome he preferred.
He thought these things every night, hoping and praying that maybe there was a light at the end of this tunnel. And every day he'd do his job, unattached and almost clinical. He reported the information and he killed and killed. He lost count of how many innocent witches and wizards hed killed, granted they were all half-bloods or mudbloods so in the dark lord's eyes they weren't really wizards at all. But in Draco's eyes, they were. They were his teachers, his classmates. They were the people he knew in his life. They were real and he had to pretend they weren't.
He marked the days off in his head until he returned to school. Until he could go back and not do this every morning. He was only halfway through the summer. Still had a month and a half to go. How many had he killed in such a short amount of time?
Voldemort was coming to the Malfoy Manor. Voldemort would be here in a week and a half to view his progress. Draco tried to breathe normally as his father gave him this news.
"You will make me proud Draco," The taller man turned on his heel and stalked away from his son. You will do me proud Draco. It was a warning. No words of encouragement, no 'do your best'. It was just you will make me proud or else. Because how many times had he let his father down? His hands shook as he made his way back to his cell. He hadn't had anyone new to torture in a day or two but he knew that wouldn't be the case for much longer. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stalked down the stairs into the dungeons. He could feel the temperature drop as he descended into the cold and wet. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he came to his door. His door to his cell. He pushed the metal door open and the constant drip drip drip met his ears immediately. He crossed the room to his cot. His cot in his cell behind his door, and collapsed burying his face in his pillow. Blocking out the dripping, blocking out the smell of rot, blocking out the sight of blood. Blocking everything out as he laid there and surrendered to the lump that rose in his throat for the first time in years he allowed himself to cry. Silent salty tears drenching his pillow. He didn't stay that way long. He couldn't, he never knew when someone would come in dragging a half-conscious body in their wake.
A new victim almost every day. Sometimes there was more than one. They had installed a second set of shackles for when they captured multiple people and they made Draco's job of getting information easier. Made his job in killing them harder, though.
He went days without anyone new. Instead, he focused on brewing some of the potions he'd ran out of on the last girl. Stocking himself back up. He had two weeks left till school started and a little over one until Voldemort. In fact, he had exactly seven days until the dark lord showed up at his childhood home to judge him.
He was bottling the last bit of potion when the inevitable sound of footsteps came echoing through the hall. Draco didn't move to get up. Why bother? The death eaters that brought him his victims never said anything to him anymore anyway. He knew what information to get he knew what methods to use. He finished with the potion just as the door swung open. Like a flashback, he could hear the clinking together of chains he could hear the snap of shackles he could hear the moan of whoever was unlucky enough to find themselves here.
"Mister Malfoy. This is your last one. You can't kill him." the death eater spoke not bothering on waiting for his reply before slamming the door shut and retreating down the hall. Last one? Last one! He wouldn't have to do this for much longer. He smiled gleefully and slowly got up from his chair, stretching his tired limbs. He turned to see who he'd been brought. He took in the slender boy in front of him and the smile immediately fell from his face. His toes barely brushed the floor. His jeans were dirty and stained in blood already. He had bruises and old scars all over his bare chest. His head hung forward and Draco knew. He knew before he had to look. He knew based on the raven colored hair, he knew. The raven hair hung over his face, obscuring most of it from view. Which was just as well, Draco didn't need to see the piercing green eyes or the lightning bolt scar to know who was here in front of him. Harry Potter, hung from his cell. All Draco could hear was the constant drip drip drip.