Disclaimer: The scenes of unspeakable horror which are horrible in an unspeakable way start in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Is it Safe?
Lucius awoke to the sound of someone screaming in horrific pain. That was nothing new of course as his alarm clock was an imprisoned muggle and a delayed Crucio. What was new, was that the screams were coming from his throat.
"Awake are we?" a cheerful woman in a blue mask and a pair of goggles asked. "Good, I've got just one thing I want to know."
"Wha id it?" Lucius asked, desperate to find a way to appease the she-devil and make the hurting stop.
"Is it safe?" she purred. The woman held up an odd looking wand. "I'm going to drill out your teeth one by one until you give me the answer I want."
IIIIIIIIII
Voldemort looked around his lair. There was something missing and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.
"Wormtail," he bellowed.
"Yes, Master?" the pathetic man simpered.
"Do you notice something different about the place?" Voldemort demanded.
"No, master," Peter groveled.
"CRUCIO." The Dark Lord held the curse for several seconds. "How about now?"
"I don't notice anything different, Master," Peter sobbed.
"CRUCIO." This way was so much easier then having to figure it out for himself. "How about now?"
"The curtains, Master?" Peter suggested hopefully.
Voldemort looked at them for a few seconds. "No, those are the same curtains we've always had. CRUCIO."
IIIIIIIIII
Hermione was so deeply engrossed in her book that she didn't notice when Harry gently put her in the car and then gently led her out of it a few minutes later.
"Did you know that torture was outlawed in England in 1640?" Hermione asked.
"No I didn't," Harry replied. "What do you want to eat?"
"Eat?" The girl looked up from her book and realized that she was in a restaurant. "What do they have?"
"They specialize in bacon dishes," Harry replied. "Well?"
"Bacon sandwich," Hermione ordered before diving back into the book.
Hermione absently reached down and grabbed the sandwich. Biting into it, her eyes widened at the explosion of flavor. "Wow," she said in shocked wonder. "That's really good bacon."
"Isn't it?" Harry agreed.
"How did you find this place?"
"Hedwig heard about it from one of her friends," Harry replied.
IIIIIIIIII
Peter's throat was raw from screaming and his muscles involuntarily twitched from being repeatedly crucioed.
"The . . . the fact that Lucius Malfoy isn't here being smarmy and taking credit for everything?" Wormtail offered cautiously.
"CRUCIO," Voldemort screamed. "You imbecile, CRUCIO, I . . . actually, I think that's it. Good work, Wormtail."
"Thank you, Master," Peter simpered.
"Crucio," Voldemort incanted calmly. "I mean, good work." He looked around. "Where is everyone? Give me your arm," he commanded. The Dark Lord dug the tip of his wand into his hapless follower's Dark Mark to summon the rest of his incompetent underlings.
"You summoned me, master?" one of the faceless underlings said respectfully.
"Where are all the important Death Eaters?" Voldemort demanded. "The ones with names."
"They've all been dragged off by agents of the British Dental Association, Master," another underling replied with a smile, showing off a perfect set of teeth.
"What in the hell did you fools do?" Voldemort squealed, a trace of fear in his voice. "How did you attract the attention of the British Dental association?"
"The parents of one of the muggleborn students at Hogwarts are both high ranking members, master," the Death Eater with a perfect smile explained.
"And Malfoy's spawn didn't inform me of this?" Voldemort hissed.
"It's worse, master," another Death Eater squealed. "She's one of Potter's friends and Malfoy's spawn has been antagonizing her for several years."
All the color drained out of the Dark Lord's face and he collapsed onto his throne. "Curses," he moaned. "The last thing I expected was the British Dental Association."
A group of men in white coats burst through the door. "Nobody expects the British Dental Association," their leader called out. "Our two primary weapons are surprise, fear, and sadism!"
"That's three," a white coated man wearing a World War One flying helmet whispered to his leader.
IIIIIIIIII
Hermione looked up from her book. "Did you know that the precursor British Dental Association formed in 1642 with the stated purpose of giving free dental care to prisoners after torture was outlawed in Britain?" she asked eagerly. "Isn't that wonderful how they transitioned from torture to free medical care in just a couple years?"
"Uh, yeah," Harry agreed with an odd look on his face. "Wonderful." He waited till he was sure his friend was immersed in her book before he turned to the struggling man he had securely duct taped to a sturdy chair. "You hear that?" Harry buzzed the dental drill in his hand a couple times, allowing his captive to hear the sound. "I'm not going to torture you, I'm going to give you free medical care."
"All hawk," the man said loudly.
"What was that?" Harry asked, pulling out the wedge that held the man's mouth open.
