The Party, Chapter 10
The Party, Chapter 10
She was no longer sure how many days or hours had passed. She had seen no one, save Peter Pettigrew, who brought her meals from time to time. There was no way for her to mark the passing of time in her windowless cell, all was darkness: morning, noon and night.
She never touched the food that Pettigrew shoved into the blackness at her. What was the sense of eating, when eating prolonged life and she had no reason to live? Truth be told, she was no longer hungry. She did allow herself to drink the tea he provided, because though she did not feel hunger she felt the cold, and tea helped to drive back the chill. She slept when she was able, walked in circles around her cell to keep warm when she couldn't.
To keep her mind from shutting down she practiced transfiguration spells in her head, worked through complicated charms and runes, tried to recollect potion ingredients from memory. And she tried not to think of Albus. If she focused on other things she could block the utter desperation and hopelessness of her situation. She could remain in control. When her mind went to Albus, a misery gripped her heart in vice-like agony and she felt that she would surely drop dead from despair. But try as she may she could not banish him from her mind.
And then Voldemort called for her. The door to her room opened suddenly, catching her unaware, and she jumped back in surprise. Squinting against the light now pouring into her sunless cell she made out the form of Peter Pettigrew's rounded shape. "The Master wishes to see you. He says you are to make yourself presentable. You have one hour," and the door shut behind him.
"Make yourself Presentable?" she thought to herself, "with what?" But no sooner had the thought entered her mind, the empty room began to transform around her. Warm, natural light filled the area, and it suddenly appeared as though she were standing in the girls' prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts. Water was already pouring from the taps into the tub; iridescent bubbles filling the basin, floating in the air around her.
In the corner of the room appeared a vanity, with an ornately carved mirror, like she had had in her bedroom as a teenager in her family home. Next to the vanity was a large wardrobe, and hanging from its doors was a set of Slytherin-green satin dress robes.
Standing in front of the mirror she looked aghast at her appearance. Her face was deathly pale from the deprivation of light, and cheeks gaunt from lack of food. Her normally emerald green eyes shown as large, black pools from utter dilation of her pupils.
She sank gratefully into the warm waters of the bathtub, not wanting to think about what might come after. As she washed her hair and soaked her cold, weary bones she contemplated drowning herself. It would be a sweet, easy relief to end this hell beneath the soothing waters. But she was certain she could not succeed. Her cell was no doubt being closely monitored, and any drastic changes in her life signs or magic stores would sound an alarm. Salty tears mingled with the soapy water. She had chosen this, she reminded herself sternly. But the choosing did not make it easier.
When she stepped out of the marble tub a soft, fluffy towel materialized and she dried herself and slipped into the smooth satin robes he had laid out for her. They fit her tightly, but not uncomfortably. Now as she stared at her reflection the years seemed to have melted away, and it was as if she were looking at a more mature, sophisticated version of her younger self. The robes, she remembered suddenly, were identical to the ones she had worn to the Yule Ball her last year as a student at Hogwarts. She had chosen to wear Slytherin green over her Gryffindor red to impress Tom.
She brushed her raven hair, magically drying with each stroke of the brush, and was alarmed when the pins with which she tried in vain to fashion her normal bun kept flying out and disappearing, leaving her locks falling frustratingly loose around her waist. With her eyes returning to their normal size and hue and a bit of color in her cheeks from the warmth of her bath, even she knew she looked beautiful. And that frightened her.
The door to her chamber opened again. "Are you ready?" Pettigrew asked. She joined him in silent answer, furiously trying to compose her features and calm her mind. As she followed wordlessly down the dim corridor she realized she was in the old Riddle mansion. Tom had brought her here once, all those years ago. As she followed Pettigrew through the massive oak doors she found herself once again in the ballroom, and once again standing before Tom Riddle.
Severus knew he was allowing his mind to wander dangerously. But right now, the Dark Lord was so intently focused on Minerva that he doubted very much he need bother with occlumency shields at all. He stood staring dumbly in awe of the breathtaking witch before him. He had always thought Minerva attractive, but she was more than that, he realized. She was beautiful. Without her customary bun and glasses, she looked softer, more radiant—and decades younger. He was looking at the side of her that belonged solely to Albus Dumbledore, what he must be privy to, behind closed doors.
