One Year Later

Draco

I know exactly how many days I've been in the doldrums of the cellar. I've been carefully counting, scraping lines into the crumbling stone. My judgement could be off since I can only guess. It's close enough I suppose. At least they feed me, which is more than can be said for some of the other occupants.

I can't see them, but I can hear their insipid whining, begging, and pleading. There are days when I want to shout at them, but I don't. There's no point in it. I used to, in the beginning, but they hated me as much as they hate their gailers.

They didn't know any better. They didn't know I had been cursed to this life as well. They didn't know much of anything, as far as I was concerned, but it didn't stop them. They berated me nearly as much as I berated myself. The cacophony of their angry, muddled shouts only caused my head to ache.

I could have shouted back. I could have defended myself, or some such nonsense, but I didn't. I remained silent and retreated into myself. I didn't like what I saw, and it was my fault.

I've had quite a lot of time to think. In the beginning, I was so ridiculously angry, I was blinded. Sometimes, when I reflect upon my misguided childhood, I shudder at my actions. Of course, there's nothing I can do about it now. Now, I simply sit in wait for the day to arrive that will be my last.

Three Years Later

Time passed as slowly as you'd think it would, but I couldn't allow myself to lose track. It was the only grip on sanity I had managed to retain. It had been over a thousand days since the last time I heard someone else's voice.

Somewhere along the way, it seemed the other prisoners had been released, or perhaps they'd even died. There was no way for me to know. My gailers didn't speak to me any longer.

Don't get me wrong. There was an occasional grunt or an inconsequential slip of information, but I couldn't do anything with it. I didn't recognise any of the voices and believe you me, I really fucking tried.

The only inkling I ever had to their arrival was the clang of a tray onto the damp stone. The moment it bounced on the stone, I scraped another line into the wall nearest what passed for a bed. I never tried to decipher what I was fed. It was better that way.

I remembered when they used to speak to me, almost fondly. They'd snicker, and cast their hateful words. Sometimes they'd attempt to enter my cell and abuse me a bit. Their efforts were for nought, but even so, it was harrowing. I definitely don't miss that in the least.

There were loads of things I did miss, but it hurt to think about them. It took a valiant effort to avoid thinking of my mother. I missed her desperately, but to show weakness was failure, and I had failed plenty.

It had been three hundred and eighty-seven days since the last time they brought in another prisoner. I shuddered, grateful but also conflicted. I didn't enjoy being alone, but I didn't enjoy the company either.

I didn't want anyone else to suffer what I had suffered. There wasn't much I could do for the men, but I did my best for the women. Some I managed to protect, by drawing the Death Eater's attentions to me rather than the women, but most of them…I could do nothing other than plug my ears, and pray to Merlin the Death Eaters tired quickly.

There was one witch I helped escape. I paid for that dearly. There are some nights when the memories of my abuses consume me. I'd wake vomiting, covered in my own sick. I'd shake and yes, I'd even weep, as much as someone in my situation was capable.

I think about her sometimes. I hope she found her way back to the Order. Of all the ways I had imagined my life going, I'd never thought I'd be relying upon Harry Potter to save me. It wasn't just me though, supposedly, he was The Chosen One, and the Wizarding World needed him to do his job.

It felt strange to embrace a complete about face, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was necessary. It was survival. I didn't have high hopes I'd ever see the light of day again, but that minuscule sliver of hope kept me alive. However, I have to admit, there were times I couldn't remember the point of even drawing breath.

I really was a hateful little bastard, wasn't I? I mean, I blindly followed my family's doctrines, and what did that get me? What did it get them? I don't know. I don't know if my parents are alive or dead. I don't know if I'll see another day. I don't know if the War is still raging, but I do know that Dark Dick is still alive.

Five Years Later

Did you know I don't even really understand the reason my father hates…or is it hated…the Weasleys? I didn't know much about them, other than they were poor. I suppose I also knew they were Pureblood, but they didn't embrace the traditions my father held dear. They had a load of children and lived in a strange looking sort of house.

The twins were hilarious, but I wasn't allowed to voice such opinions. They hated us as well. Perhaps one day, if any of them have survived, if I have survived, I'll seek them out and ask. Maybe not the Weasel though, he irritates me.

I didn't like the way everyone fawned over Harry Potter, but now that I think about it, I'm sure he didn't much like it either. It must have been really difficult to be dropped into a world you didn't even know existed, and then expected to save everyone. He also was a bit conceited, but then again, so was I in those days. I hope he's grown up.

