Syrinx

Syrinx / Loony Moony

The face of Lucius Malfoy loomed over him, a triumphant, smug smile set in place.

"Broken yet?"

Draco seethed and rubbed his aching limbs, the floor hard and cold underneath him. He felt as if this time he surely had cracked something. A rib, probably. Damn, those bones would take weeks to heal even if he did try to heal them, a privilege his father would never allow. He glared at the man (who was, unfortunately, and that's one fucking huge understatement right now, his father) standing over him.

"Do you even care, father?"

A mock-pensive expression crossed Lucius' features. He traced a finger over his lower lip. "No, not really."

"I thought so."

"Get up." That voice, hard and brutal just like its owner, bore menace, that no one in his right mind would ignore, not even Voldemort.

Draco tried to get back on his shaking legs, but failed miserably. He slumped back on that damn floor, physically defeated. He knew he ought to make another shot at forcing himself to stand, but after hours of being tortured 'til the point of blackout,. weariness had finally settled in his thighs

Lucius looked unimpressed. "I said get up, you silly boy. Or perhaps you want me to help you with that."

A bolt of fear shot through Draco, spurring him into action. It was amazing what being terrified could do to you. He got up slowly.

"Good. I think we had enough of cruciatus for now, don't you think, my dear boy? Let's try something else. Imperio."

He knew that feeling by now. He would've welcomed it, if not for the unfortunate outcome of him being utterly subjected to a madman's will. Nevertheless the slow warmness and calm that had settled in his body was comforting.

Lucius watched as his only son and heir's face became blank with the force of the spell and rolled his eyes. Really, he was half thinking of torturing him again just for submitting himself so willingly to a curse he should have learned a long time ago to resist. Such an embarrassment to the Malfoy name he was, particularly this summer. An illicit affair with Potter! Lucius inhaled sharply through the nose, disgusted. It was one thing for the boy to prefer his own sex, but it was a whole other thing to have a go at it with the Lord's enemy. Indeed, the Dark Lord was most displeased to hear that one of his most promising young Death Eater-to be was involved with Potter, and commanded Lucius to punish him accordingly.

And what was Lucius if not an obedient servant?

He smirked and went out of the room, ordering Draco to follow.

The room they entered, after passing many winding narrow paths in the dungeons, was actually a lovely one. Carpeted in Gryffindor red, a grate with a fire burning, it seemed uncharacteristic for the Malfoy dungeons.

But then, if Potter was to be held captive in it, wasn't it fitting?

Lucius entered the door. Ah, yes. Still shackled to the wall, as he ordered. The boy was delicious, looking like that, and were he not here for a specific purpose, he could be entertaining to have. Such a shame that after this Potter would not live to see another day. Lucius would make sure Draco will be there too. Couldn't separate the lovebirds now, could he, particularly when one of them is to die.A lovely melodramatic end for a pathetically melodramatic relationship. Malfoys were always fond of irony of that sort.The sort that involved the suffering of others.

Draco, still mentally floating with the spell, entered the room as well, and saw someone tied to one of the walls. The eyes were a bit familiar, but not really. They lacked something. What was that thing...oh yes, glasses. Wait. Eyes with no glasses that looked familiar...Draco's eyes focused just a tiny bit, and realized, with an undefined shiver, that they were Potter's. So Harry was here. Oh really, he should know this was not the place for him to be. Draco wondered if he should care that Harry had never looked this terrible before.

When he tried to think about this some more, he suddenly felt a fresh wave of that warm tingly feeling of the Imperio spell. He immediately concentrated on preserving that feeling, Potter's condition completely forgotten. The voice of his father was in his head again, commanding things to be done. He did them without question, happy to still have his oasis of oblivion.

When he entered Potter with no preparation or lubrication and the boy screamed his name in agony, Draco merely blinked and tried pushing in harder. Father would not be pleased to see a work half done, and having father not pleased would mean the loss of floating and the return of pain. Draco could vehemently vouch for that.

When he hit the other boy with the cruciatus curse again and again until Potter's throat was hoarse from yelling, Draco began to feel tired. Dark magic tended to do that to him. He really just wanted to go to bed with that warm core of the spell and never wake again.

He wondered where that last scrap of thought came from.

When he incendio-ed Potter's feet, Draco began to feel disturbed that his quiet bliss was punctured with faraway screams. His face scrunched up and he continued his task, the voice of his father prompting him. They were not his own screams, and that was what mattered.

Then, the feeling suddenly vanished and Draco, his strength failing him, fainted.

