"You can't do this! I'm not going to tell you anything!" Scorpius screamed, struggling against the harsh leather ties around his hands and ankles. He was strapped to a dark wooden bed frame, his body struggling against the white mattress. The skin was rubbed raw and bleeding from where the leather dug into it. Specks of blood flew out from his mouth as he spoke, his lip split from the earlier beatings he'd been given, but Scorpius thought nothing of it. Bruises and scars and blood weren't anything new to him. His ice blue eyes locked on the dark figure that stood at the end of the bed, watching as he gave a dark laugh, amused by the sight of the young Malfoy squirming.
"Oh trust me, Scorpius," The man said, his voice deadly and serious, though it was clear there was a hint of hilarity and amusement in it, "You'll tell me everything I need to know. You'll tell me exactly where your grandfather hid those books."
Scorpius' eyes narrowed into a glare at the man, whose face was half covered with the hood of his cloak, but he knew a dark beard and even darker eyes laid beneath. He could see the glint of his teeth through the shadows if he looked hard enough—the teeth that sparkled with laughter as he'd managed to land blow after blow with his fists on Scorpius' body. Scorpius wasn't sure how long he'd been here exactly, but he assumed at least a couple of days. The room he was kept in had no windows and no proper doors. The man entered the room through a secret passage hidden in the side of the stone wall. The man only entered for one of two reasons: to feed Scorpius, or to hurt and question him. Right now, the man had no food with him that Scorpius could see and he shifted uncomfortably against his bonds, even though he knew it was no use. He was trapped.
"You think you're so strong, don't you, Scorpius?" The man asked with a tilt of his head, his hands gripping the foot of the bed frame. "You really think you won't talk. You think you're strong enough to get through this. Or at least you think you're accepting of your own death as long as it means I don't get what I want? You've been spending too much time with that stupid halfblood Gryffindor of yours. Your filthy, werewolf-spawn husband really has changed you, hasn't he? You're a disgrace. No self respecting Slytherin would put someone else's life ahead of his own. Is that why you're being so stubborn? To protect him?"
"To protect everyone! Call me a disgrace, go ahead. I don't give a fuck! Kill me if you have to, I won't tell you where those books are. You're not getting your hands on them! I'd rather die."
"Oh if only I was that merciful." The man walked around the bed, conjured a bowl of soup, and set it on the bedside table. "I think you underestimate your will to live, Scorpius. That, and I plan to get that information somehow. You think I'll just allow you to die while that information is still in your head? No, I'll keep you alive if it's the last thing I do. And believe me, you're going to wish you were dead."
"I can take the hits, the cuts, the pain. I've done it before."
"But not all pain is physical, is it? No…I have a much better plan." The man's smile widened into a grin. "A much, much better plan."
Scorpius didn't like that look, or the sound of how happy this man was as he spoke about his plan. He swallowed, his mind racing, trying to figure out what the plan was. Just like fighting the restraints, it was useless, Scorpius was sure that whatever he guessed it wouldn't be anywhere close to the reality of the situation. This man's magic was a lot more powerful than his was, and a lot darker. With a flick of his wand, the man released the ties around Scorpius' limbs.
"Eat," He ordered and walked back to the opening in the stone wall. "You'll need the sustenance for what you're about to go through." Before Scorpius could speak, the man disappeared with a laugh. The sound of the stone sliding back into the place was the last thing he heard before a heavy silence fell over the room again.
Sucking on his swollen lip, Scorpius ran a hand through his hair. It was dirty and matted with dried blood and he gave a tiny groan of disgust. He probably looked as shitty as he felt. Not that he had anyone to look good for here. He'd given up hope on Teddy coming to find him the night before when the man had told him that they were somewhere untraceable, somewhere no one would think to look. Scorpius had no idea where he was and even if Teddy was able to eventually figure it out, it was going to take a while. Scorpius knew he could be anywhere in the world, and there wasn't the slightest hint left behind of where he might have gone. So he stayed determined to not let this man have the books that he knew were hidden behind the portrait of his grandfather upstairs in the Manor.
They were dark books his grandfather had when he'd first started following Voldemort—books with the darkest spells and information about horcruxes. The man insisted he need them, and even though he never explicitly told Scorpius why in so many words, the blond boy had a feeling it was part of a plan to succeed where Voldemort couldn't.
The thought made Scorpius' stomach churn and he turned away from the soup, rolling onto his side and curling into himself. He looked over the bruises on his arms and legs and stomach, checking out the damage. He knew it wasn't bad enough to die, not yet, and apparently not ever, since the man seemed determined to keep him alive. That was another reason that made Scorpius turn away from the food. Maybe he could just starve himself to death and keep the information safe that way. In the back of his mind, though, he had a feeling even that wouldn't work. The man would sooner force feed him, and Scorpius shuddered at the thought.
Not moments later, his stomach growled and he swore to himself, getting angry. The man was right, an idea Scorpius detested. His body's want to stay alive was still there and it encouraged him to eat with a few violent pangs in his stomach. Rolling over, he got up and reached for the bowl of soup. There was no spoon, so he had to raise the bowl to his lips and tilt it in order to get the warm broth down his throat. He sipped it slowly, his stomach giving a satisfied rumble as he did so.
Something was wrong.
Scorpius knew it as soon as his vision blurred as he managed to get halfway through his meal. The room swayed this way and that, the walls rippling around him and the bed vibrating, as though alive, underneath his legs.
"Shit." He thought he'd said, but the words came out in a very slurred drawl, as though he'd been drinking alcohol all day. He went to go set the soup down on the side table again, but the room seemed to lurch forward, as if it was a boat on the sea in a hurricane, and he misjudged the location of the table and dropped the bowl on the floor. It hit with a clatter of plastic and Scorpius saw the yellowish liquid spread over the hard stone floor. "Shit!" He repeated to himself, and tried to get up, but his limbs gave out. He fell back against the unmade mattress, limp and nearly lifeless. What was happening to him? Colors swirled around in front of him, like a kaleidoscope effect. They mixed and matched and screamed at him and he screamed back. The noise echoed and bounced off the walls, the colors hopping around to match the beat. Reds and purples and greens and silvers and golds all shone bright before him, intertwining with each other until they began to mix. The last thing Scorpius saw was the green melting into the black mess above him, before his eyes slid closed and his body lost consciousness.
