Harry woke to the sour stench of his own breath. Groaning as the slight movement aggravated the numerous aches and pains that plagued him, he peeled his sticky eyes open. Still on the floor, he sighed in defeat. With his ankles still chained to the floor, all he could do was breathe and rest. He managed to position himself on his side where he curled into a foetal position. Hugging his arms around his bruised body, he fell back into a healing sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness.
When Voldemort returned, Harry didn't move from his curled up position. His eyes were open, staring at the flickering patterns of light cast by the candles in the room. He didn't react as his scar burned briefly. What could he do? What could he achieve? It was over for him.
His arms slumped, numb and limp. Harry lifted his head, giving away that he was awake and alert. He rolled himself onto his back, pushing down with his elbows with difficulty in an effort to sit up. His stomach muscles burned, but he didn't stop, puffing with the exertion. Voldemort hadn't moved from the doorway. Harry looked up, squinting without his glasses.
"You have been missing now for over a day," Voldemort announced. Harry's gaze dropped to Voldemort's hands, feeling a small hint of relief when he saw that he held his own yew wand rather than Harry's holly. "The Ministry knows you are within my grasp."
He waved his wand. With a pop, a crystal glass appeared before Harry on the floor. It filled itself with clear water. Harry licked at his dry lips at once. Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes at Voldemort, who pointed at the glass.
"Drink. It will refill."
"Wh-what is this?" Harry said hoarsely, not reaching for the water.
"Water," Voldemort answered, then sighed impatiently, "either drink or not, it is of no consequence to me. If you want to enjoy the effects of dehydration only for me to put you through the humiliation of forcing water down your throat, that is your choice."
Jaw tensing, Harry reached for the glass. It was chilled. Of course, Voldemort would show off his powers of conjuration. He sipped at the water, sighing at the relief as he gulped it down. The glass refilled, giving Harry as much hydration as he needed.
"I rarely keep prisoners alive once I take what I want from them," Voldemort said once Harry had drunk his fill and set the glass down. He entered the room properly then, closing the door behind him with a flick of his wand. The glass also vanished. "Not only is it inconvenient, but a waste of resources. I only make an exception if they are of more use to me alive than dead."
"And what use do I serve, exactly?" Harry asked angrily, feeling more himself now that he had something to drink.
"You have my interest for the moment. It is my belief that I can undo Dumbledore's conditioning and have you rehabilitated."
"Rehabili-?" Harry went to repeat, confused, before understanding midway through the word. He stared up at Voldemort in shock before shaking his head. "No way. Not in a million years. You can't turn me."
"Make no mistake, I do not wish to twist your mind and turn you into my loyal follower. I do not need a brainwashed slave. Through you, I wish to show that there is a place for all under my rule. Even you, my prophesied nemesis, can live in peace if you surrender."
"And if I don't surrender, what then?" Harry spat out, clenching his hands into fists. Voldemort answered by seizing his wrist suddenly and yanking his arm over to the hanging shackle. Harry struggled too late, too weakened to fight off the unnaturally strong grip. The cuff locked around his wrist, making him cry out as the cruel design of the shackle dug into his healing wounds. His other wrist was soon shackled as well, his arms hanging in front of him.
"No, you don't need to do this," Harry gasped out, tugging in a futile effort to free himself. The mechanism above him clunked into life, pulling his arms up. "No!"
The cruel machine dragged him upright by his wrists. Harry threw his head back as he tried to stop the ascending shackles. His arms were pulled taut first, then his shoulders lifted, his entire body weight carried upwards. Voldemort watched the macabre display, his eyes taking in each tremble and struggle. By the time the chain between his ankles pulled taut against the ring, the machine went still.
Harry shuddered uncontrollably from the strain. Somehow, impossibly, he'd forgotten how unbearable it was to be suspended by his wrists. Chest constrained by the tension in his arms, Harry wheezed shallow breaths as Voldemort moved once again to pace behind him.
