𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄

Chapter 1

Prologue

With a flick of his wrist, he caused the pale body on the stone floor to flinch, quiver, scream and bleed. He would smirk when he heard the bones crunch under his spells. The rush he experienced when he saw the long rivers stream down the stained flesh caused his own skin to tingle pleasantly. And the screams-oh how he enjoyed them. The boy beneath him had the most sinful voice when he spoke normally, but when he screamed, it was like he was defiling an angel.

The only thing that made it better for him was the scar on the boy's arm. It was his. The beautiful boy was his. He was his to do whatever he wanted. He couldn't express the sensations that thought caused. The boy was his to make, break and utterly destroy and had had done the first two options. And he was quickly moving onto the third. He couldn't wait to destroy the Malfoy heir.

They had gone beyond the usual Cruciatus Curse. If he used it on the blonde any longer, he'd go insane. He hadn't seen it happen lately. He was cautious around the curse now. It wasn't half as much fun to use on enemies that slipped off the rails, so he deliberately stopped when he knew Malfoy was close.

It didn't matter. He knew plenty of other spells that would harm him and maim him just as well. Directing his wand easily, the blonde was sent crashing to the other side of the cell. A smile crept across his mouth when he heard the bones crack sickeningly against the stone there and ordered his magic to bind Malfoy to the dungeon wall. With a rattle, both slim wrists were chained in place by the shackles he was so familiar with.

He watched as Malfoy's eyelids drooped lowly as the darkness of the unconscious world started to take over.

"No you don't," he objected and knelt down, slipping his body over the young Slytherin's. He deliberately positioned himself so that he was above Malfoy's wounded thighs, kneeling with all his weight on the slit limbs. Instantly, Malfoy's body jolted as he tried to get away from the hot pressure that burned his entire body. A howl of pain was ripped from the torn throat and salty tears ran down Malfoy's skinny face.

He had noticed that Malfoy's body had become little more than skin and bones after two months of near starvation.

Pocketing his wand, he reached out and grabbed Malfoy's pointed chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"This is what you deserve," his high pitched voice claimed. "If you had been strong enough to kill Dumbledore yourself, I wouldn't have to put you through this." He ran his ice cold hands up Malfoy's bare torso and slipped a finger into a wound he found between two ribs. Again, Malfoy cringed and voiced his pain. It was music to him. Hearing the blonde go through so much after he disappointed his lord was something that made him happy.

"If you and your father hadn't disappointed me so much, you'd be safe, Draco. But no, you're both pathetic and deserve to lose every drop of blood I spill from your veins. It's best there, you jumped up little bastard," he continued with a hiss. "You might have the purest of blood within the wizarding world, but you and your father are useless to me."

With a sneer, he sent the back of his hand across Malfoy's face. Such physicality was rare from him. Very few could claim that they annoyed him to the point of forcing him to being physical. And yet Malfoy managed it again and again and again, which he showed by striking him constantly. He loved to watch that perfect face swell and break under his hand. On a particularly hard hit, he felt the boy's left cheekbone crack under his knuckles. With pleased eyes, he watched as Malfoy fell unconscious.

Waving his wand again, he healed the boy's injuries like he did every night. This was perfect as it allowed him to beat upon the boy until he was broken and bleeding and beautiful in that state whenever he felt like it. Merlin knew he'd never get enough of seeing the boy in that state. It's what he deserved, after all. He let out a heavy sigh and stood. When he left the dungeon, the door crashed to a close behind him.