𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐓| 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗|𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘

Next chapter at 250 comments! Dedicated to glassrae
   — TWs for blood, gore, graphic imagery & death.

  CLOSE YOUR EYES. Don't look. This was a nightmare. A never-ending terror. She prayed it wasn't real, that this wasn't really happening.
Seven had known cruelty, both seen and dealt some of the harshest punishments known to man, — but not this. Not him. Seeing him suffer this way brought a whole new meaning to the word she thought she'd once honed.

She screamed so much she deafened herself, or maybe her vocal chords finally gave up on her. Either way white noise became the only sound. He was dying right before her, blood racing from his wounds with sickening speed, and yet all he could do was look to her. Telling her to close her eyes. All cared about was her.

This was all her fault. She should've fought. That should be her, bleeding out on the stage before a crowd. Why had she ever allowed him to volunteer for her? She was foolish, and now she'd pay the price.

Static blared in her ears, and she reached for her wand, only to have it snatched from her hands, " — Don't be stupid!" Someone hissed, far too close. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't look away.

Avery glared down at Draco with wicked glee, making him seem impossibly small; impossibly weak. He was neither. He never had been.
— And it was then that something strange occurred. Avery dropped to his knees, writhing in agony the agony of a spell Seven knew all too well.

The Cruciatus curse.

He screamed, he cried, and yet nobody came for him. Nobody moved. The horror was not the same as when Draco had fallen, bloody and torn, — this was more of a sick fascination with Avery's suffering. Seven couldn't look away from the writhing man, a strange feeling swelling within her chest, erupting all the way through her to tingle at her fingertips.
  Heads flickered back and forth within the crowd, everybody scanning for the wand that had cast the curse, only none could be found. Seven had finally fallen silent, just as shocked as the rest, through her the screaming, nobody had heard origin of the uttered spell, if there had even been one.

  Draco's body stirred, aching with bleeding life, and forcing himself to his feet through gritted teeth. He would not get another chance to stand once Avery's curse stopped. "Seven." His voice was lower; tired and breathy, but still her eyes would not leave the scene of Avery's agony. "Seven... Stop."

  She snapped back, frantically turning her face to Draco, who met her with something close to a smile — or at least, she told herself that's what it was meant to be.
  At once Avery stopped screaming.

  He remained on the ground for a few pained moments longer, the last remnants of the curse causing his limbs to twitch. When he finally came to stand, his legs seemed weak, his eyes unfocused and he spat out a mouthful of blood into the floor of the ring; he'd bitten his tongue during his fit.

Draco's shirt hung from his back, shredded by the wire, and even through the rich black fabric, Seven could still see the faint glimmer of the blood soaking it.
This time, Draco struck first, his face the perfect portrait of pain as he threw his body weight into a punch. One that connected directly with his opponent's jaw sounding a stomach-churning crunch. Avery didn't even try to dodge, instead he was thrown to the floor like a rag doll, though he had enough sense to roll, right as Draco's foot came down in the same place his face had been seconds before.

He stumbled to standing, staggering back a few steps, dangerously close to the wire. Seven hoped he would fall, — hoped Draco would shove him in the same way Avery had shoved him. She wanted to see him bleed.