Disclaimer- Yes, I once again quoted from Deathly Hallows. :P It's the first sentence, so not too hard to miss, and continues before Voldemort hisses impatiently.
"Draco, give Dolohov another taste of our displeasure..."
He shivered tremendously, his wand quivering as he attempted to curse his "fellow" Death Eater. He wiped his sweaty palms on his suit jacket, attempting to delay the Dark Lord's commands.
"Do it! Or feel my wrath, yourself!" He hissed impatiently, gesturing to the writhing Antonin Dolohov on the marble floor of Malfoy Manor.
Draco pointed his wand downwards at Dolohov, trying not to watch the pitying sight. "Cr-Cru-...Crucio...Crucio!" he stammered, frowning to himself as Dolohov was merely tossed around a few inches.
"Draco, you have to feel it!" Bellatrix seemed to appear to the scene instantaneously. "Watch!" She flicked her wand lazily at Dolohov, who began to elapse into seizures upon the floor.
"CRUCIO!" she shouted, cackling with glee as she watched his body spasm gruesomely on the floor with every movement of her wand.
She lifted the spell momentarily, and grinned maniacally at Draco. "See?" He nodded timidly.
Bellatrix brushed an unruly, dark curl from her face, looking to her master imploringly. "Excellent, Bellatrix...I suppose Draco will need practice on the Unforgivable Curses..."
Draco nodded again, this time with a great fervency. "We...we didn't quite...get the chance to learn them at Hogwarts..." he said, trying his best to look upset.
Voldemort turned to Draco, a dissatisfaction gracing his snake-like features, and Nagini hissing at his feet. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry should now be...handled most eloquently by our comrade...Severus Snape."
Draco flicked his eyes desperately between him and Aunt Bella.
Dolohov now forgotten, the Dark Lord seemed intent on Draco's increasing lack of sadism, a trait that all of his Death Eaters seemed to already possess.
"Draco, just think of something you'd be cross about!" Bellatrix added, who's thirst for bloodshed obviously proved to be much more impressive than her nephew's.
Voldemort observed Draco attentively. "Come, Draco. Try it again." He pushed him forward with one long, white hand, and Draco raised his wand again.
'Think of something, think of something, think of something!' he shouted inwardly. And suddenly, a figure appeared in his mind's eye.
"Draco." It said, quietly beckoning.
"Draco, help me!" It said again. The figure shaped itself into a woman, slowly, as though she were molded out of smoldering fire.
"Draco, please!" she said, and he recognized his mother, now frail and unbecoming.
"Draco..." his mother called to him, clutching her side, fretfully. Another figure appeared beside her, striking a dangerous resemblance to his father. "Silence, wench!" his father screamed, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. He kicked her to the ground, remorselessly, ignoring her upsetting whimpers and pleas. "Draco, I love you!" said his mother, only to be relentlessly kicked and brutalized by his father.
Draco held his wand tightly, and clenched his teeth at the sight.
"Draco, please!" she shouted. His father forced her up again, and punched her roughly in the stomach, and she doubled up with pain against a wall, her stringy blond hair acting as a ragged curtain, shielding her bruised face.
He felt anger. Anger breaking down the walls of his conscience, and ripping apart the good left in him. Anger traveling to every vein, every bone, every muscle in his body. And it was anger that would save his life.
Another voice echoed in his mind, sounding peculiarly familiar. "And you'll be a coward." She said, materializing above the scene. Hermione simpered, "Just. Like...Your father..."
"CRUCIO!" he screamed, blasting Dolohov into an oblivion of pain. He writhed violently on the floor, his eyes rolling brutally back up into his thrashing head.
"Well done, Draco. Well done!" Voldemort seemed pleased. "I suppose you show the vigilance of your aunt after all..." he bowed his head approvingly.
Bellatrix gleamed brilliantly with pride at his great accomplishment. "Draco, my boy!" she exclaimed, drawing her to him. "So proud..."
Draco's face glistened with sweat, and his hands shook miserably, as they praised him.
"Go on, Draco, return to your chambers." Voldemort ordered, as his desire to find cruelty in Draco withered away.
"Now!" he yelled, and Draco dashed back to his bedroom, wand in hand, unseen tears streaming down his face.
"He'll be well next time!" he could hear Bellatrix promising.
"Silence! The boy is weak!" said Voldemort.
Still shaking from the prior events, Draco collapsed onto his bed, breathing heavily, his attempts to stopper his tears violently failing him. The word coward resonated remorsefully with his mind, and that's all Draco could hear, as the tears continued to fall. Yet he heard one last word, as he rocked himself silently to sleep.
"Unforgivable."
Author's Note- So...I hope I didn't make it too sad, I don't want to scare anyone off! Ha...ha...no? *cricket* No. Okay, then. Um. Oh, right! So, the next chapter may or may not include some Dramione action...but not in the way that you would think...Yeah, I'm going to stop trying to be mysterious now. Bye!