As a general warning, this chapter contains material that may be offensive to some readers.
Chapter Eleven
"The Woes of Crouch's Son"
When the small, black door closed behind Macnair and Snape it left them in a state of ringing silence. Macnair's spell on Snape had lifted, and they both seemed rather shocked at the turn things had taken. Then Macnair pointed with his wand, indicating that Snape should make his way to the back of the parlor. Snape complied, feeling the weight of the cold, metal pin like ice between his fingers. His wrists were bound so tightly that movement of his fingers was very difficult indeed, and he was working calmly at it the entire time he walked. This undertaking went unnoticed by Macnair, who stayed a distance away, lacking the confidence and blatant aggression of some of the others.
This room was possibly as different from the empty, stone room as it could possibly be. Two enormous, ceiling-high windows framed by purple velvet curtains shed filtered light onto a highly polished golden wood floor, in the center of which was a collection of ornately painted, decorated chairs and recliners circled around a wood-framed glass table. Snape and Macnair made their way to the side of this display, past several more small tables around which were more chairs, these much plainer. They approached the back of the room; Macnair steered him deliberately past the windows, holding his wand in a way that clearly warned Snape against trying to escape through them.
Macnair had him stand against the wall at the back of the parlor, and he himself stood in front of the window where he vigilantly assumed a guard-like stance, wand at the ready. With his back to the wall Snape continued maneuvering the pin on the inside of his fists while at the same time focusing his mind, calming his agitated thoughts until not a ripple disturbed the inner sanctum. He turned his eyes in the direction of his attentions, hoping to increase his receptivity to Crouch's mind. He needed to attain receptivity while getting loose from the restraints, anticipating that he could somehow influence the rogue Death Eater's mind if need be, but at the very least in the hopes that he would be able to see what was going on, though he feared he knew.
On autopilot, Snape finally succeeded in moving the pin to the base of his hands between his two wrists. His eyes were fixed on the little black door as he continued working at it, and his mind was now elsewhere, reaching toward the youngest of the Crouches.
At first Snape saw and felt nothing, but it wasn't long before he found Crouch's mind; they were more than near enough to each other to allow for a strong Legilimentic connection, and soon Snape was picking up on shapes and sounds. The potions professor was much more skilled at Legilimency than the average witch or wizard, better even than most scholars of the fine art, and his talent lay in the ability to translate what he found in the minds of others into coherent thoughts, pictures and sounds; more or less, at his best Snape was able to see through the eyes of those around him. Now, he locked tightly onto Crouch, being careful not to be at all intrusive… hoping that if it ever came to that, he would have the strength when already, the effort of simply initiating the link was drawing on his strength.
Snape saw Potter on the floor looking back at him. He seemed unhurt thus far, but Snape could feel the excited, malicious intent that surged through Crouch's consciousness, and Snape knew he had been right. It was not the first time he had heard Potter mentioned among the Death Eaters as an object of sexual desire, and throughout the boy's captivity it had been something Snape feared would come into play, but now he could feel with painful clarity how right he had been. A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw and for a moment it was difficult to maintain a flawlessly peaceful mind but he steadied the connection, setting his teeth. His head pulsed and sweat shone on his forehead but he stood still as a statue except for his fingers, which were working imperceptibly behind his back.
IN THE NEXT ROOM...
"Alone at last, Potter," growled Crouch, staring down his wand at Harry, whose knees were beginning to feel sore and bruised. "I can't say I expected it to happen so soon, but I'm glad."
That makes one of us… thought Harry.
"I've had so long," continued Crouch, reveling, "So much time in which to come up with ways to help the Dark Lord. I have thought away hours on end while I dreamed of my ultimate redemption. And now here you are right in front of me, and it couldn't be easier." Grinning, his eyes strayed down Harry's face. "You're still feeling the frenums,no doubt?"
Harry stayed silent, keeping his expression blank.
Crouch chuckled, and raised his wand slightly to point toward the base of Harry's throat. Harry caught his breath, glancing warily between the wand and Crouch's face. "It can't be pleasant, having gone through what you have in these last few days, I'm sure." Harry gritted his teeth. "But you should remember what each of us has been forced to endure on your account. Those years, after you thwarted the Dark Lord—the first andlast time that it will ever occur, be assured—in those years every last one of the Dark Lord's followers suffered persecution and imprisonment unless they were lucky or clever enough to dodge the Ministry… or unless they were killed." Crouch's gaze turned dark and bitter; his wand pressed harder into Harry's throat. "Do you know the name Charles Mulciber?"
