I do not own any of these characters. I'm just borrowing. Except the executioner.
Warning: this gets intense. Rape, beatings, torture.
Draco lost his concept of time. In his windowless cell he could not tell if it was day or night. He did not know if days passed, or merely hours. He never got enough to eat, and he never had a full nights sleep. Sometimes when he tried to sleep, the executioner would wake him and begin his punishment. He would slowly drift to sleep from sheer exhaustion, and his fear of what could happen would cause some of the most violent and horrific nightmares he had ever experienced.
Draco lay on the stone floor, staring at the chains hanging from the ceiling above him. The shackles were caked in his blood. He wondered if she would come tonight. The pain she gave him was awful, but sometimes it was better than the unbearable agony of waiting.
He heard footsteps coming closer to his cell. She never makes any noise, Draco thought in wonder. He heard the muttering of the incantation that would open the door, it was a man's voice, and not one he recognized.
The door opened, but it was so dark without and within, that Draco could see nothing of his new "visitor." Draco lay still, wondering if the man would assume he was asleep.
"I know you are not asleep. Your breathing patterns give you away."
The voice triggered something in Draco's mind. He felt he should no who this person was. Draco opened his eyes, but still could see nothing in the absolute darkness that was always present.
"Time for a little fun, Drakey."
The pet name sent shivers down Draco's spine. The man who had been lusting for him ever since Draco hit puberty was now hovering over his naked, bloody body.
"I've heard your father's conversations, how you won't, or can't, scream. You are not going to be able to tell anyone." The man let out a cruel laugh and began to unzip his trousers.
After he left, Draco dragged himself to a corner. Tears streamed down his face, and he was shivering uncontrollably.
Rough hands grabbing his arms.
Draco tried to push the memory away.
The feel of the cold stone floor on his stomach, and the sickening heat on his back.
Draco vomited but still could not push the memory from him.
Pain ripping through him. Suffering in silence.
Draco was shaking even more now. The blood running down his thighs was beginning to cool, drying to rust red.
The man above him breathing heavily, kissing the back of his neck with mock gentility. Hands all over him, flipping him over. Tears, blood, sweat. More probing hands.
Draco wrapped his arms around himself. It would be wonderful to scream, to let his pain and anger resound throughout the dungeons.
On his stomach again, the sharp edge of an uneven stone jabs into his chest, right where his heart would be. Ripping pain a second time. No gentle gestures this time. The intense pain stops, but does not fade. The nauseating heat leaves his back. The cell door opens, and then slams shut.
The memory of the pain and humiliation floods Draco's mind over and over again. The pain was not as bad as some of the things the executioner had done, but for some reason, this hurt more.
Draco realized it was probably night. Too bad he couldn't sleep.
Hours later (or was it only minutes), the door opened again. This time he heard no footsteps, and no voice opening the door. It was the executioner. She looked down at him, but did not show any pity.
"I know what was done to you. It was not on my orders or the orders of your father."
Draco allowed himself to hope. Perhaps they would make it stop. After all, that man was not following his father's orders.
"…but I will allow it to continue."
Draco's heart sank. She must have known she could never hurt him in the way he could. The executioner got to her knees to whisper in his ear, "Never fail the Dark Lord, Draco," she paused, "you stink."
The thought of being clean almost made Draco cry in thanks, but even this would be torture. The freezing water turned his pale skin blue. The executioner would hold him under until he almost lost consciousness. At times, he would swallow too much, and she would need to revive him with what she liked to call the "Kiss of Life," and get the water out of his lungs.
She left him in his cell. Wet, naked, and shivering, Draco still marveled at how he was still alive. How much could the human body bear?
His visitor came again. This time, he was softer, even gentle as he caressed Draco's bare skin. Draco was on his back, the same jagged stone digging into him. The man touched every inch of Draco's shivering body. He touched with his hands, his lips, his tongue.
"You're clean. I like that," the man whispered. Draco felt the bile rising in his throat. The man's breath was coming in quick gasps. Suddenly, his grip on Draco's arms tightened, and he savagely turned Draco onto his stomach.
Again, the man probed Draco's body, but this time, there was no pretense of gentleness. The man was breathing hard now, and again, Draco's body felt like it was being ripped in two.