Lucius dragged Harry with him, clutching his arm painfully. Again, they headed down the staircase into the basement, this time entering through a door on the other side of the hall. Lucius almost thrust Harry down the last of the stairs. Somehow, Harry managed to catch himself instead of tumbling down the steps, but he staggered on the final one, falling to the ground once more. Lucius grabbed his arm again and pulled him forward. The hallway they were in was cold and foreboding.
Harry managed a few quick glances behind him. They must have been deep below the house, in an ancient part that much more fit a castle than a house. The hallway was low enough that he almost hit his head on the ceiling. The ceiling and walls were made from raw, hewn stones. They entered through a heavy iron door that left no doubt that they were entering the dungeons. The hinges didn't squeak when Lucius opened it. Apparently, they saw frequent use.
A few more steps and they reached the cells. Lucius opened the barred door with the wave of his wand and tossed Harry into the empty chamber behind. Harry fell once more. The ceiling of this room was higher than the corridors'.
"You saw what I'm expecting. On your knees."
Harry stared at him. "You're dreaming if you believe that I'll do that, Lucius."
Lucius didn't even blink.
"Vincire!" he said with a cold voice and waved his wand in an elegant movement. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Chains appeared out of nowhere and closed around Harry's wrists. Harry was ripped to his feet when they moved upwards. A moment later, he dangled from the ceiling by his wrists, barely low enough so his feet still touched the ground.
"Do you feel powerful now?" He taunted, inwardly fighting against his fear. What drove him was his rage.
Lucius stepped towards him and grabbed Harry's chin. It still hurt from the earlier blow. Harry gritted his teeth.
"This isn't about power," said Lucius softly. "It's about discipline. You need to learn, son. A lot. You don't leave me with much of a choice but to teach you."
Harry spat in his face.
Lucius wiped a hand across his face, unfazed. "Which takes us to our first and most important lesson. Respect." He waved his wand and Harry's robes disappeared. Harry suddenly felt vulnerable – more so now than with anything before.
"You will address me as Father or Sir," said Lucius with a factual tone. "You will follow my orders. If you disobey, you will be punished. You will not criticize me in public. You will respect older and more influential people, especially the Dark Lord. You will take care not to discredit the reputation of the house Malfoy. Do you understand?"
"Whatever you say, Lucius." Harry moved his head to indicate a mocking bow without much success.
"That would be ten," said Lucius indifferently. He muttered something and the whip appeared in his hand. "You will count the blows. I will stop once you've counted to ten."
He stepped behind him. Harry heard as the whip swished through the air. It hit his back with a single, painful sting. He pressed his lips together, refusing to let out any sound. There was a tingling as the welt healed. The pain morphed into a dull throb.
But the relief didn't last. Another blow hit him, then another. The pain increased when they landed on already sensitive skin. Harry closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and tried to pretend he was somewhere else. It was in vain, as the pain continued.
The whip hit him again. And again. At some point, the healing magic ceased working and Harry felt blood run down his back. Finally, the pain became too much and he screamed. He lost his sense of time. The pain was everything that existed. Everything else disappeared. Then, he lost consciousness. He didn't count a single time.
Harry woke to a world of pain. Not just his back, but his entire body screamed with pain. The muscles in his arms protested the most minute movement. His throat was dry and he was terribly thirsty. He opened his eyes. He was alone. For a moment, that brought relief. A shudder ran through his body like a shock. Then, he began to cry. His sobs shook him, only increasing the pain, but he didn't care. He couldn't help it. Tears streaked down his face and as he cried, he tried to catch them with his tongue, if only to wet his mouth a little. It didn't help. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stopped crying while still shaking. Shivers ran up and down his body.
He flinched back when Lucius entered the cell. Of course, his attempt to get away was futile, but it was an instinctual reaction.
"I see you're awake," noted Lucius in his usual emotionless tone. "I didn't hear you count yet."
"Kiss a dementor," replied Harry, but there was no force behind his words. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. His throat hurt when he spoke. He clung to his hatred as a lifeline. He couldn't give up. He couldn't betray everything he believed in and submit. Thus, he hated. He hated with every last bit of strength left in him.
This time, he screamed at the first blow.
It was simple curiosity. Draco continued telling himself this, but a part of him knew that it was a lie. Tigris had vanished since his father had dragged him from the table this morning. Draco didn't know when he had started thinking of him as Tigris instead of Potter. When he had accepted that he had a brother. But he had accepted it. It hurt every time the other boy rejected it. Almost as much as that day on the train on their first day of school, when Tigris had rejected his friendship. For Weasley. Draco grimaced in disgust at the thought of that uncouth redhead. That was the worst part. Tigris hadn't even known Draco. If he had known him… if he had known his family…if he had rejected Draco because he disapproved of his behavior or his family… but Tigris hadn't known about that. He had simply preferred Weasley over Draco.
