Author's Note: I couldn't resist writing this. I was writing Vengeance, and I just had to stop, even though I was in the middle of a fight scene. So here it is, for your viewing pleasure! It's not quite a sequel to Torture, just the opposite point of view, so it definitely can stand on its own. I haven't ever tried to write Draco's perspective before, so hopefully this works. Oh and by the way, this was written quickly (I finished in less than an hour, which is fast for me), so please forgive me for any glaring errors in spelling/grammar, and definitely let me know if you find any so I can fix them.

Read and review!

Disclaimer: I still do not own anything from Harry Potter.

My Flower

Fury boils in my gut as Macnair finishes his request. Before the Dark Lord speaks, I stand. He looks at me, bemused.

"What do you want, boy?" he says.

He speaks at his normal volume—just above a whisper.

I hate this voice. It's the one that keeps me awake at night.

The one that ordered the death of my parents.

I have to say something before he dismisses me.

"Macnair may be talented in the art of torture, but he's already had a try with that Mudblood, with dismal results."

I sense Macnair bristling with indignation, but he can't deny what I've said. It's true.

"And you, you think that you can finally break the lock on that stubborn, filthy excuse for a human?"

I nod.

"I suppose you are due a reward, for yesterday."

He appears to deliberate for a moment, but I already know that the decision will be in my favor.

The beast within me roars its approval.

"Very well," he finally says, still in that cold, quiet voice. "You have three months."

I open the door and step into the dimly lit corridor.

Screams.

Of course, Mulciber came as soon as the meeting ended.

I'm near the door now.

I wonder what she's thinking.

As I swing open the door to her cell, my eyes fall on her.

My heart throbs painfully.

She's looking at the ground. Her hair has fallen in front of her, obscuring her face. Her rags don't hide how emaciated she is. She's so, so thin.

I need to speak.

"Granger."

Her head jerks up.

Brown eyes meet mine.

A look of hatred crosses her face.

I ignore the pain in my chest and sneer at her.

"You look awful."

"As do you," she replies.

Her voice is little more than a croak, but I hear that same fiery determination in it.

I stare at her. I can't move.

I manage to mutter a Scouring Charm to remove the grime from her skin.

I can't take my eyes off her.

This delicate flower has been twisted and tugged, ripped into pieces and glued back together, but it still retains that regal beauty.

It takes my breath away.

She takes my breath away.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Her voice jerks me back to my senses.

"For now."

I stare into her eyes and wish I could see into her soul.

She thinks it's a contest. I can tell from the set of her jaw, from the way she's staring daggers back at me. I concede and look down at the ground.

I can see her smile from the corner of my eye. I'm glad that I made her smile.

I wave my wand and conjure a small glass cup.

"Aguamenti."

She narrows her eyes at me distrustfully.

I walk over to her and hold up the glass.

She glares at me.

"If you're not thirsty, just say so. I won't force you to drink."

I can tell she's struggling with her options. I pray she won't tell me to put it away.

Then her mouth opens just slightly, and I pour the liquid into her mouth carefully.

When the glass is empty, I Vanish it with a flick of my wand.

I let my eyes roam over her.

In all this time, she's still somehow managed to retain a hint of her soft curves.

My mouth goes dry at the thought of what I want to do with her.

Then I smirk, continuing my façade.

"Weaselbee's dead, did you know that?"

I look right into her eyes and see how much she wants it to be a lie.

Yes. After almost seven years of careful observation, unhealthy infatuation, I can tell what she's thinking from the look in her eye.

I lean forward to whisper in her ear.

"I killed him myself. I watched the light fade from his eyes."

There's no response except for slight trembling.

"Aren't you going to try to attack me?" I ask.

"No. You can't make me do anything."

The water has clearly helped. She's regained her enchanting voice.

I back up, and her chocolate-brown eyes sweep up to meet mine.

"Oh, I beg to differ. I'll have you in the palm of my hand within three sessions."

Her eyebrows shoot up.

"Really? I've spent a lifetime under the Cruciatus Curse. I've been filleted with a knife and put back together. Even your dear aunt couldn't break me. What makes you think you can, Malfoy?"

