andy_star: What Real Torture Is (Neville, M15)
Title: What Real Torture Is
Author: andy_star
CPE: Neville
Rating: M15 for violence
Prompt Set: Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: Smirk
Word Count: 1096
Summary: hrcontention universe: Draco tortures Neville for information he doesn't have.
He was chained to the wall by his wrists, strung up above his head. His arms ached agonisingly and he had to bite his lip to keep from yelling for Narcissa’s return. Please, I’ll do anything you say, just let me out of here…
But it wasn’t time yet.
Footsteps in the corridor. He sighed in relief, then froze when he realised it was two sets of footsteps. Both of them? Malfoy and Lestrange, at once?
He stared as the door opened to admit Narcissa Malfoy and someone else - a young man who resembled the tall blonde woman very closely. “Well, Draco?” Narcissa said, going up to Neville and lifting his chin with her forefinger. “What do you think?”
“Honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t dead or broken by now,” Malfoy replied. “Could you be losing your touch, mother?”
“No such thing,” Narcissa scoffed. “He shows remarkable resilience, but that’s no uncommon thing in the experienced ones. Is it, Neville dear?”
Neville glared at her, wishing he could gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit in her face. She only smiled that polite smile and lifted her hand to stroke it over his bare chest. He hated that he craved the scant warmth of her cold-blooded hand. “You’re like ice,” she said to him. “Wouldn’t you like to be warm again?”
Shivering, he hung his head, unable to keep up the furious staring match in the face of such temptation. Yes! he wanted to scream. Yes!
Narcissa laughed and swept away towards the door. “Have your fun, Draco,” she informed him. “But leave him able.”
Neville watched her leave with trepidation, before looking over at her son. The blonde man - for he was a man now, for all he’d never been before the war - looked quite different than how he remembered him. From the way Malfoy was looking at him, it appeared that the feeling was mutual.
“Lost weight, Longbottom?” he asked, with venom in his voice. He had on that characteristic smirk he’d always worn at school, the one that told everyone who saw it that he, Draco Malfoy, was above everyone and anything. Neville supposed some things didn’t change.
“Among other things,” he replied. Malfoy walked closer to him.
“Surely not your dignity, though,” he said. “You never had any to begin with, after all.”
“Very funny,” Neville said hoarsely. “You’re still a riot, Malfoy.”
“You are different,” said Malfoy, reaching into his robe as he spoke. “Just how different, I wonder?” His hand came away with an ivory-handled dagger in it. The blade looked silver, or something like it. Neville’s heart sank. “I’ve got some things to ask you,” Malfoy purred. “And you’re going to answer. I’m sure I don’t need to describe what’ll happen to you if you lie to me.”
Neville could only watch as Malfoy stepped up to him and placed the tip of the dagger at his chin. It was so sharp it was almost impossible to see the edge. “Question one, slave,” Malfoy practically whispered. “Where is she?”
Neville stared. Where was who? “What?” he croaked, then grunted as the dagger was jerked downwards, cutting his chin open like so much dead meat. Blood trickled down his throat and onto his chest as Malfoy watched with what appeared to be only mild interest.
The blonde man tossed the dagger in his hand before reaching up to point it at Neville’s hand, inching it closer until it touched the centre of his palm, ever so lightly. Neville froze, feeling his heartbeat start to race.
“Hermione Granger,” Malfoy clarified. “Where is she?”
Neville’s mind span. He had no idea where Hermione was! Surely Malfoy would have more of a clue than he did!
“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. The dagger went through to the stone wall. Neville screamed in agony, shutting his eyes tight and seeing red.
“Wrong answer,” said Malfoy, tugging the dagger out of his hand and wiping it on Neville’s trousers.
