8.
The next day's torture was a light session, though that understanding was unfathomable at the time. It was just the cruciartus curse. It sounds insane to say "just the cruciartus curse" and it definitely makes it sound better than it is. This particular unforgiveable makes you feel as if your body is molecularly being torn apart, cell by cell. There is nothing to distract you from the pain, no part of you to focus on that does not hurt.
It was one of the lucky days where I passed out, and upon awakening, my voice was horse from screaming. I had not been able to stay silent.
It seemed as if Thanos wanted to hear my refusal for himself, because after that first day, it was he who came into my cell and asked if I had changed my mind. I spluttered out a barely audible refusal, and he waved Scorpius in with my food. And just like that, a new daily routine was set, one that was, quite literally, torture.
I would be woken up by some sadistically anonymous and cruel Follower, dragged off to whatever hell awaited me, propositioned by an inhumanely cool Thanos, and brought dinner by Scorpius, the only redeemable part of my life anymore. He would heal me as best as he could, in every sense of the word.
When he was able, Scorpius would treat my wounds, but it was an often occurrence that the injuries needed potions or hexes to heal. So Scorpius would become whatever I needed. He would hold my hands as I experienced after effects of particularly nasty curses. He would hold me if I cried, distract me from the pain, and comfort me when I felt lost.
For weeks I had somehow bared through the unbearable. I was beaten, stabbed, cursed, burned, whipped, strangled, starved, and put through practically every pain-inflicting act imaginable. But the day would always mercifully end and Scorpius would be there. Unfortunately, there was only so much that he could do and my body was quickly accumulating scars, physical evidence of what my life had become, yet my appearance seemed so insignificant now. How could I worry about how appealing I was when all I was trying to do was to survive for another day?
To his credit, Scorpius never let on how respulsive I was becoming. He was so careful and considerate, and when I was well enough, we would talk.
I never would have guessed the depth that went on in the blonde's mind had I not heard it from his own lips. If anyone could empathize with the hell I lived, it was him, and that was something that was endlessly troublesome to me. No one should be able to even imagine what I experienced.
His life was the opposite of what I would have guessed, and after a little over a month into my torture days, he told me about his childhood.
"It's not what everyone thinks it is," he explained, not meeting my gaze. "Well, maybe it was, in the sense that it was abusive."
The matter of fact way he spoke about this cracked my soul in half. How could he be so nonchalant?
At the expression on my face he quickly explained. "No, not like what you're going through. No hand was ever laid on me. But with my family's ... history, it is not unexpected that my mother despised all Malfoys. She married into far more than she bargained for. My mother had been looking for money, seeing as her family was plunging into bankruptcy. Where better to obtain money than the Malfoys?
"She had been expecting a life of luxury. What she got was a certifiably insane father-in-law, a hollow shell of a husband, an early pregnancy, and hatred from everyone around her in response to her new last name. I have heard that she was quite the cheerful woman before her marriage, but I only know her as a shrewd and hateful person who despises everything in our house. She would insult me, yell at me, scream... everything. I learned to ignore it fast, although, admittedly most of my accidental magic uses were silencing spells.
"My mother hated me.
"I know everyone would have thought my father to be horrible, but he wasn't. He's just... helpless. He may put on a mature front when he's out in the public world, but the war broke him. He spends his nights rocking back and forth on the floor and muttering to himself, but he could always pull himself together long enough to tuck me into bed, or read me a story."
Scorpius' tone had been protective when speaking of his father, and affection swelled in my heart at the image of a little blond boy sitting next to his broken father. I placed my hand on top of his and he fell silent.
That had been the turn of our relationship. Previously, I had been dependent but stubbornly withdrawn, while he had been both caring and distant. Now there was trust, and I found that it fueled my strength during my daily sessions.
As long as I had Scorpius, I could endure anything.
--
James threw another vase against the stone wall. Just like the others, it shattered on impact and exploded into a mass of shards, splinters, and things that could cut. Looking around and seeing that there were no more objects left, James let out a shaky breath and ran his fingers through his hair.
Surveying the damage that he had wrought upon the magical room, he was suddenly furious with himself. Could he be anymore useless? Rose was suffering through who knows what, and all James could do was destructively vent his frustration.