I grin at her mischievously. She maintains a calm expression, but her beautiful eyes betray her.

"They don't know how to approach you," I say.

"Give it your best shot, then."

"Not so fast. You must be starving."

Confusion crosses her expression for a moment.

"If you think being nice to me is going to do the trick, you've gone completely mental," she says.

I laugh.

"I just don't want you to be focused on your stomach when I get started."

And it's true. I don't want her to be hungry for anything but me.

I snap my fingers, and one of my house elves enters with several platters. He sets them down on the table, bows to me, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I look at the selection of food and pick up a small bowl of stew.

I turn back to her and see that she's deep in thought. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her head.

I raise the spoon to her lips and blow on the soup before offering it to her.

She flinches, and I pull the spoon back to blow on it again. The soup must have been hotter than I expected.

I let my mind wander.

I try to imagine that we're not in this situation, that she isn't here unwillingly, that I'm not here to torture her for information.

I wish she would look at me with the same smile on her face that she gives to her friends.

The food is gone very quickly. She was very hungry.

I wonder how long she went without food. It infuriates me that she was kept starving here.

Then the door of the next cell opens and closes. The screams have died away, and a heavy silence settles over us.

I Vanish the empty plates from the table and turn to face her.

Her eyes are on the table.

I smile when they finally wander up to meet mine. She seems impatient for me to start.

"So, I'm guessing you won't give in right now," I say.

She just glares at me.

"That's what I thought. Let's get started, then."

I turn away and place my wand on the table, fully aware of how confused that action will make her.

I turn back around and walk steadily until I'm standing right in front of her.

She looks intimidated.

I slowly lift my hand to her collarbone, and she jerks away.

I smirk.

She glares up at me.

I place my hand back on her collarbone, and this time she doesn't flinch. Her skin is surprisingly smooth. I slowly slide my hand up her neck and gently cup her cheek.

Her cheek feels blazing hot under my hand.

"Is that all you've got?" she scoffs.

I smirk. "I'm just getting started."

Then I turn away and pick up my wand and remove her rags.

She seems surprised by the lack of pain, eliciting a small smile from me.

As soon as she realizes that I've uncovered her, she glares at me.

"If you're going to rape me, then I'm sorry but you're going to have to try something else. That's been done before. It didn't work then, and it won't work now."

I walk over to her and frown, taking in her heavily scarred body.

My heart clenches at the sight.

I want to kiss every scar. I want to erase the marks from her body and the pain from her memory. I want to remind her that she's not just an object to be tortured. I want to tell her how beautiful she is, how much I've longed to hold her.

It hurts to hold it all in.

I reach out and gently touch her left breast.

She glares at me.

I squeeze gently and then touch her nipple, lightly rubbing in circles until it peaks.

Then I place my hands on her bare hips and lean toward her.

She turns her head away.

I kiss her exposed neck, and she gasps.

It's the most wonderful sound I've heard.

I leave openmouthed kisses on my way down to the valley between her breasts. I note a slight increase in the pace of her breathing.

I take her right nipple into my mouth and am rewarded with another one of those small gasps. I swirl my tongue around the hardening nub.

Then I continue my road downward, kissing each of her protruding ribs—she's so thin!

I slide my hands down her legs as I get down on my knees in front of her. Then I move my hand between her legs and spread them apart, exposing her warm center to me.

Blood quickly rushes south, and I feel myself hardening.

I slide one of my fingers along her folds and am surprised to find that it's already a bit wet. The beast within me awakens, excited, from its slumber.

Another gasp from her. I feel her trying to close her legs, but she's too weak.

I rub my thumb expertly against her clit, and she moans.

My erection jerks in response. That's a sound I never want to forget.

I glance up at her to see that she's avoiding my gaze. I continue to move my thumb in small circles, and I watch as her opening becomes slick with her arousal.

I change the angle of my hand slightly so that I can slide my forefinger along her slippery folds.

Her body quakes in response to my touch, and I pull my hand away.

She sighs in relief, and I look up at her, grinning. I lick my lips suggestively and watch her eyes widen slightly in fear. Then she squeezes them shut.

I return my gaze to the masterpiece in front of me.

