Draco felt tears streaming down his face and he let them fall. He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't. Even when it was happening he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe a man old enough to be his grandfather in the body of a nineteen year old was raping him. Couldn't believe the pain was really there, even as he cried out in agony. Maybe that's what was making so much worse now that he was alone. Draco curled around himself and tried to ignore the pain knifing through him like fire or the way his back ached from supporting a man resting all his weight on him. He cried harder.
"I love you very much, Draco. Always know that okay?" That's what Voldemort had said, and if it hadn't been for his recent rape, or the story his father had told him, he might have believed the man. I love you. What a sick thing to say after you've just raped someone. He curled tightly around a pillow, for the first time noticing that the bedding was white. White. White for purity. White for virginity. White for innocences. White, now red, with 'love'. Draco cried harder and prayed silently that someone would take pity on him and kill him. He'd never felt so lost in his life. Never felt so empty. Never felt so much pain. He wanted sleep. Painless empty sleep. But most of all, he didn't want to wake up.