a/n: ok...this is really sadistic. it contains pure torture. i don't really know why i wrote this. i don't think its good by the way. and one more thing. if i was in my right mind, i wouldn't even read a story like this, let alone write one. but currently, im a bit mad... lol. i warned you!

Draco sat in his hard wooden chair. He was in his cell. All it contained was the chair and a concrete bed. He stared blankly into space. His back, throbbing from all the beatings he received. His face bruised and bloodied. Tears streamed silently down his face. His blonde hair, stained red. His clothes, ripped apart. He shivered. Quietly, silently anticipating what was going to happen next.

Slowly, the door creaked open. His father sauntered into the room, black robes billowing behind. A meek little house elf followed him. He held his head high, his cold grey eyes, penetrating the boy in front of him. If looks could kill, his would freeze anyone to death. His face was a devoid of emotion.

Draco looked up at his father with sad eyes. Grey, like his fathers so alike, yet so different. His heart was beating uncontrollably. A tear rolled silently down the corner of his eye. He did not say a thing.

Lucious pointed at the writhing boy. "Down" he hissed.

Draco got out of the chair and fell to the floor, in a heap, to weak to support himself. His hands, tied tightly behind his back. "Weakness." His father hissed. "All that you are is weakness." He whispered coldly, disappointment lining his every word. He kicked the writhing form.

Draco did his best not to cry out. He heard his father take out his whip, cracking it in the air. "Quinky, the rags" he muttered. The house elf shuffled forward, fear written in its eyes. It bent down, slowly and carefully, taking off Draco's shirt. "Tear them off!" he yelled.

Pain written all over its face, it tore of Draco's shirt, followed by his pants. Draco winced in pain as his father turned him over with his foot. His naked body in full view of the older ones sight. He shook with embarrassment. Afraid of what was coming. Suddenly, a hot white pain seared through his body. His face contorted in pain. Before the pain could subside, another blow came, with marked precision; it landed on his nipples, just as the first one had. He cried out.

"You are too weak." Said his father, without showing emotion. "Learn. To. Control. Yourself." He said, punctuating each word with a whip.

Draco was at the point of losing consciousness. His chest was bleeding where the whip had bit into him. The pain suddenly stopped. He felt relieved. But all of a sudden, he felt all his bones on fire, they were breaking. His bones were. He screamed in agony as he felt his body spasm. He cried for mercy. That only made it worse. He could not escape the pain. Every fibre in his body was on fire one moment and frozen the next. He cried in agony as he felt all his wounds burst open. Blood flowed profusely, staining the dungeon floor. A thousand sharp spikes drove through his body. The pain was unbearable. Yet, he did not lose consciousness. Why not? Wouldn't it hurt less? But was awake and he could feel every inch of his body being punished. Punished for something he did not do.

Luscious watched the boy writhe and slither on the floor. He grinned maniacally. He loved to hear the boy scream, to hear him beg. He saw the body spasm and contort into unimaginable forms. The blood poured from all his open wounds. Warm. The stench of blood met his nostrils. Delicious. He thought. Finally, the boy stopped moving. He lifted the curse and stepped closer. Draco's eyeballs were rolling. His heart beating furiously as he lay in his own blood. His father kicked him once more and stalked out of the room. Pleased with what he had just done.

Draco lay in a bloody heap. Wishing his existence to cease. With all the strength he had left, he wandlessly transfigured a rock into a knife. Holing up to his heart, he breathed "mother, I love you." With that, he plunged the knife deep into his heart. It had ended. No more pain, no more trouble.

His last words. Quinky had heard it all. He had to tell mistress.

Draco lay in his cell, painless, peaceful, dead.