"I'll talk," the man sobbed. "I'll tell you anything, just don't give me any 'free medical care'. Please."
"You hear that, Hedwig?" Harry asked with a grin.
"Preck," Hedwig scoffed. "Preck preck preck preck preck."
"I know I'm not going to learn if I never get any practice," Harry agreed. "But how can I get any practice if they break before I do anything to them?"
"Preck." In her day, terrorists were a sturdier and actually required a bit of torture before they broke and spilled everything.
IIIIIIIIII
With a sigh of disappointment that the treatment was coming to an end, the Dentist put down his probe and looked down at the shuddering woman in his chair.
"And we're done," he said melancholically.
"Already?" Bellatrix whined. "Can't we do a bit more?"
"Not in this session," the Dentist replied. "I'm afraid we're a bit swamped at the moment so I can't give you more then a quick once over."
"A quick once over?" Bella repeated dumbly, thinking back to the six hours of bliss the man had already given her. "Are you married?" she asked shyly.
"Can't find a woman that can live with my propensity for taking work home," he answered absently.
"Taking work home?" Bella shuddered again. 'Sure he was a muggle, but what a man'.
"Got a chair set up in the bedroom and everything," he agreed.
"Could you let me see my husband after you're finished with him?" Bella begged. "I have a feeling that I'm going to be a widow soon and I'd like to arrange for him to spend his last moments with me."
"Shouldn't be a problem," the Dentist said easily.
"And . . . after that, well . . . are you doing anything later today?" Bella felt like she was a second year, getting ready to torment her first firsty again.
IIIIIIIIII
So deep was she immersed in her reading experience that Hermione didn't register when the pistol fired, or the distinctive sound of a body hitting the floor and being prepared for transport and disposal.
She was not so far gone, on the other hand, that she failed to react to her best friend's request.
"Could you help me toss this suspiciously heavy rolled up carpet into the incinerator?" Harry called out.
"Just a second," Hermione said absently. "And done." A satisfied smile appeared on the girl's face as she finished another book. "What was it you wanted, Harry?"
"I wanted you to help me toss this suspiciously heavy rolled up carpet into the incinerator," Harry repeated.
"Alright," she agreed. The girl staggered under the weight of her end. "What's this all about?" She demanded.
"The sooner we get this body disposed of, the sooner you can read the next book in the series," Harry pointed out.
"That's right," Hermione squealed. "Hurry up, Harry."
"Right," Harry said happily.
"What is the next book anyway?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"You didn't look ahead?"
"I'm trying to pace myself," Hermione replied.
"Disposal of Corpses: A History."
"Sounds fascinating," Hermione sighed, opening the door to the furnace and sliding her end of the carpet in, to feed the flames. "How many books are left in the series?"
"Couple hundred at least," Harry replied.
By way of reply, Hermione moaned in orgasmic bliss. So many books to read and they were hers, all hers. "Oh, Harry, you really know what to say to a girl."
"We have been best friends since the first year," Harry pointed out.
"How do you explain Ron then?" Hermione retorted. "He'd never have thought to distract me with books."
"Ron, is a moron. I am not," Harry said reasonably.
"Point," Hermione agreed. "Now let's get to that book."
"Way ahead of you, Hermione." Harry reached into his pocked and extracted the book in question. "And here you are."
"You do know me," Hermione squealed.
IIIIIIIIII
Vernon's face was covered in as many tear tracks as his exposed torso was electrical burns. It hadn't been pleasant since the boy's phone call.
One of the terrorists backhanded the, presumably, last member of the Dursley family. "Vee vill vask vou vgagan, vere vss . . ."
"You only have to do the 'v' thing on words that begin with 'w' like we or will, understand?" one of the other terrorists whispered.
"Are you sure?" the first terrorist replied. "I don't want to screw this up, it's my first time torturing someone."
"I'm sure," the second terrorist confirmed. "Just relax, you'll do fine."
"Okay, I can do this," the first terrorist tried to psych himself up. "Vee vill ask you again, vere is Mother Owl?"
"I don't know who that is," Vernon sobbed.
"Zee hard vay then, I so love doing zings zee hard vay."
"Nice work with the 'z' sounds, you're really making it work for you."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry loaded Hermione and his other possessions into the car and pulled out into traffic.
"Why are we leaving so soon?" the girl asked, not bothering to look up from her reading material.
"It's the next book in your reading list, should be on the seat next to you."
"Gas Explosions: A History. Ohhh, sounds interesting," Hermione said eagerly.
"Informative anyway."
"Did you know that you can dissolve bodies with quick lime?"
