A/N: TW Violence. Nothing terribly graphic, but it's there.

Chapter 3: The Dread Pirate Roberts

Draco woke up cold. In fact, he was shivering. That was his first clue that something was very wrong. He kept his room swelteringly hot, and he cast warming charms on his sheets, sheets that were very soft, so even in his muddled state it was not hard to conclude that the cold, hard surface he was laying on was not his bed. He inhaled deeply and nearly choked on the stale, musty air. His eyelids were glowing a soft pink from whatever dim lighting he was in. His first thought was that he was still in the cellar, still laying where Potter had stunned him. When he opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat. He wasn't in the cellar. He was somewhere much worse.

He was laying on the concrete floor of the Dark Lord's dungeon. The only reason he would be there is if they knew somehow that he had betrayed them, which was impossible. At least it should have been. Regardless, the punishment for treason was death, either a quick killing curse to the chest or a slow, agonizing end. The dungeon was by no means an execution chamber, so Draco wagered that he wouldn't be so lucky as to be snuffed out by that infamous green light. He was there for a fate much worse than death.

"How kind of you to join us, nephew dearest." Draco stiffened at the sound of that voice. Bella. He forced himself to his feet and stood unsteadily to face her. She studied him for a moment before pulling out her wand. He held his breath. He was completely at her mercy. He didn't have his wand, and even if he did, he was no match for his aunt. There was a reason she was the only woman in the higher ranks and the Dark Lord's right hand.

Unable to hold her eyes, Draco cast his gaze around the room. He was startled to realize that they were not alone in the room. His mother and father were standing rigidly in the corner. His mother was paler than usual, an impressive feat, and her icy blue eyes were dull and lifeless. His father stood tall, every bit of his usual arrogance and grace in his stance, but there was something shadowing his silver gaze. He saw Bella move in his peripheral vision and whipped back to face her a second too late. He fell to his knees as the Cruciatus Curse connected with him. It was by no means the first time he had felt the curse, but it was undoubtedly the worst.

He bit down on his lip to fight downt the scream threatening to tear from his throat. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction, even as the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth. He had no idea how long she held the spell. He knew that it was probably less than a minute, but it felt like hours. When she finally let up, he fell forward onto his hands and knees. He could hear her voice in the air around him, but it took a few seconds for the pain induced fog to clear and allow him to understand.

"-and if you are so weak that you can't stand to see this traitor be punished, then you should leave, Cissa." Draco looked up in time to see his mother exit shakily. His father stood in the corner still, but he was much paler than before. Bellatrix whipped around to face him as he unsteadily climbed to his feet once more. He refused to kneel before her. He thought he saw approval flash across his father's features, but he was immediately sure he imagined it.

"Now, Little Dragon." Draco glared at the use of the nickname. It was a cruel jab, and he was quite sure it was intentional. That was what Bella had called him before; before he grew up, before Azkaban, before she was twisted and warped beyond recognition into the monster before him. It was no secret that Bella had always been a little touchy, but before Azkaban she hadn't been so bloodthirsty or sadistic. She hadn't been the one to torture the Longbottoms. That had been Crouch. She used to read him bedtime stories when he was a baby, or so he was told. He had no memories of Bella before she was arrested, but his mother had taken him to visit her in Azkaban twice a month as a child. Azkaban had destroyed her.

"You've been very naughty, haven't you, Draco?" He didn't respond. She tutted in disapproval. "You let the Dark Lord's most valued prisoners escape, you helped them escape. Surely you know what the consequences are for betraying our Lord." Again he didn't respond. He couldn't fathom how she had found out. He had been so careful. There shouldn't have been any evidence, yet somehow they still knew. He was given no time to dwell on it when the torture quickly began again.

For hours she alternated between ridiculing him, torturing him, and reprimanding him for letting Harry Potter escape. Every time he passed out, she revived him. She only stopped when he was close to bleeding out from the many wounds she'd inflicted with cutting curses and blasting hexes.

"Oh dear, we can't end the punishment so soon," she fretted mockingly. "Lucius, be a dear and fetch Cissa to heal the traitor. We can't have him dying quite yet, now can we?" Draco found a bit of strength from somewhere to watch his father leave. The man looked awful. He was paler than ever, shaking violently, and his eyes were completely lifeless.

Draco had forgotten he was there, and it cut deeper than he cared to admit that his father had stood by and allowed him to be tortured. It didn't matter how badly shaken he looked. He had let it happen. He couldn't help but remember how close they had once been, but as with Bella that had been before. As he'd gotten older, they'd grown apart slightly, but it wasn't until the Dark Lord returned that he started hating his father, or rather, what his father had become.

Draco's father died that night in the graveyard, and now a stranger inhabited his body. His father played quidditch with him. His father taught him French and let him sit on his lap while he read in his office. His father cuddled him during thunderstorms when he was a child. His father was a loving man. The thing that was once his father, the thing that watched Bella torture him, it murdered and hated and tortured and groveled.

