A/N Torture of the burning alive variety. Also, I caught an error in a previous chapter (I had the date of the flight from Privet Drive wrong), which has been fixed. If anyone notices any other, please please please let me know!
"I wish I could send Nagini up with you. Her presence would add a certain flair to your appearance," Voldemort said as he watched Lucius and Snape levitate the Wicker Man onto a pile of dry brush near the bonfire. "She is, however, scared of heights, and I don't want a repeat of her panicking whilst around your neck. So, you'll be on your own."
Harry quickly decided that he preferred flying on his broom over being levitated by another person's magic, even Lord Voldemort's. The ground seemed so far away, and his stomach fell away as in a lift that sped too quickly between floors. He swallowed down the vertigo and forced himself to release his lip from between his teeth. He mustn't look nervous or weak.
He hadn't been able to get a good look at Vernon from the ground. He was still rotund, especially round the middle, but his face was noticeably thinner. Skin drooped from his chin and neck, not being elastic enough to accommodate his weight loss. He didn't look any less menacing for the change. In the cage, surrounded by mewling bodies, he seemed demonic.
"Hello, Uncle."
"I should have known," Vernon spat at him. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you destroyed our family. You're are all are the same. Monsters, the lot of you."
Harry shook his head. "You're a bigger fool than I thought if you believe that."
"If I'd known…if I'd had the slightest inkling of any of this," he said, struggling in his confines. "An orphanage was too good for you, boy. And to foist you on us—and see how you repay us? Too good, I say."
"I should have been drowned at birth," Harry suggested. He felt more confident now that he'd levelled out. It didn't feel like he was flying at all. The air beneath him was solid.
"Right you are," Vernon agreed. "It would have spared us all, you ungrateful little whore."
Harry blinked. "What?" Where had that come from?
"You heard me. Then again, you've always been an unnatural freak. This was bound to happen. "
"Don't call me a freak," Harry said, but it was automatic response; he'd barely heard the insult. "Why did you call me that. That—that other word."
Whore.
Vernon grinned. "It's what all your new friends are calling you. You're even a freak amongst freaks."
His new…? "What friends?"
Vernon's eyes held the same piggy self-righteousness as when he'd burned Harry's first Hogwarts letter, so long ago. "Dudley went all soft, always asking about you. So they told us what you've been up to."
Harry really wished Nagini wasn't afraid of heights. He needed her so much right now. "Who told you? Tell me what they said," he forced himself to ask.
Vernon was too smug for someone about to be burned alive. "I don't think I will."
Harry groped about in his pockets. There had to be something there—anything at all—that he could use to hurt this son of a bitch. A knife, maybe? There wasn't, he knew, but just maybe…
Goddammit. Nothing. Harry spat in his uncle's face. "Maybe that'll wash away some of the filth before you burn, Muggle."
Harry look down to his Master, who was frowning as he watched from below. Harry started to descend, though he barely noticed. Above him, Vernon was yelling something. Harry tuned him out. Nothing the man was saying ('burn in hell'; 'even your worthless parents would turn you away'; 'freak'; 'freak'; 'whore') was worth anything. The man was a liar-Harry knew that. He forced himself to remember all the lies the man had ever told him, beginning with the car-crash that had killed his mother and father, and ending with this new fiction.
Whore.
But Vernon believed this lie, Harry could tell. Someone had said something, conjured up the image to mock his uncle. Whoever it was must have hoped that maligning Harry would torment him—'Oh, your little nephew? Guess what he's up to now? And lies, lies, lies—not realizing that Vernon would grab and shake anything that made Harry look bad.
"May I please have Nagini with me," he begged once he'd landed.
"After you light the pyre," Voldemort told him.
Harry nodded. He could do that. He could definitely do that. Then he and Nagini would sit as close to the fire as they could comfortably get, and they would listen to every scream. Then he'd ask his Master to save the memory in a flask so he could remember this night forever.
Draco came forward with the unlit torch. "You okay?" he asked. "Your eyes are red."
Harry wanted to tell him to shut up and mind his own business, but he didn't trust his voice.