Then I lean forward, place my lips around that bundle of nerves, and suck hard. She lets out a loud moan of pleasure, and as I tease her with my tongue, she continues to moan.

I insert two fingers into her pulsing warmth, and she cries out.

Merlin, she's so bloody tight.

My erection in my pants is almost painful.

I alternate between sucking hard and nipping gently, keeping up a steady rhythm with the thrusts of my fingers, carefully working her up to her peak.

When I sense her body tensing up, I withdraw my fingers.

She groans in disapproval, and I allow myself a split-second of silent triumph.

Then I begin lapping up her juices with long strokes of my tongue. I've never tasted anyone so exquisite. She starts moaning again. Those sounds drive me nuts.

I thrust my tongue up into her, and she groans, grinding into my face.

"More, Malfoy—ohhh, God—please—more…" she moans.

The sound of her pleading turns me on, and I shove my tongue farther up inside her, gripping her hips to hold her still.

Too soon, I feel her tensing up again, and I have to pull out.

I sit back on my heels and look up at her.

"Did you like that, Granger?"

Her eyes are on my lips, and I become aware of her juices still coating my lips and dribbling down my chin. I grin at her wickedly. Then I close my eyes and lick my lips, savoring the taste.

"You're a delicacy."

I look up at her again to see that she's staring at me with lust-filled eyes, the eyes that I've fantasized about for years.

I wipe my chin clean and stand up.

She's clearly tense all over.

Mustering all of my self-control, I turn around and pick my wand up.

"Malfoy," she whispers.

I spin around, smirking.

"Oh, you're not going to make it that easy on me, are you, Mudblood?"

She stares at me for a long moment.

"Well, Granger? What's the verdict?"

She looks extremely hesitant. Her eyes are still clouded with lust, and the monster inside me roars for me to go back to her and take her right now.

A devilish grin stretches my lips.

"If you want me, you're going to have to submit."

Yes, because I want our first time to be consensual. I want her to want—no, need—me as badly as I need her.

"You're going to have to submit," I repeat, and then I drop my voice to a whisper as I lean toward her, "and you're going to have to beg."

When I look at her eyes, I see that today is not the day. She seems to struggle with herself, and her lips twitch.

"Well, don't worry. Two more times, and I'm sure you'll be begging."

"I hate you," she growls in a hoarse voice.

"The feeling's mutual, Granger, I assure you," I lie.

I touch my lips to her forehead.

"Until next time."

I sweep out of the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind me.

I need to get out of here and relieve my own desire before I ruin these pants.

I'm standing outside in the rain, leaning on a tree at the top of a hill.

A funeral is going on in the valley below. I see several heads of flaming red hair in the small gathering. Weasleys.

The casket is lowered in to the ground.

I turn away. This is a private moment, and it feels wrong to intrude.

A few minutes later, I hear footsteps coming up the hill, but I don't turn.

A gloved hand rests on my shoulder.

"Has anyone taken credit for… for Ron yet? I want revenge."

I turn my head slightly to look at the green-eyed man beside me. Then I look back out into the distance.

"Not yet."

"Have you heard anything from the Dark side about where Hermione could be?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you here?"

"Tomorrow, Voldemort will arrive at Godric's Hollow, alone. I advise you to be prepared when he does."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

I nod curtly. "Good luck, Potter."

Potter leaves, and I turn around to watch him go down the hill toward the gathering at the bottom.

I was supposed to tell him that Voldemort would be at Hogwarts. I was supposed to lead him to an ambush. I wasn't supposed to tell him that Voldemort would be in Godric's Hollow, searching for a new artifact to use as a Horcrux—something of the Peverell family this time.

I Apparate back into my room at the Manor and stare at the picture of my mother and father that I keep on the nightstand. As much as they filled my head with bigoted nonsense, I can't deny that they loved me and that I loved them.

I hope Harry Potter kills the Dark Lord tomorrow.

Until then…

I turn and leave my room, heading for the dungeons to see my flower.

Maybe today will be the day.

Author's Note: I hope this wasn't too disappointing! I know he was out of character, but oh well, I had fun writing it. Please let me know what you think in a review! :)

If you liked this, read Vengeance! ^^