Story Title/Link: Sweet Little Lies
School and Theme: Ilvermorny: Humility
Mandatory Prompt: [Plot point] Starting a cult
Additional Prompt(s): [Word] Real
Year: 6
Word count: 3058
AN: Post-Battle of Hogwarts, canon-compliant. Cormac McLaggen decides to use someone else's story to start a following and make something of his life, promising acceptance to all creatures and beings. His lies soon come back to haunt him, giving him a massive dose of humility as the implications of his actions hit him in the worst possible way. Inspired by the storyline of Saw: The Final Chapter.
Warning: Mentions of torture and not very pleasant experiences.
"Two years, five months, and twenty-four days ago, a group of Death Eaters captured and tortured me."
Cormac McLaggen paused, surveying the small crowd gathered in the meeting room above the Leaky Cauldron. He did his best to ignore the swirl of nerves in his stomach, not helped by the smell of stale beer and tobacco that lingered in the air. Instead, he pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hand, letting the pain distract him. He always felt this way before an important speech, but it would soon disappear once he was in full flow.
"It was the moment that changed my life for the better. Before my capture, I was a young lad with no direction or purpose. Due to my family's status, I didn't have to work after leaving Hogwarts. My parents wanted me to experience life, but I wasted the opportunity. I spent all of my allowance on firewhisky and Day-Dream Charms to buffer the bleakness I felt due to the impending war.
"The Death Eaters performed Unforgivable Curses on me. By the second day, I realised that I couldn't hold on. I had to accept that I would die. Then I saw something flash before my eyes—my life. It was tragic. I had everything a wizard could want—status, money, youth, good looks, and I just wasted it all. I had zero ambitions and was happy to piss away my parent's fortune. I felt ashamed.
"But something inside of me started to grow from that shame—a feeling deep from the bottom of my soul that told me that I could do better. So, I decided to live."
Silent reverence washed over the group of rapturous listeners, amplifying the noise from the bustling pub below. A surge of satisfaction rushed over Cormac as he continued.
"So I escaped. But I didn't just survive; I was reborn. I chose to change my life for the greater good.
"I needed a real purpose, but my experience told me that I had to do this for myself and not wait for change to happen to me. I chose happiness. I sorted out my life, got my own flat and fell in love. And now, I'm using what I went through to help you. Even in our new post-war lives, you can find happiness too. You can live a fulfilling life. And all you need to do is follow my four simple steps."
As his speech continued, Cormac's followers passed around hand-written leaflets. The material was crude, but with more members would come more Galleons. Eventually, he hoped to splash out on better printing technology and mass-production. After all, even the best leaders had to start at the bottom and work their way up.
A hag in the crowd took a pamphlet, pausing to read both sides before her hand shot up in the air. The interruption took Cormac by surprise, but he dealt with it with ease, nodding his head towards the woman.
"Yes, madame. You have a question?"
"How do we know that what you're telling us is real? How do we know that the Death Eaters tortured you? They're not renowned for letting people go," she scoffed, her voice strong despite her old age. "Why should we believe you?"
Cormac took a beat to gather his thoughts, pasting a broad smile on his face to cover his annoyance. He'd primed his followers to ask relevant questions at well-timed opportunities during the speech, so he had his answer ready.
"I'd like everybody to look at something."
His fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, revealing a myriad of angry pink welts that criss-crossed his chest. They twisted and turned over his body, mapping out a network of injuries that stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin. The crowd gasped at the revelation before turning to each other, a low murmur travelling through them.
"These are the products of countless Cruciatus and Imperius curses. They used poisonous blades to maim me. Our minds heal, but these scars will never go away. I will not allow them to be a symbol of shame. I will wear them as a badge of courage.
"My girlfriend, Lavender, has her own scars. She narrowly avoided becoming Fenrir Greyback's dinner. She survived. Others haven't been so lucky. And these people—the non-survivors—are the reason why I want to make sure that everyone in magical Britain hears my story so that I can make real changes to the way we—"
The hag stared at Cormac. "So what about people like me? You and your girlfriend are beautiful and normal, not like me. Hags aren't accepted in magical Britain."
"There is space for everyone. Squib, beast, hag, creature. Whatever. Everyone belongs, and there is no prejudice in our new world."
"And how much? Things like this don't just come for free. There has to be a catch." The wizard standing next to the hag joined in.
"No. You're right. But it's not much for what you'll get in return. Just a simple subscription of ten Galleons a month." The crowd gasped again, and Cormac felt like he was losing them. He pushed aside his despair and held his hands up in surrender. "I'm going to be frank with you. I can't do this without your help. Yes, we need money to get this movement off the ground, but it's more than that. I need people to make our new lives a reality.
"Will you join me in making it so?"
The crowd erupted into tumultuous applause, and Cormac basked in it. He was pretty sure he'd be spending the evening processing new follower sign-ups, but the image of Galleons filling his vault placated him. It would be worth it.
