CW: Torture
A/N: Based on reviews, I've concluded that the previous chapter in its original form failed to make clear how hard the Death Eaters were pressing Iruka. I've tweaked that scene slightly to hopefully fix this issue and added further clarification to that chapters end notes.
Disclaimer: Being neither British nor Japanese, it should therefore come as no surprise that I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto, nor anything from their respective franchises.
Underlined content comes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Awareness returned suddenly and harshly, akin to being woken from a comfortable deep sleep by being dumped into a vat of ice-cold water. Iruka's training kicked in almost instantly; since he'd obviously been deliberately awakened there was no point in trying to pretend at unconsciousness, so he scanned the room while checking on his own status.
Iruka was a bit bruised, and sore from lying on a hard surface for an indeterminate amount of time, but felt otherwise unhurt. A quick wiggle confirmed that, while he was still bound in magical ropes, he was no longer completely paralyzed. It was also enough for him to tell that he'd been stripped of his wand and all of his weapons and equipment, which wasn't exactly a surprise.
The spacious rectangular room he found himself in was similar in overall style and construction to much of what he'd seen in Wizarding Britain, with wood-paneled walls, a large unlit stone hearth about two-thirds of the way down one of the longer walls, a whitewashed vaulted ceiling in between large wooden beams, and a smoothly-polished hardwood floor. Large arched windows occupied much of the long wall opposite the fireplace, though their closed shutters denied the chuunin any reference for how long he may have been unconscious. There were four doors, all closed - two in the long wall, to either side of the fireplace, and one in each of the shorter walls, the one farther from the hearth being an ornate double door that was probably the main entrance. The ceiling was high enough that a long balcony ran along much of the long wall opposite the windows, bulging outward around the chimney, with wrought-iron spiral staircases at both ends connecting it to the room's floor and intricately-carved wooden columns above where the wall was below the balcony, opening some further space that Iruka couldn't see from his current position. A second balcony, so small that only one or two people could comfortably occupy it, hung half a meter higher than the first on the wall opposite the entrance, with a small set of curtained French doors the only access point.
In terms of decor, the only word to truly capture the room was "opulent", although "dark" might come in a reasonable second place. Whether naturally or by stain, all of the wood used in the room was various shades of dark, rich brown or red with some black accents. Everywhere one looked there seemed to be gilding, fine carvings, tapestries woven with threads of precious metal, and gleaming ornaments of silver and gold set with gems. Two large and beautiful but presently unlit chandeliers hung overhead and expensive-looking chairs, couches, and small tables were scattered along the walls. The overall impression was one of conspicuous wealth that was just tasteful enough to avoid being outright gaudy. Every bit of wood, glass, and metal was polished to an immaculate shine, glitteringly reflecting the paltry light cast by the cold, pale flames of a set of candelabras fixed to the walls around the room. This poor illumination left many parts of the room in deep, ominous shadows, though said shadows didn't actually hide much from the eyes of a trained shinobi.
Most immediately relevant, however, were the people in the room. Black-robed Death Eaters stood in an elongated arc with him just inside its base, evenly-spaced aside from several conspicuous gaps that presumably represented those killed in action or otherwise unable to attend this gathering. Only one of those present was unmasked; Bellatrix Lestrange was easily recognizable from the photos Iruka had seen, standing at the end of the line to his left with a vicious grin on her face and a mad gleam in her eye. Just beyond the base of the arc sat a throne-like chair with an overall form that recalled the Headmaster's chair from Hogwarts's Great Hall while its black wood and details in a motif heavily favoring snakes and skulls showed that it was custom-made for its current occupant.
Lord Voldemort sat there, his posture and expression utterly relaxed and supremely confident, though extremely subtle tells in his eyes and his mannerisms hinted at some degree of wariness, and even seemingly at ease the Dark Lord didn't need his inhuman features to put a viewer in mind of a snake ready to strike. Speaking of snakes, the same snake from the graveyard and the Ministry was coiled by the base of the throne, watching Iruka as if assessing his suitability as its next meal.