" Obscuro. "
Black cloth suddenly blotted out Harry's vision, cloth that tightened around his head where it tied off in a blindfold. Harry thrashed, barking out in pain as he did. He twisted at his waist in a panic.
"W-what is this? I'm half-blind without my glasses as it is!"
Voldemort didn't speak, in fact, he was utterly silent. Harry strained his hearing, listening for footsteps or any indication to where Voldemort was. After minutes of silence, Harry trembled on his feet, disorientated, confused and terrified.
"There is more to torture than pain alone, Harry."
Yelling out in fright, Harry flinched away from the voice. Voldemort had whispered right in his ear, so close, he felt his breath puff against his skin.
"It is not the agony you experience, nor the confinement of your restraints, but the fear. It is the anticipation, the breaks between the torment, that truly weakens even the strongest resolve. You know I am going to make you suffer… but not how or when ."
The chains above him rattled as Harry shuddered in terror, unable to hide away from his own fear.
" Crucio. "
Agony detonated throughout his entire body. Harry threw his head back and screamed as every nerve flared with the most intense pain he'd ever felt. His vision exploded with blinding white light as his throat seared from the force of his screams. Every muscle spasmed, his jaw clamping down and biting the inside of his mouth. He thrashed violently, collapsing where he swung uncontrollably as he convulsed against his control. His very blood burned in his veins, his bones crushing under the weight of the sheer torment.
He had no concept of how long it lasted, but when it ended, he remained in his personal hell of darkness and pain. He coughed, tasting blood on his tongue. Seconds passed, or minutes, possibly hours, he didn't know.
A sob rattled through him as he tried to discern where Voldemort was. Then just a single word gave away his presence at his back.
" Crucio. "
Screaming at the top of his voice, Harry thrashed violently against the chains. His back arched, his entire body assaulted with stabbing, twisting pain that ripped into him with a brutal intensity unlike any real, physical pain could possibly produce. The cruelty scouring his body, consuming every sense and lighting up all his nerves, was of pure malignance.
When he had no breath left, his lungs guttered out of air, only then did the pain stop. Harry fell back, head dropping behind, his arms taut above him. He cried out as he felt splintering pain in his shoulders and elbows, unable to clench his muscles properly to pull himself back upright. The cloth obscuring his vision was damp with his tears.
Fingers suddenly seized his hair, pushing his head harshly up to drag him back up onto his feet. Harry couldn't get his legs to support him, his weight hanging from his arms and his hair, making his scalp feel on fire. He couldn't fight off the hand wrenching up upwards. Then the unmistakable hard tip of a wand jabbed in under his chin at the soft tissue between his jaw and his windpipe.
"If you do not surrender, this will be your life," Voldemort's cold voice finally answered, lowered down to a whisper where he spoke directly in Harry's ear. "I will keep you chained down here for as long as it amuses me to see you dangling by your feeble little wrists."
"No… no…" Harry panted out the word, his voice strained with pain. "You d-don't have to do this."
"You are right. I don't," Voldemort pushed his wand in harder, making Harry choke as it pressed on his throat, "I could easily pass this burden off to someone else. Bellatrix especially is eager to make you squeal like a stuck pig."
Harry screwed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, struggling to breathe. His fingers twitched where he was powerless to protect himself.
"Lucius desires carving out his retribution upon you. He does not need a wand to make you beg for mercy. His father taught him the art of torture in this very room and no doubt he will pass such knowledge to his son… perhaps I will treat young Draco with practicing on a live subject?"
Voldemort tugged his hair back painfully, causing his neck to crack loudly. Harry moaned out in pain, trying to will his legs into supporting him and easing the strain off his hair. He kept failing to pull his feet back, the chain riveting him to the floor making his efforts pointless.
"Y-you won't," Harry wheezed out past the pressure blocking his throat, "you want to destroy me yourself."
"I do not wish for your destruction, Harry," Voldemort whispered, his breath hot against Harry's tear-streaked cheek. "I want your surrender… and I will receive it. It is only a matter of time."