He had to help her. But how? The order was practically useless; they could not help Rose anymore than they could have prevented those attacks. At the mental reminder, James' mind was thrown back to that day.
--
It had been one of the nights when he could not sleep. The pitch black kind that mirrored the foreboding feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach. But along with the prickling along his skin, there was heightened awareness. He could feel everything around him and his mind was in overdrive, taking in every detail.
It wasn't right. The world wasn't right. Not tonight, anyway.
Only one thought was present in James' mind. I need to run. I need to get away. And I need to hide.
His survival instincts kicking in, James grabbed the Marauder's Map, which he had taken charge of after his father's death, and began running toward the common room without even knowing what he was running for. Or from. All he knew was that he had to go where no one else could find him, somewhere hidden and safe. James knew where he was headed instantly.
No more than five steps out of the portrait hole, spells started shooting past him. He glanced back. A large man, who could only be a Follower, was right on his tail. James shot back stunning spell after stunning spell, but they were useless. But it wasn't right. Some of them had hit the man, and then simply disappeared, having no affect on him.
What was happening?
James was running out of air and his legs were struggling to keep pumping beneath him. He could not outrun this man.
Thoroughly questioning his sanity, James halted abruptly and turned to face his opponent. The man grinned and began firing spells again. James could now hear his voice shout the hexes and flinched. He had hoped the green streams of light were something else.
James was no coward, a Gryffindor to the core. But he was afraid, petrified even. He was fighting for his life. Just like his father.
He remembered hearing everything about the time when Harry had been against Voldemort. He remembered the stories of how Harry would favor stunning spells and never the killing curse. Harry wanted to establish a difference between his side and Voldemort's. Feeling only self-repulsion, James realized that all he wanted was to stay alive.
"Avada Kedavra!" James shouted. His being shook to the core as he uttered the evil words. But it was necessary. How could he fight for his life with only Stupefy as a weapon? Hardening his entire being, he shouted it again, "Avada Kedavra!"
The duel changed completely then. The man, so much more experienced and prepared than James, started throwing unheard of hexes that James did not know how to defend himself again. But he tried. The man may have had experience, but James had desperation.
Spell after spell hit James and he could feel himself bleeding from every limb. Pain was continuing to erupt out of every pore. But he was his father's son, James kept reminding himself. He would make Harry proud.
James did not know when it had ended. All that he knew was that somehow, one of the green jets had smashed right into his attackers chest. The anonymous man had fallen, murdered by James' hand, which was now shaking uncontrollably.
"I'm a murderer," James whispered, staring in horror at the man.
His frozen shock lasted only a few minutes before he was off running again, his destination clear in his mind.
James reached the bathroom in slightly under five minutes. He had been glancing over his shoulder continuously, but it seemed as if it was just the one man who had tried to kill him. To an onlooker, the sight of a harried teenage boy running into a girl's bathroom might have been odd, but to anyone in the Weasley-Potter family, they would understand.
James ran directly to the sinks and hissed in parseltongue. Mere minutes later, he was making his way shakily through the Chamber of Secrets, illuminated my his shaking wand.
He was a murderer.
Upon reaching the main chamber, James sat and took out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he croaked out. The paper sprung to life and he hurriedly looked.
Relief swelled through him as he quickly found his brother's name. Albus Severus Potter was scrawled over a dot in the Slytherin dormitories. James shakily smiled, but froze in a second.
The name had disappeared.
James frantically looked for the rest of his family. He could only locate five of the names, all others were already gone, erased by some unknown evil. And even these names were slowly disappearing.
Lily - gone.
Victoire - gone.
Hugo - gone.
Fred - gone.
James let out anguished cries. His family was dead. He would be alone, well, alone until someone came to finish the job. James did not think he would fight so hard the next time. What was there to live for anyway?
He stared at the last name left, holding onto it with all he had. When this last name was erased, then he would be truly alone.
James continued to watch the name and became more and more confused. The elegantly scribbled name of Rose Weasley was still there. Unmoving, her name was not disappearing.
Rose was still alive. She wasn't being erased. She was alive. And he would keep it that way. He would protect her with everything he had.
She was all he had left.
