Having nothing to say in response, Draco could only stand there bleeding as he waited for whatever Voldemort thought up next. Glancing at the table which the Dark Lord stood in front of, he forced himself to look away. He couldn't just stand there focused on what type of pain each item would bring. Actually, he didn't know what the majority of them did, so he just guessed and had a feeling that the pain would be worse than what he imagined. Glancing back to Dedra, he wanted to go and comfort her, tell her that everything would turn out alright. Tugging meekly at the restraints, he growled at their unyielding grip.
Trying to nuzzle against Draco in return, Dedra found her bounds quite constraining, she went to protest what was happening, but Voldemort thought ahead and fully prevented her even returning Draco's love. Watching wide-eyed as Voldemort walked over to the table bearing his various instruments, her eyes already filled with tears, knowing what was to come. She didn't want to watch, and most importantly she didn't want for this to be happening. Why did Draco have to do that? Anything Voldemort would have done to her wouldn't be so bad as he was about to do to Draco.
"Hmmm, what to do." Picking up a bottle filled with simply vinegar and another black substance, he casually strolled over to Draco, leeringly grinning as he eyed the helpless, bleeding individual. Pausing before he fully reached him, he spun on his heel and turned back around pensively. "Oh! I've another idea," he beamed, bouncing back over to the table in a skipping-like stride and picking up a two sided prong. Once again maneuvering over to Draco, he held both the heretic fork and the clear bottle.
Promptly lifting Draco's chin, he placed the device between his chin and chest, making it so that he could not talk without experiencing extreme pain while it was in place. Then, he forced his mouth a little bit open, so that he wasn't experiencing too much pain from the heretic fork, but with a little more pressure he'd be ready to scream. Taking his free hand and lifting it over Draco's head, he smirked, almost giggled as he pinched his nostrils shut, and then poured the vinegar-like substance down his throat. Though it appeared much like and smelled exactly like vinegar, it was much worse, and soon began to intensify in the sting that rang down Draco's throat, esophagus, and all the way down to his stomach.
Not wanting to anger the Dark Lord, Draco lifted his head compliantly, looking past the Dark Lord at Dedra, wondering if she had any idea what the device in Voldemort's hands did. The tool looked old, like something from the middle ages. While Draco knew a bit about medieval torture, it was unfamiliar to him. Feeling it tighten around his neck, he was half curious and half afraid of what it would do. Not having much time to think about it, his wrinkled his nose at the bitter smell of the liquid, then it was pinched shut and he couldn't do so. With no other choice, Draco quickly swallowed the nasty liquid and soon after regretted it. At first it burned like a whiskey or bourbon, but the burning increased as each second went by.
After a minute passed by and the burning increased to being painful, he gave a low groan. But the groan increased loudly as the thing around his neck suddenly gave him another wave of pain. Confused, Draco resisted the urge to make noise and the pain from the thing stopped. Testing his theory, he made a small sound in the back of his throat and the pain came back. So, this thing hurts me every time I make a sound...so when I'm in pain from something else and I cry out... it'll hurt me... Wonderful... Draco thought sarcastically. The burning doubled and it felt like a fire within him, even though he wanted to remain silent, he couldn't. Another louder moan came forth and the tool hurt him even further.
Opening her mouth to scream something, she found once again her voice was gone. Silent tears slowly treaded a path down each of her pale cheeks, soon falling upon her skirt and lap. The worst part about being unable to speak was that even a bargain could be made with Voldemort, she couldn't voice it without a voice… And so Voldemort wouldn't know about it, wouldn't be persuaded, and this would continue. Which it was going to, only it was going to worsen, and she knew it. She recognized every instrument on the table, remembered all of their disheartening terrors.
