A/N: Wow, this turned out to be a lot, lot, lot darker than what I usually write…

Title: eight nights

Summary: It takes eight nights in a dungeon to loosen his tongue

WC: 1,759

Genres: Horror

Characters: Rabastan L., Rodolphus L., Bellatrix L., OC

WARNING: THIS IS RATED M FOR TORTURE AND VIOLENCE!

one.

The first night, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

They've dragged him out of his house. The sun was melting into the horizon and his wife was busy cooking dinner, while he tended to his roses outside. And suddenly, he heard the wards shatter, like the most delicate crystal grass, fracturing into fragments. Next thing he knew, he was frozen still and he felt himself disapparate to a dark, dark room.

And there is nothing. No light, no air, no food, no one. His hands are tied, firmly, behind his back.

He knows who they are, of course. He knows why they've taken him. But no one comes to see him (or worse). And he doesn't truly know if it's a blessing or not.

two.

He doesn't sleep of the night. When the sun rises (he can tell from the slimmer of light creeping under the door), he forces his eyes open, and keeps them that way till the sun falls down again.

There still hasn't been anyone all day, and he is slightly hungry. He's tried to see if he could leave, but apart from the door, fast shut, there is no way of escape. He doesn't have his wand. The walls are thick, or he is underground. No windows. He is truly stuck.

At one point, he felt as though the walls were collapsing on him, crushing the air out of his lungs. But that passed. He didn't let it get to him.

When the night rises, someone comes into the room. Rabastan Lestrange, he acknowledges. He knows him, and he's made no effort to hide himself. The Mark shines like a star in the sea of dark from his prison. It strikes him as ironic.

"I suppose you know why you're here," Rabastan growls.

He doesn't say anything, and only looks the Death Eater straight in the eye. It's a challenge. And it's always stupid to look and angry dog in the eye, but still.

"And you know we'll be… asking you a few questions," he continues, and a cruel gleam lights up in his eyes.

Still, he says nothing, doesn't break his gaze.

"Where is he, then?" he asks. They both know exactly which 'he' he is talking about, but not a word escapes his lips. If they imprison him, he can also keep his words locked inside.

On the contrary. He spits at him. He aims well, and it lands on Rabastan's foot.

The man sees red, apparently, and he feels a little gleam of victory, which is quickly cut out when Rabstan kicks him in the gut, then the head, and he is completely knocked out.

three.

He only wakes up when the sun has crept through the gap under the door again. Hunger claw at his stomach, but thirst is tearing his throat apart. He tries to look under the gap of the door, but he can't see a thing.

Besides, the night comes stalking in again. Rabastan comes back, but this time, he decides to use his wand.

"Where is he?" he asks. But he doesn't say anything. Stinging hex. It's light for the moment, but he knows that stinging hex after stinging hex after stinging hex is painful. When he tries to cry out, nothing comes out.

"Who is in the Order?" he growls again. Nothing. Stinging hex.

"Where do you meet?" he barks. Nothing. Another stinging hex.

And that's how it goes. His mouth doesn't budge, except for those dry silent cries that grow and grow in his chest as the number of stinging hexes continues to grow. It feels like his entire skin is on fire, red, and rash. And yet some lucid part of mind knows that torture by stinging hex is only the first step.

He passes out again.

four.

The next night, he brings someone else with him.

Two pounding figures march into the room, and one steel boot kicks him to the ground. He grunts, but not one noise more will pass his lips. They're trying to break him, he knows, but he refuses to speak.

"Sit up, dog," Rodolphus Lestrange tells him. He's recognised him, despite the fact that his eyes can't seem to be able to focus and his head is three feet deep under water. The brothers, together. It barely surprises him.

He sits up, struggling

"Drink," he tells him, throwing him back down to somewhere in the dark, where someone has put down a bowl of water. There's a clang of water when he hits the bowl, after groping for it in the dark.

He's so thirsty, he gives up on his dignity. He knows small things like that will have to go, one by one. He's got enough lucidity to know that. So, on his knees, he laps at the water he can't pick up, and listens to them laugh, as they call him a dog.

Then, it starts again. Twice as many stings, from all sides. It's a daze of passing out, for half a second, then struggling back to reality for a moment, only to be hit again. At one point, it almost seems like they aren't even asking questions any more, that they just enjoy the pain. It's not even 'seems like'. It's 'is'.

five.

