"Tell me where he is," hissed Grasby, his face a few inches from Dunchovy's face.
Dunchovy's pale face was sweating profusely, his hands were shaking in the chains - but all of it was from physical strain. Not a drop of fear in the Death Eater's body.
"Tell me!" shouted Grasby, throwing a curse at Dunchovy.
His body shuddered, and his breath rattled noisily out of his mouth. But he smiled the most mailicous smile Rufus Scrimgeour had ever seen. He spat on the floor.
Grasby punched his face so hard that Rufus wondered if his jaw was shattered. A drop of blood tricked out of Dunchovy's face.
Rufus stood up, scraping the rusty chair on the tiled floor. "That's enough, Grasby. I want to talk to him. Alone."
"But, Minister... what... I'm sure I can break him, just give me a few more minutes."
"Leave us. Now." Rufus did not like repeating orders.
With great reluctance Grasby and the two other wizards left the room.
Rufus dragged his chair in front of Dunchovy's.
"So, Dunchovy. You're not going to tell where the Dark Lord is, are you?"
"No."
"So, you think you're doing your Lord a favour? By not giving away his hiding spot?"
"He does not hide."
"Yet, his location is a secret."
"He is coming back. And when he does, you sorry bunch will be dead before you reach your wands."
"Dunchovy, with this condition you'll be dead in a day. Is it of any consequence if you stay loyal till the end or not?"
Dunchovy started grinning, and then laughed.
"Oh, I know you don't understand loyalty, Minister," he said with a drawl.
Rufus clenched his jaw. "And why is that, Dunchovy?"
"Nineteen seventy-six. Lark's Inn, Yorkshire. You, Jack Preston, Ronald Wilkes and Darren Marks had gone holidaying. Jack told you that he had been threatened to join the Dark Lord's clan by Dolohov and Rowle; he asked for your advice. You told him to lay low. The next day you reported the Ministry. ," grinned Dunchovy.
Rufus felt like the bottom of his stomach had been coated with lead. He could see the howling images of Jack in his mind. His hand clenched around his wand, but he could not find anything to say.
Dunchovy smirked. "After six months, Jack Preston died in Azkaban."
Rufus felt his body had gone out of his own control.
His wand was sticking at Dunchovy's throat, and he shut his jaw tight to stop himself from uttering the plethora of curses that were plaguing his mind.
"How did you know?"
Dunchovy grinned wide. "Can't you recognize me, Ruf?"
Dunchovy pulled down his greasy shirt, to reveal his neck. There, standing out on his white, sickly skin, was imprinted red tattoo "cicatrix manet". The scar remains.
Rufus' hand went slack.
"Jack.." he whispered.
Dunchovy's smile turned bitter. "I broke out of Azkaban. The Ministry covered up. The only thing the Ministry is good for."
Rufus raised his wand.
"You sent an innocent boy to Azkaban - only the Dark Lord took me in. Now tell me why I shouldn't be loyal to him. Why should I tell you, of all people, where he is?"
Rufus' voice shook. "It was all in the name of justice."
"It earned you a reputation among Aurors."
Rufus' grip on his wand tightened.
"You're not gonna kill me, Rufus. You can't use the Unforgivables, Minister," laughed Jack 'Dunchovy' Preston.
"I'm sorry," whispered Rufus. "Avada Kedavra!"
The room flooded with green light for a moment, but Rufus' eyes were fixed on Dunchovy's, as they slowly dimmed out.
On his way out, Rufus called Grasby.
"Dunchovy's dead. Release statement - death from fatigue."
Rufus could see disbelief in Grasby's eyes, but it was short-lived - he was practised at believing what he chose to believe. They all were.
Maybe someday, the burden lies will be too paramount to carry on, they will all become plain liars, tortured by guilt.
But not today, not when his pride numbed his conscience - today, he was a visionary.
A/N: Written for Amy's 'The Secret Competition'.