Tiring of this easily, he decided burning his insides wasn't too very satisfying, though Draco's realization of his inability to cry out was. Extending his hand, Voldemort summoned something else to him; repealing the clear bottle and watching it float back over to the black surface of the table. Catching the wooden wedge and eyeing Draco's feet interestedly, he brought his free hand to his chin after releasing Draco's nose. Kneeling in front of Draco, uncharacteristically, he very slowly began unlacing the black leather shoes upon his feet, and consequently forced him to lift each foot as he removed the socks and shoes. Rising to his full height once more, he studied his feet again, gripping the wooden wedge thoughtfully. Outstretching his hand once again, though this time more lazily, he called his wand into one hand, the one holding the wedge and held them both, and then another bottle, a purple one.
Popping the top off of the purple bottle, a icky, green, slimy substance was poured onto the wooden wedge upon the tilting of the bottle, a small drop of the slim hitting the floor and sizzling as though it was boiling hot water. "Are you scared, Draco?" he inquired cruelly, smirking maliciously. "Oh, that's right! You can't really talk, can you?" he taunted childishly, cackling devilishly as Draco didn't respond. Tossing the empty bottle behind him, it hit the wall and spattered all over, little glass pieces littering that portion of the floor. Lifting his wand, he muttered "performerious" and the wooden wedge suddenly began stabbing at the skin of Draco's feet, periodically switching feet. The slimy substance would feel like fire to the skin, and once inside torn skin, would feel even worse, as though it was eating away at his flesh.
Rubbing her ankles and wrists almost raw with her resisting and fighting against the unforgiving chains, Dedra's tears raced from her emerald eyes progressively quicker, her face once again reddening and becoming unnaturally moist from the flooding produced by her tears. What would it take to make Voldemort stop? Why was he doing this? Draco had done nothing to him at all.
The wedge didn't look all that inviting and Draco was left wondering where the hell he'd put it. The only thing that frightened him more was the wand called into the Dark Lord's hands, and then the purple tinted bottle. The green substance inside stunk horribly, but when a drop of the slime hit the floor and literally hissed... Now he was really worried. Fighting the groans that came readily from his throat, caused by the vinegar, the few the slipped out intensified, then died away as the pain from the heretic came and he forced himself to stop. When Voldemort asked his question, he reminded himself not to glare in response. That would be a bad move. Wincing as the little bottle exploded against the wall, he looked and saw Dedra unharmed by it, thank Merlin.
For some reason, Draco was glad Lord Voldemort had silenced her, it saved him from hearing her cries. But it also saved her from begging for him to stop, from calling attention to herself, and he was grateful for that. His mind was drawn back to his bare feet and suddenly knew what the wedge would do. As the wooden thing drove itself into his foot Draco cried out in pain and then cried out even louder when the heretic gave him further pain. His toes curled and his foot moved away, but the wedge always found its mark no matter what.
Ignoring the pain Draco was experiencing and whatever cries he let out, Voldemort eyed the table once again, deciding upon his next method. Ah, yes. Calling over a scissor-type instrument, he held it loosely as his other hand, that also held his wand, lift Draco's chin up a little bit again and removed the heretic fork lazily. Flicking his wrist towards Draco's mouth again, the spell forced it to remain open as the rusty yet horridly sharp instrument was brought into his mouth and began cutting up the sides and front of his tongue, only for Draco to discover there had been salt on the instrument, and the exposed wounds would soon sting with the realization of the sodium substance.
Slightly relieved that the heretic fork was removed, Draco tried to close his mouth, but the spell prevented it entirely. Closing his eyes tightly, he screamed as the sharp tool sliced his tongue repeatedly. After the cuts were made, the salt upon the scissors stinging sharply with each slice. Screaming in pain as the blood flowed over his tongue and out of his mouth.
Hearing him scream in agony, her eyes were almost to the point of not being able to rid themselves of the outbreak of tears and soon she was blinded completely by her own tears. Looking away, she forced herself not to watch it anymore, she couldn't. It didn't matter how the chain around her neck dug into it as she turned, she wouldn't observe Voldemort hurting Draco anymore.