"Ah, young Draco! It's been ages since we last set eyes on you. I must say you're looking a whole lot better than the last time we saw you."

"Looking a whole lot whole too compared to the last time," added Bellatrix with a snicker.

"Ah-ah, Bella, don't be rude. He's your family after all."

Normally, Bellatrix looked about as different from her sister, Narcissa, as night from day. Yet when the dark haired witch stared down her nose at Draco with a pinched look on her face as if she had smelled a rat, Draco was reminded of the one member of his previous family he still cared about.

He looked around, as discretely as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of his mother. She was the only part of his former life he truly missed anymore. It mattered little to him that in all this time she had made no attempt to keep in touch. She was still his mother. Right up to the point he had joined the Death Eaters, Narcissa had done her best to shelter him. She had been his champion throughout the years and the only person who dared to try to intervene when the Dark Lord ordered his followers to turn his body into tenderised meat and throw him to the werewolves. But even if she had turned her back on him like everyone else that night, Draco could not willingly distance himself from her emotionally the way he had Lucius.

Like most young boys, growing up, Draco had idolised his father. He desired to become a powerful and influential wizard like Lucius one day. However, where he had felt a sense of duty towards Lucius, he had loved his mother. His mother who was always there to cheer him up with a boxful of his favourite treats anytime he was upset; who would tuck him in at night and read him tales long after his father had deemed him too old for such things; who patched up his battered ego with her kind words anytime he lost in a quidditch match to Potter or got outdone in yet another test by the 'Mudblood'; who always snuck into his bedroom late at night to apply healing salves to his wounds after his father was done disciplining him. No, no matter the years apart and what Hermione had said of her treatment of Ginny, Neville and whoever else, it mattered little to Draco. He still cared about his mother.

Draco tried to suppress his disappointment when several visual sweeps of the room confirmed his mother was not present. Lucius was also absent, which could be a good thing... or not.

He did his best to tune out the discussion going on about him. He had spent enough time around the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters to see through their attempts to bait him. He was smart enough to accept his own limitations and recognise that a direct fight with Voldemort was not in the cards for him, he just needed to survive whatever was coming next. Therefore, ignoring protests from his wolf Draco assumed a submissive pose, eyes lowered and mouth shut, as the people around him tried to taunt him to action.

"—Draco as a wolf. Wouldn't you like to see just what kind of creature your nephew turns into?"
Draco's attention was drawn to the conversation again. Were they planning a visit to Bleidd during the full moon? Unlikely.

"Lord, please do not insult me by suggesting this filthy beast has any connection with my family. The only thing I want to see of him, are his insides as he bleeds."

Voldemort steepled his fingers beneath his chin feigning deep thought before he smiled indulgently. "I don't see why you can't get your wish. If I recall correctly you never did visit Wolf Castle to see any of the experiments we did on his kind—quite resilient that lot, strong. You could play with one of them for days without healing them before they finally dropped dead."

Bellatrix's eyes twinkled with mischief when she looked up at Voldemort. "Really, my Lord?"

"Of course, pet. It was unfair of me to leave you out of all the fun. What better way to make it up to you than letting you extract your pound of flesh from one who's brought much disgrace to your noble family? I originally planned to make young Draco publically fornicate with the Mudblood during the full moon. It would've helped the people see the Mudbloods for the sub-humans they are. More importantly, it would've knocked the smugness out of Potter by showing him that the brains of the Order is barely better than a bitch for one of my dogs... However, thanks to someone's negligence"—his red eyes bored into Draco, looking more sinister than usual—"I'm a prisoner short and in need of a main event for tomorrow's revel. Instead of having to stomach the sight of beasts rutting, I entrust you with the task of entertaining us by testing the limits of Draco's new abilities."

Draco blinked his eyes open. His mouth was dry and his body hurt. Nothing new there. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was as he pulled on the chains that had him bound and hanging from the low ceiling of his prison cell. A sliver of moonlight filtered into his cell through an opening outside his range of vision. From the angle of the shadows, he could not have been unconscious for more than a few hours.

Guess I recovered a lot quicker this round.

His punishment had begun soon after his audience with Voldemort the previous evening. The Death Eaters took turns cursing him. They started with the standard Imperio but once they realised how ineffective it was on him they moved on to the Cruciatus. Some would amused themselves by throwing a tickling or leg-locking charm in the midst of a crucio, but they kept the curses coming until he passed out from the pain. Each time he woke up bound in heavy metal chains in the same prison cell, and then it would begin all over again. Bad as it had been, the worst was not over yet. A chill ran down his spine. His aunt and the Dark Lord had yet to turn their wands on him.

Something niggled at Draco whenever he was awake. Having spent his time either unconscious or getting tortured, he could not pinpoint what it was exactly. There was just a general sense of something being terribly off. In his worry, his thoughts immediately turned to his mate and his sons.

I just need to survive the revel, and then I can return to my family.

You could fight, insisted his wolf, but fighting the Dark Lord and escaping from the Ministry was not an option. They would go after his pups if he escaped or fought back in any way.