Hermione Granger, Muggle-born witch, well what was there to say about her? My distaste for her had little to do with her blood, contrary to everyone's opinion. It had more to do with the fact she was better than me.

I had lived my entire life in a magical world with magical parents, and then she came along and destroyed my self-image. My mother was the sort of witch to tell me I was the best, and I was, before Hermione Granger. I'd never been second to anyone, and I hated it. It didn't help that she was a girl, and a pretty girl as well.

"It was a tough loss. I can't believe their lot has retaken Hogwarts. I thought we were pretty solid bu…" It was a gruff, nearly gravelly sort of voice, and I imagined a portly wizard with rosy cheeks.

"Shut it. The Dark Lord says we're not to speak in the Malfoy's vicinity." That voice was bone-chillingly cold, the sort that made me swallow hard.

"What's vicinity mean?" Gregory Goyle! I wasn't too far off.

Of course, it was Greg. I hadn't heard a voice, an actual voice in so long I'd almost forgotten humanity existed, and my ears were raped with the sound of fucking Gregory Goyle. I barely managed to smother a raspy snicker. I didn't need another beating to remind me of my place. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I passed most of my time sleeping.

They ignored me. I didn't happen to know who Goyle's companion happened to be, but it didn't matter. It never mattered. I listened to the clang of the tray on the floor and dutifully made another line in my wall.

Sometimes, my thoughts strayed to my mother. I had forgotten the sound of her voice. I had forgotten the safety of her arms. I had forgotten more than I remembered, and it made me sink into the depths of melancholy.

"She's pretty." I didn't like the sound of longing in Greg's voice. It made me uneasy.

"We can't touch her." It sounded as though the other bloke shoved Greg a bit, and that was fine with me.

"I didn't touch her, I only said she was pretty." Greg sighed, and I held my breath, listening to what I could not see.

From the sounds of it, there were three of them, though the third was silent. I suspected the silence was from their prisoner. It had been, well, I can't remember, but hundreds upon hundreds of days since the last prisoner made their last sound.

From the whispered conversation, I could easily assume their newest acquisition was a woman. It was dangerous to be a woman during times of war. It was even more dangerous if you were a woman and a member of the Order.

There were times in the beginning days of my imprisonment that the Death Eaters captured Muggles for sport. It was their version of entertainment. Being locked in a cell kept me from intervening much. I'd shout a bit, but that only earned me things I'd rather not think about.

"Where are we supposed to put her? The other cells have been sealed." I'd gleaned the most information from Greg. He wasn't the brightest, and he didn't hate me nearly as much as the others, which helped.

"Put her in with him I suppose." I really couldn't place the man, and it was irritating me more than it should.

"Think we could have a go first?" Vaguely, I wondered if the other bloke rolled his eyes at Greg's question. It's something I would have done.

"You know the rules, Goyle. He's got to ask the question for us." The cold, snarling sort of voice dropped off at the end, and I heard the clang of my cell opening.

The rules were ridiculous. If I wanted to eat. If I wanted to drink. If I wanted to escape their sadistic abuses. I had to ask the question, at least where the female captives were concerned. It was only one question, but due to my special circumstances, it was easier for me to suss out a liar than all of them combined.

I heard a light grunt and knew her knees had slapped onto the stone. I didn't move from my perch at the edge of my poor excuse for a bed. I was waiting for direction. I listened to her struggle to stand, and offered a hand. It was the least I could do.

She grasped it, and I noted her hands were slightly roughened. Sadly, she was probably a member of the Order. I would do my best, but I didn't imagine she would last long in these conditions.

"Go on then." The gruff order came from the raspy voice, and I sighed.

I pulled her, but only slightly, and she tripped. It was expected, considering it was dark as pitch in the doldrums of the cellars. It always was, but I was used to it. The muted light from Goyle's lamp was too far to aid much, but I manoeuvred her into the corner anyway.

She whimpered the moment the cool stone touched her back, and I didn't blame her. I kept hold of her hand, squeezed it gently, and leaned down. She was a small witch, and if Goyle thought she was pretty, the poor girl was probably gorgeous.

"Are you a virgin?" My ragged whisper was hidden beneath Goyle's laboured breathing, and she flinched.

"N-no." She was hesitant, and also a liar. It was a gift I suppose, but it didn't serve me well.

"Liar. You've got to lie better than that if you expect me to protect you." She wrenched her hand from mine, and I realised I had been stroking the soft flesh with my thumb.