Maybe Draco had been the one to call him that awful word. The blond had mentioned earlier that he'd seen Vernon in captivity, and then he'd spouted off all kinds of pity at Harry (as if anyone wanted to be reminded of the indignities of childhood). Harry had no problem in associating the Draco Malfoy he'd known at Hogwarts with whichever bastard had said such things to Vernon. The Draco from today, good-natured and full of concern? Maybe that was the act.
Harry took the torch and held it to the bonfire. It ignited in a rush as the pitch caught, and stray sparks floated off like fireflies in the night. The Wicker Man wasn't far away, just a few short steps. The brush underneath would ignite at once.
Before he could transfer the flame, a thin arm stretched out as if grasping for his hand. "Please don't," came a whisper. It was a child, maybe ten years old. A small boy with dark hair and green eyes. He looked much like Harry did when he was younger, especially in how the clothes hung off his thin frame. "Please."
"I'm sorry." And he was. But Vernon had to die, and this boy was needed as kindling.
More Muggles noticed him now. They called out to him, pleading for help, as if they could rely on him for something. They ignored the torch in his hand.
"Have you seen my daughter?" a man asked. "She's wearing—"
Nagini slithered behind Harry, hissing for him to hurry so they could bask together in the warmth of the fire.
"I don't think so," Harry told the distraught man. Besides, what could he do?
"A pink dress. She's blonde and wearing a pink dress. She's three years old. Look at me for fuck's sake! Did you see her?"
Harry looked up at him. The man wasn't angry, though he should have been. He was frantic, though, his tears falling without care. This was what his parents must have looked like as the Dark Lord descended on them.
Harry almost lied and said she'd gotten away. Was far, far away now, and safe. Really, he should have said that. He was capable of one last mercy.
"She's over there," he said instead. He pointed upwards to the Wicker Man's enormous belly. Then, as an afterthought: "It is a pretty dress."
The Muggles at the bottom, including the man who'd asked about his little girl, pulled desperately at the green boughs that caged them even as the fire began to lick up their bodies. The willow bars were either too green to burn, or more likely imbued with protective magic. Still, they let out thick plumes of acrid smoke which was soon overwhelmed by the stench of burnt hair and cooked meat.
A small figure darted through the haze, and Nagini lunged before Harry could warn her back. She struck at the escapee's neck; he fell at once, convulsing violently before going still. Harry crawled forward, under the smoke, and yanked the body closer. It was the boy, who was small enough and panicked enough that he'd scraped through the narrow bars.
He really did look a lot like Harry had at that age. Harry slipped off his glasses and rested them on the Muggle boy's face. Just like him.
"Stop being macabre," Voldemort said to him. "Remove those and get back on the grass. Nagini, stay away from the fire."
Harry obeyed. He found a place nearby—not too close—and persuaded Nagini to rest her head on his lap. He stroked her mindlessly as he listened to the screaming. The flames were still low, but the heat was dreadful; Harry was glad he was no closer than he was. Voldemort was casting something at the cage which allayed the smoke and made the fire burn hotter and higher. Harry could see the Muggles writhe now, as they roasted as on a spit. So many kinds of screams, from quick high shrieks to animal-like bellows. They made a strangely discordant harmony. A cacophony, though pleasing.
The bound Death Eaters were near enough for their skin to redden. Rabastan was the closest to the fire, and his face was beginning to blister, though perhaps the tears on his cheeks helped soothe the burn. Harry wasn't well acquainted with any of them, though he did recognize Alecto Carrow and her brother from his adventure at Hogwarts. He didn't know McNair without his hood, though he'd been involved in the escape-attempt, too, or so his Master had hinted.
It was strangely pleasant curled up here on the grass. The show was spectacular. All that was missing was fireworks. The stars would be out at this hour, though even after his Master's last spell it was far too smoky to see them clearly. It was usually chilly this late at night, even in late June, but everything was warm, the ground nicely toasted.
"Isn't it beautiful, Nagini," said Harry, leaning back on his arms. "I've always loved watching the way flames dance. They're always changing, like clouds."
