Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: violence.
Author's note: Lucius is an a-hole, and it's a short one, and things. Enjoy!
A bright red, hot wand pressed into his side again, tapping, the hissing, the burning scent of flesh made him sick. Everything hurt, his whole body ached, his eyelids felt heavy and grainy, and his every limb felt as though it was a million pounds heavier than it should've been. The insistent burning pressed deep into his back again.
A deep voice, one Draco could identify as his father, growled wetly against his ear. "You're lucky the dark lord has other things to do than torture an impertinent brat right now, boy. But your time will come."
The burning ceased, and Draco grimaced. So he'd been identified then. But it seemed that they hadn't caught anyone else, so if he could just take all the blame, it would be ok. His back ached, his father had purposely been burning him badly enough that his ability to slightly accelerate the healing of small wounds and erase small scars wouldn't help him now.
Draco cracked an eyelid, his eyes thick with sand. Light. So it was the day. If he could only just survive until the evening, it would be all right. He closed a weary eye, and steeled himself, going over his thoughts, his mantra, over and over again. He had trained for this, hypothetically.
It would be ok. At this juncture in his life, it was sad to say that waking up with everything hurting was not only nothing new, but also; he had to think of the pack. His new family. That was it. Not dwell on how his father, who had once doted on him, was now revolted by him. Not about how he could ruin everything and get everyone killed.
He curled up, ignoring how his very bone marrow hurt as the skin across his back stretched. His chest and back protested as he took shallow breaths in and out. He tried to focus, making out what he could of his surroundings. It was midday, maybe, the sun was bright, and pretty high in the sky. Draco shifted, looking around the small, dusty room. He was chained to a radiator, but other than that, the room was empty. No way to know where he was. He assessed himself, luckily, his dad had been burning him through the thin material of his shirt, and he was still covered. His mask had been yanked off, and he couldn't see his legs, but they hurt something awful, twisted back, against the hot metal he was chained to. He realized with a sinking feeling that his knife was gone, as was his wand, the two holsters on his belt were empty.
Draco closed his eyes, straining against the hot metal at his side, trying to get as far away from it as he could. All there was to do was wait, but he felt exhausted, wearied to the very bone.