Harry sobbed out, no longer caring for his dignity as his fear took over. Voldemort released his hair and he dropped down, unable to get his legs under to support himself in time. Harry choked on his pain as his shoulders seared with deep agony, the pain a clear sign that he'd done some damage to his joints while he thrashed against his restraints. They could even be dislocated.
"I… I can't," Harry gasped out, trying to lift his blinded head to find where Voldemort had moved to. "I won't."
"Oh, Harry… while your resilience is impressive, you are still very young… and naive." Voldemort said, his voice close at Harry's left. Harry swallowed, icy dread seizing him, his mouth dry. "All creatures fear pain. You are no different. Resist all you wish, but you will break. Yet rest assured, when you do, I will be there to put you back together."
Before Harry could even begin to comprehend what Voldemort meant, the Cruciatus Curse lit up every fibre of his being once again.
Beyond the walls and wards of Draco Malfoy's manor home, the rest of the magical population had been swept up in a frenzy. The front page of The Daily Prophet announced in stark latin text that Harry Potter had been captured by He Who Must Not Be Named . Draco barely held onto his breakfast as he read over the reward for information about Potter, as if it would encourage anyone to betray his fate to the Ministry. With Yaxley's mole so deeply entrenched, any traitors would be discovered at once. The Auror office would be flooded with false reports, leaving them scrambling. The story only showed the level of desperation.
Draco avoided his aunt and her speculations about what delicious torture the Dark Lord had doled out on his prisoner over night. Potter appeared no worse for wear the day earlier, but a whole night had passed. The Dark Lord never slept so he had the whole night to torment Potter without interruption. Draco had experienced first-hand the fact that the Dark Lord wielded pain like an artist wielded a paint brush. He hoped to find Potter as deeply unconscious as he did before. As he unlocked the door, pushing it open, his heart sank like a stone.
Arms outstretched, pulled taut to their limit, Harry Potter hung from the ceiling in shackles. His head wasn't visible, dropped forwards, out of sight. Swallowing down his nausea, Draco entered the room. Potter didn't jerk around or react to his presence. He hoped that he was sleeping… only for that hope to be dashed at once. Potter let out a low groan, a sound full of pain. Slowly Draco paced around, keeping his distance. He gasped aloud when he saw Potter was blindfolded and barely conscious. He weakly stirred in his chains.
Unnerved, Draco went about his duties. He waved his wand, emptying Potter's bowels and bladder before he was forced to relieve himself where he stood chained. Potter moved then, jerking in response to the invasion. He shuddered, muscles bunching in his arms as he lifted at his shoulders. His hands sought out the chains and grabbed them. With a titanic effort, Potter pulled himself upright to a standing position. His joints cracked as he did.
"Who's there?" Potter's voice rasped out from bloodied lips. His head twitched from side to side. "I know you're not him."
Draco cautiously approached, reaching out a hand. His fingers nearly touched Potter's face before he snatched his hand back. What was he thinking?
"What are you waiting for? Get it over with. Cast your curses and leave me," Potter spat out then, the vitriol in his voice familiar. It was strained, his voice hoarse from where he'd been screaming.
"That is no way to greet your host, Harry."
Draco staggered back from Potter. Standing in the open doorway, a doorway which Draco had left open while so distracted, was the Dark Lord. He quickly lowered himself into a bow. His heart raced. The Dark Lord entered quietly, making barely a sound as he flicked up his wand to shut the door Draco had carelessly left open.
Potter then let out a low growl, flicking his blinded face over in Draco's direction. He bared his teeth in a near animalistic snarl, thrashing against the chains that held him helpless.
" Malfoy? " Potter spat out his name with such hate and venom, Draco couldn't prevent the involuntary flinch. The Dark Lord casually paced around him, moving to where Draco stood.
"Now, now, you ought to show a bit more respect, Harry. After all, it has been Draco here who has been diligently ensuring that you don't have any… accidents while chained up as you are."
As blood rushed to Draco's face, the humiliation stinging, he witnessed Potter's own face flushing. His struggles stilled and he sagged down, his fight leaving him.
