Chapter 8: Draco’s Escape [flashback part 1]
“Crucio.”
The all-too-familiar word stung Draco Malfoy’s ears almost as strongly as the curse that hit him. Falling to the ground, he clenched his teeth, eyes closed tightly. He was gasping for breath as he writhed under the curse, the shriek-like laugh from the Death Eaters surrounding him paining him in a way almost as bad as the curse itself – embarrassment. Here he was, a failure, being punished for all he did that was wrong. Here he was -- a letdown to the Cause. The curse was lifted in a matter of seconds, and the boy’s emotionless grey eyes refused to look up, into the eyes of the master he failed, into the eyes of the people who had expected more from him. But no, they hadn’t expected more. They knew Draco was going to fail. Breathing heavily, he didn’t let out that it had hurt him. Or, tried to. It was hard to pretend like the Cruciatus Curse didn't hurt. But this -- this was his punishment. He deserved it. He had failed. Fail – what an awful word, yet it rang through his ears non-stop in a way that made him clench his teeth even more. He had to get his mind off of this, or he was afraid he would shed a tear – talk about embarrassment. Now, he, Draco Malfoy, was nothing. Not only had he failed, but his father was in Azkaban. He had no father. His mother was – where was she? She was the only person he had left on this planet, he needed her. But, no -- Think of anything else, Draco, anything. Be strong. His blond hair hung in his eyes, and he examined the patterns of the wooden ground from behind the shelter of his hair, anything to take his mind off of his aching body, to take his mind off what was to happen to him.
“You failed in your task, Draco,” seethed the Dark Lord.
Draco didn’t say anything. Breathing heavily, he stared at the ground, following the ground's pattern. He tried to steady his breathing and his pounding heart, but he was not succeeding.
“I had hoped that you would prove me wrong. I had hoped that the Malfoys were still loyal to me. Was I wrong, Draco? Tell me I wasn’t wrong.”
But Draco couldn’t tell him that.
“Your father is a fool, boy. He disappointed me. And so did you.” The Dark Lord glared down at the boy, who seemed unmoved. “Why don’t you care? I’m going to kill you, unless you can prove that you are truly loyal to the Cause.”
Closing his eyes, Draco felt something in his stomach that made him think he was going to be sick. Coughing slightly, he pressed his lips tight together, balling his hands into fists, gasping for air. The Dark Lord spoke some more, but it barely registered in Draco’s head.
“So, Draco, tell me. Is it worth it to give you a second chance?”
“I need… air…” Draco choked out, closing his eyes tightly.
“Is he going to be sick?” said one of the Death Eaters, a hint of disgust in his voice, and Draco nodded.
“Bella,” said the Dark Lord calmly, “take your nephew outside for a bit of fresh air, to clear his head. Maybe you can…yes, I believe you can convince him that he’s on the right side, for I sense doubt in his mind.”
Draco mumbled a thank you, standing up and hurrying to the door, followed by Bellatrix Lestrange. Her thin lips spread into a sneer, as the heavy-lidded, dark-haired female led Draco to the front door.
“Nephew, nephew, nephew,” cooed Bellatrix as they arrived outside. “You foolish child. You’re as foolish as my sister.”
Draco looked around. “Little Hangleton,” said a sign a while away. He looked behind him – a Muggle Town.
“We’re in the Dark Lord’s disgusting Muggle father’s old house,” said Bellatrix, as if knowing exactly what Draco was thinking. “But we have a more important matter at hand. You see… the Dark Lord doubts the loyalty of the Malfoy family, and therefore doubts the loyalty of my sister. Your mother.”
He could run. The Muggles would help him. He would look questionable, in Hogwarts robes, and clearly distraught, but surely they would help a teenager who looked as if he had just witnessed death... but, no. Let’s rephrase that. Surely they would help a teenager who had just witnessed death.
“But you know the way the mind works, Draco. You know that if he doubts my sister, he’ll begin to doubt me? And I’ve done nothing worth doubting. Are you listening, boy? Crucio!”
Draco felt the familiar surge of pain as he fell to his knees. Once again the curse was lifted and he stumbled up, shakily moving foreward and grabbing the grass in front of him tightly.