It was only after his father and aunt left that he allowed himself to collapse. He had shown no weakness up until that point besides passing out, and he refused to start after he'd lasted so long. He hadn't screamed, begged, or groveled through any of the last six hours, and the exertion was starting to weigh on him. He'd never been so glad to be an Occlumens. He had used his shields to separate himself from his physical self to a certain degree.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but the long faded memory of a book he had read as a child was pulled to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't remember the name of the book or the characters, only that it had been American and muggle. The main character had been tortured, and he had taken himself away from the pain so that he wouldn't break. He couldn't remember where he'd found the ratty old book that he could see vividly in his mind's eye, but at eight years old, the action, adventure, and even the romance had captivated him. It certainly helped that he got a thrill from defying his father, even if the act was so small as reading muggle literature.

He had often compared himself to the hero of the story. He was charming, carefree, handsome, sly, and chivalrous. As a child raised to be spoiled, arrogant, and self-centered, that all sounded pretty good to him. Now if only he could remember the name of the character or the name of the book or the reason he was in so much pain. Bellatrix, he reminded himself. Bellatrix had tortured him, and his father had stood in the corner and allowed it to happen. That hurt perhaps more than the torture. Suddenly the door opened, and Draco was grateful for the sound. Focusing on it grounded him.

A figure materialized above him. It was his mother. She gasped sharply, presumably at his drawn, haggard appearance. He was bloodied pretty badly too, he knew. He couldn't help but flinch as his mother put a hand on his face.

"What have they done to my baby boy?" she asked herself quietly. Draco felt a hand carding gently through his hair. Something in that small act of kindness broke through his carefully constructed walls. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, then another, and suddenly he was crying. He couldn't stop it, and he did try, he was just too far gone. After he calmed a bit, he felt his mother's hand disappear from his hair as she began to heal him. The pain receded slowly but surely, and when he was completely healed, his mother pulled him into an embrace. With the pain gone, he found he could think clearly once more.

"Mother," he whispered gently. "You need to go. You know what they'll do if they catch you doing more than healing me."

"But-"

"No, you need to go," he said more firmly. She nodded tearfully and placed one last kiss on his forehead before leaving unsteadily. He heard the lock click on the other side of the door. Draco sighed in relief. He cared far too much about his mother to let anything happen to her. She was the only one who hadn't changed. Bella changed, his father changed, and yet his mother remained blissfully the same. He was so thankful for it. Even Draco Malfoy needed someone who loved him.

The next week was the worst he'd ever experienced. It was like he was stuck in that first day over and over. He was caught in a seemingly endless cycle of bloodshed and exhaustion. Despite this, he never let her break him. When Bellatrix started bringing out muggle weapons, he had to be healed three times a day just to stay alive. The only thing he had to focus on, the only thing keeping him from giving in was that he never made a sound beyond hissing. He knew if he just screamed, Bella would go easier on him, but he refused. No matter what she did to him, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He would be proven dreadfully wrong in the days to come.

Draco was woken on what he believed to be the eighth day of his personal hell by the now familiar click of the lock on the dungeon door. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and wearily pushed himself to his feet. He was exhausted, but he still hadn't made a sound during his "punishment." He was surprised to see his mother file in behind his aunt and father. She looked awful. Her hair was stringy, her eyes dull and lifeless, and she was pale as a ghost.

It was then that the torture started. At this point, the Cruciatus couldn't even be considered torture. Compared to everything else, it felt like a tickling hex. After half an hour of repeated use of the Cruciatus, Bella did something she'd never done before. She put him in a bodybind. He fell hard, and his head cracked against the floor. She approached him slowly and kicked him viciously and repeatedly in the ribs. He felt ribs snap, but he wasn't sure how many. He barely felt the blows anyway. If anything good came from this, it would be his drastically improved pain tolerance.

She then took to beating him in a completely muggle way both with a cane and with her bare hands. He felt bruises forming everywhere the piece of wood made contact. She even went so far as to hit him in the face. Eventually it seemed she grew tired of the cane. It was then that she pulled out her knife. It was agony, worse than anything he'd ever experienced. Even feeling Granger's pain under the power of the same blade hadn't been as bad. She took her time, carving slowly and deliberately into his back. His desperation must have loosened her magic's hold on him because he was suddenly aware that he had bitten clean through his lip and tongue, reopening the wounds his mother had so carefully healed the night before.

Abruptly, the pain lessened, and the bodybind was removed. He forced himself to his feet once more, wiping every trace of pain from his face. Bella was looking at him with the air of someone who was disappointed in a child. He noticed that his father was gone. His mother stood in the same place, eyes wide in shock and horror, a green tint to her complexion.

"I told you, Little Dragon, that you would be punished. I believe that you have suffered sufficiently for your crimes, and now it's time for one final sacrifice from you for your master."

