A/N: This chapter is a bit dark and quite gruesome. Just a little warning there.
Me looking back on my old story: OH GOD WHY.
Chapter 12:
Things may seem rough for Hermione, but it was only getting worse for Draco. The Dark Lord had him doing deeds all over the world, from Paris to NY to Egypt, it never ended for him. It was always the same thing, torturing information out of an escaped traitor to the Dark Lord. What made matters worse was that every time he returned to the house, no letters came back. It had been months and was now the beginning of winter, and still no word from Hermione. He had sent one letter for everyday she wasn't with him, which was-to him-an eternity.
The days grew more tense in the small, confined house, and Deatheaters were coming in and out, sometimes barely alive. He had witnessed his own father being beaten by Voldemort, and it was one of the hardest things he's ever had to see. Even though the man beat him throughout his whole life, he was still his father, regardless of what he told him.
He wondered how things were at Hogwarts. We tried to have spies penetrate the school, but nothing ever seemed to work, the protective barrier surrounding it was just another obstacle. Voldemort constantly ranted on and on about Potter and ways they could get inside.
Draco spent most of his time in his mother's room, sitting in the armchair near the window. His mother's owl always came back empty handed, but he still waited. Maybe she just needs time, he thought, maybe she wanted to send her own owl for whatever reason. He knew none of these reasons were true, but they did help ease the pain.
After a trip to the Bermuda, he had returned without any information regarding Potter's plans. He was summoned into the dining hall and as soon as he entered, he knew what was coming by the sad look on his mother's face. He had prepared himself for a beating, but he never thought it would come so soon.
"Draco! Come here!" Voldemort snapped, breaking his reverie.
"Yes, my Lord," he said, walking towards him only to be pushed onto the floor.
"Draco, you have failed me. Did you or did you not get information from the traitor in the Bermuda?"
"No, my Lord, I did not."
"Very well...CRUCIO!" Voldemort boomed.
Draco's body twisted in agony, possibly ten times worse than his initiation. The pain coursed through him and devoured every organ in his system. He thought he was bleeding through his ears before he was then released.
As he laid there, Voldemort approached him and let out another spell, "IMPERIO!" he yelled.
Draco got up, his every move being controlled by the evil man before him. He walked towards a dagger on the table and took it in his hand. With one quick move, he cut a piece of flesh off his leg, leaving a very large, open wound.
"AHHH!" he screamed in pain.
He was once again released, and he can hear the sniffles from behind him, coming from his mother.
"Draco, do you know what the last unforgivable curse is?" the Dark Lord whispered in his ear.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Do you wish this upon yourself?"
"No, my Lord."
"Then don't let it happen again," he said and with that, he left the room, his followers behind him.
The only people left in the room, were Draco and his mother, whom was tending to his wound.