Chapter Text
The silence that fell after Thorne left was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic, distant ticking of a clock somewhere far down the corridor. Draco lay perfectly motionless, the blue blanket seeming to weigh unnaturally against his hyper-sensitized skin.
He didn't even have the strength left to wonder what the hell was happening around him. Torture would come sooner or later, after all. Taking advantage of the brief moment of solitude, he closed his eyes and tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard surface. Only in this sudden quiet did he realize just how utterly shattered he was by everything that had transpired today.
All he wanted now was to curl up in some dark corner, close his eyes, and just sleep. He desperately wanted to convince himself that all of this was a cruel joke or a nightmare, the kind from which he would wake up drenched in sweat and thank God that it wasn't real.
But the bitter truth was that Draco knew exactly how real it was. And he knew it was only going to get worse. Still, he swore to himself that he wouldn't cry. Not yet. At least not until the actual violation and torture began. Time seemed to drag and fly all at once.
The door clicked open with a faint, almost imperceptible whisper of sound. Draco remained frozen on the medical examination table, his fingers instinctively tightening around the soft blue blanket Alistair Thorne had draped over him. Even though he knew that hiding his emotions would be useless anyway because of that cursed bracelet broadcasting his thoughts to all the dominants around, he still tried to preserve at least a shred of dignity.
The man who appeared in the doorway was completely different from the previous doctor. A bright, effortless smile lit up his face, and he moved with a peculiar, soft lightness. His stride was energetic, and Draco felt a twisted sense of amusement as the man instantly reminded him of the gossiping girls back at Hogwarts, the ones acting as if the entire world shat rainbows and they were the holy, beloved princesses in that fairy tale.
In his experience, those types always turned out to be the most viciously fake.
"Well, hello there, Draco."
The voice was a far cry from Doctor Thorne’s raspy, commanding baritone. It was warm, melodic, and practically dripping with an easy, soothing friendliness that was entirely too intimate.
Draco finally turned his head, forcing his face into a mask of pure, aristocratic indifference, despite the raw vulnerability glaring from the Anima Nuda on his wrist.
"Welcome, Doctor," he replied, his tone perfectly rehearsed as he minutely analyzed the man's posture.
"I’m Doctor Hertick," the man said, stepping closer and resting a hand casually on his hip. "But please, you can just call me Julian if you like. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, and I absolutely loathe unnecessary stiffness."
Draco had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. Really? Were they going to play good cop, bad cop now? Well, obviously he had no choice but to play along with them. Which, of course, did not mean he would start cozying up to this artificially nice man the way the doctors wanted.
"Good afternoon, Sir," Draco clipped out, intentionally using the formal title Thorne had demanded to force at least some semblance of a clinical, cold boundary between them.
Julian let out a soft, musical chuckle and shook his head.
"Oh, goodness, no. None of that 'Sir' business with me, sweetheart. Save that for Alistair's office if you must. He’s terribly old school, isn't he? He passed along his notes from your little chat. It was entirely expected that a sweet, terrified boy like you wouldn't take well to his harsh methods."
"I am not terrified," Draco spat, his voice sharp, desperately trying to sound dangerous, like a Death Eater capable of destroying families. "If I am to be evaluated, then do it. I don't need your coddling."
Julian didn't even blink at the hostility. Instead, his smile widened into something deeply sympathetic. He reached out, his movements slow and thoroughly telegraphed, and gently patted Draco’s knee through the fabric of the blanket.
"Of course you aren't, brave boy," Julian purred, his warm, honeyed eyes seeming to look straight into Draco's soul. "But you must remember, gorgeous, that I can read your every emotion right now. And I can see exactly how frightened you are, little one. There is absolutely no shame in it. It’s completely natural."
Draco flinched violently at the touch, shoving the doctor's hand away and glaring at him with pure venom. He poured all his focus into his anger, projecting a wave of vulgar, furious thoughts directly at Julian. And since the doctor wanted to peer into his brain so badly, then fine, he could look at all the profanities Draco was directing toward him.
