XLIX
*TW! - Torture*
The floors of the Manor have always been uncomfortably cold and hard, black marble that occasionally lead on to glossy black wood. And for pathetic meagre alone, I found myself unable to move, I was too terrified to move, in my own home. Glued to the ground face down with the sounds of explosions still ringing in my head, I could still feel the biting heat of the flames that surged from Hagrid's hut.
"Mum?" I whispered out, knuckles blanched white as they curled against the floor. But nothing came back, a whisper wasn't going to suffice in this place, it wouldn't even reach the corner of the room. "Mum, I'm scared," I dared to whisper again, just for trying sake. "Mother?"
As one singular tear released itself from my still and staring eyes, crawling south to settle down into the crook of my nose I finally heard footsteps approach. Call it childish and pitiful but I just wanted a hug from my mum and the closer the footsteps got the closer I was to getting the soothing comfort I desperately yearned for.
But instead of a soft voice, instead I was met with an angry grunt before a large, calloused hand curled at the fabric on my shoulder and jolted me up with such force I didn't even have enough time to inhale a breath to gasp in shock. "Mummy isn't waiting for you," Fenrir Greyback snarled. "But I know someone else who is."
His terrifying lycanthropic face narrowed and taunted. Sharp, irregular teeth pointed out at me and eyes of all black; only the toes of my shoes touching the floor as he held me with one fist and lifted with ease. Every other time I had seen him, I'd been scared but to be mere inches from his face and securely in his grip had enough fear flood my veins that I went completely deaf for a few moments.
The tips of my shoes dragged across the wood, down the halls of the Manor; I wanted to scream for help but nobody would be coming for me. They'd already be well aware that they'd die trying.
Darkness filled the hollow drawing room that contained the table at which the Death Eater meetings would be held. And I was thrown to my knees with Greyback still chuckling darkly behind me in the shadows. Luna asked me if I was afraid of the dark, and I said no, because I wasn't, but here and now; I've never been more scared of pitch blackness in my life.
The sound of robes scuffling and slithering across the floor was met with each candle that perched on the chandeliers all lighting in an instant, revealing the Dark Lord with his wand braced upwards; a fine show that it was he who was in control of both light and dark. It bowed at his will, just like the rest of us.
"My Lord?" Bitter, dry bile crawled up my throat, releasing my straining words with hoarseness. "I can explain..."
"There will be no explaining Draco. You will learn to harden up, your failures are embarrassing and you shame us all. Believe me when I tell you it is only your blood status that is keeping you alive at this very moment. That aside you have proved your useless inadequacy, and weakness brings consequences. "
My eyes rounded, top half of my torso slowly inching to lean back away although it was pointless. Where the fuck is my mother? Where the fuck is Snape? Surely my own aunt wouldn't let this happen to me?
Don't they love me?
Voldemort's frame towered above me as I stared up like a petrified child who had gotten lost and was searching for help. And honestly, that really wasn't far from the truth. But I was cornered, there was no other option than to accept what was forthcoming.
Time to disassociate and go and hide in the confines and safety of my own catatonia. It's quiet there. With a slow nod, I bowed my head, ignoring the ache in my kneecaps. "Yes, my lord."
An acidic rasp came from Voldemort, there was no mistaking what he had just cast. "Crucio."
Have you ever experienced the Cruciatus curse before? No? Well..
It was like one hundred hot knives piercing my skin all at the same time, my body contorted backwards straining my spine until it felt like it could burst through the base of my skull.
The screams that left me tore through my vocal chords with such ferocity I was unable to speak for days afterwards, only whispers and even then it was painful. My fingers tensed and curled to my palms so tightly that the ligaments that held them attached to my hands began to split.
And I won't even go into detail about my eyes. All you need to know is that they bled, the blood vessels beneath the delicate cornea all popped at once, turning the gleaming white to a dark shade of crimson, only the blackness of pupils untarnished.
And although I was only under the curses clutches for a minute or so, it seemed like it went on for hours; my perception of time totally skewed and tilted. I can understand now why it sends people insane.
My bones felt like lead weights inside of a flesh suit, the marrow inside of them boiling and bubbling like searing hot oil. Over and over a bolting spear stabbed itself down my throat again and again, twisting my insides up until they were poorly formed knots instead of organs.
Each single muscle in my body convulsed and shuddered, sweat and tears saturated my face and neck; no meaningful breath available to me as my lungs refused to expand.
In short... I felt every single physical symptom of dying, entirely convinced that I was. To be tortured to death for refusal to kill is no noble honour, it scarred me mentally for the remainder of my living days. My body was mere seconds from crumbling to ash, just to be swept from the floor and discarded when I was finally released from my terror and agony with a quick snap.
