Harry managed to stand on his good leg, to try to lessen the excruciating pain in his arm. His other leg was useless. Malfoy had his back to him and he was pretty sure Bellatrix had left the room. All the same, he tried to stop the tears. Neither did he want anyone to hear his sobs. But he couldn't dry away any tears that fell, his hands were tied above his head, and the pain was far too much too bear.
I killed Sirius. It's my fault he's dead. I killed him.
It felt like he hung their for hours, his one good leg was shaking and none of him would be able to bear his own weight soon. More likely in only ten minutes, he heard footsteps behind him. He refused to look round, to do so would suggest fear. He clenched his teeth together, swearing he would try not to make a sound despite the impending attack.
"Potter," Her voice sang, "Potter, look at what I've brought you! Isn't it wonderful?" He turned his head, only able to see her by craning his neck. Bellatrix was standing there, her eyes alight with mad deleriousity, and in her hand was... crap.
A small black handle was attached to a long leather cord with a shiny metal tip on the end. She laughed, "Oh this won't do much internal damage. That's the beauty of it. Skin deep only, the Dark Lord won't be deprived of a final duel, and I'm not deprived of your pain." With that she drew her arm back and then lashed it forwards, the whip hit Harry's skin with a sickening CRACK, and he gasped in pain, it stung like a thousand wasp stings,
CRACK
gasp
CRACK
gasp
CRACK
whimper
CRACK
moan
CRACK
aaah
CRACK CRACK
no
CRACK CRACK
please
CRACK
please, stop!
CRACK CRACK CRACK
AAAH
… and it went on
"Throw him back where he belongs, Draco."
Harry felt himself fall to the floor. Then he was floating, moving, it was getting cooler darker but that might just be him, and then he was dropped on a different cold, hard floor. Cold eyes looked at him. They looked sorrowful. Cold eyes looked at him.
"Father, will I be travelling by floo powder tomorrow?"
"No."
"I have to take the train?"
"You wont be going anywhere."
Incomprehension flickered across the younger Malfoy's face. Schoolwork, for some reason or other, had always mattered to his father, nothing less than the best grades would please him. Why such an abrupt turn? He didn't trust the question, but couldn't help but ask "Why?"
"Because of our special guest. You aren't leaving, and the Dark Lord may arrive at our very house any day, at any point. You are a Malfoy and Potter is captured in the Malfoy Manor. You will study here."
Some part of Malfoy was relieved – he hated the school now it was run by the Carrow's, they seemed to despise fun unless it was from them torturing some-one. Malfoy was a bully and he felt no guilt at that; but torture was different. Torture was cold and hard and merciless, and the victim was just that – a victim. Unfortunate, helpless and pitiful. An idiot who earned himself a good punch or well chosen hex for insulting his family came away knowing not to insult the Malfoy family. A victim of torture came away knowing the world was a cruel and dark place, and what hate really was.
Some part of Malfoy groaned in annoyance – he had grown to hate this place, and everyone else in it also saw the day wasted if someone, usually a witless muggle, wasn't victim of obscenities. Even the house elves were foul.
What was obvious, though, was that no-one trusted him enough to present him with a narrow opportunity to alert anyone of Potter's whereabouts. His reluctance to kill was a giant flaw in the other Death Eaters eyes, unsurprisingly, and he was almost impressed he hadn't been killed already. Probably to do with him being the last Malfoy heir and his pure blood – he could produce children with noble blood if he impregnated the right girl. He and Pansy Parkinson had their marriage arranged and planned from before they were born.
It was lunch the next day when his father told him to bring Potter out again. He walked down the cold stone steps to the dungeons he knew to well to fetch the boy. He wasn't in a good state – blood everywhere, one arm looked oddly out of place and he was staring with that haunted stare prisoners get if they survive the first few rounds of torturing. His eyes snapped to Draco, and were filled with loathing, disgust but most prominantley fear.
Draco kept his mask of cool indifference and bound him in magickal rope again, before unlocking the door to levitate him out. Back up the stone steps and into the main Drawing room, through more corridors and into the another room. "Where do you want him?"
"On the floor, there." Draco dropped Harry onto the the floor with a dull, thud, then turned to leave. But, like yesterday with Bellatrix, his father commanded him to stay "My studies?" Draco inquired.
"I am teaching you today. These spells will be more useful than what the Carrow's can teach. Remove the bonds"
Draco did as he was told and then walked back and sat on a long sofa, watching. "Do you require my wand?"
Despite his blank tone, Lucius felt a flash of jealous, bitter anger and glared at his son. "Yes." He snatched the wand from his sons offering hand then turned back to Harry and removed the binding rope. "Escindio" He snarled, and Harry mad a gagging noise, his face contorted with pain and all muscles tensed, but he didn't move an inch, as if something was pressing a huge weight upon him. His skin turned red, then an odd yellowish colour and then purpley-blue. Lucius didn't lift the curse until he heard a crack as one of Harry's ribs snapped from the pressure.
He began coughing and spluttering, and then turned onto all fours as blood gushed from his mouth. "Father, we're supposed to keep him alive!" Draco cried out, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice and standing up.
"I know that you insolent child!" Lucius snapped, as he slapped Draco across the face. It made a resounding crack across the room and left an red impression of his hand where it had hit.
Draco didn't look up until he had taken a few steadying breaths. His tone was quieter this time "I apologise, father. Forgive me." There was no reply, so Draco moved to sit down again.
"Don't you know any healing spells, Draco?" His voice was harsh, abrasive.
"No, father."
Lucius cursed, and then commanded his son to carry the Potter boy back to the dungeon and have a house elf see if she could fix him.
"And Draco"
"Yes Father?"
"Get back to your studies and learn some bloody healing spells. You can practice them on your wrists."
Draco reddened, ashamed. Of course nothing would get past him. Nothing ever did. "Yes, Father." He whispered.
*So, what do you think so far? Big thanks to those who've already commented so far, I'll try to update asap (again today if I can :) )*