“Malfoy, I swear,” Neville gasped, feeling hot tears come to his eyes as blood ran down his arm from the hole in his hand. “I haven’t seen Hermione Granger in five years! I - ” The dagger was now at his thigh. “I - please, Malfoy - ”
He screamed again as the silver blade cut through to the bone. “Begging,” said Malfoy. “Good. Now listen up, Longbottom. Granger belongs to me. By law. She is my property and I want her back, do you understand? Now I know you Gryffindor brats are all in it together, but father won’t let me touch the Weasley creature, so I’m left with you. So talk, unless you want to lose all your fingers.”
Neville could feel himself already getting weak from loss of blood, could see it pooling around his feet. “I’ve been in the country,” was all he could say. “You can check my papers… I… I haven’t seen anyone from school in years, I swear, you’re the first… the first…”
Malfoy stared at him. “What?” He raised the blade to Neville’s throat. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t… know where she is…” he managed. “I swear it, on my father’s grave."
The dagger was withdrawn as Malfoy took three steps back, looking genuinely confused. Neville sobbed in relief, biting his lip hard to keep from moaning at the agony.
“She got it wrong,” Malfoy muttered, apparently to himself. “Damn her.” Neville realised he was talking about his mother now, not Hermione. His vision was starting to get blurry around the edges.
Suddenly Malfoy’s mouth was at his ear, and the cool surface of the dagger brushed his cheek. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me,” Malfoy whispered. “You will find out what real torture is, is that clear?”
Neville didn’t have the strength to answer in words, but he forced his head to fall forward in a weak nod.
“Very well,” said Malfoy. He snapped his fingers and a House Elf appeared out of nowhere. “No healing,” he heard Malfoy say as darkness started to overcome his vision and his hearing became muffled, as if he was listening through a keyhole. “Just stop him from bleeding to death. Tell my mother I have left, and I won’t be returning for quite some time. Also mention to her that I don’t appreciate having my time wasted…”
Neville stayed conscious long enough to feel his body fall to the ground as the chains around his wrists disappeared. As unconsciousness overtook him completely, he hoped that Hermione, wherever she was, wouldn’t allow herself to fall into what he had.
Author: andy_star
CPE: Neville
Rating: M15 for violence
Prompt Set: Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: Smirk
Word Count: 1096
Summary: hrcontention universe: Draco tortures Neville for information he doesn't have.
He was chained to the wall by his wrists, strung up above his head. His arms ached agonisingly and he had to bite his lip to keep from yelling for Narcissa’s return. Please, I’ll do anything you say, just let me out of here…
But it wasn’t time yet.
Footsteps in the corridor. He sighed in relief, then froze when he realised it was two sets of footsteps. Both of them? Malfoy and Lestrange, at once?
He stared as the door opened to admit Narcissa Malfoy and someone else - a young man who resembled the tall blonde woman very closely. “Well, Draco?” Narcissa said, going up to Neville and lifting his chin with her forefinger. “What do you think?”
“Honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t dead or broken by now,” Malfoy replied. “Could you be losing your touch, mother?”
“No such thing,” Narcissa scoffed. “He shows remarkable resilience, but that’s no uncommon thing in the experienced ones. Is it, Neville dear?”
Neville glared at her, wishing he could gather enough saliva in his mouth to spit in her face. She only smiled that polite smile and lifted her hand to stroke it over his bare chest. He hated that he craved the scant warmth of her cold-blooded hand. “You’re like ice,” she said to him. “Wouldn’t you like to be warm again?”
Shivering, he hung his head, unable to keep up the furious staring match in the face of such temptation. Yes! he wanted to scream. Yes!
Narcissa laughed and swept away towards the door. “Have your fun, Draco,” she informed him. “But leave him able.”
Neville watched her leave with trepidation, before looking over at her son. The blonde man - for he was a man now, for all he’d never been before the war - looked quite different than how he remembered him. From the way Malfoy was looking at him, it appeared that the feeling was mutual.
