A/N Warnings for (more) torture, but it's Umbridge, so does it count? I'm sure we all want to see her suffer!
Harry felt a cool cloth against his face. Close by he heard the murmur of a healing incantation, if the gentle brush of foreign magic easing the ache from his body was any indication.
"Wh—" he began, his voice cracking.
"Shhhh. Don't speak. The snake nearly crushed your larynx. Give me a few minutes and the damage will be mostly healed. You are lucky that Draco was watching you just then or we might have lost you. Everyone else watching the Dark Lord and Madam Umbridge." The voice was gentle, if not clinical. It was a woman's voice and sounded familiar.
Harry couldn't recall what had happened, how he'd been injured. A snake had attacked him?
And Draco Malfoy had saved him?
Harry moaned his dismay. The soothing voice was back, misunderstanding his shame for a more physical discomfort. He recognized the voice now: Narcissa Malfoy. He hadn't known she was skilled at healing.
He reached up and pushed the damp cloth higher, onto the scar which still stung wickedly. "Oh, of course," he heard, and at once the pain diminished. An analgesic charm? Harry was involuntarily impressed. He'd not been able to find anything that would lessen the pain in his scar. He hoped she wouldn't be punished for somehow diminishing the link between him and his Master.
But his Master was busy elsewhere, firing Crucios at Umbridge, rapid bursts of the violent curse. Nagini was wrapped around the Dark Lord's shoulders, and, feeling bereft, Harry reached up to his own neck. The skin there was tender and hot to the touch. Narcissa swept his hand aside and resumed her barrage of healing charms.
'The Snake nearly crushed your larynx.'
Nagini had done this? Why?
Then Harry remembered his Master's rage and the subsequent events that had led to him being nearly asphyxiated. And with the Dark Lord's attention all on Umbridge, he would have died had Draco not noticed. Harry was pleased, then, that he'd saved the other boy from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, and not only because otherwise his would-be saviour wouldn't have been here now to prevent his own violent death. No, this way Malfoy wouldn't have anything to hold over him. Their debts would equal themselves out. Still he fully expected Malfoy to mock him for this. Harry had enjoyed taunting the other boy for his just fear of Voldemort's snake familiar. But in the end, and despite her affection, it was Harry that she'd nearly killed. Knowing Draco, he would milk this for all it was worth.
Harry shook those thoughts aside. He would worry about Draco later. In the meantime, the Dark Lord was punishing Umbridge, and how she deserved it! The Cruciatus would leave no lasting damage, none that mattered anyway. As his Master tortured the woman slumped on the floor, Harry began to make plans. He wanted her linger in her suffering, for her death to fit her crimes and to suit her fears.
His Master was casting wordlessly, whilst simultaneously hissing chastisements at Nagini, a testament to his prowess and familiarity with the spell. As the Dark Lord had told Harry in the atrium of the Ministry, it was intent that mattered with the Unforgivable curses. And Voldemort fully intended on making Umbridge's life as painful as he could. Distraction wouldn't change that.
"Nagini is sorry, Master," hissed Nagini during a lull in her reprimand. "Forgive Nagini."
Harry wanted to go to her, to let her know that he was okay.
Voldemort continued his beratement, hissing, "I had you accompany him to keep him safe. You nearly killed your brother, Nagini, and so soon after he came to us. How can I trust you with him again?"
Nagini's response was an insensible mixture of serpentine sobs and moans before she resumed her pleading. She did not once beg her Master for mercy; Voldemort would never harm her. Her remorse in injuring Harry was guileless; she made no attempt to mitigate any punishment. Harry had never known such unconditional affection, but he couldn't find it in himself to be envious of her. He only wished to soothe her, to assuage her remorse, but was unable to find the strength.
Finally Narcissa was done and Harry managed to hiss, "Sister, I am fine." He tried to get up, to go to her, but at once his Master turned.
"Stay there, Harry," he scolded. He set Nagini down, warning her to be gentle and not wrap herself around her brother again. "You should be happy, pet, that he does not blame you for his injuries. Be gentle with him. He is small and cannot survive you if you're not careful."
"Brother is small," Nagini agreed and slithered back to Harry. "Nagini is so sorry, brother. Pet Nagini?"