Harry clenched his jaw, leaning away from the sharp point of Crouch's wand, and glared up at the man. "No," he ground out reluctantly.
"Didn't think so. Why would you? A sheltered Muggle lover like you… Mulciber was my first friend among the Death Eaters. He was my brother. He brought me into the ranks of the followers of the Dark Lord, he mentored me, and taught me the old ways. I was indebted to him in a way that none of the others—least of all you, Potter—could ever understand. I owe my life to him—and of course, to the Dark Lord, without whom I would be as worthless now as your mother was, her whole short life."
Harry felt a violent flare of rage. "Watch who's talking, Crouch," he snarled, involuntarily rocking forward on his knees into the point of Crouch's wand. Leaning closer above him Crouch used his wand to force the boy so far back that for a moment Harry thought he might lose his balance; he had to use his bound hands behind him on the floor for support.
"Temper, Potter." Crouch towered above him, and Harry could smell a faint body odor on his brown jacket. Finally Crouch let up, though he kept his wand touching lightly to Harry's chest. "And you, Potter... Because of you, Mulciber was killed. He had only about a week after that night in Godric's Hollow. They found him in hiding, they killed him. No fair trial, no chance to surrender, he was just dead. A month later, I was in a cell…" A ghostly, hollow look overcame him, and Harry felt the wand tip ease up as Crouch's mind was lost for a moment within his memory of Azkaban. Harry remained as still as he could.
"Everything that happened was because of you, Potter," Crouch was murmuring. "You, and your filthy Mudblood mother—"
"Glad she wasn't blessed with your blood!" Spat Harry furiously, unable to stop himself. "You're the scum groveling for Voldemort—!"
In one flash of a movement Crouch had stowed his wand and backhanded Harry with all the strength he had. His knuckles hit Harry's temple and the boy crashed backward, landing hard on the stone floor with a yell. Harry rolled instinctively, feeling the side of his head go numb; his bound arms hindered him but he was still able to scramble to his feet with the quickness of his Seeker heritage. He whirled to face Crouch and another blow connected with the other side of his head; white lights popped in Harry's vision as he went down for a second time, grunting as he caught himself against the floor with his shoulder, trying to go into another roll. But this time he was disoriented when he hit the floor, and he was all legs on impact. He came to an unceremonious stop and struggled back to his knees, swaying dangerously for an instant and trying to blink away the fading lights.
Harry got up to his feet, noticing that the room seemed to bend slightly as though he were dizzy from having spun around for several turns. The man had not held back, despite the fact that he had about sixty pounds on Harry, who now tried to force the hot pounding in his head to the back of his mind.
"Careful, Potter," Crouch mocked, coming around so that they faced each other once more in the middle of the dark, gray room.
Despite himself, Harry lurched back a few steps as Crouch came at him again with fists ready. As Crouch swung for Harry the boy dropped and ducked beneath the Death Eater's arms, noticing more than ever the difference in his agility after the frenums and without the use of his arms. Moving hastily, he twisted around to face Crouch as he straightened up, continuing to walk backward across the stone floor, away from the taller man.
Crouch watched him and licked his lips. "Go on, Harry. Go ahead, try to get out of here."
Harry, without taking his eyes off Crouch, backed slowly toward the wall in which the small black door was set. Even before he reached it he knew it was sealed because Crouch wasn't stopping him. With hands tied behind his back, Harry grasped the door handle and pulled as hard as he could; it was locked tight. His chest heaving, Harry trotted further along the wall, heading for the fireplace. Flu powder? But there was no little bowl full of the familiar, ash-like powder on the hearth or anywhere else. Harry hadn't expected there to be any. He slowed to a halt, breathing hard, and his eyes darted over toward the drawing room door.
Crouch sneered, his eyes taking in Harry's plight with growing anticipation. "Going to head out through the drawing room, are you?" He taunted, "I wonder if any of the dozens of Death Eaters between here and freedom will notice you among them." He laughed gratingly. "No, Potter, you're not going anywhere. You're with me now. I've got some questions that you're going to answer for me."