Lucius grimaced. Such a woeful ending to a delightful evening. And he was expecting to see Draco, eyes focused once again, seeing the wreck that his boytoy was now. The wreck that was his doing. His eyes narrowed in distaste and he summoned a house elf to drag the boy back to his chambers and lock him in. He turned and looked at Potter.

Most satisfying.

Lucius wondered for a moment if he should ask for the Dark Lord to grace his home with an appearance, and see how Potter looked, but it occurred to him that Potter would probably look much worse by morning.

With a truly horrible grin, he turned and left the room.

*

When Voldemort entered the room the day after, the sight that met his eyes was one that pleased him on so many levels, he was already sure this would be a gratifying day.

To his right was bound that young traitorous Malfoy boy, his face wearing a volatile fusion of anger, hate and pain such as Voldemort had never seen. Ah, the energy young people invested in their emotions; it was always a pleasure to behold. Especially if the emotions indicated the boy was steadily going insane. Indeed, there were things even a horde of dementors couldn't do.

To his left was bound Harry Potter, his lasting bane. Potter would not be a bane for much longer however, he thought with relish.

Voldemort's eyes roved up and down the boy's tortured, mangled, and abused figure. Maybe he would even get an erection today, and that hadn't happened for a long time.

He looked at Lucius, standing between them, looking viciously proud and he thought that perhaps tonight he could grant the man something special for his actions, although it would be more than the ice-hard blond had bargained for.

Almost certainly.

He looked again at the Malfoy boy. "My my, Draco, what a pretty sight you are." He stopped to enjoy the shudder that went through the boy as he heard his own name intoned by the snakelike lips. "Came to see your lover die? How very sweet," he finished with a sugary tone, which probably sounded more like a mixture of acidic sugar and some poisonous essence of some flesh-devouring jungle plant.

He turned to Potter. "See, boy, even your lover is here to watch you die. You will truly come to completion today, as will I. I trust you had a lovely stay at the Manor? The Malfoy family is renowned for the exemplary use of their dungeons. They do enjoy making a guest's stay as memorable as they can. Did the boy have any complaints, Lucius?"

Lucius shook his blond mane, a lecherous smile etched from ear to ear. That was not a bad look on him, Voldemort mused. But he would look infinitely better tied up, for his disposal. He should put a cautious care not to damage the man permanently. After all, if he proved himself so useful already, why ruin the possibility to do so again in the future?

He mentally shook himself free of these thoughts. This was not the time, when there was unfinished business to complete. There would be time for it later. Voldemort pinned the wounded boy with a murderous look. "I do hope you said all your goodbyes, boy. How it would grieve your little friends not to have parted with you properly, but then," he smiled, baring a row of small, pointy teeth, "I'm sure that noble lover of yours could give them a detailed description of this moment instead."

Harry Potter, held conscious solely by potions and by his last ounce of strength, tried to manage a glare at Voldemort. Blinded by the lack of his glasses and the pain, god, the pain, he sent a small spark of all the anger he could muster in Voldemort's direction. He heard Voldemort laugh openly, and heard the sounds of a wand being drawn out. That was it, he was going to die, and there would be no more pain.

He tried, for what seemed like a moment, to have a last glance at his lover, now his torturer, and hoped Draco would not survive this any longer than he would.

Dammit! His gaze was too blurred. He only saw something that looked like Draco's hair. He wasn't sure of that either.

No.

"Avada Kedavra"

No.

And he thought no more.

Time seemed to pause. The universe was shaking, and not shaking at the same moment in the brightly coloured room. In Voldemort's eyes it seemed as if everything stopped, giving Lucius' eyes, the desperate mid-movement Draco was in and the now-dead Potter a waxy sheen that reflected the fire in the grate.

And then Draco screamed. A sharp, unstopping sound of terror and misery and pain that seemed to encapsulate everything and nothing of the scene laid out in the room. It pierced the stone walls, the ground above them, the very air. Every heart in the wizarding world missed a beat in that moment.

Draco stopped screaming, his lifeless form sagging in his bonds.

The glaze snapped.

Lucius turned his eyes to look at his son and shrugged.

"Lucius, I shall be expecting you tonight in my private chambers."

"Yes, my Lord."

In a blink, Voldemort was gone. Lucius stood still for a very long time, almost not breathing himself. He finally summoned a house elf, and after making sure Potter's body was brought to Dumbledore with his warmest wishes, he left Draco in the room.

He wondered what he should wear for tonight.

Fin.