Not one single word came from the Dark Lord as he peered down in disgust. I'd involuntarily pissed myself, soaked myself right down the length of my leg; and I wouldn't of been able to stop it. It was beyond my control, that's how frightened and in pain I was.
It was only my hollow shell that collapsed sideways back to the floor that now felt like much more of a comfort as opposed to the cold, hardness I had mistaken it for but only moments ago. I shook relentlessly, for how long I can't remember but from overhearing my parents discussions it was well over 48 hours.
"I think we are done here, although... at his next falter, I request the boy bitten and infected," the Dark Lord announced. Nodding to his werewolf henchman. "Release the wife, and now we leave in search of the rest of them. Then maybe, just maybe we can return Lucius. So he can witness the feeble, woeful and worthlessness of his own offspring. Disappointing indeed."
Of course it wouldn't be a session complete of torture without him turning back to spit on to my emaciated frame that limply twitched on the ground. Left all alone again, numbly existing only as a consciousness and nothing more; my body was unbelonging to me now.
Time passed in a wavy blur, waiting, just waiting for someone to save me or put me out of misery. Just put me down like a diseased animal. I'd of taken either option with eagerness.
That was until the sounds of my mother calling my name reverberated through the Manor, searching me out; unable to call back to her for my cries and wails had robbed me of speech.
"Are you in here Draco? I'm not sure what's going on but I-"
I managed to just about roll my eyes to the doorway to see her shudder to a stop. And out of instinct or denial she looked away and shook her head, tapping her temples as though she must be hallucinating; because there was no way that was me, an inch away from morbidity. But when she mustered the courage to turn her gaze back, both of her hands pressed firmly to her mouth; palms muffling the scream that erupted.
I don't know what I must of looked like, but just from mother's reaction; I'd never wish to see myself in that state either.
Rushing to my side, she fell to her knees. No care for her blighting her expensive dress with dust, or any other of the bodily fluids that had pooled around me. "My baby, no," she whispered; hand gently reaching out to touch me but snapping back for fear of causing me more discomfort and torment. "I'll kill him, I'll fucking kill him."
For all the chanting she did to assure herself, both her, I and everyone else knew that she wouldn't or couldn't. Yet, I don't doubt that she wanted to right now. Because I know if anyone ever hurt my son, I'd burn the entire world to the ground without even blinking.
"Elves please?!" Mother shouted. "Any of you please?! Hurry?!"
Skitters of tiny little feet pattered from all directions. "Okay my darling, I'm going to use a sleeping charm to bewitch you alright? But only so that it doesn't hurt whilst we try to move you. Don't be scared my baby, I'm going to make you all better okay? Mummy is going to make it better. I love you darling."
Softly caressing my forehead, she shouted back for the elves to bring a rolling dinner tray. They were quite literally going to haul me onto a silver rolling dinner tray to move me from one room to another because I could not walk, and could not be apparated or levitated for causing more damage.
And a whispering hush, followed a gentle and loving swipe of a thumb across my cheek to wipe away the staining tears that had prickled a red rash, she inched out her wand to quietly speak an incantation that I didn't get to hear. Because then, I passed out in to a deep relieving slumber.
From then on I drifted in and out of consciousness randomly, flitting my eyes open to find myself encased in a bath with Dittany being tenderly washed over me, up my arms and beneath my chin. The look of hopelessness in my mothers eyes didn't go unnoticed, and the embarrassment of being bathed like a toddler by your mother at the age of seventeen wasn't even an afterthought.
Then blackness again.
This time I lifted my lids, disorientated to find myself in my bed, surrounded by pillows that had been arranged to prop up every one of my limbs. A bottle of Skele-Gro, Dittany, purified alcohol solution for disinfectant, and many, many other vials of other healing potions and plants that I was un-knowledgeable of on the bedside table next to me.
Mother sat on the chaise longue beneath my window, the very same one we had shared a joint on Christmas day.
She just wept into her own lap, unmoving and likely unwilling to do so. Overwhelmed with guilt and grief, her skin looked sunken and hair was unkempt. Not perfectly groomed like usual, if I'd have to bet on it I'd say she hadn't left my side for a single second.
The woman was exhausted, both physically and mentally. But there was nothing I could do about it because once more the pain killing potions that were flooding my nervous system had my eyes roll back into their sockets. Destined to remain incapacitated until I had healed enough to just exist.
Truthfully though, I think seeing my mum look so broken hurt way more than any unforgiveable curse.