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Initially, when they bought the estate, Astoria had argued against them including the basement in the refurbishment. She didn't want business being conducted here, she said that all the dark energy would leech on the home she planned to create. It was a fair argument given her condition, unfortunately when there were five out of the six of them branded and masked up, it was impractical to assume that they would never need it. The best they could do was promise to try to keep it away from the chateau where possible. A compromise that Astoria had reluctantly agreed to, as it turned out, Harry James Potter was the first visitor whom they had required the use of the prisons for.
Blaise had originally overseen most of the renovations, he liked a clean, sterile environment, white walls, white floors, white ceilings, the only variation in the colourless cube, was a single wall of glass for entry that couldn't be broken by sheer force alone. Each cell was equipped with chains that hung from the ceiling and directly below was a drain. Blaise liked cleanliness, a by-product of growing up in the various homes of filthy old men where every surface was dirty and tainted.
Draco liked the white cells for a different reason. Blood always seemed so much more vibrant against a pure white backdrop. He had had to stop Blaise from going too far and killing their guest several times over the last day. Pansy had made one brief appearance to stab the wizard in the cock once before retreating upstairs to sleep, informing him of Hermione’s whereabouts at the time on her way out.
There were few times Draco could point to and say definitively that he had been scared and until the other day in Diagon Alley, all of them had predated the battle of Hogwarts. His feelings for the witch had never been well hidden from his housemates but the velocity with which they had accelerated since her arrival a few months ago came as a surprise to even him. He had been content to know that they would never have had the opportunity given that they had been on opposing sides of the war but then one day there she had been, glowing and ethereal and entirely brilliant, he just knew. He was done for.
The relief that he had felt back then, knowing that he wouldn’t one day see her lifeless body on the battlefield had compounded, exploding to burn down his world around him as poison had coursed through her. If it had killed him to suck it from her body then he would have taken it gladly if it meant he saved her… and he had nearly died… so had she. The image of her practically translucent skin, the blue rivers of her veins, the thick clotted blood that Theo just could not stop, it would all be burned into his mind forever. It had been the first time he had truly felt fear in years.
Of course, he hadn't been able to bring himself to tell her. It was all he could do to sink himself inside her, to feel her pulse beneath his fingertips, to hear her tell him she was okay. How could he possibly put into words the raw, aching terror that had threatened to shatter him completely? To explain the realisation that he had become far more entwined around her existence than he had thought possible for someone of his nature? In this life and the next, he would be cursed to follow her everywhere, hoping for even a scrap of her affection.
She wasn't talking to him again, pissed off and hurt to the high heavens that he hadn’t told her how bad it had been, but how could he when he had no words to adequately explain? Draco knew French, Russian, Latin and English, yet still he lacked the vocabulary to communicate that catastrophic ordeal. He could read her well enough to know that she would need some time before she would be willing to speak to him but now he had pent-up anger because he couldn't blame her for her reaction either. She had been kept in the dark a lot during her time in the Order, purposely misled and overlooked. Blamed and attacked for information she didn't even have.
It did mean though that his frustrations had continued to simmer which is how he had found himself in front of ‘the chosen one.’ Pulling on a pair of black gloves, he intended for the cell to be decorated with the bastard's blood by the time he was through and he would be damned if there would be any residue under his fingernails or rings when he next touched Hermione.
Potter's lips were sealed shut with what looked like superglue but he wasn't sure who had been here last, perhaps Theodore? Harry’s nostrils flared with heavy breath, eyeing Draco with round panicked eyes. “You know, I've never liked you, Potter.” He declared casually, “By the end of that first week at Hogwarts, I just knew. You would never truly be loyal to those who followed you. No, you would be the type to sacrifice whoever you needed to in the name of the greater good.” Draco crossed the 12x12 room, to the hidden cabinet, locked to all but those who resided here.
Inside was a display of various instruments, most of them muggle in nature and a tray that would float beside him as long as he needed. “Zimmy.” Draco summoned.
The wrinkled elderly elf appeared and eyed Harry with disgust, “Master Malfoy needs something?” He drawled, his eyes still glaring at their prisoner.
“Yes…” Draco eyed the wizard, who appeared to be trying to communicate with Zimmy, pleading with his eyes. “Don't bother trying to get him to help you, he already hates you. You have created a lot of extra work for him lately,” he turned back to pluck a small scalpel from the wall. “And despite his hard exterior, Zimmy is very fond of Ginny and Hermione, both of whom you have hurt immensely.”
Zimmy grumbled his agreement by suggesting that Draco summon one of the greyback pups, the young pack known better as the hounds. “Zimmy can serve Master how?”
“I'll need a bowl, lots of salt, lots of chilli powder and… let's go with a jug of lemon juice,” Draco concluded. Zimmy popped away to retrieve his requested items. He moved to stand in front of Harry with a pleased smile on his face. He was going to enjoy this. “Comfortable? No? Let’s fix that shall we?” with another wave of his hand Harry, who was hanging in the chains with his arms stretched over his head, lowered until he was flat on his back on the ground, the tiles whirring for a second before rising to the perfect height for Draco to be able to conduct his activities.
He took some satisfaction in the panic that washed over Harry’s face at his complete inability to move or even so much as turn his head. He briefly wondered if Harry had realised that Draco had picked this position specifically to mimic what Ginny had gone through. Draco had killed a lot of people in his life, ironically the firsts being the man responsible for Pansy’s rape and the raptist, but despite the fucked up shit he had done, despite the horrors that had happened at Draco’s hands, he was clean of that . He couldn’t fathom a world in which that was ever okay on his moral compass, to purposely seek to cause irrevocable damage to someone, it was unforgivable but beyond that Draco liked Ginny, she was funny and fiery and she refused to be anything but her authentic self and what she had gone through, made his blood burn.