"Ah, Professor Umino," the ophidian wizard said, "how kind of you to join us." The gathered Death Eaters chuckled, though it sounded like a near-even mix between sycophancy and actual amusement. "And just as in our previous meeting, you lie helplessly bound at My feet. This time, though, there will be no plucky Boy-Who-Lived" he sneered the word mockingly "running to your rescue." His smug grin broadened. "Well, not yet, at any rate."
So he was going to be used as bait, then. That meant that taking a cautious approach and waiting for rescue or escape opportunities was out. Better to push hard and take risks; whether he escaped or died, either possibility would reduce the danger to his friends and students. Keeping his captors off-balance was the first step, and the most obvious method might also sow a touch of doubt or dissention in the ranks. "Yes, very impressive," he replied patronizingly, "though just like last time it wasn't you that caught me. You really should be proud of your minions - it only took what, eight of them? Ten? However many it was, with a planned ambush and a pair of hostages. Not exactly a stellar performance, though considering your own record the past ten or fifteen years I suppose it's pretty impressive. I'll give them an Exceeds Expectations, since actually pulling off a mission exceeds what I'd expect from them, though so does holding their wands by the right end..."
"CRUCIO!" Voldemort shrieked, and Iruka's world was consumed with pain. It felt like every part of his body was being simultaneously stabbed by electrified red-hot kunai covered in salty lemon juice. He didn't know if he was screaming; he didn't know how long it went on; he didn't know anything except that he hurt. After some unknown period, the pain receded to a full-body ache and his brain was able to do more than just process pain. "I was going to offer you mercy in exchange for your knowledge," the Dark Lord hissed, "perhaps even a place in My service, but Lord Voldemort's mercy is limited, and My forgiveness even more so. You will address Me with the respect I am due or you will experience torment beyond your imagining as I rip the information from your mind and leave you naught but a broken, drooling shell before feeding your still-breathing carcass to Nagini." The Death Eaters all stood rigidly still, whether from fear or anger or both he couldn't tell at the moment aside from Lestrange, whose face was a picture of furious hatred.
Right, wizards weren't nearly as big on bantering with enemies as ninja were. Best dial back on taunting the torture-happy megalomaniac while helpless. "Duly noted," Iruka groaned out.
"Well then, while we wait for My little missive to reach its destination, why don't we have a friendly little chat? We can begin with the secrets of your inhuman speed..."
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What followed was not pleasant. Voldemort would demand information, Iruka would refuse to answer in any helpful way, and the Dark Lord would alternate attempts to plunder the knowledge through Legilimency and bouts of the Cruciatus Curse accompanied by the mockery and laughter of the Death Eaters.
Iruka's only consolation was that Riddle seemed hesitant to actually tear his mind apart from within, and therefore didn't probe with quite enough force to cause damage. This allowed the chuunin to use what Occlumency skills he had alongside his training to resist torture and interrogation, steering the Legilimency attacks into memories that were usually germane to the topic but largely useless. When asked about his physical abilities, he focused on physical training, making sure to show his interrogator bowl-cuts and green spandex as much as possible. Questions about his homeland led to images of his childhood, Konoha, boring history lectures at the Academy (largely the same lectures as both student and teacher), and lots of trees. Voldemort never went after any of the more heavily-classified village secrets, which was actually a little unfortunate since none of them would be of much use to him and most were linked to genjutsu- and fuuinjutsu-based booby-traps.
Interestingly, the probes tended to withdraw faster and leave less of an increase to Iruka's ever-growing headache when they encountered memories focused on his friends, family, and students. Once he noticed this, the chuunin began pushing more and more of those memories forward, further frustrating Voldemort but increasing the frequency of Cruciatus usage. As the interrogation went on, the accumulated pain and fatigue led to an increasing number of slips. It was nothing too critical, like how to access and use chakra, but there were at least a few glimpses of events like the night Naruto was born, the Suna/Oto invasion, Pain's attack, and what little Iruka had seen of the Fourth War. Voldemort now undoubtedly had a better grasp of Iruka's capabilities and fighting style, and definitely knew that he was a soldier and a teacher of soldiers. Iruka could kiss being underestimated goodbye.