"Sensory deprivation is incredibly effective in breaking down a prisoner's mental defences. Harry has been blindfolded for a few hours and you can see how frightened our little chained lion has become."
Potter shifted on his feet, chains clinking as he moved. It was unsettling, seeing firsthand how the Dark Lord was meticulously breaking down each of Potter's defences. Uncomfortable, Draco turned his attention back to the Dark Lord who appeared amused.
"Just get it over with," Potter snapped out, though he sounded noticeably subdued. Draco nearly gulped. Potter, oblivious in his blindness, couldn't see the dark and dangerous smile upon the Dark Lord's face. His bright red eyes roved up and down Potter's straining form while he fiddled with his wand, contemplating the many means he had to inflict great suffering upon his prisoner.
"Select a tool from your grandfather's collection, Draco," the Dark Lord ordered softly, "I believe Harry requires discipline for his poor manners."
Stamping down as much of his revulsion and fear as he could, Draco nodded in compliance. He slid his wand into his holster, then forced himself over to the stand where few flogs and whips were displayed. Painful memories fluttered in the back of his mind. Draco had never flogged someone before, but he had been on the receiving end. Summoning as much hatred for Potter as he could for his involvement towards his last punishment, he grasped the handle of the braided whip that he knew to be his father's favourite.
Draco swallowed tightly at the sight of the shimmering pleasure in the Dark Lord's eyes, observing his choice. Draco brought himself back to the Dark Lord.
"Excellent choice."
"Wh-what are you doing?" Potter's voice broke. It was the first time Draco had ever seen a break in his composure, hearing true fear cracking through. Potter wrung his wrists uselessly in the heavy cuffs secured tightly.
"I would say that your defiance and disrespect comes from a pampered childhood, but we both know that it is not the case," the Dark Lord said as he held out his hand for Draco to hand over the whip. He passed it over, hoping he wasn't shaking visibly. "Punishment was a regular occurance for you, growing up in that… pig sty with such despicable filth like your uncle. Tell us, Harry, did he ever stripe your back with lashes?"
It was as if every muscle in Potter's body tensed, twisting desperately at his waist where he sensed danger coming from behind him. He then let out a frustrated and frightened shout, pulling at the shackles.
"Fuck you ! " Potter then yelled out.
Anger lit up the Dark Lord's features. Moving inhumanly fast, he lashed the whip at Potter's prone back. Each braided tendril of the flogger whacked against Potter's skin, the knots striking the flesh mercilessly. The pain-filled cry that followed rang in Draco's ears after it burst from Potter's mouth. If Potter hadn't been in a panic before, he certainly was then. Fightly wildly in an attempt to escape the beating, his feet scrambled on the floor.
"No… no… don't!" Potter loudly shouted at them.
"In my day, we took our punishment without fuss. We even had to keep count when punished with the switch."
Crack!
Draco forced himself to watch as Potter shouted out in pain, thrashing forwards from the force of the strike. A tang of coppery blood followed, the knotted leather braids breaking the skin with ease. Potter coughed as he struggled to breathe, his hands straining upwards to seize hold of the chains in an effort to hold himself upright. Draco then noticed Potter hunching his shoulders up, bracing himself for the blow. For him to do that, he knew how to ride out the punishment.
"D-didn't do you an-any good then, did it?" Potter then seethed, twitching in place. "Still ended up a fucked-up psychopath."
Thwack! The sound of the strike was the loudest as it was clear the Dark Lord threw all his strength. Something wet landed on Draco's cheek. From the scream that shook the very air, he knew what had just splattered on him. The Dark Lord's smirk had long since vanished. He held up the handle of the whip in his left hand, tapping the end with his wand. Releasing the whip, it didn't drop to the ground, but instead hovered in mid air. Draco watched in horror as the Dark Lord charmed the flogger to strike Potter instead.
After five more strikes, Draco was positive he was going to be sick. Potter's back was littered with vibrant slashes of red, the lashes bleeding in rivulets to stain the waistband of Potter's jeans.