“Draco, Draco, Draco…” she said softly, leaning foreword, embracing him. She stroked the side of his face, and then his hair as she spoke, “We love you – don’t you know that? Well, used to.” The hand stroking his hair grabbed onto it tightly, yanking it harshly. “What happened to that boy we used to love?” she hissed. “Where did he go?”
Draco didn’t answer. His teeth were clenched as tightly as the strong grip of her hand.
“I always liked your father,” she said softly, releasing Draco and standing, taking a few steps away. “But I must say you’re a lot better looking,” she added, chuckling lightly. He stumbled up, looking at her icily.
“Why are you looking at me like that, boy? It’s a compliment. You’re a good looking boy, and you never know how that could help, yet…” She trailed off when she saw that Draco had looked away. “Please, don’t turn against us,” she whispered. “He’ll kill my sister… she has done nothing worth being killed for, except beg for Severus’s help… of course, she might’ve just done that to be sure the task would be completed.”
So that was the reason Narcissa had gone to Snape? Snape had told Draco, while dragging him back to the Dark Lord, that his mother had doubted his ability and, wanting to help him, had come to Snape. Draco, though, listening to Bellatrix, felt a stab of pain. But, no. Narcissa had gone because the job needed to be done and she wanted to secure it. Draco didn’t know which story he appreciated. He had to go to his mother. He had to find out if she loved him. His eyes fluttered back to the town sign. He pressed his lips tight together, focusing back on the ground. How would he get away from his aunt?
“Are you listening, boy? Your mother doesn’t care about you,” hissed Bellatrix.
He wasn’t listening – he was still staring at the ground. He looked back at the town. The people there would surely help him…
“Draco! Your mother doesn’t love you! Don’t you care?” she cried, desperate to make an impact on the boy.
When Draco didn’t flinch, she exploded.
“You idiot! You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying!” screeched Bellatrix.
He knew what he had to do.
“Stupefy!” he cried, in an instant pointing his wand directly at her. Not expecting her only nephew to attack, the spell hit her, and though it barely had an impact on her, she stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground. Stunned, he stood there, panting, staring down at her. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone realised what he did. And suddenly he realised she had let out a shriek of anger, and yells began to be heard from the house. Horrified, he turned and bolted to the town. To Little Hangleton – to freedom.
“Crucio.”
The all-too-familiar word stung Draco Malfoy’s ears almost as strongly as the curse that hit him. Falling to the ground, he clenched his teeth, eyes closed tightly. He was gasping for breath as he writhed under the curse, the shriek-like laugh from the Death Eaters surrounding him paining him in a way almost as bad as the curse itself – embarrassment. Here he was, a failure, being punished for all he did that was wrong. Here he was -- a letdown to the Cause. The curse was lifted in a matter of seconds, and the boy’s emotionless grey eyes refused to look up, into the eyes of the master he failed, into the eyes of the people who had expected more from him. But no, they hadn’t expected more. They knew Draco was going to fail. Breathing heavily, he didn’t let out that it had hurt him. Or, tried to. It was hard to pretend like the Cruciatus Curse didn't hurt. But this -- this was his punishment. He deserved it. He had failed. Fail – what an awful word, yet it rang through his ears non-stop in a way that made him clench his teeth even more. He had to get his mind off of this, or he was afraid he would shed a tear – talk about embarrassment. Now, he, Draco Malfoy, was nothing. Not only had he failed, but his father was in Azkaban. He had no father. His mother was – where was she? She was the only person he had left on this planet, he needed her. But, no -- Think of anything else, Draco, anything. Be strong. His blond hair hung in his eyes, and he examined the patterns of the wooden ground from behind the shelter of his hair, anything to take his mind off of his aching body, to take his mind off what was to happen to him.
“You failed in your task, Draco,” seethed the Dark Lord.
Draco didn’t say anything. Breathing heavily, he stared at the ground, following the ground's pattern. He tried to steady his breathing and his pounding heart, but he was not succeeding.
“I had hoped that you would prove me wrong. I had hoped that the Malfoys were still loyal to me. Was I wrong, Draco? Tell me I wasn’t wrong.”
But Draco couldn’t tell him that.
“Your father is a fool, boy. He disappointed me. And so did you.” The Dark Lord glared down at the boy, who seemed unmoved. “Why don’t you care? I’m going to kill you, unless you can prove that you are truly loyal to the Cause.”