He was amazed at how she stood calmly, regally even—to face the Dark Lord, a semi-circle of Death Eaters behind her. She met his gaze unflinchingly, something not even his most loyal of followers dared to do. No wonder Albus loved her, and that the Dark Lord wanted her.
Severus stood in line, surrounded by Lucius Malfoy, Lestrange, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pettigrew, wondering what torture he would be required to submit her to, and whether she or Albus would forgive him for it. He prayed that he could forgive himself.
"Minerva. How good of you to join us. As you can see, I've arranged a little party for you." He gestured behind her to the six Death Eaters enclosing her from escape. She did not bother to glance behind, but continued to gaze steadily at him.
"My dear, I see you've not lost that brave Gryffindor stoicism. How unfortunate for you. You see, I like my followers to do a little graveling at my feet."
"That is doubtful to happen, as I am not one of your followers, Tom." Her voice was deep and husky from lack of use.
"Ah. We come to our first lesson, Professor. Crucio!"
The spell threw her forcefully on to her back as she writhed and convulsed in pain, yet no sound escaped her lips. This seemed to amuse him, rather than anger him further, however, and as the curse subsided he admonished her calmly, "No one has called me by that name for a long time, Minerva. Surely you have heard the title that I go by, these days? What is my name, Minerva?"
"Tom Riddle," she breathed out through clenched teeth.
"Crucio!"
Again she writhed under the agony of the curse, but just as before no sound was made. As the spell waned, she pushed herself up a little, panting for breath.
"Say my name, Minerva."
She glared silently back at him, either unwilling or unable to speak.
"Crucio!"
This time she screamed in anguish, her body thrashing violently on the floor. He hit her again and again with the cruciatus curse, her screams intensifying with her pain.
"My followers call me Lord Voldemort, Minerva. Just say my name, love, and it will all be over."
Say the bloody name, Minerva! Severus yelled at her in his mind, not sure how much longer he could endure listening to her torturous wailing as her body bent and twisted under the excruciating torment it was being subjected to.
"Go on, love, say it. Just say my name. I show mercy to those who obey me."
"…I…will…never…" she gasped, her voice barely audible. "…not…yours…" turning into another blood curdling cry as the curse slammed into her broken body once again.
Voldemort laughed harshly. "Let us all take part in this lesson for the good professor. She seems to be learning rather slowly." He nodded to the masked, cloaked men forming the half moon circle around her body.
In turn they raised their wands, hitting her one by one with cries of "crucio" until her body continued to spasm but she grew too weak to cry out anymore, and fell deathly quiet.
As Severus stood, last to project the unforgivable spell upon her now silent, limp form, he prayed again that she would be able to forgive him. He stared down at her, hair and robes now soaked darkly with her sweat, eyes glassed open blankly staring at the ceiling. He knew he would never forgive himself.
"Let us not go to sleep yet, Minerva. Remember, we are having a party in your honor, and it isn't over yet." He pointed his wand at her lifeless form and she snapped back to alertness, her expression contorted in agony, small tremors shaking her body as echoes of fading pain washed over her.
Voldemort addressed his Death Eaters. "Professor McGonagall and I are old acquaintances. We go way back. Old lovers, really. She was mine once. Promised herself to me. And then she did something very un-Gryffindor. She broke her promise." Severus cringed under his mask at the malice in his voice. "She went whoring after Albus Dumbledore like a common slut. A whore deserves to be treated as a whore. Therefore I give her up to your use. Crabbe, you and Goyle may enjoy her tonight. When you are finished, Wormtail will return her to her cell."
"Thank you, Master." The two men bowed low, eyeing Minerva lasciviously.
Voldemort walked out of the room, followed by the other four men. As he passed her, Severus tried to catch Minerva's eye, but she just lay there, unmoving, her face impassive but pain and fear visible in her green eyes.
As they made their way to the Riddle liabrary, he turned to Severus. "I trust you will make a full report to the Headmaster, Snape? It will be good to give that fool Dumbledore a little something to lose sleep over. In fact, I have written him a thank you note that you may deliver."
"Yes, my Lord," Severus nodded humbly.
As he walked past the ballroom to the apparition point he could hear the raucous laughter of Crabbe and Goyle, but though he strained to hear Minerva's voice, from her all was silent. With heavy heart he returned to Hogwarts, dreading with all his soul the report he had to make.