He never saw his mother move, but when Bella cast the green lighted killing curse, it was Narcissa Malfoy who dropped dead at his feet. He watched her fall in slow motion, saw the life leave her face, and heard her body hit the ground. He knew that the sound would haunt him for as long as he lived. Shock and horror warred for dominance in him as he stared down at her, her blonde hair splayed around her head, for she was always beautiful, even in death. She'd given her life to protect him. Something in him snapped, and he forgot his resolution to remain silent. A scream of rage, denial, and pain tore from his throat. He dropped to his knees by her side, and the tears fell.

"Mother, mother wake up!" he murmured. She couldn't be gone. She couldn't have left him so easily. "Mum, please," he whimpered. He looked up at Bellatrix, murder in his heart, but what he saw made him stop. She looked as regretful as he'd ever seen her. Then she noticed him.

"It was supposed to be you," she said dangerously. "This is your fault." Those words hurt him more than the weeks of torture, more than his father watching. They felt like ice in his heart and yet it burned.

"No," he choked out in a strangled whisper. She turned her wand on him, and he knew what she was going to do. I'll be with you soon Mother, he thought, but he knew he couldn't give up. She had died so he could live. When Bellatrix cast the spell again, he tried to side step it, but he wasn't fast enough. He watched in horror as the spell connected with his arm. He felt the bone splinter and crack, but he didn't drop dead. The curse ricocheted off of his arm and hit Bellatrix square in the chest. She dropped to the floor. Draco, still in considerable pain, stared in shock and horror at his aunt. After a moment, he pulled his eyes away from her and looked back to his mother. He knew he couldn't leave her this way, sprawled in an undignified heap on the floor.

Reaching into her robes, he pulled out her wand. He felt his magic hum and knew the wand would work well enough for him to escape, although he would need to get a new one as soon as possible. Carefully, Draco arranged his mother so that she was laying with her hands by her sides. He gently closed her eyes with shaky hands. She was gone. Gone. Never again would she smile at him or hug him, and never again would he hear the sound of her voice. Using her wand, he conjured the necessary supplies to write a note.

Father,

I hope you've finally gained what you wished from your master. I hope I finally made you proud. I hope you're happy.

He didn't bother to sign it. It wasn't necessary, and the lack of signature allowed him to avoid any connection to his father, even if it was only his last name. He had addressed the man as "father" out of habit, but there was no feeling in it. Hands still shaking, he laid the note beside his mother, avoiding allowing his gaze to linger on her.

A flick of his wand and a muttered incantation saw the door swing open. With another spell, he faded into his surroundings. He cast one last glance around his prison of two weeks, and his eyes fell on Bellatrix. Whatever she was now, she hadn't always been this monster. With a wave of his wand, her limbs arranged themselves into a more natural position. He cast one final look at his mother, his heart heavier than it had ever been, before slipping out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Draco knew the manor well. He was familiar with every detail, every corner, closet, and hall. He had lived his entire life in the large, decadent building but he knew even then, as he slowly and painfully made his way up the stairs, that he would never return. Too many ghosts of the past haunted the manor for him to ever be comfortable there again. Every room was tainted by him, and even those that weren't held endless reminders of his mother despite the fact that she would never again walk the halls. He felt as though someone had ripped open his chest, and it wasn't just the pain of his broken ribs.

The curtains and carpet she picked out and her sewing basket that caught his eye in the parlor as he passed, as did the flowers he passed in the garden as he snuck out of the place that he'd once called home. Even the most ugly and vicious peacock in the garden, which had been her favorite, was agonizing to look at. All of it was a cruel reminder of what he'd never have again. Her laughter rang in his ears. Well, he thought cynically as he looked back at Malfoy Manor one final time, Bella finally got me to scream.

He unsteadily made his way through the woods that surrounded the manor, avoiding the road. He had to get to the edge of the wards so he could apparate. To where, his mind hissed, you've nowhere to run. Hogwarts was a definite no, as was anywhere else remotely magical. If they found him, he'd be dead in an instant. He slowed his pace a bit when the pain in his chest became unbearable. It was then that something occurred to him.

There was only one place he could think of to go. Muggle London. They'd never look for him there. It would be absurd to search for a pureblood prince in the non-magical world. Unbeknownst to his family, Draco had been sneaking into the muggle world for years. It was, perhaps, his way of defying his father just a little. Regardless of why he had begun, the experience would serve him well now. Transfiguring his clothes into something more appropriate, and less bloody, he turned on his heel and popped away.

Draco would never understand how he'd gotten so lucky that day. He'd apperated to Kings Cross and begun making his way down the road, oblivious to the odd looks he was receiving because of his injuries. It was then that he noticed a familiar face on the sidewalk ahead of him. Picking up the pace as much as he could, he pushed through the crowd until he reached the man.

"Professor Lupin," he called quietly. Everything was spinning now, how odd.

"Draco?" he asked in surprise, and Draco saw him reaching for his wand.

"Bellatrix tortured me for- for helping them escape." His words were disjointed, and his speech was slurred. He probably shouldn't have used so much magic. "I escaped, had to hide, they won't look here." Draco's knees gave out suddenly, and he fell on Lupin. "Got to find Granger," he said as unconsciousness claimed him.