Draco Malfoy, Broken

Chapter 1 - Torment

Draco Malfoy stared at the imposing man in front of him. Pure terror flowed through his veins as the slit eyes of the Dark Lord turned toward him. Too late, he realized that he was caught staring and now his master held him in his sights. He froze, his heart stuttered like sludge pumping through a sieve. The Dark Lord's deformed face twisted into a smile as he pulled out his wand. Draco wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. His home was a prison... there was no escape. 

The house was filled with his willing minions, who knew that he was less-than-willing. His Aunt Bellatrix loved to toughen him up, though nothing she did worked. He said the words they wanted, but they could still see the fear and cowardice in his eyes. They would never trust him, again. He was their entertainment. No one was going to save him. Not his aunt, not his father and not his mother.

Voldemort pointed his wand at him and hissed, "Scream."

He did. The Cruciatus Curse dropped him to the ground and he flailed on the ground, wailing against the pain. Even when his master stopped, he still twitched in pain and fear. He looked up in silent prayer that one dose of pain was enough to sate the Dark Lord's anger. But the withering look he got in return told him it wasn't over.

Footsteps made Draco look over at the door. His screams brought an audience: three Death Eaters and his father. Lucius Malfoy stared at him with deep loathing. He was a complete failure in his father's eyes, he knew that. The Dark Lord had ordered him to kill Dumbledore. He had every opportunity, but he didn't do it. He couldn't kill a wandless, defenseless old man. He was paying for that failure, every day. Every single day since he left the tower.

"Lucius... come. Teach your son a lesson," Lord Voldemort ordered.

"Of course, master," his father said, readily.

"Father... please..." Draco pleaded.

"Silence. You deserve this pain. You have failed me. You don't deserve to be called my son. If I had another child, I'd have already ridded myself of you. You're a disgrace to the Malfoy name," Lucius growled, viciously. There was no doubt in his voice or hesitation.

Draco eyes watered with shame, but his fear quickly overrode that emotion. His father had pulled out his wand and Draco was a coward before anything else.

"Please..." he begged, but it was useless.

"Crucio!" his father said, hatred apparent in his eyes.

Draco screamed, this time waking. It took several seconds to remember where he was, when he was. He remembered the truth. Lord Voldemort was gone. His father was gone. The war was over, at least for the good guys, which he wasn't. His turmoil was still stewing.

He was on the cement floor. It was nearly daylight. The sun's first rays cresting through the slits in the bars. His hands were clenched against his chest as the phantom pains still wreaked havoc on his body. He couldn't stop shaking. Tears welled in his eyes. He was trapped. Cold.

The dementors outside his cell fed on his pain... and ramped it up. He had fallen unconscious the first time they brought him to Azkaban, the darkest memories pulled out of him in excruciating detail. He fainted, just like Potter had when they were younger. But no one saved him, forced them away. No, Azkaban is where they pushed dementors on to you. Of course, it was to "drain a wizard of his powers". But Draco knew better. It was to torture them. Make them pay for every life lost during the war and every scream that the Death Eaters forced out of their victims and Draco was one of them. The skull and serpent branded on his skin with magic marked him as one of them.

No respite would come to him, now. His sleep was nothing but nightmares, and his waking hours were plagued with flashbacks. He didn't pass out anymore, he had become accustomed to the waves of darkness thrown out by the creatures that guarded him.