The questioning went on and on, for what must have been at least a couple of hours, although it was hard to tell time reliably when inside one's own head or incapable of incoherent thought due to pain. Still, every now and then Voldemort would pause and look up at the gradually-dwindling group of masked spectators for a few moments before returning to his work. It was as if he was waiting for something, but what?
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Harry was on his way back to Gryffindor tower after Sunday breakfast when he was approached by a paper airplane like those he'd heard were used to deliver memos at the Ministry of Magic. He drew his wand, ready to throw up a shield or hit the animated missive with a spell if it proved to be some sort of trick or attack, but upon reaching him it stopped and unfolded itself, drifting down innocently to the floor. Still wary, he crouched down to read the note without actually touching it.
Potter,
You may by now have noticed a certain absence. Professor Umino is presently Our guest. If you value his well-being, you will attend Our servants at the Ministry of Magic and follow their instructions. You will not bring Dumbledore or his lackeys into this matter, for if any Aurors or members of his little Order should attempt to interfere We will be unable to guarantee your Professor's safety. Do be prompt, as he seems somewhat dissatisfied with Our hospitality.
-Lord Voldemort
The teen froze in shock. Thinking back, Iruka-sensei had been absent at dinner; in fact, Harry couldn't recall seeing him at all since heading down to Hogsmeade the previous morning. He grabbed the parchment, too focused on other matters to worry about whether it might be booby-trapped, and broke into a flat-out run for Iruka-sensei's office, dodging deftly around other students in the halls and ignoring their shouts of confusion or indignation. Upon reaching his destination, he spent over a minute fruitlessly pounding on the locked office door, before giving it up as a bad job and haring off again, this time resuming his course back to Gryffindor Tower albeit with much greater haste.
Before he could take two steps across the common room towards the stairs to his dorm, Harry found his way blocked by Neville's solid form. His friend was flanked by Hermione, Ginny, and surprisingly even Luna. "Something's happened," the other boy said. It wasn't a question.
"Not here," Harry hissed, nodding toward the stairs. The group hastily made their way up to the Fifth-Year boys' dorm, which was thankfully empty at the moment. Once they'd closed the door and secured it with quick locking and silencing spells, Harry turned to his friends. "I just got this letter," he explained tightly, handing the now rather crumpled parchment to Hermione before heading over to his trunk and starting to dig through for anything and everything that might be needed soon.
Hermione was the first to gasp, but Luna quickly followed. "What are we going to do?" the brunette witch asked.
"First we should make sure it's true," Hermione pointed out.
"Already checked his office," Harry replied as he shucked his school robes and started strapping on the kunai holster from the set he and the others had each received from Iruka-sensei at Christmas. "Nobody there."
"He could still be somewhere else, Harry," Hermione chided.
"Dobby!" Ginny called. The elf appeared with his usual crack, dressed for a night at the opera; he was wearing a frilly shirt, black trousers, and a fancy and well-kept velvet jacket and cape in Gryffindor red. "Can you tell us where Iruka-sensei is? We think he might have been kidnapped by Death Eaters."
With a grim nod, a snap, and a crack, Dobby disappeared, returning seconds later, visibly shaken and with an even darker expression on his face. "Professor Umino sir be at the secret unspeakable place in the Ministry with the glowy balls, but so is many bad wizards and witches." His hands curled into fists, which surged towards his head before stopping, his muscles seeming to strain against themselves. "Too many bad wizards and witches, and Dobby could not reach good Professor Umino!" he wailed, "Bad Dobby!" He made another failed attempt to strike himself, before collapsing to the ground in despair.
"It's all right, Dobby," Luna crouched beside him and patted his shoulder consolingly, "you did your best, and getting yourself hurt or caught wouldn't help anyone." Her only response was a choked sob.
"So we know they've got him at the Ministry," Ginny spat. "Now the question is: What are we going to do to get him back? We can't call the DMLE - even if the Aurors believed us the Death Eaters would be gone before they could even get close, and Iruka-sensei with them."
"We aren't going to do anything," Harry replied sharply, "I am going to go to the Ministry and get Iruka-sensei back. You read that letter; you know I can't bring anyone else."