In response, the doctor had the absolute audacity to laugh heartily, reaching out to ruffle Draco's hair as if he were nothing but a prickly, puffed up kitten. Draco froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He ruffled his hair? His? The heir of the Malfoy line? He wanted to fly at the man and claw that beautiful, infuriating smile right off his face.
Julian, however, had already turned away, entirely unbothered by the mental daggers Draco was throwing at his back. He glided over to a row of light wood cabinets with a natural, magnetic grace that Draco found himself tracking against his will. The doctor began to rummage through the drawers with casual efficiency, shifting glass vials and rustling parchments. The sharp, high clinking of medical instruments rang through the quiet room, sending a fresh spike of pain through Draco's migraine.
There was no denying it, to an ordinary, broken submissive, Julian's warmth would be an irresistible haven. The man radiated a pervasive, enveloping safety. He was surely even more loving during dominance. He probably stroked his submissives' hair... Draco shook his head, breaking free from the intrusive thoughts occupying his mind.
"Well now, small talk aside, we have a whole night of work ahead of us, little one," Julian murmured over his shoulder, never pausing his search. "Alistair’s notes were quite specific. You possess an incredible amount of powerful magic, Draco. We need to establish a care plan as soon as possible to safely work with it. Ideally before it causes your body any more damage than it already has."
The doctor sighed, a soft look of pity crossing his face for the suffering submissive, though his hands kept moving. Finally, a soft, magnetic click echoed from a lower drawer. Julian straightened up, holding a shimmering roll of what looked like liquid, matte silver. The material was impossibly thin, almost like a delicate layer of tulle, but as Julian stepped closer, Draco noticed with a shudder that the fabric looked eerily like human skin. It was cool, smooth, and incredibly elastic, flowing over the Dominant's fingers like water.
Julian approached the table, handling the strange garment with almost reverent care, though his expression remained effortlessly bright.
"And what the hell is that?" Draco instinctively straightened up more, backing away as much as the medical table allowed.
Julian smiled warmly, settling comfortably onto the edge of the examination table. He leaned in, wrapping Draco in a thick, heavy wave of his protective aura that settled over the boy.
"Listen to me closely, gorgeous," Julian said, absolute, unwavering certainty shining in his honey eyes that he knew what was best for Draco. "We need to map your sensitivity to external stimuli. We need to chart the exact anatomy of your nervous system, to find out where a light pressure triggers an involuntary release, where an exhausting resistance crops up, and what exactly sparks your arousal. We’ll learn everything we need to know through this little toy. It's a diagnostic suit, enchanted to test how you respond to various intensities, methods, and locations of touch. Once it generates a report, we'll know precisely how to handle you to give you the maximum amount of relief. We want to figure out how to mold you into the most responsive, perfectly attuned submissive possible. For your health, and your own comfort."
Draco felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him entirely numb.
"You want to figure out the best way to grope me?" he whispered, his voice trembling with sheer disbelief. He had known, of course, that entering an institution like this meant losing his physical autonomy. He had expected to be violated, broken, and tortured. That was why he had wanted to avoid it so desperately.
He hadn't thought, however, that this entire process would be so completely stripping. He wouldn't be able to keep anything for himself. They had already taken his thoughts and feelings, and now they wanted to do the same to his body. All so they could know absolutely everything about him. And all in just one evening.
"We can call it that, I suppose, though it's a bit less poetic," Julian mused, tilting his head with an easy grin. He studied Draco intently, as if reading his soul.
"You are all completely insane," Draco spat, his voice cracking as his control slipped. "Can't you just lock me in a cellar, beat me, and rape me like normal sadists? This systematic undoing, layer by layer... it's psychological torture."
Julian clicked his tongue at his words, shaking his head in disapproval. It was as if he were scolding a puppy for chewing on shoes.
"Oh, Draco, sweetheart, you mustn't talk like that. Putting aside the fact that a submissive cannot be raped, we aren't doing anything your body doesn't secretly crave. You are simply unwell and deeply frightened, which is why you're lashing out. Trust me, after a proper massage, you'll feel like an entirely new person," he said, his tone bouncing back to its cheerful, sunny baseline. "Now, let's get you into your new clothes and start the assessment."
