“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.
When it finally stopped, Draco glanced down at his stomach, needing the reassurance that it was still intact, and then moved his gaze upwards to Greengrass, still sitting leisurely in his once-extravagant chair. He clapped mockingly when Draco’s attention was back on him.
“Quite impressive, I must say,” he said thoughtfully. “Most of the grown men we’ve brought in here are usually sobbing on the floor by now. Your father, for one.” He smiled callously. “He was messed up so horrifically that he almost lot his mind entirely. But I’m sure you don’t need reminding.”
His jaw tightened. The urge to express the fury that was boiling up inside of him at the mention of his father was strong. But he could not let them get to him. It was something Potter had drilled in his head while they were planning.
Whatever you do, don’t give them a reason to kill you.
Got it.
No, I’m serious, Malfoy. They’re going to say things to you, things you’re not going to like hearing, but you’ve got to keep your emotions in check. One slip up could be fatal.
“He always was weak,” Greengrass went on, gaze calculating and unwavering, perhaps searching for signs he was hitting a nerve. “I mean, yeah, when he was with powerful people, he was the big shot. He was The Lucius Malfoy. But while we had him here, and I watched him beg, I realised just how small and petty he really was. A man is nothing without his followers.”
Draco stood up as straight as he could, his aching limbs screaming in protest. “So what does that make you?” he asked boldly. “Without your followers, you’re just the guy whose wife and daughters are dead.” The words were spoken before he could think to stop, and he knew he was in trouble when Greengrass’s eyes darkened, his upper lip twitching as he rose slowly from his chair.
It infuriated him that Draco had touched a sensitive spot in one go while he had yet to say anything that really fazed him, and Greengrass made no secret that he was mad.
His steps were slow and measured as he strolled close, twirling his wand between his thin fingers.
“She chose Weasley over you,” he said softly.
“I’m aware of that.”
“No, I don’t think you are.” His eyes pierced Draco’s, a cruel smirk toying with his lips. “Think about it. The only person you have ever truly loved, and she doesn’t even love you back.” His voice dropped to a whisper now that they were directly in front of each other. “What’s that like?”
The tip of Greengrass’s wand probed Draco’s chest, right over his heart, and a second later searing pain shot through him, wounding itself around his heart like a spiders web and then spreading through the rest of his body. It seemed to be everywhere, in his bones, under his skin, in his blood; every part of him felt like it was on fire, making him cry out loudly and sink to his knees. He wanted to claw off his skin, thought he was milliseconds away from trying, when the pain left, leaving his body to twitch and convulse from the aftershock, his head bowed to the floor as he gasped and heaved. A hole was now burned over the material of his shirt, staining that entire area was blood leaking progressively from his chest.
“I bet it feels a little like that, huh?” Greengrass murmured from above him. He kneeled down in front of Draco, but Draco refused to meet his eye. “She’s next, you know. All three of them will get their comeuppance soon enough.”
He did not know what came over him, but through his pants and gasps Draco began to laugh hoarsely, the sound echoing around the room and sounding deranged and wet from the blood oozing out his nose. He looked up at Greengrass and the angry set to his face made him laugh all the harder. If there was one positive thing about being a Malfoy, it was that you were taught from birth how to laugh in people’s faces.
“Lost it already, have you?”
Draco shook his head, now on his knees. “You really think you can take on those three?” he asked, ensuring his tone was as degrading as possible. “I’d like to see you try before they kick each and everyone of your arses first.”
It happened in a blur, and the only warning sign was the way Greengrass’s eyes narrowed. He backhanded Draco so hard across the face that his whole form was thrown to the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat on the floor, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The pain was nothing compared to what he’d already been through, but knowing that he was likely to go through it all over again, he did not waste his strength and did not bother to get up.
“Is that,” he coughed and spat out more blood, “the best you can do?”
Greengrass was standing over him now, looking down upon him with his face contorted into a mask of hate. He kneeled down again and pressed his wand into the same crimson spot as before, and the same burning sensation filled Draco all over again as he cried out.
“Actually,” he said, watching Draco wither, his eyes alight, “I’m just getting started.”
***
Hermione turned the rusty doorknob, the door creaking and upsetting dust as she stepped through. When she passed Harry and Ron along with the other Aurors waiting outside, she said shortly, “He’s not there.”
She continued walking away from the old store back into a deserted town square. There, she checked the map and it’s marked spots.
“We’ll go to the camp site next,” she stated as they gathered around her. Harry and Ron caught her hands, and together they Apparated.
The campsite was located in a forest. They had to walk a little while, ducking under branches and stepping over tree roots and narrowly dodging spider webs, at which Ron looked less than uneasy about. Eventually, they found a clearing.
In the middle was a pile of sticks for a fire, logs placed in a circle around it. As she inspected further Hermione could make out shoe prints in the dirt. The place had recently been vacated.
But that did not stop her from checking everywhere, from going a large distance away from the campsite to checking up trees. She didn’t know how long they let her check uselessly before Ron started tentatively following her.
“He’s not here either.” It was, surprisingly, her who spoke first. But the words were distant and flat.
“No,” Ron agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t find him, when the sun rises maybe –”
“That may be too late!” Her voice was high-pitched and wavering, the possibly of not actually finding him terrifying her so much that she could not think. Her hysteria was starting to outweigh her logic. This being the thirteenth place they had looked and still, they were no closer to finding Draco than they were an hour ago.