Draco disrupted that thought. It was childish. He couldn't change the past. Even if Tigris had taken his hand back then, they most likely would have ended up on different sides. They were simply too different. Tigris, the perfect, selfless Griffindor. Dumbledore's favorite, the paragon of the "good" side. And then there was Draco, the arrogant Slytherin, future Death Eater. Draco had accepted his fate a long time ago. He acted the way he was expected without much thought. His father wasn't someone who took no for an answer, much less the Dark Lord. Draco was… well, he may not have been content, but he wasn't bitter about it either.
But now Tigris had come and revolted against his father regardless of the consequences. Tigris may not know them as well as Draco, but he knew his father. Draco remembered what Tigris had said at the table. He was more brave than Draco ever had been. Well, he was a Gryffindor. Draco laughed silently. Then, he turned serious. A part of him had rejoiced when his father had struck Tigris down. It was the part of him that believed that he deserved it. The part that hoped for Tigris to finally accept the situation, to submit.
But Tigris hadn't done that. Draco had also expected him to give up the day before, when he had resurfaced from the basement in that horrible state, but he hadn't. On the contrary, it had only made him angrier, more belligerent.
Then, there was a part of Draco that had hoped his father would never touch Tigris. The part that had hoped he was the exception. It had made sense in its own twisted way. But of course the rational part of him had known the whole time that it was just an illusion.
To a certain extent, Draco understood why Tigris struggled against the truth so much. Maybe he'd do the same, if he was forced to question everything he believed in. Everything he'd been taught since he was little. Then again, maybe not. Draco had never felt the sort of conviction he saw in Tigris' eyes when he defended his mudblood friend, for instance. Draco fought for his beliefs, sure, but mostly because he'd been taught that it was expected of him. Tigris had other reasons. Reasons that Draco didn't quite understand. A part of him yearned to understand. He both hated and envied Tigris for it. He didn't know when the hatred had waned while the jealousy and admiration had grown.
Maybe it was that moment in the library when Tigris had attempted to take Draco's punishment. Draco hadn't really understood why he had tried that. It was so typically Gryffindor. He had tried to dismiss it as foolishness, but he couldn't. It had touched something within him that he hadn't known to exist.
The result of all these thoughts was that he was now wondering what had happened to Tigris. His father's mood had improved significantly since this morning and Draco knew him well enough to know that it wasn't a good sign. The seemingly good mood was more threatening than his fury in a way. It made Draco feel uneasy, as if a storm was brewing above him. It was surreal, but he couldn't put a finger on what was wrong.
Draco watched his father come and go, too calm, too… cheery. A word that didn't exactly fit him. The fact that his mother wasn't equally cheerful showed that his worries were justified.
This was another thing Draco was thankful for. Since Tigris' arrival, his cold and distant mother had grown warmer. Sometimes she appeared as if she actually cared for him. Before, Draco had rarely felt like he was more than an obligation for her to fulfill.
But his father's story proved that they had actually wanted him. She had defied the Dark Lord to keep him. It led Draco to believe that her cold exterior was no more than a mask she wore for unknown reasons. Tigris had somehow shaken this mask. She had come to Draco to talk to him after his father had punished him on Tigris' birthday. Not to talk about his father, of course, but she had come. She'd never done that before. Draco was surprised that she knew which Quidditch team he liked and which songs he most liked to play on his harp or the piano. She had never asked about it and he had thought that she didn't care. Obviously that wasn't the case. She simply had never shown him. He wondered why not.
Draco finally reached a decision and headed off before he could regret it.
He knew his father owned a cloak of invisibility. It was in his closet, between his most expensive robes. When Draco noticed that his father made his way into the dungeons once more, he snuck into his parents' room and stole the cloak. He knew that if his father ever learned what he'd done, the consequences would be unpleasant, to put it mildly. But he didn't plan on him ever finding out.
As soon as Draco got the cloak, he followed his father down into the dungeons. The iron door was closed, but he hoped that his father would be distracted when he entered. Draco was right. Still, he almost got caught when he opened the door. As soon as it was open, he heard Tigris' screams and froze in horror. He barely managed to get a hold of himself and close it behind him before his father looked back in his direction.
