THE NORTH STAR
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Traitor
[-]
March 1998
The cell door creaked open and a blade of light cut through the murky air, revealing the dirty figure huddled in the far corner. Wild eyes peered at the figure standing in the door, a desperate and hungry gleam in them.
"Get up, Brandt." The voice was cold and controlled, a product of many months of practice. "The Dark Lord has some questions."
"No!" shrieked the man in the corner, curling up and pushing himself as far away from the door as possible. "No more, please, I beg of you, no more!"
"Get up." The light entering the cell was momentarily interrupted as the boy in the door drew his wand. "Stop being pathetic and get up."
Brandt sobbed, his voice rough. "Just kill me! That's what he's going to do! You could do it now, Draco, I know you could! Please just do it!"
"I would never take that pleasure from the Dark Lord," Draco Malfoy sneered. Brandt didn't move, frozen in place. He couldn't see the tremble in Draco's hands, or see the way that his face twisted at the sight of the broken man. "Get up."
"No, no, no, no-!"
"Imperio," Draco hissed. Brandt's sobbing ceased. He stood, brushing himself off with a blank look in his eyes, and followed Draco out of the cell. He looked nothing like the man he had been six months ago. There was no more genius, no more arrogance, no more sense of overpowering confidence. It had been replaced with terror that Draco could practically smell on him even through the Imperius Curse. His skin was deeply scarred and so filthy that he left a trail of dirt on the tile as he walked through the spotless tile of the safehouse. Draco stood in front of him, his focus never wavering.
The pair reached a set of mahogany doors, inlaid with gold. The beauty of the inlay seemed a bit ironic, given what both men knew lay beyond. His face still impassive, Draco rapped his fist against the wood three times and waited.
"Enter," a soft voice called from within, and the doors swung open. Draco moved forward, Brandt following behind him as they stepped into the room.
The darkness within rivaled that of the holding cells below the safehouse. There were two fires burning at the far end of the large dining room, which had been completely cleared out save for a massive throne which sat between the two fires. The floor seemed to dance in the firelight, the bloodstains appearing and then vanishing into the darkness once again. The noise of the great snake, Nagini, echoed off of the high ceilings and reverberated around the room. The snake itself was circling around the throne and the figure in it. Lord Voldemort examined the two men as they walked forward. Draco showed no sign of emotion, his actions as bland as Brandt's. Moving forward towards the throne, Draco kneeled, bowing his head.
"My Lord, I have brought you Brandt, as you requested."
"You serve well, Draco." The Dark Lord's voice was ice, cutting against his ears. "Is he lucid?"
"Unfortunately, he declined to come quietly. I had to coerce him."
Voldemort sighed. "Defiant to the end. How very typical of a traitor. Lift the curse, Draco." He leaned forward, his red eyes boring into Brandt's unseeing eyes. "I want to see him scream."
Draco stepped back from the throne and flicked his wand. Brandt collapsed, his sobs resuming as he twisted violently, looking around to see where he was. Voldemort gestured for Draco to move closer, and so he did, taking his place at the side of the throne, facing the terrified man on the floor. For a second, Brandt's tremors stilled, and he scrambled to his feet, his eyes focusing on the throne.
"My lord," he whispered, falling to his knees again, "my lord, have mercy on me, please, I beg of you -"
"Calm yourself, Brandt," Voldemort hissed. "I have no intention to punish you any further."
Brandt made a strangled noise and rushed forward, but Voldemort flicked his own wand and sent him tumbling back onto the ground.
"All I ask," the Dark Lord purred, "is that you tell me the truth. Can you do that, Brandt?"
Brandt's face had lost all of its terror. "My lord," he grinned, "I have never been anything but truthful with you. It is my honor to serve you."
"So you say," Voldemort mused. "I would hate to have to put you back in the dark. We wouldn't want that, would we?"
"N- no. Please." Brandt had paled again, and Voldemort's smile widened as he twisted the wand between his fingers.