I just have to endure whatever the Noseless One has planned for me.

Draco did not dodge or fend off any of the curses thrown at him, knowing the sadists in the crowd would grow bored if attacking him was no better than hitting an inanimate target. The lack of sport inspired a few Death Eaters to become more creative with their cruelty in order to get a reaction out of him. He suffered more serious injuries and greater pain, but conveniently, it also resulted in him being knocked unconscious far more quickly than the Death Eaters would have liked. As a werewolf, he possessed remarkable healing abilities. The respite offered to him during the times he was passed out gave his body the time it needed to repair itself. It was a painful process but it was currently the best strategy he had to conserve his energy. It was going to take all his strength to make it through the full moon, given that his aunt had already expressed her desire to see his insides and watch him bleed.

Once more Draco awoke with that unsettling feeling of something being wrong. Yes, his body hurt from the abuses he had suffered but something was different this time. That persisting sense of something being off was accompanied by a hollow ache in his chest that could not have been caused by any of the curses he had been subjected to.

What could be causing him to feel this way? He surveyed his surroundings for clues.

Having visited the place often enough over the years, initially in his capacity Theo's friend and as a Death Eater after their fallout, he recognised the grand hall of Nott Mansion the instant he opened his eyes. The assembled Death Eaters wore their black robes and silver masks. None of them showed any kind of interest in him even though he lay on the floor in the centre of the hall.

He looked around him. There was no sign of Voldemort and his inner circle, and nothing that could explain the uneasy feeling gnawing away at his gut.

Draco closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. The last round of curses had been particularly painful. The Death Eaters had finally caught on to his plan and changed tactics, drawing out his torment with curses that were just painful enough to leave his mind alert and his body writhing in agony. The last session had gone on for so long, when he did eventually pass out, he was unable to recover sufficiently from the resulting injuries. Eyes closed, he focused on his breathing, willing his magic to heal his broken body, but he wasn't as good with casting wandless healing spells as he was with offensive magic spells.

Luna, help me. Give me just enough strength to see me through the night.

[TRIGGER WARNING]

Draco found himself immobilised, not to prevent an escape rather to prevent any sudden movements on his part. The French windows running the length of one side of the grand hall offered a clear view of the outside. Moonrise was hours away, but inside the mansion the festivities were already in full swing. For a long time the revellers ignored Draco, who remained positioned in the centre of the hall on his knees, suspended by his arms. Occasionally someone would throw a hex his way, nothing serious, just the kind of thing needed to keep him awake.

He could still move his head so he was able to see what was happening around him. Half a dozen Halfblood prisoners were raped and some Muggle-looking individuals were tortured and then killed. That was not to be his fate today. They only meant to terrorise him by making him watch. Little did they know he had felt greater terror watching their sick games when he sat amongst them than he did in his current state of vulnerability.

Draco had managed to tune out the sight and sounds of the grotesque tableau that surrounded him to concentrate instead on the source of that uneasy feeling he had experienced intermittently since the previous day.

What is it? What's wrong?

Something missing...

Someone in—

Draco's thoughts were cut off by a sudden burst of pain from someone stabbing him in the tailbone. He howled, but they had cast a Silencio on him at some point so his cry went unheard.

"Oh my, a knife, Bella... isn't that a bit Muggle?"

Voldemort's mocking tone rang clear through the fog of Draco's pain.

"I beg to differ, my Lord," Bellatrix's voice came from immediately behind Draco. "Why waste magic on beasts? Besides, since he belonged to my family, I figured the situation demanded a more personal touch."

"You're going to get your hands dirty, pet," Voldemort declared from his throne-like seat. Draco had to crane his neck a good deal to catch a glimpse of him.

"It's for a good cause, my Lord," claimed Bellatrix.

"Which is?"

"To entertain you, of course," she stated with childish simplicity.

Draco felt the knife slice through skin and sinew up the length of his spine. He screamed again in silence as the knife cut across his back.

Until now, Draco had rated the Sectumsempra from Potter and the night he was turned as being his most painful experiences. But the way Bellatrix had started things off, he feared he was to undergo his worst experience yet.

Whatever it was that Bellatrix had done to his back, it was shocking by even Death Eater standards if the stunned expressions and whispered mutterings of the revellers was anything to go by.

"Look at that!"

"Not her first time with a knife, for sure."

"—can see his spine, ribs and all."

"That is some clean knife work."

"Mmhmm. Haven't seen such skilful cuts even with a slicing spell."

"What in Hades! What's she planning to do with the axe?"

"Now, now, pet. You don't want to end the fun too soon by using an axe on him," chided Voldemort gently.

The words barely registered before he was screeching in silent agony as what had to be the axe connected with his back. Before he could recover, there was another blow, close to the first but on the other side of his spine.

"I'm not sure where you're going with this, Bella," Voldemort noted in a neutral tone, "but it's definitely different from the usual."