Harry shook his head slightly. "Not going to happen," he said with a brave attempt at nonchalance. "I don't know anything."
Crouch threw his head back in another peal of harsh laughter. "Aaah…well, that remains to be seen, I think," he said, his amusement trailing slowly away as he regarded Harry darkly across the twenty or so yards between them.
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine under Crouch's scrutinizing gaze. He shifted his weight, glancing nervously away and then back again despite his angry facade.
Crouch's eyes exuded excitement. "We've all heard of your valor, Potter," he said. He had taken his wand back out and was twiddling it idly between his fingers as he watched Harry. "See, I don't necessarily think pain is the only tool worth using, when you can get an equal or better effect by some other method." Crouch lifted his penetrating gaze and took a few strides toward the big trestle table opposite where Harry now stood, pointing his wand toward it with a murmured spell.
Harry saw sleek, black ropes spring up out of the pitted wood, falling into still coils on each end of the table. He felt his stomach drop a few more inches as he glared across the room at Crouch's profile, eyes wide. The blond man gave the coils a few fond strokes, and they seemed to respond to the contact, curling up like snakes. Crouch wasn't smiling, but when his eyes found Harry again there was a mad joy that sparkled in their hazel depths. "Don't worry, Potter," he growled, the corners of his mouth twitching. "We won't use these unless we have no other choice."
Harry gave a small snort. "That's fantastic."
Crouch ignored him. "It's been such a long time… There are so many different ways to do it, I'm almost at a loss for where to begin." The eagerness was evident in his voice as Harry edged along the wall past the gated fireplace. The distance between them was now Harry's only card to play. Still breathing rather heavily, his eyes darted along the walls, the floor, and the hearth in search of anything that he could use on his arm bindings. But the room was bare of all furnishings—not even a torch bracket hung on the walls—and not for the first time Harry felt an unwelcome wave of futility.
"But think of how the Dark Lord will reward me, when I deliver the information you provide," Crouch was saying. "There will be no going back. I will be his most trusted, the Dark Lord's best and only second—the one responsible for crushing the Order of the Phoenix..."
Harry frowned. The Order of the Phoenix?
"And not only that," Crouch carried on in a low voice, "You don't know how it's been for me, boy." He gesticulated with his wand. "Waiting, all this time, watching you from a distance. It's been driving me mad. When all I've wanted… from the first time I laid eyes on that famous face…" Harry shivered again as Crouch's eyes raked him. "And now the time is finally here, and I couldn't be readier."
It was almost too easy. Crouch knew exactly how to break the boy, and retrieve the information in the process. It would be far too simple, not to mention highly enjoyable and long awaited. Looking him over, Crouch took in Harry's appearance, noting the flush in Harry's cheeks and the beads of sweat just above his collar bone, reflecting the light as he breathed; the way his shirt clung to his lightly muscled body and how those enchanting eyes were framed messily by his jet black hair… the glimmer in his eyes, the color of which Crouch could see from where he stood. The man felt anticipation building in him. The boy's eyes were electrifying; so inviting, so appealingly soft and effeminate… Crouch lingered hungrily, holding the gaze...
Potter's self-conscious reaction to Crouch's examination was too perfect. He as good as squirmed as Crouch's stare reached his midsection, and drifted lower. A chill of exhileration ran through Crouch, spreading into his gut and chest until his very fingers and toes were tingling. He didn't have to wonder why each and every Death Eater had remained in the castle after the night Potter was captured, just to catch a glimpse of the boy.
Harry tensed where he stood when he saw Crouch raise his wand back into the air. "Where are the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?" Demanded Crouch abruptly, taking one step nearer and holding his wand aloft.
A little taken aback, Harry hesitated, frowning.
He saw the shadows under Crouch's brows darken as the man narrowed his eyes. "Don't be shy, Potter," he growled, taking a few more steps across the center of the room. "Answer the question."
"Look," said Harry in frustration, "I don't know about any Order of the Phoenix, ok?"
Crouch smiled. He seemed to have heard what he wanted to hear. "Ok," said Crouch, and the tone in his voice made the hairs on Harry's neck prickle.
Thank you dolls!