“Hermione –”
“Ron.” She spun around to look at him, face serious and eyes probably a little too wide. “You’ve got to tell me. Are you positive you didn’t hear anything? Anything at all?” Her hands grasped his shoulders. “Because you’ve got to say something.”
“I told you. I didn’t hear –”
“Think!” she urged. “There must have been something. Even if there was a word they said more than once, just anything that stood out or seemed strange.”
Ron went quiet, thinking, and it took all her restraint not to rush him.
“There was this one time…” he started slowly, and Hermione nodded her encouragement. “I was in a cell and this guy came down, I didn’t know who he was, his mask was still on, but he was muttering about something. I guess maybe he’d almost got captured or something and he was in trouble for it, I dunno. But he was annoyed anyhow. He swore a lot, did say this one word a couple of times, but whenever he used it his voice went too quiet to hear. Then more swearing, some threats, the words ‘stupid’ and ‘imbecile’ and then the word ‘daughter’, some more dark mutterings –”
“Wait, what was that? Daughter?”
“That’s what it sounded like, and he only said it once. Didn’t seem important to me –”
Her gaze flickered down. She thought. And suddenly it all clicked. Her grip on Ron tightened. “Ron, what ever happened to Mr. Greengrass?”
“What, the bloke who lost his family in the war?”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “Where is he, do you know?”
“Well, no one’s seen him in a good while now.”
“Where does he live? Has he had more than one house?”
“No, just the one manor. All pure-bloods are like that, but the place’s been deserted for two years now.”
She paused to think, arms dropping away from him, turning to gaze at the faded blue mountains in the distance. “Where else would he be?”
“How am I…?” Ron’s voice trailed off. “You don’t think it’s Greengrass behind this, do you?”
Hermione might have said something sarcastic about that, but they did not have the time and she was too busy racking her brains.
“Hermione,” Ron said after a moment. She heard him shift the leaves on the ground with his shoe, moving closer. “Why would he want Draco so much? What has he got to do with anything –?”
“It’s a long story,” she said tiredly. “Just trust me.”
“You’re sure that’s who’s behind this?” The question was not asked by Ron.
Hermione glanced back to see two Aurors on either side of Ron. She did not know who they were, but remembered passing on the way to Harry or Ron’s office on several accounts. They were both young, but looked older than their years. Like kids who had been thrown into battle too early.
“I’m sure,” she told them just as a gust of wind blew over her face. At least it wasn’t raining here.
“Wasn’t he the guy who lost his family?” one of them asked.
“He was.”
“You know… I’ve heard that when something significant happens to an individual, they’ll often revisit the place it all began.”
“I’ve heard that too, come to think of it…” Ron mused.
Hermione faced the three of them, her eyes glazed with thought. “Me too, actually. So… so that means it wouldn’t be ridiculous to visit his manor.”
“Probably would be the best place to start,” said the second.
A spark of hope kindled inside of her. It was a scratchy lead at best, but it was better than their futile guessing. At least now she knew who was behind it, and it was a place to start, nonetheless.
***
“Are you sure this is it?”
Ron stood beside her, his eyes locked ahead as thunder broke the silence of night and lightning flashed across the sky. “Check the ring,” he said. “But this is the place.”
Harry lifted her hand, the ring in clear view and giving off an orange glow. Something close to but not quite like relief washed over her. She was glad she had found him, but now that that worry had been lifted an all knew kind of anxiety curled in her lower belly.
They had spent more than two hours, possibly even three, to get where they are now. That was a long time to be with Death Eaters. The thought of what Draco had surely already been through and was still going through was enough to bring fresh new waves of panic over her, was enough to have her yanking out her wand and waving it over the iron gate separating them from the manor.
She was able to detect roughly a dozen protective enchantments placed over the fence. The number was a lot less than she’d anticipated, but still not the favourable outcome. While she did not doubt her ability to lift the spells, this time was different. This time she was emotionally and mentally exhausted, and she was not very confident with her casting.
But Hermione did not let this stop her.
She raised both her hands, wand held in her right, was about to say the incantation when Harry grabbed her left wrist again and Ron grabbed the right. She turned her head to both sides, staring at them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, the question sounding fiercer than she’d meant it to.
“You do realise Ron and I and the rest of the guys back there are trained to break through protective charms?” Harry asked, a twitch to his lips that may have been a smirk.
“And that this charm is best preformed when there’s more than one person?” Ron added, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t actually think you’d have to do it alone, did you?”
Hermione flushed with embarrassment. How conceited of her, to think she’d have to do all the work. They’d brought others for more reasons than one, hadn’t they? And this was Harry and Ron’s job. She had been so caught up in saving Draco she had not paused to realise that she was not alone in this, that she really did have people who had her back.
Harry and Ron dropped her wrists, exchanging the same look they always did whenever she was acting overly Hermione-ish. Harry strode over to instruct his fellow Aurors while Ron lifted up his hands towards the fence, projecting balls of light into the air.
The rest of the Aurors stood in a line down the fence, doing the same as Ron, Harry on her other side. She raised her hands again, and more and more balls drifted through the air.
After preforming every counter spell possible, it was safe to enter.
Sucking in a breath, Hermione unlatched the gate, pulling it gently to avoid the loud creaking, and then she started walking.
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Next chapter; the finale of the night. I've got a couple more twists for you all yet ;D it's also longer.
Towards the end this chapter was a little slow, but it was needed. I really enjoyed torturing Draco tho... not sure if I should be concerned about this evil streak. Anyway, I'm really excited about the next chapter, seriously omg.