- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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𝕾he was screaming.
Draco didn't know exactly how long it had been, how long she'd been screaming, but he knows it's been long enough to make her throat red raw. He's never heard screams like it. Ear-splitting, heart-rending screams, tearing one after the other from her throat, quaking the towering dark walls of the room.
But it wasn't the screams that were nearly having Draco doubling over, throwing up his all of insides until there was nothing left. They were terrible. Bellatrix's reaction was much worse. She wasn't fazed, wasn't affected in the least, like a normal human being would be hearing such a thing. She was enjoying it — revelling in every single noise she's eliciting from the poor, thrashing girl trapped underneath her. Almost as though, to Bellatrix, the screams weren't screams at all, but the angelic melody of a pretty, pink music box, a little girl wants to replay constantly until it's broken.
"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword?! Where?!" Bellatrix demanded, sharp claws digging into the supple skin of her pinned down wrists.
Hermione's head shook on the floor, cheeks stained with tears that kept on coming in rushes. She blubbers and cries, insisting for what felt like the hundredth time,
"We found it — we found it — Please!"
It wasn't good enough for Bellatrix, it hadn't been good enough the first time, it's still not good enough now, many down the line. Screams filled the room again, when Bellatrix swooped in for another attack, making use of the little, silver dagger she'd retrieved from underneath her sable, lacy robes. Eyes burning, Draco wanted nothing more than to look away, avert his gaze as even his father had done a long time ago, staring into the grand marble fireplace. He couldn't. He couldn't look away, no matter how insanely desperate he was to.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
Draco's jaw quivered, forced to bite down so hard on his tongue that there's blood, metallic and bitter, swishing around his mouth. Because if he didn't, he'd intervene, point out that even Granger, indisputably the brightest witch of their age couldn't have managed to slip into Gringotts under the Goblin's noses and break into her heavily guarded, impenetrable vault. Intervening, whether he liked it or not, would only escalate things further, and not in a way that would result in Draco's fit and healthy returning to Oonagh later.
Weasley was bellowing relentlessly from the cellar, his distraught shouts of her name carrying through the high pitches of her screams. Draco bloody well hopes she gets that snog after this. If there's an after this.
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear I shall run you through with this knife!" Bellatrix threatened, causing Narcissa, beside Draco to shudder violently.