She was very needy, demanding reassurance of Harry's continued affections. He set about stroking her even as Voldemort returned to Umbridge, circling her. He held his wand loosely, and Harry noticed that it was the original bone-white one. He wondered where the Elder Wand was. Likely in a spare pocket in those voluminous robes. Or perhaps hidden away like the Horcruxes had been, guarded by a host of dragons or sphynxes or chimaera. The Dark Lord needn't use it to retain mastery over it. Harry had owned it, but briefly, and had never even held it, as had Draco. Harry remembered, then, the rush he'd felt that first day in Diagon Alley with Hagrid, holding his beloved holly wand for the first time. He wondered if that feeling was somehow more intense for those so new to the Wizarding World than those raised within it. This sudden, visceral understanding of their magic. Of course Tom Riddle would have felt it too, and Voldemort would still feel loyalty towards his yew wand, his first wand. It had been his initial link to the world of his maternal ancestors and a promise of power and of belonging.
Umbridge had recovered somewhat and, having pushed herself back to her knees, was eyeing that same wand in fear. It was well known what damage it could inflict, atrocities far worse than the torture curse. And as amusing as it would be to have her scream until she was a drooling mess, it was not enough, for the torment would be mindless and over too soon. Insanity would be an escape. No, she deserved to suffer, and know she was suffering, and know why she was suffering. She deserved to know she'd earned this fate.
She deserved to be punished.
"Harry thinks that sending you to the closed ward at St. Mungo's, your mind tortured to vacancy, is not enough," Voldemort said, coming to stand in front of her. "And I concur."
His Master was listening to his thoughts again. Harry visualized how he wanted her to be punished. How he wanted her to suffer. How he wanted her to die.
Voldemort sighed then licked his lips, as if the suggestions were arousing. He said, "Are you strong enough to help me with this, Harry?"
Harry nodded. Both wizards ignored the small protest from Narcissa asserting that he wasn't ready for anything of the kind. "Yes, my Lord," he said as pushed himself to his feet. Sweet Circe, but talking still hurt and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.
Voldemort held Harry up by the shoulders when he automatically went to kneel at his feet. "Harry has a wonderful idea, Dolores. As amusing as it is to inflict pain on you, it would be far more fitting—and entertaining—to watch you torture yourself. After all, is this not how you conducted your detentions? Forcing your students to damage themselves?"
Umbridge made a muffled, but distinct, cry of horror. Her eyes filled with panic, she shook her head violently.
"No, I do not suppose you would consent to such. You will do it regardless. Lucius, fetch us a quill."
Lucius gave a precise bow and left the room. Voldemort, meanwhile, cast an unfamiliar spell at Umbridge. "This particular charm," he explained to his assembled followers, "acts in much the same manner as Imperio. Unlike the Imperius curse, it does not allow the subject to fall into a fog of indifference. Dolores will be completely aware of what she is forced to do."
Lucius returned. To Harry's amusement, the quill he handed to Voldemort was fashioned from a long, white peacock feather. Lucius mumbled an embarrassed, "My apologies, my Lord, it was the first I could find." In his other hand he held out a bottle of ink, but the Dark Lord waved it off.
"This is most satisfactory, Lucius. Thank you." And then he was casting another obscure spell, this time aimed at the quill. To Umbridge he said, "It took numerous long detentions for Harry to carve those words into his hand. I'm afraid I simply can't spare the time for that. This quill will do much the same, but more efficiently. Take it."
Umbridge was helpless to prevent herself from reaching out and taking the quill. As Voldemort had promised, she was under no calming fog, such as the Imperius curse would provide. Large tears pooled in her eyes, and she had to rapidly blink them away.
Voldemort considered her, then muttered "Evenesco." The pink robes vanished, and around the hall came a slew of lewd comments. Umbridge made to cover herself, but the Dark Lord stopped her with a magic-imbued "Keep still." Her tears came faster, until she must have been blinded by them.
"Well, that won't do. I want this evening to be as carved into your mind's-eye as it will be into your flesh. Stop crying, woman, or must I vanish your tear-ducts as well? I promise that you will linger long enough to miss them," the Dark Lord warned. He gave her a few moments to calm herself, before continuing, this time addressing the general room, "Any suggestions for phrases she will inscribe?"