Nothing had prepared Draco for the view. Tigris hung from the ceiling by his arms, legs obviously too weak to hold his weight. His back was a bloody mess. He screamed when the whip hit him. The scream sounded like that of a tortured animal, hoarse and completely unrecognizable. Draco fought the urge to vomit. Tigris obviously hadn't succeeded in doing the same. The stench of vomit and fecal matter hung in the air. Draco leaned against the wall so as not to fall over. All he needed was a simple spell to get rid of the filth, so why hadn't his father used it? How could he willingly enter a disgusting place like this? How could he… smile? Because that's what he was doing. He folded his whip and lifted Tigris' chin with it so that his brother was forced to look him in the eyes.
"I still can't hear you count," Draco heard him say with a sickly sweet voice. "It would be so easy for you to stop this. You just have to count to ten. Little kids can do that."
His brother's answer was almost inaudible, but still filled with hate. "Go to hell."
His father answered with a well-aimed blow to Tigris' stomach. Tigris doubled up and coughed. He spat blood.
But what really shocked Draco was the blatant look of satisfaction in his father's face.
"I'll give you some time to think," he said. He caressed Tigris' head with his hand. Despite how incredibly weak he must have been, his brother still tried to shy away from the hand. "Until tomorrow, then, son."
Tigris flinched and his father laughed. Draco watched in horror. He had experienced a lot of things when it came to his father. He had made the mistake of mentioning how the mudblood Granger was a better witch than some purebloods once. He knew he was right, but it had been a foolish choice of words to use with his father, especially to justify his grades. Draco had witnessed his tantrums and had been smart enough to get out of his way when he had them. But this… this was beyond anything he had thought him capable of. Sure, Draco had heard what his friends talked about. To them, torturing and killing muggles was a fun pastime. But Draco had never considered what that meant. After all, they were only muggles. Draco had never thought his father could treat wizards that same way. And this wasn't just a wizard. It was his own son. Draco could have easily been in that same position. He had always feared his father, but this was the first time he realized what type of person he actually was. The realization terrified him.
He stood where he was, paralyzed, as his father left the dungeons.
Draco returned to his senses a bit later, when the door opened again. Someone he hadn't expected to see entered - his mother. She appeared nervous, but determined. She was carrying a basket towards Tigris' cell. Once she saw him up close, she sharply inhaled air, but her expression didn't change. She pulled out her wand and cast a few quick cleaning and healing spells. Draco was horrified. His father was sure to notice what she did. She grasped Tigris' shoulder and shook him gently.
"Tigris… Tigris wake up!"
His brother grounded but opened his eyes. She held a glass up to his lips.
"Drink. You need to drink."
At first, Tigris turned away. She kept quietly talking to him until finally, he drank. When he had finished some water, she gave him healing potions. "You lost a lot of blood," she said while doing so. "Your lungs are also affected. This will help a little."
Tigris actually seemed better after a while. She massaged his arms with an ointment that obviously relaxed his muscles.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked.
Her eyes widened in shock. "You're my son! I can't just leave you down here like this."
"He is dangerous," he replied weakly. "You should go."
She smiled. "Don't worry about me. I gave him a sleeping potion. He won't wake up for another three hours."
Tigris stared at her, eyes flaring up. "Help me," he said. "Help me escape. He's going to kill me."
She stepped back and shook her head fiercely. "No. I can't do that. He's going to be angry that I helped you. I can calm him down, but not if I let you go. I can't. I'm sorry." Her voice almost cracked.
Tigris closed his eyes and nodded. "I understand."
She breathed deeply and continued massaging his arms. "He won't kill you," she said, but it sounded like an attempt to convince herself. "You're his son. His eldest son. He wouldn't…" She stopped, tears running down her cheeks. "Why won't you give up? It's not a bad life, you know? With time, you may learn to enjoy it."
"And then I'll merrily join the Dark Lord?" retorted Tigris sarcastically. "Never. I'm sorry but that's just not me. I can't be what you want."
His mother considered him with a grief-stricken glance. "You will always be my son," she whispered. "Whatever decision either of you make, you will always be my sons. Even if you oppose our Lord."
Tigris watched her with surprise. "You aren't what I expected… Mother." The word sounded strange from his mouth, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it.
She met him with a smile that was torn between joy and sadness. "And you're exactly what I expected, Tigris. I knew you had a strong will from the moment I first held you in my arms."
Tigris blinked, surprised. She smiled again. "I need to go. Hopefully, I can return. But I don't know if it'll be possible."
Tigris only nodded. "Thank you."
She shook her head. "Don't thank me."
She left and Draco followed her. On his way up the stairs, he frantically thought about the situation. He had to do something. His father was well on his way to kill the brother he had only just found. He didn't dare imagine what it would do to his mother. He needed to help him. But how?