𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

XXV

Act XXV.

Ad augusta per angusta.

To high places by narrow roads.

The Dark Lord had long been renowned for his vile torture methods. For years people had trembled in fear of his masochistic ways and his despicable viciousness. Even Lucius himself had flinched once or twice in the face of such complete and utter ruthlessness. And it was only now that he could truly appreciate the sheer glory of it all. The blonde smiled manically as he listened once more to the blood-chilling sounds echoing off the solid dungeon walls. He let the grating pitch send a delicious shiver down his spine as he feasted on the sight before him.

There was screaming, of course. But when the Dark Lord was the one milking it from a prisoner's throat, it became oh so much more than that. It wasn't merely hurt and pain. It was also an unspeakable amount of misery and fear. The type of guttural terror that made you lose control of your bodily functions. Something Severus could clearly attest to, judging by the stench of urine emanating from his clothes.

There was also violent thrashing. The rhythm of a pounding body as it writhed uncontrollably, lifting itself off the ground, only to slam back down, again and again, scraping skin against sharp stone. Severus' body looked increasingly mangled by the day. Ripe purple bruises coloured his sallow skin, dried blood crusting over numerous cuts. His body was the Dark Lord's work of art.

Then there was blood. Right now, it was everywhere. Gushing forth from the fresh wounds on Severus' back as the Dark Lord gleefully carved out the same mark Lucius himself had given his own son. The tip of the dull rusted blade bit into Severus' inflamed skin and he screamed once more. With a flourish, Voldemort finished the word as he waved his wand and sealed the curse.

"Judecca."

More screams. More thrashing. More blood. As the brand flamed anew and the Dark Magic seeped into the wound, Severus shrieked, the werewolf in the corner whimpered in fear and Lucius, well, Lucius threw his head back and laughed.

"There. All done, Severus!" Voldemort crowed as he drank in the screams of pain reverberating the walls. "Now you have a curse scar of your very own. Just like your precious godson whom I will take great pleasure in killing, by the way. But to make you feel special, I made yours quite different!" he announced proudly. "You see, Snape, along with that excruciating pain I also mixed in a binding curse. I thought, since you love those vile Muggles so damn much, enough to actually go out and betray me; you might as well be one of them!" He laughed cruelly at the horrified expression on his prisoner's face. "Oh yes, can you imagine it? Severus Snape, the vaunted Hogwarts' Potions Master, a mere squib?"

He smiled maliciously as he continued to enjoy the misery clearly etched on the pale man's face. He stepped closer to the twitching man as he whispered sibilantly into his ear.

"Which side would want you now, Traitor?"

And with that parting shot, he left the chambers, still laughing manically.

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It had been three days since that afternoon out in the courtyard. That memorable day where Draco had reached his breaking point, unable to keep everything bottled up any longer. Sitting there for days on end, staring at his mother's empty memorial had taken its toll, and he had finally allowed himself to grieve.

He'd let the grief consume him, fill his heart and mind in a way that no matter how many years passed, he would still feel it. He had allowed the tears to fall as they could not be held back any longer. His very soul had cried out in pain and hot burning tears had been born from it. For if weakness was love then his love for his mother had demanded no less than an ocean of tears.