"Then this will be easy," Voldemort leaned forward again, as though telling a secret to a close friend. "Tell me, Brandt: who is Polaris?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Brandt stood stock still, not moving, staring at the snake eyes which looked back at him.
"Do not lie to me, Brandt." Voldemort's tone was icy. "Who is Polaris?"
"My Lord, I do - I do not know. I've told you all that I know about the traitor, I do not know who they are!" Brandt's voice escalated to a scream by the end of the sentence, and Voldemort sat back, his anger growing.
"Draco," he called. "Give our friend a taste of my displeasure."
Draco pulled out his wand, leveled it at Brandt, and for a second, real rage rippled across his face. It was gone as soon as it had come, and Draco spoke with a flat, subservient voice.
"Crucio."
Brandt writhed in agony, his screams bouncing off of the walls. Voldemort laughed, truly amused by the way that the man in front of him twitched. It seemed to go on that way forever, stopping only when Voldemort lifted one of his long fingers and Draco pulled his wand back. Brandt lay still on the floor, panting.
"Who is Polaris, Brandt?" Voldemort called.
"My lord, I DO NOT KNOW!"
"Again, Draco."
"Crucio."
The screams came again, louder and more shattered this time. It was as though Brandt's body was being ripped apart at the seams, torn limb from limb for his transgression. Voldemort's attention was focused on Brandt, and he couldn't see that the agony on Brandt's face was matched by the expression on Draco's. When he lifted his finger this time, Draco stumbled back slightly, but not enough for anyone to notice.
"I talked to the Healers, Brandt. I went to St. Mungo's." Voldemort stood, a terrifying figure made even more frightening by the firelight. "I went into their memories. I saw you, Brandt. I know you are Polaris."
"M-m-m-my -"
"Did you enjoy proving your genius, Brandt? Or was it out of cowardice that you chose to destroy what you built? Did one of your whores convince you to betray me?"
"Please…"
"You thought yourself a greater sorcerer than Lord Voldemort." The malice dripped off of every word. "I hope you have learned how wrong you were. Come clean, Brandt. Say it. Tell the truth."
"Pl-pl-pl-pl-"
"Clearly," Voldemort spat with barely contained fury, "you wish to do this the hard way. Legilimens!"
Brandt flew apart, his mind exploding with a fire so unbearable that he remained sane for only a few seconds. Voldemort did not take his time trying to find specific memories, instead choosing simply to rip through Brandt's mental barriers as fast as possible. Memories flew to the front of his mind randomly. Images of labs, of notes, of the spells that he had cast.
A memory of St. Mungo's, of a scroll sitting on a desk on the fourth floor.
A memory of watching one of the patients improve in condition, and the feeling of terror at the sight.
A memory of unfurling a scroll sitting on the same desk.
A memory of three words, written in dark red ink, a black star above them.
Remember my name.
In his last ten seconds of sanity, Brandt tried to remember, tried to understand. Draco, who watched as the Dark Lord tore the man's brain apart, thought that he almost got it. He must have been right at the cusp, because just as his body went limp, Draco saw his eyes widen slightly. Voldemort pulled back, his sneer firmly locked into place as he looked down at Brandt's broken form.
"A pity," he murmured. "I would have liked to see how he did it. No matter. Draco, take him back to the cell and throw away the key." The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. "Let him suffer for the holes he tore in my new order."
Brandt was carried back into the darkness, twitching, repeating the same word over and over again. It was in that cell that he stayed for months on end, and it was there that the Aurors found him, almost six months later. They tried to treat him, tried to find out what had happened, tried to interrogate him. Nothing worked.
Brandt repeated himself over and over again, but no one understood. Nobody could tell that he was simply trying to do what the scroll had told him to do, trying to follow the one memory that he could process.
Remember my name.
"Polaris."
"Polaris."
"Polaris."
A/N: Here. We. Go! I would have had this out sooner, but my University was screwing with my workload for a little bit longer than I initially anticipated. Big thank you to beautyberry for the work she put in getting this chapter out. Super excited to bring you all this story - the REAL first chapter is tomorrow :)
Stay frosty,
secondchoice