"I-I can feel… how much you're getting off on this," Potter mumbled out as he hung off the cuffs around his wrists. His head hung down from where he lost the strength to stand. "You're sick, Tom."
"Crucio!"
Draco clenched his hands into fists behind his back, watching the Dark Lord as he powered the Cruciatus Curse into Potter's suffering body. The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed with an unreadable hunger as he drank in Potter's screams of anguish and pain, chains clinking and joints creaking where he thrashed uncontrollably. The flogger continued to lash his back while tortured relentlessly. The screams were deafening, pitching upwards as Potter vented as much of his pain as he could.
When the curse lifted, the flogger dropped as well with a thump on the blood speckled wooden floor. Potter coughed weakly, then a sound worse than his screams rattled out of him. Breathless, mirthless laughter. Mad laughter.
"Wh-what? Don't want me to call you by your name?" Potter wheezed out, his voice raspy from where his screams had roughened his throat. He coughed again, doubling over, then spat out a mouthful of blood. "Is it too muggle for you?"
Draco held his breath, expecting the Dark Lord to curse Potter again for his insult. The Dark Lord paced around, moving up to Potter's ruined back. He then ran the tip of his wand over the fresh wounds, causing Potter to jerk and flinch in his chains, crying out at the pain.
"Notice, Draco, how Harry is now attempting to get under my skin in retaliation, resorting to verbal barbs. All he has left is his voice and, like the foolish Gryffindor he is, all he knows is to fight and attack."
"I'm not your fucking subject for study," Potter spat, his anger and hate roiling out of him. Draco felt something stirring in the air, a static charge like a storm brewed inside the small room.
"I expect Draco here does not know about your… past, Harry. He doesn't know that you've been conditioned into the perfect little soldier. Raised in a harsh environment so you can endure almost any hardship. He does not know what you went through in order to survive."
Turning his head, Draco's eyes widened a little. From the harsh, sharp pants Potter made in response to his words, they hit a very sore spot. Draco had no idea what the Dark Lord meant about Potter being in a 'harsh environment'. He lived with his only family, muggles certainly, but not complete strangers.
"My childhood might have made me… tougher than others… my age," Potter managed to speak through his pained wheezing, "but I guess we have that in common, huh? Life in that orphanage must have been hard… especially during wartime."
Draco's skin prickled with warning. He was listening in on a conversation that could get him killed. Potter clearly knew a lot about his great enemy, more so than what he was allowed to know.
"Our experiences do define us. My experience taught me that the weak do not deserve the power they wield."
The Dark Lord suddenly seized Potter by the back of his neck and pulled him back towards him. Potter let out a loud shriek of agony as his back was forced to bend. Fresh blood seeped out of his wounds where he then let out rough sobs as he tried to weakly fight off the hand holding him.
"I returned to that place every summer, forced to endure their rules. I went hungry every day, made to live in squalor, while I was denied my right to my magic. I hated them all, Harry… and I know you hate them too. You hated how weak they made you feel."
"No… that's not…"
"Admit it!" The Dark Lord shouted, shaking Potter by the neck. "Admit how you were powerless to stop them locking you up like an animal."
"Shut up!"
"Admit how lonely and abandoned you felt, left all alone where you were hated and reviled by your only surviving relatives."
Draco turned his face away from the scene as Potter let out a desperate sob, coming apart before his eyes. It was wrong. Hearing something so personal and so… awful. Had Potter really been so badly treated? The Boy Who Lived himself had been abused? By muggles?
"Unlike your silly little friends, I understand, Harry. I know how it feels to have no one. I know how it feels to rely only on yourself. I know you, Harry Potter."
The Dark Lord then released his neck. Potter dropped down, his head bowed, sniffling. He was crying. Having successfully broken his victim, the Dark Lord turned silently to where Draco watched on in horror and pity. Draco hastily bowed his head, hiding his raw reactions.
"I will expect you to give him water when you next visit, Draco. He will not cause you any trouble, but if he acts out, you have my permission to discipline him. Do not, however, remove his blindfold."