"Actually," Luna said, almost managing to sound calm, "it only says you can't bring in Order members or Aurors. There's nothing there against friends coming along."
"More importantly," Neville growled, "there's no way you're daft enough to think this is anything but a trap. I know that short of Stunning you and sitting on you, we can't stop you from going anyway, but we can and will stop you from going alone." The muscular boy turned to the girls. "Get your gear. We're probably going to have to fight our way out, so we need to be ready."
The girls nodded and ran off to their dorms to prep, Luna going with Hermione after sending Dobby over to the Ravenclaw dorms to get her things. Neville, meanwhile, strode over to his trunk, pulling out his weapons pouches and turning to Harry. "Give us a hand, yeah?"
Harry helped his friend strap on his kunai holster and check through his supplies, uncertain of exactly how he felt. He hated the idea of dragging his friends into danger, especially knowing it was a trap. At the same time, their immediate and insistent support filled him with warmth and pride, along with hope that they might be able to pull their mission off. Eventually, he settled on the much less confusing cold fury at Voldemort and his Death Eaters for their actions, coupled with a firm resolve that five members of S.E.N. would leave Hogwarts and six would return.
A few minutes later, the girls returned. All five teens were now dressed for action, with trainers or boots with good, grippy soles along with sturdy trousers and shirts that wouldn't bind or restrict their movement any. Their various pouches and holsters were attached over these, with all of it covered by everyday black robes that looked unremarkable but were designed to be easily opened and shed. Their equipment included their kunai and shuriken, smoke and flash bombs, some soldier pills and clotting pills, plus medical supplies and potions (those that stored and traveled well), shrunken brooms, and Harry's Invisibility Cloak.
"Right," Harry said uncertainly, glancing around, "so how are we getting to the Ministry? None of us can Apparate, we've no Portkeys anywhere. Flying would take hours even if we knew the way there, hours Iruka-sensei probably doesn't have, which just leaves the Floo, but the Order doesn't trust it right now."
Hermione nodded. "You should be able to make it through just fine, since the Death Eaters obviously want you there, but the rest of us might not be so lucky."
"We'll have to go in through the visitors' entrance at street level," Ginny offered.
"The Knight Bus, then?" Neville grimaced. "I've heard you can pick it up just about anywhere in Britain, and go anywhere fairly quickly, but it's apparently a rough ride."
"If we can take it from Hogsmeade to the Ministry faster than flying, then we'll just have to put up with a few bumps," Harry stated resolutely. Decision made, the group quickly descended to join the train of students heading down to Hogsmeade. Once at the village they parted from the crowds as nonchalantly as possible and pulled up the hoods of their traveling cloaks. They lined up along a bit of out-of-the-way road on the village outskirts before Neville stuck out his wand.
The bus that appeared with a loud bang looked a lot like those transporting tourists all over London, except that it had three levels instead of two and was painted a vibrant purple. A pimply-faced teen took their money and a set of false names borrowed from Konoha shinobi, trying and failing to sell them lemonade and toothbrushes. He gave the group a somewhat suspicious look before shrugging his shoulders and encouraging the elderly driver to get the somewhat crowded vehicle moving.
Neville's description of the ride as "rough" was an understatement. It hurtled along and veered wildly around, hurling about its interior any passenger that had failed to take a firm enough grip on their armchair and sending the chairs themselves skidding across the floor. At random, irregular intervals, the scenery outside would abruptly shift with another loud bang, jumping between country lanes, city thoroughfares, large motorways, forest trails, and suburban streets with no rhyme or reason. The driver was apparently unwilling or unable to stop for or drive around obstacles like cars, trees, and pedestrians, instead swinging into oncoming traffic or onto sidewalks with careless abandon. Luckily for everyone both inside and outside, anything and anyone in front of the bus seemed to slide out of the way while the bus passed before snapping back in its wake. Given how crowded some of the areas they were driving through were, Harry both assumed and hoped that the bus was somehow charmed to avoid Muggle notice.
They stopped half a dozen times to let various other passengers off before finally coming to a screeching halt on a shabby-looking London street. "Ministry of Magic!" the conductor announced, and the five teens made their wobbly-legged way off the bus, glad to once again be on solid ground. The bus vanished again with another bang while the quintet tried to steady themselves and catch their breath. Luna seemed mostly unruffled, even if she did sway slightly, while Hermione looked to be on the verge of sicking up.