"It's warm," she answered, as if that was the most important thing. To her, it was. Harry pet her, from her head all the way down to where she looped behind his back. Her skin was beginning to rough up, and soon she'd need to shed her skin. He gently scratched her and she hissed contentedly.
"I can't figure out which scream is Vernon's. Which do you think it is?"
"Snakes can't hear, silly brother," she reminded him.
"You hear me just fine when I talk," he muttered.
"Brother is not talking. He's hissing. Keep scratching Nagini's back."
The flames died down after about an hour. The cage was still standing, smouldering but intact. It seemed nearly empty now, a far cry from how packed it had been. There were blackened husks at the bottom and piles of ash. Some of the Muggle flesh had been more protected, though, and the occasional limb could still be found sizzling away. Voldemort had levitated his throne closer, though Harry wasn't sure if it was to get a better view, or to keep his Horcruxes nearer to him.
Now that the screaming had subsided, snatches of conversation could be heard. Snape approached the Dark Lord, begging permission to leave and attend to his work.
"Midnight quickly approaches, my Lord," he said levelly. "I suspect this new potion you requested will require fern seed as a stabiliser, which must be collected imminently. And do you need me to brew more Flight Potion as well?"
"Of course," Voldemort replied. "Consider that a standing order."
"Then I will require help if I am to gather enough within the small window of time that the seed can be viably harvested," Snape said. He sounded tired. "Might I take Draco with me?"
Voldemort was silent as considered this request. At last he said, "You may. But I promise you, Severus, if I suspect even the smallest treachery, I will not hesitate to the tear the boy's mind apart to find it."
"I only need an extra set of hands, my Lord. Have I not sworn to you—"
"You swore oaths of allegiance to me twenty years ago, and look what became of those," was the harsh reply. "Your newest promises will not be so easily cast aside, my Half-Blood Prince. And remember, do not fear what is to become of you, for your sentence has been set and is immutable. But Draco…" He left the threat floating in the late-night air.
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said. "I will keep it in mind, always."
Snape set off then and approached Draco. At first, the blond boy was hesitant to leave. He and his friends had found a spot at the edge of the clearing, far from the bonfire. Draco looked happy, his head in one of the Greengrass girl's laps. She had dismantled the daisy crown she'd been wearing and was teasing a flower over Draco's face. He kept batting it away, but she'd return to tickle him with it again and again. Harry was too far away to hear his conversation with Snape, but Draco finally stood, and they left together.
The smoky haze was dissipating. More and more stars could be seen, small pinpricks poking through velvet black. At Hogwarts, they'd learned about the individual stars and planets and their movements, but on the run this year, with so much time (and so little, really), he and Hermione had sat in the tent entrance, naming what constellations they knew and making up ones they didn't. The stars were different now. He couldn't find Orion's Belt, which had always been a familiar splash across the winter sky.
A few more minutes passed, and then Harry heard Mrs Malfoy asking, "Can I offer you another glass of wine, my Lord?"
"Yes, thank you, Narcissa." There was a pause. "I was most pleased with the preparations for this evening, my dear. I am grateful, in fact, for all your work lately. You are a most gracious hostess and I hope you do not think me unappreciative of your labours and sacrifices."
"Of course not, my Lord. It is our honour to have you here. Both Lucius and I were pleased that you requested our grounds for this celebration, too." It was the only safe response.
"I'm sure," Voldemort said, amused. "Do not fret about any damage the bonfires wrought. I will ensure that every last blade of grass is replaced. Even as a young boy I admired this estate, and I would not see it sullied in any way. Next year, we shall move the Midsummer festivities to a new location. Perhaps even Avebury."
"Fitting, of course," she said. "But, as I said, we do not begrudge you the use of our lands."
"Perhaps not, but I believe the change will be advantageous. And it will be a fresh start and will allow those who were punished this evening to experience the Solstice without the remembered embarrassment of tonight clouding their enjoyment."
A short pause. "You mean Rabastan?"
"As well as his brother and the others who engaged in the escape attempt."
