A Wonderful Fortuitous Love

58. A Place to Start

“Those who are heartless once cared too much.”

- Unknown

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The first spell that hit him, he didn’t even know the name to.

But Draco had seen it preformed on another person before. It had been way back in those first few months of getting the Mark, and they had just dragged in the newest lot of prisoners through the house he had once called home. He did not know who the person was that was separated from the rest and pulled from the cellar to the drawing room, but knew that whatever questions his father’s ‘friends’ had interrogated him with were met with little cooperation.

He was made to watch by his Aunt Bella, insisting to his mother that it was a good way to learn ‘what happens to scum when they fail to oblige.’ And while Draco could not remember the man’s name, the screams and the way his body thrashed around still plagued his mind.

The curse was not a Crucio, or any kind of Unforgivable, but the terrible and quaking pleas and shouts the man gave as he was hit with another over and over made Draco think it should be.

His mother did not tell him what the spell was called or what it even did, only that there were many versions of it and it was something only Death Eaters used. The point of the curse was that they only worked without saying an incantation, that way your opponent would be completely oblivious to the agony that was about to hit them.

After the first twenty minutes of watching the man squirm and bleed on his floor, a floor Draco remembered sitting on when he was six and playing with his Quidditch figurines, the first seed of doubt was planted in his head, causing him to wonder if this really was what he wanted to spend his life doing.

Now, Draco stood in the centre of the Greengrass’ drawing room, his legs wobbling and his body swinging with the effort to keep standing as Greengrass sat in his worn out and patchy chair before the hearth of the fireplace, sipping out of his drink apathetically while he watched Death Eater after Death Eater take turns on Draco. It was all like one big sick game of revenge to him. And no longer had he only had the privilege to see the curse preformed on another, but now knew what it felt like, too.

The first time he’d experienced it, a loud agonised cry he could not contain broke free. He did not know it was magic at first, but believed there were actual white-hot knives craving deliberate patterns on the inside of his stomach, and he gritted his teeth to not scream, to not let them know how badly it hurt. But he could not prevent himself from doubling over and clutching at his belly, his fingertips digging deeply into the thin fabric of his dress shirt that in any other occasion might have been considered painful, but now only digged harder because he would do anything, anything at all, to distract himself from the impossible pain that rocketed through him. And then the curse was lifted, and another nameless man in black robes stepped forward, his wand pointed between Draco’s eyes, and an all-new form of agony swept through him.

Rather than sudden pain all at once, this one was gradual. First, it was just a mild itch to his throat. But then it intensified, and suddenly it was like dragging sharp fingernails all the way down. His insides felt like they were expanding to the point where he wondered if it was possible for them to explode. Except before that theory could be tested, they deflated again, and instead it felt like someone was twisting or tearing them out. The raspy beginnings of a scream left his mouth before he could think to stifle the sound. He heard a few Death Eaters laugh but could not find the strength to look up and kept his attention on the ground, using up every ounce of willpower he could find to not fall to his knees, to keep standing no matter how poorly.