It was an accident. It hadn't been my intention. It had been a thousand days if it had been one since I'd touched the flesh of a woman. It wasn't carnal in nature, it was comfort.

"Speak up! We've got to be able to hear the reply, you wanker!" I sighed, despising my predicament, as much as I hated that bastard's voice, and stroked her cheek.

"Have you ever been with a man?" I lowered my voice, my lips grazing her ear, "Pretend I've asked the other question and tell the truth."

"Yess." She hissed, and I could hear the collective groan on the other side of the metal bars.

My gailers retreated, and I sagged in relief. She was safe, for the moment, and I couldn't ask for more than that. She shouldn't expect more than that. A life lived in the dungeons was best lived one moment at a time.

"They're gone for now. You'd better rest while you can." I gestured toward my cot, and she shied away from it. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not them. I'm a prisoner, just as you."

"You're nothing like me." She was fiery, I had to give her that. It seemed she knew who I was, which wasn't going to aid me in the friends department, but it's not like I was unknown. She'd had to be living under a rock if she didn't know me on sight.

"You can hate me if you like. Gods knows I've spent years doing it, but it would be stupid to turn down the last bit of kindness you'll receive down here. I'll not likely offer again." I probably would offer, but she didn't need to know that.

"She said you'd say that." I didn't know whom she was talking about, but my curiosity was piqued. "Look, I'm a mess, and everything is…strangely clean, I can't…"

"In the far corner. It's a magical loo. My father had scoffed at the idea, but my mother had insisted. Perhaps she knew one day her son would be living in the bowels of her husband's ancestral home. I don't know. I don't care. It will provide you everything you require."

I listened to the sounds of her bare feet as they scraped along the stone, and sighed. She was going to be difficult. I could tell. The other witch had been quiet, complacent even. It was easier to feel protective toward her, and while I never knew her name, I still hoped she made it to safety. I had risked my life to ensure her freedom, and I would do it all again. I would rescue this one too, even if it killed me. It was the only thing I was good for anymore.

"I-I think this is your shirt. There didn't seem to be anything else…" She was hesitant but kept her distance from me, which was probably for the best.

"It's fine." While she had been bathing, I'd managed to gather a few threadbare blankets and a flat pillow. I made my space beside the cot, and absolutely refused to shudder as the cold seeped through my tatty slacks.

"Y-you can't stay there. You'll catch your death." My barking laughter must have confused her, but I managed an insolent shrug.

"As if such things matter in this place? Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I've survived worse. Go on then, into bed with you." I turned from her then, not that she could see me, but it made me feel better.

She didn't argue with me, and I was thankful. It had been so long since I'd actually conversed with another human being, I found it incredibly draining. I rested my head against the hard stone and despite the chill, quickly fell asleep.

The days all blurred together, and I didn't mind it. While we didn't exactly converse, it was comforting to know I wasn't completely alone. We didn't touch, we never touched, at least on purpose, and I didn't mind that either.

I couldn't help but to recall my previous companion. She was exceedingly kind and when she revealed her House was Hufflepuff, I wasn't the least bit surprised. She cared for me far more than she aught too, and I allowed it. I didn't dissuade her because I was so fucking lonely, and so fucking miserable.

This one was different. She thanked me when appropriate like when I shared the tray of dismal food, they brought daily. She stole my bedrolls every other day, forcing me to lie upon the cot. Some mornings, at least I assume it was mornings, I would wake to discover her hand tucked into mine.

I didn't know if it was for her comfort, or for mine, but it wasn't horrid. I didn't know how to react to touch any longer. Frankly, it scared me, more than a little, and I'd been through some horrific things.

She had a small hand, and it was lost in mine. It always felt as though she simply slipped her fingers between the curves of mine, and perhaps she did. There was never a bit of pressure, and I never tore my hand away. I'd pretend I had never woken, and gone back to a fitful slumber.

"Greyback requests your presence." I hated that snarling raspy voice. I wanted to know whom it belonged to as much as I didn't. "It's either you or the bint."

I sighed and stretched my arms over my head. It was completely unnecessary to inform me as to my options. They never changed. Before this witch, it had been the other, before the other, it had been random Muggles, and witches, whose names I'd never bothered to learn. Regardless, it was all the same in the end. I would go. I would go and suffer through my punishments with clenched teeth, wishing death would grace me with his presence.

"I'll go." Her voice was soft and silky smooth. Strangely, it reminded me of honey, and my thoughts nearly strayed toward the shape of them, the feel of them, but I didn't have the luxury of such notions.

