First up, thank you all for reviewing! It really spurs me on to write faster! Love you all
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling (I wish I could write like that)
Draco could feel the thick texture of his lifeblood as it bubbled in his throat. It burnt his throat, and every breath caused him pain. He cracked his swollen eyes open and tried to recall the last thing that had happened before he blacked out. He choked back a sob of shame as he remembered how quickly they had overcome him. The fact that they had severely outnumbered him was irrelevant. He should not have slipped up. He should not have let his guard down.
They had begun with torture.
Draco looked around at the circle surrounding him and regarded them with wary eyes and a tense frame. He was wound so tightly, ready to lash out at any time that it seemed like one touch and he would explode. How had they arrived so fast and so silently? He shook his head and continued watching them. They were circling him with mocking expressions, practically salivating at the sight of the fear in his eyes.
It was Voldemort who finally broke the tense silence.
"You thought you could run from us? From Lord Voldemort and his loyal followers? You used to be one of us Draco, you of all people should have known how useless it was to hide from us. You know how efficient I am at tracking down those who disobey me. Running was foolhardy, Draco. And now, because of your thoughtless actions, you shall be punished. We regret ever having welcomed you into our folds." Voldemort sneered. Draco did a double take. That was relatively more lenient than other speeches he had given his victims before he tortured them till they were begging for death. But Voldemort wasn't done. He was about to bring out the knife, stab Draco and twist it in his gut. With one sentence. "Your mother was just as stupid and uncaring, why, she looked just like you do now before she died." Voldemort siled in sadistic satisfaction as he watched Draco's emotions play out on his face. Shock, pain, anger. Then Draco snapped. That one smug sentence broke through his façade and all his angst and pain poured out from him.
He charged into battle mindless of the spells suddenly flying at him. He charged towards the one who had made his life a living hell. Who had destroyed his childhood and ripped his family apart.
The one who had killed his mother
Voldemort
Voldemort laughed as Draco charged towards him half-cocked, fuelled only by his bloodlust and thirst for revenge. He knew that the Malfoy heir was no match for him, especially in his current sleep-deprived state. He waited for the boy to come closer, lazily twirling his wand in his fingers, before sending a silent cruciatus toward the poor boy. Draco writhed on the ground, silently screaming under the unbearable agony. The torture lasted for almost an entire 5 minutes, with Draco exhausted, limp and broken by the end of it. But the youngest Malfoy was stronger than he looked. Swallowing back the pain his body responded with when he tried to move, Draco stumbled to his feet with a lot of effort. Voldemort raised an eyebrow at the mental and physical fibre of this boy. He was braver than Voldemort gave him credit for. But he was a Slytherin. Something must be driving him to desist from just giving up and snapping his wand in surrender. Voldemort had to find that reason and crush the boy's resolve.
Draco snapped Voldemort from his inner monologue by throwing a spell his way. Voldemort barely managed to dodge it, before they began to duel. Draco's strength was clearly flagging, but he persisted with the stupidity of tackling Voldemort.
He was on the ground again before he knew it. This time, he mercifully passed out after this round of torture.
Draco took in his surroundings. He surveyed his dank cell with sharp eyes, and tried to keep his movement minimal so as to minimize the pain in his limbs. He took deep breaths to keep his eyes open and spine straight. He was a Malfoy after all, and they did not show weakness. "Nor were they blood traitors," a voice in his head snippily said. He mentally shut it out. He refused to pass out in front of the guards. He refused to give them the pleasure of seeing him broken. They had battered him and broken him physically, but they could not take his mind. They could not break his spirit. He refused to lose this battle of life and death. He would hold on.
After all, weren't the good guys supposed to win in the end? But, he mused, he didn't exactly qualify as a good guy. Those were his last thoughts before he sank back into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.
When he awoke, he blinked at the sudden onslaught of light on his eyes and squinted to try and adjust. The Death Eaters seemed to have changed his holding cell again. He tried to sit up, and winced, anticipating pain, but to his extreme surprise, he received no such complaints from his body. He looked around in confusion and saw he had no guards either. How curious. Did somebody save him? Did the do-gooder Order conduct a raid and see him, and maybe they would have taken pity on him and rescued him? Probably not. The chances of that happening were so slim, the chance of him seeing Ronald Weasley kissing a spider was undeniably higher. Or seeing Harry Potter declare his love for one Lord Voldemort. He shuddered. That was certainly a disturbing thought he wished he hadn't come up with. His mind was twisted. Pushing the entire scenario out of his head, he once again focussed on his situation. He was mysteriously healed by a mysterious entity he wasn't entirely sure whose identity he wanted to know. Also, he was on the said person(s)' basement floor. This was looking more and more like a cliché kidnap scene in the bad horror film of Draco Malfoy's life. From one prison to another.
Wonderful.
He decided to doze, since he was at the complete mercy of whoever had brought him here. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall and tried to drift off, but sleep was elusive. Then he realised why when his stomach rumbled. He mentally steeled himself. He had gone weeks without food while he was on the run. He hadn't lived in a five-star hotel the entirety of the two years, with breakfast, lunch and dinner buffets. His stomach gurgled loudly at the thought of all that food. He scrunched his eyes shut and moved his head to a more comfortable spot on the wall. He relaxed against the wall, as comfortable as he could be curled up on cold stone (he wasn't complaining, the stone felt like heaven compared the boughs in trees where he used to spend his nights. At least there were no insects crawling on his body. He had thought he had seen a rat earlier when he had woken up, but that was okay). His internal musing had just ceased when the door opened. He willed himself not to tense up and pretended to be asleep. He was not an arrow bowstring for god's sake, with every movement becoming as taut as one. He heard voices and his heightened olfactory senses strained to pick up every word. The voices were definitely female. When he detected the voice, he froze. Thankfully, the people didn't notice.
He knew that voice.
He had taunted and teased the owner of voice. He had had scathing retorts spat at him in that voice.
He really was in hell now.
It was Granger.
His safety, or at least some of it, seemed to reside in Granger's hands.
He was screwed.
A/n
I'm so sorry for the late update (no regrets about two cliffys in row)! I had exams and a bunch of shit and life. I shall try for more regular updates, my lovelies 3
R&R Help this poor person out :))