Feeling even more sickened, Draco willed himself to be as impassive and neutral as possible. He bowed his head in response.
"I understand, my Lord."
"Very good. That will be all."
Eager to leave and not be a witness to the ongoing torture, he bowed and made his retreat. As he reached the door, he heard the Dark Lord clear his throat. He looked back over his shoulder, finding his merciless red eyes watching.
Draco quickly bowed again and left, but not before he heard a clear whimper from Potter at his back. He shut the door firmly behind him, hurrying up the stairs.
Draco managed to find his mother in the sun room, thankfully alone without her sister. He suspected Bellatrix had gone to the drawing room since the torture had started up once more, drawn to the demented screams of Potter's pain. His mother smiled thinly at him as she stirred her tea. Before her was the morning's copy of The Daily Prophet, open at least so he wasn't facing a front page spread with Potter's face on it.
Stumbling over towards the fireplace, drawn to the ash bucket, Draco dropped down on his knees and threw up. He heard a spoon rattle against china before his mother rushed over to him. He grasped at the rough edge of the bucket, vomit filling his mouth again as he spat it out. He heaved in a choking breath as his mother nudged at his side, offering him a conjured glass of water. Taking slow sips, he stayed on his knees as his mother vanished his mess quickly.
Her hand gently took him by the elbow and guided him to the chaise. He sat back, pressing a hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes as his mother went to close the doors and give them privacy.
"Thank you," Draco said quietly into the glass as his mother swept over and settled down next to him. He let out a long breath, putting the glass down on the coffee table. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Potter's tortured body in all its horrific glory. All of it replayed, down to the smallest details of his twitching limbs and his laboured breathing.
He had always wanted Potter out of the way. He wanted him taken down a peg, humiliated in defeat. Yet he couldn't justify in his mind any situation that would warrant the suffering he was going through. Every great insult he was responsible for wasn't really his fault. Draco hated him… or he thought he hated him. The idea of him, perhaps, but as a person, a boy his age just trying to survive?
Thoughts in turmoil, Draco kneaded his temples. He couldn't be conflicted, not around the Dark Lord. Yet as his thoughts went back down to that chamber, to the soft sounds of distress Potter made, he realised that it was too late.
His mother leaned towards him, taking his hands in hers. She gently moved them from his face, massaging the palms. She smiled sadly at him.
"You are free to pity him in my presence, Draco, just take care to not let it show in front of the Dark Lord… or your Aunt, for that matter."
He let out a breath, nodding. "I know. It's just… I know I should hate him. I should be glad that he's being made to suffer after everything, but I… don't feel that way. Ever since that night on the tower… everything became so much more complicated."
"Life is complicated. There is no right and wrong, no good or evil… no justice and no freedom. There is corruption and coercion, exploitation and manipulation. To those with power, we are merely instruments to be used. All we can do is be as useful as possible in order to survive. That is what your father means when he tells you to put your life before your pride."
Draco frowned, staring down at the ground. "But we should be the ones in power, mother. It is our right."
"That will not suffice anymore, Draco. You have seen how we have fallen from the Dark Lord's grace. Do you believe your family name matters to him? After your father failed him and after you disappointed him?"
His face flushed as he looked up at her. "Mother-."
"I am not trying to be cruel, but you must see that earning the Dark Lord's favour takes more than loyalty and service. You must impress him with your actions. If he does indeed wish to recondition Potter, then you must help him learn his place. Help him achieve his goals and you will be rewarded for it."
Aghast, he couldn't believe what his mother was saying. "I should help Potter?"
"You are being tested, Draco, and you cannot fail this time."
Her serious words struck hard. He sighed, closing his eyes. If he failed the Dark Lord again, he would die and his parents would follow.
"I know, mother. I know."
But from there, it only got harder. Unable to find a moment of solace, Draco's thoughts remained hopelessly trapped in the room under the drawing room, just as trapped as Potter was. He retreated behind his occlumency barriers, his traitorous pity towards the prisoner languishing unnoticed when he later dined with his family and the Dark Lord. When he had to tend to Potter before retiring for the night, he made sure to wait for his aunt to be preoccupied with the Dark Lord before making his dreaded trip back down into that grim space that his grandfather designed.