"Umbitch," someone called out. It sounded like Draco Malfoy, and Harry forced down a smile. That name had circulated through most of Hogwarts during fifth year. He hadn't realized that it had made the rounds in Slytherin house. He had thought that the Inquisitorial Squad had loved the reigning Headmistress. Apparently not. A quiet, "Draco! Don't be crass!" confirmed his guess.
"Does it have to be words?" Bellatrix asked. Her grin was, as always, manic.
"I suppose not," said Voldemort. "What do you have in mind."
She stepped forward and sneered at the former Undersecretary. "She wanted so much to be Marked, my Lord, it seems a shame to deprive her of your symbol. I suggest that she carves the Dark Mark into her arm."
Voldemort considered this. With a sigh, he finally said, "Poetic, I agree, but this worm doesn't deserve to bear my Mark. Any other—"
With a tenacity that only she could safely employ, Bellatrix interrupted the Dark Lord. "But my Lord," she argued, "it would be but a pale imitation-a child's scrawl—and a symbol of her undeserved arrogance, that she believed she was worthy to join you."
Harry hated to admit it, but he could think of nothing better. And something about Bellatrix's suggestion felt right. When the Dark Lord glanced back at him questioningly, he gave a little nod. He wanted this.
"Perhaps you are right, Bella. It is a good suggestion," Voldemort said, approvingly, and the Dark witch beamed at the praise. Harry wanted to kick her in the teeth. Turning back to Umbridge, the Dark Lord commanded, "Do not bother with parchment. Cut a facsimile of my Mark into your left forearm."
It was impossible to make out her progress, what with the blood pooling around the cuts. She was going to bleed out before she could finish, Harry realized; the inner forearm contained vital arteries, after all. His Master must have come to the same conclusion, as his wand was out. By the smell of seared flesh, Harry guessed it was some sort of cauterization charm.
It took Umbridge longer to gouge the skull and serpent design into her arm than the traditional Morsmordre branding. And, as Bellatrix had predicted, it was a gross misrepresentation. Once the blood was willed away, all there was to show for her work was a series of wonky blobs intersecting one another, with a few jagged cuts on either side where the witch's hand had slipped.
The Dark Lord declared it finished when Umbridge began to heave and then choke. Dribbles of vomit leaked from her nostrils, having no other outlet. She convulsed violently for about half a minute before collapsing, her face an alarming shade of blue.
Voldemort tutted. "She wasn't quite done. Oh, well. Narcissa, is she still alive? I have one more thing in mind for her."
Draco's mother didn't look too keen on getting close, but advanced enough to cast a diagnosis charm. "Barely, my Lord. She has aspirated a great deal of vomit."
"Remove it and revive her. I want her conscious so she can appreciate my next proposal. Fenrir, the giant clan which aided us in battle. Is it still encamped within the Forbidden Forest?"
"No, my Lord," came the rasping reply. By the look of the werewolf, the full moon was coming soon. "They were headed south. To Cornwall, if I understood them right. They have some kind of blood-feud to attend to, they said, now they are back on the island."
"That should bring them close to Wiltshire. Inform me when they near the county." Voldemort tapped his wand against his thigh. Then he said, "I will need to consult Severus in this matter, to ensure a viable sample is procured."
Harry was apparently the only one, other than his Master, who knew that Snape was alive again. The hall erupted in whispers. Voldemort allowed the renewed chaos to go unchecked as Narcissa worked to revive Umbridge.
Once the naked witch was alert, the Dark Lord called for everyone's attention. "Yes, I have restored Severus Snape to life. He is recuperating from his travels in the beyond and was thus unable to join us this evening. I am not certain how many of you had heard that I now possess this power, but I assure you that it is no idle rumour. It is far beyond anything seen before, at least in recent times. I do not speak of Inferi. Severus had been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts and is now back amongst us. He will not be returning to his position at the school once it is restored, but will remain in my direct service." There was no mention of either Voldemort's hand in Snape's death, nor of the Potions Master's treachery. Voldemort, no doubt, didn't want any of his followers to get the idea that they could betray him and hope to live.
"Madam Umbridge's torment is not over," the Dark Lord continued. "I expect her to linger for some time, which sadly means I will have to restore her faculties."