⁂
Cormac felt untouchable.
Once the crowd dispersed, and with Lavender off to meet her friends, he left the pub and strutted through the busy streets of Diagon Alley, his chest puffed out proudly. He was so absorbed in the success of his morning that he didn't notice a shadow slip into step behind him, blending in with the wizards and witches moving from shop to stall.
The speech had gone better than he could have expected, and his little group was going to grow exponentially. Once he had enough Galleons in his vault, he'd be able to move to the next phase of his plan. But right now, he was only focused on getting himself a sweet treat as a reward for doing so well. At that moment, Cormac felt like he was walking on air. Nothing could go wrong.
The dark-cloaked wizard trailing Cormac followed every one of his turns in silence. But Cormac remained oblivious. If he turned his head, the wizard ducked out of his eye-line, letting the crowd reabsorb him. It was almost as if he wasn't there.
Cormac rounded the final corner and headed down the cobblestone path towards Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, his mouth already watering as he thought of what he might buy. He stopped to scoop up a soft toy dropped by a toddler, passing it back with a broad smile before continuing on his journey.
Cormac never made it to the shop.
Just as he passed the next alleyway, he was grabbed from behind and pulled into a dark passage. He tried to scream, but a hand clamped over his mouth, pressing his head into the cool, damp wall. An overwhelming stench of sweat and ash filled his nostrils, and he gagged.
"You spin your lies, but we know the true story," the assailant sneered, churning Cormac's stomach with his stench. "Let's see if you can survive being tortured by a Death Eater for real."
His attacker tightened his grip on Cormac's arm then turned on the spot. There was a familiar feeling of being forced through a tube, before the sounds of the bustling shopping area disappeared as he was plunged into darkness.
⁂
They landed, and Cormac's head swivelled as he tried to take in his surroundings. The few steel walls still standing were rusting, and there were holes in the ceiling, revealing fragments of dark, grey clouds. In the distance was the sound of a steady drip, and the earthy, musty scent of mould filled his nostrils, forcing bile to collect in his throat. The building looked to be an old warehouse, or what remained of it.
He could be anywhere in England.
The attacker pulled him across the cement floor, forcing Cormac through large puddles and drenching the Italian leather of his shoes. Soon, they reached an old oil barrel filled with fire.
"What you got there, Jugson?" a voice taunted. "Is it dinner?"
Jugson shoved Cormac to the floor. "A filthy liar. Been claiming he escaped torture by a group of us. Saying it changed his life. Gained a nice little following for it all, too. But I reckon it's all lies. We would have known if we'd captured a smelly rat like him, and he wouldn't be alive to tell the tale."
"Oh, you brought us some entertainment?" the second man taunted, then squatted low, peering into Cormac's face. He was missing at least half of his teeth. "Maybe we should teach him a lesson?"
"No, no. Please don't." Cormac pushed himself along the floor, trying to put as much distance between him and the Death Eaters. Ignoring the tremor in his hands, he clamoured for the words that might win them over.
"They weren't lies; at least, not really. The story is true, it just didn't happen to me. I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just down and out and needed something to do. I saw an article in the Daily Prophet about someone who'd escaped you, only to kill themselves after. I remember thinking, 'If that were me, I'd use that experience to change my life'. And so I did. I found more stories about people who'd been kidnapped by you, but hadn't been lucky enough to survive and put together my own story."
"They were still lies, and we must not tell lies. But don't worry, we won't kill you." Jugson towered over Cormac, running a jagged fingernail down his face. "I reckon we should give him what he wants, Rab. We should torture him to within an inch of his life, then let him go so he can retell his story. See who believes him then. After all, who's fortunate enough to survive being tortured by Death Eaters twice? Your little cult will have a field day when they find out the truth."
Jugson pulled Cormac's hair, yanking him into an upright position as the other Death Eater searched Cormac's pockets for his wand. Dismay washed over Cormac—if only he'd thought about his wand sooner. He could have used it to escape or fight back.
Cormac cried out as his redwood wand was snapped and thrown into the fire, pain searing through every inch of his body. His vision faded. Without magic, he was nothing.
Rab laughed. "I bet that hurt. But not as much as the next part will."
He started to rain innumerable curses upon Cormac's body. Screams reverberated around the warehouse, but nobody came to rescue the young wizard.
The torture continued until the sun went down, and the Death Eaters could no longer see without the help of a charm. They kicked Cormac aside, then started to warm themselves back at the fire barrel.
As soon as they discarded him, Cormac curled into a ball, doing everything he could to protect himself even though he knew it was futile. He shivered as the wind wailed through the warehouse, rattling the steel walls.
As he lay there on the cold cement floor, he thought back on what had led him to this position. Regret burdened his heart. Appropriating someone else's story had been a mistake—the poor wizard had been braver than Cormac could ever be.