Draco opened his mouth to fight back, but a single look into those warm, unyielding eyes silenced him. It was a useless battle. To Julian, he wasn't a person with an opinion. He was just a volatile, traumatized animal. Nothing he said would register as anything but a symptom.
A bitter burn stung his eyes, but he forced the tears down with practiced ease.
The doctor, apparently noticing the end of the discussion, reached out. With a fluid, unhurried motion of his free hand, he swept the blue blanket away, exposing the pale body of the young submissive. Draco flinched, sharply drawing breath through his nose. Without the blanket's protection, he felt terrifyingly naked under the Dominant's watchful gaze.
"Are you cold?" Julian asked, his voice softening into a low, velvety purr that vibrated right against Draco's ear. He didn't wait for a reply, unrolling the silver fabric. "We'll fix that in just a moment. Give me your left foot, sunshine."
"I can do it myself..." Draco tried to pull his leg back, but Julian’s hand clamped around his ankle. The grip was soft, and the doctor's hands were perfectly warm, but they held him with iron persistence.
"Draco," Julian interrupted, looking up. There wasn't a shadow of anger in his honey eyes, only that deep, hypnotizing patience that was beginning to get on Draco's nerves "Stop fighting things that are inevitable. You're wasting what little energy you have left. Everything is going to be perfectly fine. I promise you, sweetie."
Julian offered a warm, reassuring smile and gently guided Draco's foot into the cool, elastic silver. The material immediately melted against his skin, clinging to him like a second layer of flesh. Without any haste, the doctor worked his way up, smoothing the suit over Draco's calves and thighs. Every stroke of Julian's hands was deep and deliberate, a firm massage that already mirrored the intrusive work the suit was built to perform.
"You are incredibly tense in the hips, Alistair was right, you carry so much anger inside you, little one. It is entirely unnecessary. No one will hurt you here."
Draco turned his head away, letting out a hollow, bitter laugh. "I am a Death Eater, Doctor. I am not some mindless, pliable pet, and this pathetic coddling is insulting. The only thing that will happen here is harm. Let us call things by their true names. It is inevitable, I know that, but at least have enough dignity not to lie."
"Shhh, sunshine. You get so dramatic when you're overwhelmed, don't you? As I said, everything is going to be fine." Julian gently but firmly lifted Draco's hips to pull the suit over his buttocks and lower back. The movement was so natural, devoid of any sexual undertone, yet so absolutely dominant that Draco could only helplessly grit his teeth, feeling himself lose any shred of control over the situation. "But if you want the truth, fine. You are an exhausted, starved submissive who is desperately crying out for care, and that is exactly what we are going to give you. You might hate it right now, but in a few months, you'll be the happiest boy alive."
Draco refrained from commenting again. After all, how was he supposed to respond to the promise of brainwashing?
Julian pulled the silver higher, smoothing it over his chest and torso. Draco, loathing himself for his body's helpless compliance, let the doctor slide his hands into the tight silver gloves. The material sealed around him, gripping him so snugly that he could feel every contour of his own skin, yet the fabric remained miraculously flexible. It felt like a heavy, seamless second skin, entirely isolating him from the world.
"There we go. You look absolutely beautiful, gorgeous." Julian leaned over the table, placing his palms on the mattress on either side of Draco's head. He hovered there for a moment, looking down with a tender, enveloping smile. "I'm going to start the first phase of the program now. The suit will begin its work, starting very gently and gradually increasing in intensity. I'll be sitting right over there in that chair, monitoring the feed to ensure everything goes perfectly. Is that clear, Draco? Do you have any questions for me?"
Draco had a thousand questions, but he knew the answers wouldn't save him. He didn't even think he wanted to know the details of the conditioning that lay ahead.
"No, Sir. We can begin," he muttered through a clenched jaw, staring at Julian with a mixture of bitter defiance and quiet dread.
In response, Julian pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, and with that final, intimate gesture, the first of Draco's many beautifully orchestrated tortures officially began.