"Just you watch, my Lord. I plan to impress you with my handiwork before the night is over."

Two more blows, similar to the previous ones, were delivered slightly higher up his back. This time the pain was so intense, mercifully, he passed out.

He must have woken up in the next instant because everyone appeared to be in nearly the exact same positions as before.

"I thought you said they were tough, my Lord," whinged Bellatrix.

"He's still alive, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I had to stop just to rennervate him."

"Don't pout, Bella. You know this is more than you could do to a Muggle or Wizard."

There was a burning sensation in his back, like a thousand tiny needles raking his flesh all at once. Draco tried to twist away from whatever Bellatrix was now doing to him, but he could not break free of the spell holding him frozen in place.

"Are you literally applying salt on his wounds, Bella?" asked an amused sounding Voldemort resting on the edge of his seat.

Bellatrix responded with a hearty, "YES!" Adding, "But there is also a practical purpose, my Lord. See—he's more alert now."

It was true. The fiery pain was keeping him awake and making him more aware of the throbbing pain in his back. Over the next few minutes, which felt like an eternity to Draco, Bellatrix worked quickly, alternating between using her axe and salting his wounds. All other activity around them had come to a standstill by now, all eyes in the grand hall riveted to the show being put on by Bellatrix. When she paused for breath, in the ensuing silence Draco heard her sigh, which was followed by awestruck whispers from some of the Death Eaters.

"She's severed every rib from his spine!"

"—never seen anything like it."

"I've never even heard of anything like this."

"It's almost pretty... in a gory way."

"...like he has wings."

He had expected his punishment to be horrible but with moonrise mere minutes away and transformations being as painful as they were, he was beginning to doubt he would make it out alive.

No! This can't be how it all ends.

Instead of dwelling on the pain, he allowed his mind to retreat to the safety of his memories, one in particular.

It was a warm afternoon. Draco spotted Hermione sitting under the cool shade of a tree in the courtyard. Wilbur was cradled in her arms and Martin lay in the bassinet, both infants peacefully asleep. Hermione herself looked drowsy. She happened to look up and see him. He watched her sleepy eyes open and the corners of her mouth turn upwards to greet him with a warm smile that made his heart do a little flip in his chest.

Draco desperately clung to that image of his family as Bellatrix tugged on another one of his organs.

"Bloody fuck!"

"She just—she just—"

"His lungs—fuck! Are those his lungs?"

"Watch. Just shut your mouth and watch. She isn't cutting them."

"Those are his fucking lungs she's tearing out!"

"No, she's just repositioning them... I think."

The whispers were silenced by the sound of Voldemort speaking.

"Bella, I can't decide if you've had some secret Healer training or if you've been moonlighting as a butcher. I refuse to believe this is your first time," commented Voldemort.

"I may have practiced on some animals... Maybe that's why it's so easy with him. He's also just an animal now, isn't he?"

Voldemort hummed in approval.

"There," said Bellatrix with pride in her voice.

"Do you have a name for it?"

"Not really, but with his lungs and ribs spread out on his back like that, don't they remind you of wings? I think he looks like a slimy bloody bird," she said. After a brief pause she screeched, "A bloody owl."

"Yes, you're right. And the name does have a certain ring to it."

"Ooh, moon's out. We'll now get to watch an owl turn into a wolf," Bellatrix giggled.

Draco, who was only awake due to the salt burning his wounds, struggled to draw in breath thanks to whatever the fuck Bellatrix had done to his lungs. He could feel the transformation come on—. Thank Luna!—unlike other members of his pack, his were usually swift. When he changed, the immobilising and silencing spells faded away. All at once, Draco's mutilated body hit the ground in his wolf form, but with his life force rapidly draining away, all that left his lips was a quiet whimper.

"Ugh! That was an anti-climax," said Bellatrix, making a moue of disgust before she moved away.

Once Bellatrix was gone, a few masked Death Eaters finally dared to approach Draco for a closer look.

"Show's over, I guess."

"Absolutely. No fun in watching the slow death of a wounded dog."

"You think he's gonna die?"

"Can't say for sure, their kind are pretty strong."

"The Dark Lord would've killed him if they wanted him dead. This was just playing."

"Yeah. Someone will fix him up, just like last time."

"Did they really fix him up last time?"

"Sure. How else would he still be alive if they didn't?"

"I heard Narcissa Malfoy had a hand in it."

"Well, she's not here tonight."

"Heard that was on purpose."

"The Dark Lord?"

"No, Bellatrix. Didn't want anyone spoiling her fun."

"That witch is crazy."

"I'm just glad she's on our side."

"Tell her that. Ever fought beside her in battle? She doesn't care who she hits."

"Careful, you fool. Don't know who could hear and report you."

"Mmhmm. Trust our side even lesser than I do the other, these days."

The crowd having grown bored of watching the dying wolf moved on to other activities while Draco lay there, stuck somewhere between the living and the dead.

AN: While it may feel gratuitous right now, there is a point to all these scenes of rape and torture (which you will see in later chapters).