"Do you know what this is?" Pravus asked, while holding up a plant of some kind. I stayed quiet, not wanting to face the consequences of getting it wrong again.
"Tell me!"
"Um... banberry!" I answered. I could tell by the look on his face that I was wrong. His lips curled up into a villainous grin, and I knew what was going to come next.
"Wrong. Crucio!"
The pain was instant. This was definitely not the first time I was the subject of the curse; in fact, it was a daily occurrence. The Death Eaters liked to use Muggle torture methods as well, like electrocution and cutting, but the cruciatus curse was by far the worst.

Pravus laughed at my screams, the sound echoing around the small stone room. The pain went on for at least a minute before it was finally over.
"It's bloodroot. Get it right next time."
I took a couple of big gulps of breath, then pushed myself back into a sitting position, trying to ignore how much pain the action caused me. He gave a smile of grim satisfaction

"Let's try one more. What's this?" He held up another plant. This one had beautiful purple flowers, and I knew for certain what it was. It was one of the few I could ever remember.
"Wolfsbane!"
He sneered slightly. "And its other names?"
"Monkshood, and— and—" I hesitated, desperately trying to remember. I could see his sneer get a little bigger, and I cursed inwardly. The last name always tripped me up, and he knew it. "Um... a... a... acanthus?"
"Wrong again; it's aconite. Crucio!"

The pain came crashing down on me once again. My anguished screams drowned out Pravus' cold laughter as he carried the curse on for at least a minute, before leaving the dungeon without a word, as usual. I was now left alone with my thoughts. After I'd got my breath back, and somewhat recovered from the pain of my mistakes, my mind slipped to an old memory of a day when I'd refused to practice and learn.

"Now, read this."
He passed me a large book with scratched writing on the front. I was tired of listening to these people. I'd rather die than help them. Summoning the courage inside me, I refused. What came next was terrible. Intense pain consumed me completely; my body felt as if every inch of it was being stabbed by white-hot knives; my back felt like it was being pressed against a hot stove. And then it stopped. My vision was blurry, but I could see someone leaning over me.
"Remember this the next time you decide to disobey."

And then the pain was back, only somehow a hundred times worse. Someone cut me all over my body, dragging their knife deeper and deeper. I could see someone else walking over to me with a cup of pale liquid. What came next was the worst pain I'd ever felt. The person poured the liquid all over my cuts, and I screamed louder than I'd ever screamed before, thrashing around as I tried to get away from the people who were causing me this pain. It only lasted for a few minutes, but it was long enough to last a lifetime.

I cringed as I remembered how much it had hurt. I never said no to them again.

I'd been with the Death Eaters for almost twelve years. Now being thirteen, I was kidnapped at the age of two. I was never told the full story of what happened the night I was taken, only that one of the Death Eaters had killed my parents, along with my unborn brother. They had been teaching me ever since. They'd forced me to learn how to read and write as soon as they took me, and as I got a little older, other things that were more focused on magic were introduced into our "study sessions". Now, these sessions were a daily occurrence. They mainly focused on the Dark Arts, but other subjects were necessary as well.

The Death Eaters — or what was left of them, at least — resided in an abandoned mansion on top of a hill. It was in the middle of nowhere, and was surrounded by many different curses and enchantments, so my screams were never heard. The house went all the way down through the hill, and had so many secret areas that one could hide in it forever and never be found. My room, if you could call it that, was in the dungeons. They fed me very little, and forced me to exercise. I never understood why they bothered with me. What was so special about me? Why didn't they just kill me? Why force me to learn if they were never going to do anything with me anyway? My questions were never answered.

Now that I was alone again, I became acutely aware of just how tired I was. I hated sleeping; at least when I was awake I could somewhat defend myself. But it had been over five days since I last slept, and I was starting to hallucinate, so I decided that I would have to do so. I laid down on the cold stone floor, and pulled my thin, scratchy blanket over me to try and keep myself warm. I thought about why I was in this situation. Why me? What had I done to deserve this pain? As I questioned myself, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier, until I eventually drifted off into a not-so-peaceful sleep.

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A/n: apologies for the fairly short chapter! Hopefully the next one should be longer 🙃