"News to me," Harry replied. "But good to know."
"Never know when you might want to dispose of a body," Hermione agreed.
"An hour or two from now if the last chap's information was correct and everything goes to plan," Harry mumbled to himself.
"What was that?" Hermione looked up from her book. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"Nothing important."
"Okay."
IIIIIIIIII
Dumbledore sighed in contentment as the masseuse expertly rubbed oil into every crack and crevice in the old man's body. This was the life, his reward for standing as the light's bastion against evil, for his tenure at Hogwarts, and for his unique way of keeping young Harry safe.
"Lower," the Headmaster moaned. "Lower . . . lower . . . TOO LOW . . . lower." Dumbledore moaned in pleasure as the massage continued. "I presume the ending will be . . . happy?"
Snape shuddered. "Are you sure this is a condition of my parole? Cause I'm sure that . . ."
"Which one of us is Chief Warlock?" Dumbledore interrupted.
"You are, sir," Snape said in defeat.
"That's right, so get to rubbin . . . use some of the grease from your hair."
"Yes, sir." Why oh why hadn't he gone to Azkaban with the others?
IIIIIIIIII
Luna checked herself in the mirror one last time. Her image was, as expected, perfect.
"I am the very model of a modern major mass market media reporter," Luna said in satisfaction at a job well done. "Now to find father to inform him that he is to inform me that my next assignment is to cover Harry Potter and his adventures as an agent working for the mysterious agency known only as THE AGENCY."
Filled with pride at her excellent summation, Luna skipped down the stairs and into her father's office which was on the second floor and thus required a quick skip back up the stairs before skipping into it.
"Hello, father," Luna chirped. "Guess what?"
"Is that my stubble?" he demanded.
"Every hard boiled reporter needs stubble," Luna said reasonably. "Now, as to my next assignment . . ."
"I never said you could use my stubble."
"Then you shouldn't have just left it in the sink," Luna replied. "It's mine now."
"But that's where I keep it."
"And your security charms were pathetic, it's like you wanted me to take your stubble."
"I want it back."
"Too bad, I glued it on."
"We'll just see about that," he growled.
"We shall," she sniffed. "I'll be tracking down Harry if you need me."
"Alright, pumpernickel. "I'll be here plotting how I'm going to retrieve my stubble if you need me."
"Switch places in two days so that we can both get a fresh perspective if we haven't already succeeded?" Luna proposed.
"Deal."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry allowed the car to coast to a stop about a block from his target's location. He hadn't planned on doing this today, hadn't planned on doing anything but peeling the next layer of the onion that was Hedwig's nemisis's organization. Then he saw him, and Harry knew that he couldn't let the bastard live.
"You stay here, Hedwig," Harry whispered. "This time it isn't business, it's personal."
"Preck?"
"I don't remember which movie," Harry replied. "Sorry."
"Preck." The owl shrugged.
"Any advice?"
"Preck, preck . . . preck," Hedwig said professionally.
"Thanks, girl. I'll just grab a couple socks and I'm sure the people at that pool hall will let me borrow a billiard ball if I ask nicely and tell them why I want it."
As it happened, they were happy to lend Harry a billiard ball and even came out to watch as Harry took out the trash.
Harry increased his pace as he got closer and closer to the target. When he got to within arms reach, he let fly and the billiard ball loaded sock impacted on the mime's ribcage with a meaty thump.
The cheers of the crowd roared in Harry's ears, drowning out the screams of the blood covered mime as Harry swung the sock again and and again and again and then things went red for a few minutes. When Harry came back to himself, all that was left of the mime was a blood covered puddle of hair atop of pile of lice ridden clothing on the ground.
"Finished?" a familiar bossy voice demanded.
"Hermione?" Harry said nervously. "I can explain?"
"You can explain why the only way to open the boot, the place where the books I haven't read yet is the key in your pocket and that you were too inconsiderate to leave it with me?" Hermione growled. "Can you explain that?"
"I thought you could use the release," Harry said weakly.
"It's broken," she barked.
Seeing the look on the more then slightly unbalanced girl's face and correctly surmising what would happen to him if he didn't get a fresh bit of reading material in the girl's hands tout sweet, Harry's hands dove into his pocket in a frantic search for the key.
"It's not in my pocket," Harry said nervously. "It must still be in the car."
"It had better be," Hermione said through clenched teeth. The withdrawal symptoms were hitting her hard. "Or you'll be joining us in the girl's dorm next year."
"That would be grea . . ." Harry trailed off as the implications hit him.
"Found it," Hermione chirped. "You left it sitting in the center console." She giggled. "Silly Harry."
