Warning: Scenes of torture and mutilation. You have been warned.
Author's Note: This isn't as dark as I had intended it to be, but graphic description would have severely hindered the flow of the story.
A Punishment
Defeat. A painful thing, truly. Most especially for those who have never before experienced it. Malfoys did not lose. They did not lose, they did not surrender. But Lucius was overconfident, over eager, and thought too little beyond the next few minutes.
"You have disappointed me." The Dark Lord was calm, voice slow and easy. Lucius was not fooled. He remained on bended knee before the red-eyed lord, eyes cast in shame to the floor.
"I am so sorry my lord…" His voice was breathy, penitent.
"You are not." Voldemort spoke with easy grace. "But you will be."
Those words held a foreboding that went straight to Lucius' core. He would be punished.
"My lord, please…" He had to speak. He had to make an attempt, not for himself but…
"Silence. Stand among your brothers Lucius." Pale white hand waved in dismissal. Lucius' throat closed, his stomach in icy weight inside of his body. A second chance…a third…just one more, he needed it so badly, Voldemort could not do this…
"Bring in the boy."
A hand on Lucius' arm, to steady him. Hold him back. He didn't bother to look to see who it was, he didn't care. He swallowed hard, throat thick and heart beating in his chest as a caged bird is wont to do.
He could not watch. But he would die if he didn't…
~~~
Draco was brought before the dark lord, quiet and calm, unknowing of what would transpire. Those gathered knew, and watched on with a hungry intensity. They had waited for years to see the great Malfoys brought to their knees.
'Your father has displeased me." Was Voldemort's only explanation, but none other was needed. Grey eyes widened in surprise, and then fear. The words had but a moment to register, before the pain curse was cast. His small body crumpled, a scream torn from his lips. The Death Eaters chuckled, the one holding Lucius tightening his grip.
The Dark Lord was quite displeased.
"Macnair…" He summoned the burly man forth. "I believe you are more suited this task then I. Enjoy."
Ah, but Walden Macnair was a special sort. A cruel brute of a man with no joy other then blood sport. Thick hands grabbed Draco about the throat, lifting him. He whimpered, struggling against the man who was twice his size.
Macnair enjoyed himself quite thoroughly. Bones were broken. They made such a lovely sound when snapped in two. Skin was shorn away, leaving bare the red sinew of muscle. Fingernails torn out, one by one in rapid succession. Flesh lacerated, burnt and beaten, until the boy was nothing more then a mass of blood and bone that moved no more.
"Enough." Slim, pale hand moved once more in dismissal. Macnair returned to his place, blood on his hands on clothes, and smile on his face.
There was the sound of light laughter from the assembled. A few turned to Lucius, pleased to see his drawn and tortured face. He had failed the Dark Lord, and he deserved it. His brat as well. They were glad to be rid of the child, he was nothing but a headache to them. Precocious and spoiled, jaunting about as though he were heir to the Dark Lords throne.
No longer.
Voldemort smiled, thin lips drawn back from pointed teeth. "Take it away."
The body was removed. They paid little attention, nothing could have survived. They would toss it for the wild dogs, leave it as near their enemies as possible. Let them be reminded of what lay in store for them.
~~~~~~~
The body was nearly frozen when it was found. A regular patrol, to strengthen the wards of defense stumbled upon it half buried in the snow. Confusion followed. Blood was frozen over the boy's face, what clothes remained on his body, the snow about him. But miracle of all miracles…he was alive.
Barely.
They carried him back to the school, carefully. If he was to be saved, it would be now. It was obvious the child's back had been broken. Other injuries could not bear commenting upon. But surely if he could survive all of this, he would survive healing.
It was in their minds a bright spot in such a bleak time. There was hope that life could flourish, even in the face of such unfavorable odds. And now, when so little seemed hopeful, a sign such as this was needed. For what else could it be, rather then an omen of good fortune? Wizards were not superstitious folk, but they understood powers that were greater then them.
Frozen solid, they delivered him to the infirmary. The nurse was summoned, and she in turned summoned those she knew skilled in the healing arts. Regardless of what need be done, the boy would survive.