Closing his eyes, Draco felt something in his stomach that made him think he was going to be sick. Coughing slightly, he pressed his lips tight together, balling his hands into fists, gasping for air. The Dark Lord spoke some more, but it barely registered in Draco’s head.
“So, Draco, tell me. Is it worth it to give you a second chance?”
“I need… air…” Draco choked out, closing his eyes tightly.
“Is he going to be sick?” said one of the Death Eaters, a hint of disgust in his voice, and Draco nodded.
“Bella,” said the Dark Lord calmly, “take your nephew outside for a bit of fresh air, to clear his head. Maybe you can…yes, I believe you can convince him that he’s on the right side, for I sense doubt in his mind.”
Draco mumbled a thank you, standing up and hurrying to the door, followed by Bellatrix Lestrange. Her thin lips spread into a sneer, as the heavy-lidded, dark-haired female led Draco to the front door.
“Nephew, nephew, nephew,” cooed Bellatrix as they arrived outside. “You foolish child. You’re as foolish as my sister.”
Draco looked around. “Little Hangleton,” said a sign a while away. He looked behind him – a Muggle Town.
“We’re in the Dark Lord’s disgusting Muggle father’s old house,” said Bellatrix, as if knowing exactly what Draco was thinking. “But we have a more important matter at hand. You see… the Dark Lord doubts the loyalty of the Malfoy family, and therefore doubts the loyalty of my sister. Your mother.”
He could run. The Muggles would help him. He would look questionable, in Hogwarts robes, and clearly distraught, but surely they would help a teenager who looked as if he had just witnessed death... but, no. Let’s rephrase that. Surely they would help a teenager who had just witnessed death.
“But you know the way the mind works, Draco. You know that if he doubts my sister, he’ll begin to doubt me? And I’ve done nothing worth doubting. Are you listening, boy? Crucio!”
Draco felt the familiar surge of pain as he fell to his knees. Once again the curse was lifted and he stumbled up, shakily moving foreward and grabbing the grass in front of him tightly.
“Draco, Draco, Draco…” she said softly, leaning foreword, embracing him. She stroked the side of his face, and then his hair as she spoke, “We love you – don’t you know that? Well, used to.” The hand stroking his hair grabbed onto it tightly, yanking it harshly. “What happened to that boy we used to love?” she hissed. “Where did he go?”
Draco didn’t answer. His teeth were clenched as tightly as the strong grip of her hand.
“I always liked your father,” she said softly, releasing Draco and standing, taking a few steps away. “But I must say you’re a lot better looking,” she added, chuckling lightly. He stumbled up, looking at her icily.
“Why are you looking at me like that, boy? It’s a compliment. You’re a good looking boy, and you never know how that could help, yet…” She trailed off when she saw that Draco had looked away. “Please, don’t turn against us,” she whispered. “He’ll kill my sister… she has done nothing worth being killed for, except beg for Severus’s help… of course, she might’ve just done that to be sure the task would be completed.”
So that was the reason Narcissa had gone to Snape? Snape had told Draco, while dragging him back to the Dark Lord, that his mother had doubted his ability and, wanting to help him, had come to Snape. Draco, though, listening to Bellatrix, felt a stab of pain. But, no. Narcissa had gone because the job needed to be done and she wanted to secure it. Draco didn’t know which story he appreciated. He had to go to his mother. He had to find out if she loved him. His eyes fluttered back to the town sign. He pressed his lips tight together, focusing back on the ground. How would he get away from his aunt?
“Are you listening, boy? Your mother doesn’t care about you,” hissed Bellatrix.
He wasn’t listening – he was still staring at the ground. He looked back at the town. The people there would surely help him…
“Draco! Your mother doesn’t love you! Don’t you care?” she cried, desperate to make an impact on the boy.
When Draco didn’t flinch, she exploded.
“You idiot! You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying!” screeched Bellatrix.
He knew what he had to do.
“Stupefy!” he cried, in an instant pointing his wand directly at her. Not expecting her only nephew to attack, the spell hit her, and though it barely had an impact on her, she stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground. Stunned, he stood there, panting, staring down at her. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone realised what he did. And suddenly he realised she had let out a shriek of anger, and yells began to be heard from the house. Horrified, he turned and bolted to the town. To Little Hangleton – to freedom.
Leave a Review