As quickly as he had vanished the witch's mouth, so it was restored. She opened it, and no one found out if she was going to beg for mercy or spit vitriol in response to the indignities she had suffered, as Narcissa muttered a quick Silencio.
"Thank you, Narcissa," said Voldemort. Then, addressing the room he said, "Many of you are aware of Madame Umbridge's xenophobic tendencies. I do not speak of her rightful hatred of Mudbloods, of course, but of her policies stigmatizing creatures: werewolves, goblins, centaurs. And for our purposes, giants. I had first thought it fitting to have Greyback turn her—it seemed propitious with the full moon occurring tomorrow. I realized, however, that would be an insult to our lycanthropic allies."
The Dark Lord paused here to incline his head to the Werewolf Alpha, who responded with a much deeper bow and a toothy grin.
"Thus," Voldemort continued, "I have opted for a different tact, one that will demand more patience but will prove more satisfying."
The crowd of Death Eaters was eating up every one of the Dark Lord's words. Harry was no exception. When he had projected his ideas to his Master earlier, they were vague, formless things. Make her hurt herself. Contaminate her with what she hated.
"You must forgive me, my faithful, for employing a Muggle idea, but otherwise our dear Dolores would not survive the initial stages of what I have planned. She shall be impregnated with a giant's essence, unfortunately artificially as otherwise she would not survive the act of conception." Voldemort paused until the low chuckles from his audience died down. "I will, of course, not abase myself with Muggle methods to achieve this. I will have Severus create a potion that will allow for fertilization and implantation to occur in the absence of coitus. I understand that, some years ago, he had been working on something similar to allow two wizards to jointly father a child using a surrogate. This should prove an easier task, as we know that such human-giant hybrids are possible, our late friend Hagrid being a prime example. In his case, however, it was a human father and giantess mother, which made the incubation period possible. For Madam Umbridge? Well, it is quite possible that the fetus will tear her apart. It will be a fascinating experiment, regardless of the outcome."
So this was why they had studied Sex Magic all afternoon, Harry thought. But surely there was an easier way to impregnate her. He guessed that Voldemort had been referencing artificial insemination when he had spoken about Muggles, though he seemed adamant against using their technology. But surely the magical world had the means already to achieve this, and then they wouldn't waste time developing something new or need to involve Snape. What about Polyjuice potion? She could drink some of that—maybe laced with a giantess' hair—and then she'd be big enough for a male giant to mate with successfully. He decided that he would ask the Dark Lord about it later.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed when Voldemort called for Umbridge to be hauled to the dungeons and for the resumption of the earlier festivities. It didn't take long for the Death Eaters to finish with the Ministry witch, and soon they were milling about in small groups and attacking the appetisers. If you ignored the House Elves discretely vanishing the blood on the floor, it looked like any other respectable celebration. Nearly everyone had removed their masks. Narcissa was hovering over the buffet table, and it looked like she had dragged Draco along with her. Harry was too far away to hear what she was saying, but from Draco's pout and Narcissa's severe expression, he was being berated for something. Harry smiled. He was starting to like the blonde witch. It wasn't her fault whom she was related to.
Speaking of which, Bellatrix sauntered up to where he and Voldemort were standing. "She's secured, my Lord," she said, her eyes sparkling. She ignored Harry.
"Excellent, Bella. Keep her healthy enough to survive her confinement," Voldemort said, which made Bellatrix laugh. Harry didn't understand the joke. "Make certain her 'Mark' does not become infected."
"I already dosed it with fire-whiskey, my Lord. She screams well."
"Making up for lost time, now that her mouth is restored," Voldemort agreed. Harry hated their comfortable banter. He hated leaving his Master alone with her, but it was better than listening to them converse so familiarly; however, the Dark Lord gripped his arm after he gave a low bow and turned to leave.
"I will return you to your chambers in a moment, Harry," he said.
Harry shuddered when this drew Bellatrix's attention back to him. She cooed, "Is baby Potter too wittle to stay up and pway?" Then, with a predatory grin, she added, "I noticed that you didn't join in the fun earlier. Not still a virgin, are you Harry?" She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering for too long in the wrong area. "If you want, I can help you with…"
"Enough!" Voldemort snapped, harsh enough to make both Harry and Bellatrix jump. Then, in a seething whisper, "I believe I have previously told you, Bella, to whom he belongs."
