Malfoy's grin would not have been out of place on Bellatrix Lestrange. "Excellent, excellent." He glares at us. "Can't have you finding your way back to Potter, can I? Stupefy, stupefy!"
Both Longbottom and Bones sink to the ground, unconscious, having had no chance of blocking the stunners.
"Was that really necessary, Draco?" I ask, kicking at Longbottom's leg.
The boy sneers at me. "I don't want to deal with either of them, alive or dead. The Longbottom I remember was only a marginally good fighter, and Bones is a weakling. Neither of them ever was much of a match for me, but now they are at my mercy… Oh this will be sweet…"
Still muttering to himself, Malfoy floats the unconscious prisoners past me and into the main part of the old Headquarters.
That boy is crazier than his dead aunt.
I shake my head in resignation, following Malfoy deeper and deeper into the mountain's heart.
It's being stuck here, in the tunnels, for the better part of a year. At least Lucius and the rest got out into the open air, as they always had to before going to the Death Eaters meetings – not as though that was much of respite – but Draco is as useless a follower as the Dark Tosser could get.
I sigh wearily, ruffling what hair I've still got on my head with one hand.
The lad's not even all that powerful. True, neither is Schwarzkopf, but Draco isn't as sneaky, and has way too much of his father's arrogance. His mother would've been a good influence on him, but no, she's too afraid of Malfoy Senior.
In the name of the Dagda, I really hate that man.
Malfoy – the sire – is an awful leader, a worse husband, and a terribly cruel bastard who delights in torture as much as his late sister-in-law did. Malfoy – the progeny – is an arrogant son-of-a-gun with no knowledge of honor, duty, or loyalty, and is just as nutty as his aunt when he wants to be.
I run smack into a wall, so lost am I in my thoughts.
"Getting clumsy in your old age, O'Malley?" Malfoy's voice taunts me.
"No, no," I rub my nose in an attempt to restore feeling to it after its encounter with the wall. "I'm fine, Draco. Just… a little distracted."
I'm betting there's a special place in Dante's inferno, in hell, for little rats like you, Draco Malfoy. Or maybe to call you a lizard is a more appropriate term…
Later…
"Hey, O'Malley, when was the last time the dogs were fed?"
We stand beside a pit, ten meters deep and twice as broad in diameter. Within the pit are twelve dogs of war, bred from Bullmastiffs, American Pit Bull Terriers and Tosa Inus imported from Japan. Huge beasts, they are half-mad with pain and hunger when awake, but at the moment they sleep peacefully, in a literal dog pile.
"I don't know, Draco, but it was at least a week ago."
"Immobulus," Malfoy whispers, ensuring that the dogs will not rise before he is ready.
Ensuring that he hears every last succulent scream – well, it's succulent to him. I'm going to need a bucket to throw up in.
"Ennervate, Ennervate. Ah, Bones, Longbottom, ready to rejoin the land of the living? Don't worry, it won't be for long."
Longbottom shakes his head from side to side, awakening fairly quickly for someone who had been under a stunner for so long. Looking up, his eyes meet Malfoy's, and he growls, rather in the manner of a bear.
Bones pulls herself into consciousness, groaning when she tries to move her wrists around. Malfoy had not been gentle, but he seems to have a thing for hurting women before he tortures them into submission or kills them.
His father's the same way. Why did I hope for him to be any different?