The door clicked loudly as he unlocked it, wincing at the sound. Draco tried to open the door carefully, not wishing to disturb Potter if he was sleeping. The moment he entered, he could feel the intensity of the fear and pain clinging to the stuffy air of the underground chamber. It was as if Potter's suffering clogged the atmosphere, his magic wailing out his pain, unable to save him. Just as he had been earlier that day, Potter hung from his wrists. His back was slick with sweat and blood, his shoulders shuddering with each laboured breath. It appeared that the Dark Lord had sealed the lacerations criss-crossing Potter's back, but the skin was still bloodied.
Draco looked over to the display stand where the bleak instruments his grandfather had collected were presented in macabre glory. Barbed flogs, pliers, various clamps and vices designed to snap bones, all commissioned specifically for the practice of torture. Waiting for Draco's use, however, was a silver goblet.
Twisting a little at his waist, Potter turned his blinded face in his direction.
"Lo, Malfoy," he rasped out, startling Draco. He noticed with a sickening twist in his stomach that blood stood out starkly in streaks down Potter's arms from his wrists where the cuffs had clearly broken his skin. Swallowing, Draco drew his wand and headed over to the goblet at the stand. He murmured a low 'Aguamenti', filling the vessel.
Closing his eyes briefly, he steeled himself and paced around to stand in front of Potter. Unnervingly, Potter's head followed him, using his footsteps to mark out where he was.
Now in front of a tortured Harry Potter, Draco wasn't sure how to proceed. Giving Ollivander food and water was straight-forward, but hand-feeding Potter was a different thing entirely. He raised the goblet, frowning, then brought it up to Potter's chapped lips. He carefully pressed the edge of the goblet against Potter's mouth. Predictably, Potter flinched back in alarm, not able to see. Before Draco really knew what he was doing, he put away his wand, transferring the goblet to his right hand. With his left, he placed it as gently as he could on Potter's straining shoulder.
Potter made a panicked attempt to back away, his chains jangling as he did. Draco couldn't see his eyes, but he could see the slackened fear and increasing pallor. He pushed the goblet up against Potter's mouth again.
"Water?" Potter asked. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Yes, it is water."
Potter huffed then opened his mouth, a blush colouring his cheeks. Realising that Potter was complying, Draco brought the goblet up to his mouth and tried to carefully help him drink. It was an oddly fascinating experience to watch Potter depending on him and complying. He drank eagerly, clearly thirsty.
"Thanks," Potter murmured when he was finished. Draco rolled his eyes again. Who thanked their jailors? He walked back over to the stand to leave the goblet as he drew his wand. He'd need to perform the right comfort charms to keep Potter from soiling himself. As he flicked his wand at Potter's abdomen, he cast the invasive charms which he knew from experience were uncomfortable. Potter grunted and doubled over as his bladder and bowels were emptied.
Then, very eerily, Potter lifted his chin. If not for the blindfold, Draco would have believed that the eyes concealed were looking directly into his own. Potter's hands shifted in their shackles above him, muscles twitching in his face.
"I was expecting you to throw everything that… happened earlier back in my face."
He relaxed his grip on his wand, then took in Potter's struggles to stand. Sighing, he placed his hands on Potter's waist and hefted him up. He gave Potter enough time to plant his feet and then let go.
"Wh-why did you do that?" Potter asked, his voice hoarse.
"Your shoulders are weakening," Malfoy said, feeling detached as spoke, "if you hang off your arms much longer, they'll dislocate. It's all… part of the torture."
With that, he brushed his hands on his trousers, the clamminess of Potter's sweat still lingering. As he opened the door to leave, Potter huffed out a bitter laugh.
"Thank you, Malfoy."
Draco sighed, pausing at the doorway to look back at the pitiful creature in chains.
"Night, Potter."