Bellatrix nodded meekly. "To you, Master. Sorry."
Harry was beet red. So what if he was still a virgin? And it wasn't as if it was any of her business.
"Is there anything else," the Dark Lord asked his lieutenant. Harry was pleased by the obvious dismissal.
She went from deferential to excited in a split-second. "Yes, my Lord. I have an idea about Umbitch," she said.
Voldemort sighed. "Go on."
Pleased, she continued. "It seems a bit of a missed opportunity to simply impregnate her with a potion. She'll miss all the fun."
"Bellatrix, were you not listening earlier? The point isn't in having her raped. While that might be fleetingly gratifying, it will be more so to force her body to harbour a half-breed creature. We have discussed long-term strategies before. You need to develop patience, darling."
She nodded. "Yes, my Lord. But I was actually thinking that a false memory could be created for her to enjoy. So she can experience getting fucked by—"
"Language, Bella," Voldemort chided, but with no heat. In fact, his eyes were now gleaming with the same dark enthusiasm as the mad witch standing before him. "But…I approve your plan. A secondary impregnation, this time of her mind. Yes, have Rookwood see to it. And ask him to make a copy, so that anyone who is interested can watch the event in a pensieve."
She grinned. Harry supposed she had good reason to be happy. Lord Voldemort had accepted two of her ideas that night. She lingered, perhaps hoping to get lucky again.
Voldemort glanced at Harry, smirking at the scowl he found there. "I will see you later, Bella. It is past Harry's bedtime."
Harry was saved the long walk back to his rooms. Voldemort had Nagini coil around him and, after ordering Harry to hold on tight, Apparated them directly back. Harry was pleased to be back, though he wished his Master hadn't made his exit so humiliating. Bedtime indeed.
The Dark Lord was trying to urge his sleepy familiar onto her rug in front of the grate when Harry mustered up the courage to ask his question from earlier. "Master, I have something to ask about your plan for Umbridge."
The Dark Lord stood, having finally pried the last of Nagini's coils from his arm. He looked at Harry, nodding his permission to continue.
"Why can't we dose her with Polyjuice so that she's big enough to…you know?" he asked, blushing. "We could get a hair from the Beauxbatons headmistress, Madame Maxime. Wouldn't that be easier? She would have the memories of, um, sex, then. Real memories. And then you wouldn't need to enlist Snape, see? You wouldn't need him anymore."
Voldemort shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, Harry. Such fragile bodily essences, such as male seed, cannot survive the transition from the Polyjuiced form back to the natural body. And that's a good thing. The ramifications for Pure-Blood lineages alone could—"
"Line theft," Harry said, remembering the phrase Draco had used earlier that night. He then paled, realizing that he'd just interrupted his Master. "My apologies, Ma—"
"Indeed," Voldemort said, but he let it go. "I see Draco has been attempting to educate you. Good. But remember that much of what he will say is biased."
Harry nodded. He knew that without being told, but he was surprised by his Master's words. Surely whatever bias a Malfoy had would be the sort that Voldemort would want him to acquire as well.
"Besides," Voldemort continued, walking towards the tapestry linking their rooms, "we did not spend our afternoon researching Sex Magic on account of your abhorrent former Defense teacher, nor is this the reason why I have spared Severus. And remember, Harry, it was your own thoughts that decided Umbridge's punishment tonight. I admit that after spending this afternoon re-exploring this obscure branch of magic that it was in the forefront of my mind tonight when you suggested that she be 'contaminated'."
Harry waited, hoping that his Master would explain why, then, they had been researching Sex Magic. He seemed to be in a didactic mood.
Voldemort smirked and said, "Not yet, Harry. But I promise that you will know in time. After all, you will be directly involved."
Harry's disappointment at the lack of answer was quenched as soon as his brain caught up with the implications in his Master's parting words.
A/N I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable by using Umbridge's womanhood against her in this way. As a mother, I completely understand that it could be considered offensive.
On a lighter note: for all we know giant fetuses are tiny, much like dinosaurs when first hatched, and it is not until after they are born that they grow rapidly. This is doubtful, though. Just think of the logistics in newborn breast-feeding! Those giantesses would need some really small nipples.