If there was one thing that Draco hated, it was not being in control of himself and lately, that had been something that had been happening an awful lot. He allowed himself a second to close his eyes and take a deep breath, an attempt to stifle some of his anger but the moment his eyes closed, she was there, lifeless, dying in his arms. There was Blaise, burning prisoners alive in the ministry holding cells for information, there was Ginny, being supported down the stairs with a harrowed look in her eyes. Nope, control was a thing of the past he decided as he stabbed the scalpel violently into Harry’s thigh, the fucker’s shout, muffled behind his sealed lips.
“I saw Hermione’s memories.” He stated, wiggling the metal free from the muscle just as Zimmy reappeared and placed the ingredients on the table and gave Draco a half bow. “Thank you Zimmy, most helpful.” He managed before the elf vanished once more. “I would ask if your mother ever taught you how to play nicely with others, but I know she didn’t, dead before you could probably walk. Make sure you ask her tomorrow if she still thinks her sacrifice, giving up her life… for you was worth it.”
He would have to be careful, he didn't want his fun to be over too soon on account of Harry losing too much blood, not that he planned to be down here long, just enough to ensure he didn’t explode in a fit of rage at the next mild inconvenience. A few deep cuts on each thigh should do nicely, he would have to make sure to pack each one before it could bleed too much, the blood running in rivets from where Draco had stabbed him was already pooling under the man's thigh and spilling over the edge of the table. “Potter!” He said with false alarm, “You appear to be bleeding!”
Harry glared up at him, his expression angry despite the wet streaks trailing out the corners of his eyes. “Well we can have that now, can we? Give me a moment and I’ll get you fixed up.” He dumped the salt and chilli powder together in the bowl, mixing it with his gloved finger, good thing he was wearing gloves, even if they were sticky already from retrieving the blade, though that worked out nicely too because the powdery mix stuck to it. He gave a thoughtful hum before shoving his finger into the wound until he met resistance. If Harry could move at all, Draco was sure he would be writhing around based on the way the man howled, but then there would be an added risk of bleeding out, it was for his own good that he stayed still.
Draco removed his finger again and picked up the bowl to tip some of the contents into the wound and pushing it inside, the howls broke and turned to muted sobs, bouncing off the walls like a melody. “It surprised me, just how quickly I came to care for her, but I do, more than I think she realises.” Chuckling a little at the thought, few things went unnoticed by Hermione Granger but it seemed his feelings were one of them. The more definitive shouts returned as Draco carved several deep incisions into the tops of his thighs. “We had this little game that we were playing…” He started, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, ignoring the pathetic sounds the patient was making as the chilli and salt burned the raw exposed flesh, hopefully it felt like the poison had, like fire.
“I could handle the loss of everything else in my life, but not her… god, not her, Potter.” Draco shook his head as he explained, sighing and standing back to admire his handy work with a hum. The wounds, each packed with a mixture of salt and chilli powder, were already inflamed, angry and red. He looked at the man's face, hoping to find understanding and sincere remorse in Potter’s eyes but instead, he found the prick didn't even seem to be listening. He was too busy whimpering in pain while tears streamed down the sides of his face. “And you and your bullshit Order nearly took her from me, you hurt Ginny, which means you hurt Hermione doubly because that's her best friend and they are so closely connected… so that's twice, in two days,” he stated, making sure to keep his voice quiet and calm, he wanted Potter to understand the seriousness of his crimes.
“Having fun?” Daphne’s voice echoed as she entered the cell, walking casually over to the table and eying the situation. “Merlin, that's got to be painful.”
“Perhaps, but if he feels that way then he could always tell me to stop.” Draco quirked an eyebrow at the wizard who began screaming at him from behind sealed lips. “No? Oh well, guess we can carry on then.” Potter's muffled, defeated sobs did little to lessen the tightness in his chest that he had felt since the moment Hermione had collapsed so he picked up the jug and began pouring it into the seasoned wounds. Potter's entire leg began to shake uncontrollably, warring with the sticking charm that held him firm to the table.
He was glad that he looked over just in time to see the spineless worm tear the skin on his lips to shreds as he broke through the superglue, a pure, agonising howl of pain bounced off the walls, “Hmmm.” Draco smirked, now he felt marginally better. “Is Hermione still in her room?” He turned to the blonde witch who was still busy taking in the multitude of wounds and merely nodded at his question. “You okay here?” He asked hesitantly. His concern wasn’t for her safety of course but Potter's, every witch and wizard in this house wanted him dead, killing him was something that had strictly been forbidden but it didn't mean that they hadn’t all come close a few times.
Daphne hummed her confirmation and waved him off. “Alright then, you know the rules.” Draco reminded her snapping off his gloves, bunching them up and shoving them haphazardly in the crying man's mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. No killing him…” Daphne recalled absently.
Draco snorted and patted Potter on the chest. “Thanks for listening. I feel like we made some real progress just now.”
Harry Potter, despite what must have been extreme physical and emotional exhaustion, found the strength to spit the gloves from his mouth. “Fuck you, go to hell.” He panted heavily.
Draco chuckled and turned away, strolling through the room and meandering up the staircase. She had given explicit instructions not to enter her room, but after everything, he couldn’t bear to be too far away for too long, especially not now that they had stepped over that line. It was silent within her room and it took everything in him not to knock, sitting instead against the wall opposite her room to wait.
He would wait for an eternity if that's what she wanted from him.