"Add 'making us ride in that infernal death-trap' to our list of grievances against the Death Eaters," the brunette witch snarled. Neville nodded his queasy agreement.
It took a couple of minutes for them to fully recover from the ride, before the three Pureblood students guided Harry and Hermione to a very distressed old phone booth nearby. Five people made for an unbelievably tight fit, but somehow they managed. Some sort of subtle space-expansion charms seemed to be involved.
Luna managed to squirm an arm over to pick up the receiver and dialed the number "62442". As soon as the dial had spun back from the last two, a bland female voice sounded not from the receiver but throughout the box.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Umm..." Harry thought for a moment, then decided to err on the side of caution. "Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny Weasley, here for a meeting with Tom Riddle and associates."
With a click and a rattle, a set of five square silver badges popped out from the coin-return chute, each bearing one of their names with the word "Meeting" underneath.
"Thank you," the voice stated, "Visitors, please attach the badges to the front of your robes." Once they'd done so through some dedicated squirming (along with several sharp elbows and a couple of accidental gropings), the voice spoke again. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium." The announcements apparently done with, the floor beneath them shuddered and began to grind its way downward.
They descended in darkness for a minute or so, before golden light washed over their feet and rose upwards as they emerged into the Ministry Atrium. Once the doors opened and the pile of teenagers fell out, Harry finally got a clear look at the room: The walls and floor were made of a polished dark wood, with a peacock-blue ceiling over which gleaming golden symbols were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. Harry could make out familiar bits here and there from his knowledge of Ancient Runes, but he'd never been any great shakes in the subject and tended to lean towards application over translation. Both of the long walls of the hall were lined with tall, gilded hearths, presumably for Floo travel, but they were idle at the moment. At the hall's midpoint stood a large golden fountain that gaudily illustrated wizards' belief that all other magical races worshipped them, or at least should.
The Atrium was empty, since most Ministry employees didn't work on Sundays, but the security check-in desk by the golden gates at the far end was still manned. Seeing one obvious route forward, Harry led the others over, their footfalls echoing among the sounds of splashing water in the quiet hall. As they approached, the blue-robed guard turned to them, staring at Harry with glazed eyes. "Go ahead through," he said in a dull, flat voice. From the looks on his friends' faces, Harry knew he wasn't the only one who recognized signs of the Imperius Curse.
As they stepped through the golden gates (which weren't ostentatious at all, honest) a platinum-haired figure stepped from the shadows. "Well, well," Lucius Malfoy drawled, "Harry Potter, finally here, though I do believe you were told to come alone."
"I was told not to involve the Order or the Aurors," Harry snapped back, glaring angrily at the Death Eater, "and I don't see any of them around, do you?"
Malfoy sneered. "Indeed. I shall have to inform Severus that you aren't quite as foolish as he likes to claim, or perhaps one of your little friends came up with this idea for you? No matter, this way." While the man didn't have his wand drawn, he was holding firmly to the head of his cane, and made sure to keep all five of them in sight as he urged them into a waiting lift.
After what was probably the tensest lift ride in the history of civilization, they emerged at the lowest floor where the automated voice announced, "Department of Mysteries." Their escort then led them down the hallway to the closed door at the end, beside which slumped two unfamiliar wizards bound and presumably unconscious. The black door swung open silently at their approach, admitting them into a circular room with identical doors evenly-spaced all the way around, with candles mounted to the wall between each burning with blue flame. Like the doors, every other surface in the room was jet black, sucking away what little light the candles cast.
The moment Malfoy closed the door behind them, the wall started to spin, speeding up until the candles' flames blurred together into a solid blue line like a neon tube. After several seconds of this, they slowed to a stop, but Harry didn't think any of them had even the faintest clue which door they'd come in through. A rustling sound heralded a second adult wizard appearing from under an Invisibility Cloak; Harry recognized him as Augustus Rookwood, Death Eater and disgraced former Unspeakable, from the photos and profiles S.E.N. had studied of known followers of Voldemort.