"I don't understand, my Lord," said Narcissa. "You had Rodolphus beheaded. My sister—"
"I have no more qualms with Rodolphus than I do with any other of my men. I plan to restore his life, my dear. It was only meant to be a temporary death, and a rather graphic divorce." He sighed. "Your sister grows bold and increasingly difficult to reign in. She has always been impetuous, even as a young girl. Your father had hoped her marriage into the Lestrange family would ground her and provide her with the stability she needed. Obviously this hope was unfounded."
"I do not believe their marriage was ever a happy one," said Narcissa. A hint of sadness laced her voice.
"They suited each other for a time," Voldemort said. "But no, they were not happy. It is not the same thing."
"If I may, my Lord, I would speak about my sister." She waited for a murmur of assent, then continued: "You are correct, my Lord. She does grow bold. Please forgive me for asking, but what are your intentions in regard to her?"
"My intentions," the Dark Lord echoed, his voice flat. He could be annoyed or amused, it was impossible to tell. Knowing Voldemort, either was dangerous.
"I do not mean to overstep," Narcissa said carefully. "But I worry for her. You seem to enjoy her company-"
He certainly does, Harry thought bitterly.
"—but I believe she expects more, my Lord. I fear for her."
"Exactly what is it you fear, Narcissa? That I will hurt her feelings? Torture her for her ambition? Or perhaps you worry that I might reciprocate."
"Any of those things. All of them," she said cautiously. "I understand, my Lord, how rude I am being. And I beg you to believe that these concerns are strictly relegated to family matters—my support of you and your politics is unwavering."
Voldemort hummed, unconvinced.
"And I thank you," she continued, "for your restraint so far, and in letting me speak candidly. But yes—I worry for her. Her behaviour tonight—"
"Enough. I have already spoken with Bella regarding her behaviour this evening. You need not concern yourself in this matter. And as for your worry that you might have one as loathsome as I for a brother-in-law—"
"No, my Lord! That is not—"
"I promise you, my dear," he said, his lips curling, "I will never sully your family in such a manner. Not for her sake, however, and most certainly not for yours. I simply have no interest in such commitments, even as loose as they so often prove to be. I will, though, continue to take what is on offer for so long as it pleases me. And as far as your sister is concerned, her behaviour is a familial responsibility. Not mine. Be sure not to raise this matter with me again. For next time, I just might take offense. And I am quite sure that is not the outcome you desire."
Lord Voldemort stood. "I am done here. Good night, Lady Malfoy. Again, thank you for your work today. Keep these miscreants in place for the remainder of the night; I will free them come morning." He gestured to his men tied to the maypoles. He ignored Mrs Malfoy's curtsy. "Bedtime, Harry. Up."
He levitated Nagini off Harry's lap, and quickly headed back to the manor entrance. Harry followed more slowly than he knew was safe, given his Master's mood. His right foot had fallen asleep, though, and he stumbled as he tried to match his Master's quick pace. He hopped carefully in place for a moment, to ease the prickle in his wakening limb.
Voldemort was paused at the door, waiting for him. Nagini was still hovering in mid-air. "I'm so pleased you've decided to join us."
Harry was getting a migraine. He thought to excuse his delay. It hadn't been his fault—Voldemort hadn't given him enough time—but this wasn't about him, he knew. Best not to draw further attention to himself.
They didn't talk as the Dark Lord stalked through the manor, Horcruxes in tow. His step was heavy, and had he worn shoes they would have echoed off the polished marble. Harry, having to rush, stepped lightly, quickly to keep up, his sad tap-tapping waking the portraits on the wall. He ignored their snobbish glares and hurried along.
The heavy doors leading to the Dark Lord's wing flung open as they approached. The first door along the corridor led to Harry's suite of rooms, but Voldemort didn't stop there. Harry hesitated. What was he supposed to do? Enter his rooms alone, without his sister? He didn't think he could bear such a desertion after Vernon's ugly words.
"To me, Horcrux."
Voldemort was waiting for Harry outside the third door.
He recalled his question to Nagini, so long ago: 'Do you know who uses the rooms on the other side of Master's new study?'
Harry's breath hitched, but he obeyed, slinking towards the entrance to his Master's chambers.
He was pushed inside.