He wished he could take everything back.
⁂
Over the following days, Cormac's assailants subjected him to further rounds of torture. But they were clever with their assault. Instead of creating new wounds, they attacked his old scars and used poisoned blades, just as Cormac had relayed to his followers. As they did this, Rab and Jugson told Cormac stories about how much fun they used to have during the Dark Lord's heyday.
"So where did you get the scars?" Jugson enquired late on the second day of torture. His tone was casual as if this was an everyday occurrence for him.
Cormac shuddered and dug deep to muster the energy to speak.
"Some of them are Quidditch scars," he croaked, "but most are just long-lasting beautification charms. A Weasley Wizard Wheezes product."
"Doesn't your girlfriend see you without them? Or is she in on this? Maybe we should kidnap her next?"
Cormac started to panic, his breathing coming in short gasps and his heart pounding against his ribcage. "No! Lavender knows nothing. Please, you've got to believe me!"
"We will... for now," Rab snarled. "But we'll keep her in mind, just in case we need any more fun."
Jugson laughed. "We have a proposition for you. Your little act keeps Death Eaters at the front of the Ministry's to-do list, making it hard for us to evade capture from them stinking Aurors. We're always on the run now. We have no homes. It makes life bloody difficult for us.
"We should kill you for it, but we won't, for now. We'll allow you to carry on with your deception as long as you give us a cut. Whatever Galleons you make from your little cult, you give us half."
"Yeah, if the money stops, then we start up again," Rab joined in, slashing at Cormac with the blade.
Cormac cried out, scrunching his eyes up at the excruciating pain, but he nodded. If it meant keeping Lavender safe, he would do whatever it would take.
"Say it," Jugson warned.
"I will. Whatever you need, I'll do it."
With the conversation over, Rab and Jugson continued their assault, ensuring that they tortured Cormac mentally as well as physically. When they reached the point where Cormac was barely clinging on to life, they decided it was time to send him back. Before Cormac passed out, Jugson took him by the arm and Apparated him back to Diagon Alley, discarding him as if he were nothing more than a bundle of rags.
⁂
When Cormac finally came around, he was lying in a white room under fresh, crisp linens. The room smelt sterile, with faint undertones of iron, and the bright light hanging above him burned his eyes. He could hear the small, steady beep of a diagnostic charm, indicating that he was still very much alive, even though his body didn't feel like it was. He groaned, and the rustle of material answered him. Lavender appeared in his view, blocking out the intrusive light, a relieved look on her face.
"Cormac! Oh, thank Merlin! You're awake. I thought yo—"
"Wh-wh-where am I?" he stuttered.
"St. Mungo's. A passerby discovered you in Diagon Alley in such a state. You couldn't even remember your name. We'd been looking for you for over two days. What happened?" She pushed his hair off his forehead, and he cringed as her fingers grazed over a fresh bruise.
Cormac observed Lavender as she chewed her lip, concern deep in her eyes. He was desperate to tell her what he'd just been through, but something was stopping him. How was he supposed to explain that his first story had been all lies, but this time he was telling the truth? She'd never believe that, and she'd dump him for it too. Then he wouldn't be able to look after her.
"I was attacked." Cormac frowned at how easily the lies continued to come. "Mugged. They took everything, including my wand. I was stuck, couldn't Apparate or anything."
It was enough to appease Lavender, and he let out a small sigh as her shoulders dropped and the lines in her face smoothed out.
"Well, luckily, the healers have sorted you out. I'm sure they'll discharge you soon. Can you imagine what the others will say? I reckon it will help your cause."
Cormac's heart skipped a beat, and his hands grew clammy.
How could he face his followers again? They'd have questions about what happened, and it would take a lot more to persuade them than it did Lavender. There was no way he'd be able to act like he did before, and that would give away the fact that he was lying the first time. It would bring up more questions than he had answers to, and if his loyal friends found out he was planning on using their funding to help Jugson and Rab, then he'd lose them all for good.
The questions continued to race through Cormac's mind, making his head pound even harder. He sank deeper into the mattress, trying to hide the reality of what he was facing. If only he had a time-turner, he would go back to the day he'd read that first newspaper article and put a stop to this madness before it even had a chance to start. He didn't want to lie anymore, and he didn't want to be a leader of a pointless cult. He just wanted a quiet and safe life.
Cormac sighed. "I think we should put a pause on that, at least for the time being."
"But Cormac, since your disappearance, the following has tripled in size. The group were so concerned, they rallied around and recruited more people. They've made you out to be a martyr. It couldn't have gone any better if we'd planned it. There's no way we can put a pause on it. As soon as you're better, you need to get back out there and continue with your mission."
It was the news he'd been looking forward to hearing for a long time, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. Cormac closed his eyes and gave in to the waves of pain crashing over his body. He had to figure out how to get out of this mess. But first, he needed to sleep.