Mudblood. That's the word that was burned into your chest when you stumbled into a bunch of deatheaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. You were just exploring. Yet misfortune found you on that very moment.

You're being hold captive, tortured every day. You sleep on a cold stone floor in a cage like an animal. Food? What's that? Something you don't get. You're on your third day without any liquid or food. And it's hurting. Your stomach, Your throat.

As you're looking at the burned word in your chest you hear keys and slow, delicate steps. Steps that can only be the ones of Lucius Malfoy.

You hate that man with every fiber in your body. With every bone of your skeleton. With every drop of blood in your body. He lifts your head with the cold metal snake head of his cane. Smirking as he sees how weak you look.

"Look at you, all trembling. I bet you're hungry, no? Hm, how pathetic. You're lucky you're still alive you filth. Mudbloods like you shouldn't even be allowed in this world. You only bring filth into this world. Think you can fit in with Pure-bloods? Honestly, and not only are you a filth-bringer. You're a wench. A disgusting wench."