“Lost weight, Longbottom?” he asked, with venom in his voice. He had on that characteristic smirk he’d always worn at school, the one that told everyone who saw it that he, Draco Malfoy, was above everyone and anything. Neville supposed some things didn’t change.
“Among other things,” he replied. Malfoy walked closer to him.
“Surely not your dignity, though,” he said. “You never had any to begin with, after all.”
“Very funny,” Neville said hoarsely. “You’re still a riot, Malfoy.”
“You are different,” said Malfoy, reaching into his robe as he spoke. “Just how different, I wonder?” His hand came away with an ivory-handled dagger in it. The blade looked silver, or something like it. Neville’s heart sank. “I’ve got some things to ask you,” Malfoy purred. “And you’re going to answer. I’m sure I don’t need to describe what’ll happen to you if you lie to me.”
Neville could only watch as Malfoy stepped up to him and placed the tip of the dagger at his chin. It was so sharp it was almost impossible to see the edge. “Question one, slave,” Malfoy practically whispered. “Where is she?”
Neville stared. Where was who? “What?” he croaked, then grunted as the dagger was jerked downwards, cutting his chin open like so much dead meat. Blood trickled down his throat and onto his chest as Malfoy watched with what appeared to be only mild interest.
The blonde man tossed the dagger in his hand before reaching up to point it at Neville’s hand, inching it closer until it touched the centre of his palm, ever so lightly. Neville froze, feeling his heartbeat start to race.
“Hermione Granger,” Malfoy clarified. “Where is she?”
Neville’s mind span. He had no idea where Hermione was! Surely Malfoy would have more of a clue than he did!
“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. The dagger went through to the stone wall. Neville screamed in agony, shutting his eyes tight and seeing red.
“Wrong answer,” said Malfoy, tugging the dagger out of his hand and wiping it on Neville’s trousers.
“Malfoy, I swear,” Neville gasped, feeling hot tears come to his eyes as blood ran down his arm from the hole in his hand. “I haven’t seen Hermione Granger in five years! I - ” The dagger was now at his thigh. “I - please, Malfoy - ”
He screamed again as the silver blade cut through to the bone. “Begging,” said Malfoy. “Good. Now listen up, Longbottom. Granger belongs to me. By law. She is my property and I want her back, do you understand? Now I know you Gryffindor brats are all in it together, but father won’t let me touch the Weasley creature, so I’m left with you. So talk, unless you want to lose all your fingers.”
Neville could feel himself already getting weak from loss of blood, could see it pooling around his feet. “I’ve been in the country,” was all he could say. “You can check my papers… I… I haven’t seen anyone from school in years, I swear, you’re the first… the first…”
Malfoy stared at him. “What?” He raised the blade to Neville’s throat. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t… know where she is…” he managed. “I swear it, on my father’s grave."
The dagger was withdrawn as Malfoy took three steps back, looking genuinely confused. Neville sobbed in relief, biting his lip hard to keep from moaning at the agony.
“She got it wrong,” Malfoy muttered, apparently to himself. “Damn her.” Neville realised he was talking about his mother now, not Hermione. His vision was starting to get blurry around the edges.
Suddenly Malfoy’s mouth was at his ear, and the cool surface of the dagger brushed his cheek. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me,” Malfoy whispered. “You will find out what real torture is, is that clear?”
Neville didn’t have the strength to answer in words, but he forced his head to fall forward in a weak nod.
“Very well,” said Malfoy. He snapped his fingers and a House Elf appeared out of nowhere. “No healing,” he heard Malfoy say as darkness started to overcome his vision and his hearing became muffled, as if he was listening through a keyhole. “Just stop him from bleeding to death. Tell my mother I have left, and I won’t be returning for quite some time. Also mention to her that I don’t appreciate having my time wasted…”
Neville stayed conscious long enough to feel his body fall to the ground as the chains around his wrists disappeared. As unconsciousness overtook him completely, he hoped that Hermione, wherever she was, wouldn’t allow herself to fall into what he had.