He's not even sure what happened the fifth night. Well, he thinks it's the fifth night, but he can't be sure. He only remembers more water, a little bit of hard bread he had trouble eating before a new method. They had had enough with the hexes. Soon it had been the ropes, squeezing, squeezing till there was no air in his lungs to scream.

The only trouble with that is that he passes out a lot quicker.

Maybe he also remembers incoherent mumbles, but he's not entirely sure.

six.

On the sixth day, he breaks, entirely and completely. The words come pouring out of his mouth as they try to rip his arms out of their sockets.

Tumble, tumble, tumble. Out. Out. Out.

Not one of them is true, but he tells them anything that goes through his mind.

"Where is he?" they growl.

"Alaska! Ilvermorny! The Forbidden Forest! The Department of Mysteries! South Africa!"

"Who is in the Order?"

"Me! Dumbledore! James Potter! Morgana! Dorcas! Umbridge! Dora!"

"Where do you meet?"

"Hogwarts! Ben Nevis! Fortescue's Ice Cream! Buckingham Palace!"

They know most of it is absolute babble, but they figure he must be saying at least one that's true. So, they leave him a little, just a little. Clearly, they're not the brightest of the bunch. But it's strange how much they shine in the dark of his dungeon.

six.

The next night, however, he knows he's done for.

This time, they're three. And the third person is no other than Bellatrix Lestrange herself.

"Honestly," he can hear her say as they descend the steps to see him (the descent is easy, the descent is easy, the descent is easy), "Everyone has a right to be stupid, but you're abusing the privilege."

She's probably speaking to one of those two idiots.

The door croaks open. She comes in first, hair a frazzle around her. She's got the glimmer in her eye, that shines so, so bright, the glimmer of madness. A madness he feels creeping into himself to.

"You," he spits at her.

"Me?" she says in that little girl tone that she is so famous for.

He steels himself. The two men flock both of her sides. It's the most terrifying thing he's ever seen. But he doesn't say anything. Not yet at least.

"So, I heard you were telling some itty-bitty lies yesterday, weren't you?" she teases.

"Believe what you want," he replies. He's past being silent.

She shrieks out, laughing, as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. It's a strange sight. The crazy woman cracking up between to silent, dumb impassive men. They are so much more imposing than her, but every one in the room knows to who the power truly belongs.

"Oh, you are hilarious," she tells him.

She pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. It's very strange, to see this woman act. She's imitating someone, something. But she's also not. Her delirium is fascinating.

"But, I'm about to change your life," she tells him, as if into the crook of his ear, as if telling him a secret.

She takes out her wand, it's an ugly thing. And then she murmurs a spell, under her breath, so that he can't hear it, and a blue flame appears in front of her. The light from it blinds him, for this is was brightness truly is. He can feel the warmth from where he is.

"What a pretty fire," she says, contemplating it, like a little girl.

And then, she does exactly what he expected her to do. But no matter how prepared he thinks he was, the shock from it still makes him scream. His skin is red, aching, crying, weeping, blood bubbling up to the surface and pouring down. Or at least that what it feels like.

He screams.

She giggles.

"Shall we do it again, then?" she offers and she presses the fire against his skin again, on his already raw skin. "Maybe you'll tell the truth this time, hmm?"

She's terribly meticulous, and no centimetre from his body is forgotten.

"A little honesty never hurt anyone, did it now?" she presses.

The pain is absolutely blinding. He doesn't even know what he says. His determination, his resolution, his bravery flew out of the window as the warmth, the heat, the inferno grew. At least they're free, not like him. Maybe he's revealed things, maybe not. He hopes he hasn't. But hope doesn't have much space left. It oozes out of his body under the burns.

seven.

He doesn't even know what happens the seventh night.

eight.

The eighth night, she comes alone this time. He doesn't move, he doesn't make any effort. He teeters between life and death.

"We had fun, didn't we?"

No reply.

"Crucio!" she barks.

And that's when he starts to worry, besides the pain. They've kept his mind intact, so that they can still get the truth, the honesty out of him. But now that she's after his mind...

"Crucio!" she cries again.

He doesn't even have the strength to even think about a simple protego. He just lets his mind shatter and the pain come, and co-ome, an ee ee hee hee.

A/N: Written for a bunch of things at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments)!