𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐃.𝐌

₄₄ ᴄʀᴜᴄɪᴏ

He looked up at Victor, the only one brave enough to unchain him and through his disheveled bloodstained and dirty hair, he saw the way Victor was looking at him.

The man had a plan.

That's what that dark, menacing look meant.

Don't bother, Draco thought, what would be the point?

Victor shoved Draco into the cell causing him to land on his front, palms painfully bracing the Stoney wet floor. Draco groaned, a devilish sort of growl and then the door squeaked shut and now draco was imprisoned, although he has been for a long while, but now he is actually behind bars.

Draco was able to sit himself up, leaning his warrior body against the bars. He needed medical attention, he needed to eat and drink but down here, he won't get any of that. He is left to die and then rot until he is nothing but food for the rats.

He must have been taken to a different dungeon because he was the only one there. Where were the trainees? The ones who didn't make it to the last tournament? The ones he is supposed to be executed with?

Draco didn't have it in him to figure out the answers to his questions, so instead, he let the darkness comfort him and eventually, fell into the strange abyss of sleep.

┈˃̶༒˂̶┈
ONE WEEK LATER
┈˃̶༒˂̶┈

Draco woke up, feeling like he was floating on water. His consciousness faded in and out like the waves in a storm. Hands held his arms, two rough hands gripping him and walking him someplace. Draco tried to raise his chin but found his own head was too heavy. All he saw, between the flashing darkness of his mind, were his feet dragging against the stone floor and another two sets of feet on either side of him, walking with strength.

But Draco knew where he was going. He knew this walk. Knew what he is in for.

Eventually, he was led into a room and thrown to the floor, where his bruised wrists are chained to manacles attached to the floor. Draco was kneeling now, with his arms lazily resting on his knees and wrists securely clasped by thick, strong manacles. His body swayed slightly as he struggled to stay awake.

His shirt was gone and he was only in his dirty, ripped blood stained trousers. His chest was red with scratches and cuts and covered in dirt.

He heard footsteps behind him but was too weak to turn his head, and too careless to see who was going to be torturing him today.

How many days has it been now?

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Kingsley asked as he walked in front of Draco.

Draco didn't look up but he did chuckle as he said, "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Torturing you?" Kingsley questioned, and Draco looked up through furrowed eyes, "Yes. Yes, I am actually."

Draco didn't respond, he only made a silent promise to himself that before he dies, he will kill this bastard.

"So please, don't answer any of the questions, keep being the arrogant dick you have always been," Kingsley crouched down in front of Draco, the one people used to describe as a lethal warrior, "but the Lord needs answers so I suggest you comply."