"Five of them, Lucius?" Though somewhat hoarse, the man's voice was cultured, its tone pleasant, albeit slightly annoyed. "Whatever. This way." With a shrug, he led them to one particular door indistinguishable from any of the others. The room beyond was practically covered in clocks of every type and description, all ticking away in quiet bedlam. At the far end stood a massive crystal bell jar full of billowing, glittering wind.
They didn't get much chance to look at things, however, as Rookwood strode forward between the desks and to another door, opening it to reveal a vast room filled with seemingly-endless rows of towering shelves lined with small glass orbs, some of which had an odd, faint glow to them. Their destination turned out to be row ninety-seven, by which stood another ten Death Eaters with an open steamer trunk behind them and Iruka-sensei lying bound and unconscious on the floor in front of them. Harry recognized the one unmasked member of the group as Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Ooh, Lucius!" Bellatrix crowed, "You've brought me another Longbottom! Too bad you couldn't have gotten that old battleaxe as well - I'd have been able to collect the whole set!"
"Not now, Bella," her brother-in-law admonished. "Maybe once we're done with our mission the Dark Lord will let you play a little." He sneered the word 'play' in disgust. "As for you," he turned to Harry, "right down that row, you'll know which one we want."
"Why me, though," he asked, playing ignorant, "why go to all this trouble rather than get it yourselves?"
Rookwood scoffed. "You think the Department of Mysteries would let just anyone walk in here and take what they want? Every orb in this room is enchanted so anyone trying to take one of them gets a real nasty surprise if they're not involved in that prophecy. Our Lord isn't quite ready for his public debut just yet, and the old meddler is too much trouble, but you? You we can work with."
"And how do we know that's really Iruka-sensei?" Neville demanded. "For all we know you could have one of your friends under Polyjuice. It's not that we don't trust you..." he said in a conciliatory tone before pausing, and continuing in a much more deadpan voice, "it's just that we don't trust you."
Several of the Death Eaters actually chuckled at that, with Bellatrix outright cackling. "You've got spirit, brat," one of them said, "not much brains, but definitely spirit. I suppose you're right, though - can't do a deal without confirming the merchandise, after all." He drew his wand and revived Iruka with a lazy flick.
A/N: This chapter's long already, and I'd rather not break things in the middle of the action.
The description of the Malfoy ballroom got away from me, I'll admit it. I pictured it in my head, but that picture just kept growing more details. If you're wondering (you probably aren't, but whatever) the large balcony is meant for mingling when one wants to take a break from whatever's going on down below, while the small one is attached directly to the master suite, in part to allow the hosts to lord over their guests and/or for the lady of the house to sneak peeks at what the guests are wearing before picking her own outfit. That little feature is borrowed from an old quasi-medieval-style house on the campus of my alma mater.
In case it's not obvious, Dobby was trying to punish himself but failing because he was under orders not to do so. Yes, he was able to extract the heroes from Malfoy Manor in Deathly Hallows, but in this case there were too many Death Eaters looking too wary and ready for him to be confident in getting Iruka out successfully. Also, he didn't exactly survive extracting the heroes in DH.
I wasn't even going to try and write Stan Shunpike's horrific mangling of the English language. Just assume he says about the same thing as in Chamber of Secrets.
Sorry to be rehashing/paraphrasing so much from Order of the Phoenix, but in this timeline this is Harry's first time visiting the Ministry, so I just didn't feel like I could get away with a quick "they entered the same as usual" kind of summary.
At first I was going to have them go by thestral, then decided that was unnecessarily close to canon events and made a slight tweak that made traveling by Floo make sense. Then I thought for some reason that the Floos were past the security desk, forcing me to rewrite things to have them take the Knight Bus. After that, I actually re-read the relevant scenes in OotP to get a better look at the visitors' entrance and the Atrium and discovered that the fireplaces were in fact outside the security desk, and thus backtracked a huge pile of edits. Then I realized that the Knight Bus journey read better, and dusted off a bit of earlier logic to turn S.E.N. away from the Floo after all. Getting them to the Ministry took FOREVER.
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Posted 12 January 2020