These characters are not mine. Except for the executioner.
Draco Malfoy wiped the blood dripping down his chin. The dark figure towering over him could have easily stopped the flow from his broken nose but chose to watch instead. The bloody mess of cartilage that was once his nose should have hurt him. But he felt worse pain in the last few weeks than he ever had in his entire life. A broken nose was nothing.
"Get up," the dark figure commanded with a sneer. He had knocked Draco to the floor. This happened often, ever since Draco's failure at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was dead but not by his hands, and he needed to be punished. Draco knew he was weak, and his father was only trying to help him. He was too soft right now; Lord Voldemort would have no use for a weakling.
He got to his feet, and his father backhanded him across the face, knocking him to the floor once again.
"Crucio."
Draco's bones were on fire, if he had a voice left, he would have screamed. But the torture he had endured already tore the screams from his throat, and now he suffered in silent agony. This was the worst part of his punishment. With the beatings, the pain would stop. He even could get used to it, absorb it into himself. This pain never stopped. His father broke off the curse, and he still felt the pain coursing through him. The more a person is tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, the more it hurts.
Draco lay on the floor, breathing heavily, trying to slow down the rapid beating of his heart.
"We'll continue this tomorrow. Wash yourself."
Draco nodded and slowly got to his feet. His father painfully healed his broken nose, intending even that process to be a teaching tool, before exiting the cell.
Draco went to the bucket of freezing water and began to wash his face. The blood had dripped down onto his already blood-stained shirt. His hands were shaking, and not from the icy water.
He lay down on his cot and stared at the dungeon's ceiling, not knowing if he would be awoken in the middle of the night to receive his punishment. It had happened before, but if he was awake, he could not have nightmares. Maybe tonight he would be too tired to have any. He slept, but the nightmares came anyway.
When Draco was awake again, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to still sleep. He knew he was not alone.
"I know you are not sleeping, Draco." The voice was as cold as death. He shuddered when he heard the way it almost caressed his name. Draco opened his eyes, and the Dark Lord himself was staring down at him, a faint smile on his lips.
"You failed me Draco. But I am a most forgiving master, and I will be giving you another chance to prove yourself to me. Fail again, and you will find a whole new meaning of pain."
Draco knew what was expected of him. He got up, and immediately got on his knees, crawled forward, and kissed the hem of Lord Voldemort's robe. He stayed low on his knees, face to the floor, until his master had left.
He did not have long to ponder his visitor. His father entered his cell seconds later.
"Don't think that you will get off easy today. The Dark Lord believes you still need some 'motivation'"
Draco tried to brace himself for what was coming. There was no way he could have predicted the direction his father went in now. He did not bother with his wand this time. Draco thought nothing could be worse than the Cruciatus Curse, but he was wrong.
The crack of each finger being broken resounded in the small chamber. They were not healed by magic. Each joint was twisted and bent in directions the human body does not allow them to go. By the time Lucius finished distorting and mangling his son's hands, a slight smile of pleasure was ghosting his lips.
Tears were streaming down Draco's face. He waited for magic to course through his body to fix his hands. He stared down at them; his warped fingers were black and blue, swollen to twice their normal size.
His father laughed at Draco's obvious confusion
"Those fingers will heal in their own time. You need a lasting reminder of your failure."
A lasting reminder it would be. Every time Draco used his wand, he would see his mangled hands.
His hands were left in their broken state until the next day, when a woman entered his cell. She was one of the few female death eaters in Voldemort's inner circle. Most death eaters had wives who knew of their husband's activities, but few participated directly.
She was beautiful with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was special. She was an executioner. If a death eater needed to die in a painful manner, she was the one who took care of it. Seeing her in his cell put Draco into a panic, for why else would she be here except to kill him.
She noticed his fear and said, "I'm not here to kill you. I have other talents as well." She proceeded to twist his fingers so his joints were lined up correctly. His fingers would heal on their own, but they would never be the same.
After his fingers were in place, she left, and Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His father entered next and threw clean clothes at him before exiting.
Draco stared at the long black robe and mask he held in his hands. He would be getting the Dark Mark tonight.