The stupid witch actually offered. She had no idea what she was saying. She was forfeiting the protections afforded her by remaining with me. She was negating the answer to the question I was forced to ask. I couldn't allow that.

"She won't. I'll go." I struggled to stand as my limbs had seized from the aching cold of the stone. She grasped my wrist, and I hissed from the sensation, causing her to withdraw.

"You don't have to do this." It was the longest sentence she had spoken to me in forty-seven days, but she was still wrong.

"There's a small collection of Healing Potions on the bottom shelf near the sink basin. There are also clean cloths and fresh towels. I'll require them when I return. If you could just…place them at the foot of the bed, I'd appreciate it." I didn't bother to explain why she couldn't bend to the request. She'd learn soon enough upon my return.

I silently counted the steps to the rusted metal bars and exhaled a shaky breath. I hoped she had remained on her bedroll. I didn't want her to witness the tremble in my legs, the twitch of my fingers.

I listened to the clang of the metal bars and knew she was going to do something stupid. I heard her feet slap against the floor before my gailer did, and I snatched her around the waist before she crossed the threshold. I held her tightly against me, noticing her hair was shorn for the first time.

"Don't do anything stupid. You have no idea the protection this cell provides. Never, ever pass the threshold. It will break the enchantments, and you'll be a slave to their sadistic desires. You don't want to willingly offer your virtue to those who will not appreciate it. Stay." I shoved her toward the cot, and three steps later, I was standing before the heavy breathing tubby wizard.

I didn't understand why she was crying, but I didn't have time to reflect upon it. My gailer slapped his meaty hand upon my back and shoved me down the narrow corridor. I counted the steps, swallowing hard in the knowledge, I was merely a few yards from the front door of Malfoy Manor.

"I see he's still alive then. Pity." Greyback, oh how I hated him. I was absolutely positive the feeling was mutual, but it had never stopped him from utilising my body as he saw fit.

I didn't fight back. I used too, but those days were long gone. I had never escaped unscathed. In fact, fighting them had only made it worse in the end. Death Eaters weren't known for their gentleness after all.

"Your father is dead. Did you know that?" I could feel Greyback circling me, studying me, and I remained silent. "I suspect your mother will be next." He shoved me, and the wind was knocked from me.

It was the unforgiving stone table. It had become the bane of my existence, and I was hard-pressed not to gag. My palms slapped the stone, and I bowed my head. I knew what was coming, and there wasn't fuck all I could do about it. I hated my life and wished, begged even, for it to be over, but there was never an answer.

My clothes were stripped off me, and my legs kicked apart. Then I was beaten. They always enjoyed that bit. They preferred Muggle means, and from my best guess, utilised some sort of leather strop. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out, tasting the copper of my own blood as my mouth filled.

They enjoyed humiliating me. Once upon a time, I had been part of the Inner Circle. Once upon a time, I had been trusted with some of the Dark Bastard's darkest secrets. Once upon a time, the Malfoy name had meant something, but now, I was nothing more than a Death Eater plaything. I won't go into detail, but I'm sure you can guess what happened.

"Enoughhh." The wispy, hissing voice of the Dark Bastard stopped Greyback mid-assault.

That had never happened before. The Dark Bastard wasn't fond of the Death Eaters punishments, but he had also never interrupted one. He'd allowed them to do what they would, while he pretended he was whole.

Harry Potter might not have murdered Voldemort, but he had certainly destroyed him. The bloke, if you could call him that, was barely corporeal, but he was still terrifying. I suspected I was kept hidden due to the knowledge I bore.

I wondered if The Order knew the truth of it. I wondered if they truly believed Harry Potter had vanquished The Big Bad. I wondered if they were curious as to why the Death Eaters continued with their murderous intentions. I wondered many things quite honestly, but the answers were few and far between.

It was strange, having Death Eaters quickly repairing my poor excuse for clothing. It was doubly strange to hear their murmured apologies. I doubt they meant it, as fear will cause a person to do nearly anything. Hell, I was an absolute testament to that.

I would have sold my useless left bollock for a Time-Turner. I wouldn't have bothered trying to convince my younger-self prejudice was futile. No, I would have visited my father, on the cusp of the First War.

I would show him my battle scars. I would explain every mark upon my flesh in riveting, revolting detail. I would watch his face turn shades of green. I would explain to him, it was time to alter his choices before such errors destroyed not only his life but also that of his only son.

I wonder…if it would have changed anything, anything at all.