A/N: Vincent and Gregory understand what it really means to be the sons of Death Eaters. Crabbe/Goyle friendship (not slash). AU maybe. I do not own Harry Potter.
Submission for:
Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge: King of Clubs: Write about Crabbe and Goyle.
Greek Mythology Mega Prompt Challenge: Bia – Write about Crabbe and Goyle.
The "As Many As You Want" Competition: code language, carpet, 'you're not wrong', next to nothing
Vincent and Gregory stood close to their fathers as they spoke business. This was nothing new: their fathers completely ignoring them but forcing them to stay nearby for 'a learning experience'. Across the room Draco and his parents were conversing with the Lestranges, Draco in a similar situation.
They were good friends with Draco, but Vincent and Gregory shared a history. Their fathers had been friends for years, their families almost intertwined - Vincent was sure they shared two or more aunts and uncles. By default, Vincent and Gregory had been friends from birth.
"Vincent," his father barked, pulling Vincent from the silent conversation they were having in the code language of gestures and expressions they had made all those years ago.
"Yes, father," he said obediently. Crabbes were known to follow orders without question. He had learnt that the hard way as a little boy and never made the mistake again.
"Please, show Gregory what you've been doing this summer," his father said with a proud grin.
Vincent's face turned white as he looked over at his friend and Goyle Snr. The elder Goyle was looking down at him with a sneer, and Gregory's expression matched his own.
His father noticed his hesitation. "Son?" he asked through gritted teeth and gave him a pointed look. That would be Vincent's only warning.
He nodded to his father, acknowledging his order and then looked back to Gregory. He had told Gregory everything he had done this summer, just how horrified he had been the first time around and how no matter what his father said, the feeling never passed. He had warned Gregory that his father may begin instructions with him as well, if he hadn't already. Gregory just listened, made a few comments but they both knew there wasn't much they could do besides that. They were pawns in this game, pawns to their fathers, who were pawns to a madman. They had no voice anywhere.
So Gregory understood. He gave Vincent a slight nod and closed his eyes in preparation. Vincent drew his wand, wanting to get this done with as quickly as possible. "Crucio!" the rounder boy said lowly.
For what it was worth, Gregory stayed on his feet for almost two seconds before falling to the ground, landing painfully on his knees before flopping onto his back. If they had been anywhere else, Vincent was sure concerned onlookers would have rushed to the hurting young man whose screams bounced off the walls and reverberated in his head. Instead, they were in a room of sadistic evil monsters, who simply watched with curiosity and even disappointment. Vincent could see the latter expression clearly on the elder Goyle's face. Vincent stopped the spell. He wouldn't embarrass his friend any longer.
The screams faded into low moans as everyone else turned back to their conversations. They all acted as if someone's throat hadn't been just ripped apart in pain. Vincent saw his father beaming at him, which made the weight in his stomach sink further.
The elder Goyle spat down at his son, "Get up now!" Gregory got up as quickly as he could, limiting the amount of wobbling on his feet. His father glared at him before saying, "Please go make yourself presentable."
Gregory quickly nodded before leaving the main room quickly. The elder Goyle put on a forced smile, "That was impressive, friend. You have taught your son well."
His father was about to respond but Vincent took the chance, "Thank you, Sir. My father was an excellent teacher. I learned from the best."
His father would have been fuming from being interrupted but he was still in a good mood over the 'performance'. He turned to his father, "May I please be excused?"
His father said, "Yes, you may. Gregory and I will be here when you come back." The implication was clear - do not stray too far, boy.
Vincent nodded before he rushed out of the main room and through the door Gregory had gone through. He stood in a long dark hallway with many doors. "Greg?" he whispered loudly. He couldn't let anyone beyond the door hear him.
"Here," came a pained reply a few feet ahead.
He walked a bit forward and then turned into a room on the right. It turned out to be a small study, with a couple of large couches by the window. It was night time now, but the moonlight was bright enough for him to see the sorry state of his friend.
Gregory was laying flat on his back on one of the couches, his arms thrown over the back and one laying on the polished wooden floor. His breathing was ragged and his shirt actually looked a bit stained red. When he heard Vincent enter the room, he said with a grimace, "You've done well, son."
Vincent scowled before saying, "You know I didn't want to do that. You know I hated doing it every time I had to this summer. You know that it would happen to me if I ever said no."
Gregory groaned and held a hand to his chest as he coughed. "I know all those things, Vince. I know you had no choice. I know if I was given the choice, then we'd be in each other's shoes. I know what this now means for me, the punishment I'll receive for being weak and the instructions I'll be getting just like you. I know all of that and that's the messed up part. We know this and there's nothing we can do to change it."
Vincent walked up to his friend and pulled him up into a sitting position. Lying down was causing the fluid in his chest to block his windpipe. "We are but pawns on a large chessboard, as useful as they see fit and easily dispensable. We are worth next to nothing. We've known this our whole lives, but that doesn't make it any easier to get through. All we can do is just accept it really. It's-"
There was a soft sound of shoes on carpet and the two boys looked to the doorway fearfully. Had their fathers found them in here having some type of heart-to-heart?
But it was just Draco, who walked into the room with his head down. He was another one who knew all about being a pawn, about merely being there as an extension of the family. The soft white light fell across him as he walked towards them on the couch. Vincent could see the edge of the dark smudge on his arm from the bottom of his jacket sleeve. He had been the first pawn set in motion.
"Draco, we were just-" Vincent tried to explain. They both knew Draco had heard them and Vincent didn't want the blonde haired boy to misunderstand anything. They were all taught to keep their inner thoughts guarded, for eavesdroppers would hear part or all of the conversation and spin it to their benefit.
But Draco just held out a hand to stop him. They saw him look down to his clothed forearm before looking back at them. "You're not wrong," he said painfully, "We are but pawns."