"Yeah," Harry croaked. "Silly me."
Harry waited until his best friend was deeply immersed in her book before he even thought of approaching the car. When he did it was in a slow and cautious manner, one often seen exhibited by members of a bomb squad when approaching pallets of nitroglycerin.
"I'm sorry, Hedwig," Harry said as he started the car with trembling hands. "But I need a day or two to recover from what happened."
"Preck," the owl agreed sympathetically. Now if only she could figure out how to channel the bossy one's intensity into serving THE AGENCY.
IIIIIIIIII
Arthur's eyes were wide with wonder as the terrorists clamped the jumper cable to his genitals.
"And you say this uses eleketikity?" he asked intently.
"You vill tell us vhat vee vant to know or vee vill be giving you zee bit dose of it," one of the terrorists threatened.
"Fascinating." Arthur craned his neck to examine the jumper cable clamped onto his johnson. "Can you do it now?"
"What?"
"The eleketikity," Arthur explained. "Can you give it to me now?"
"Not unless you answer our questions," one of the more intelligent terrorists interjected smoothly.
"Where is Mother Owl?"
"The biscuits? I don't know, Molly always hides them so our youngest son can't find them. Can I have that electricity now?"
"Err."
"Just a small amount until we can confirm your story," another terrorist offered. "Hit him."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry stared out the window of his penthouse suite, a pensive look on his face and a glass of scotch in his hand.
"Preck?"
"I know I wussed out," Harry agreed. "Can you blame me?"
"Preck?"
"You remember what she did to that one guy that set off a stink bomb in the library don't you?"
"Preck preck preck preck."
"I can't either," Harry agreed. "Sometimes I wake up screaming. I'm not saying that seeing something that horrific doesn't have it's advantages. Makes facing Voldemort a breeze since it's not like there's anything he can do that can even compare, unimaginative prick."
"Preck preck preck."
"I intend to, THE AGENCY is picking up the tab for the booze right?"
"Preck."
"Good, cause I'm going to drink till I kill the memory of what happened today."
"Preck?"
"Well obviously not the part about the mime, come on, girl."
"Preck."
"Really, can I get a copy of the video?"
"Preck preck."
"You're the best, girl." Harry downed his glass and poured another, proving once again that the good stuff is wasted on teenagers.
IIIIIIIIII
Molly glared at the terrorists that had kidnapped her and tied her to a chair. She'd known that Arthur's silly fascination with muggle things would get them into trouble eventually, but had he listened?
"Vere is . . ."
"Don't take that tone with me, young man," Molly barked.
"What? Uh, I mean, vhat?"
"Show some respect," Molly chided. "Now then, what was so important that you saw the need to kidnap me while I was out shopping?"
"Vee vanted to know vere Mother Owl was," the terrorist replied.
"Did Ron put you up to this?" Molly demanded. "Cause if he did, then that boy is in so much trouble."
"Ron did not put us up to this," the terrorist assured the frightening woman.
"Take me back to the market then," Molly growled. "And I'll show you where Mother Owl is kept."
Molly grumbled to herself throughout the whole car ride back to the grocer, enraged by the disrespect she'd been shown. Well, until she'd gotten them properly cowed of course.
"Since you saw fit to interrupt my shopping then I suppose you'll have no problems carrying my things and paying for everything, will you?"
"No, Mrs. Weasley," the terrorist said quickly.
"Good." She grabbed the man by the collar and frogmarched him through the store to the bakery section. "There they are, Mother Owl brand biscuits."
"Mein Gott," the man gasped. "There's more to this then we'd suspected. I have to tell the others."
"After," Molly's shrill waspish voice cut through the terrorist's musings. "You help me with my shopping."
IIIIIIIIII
The terrorists watched in fascination as their former captive carefully attached jumper cables to their fattest captive.
"The elektrity goes through these wires you say?" Arthur asked.
"It does."
"Fascinating." The crazed wizard hit the switch and watched the fat man convulse. "Is there any way to make the elekrity level go higher?"
"Uh . . . remember how we told you that you were free to go?" one of the terrorists asked unsurely. "That means you can go back to your family."
"In a bit," Arthur laughed. "It'd be best to give Molly a few hours to cool down before I go home." And if he timed things right, dinner would be put on the table just as he arrived. "About the elekrity?"
"See that dial there? Turn it clockwise and it'll get more powerful."
"Wonderful," Arthur cheered.
A tear rand down Vernon's face as he watched the red headed freak turn the dial to maximum. What had he done to deserve this?
AN: I notice that Clell hasn't been imprisoned or stoned for his role in what's happened here, shame on you all.