Unplottable Island

Chapter 13: Unlucky

Laura collapsed on the ground nearly an hour later, sobbing unashamedly. Her body hurt so badly she felt her joints coming unglued. She had never felt such pain, even once when she was twelve and had fallen thirty feet from her broomstick onto the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

"Had enough?" Voldemort asked, circling around her. She could see his flat-soled, black leather boots from her worm's eye-level.

She hated him so much she felt her head pound. A man, so cruel as to live off other people's insanity and pain, sadistic and cold, unfeeling. A man who would keep her captive, using Unforgivable curses on a woman so that she would betray her own flesh and blood. Laura wouldn't admit to herself how close she had come to that breaking point, the point when information flowed freely from her lips before she was killed.

"I'll never tell." She tried to shout it defiantly, like James would have, but it came out a harsh singsong whisper that she could barely hear. "Never."

Like a puppet, she was stood on her feet by a great force she couldn't resist if she were healthy and functioning. She swayed once, falling backwards, then was caught and jerked forward again; her head snapped painfully. Laura could barely contain her screams as she was smashed flat on her back into the ground, a pressure like a giant boot heel grinding her into solid stone.

"Are you wondering something, kitten?" Voldemort asked, spinning her on the ground idly, her face scratched and bleeding. "Yes, you are. Why don't I use the Cruciatus Curse?"

Laura began to cry again as he brought her to a halt facedown at his feet. The salt stung her face. No, she thought desperately. I can't stand up to that. I'm not brave enough! I'll confess, and the twin's deaths will be MY fault, and I'll never be able to rest. It didn't strike her as odd that she wanted to die. Anything would be better than lying prone at the Dark Lord's feet, sobbing like a newborn.

"Why don't I, kitten? Answer me! Imperio!"

Laura felt so light—she was floating an inch off the ground; it suited her fine, her whole body ached with the mere pressure of gravity. A white cloud of bliss, happiness, and little butterflies floated into her head, banishing the pain. The relief was indescribable, only the gentle voice in her head kept her awake and living.

"You are merciful, my Lord. Say it, Laura. You are merciful, my lord. Say it and you can rest in peace. You are merciful, my lord. You are merciful, my lord. You are merciful, my lord. SAY IT."

It wouldn't leave her alone: that slow nagging voice keeping her awake; keeping her from peace. She tried to roll over, to seek a more comfortable position to fall asleep in, and she nearly screamed aloud from the pain, bringing her nearly out of the Imperius Curse. "You are NOT merciful, my lord," she corrected the voice mindlessly. Something about that…a small voice awoke in the back of her head. Why should I say it? It isn't true.

"It's not true!" she cried, snapping out of the curse with a jolt of pain that sent a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. "No!"

"Well then," Lord Voldemort said. His voice was very, very cold. "Since the little pains were not going to bend you, we'll have to skip a step. Crucio!"

Laura flailed, her muscles spasming as she thrashed around, screaming so loudly her head felt hollow. Her joints went backwards, her muscles all contracted at once, arching her like a bow off the stone floor. Her jaw snapped shut on her tongue and she felt, with horrible perception, her teeth meeting as her tongue split. Her head jerked, knocking against the stone again and again. The fingernails on her hand felt as though they were peeling off in a heat unknown to the word, blackening and falling off. Hammers beat her body, and Laura slipped into unconsciousness.

The tang of blood in her mouth brought her back to reality. She was back in her cell, but strapped tightly to the bars with red rags.

"Laura? Laura, wake up right now!"

She opened her eyes. Or rather, she opened her left eye; the right one was swollen shut. Focusing her eyes hurt. Laura opened her mouth to say something to the person who had woken her and felt a surge of blood run down her chin. Spitting it all out, she said thickly, "Am I in hell?"

Someone propped her head upright and bound it there with another red rag. A soft hissing in her ear startled her until she remembered: Biana. "Hello…" she moaned, more blood trickling over her chin. Snape appeared in front of her, and if Laura hadn't been completely immobilized she would have recoiled. He stuffed another rag in her mouth.

"We've got to stop the bleeding—don't you dare spit that out! You are a very lucky girl, Potter." Snape was dabbing something that stung in the scrapes on her face. "Lucky because Biana likes you and is willing to help me try and get you better, and lucky that you're still here and not sushi at HIS dinner table."

"Ah fell lye sit," Laura said around the rag.

Snape gave her an amused look. "Potter, you look like shit." She squirmed as the cuts on her face burned. "Stop moving or I will stick this in your eye."

The rag was growing thick with blood, and Laura spat it out. "Don't lecture me!" she said weakly. "I'm not up for debate"—Snape snorted agreement—"shut up. Anyway, why am I tied like this? I feel like I've been crucified." How true.

Snape stuffed another rag in her mouth. "It's so you don't roll onto you right arm, which, by the way, was broken. Biana's good with broken bones, but she says to make a full recovery you'd need the skills of that Ju lizard—the whitish-silverish one that looks like a skeleton. She's the best, but she's being a bitch, so it's not an option."

He was babbling, Laura though amusedly. Severus Snape, the man of the few words, was actually babbling. It was quite funny. She would have laughed if it hadn't hurt too much.

Biana was busy outside the cell, just within the range of Laura's peripheral vision. Her dress was a lot shorter than it had been before, barely modest. She was bent over a bowl, smashing something into a fine powder. Once Laura was used to looking at someone caught halfway between lizard and human, Biana was very pretty.

She spat out the rag again, and Snape examined it carefully. "You're lucky," he said again. "Your tongue wasn't bitten off, and you can still talk." He unbound the rag from around her forehead, giving her a freer range of motion. "Voldemort hasn't appeared for three days now, so we're going to splint your arm and hope for the best." He proceeded to untie her.

As soon as her back brace was gone, Laura collapsed foreword, feeling every vertebra as she fell. "Ow," she hissed, having the presence of mind to catch herself on her left arm. "Dammit…." Snape pulled her up into a standing position. His ribs poked her in the back as he guided her to the front of their cell.

Biana had opened the cell door enough to slip Laura out of it. She hissed softly at her as she gently positioned Laura in a position lying face up. Laura reached back in her mind for the connection—this time she'd be able to use it! —And, with great shock, she discovered it wasn't there. No matter how hard she focused, not even a shadow of golden glimmer showed in her mind.

The connection was broken. Laura had to think about that—she didn't think the connection could be broken unless she focused on it.

A sudden bolt of pain that ran up her arm into her very core caused her to gasp. Biana wrote something on her notepad and pushed it into Laura's face.

I'm trying to set your arm—I can heal it in two hours if you do not fight me! You may lose focus for a few hours, but let it happen! It's all a part of the healing.

Laura nodded. Biana scratched another message on the pad.

Relax. Breathe deeply.

Nervously, Laura closed her eyes. What on earth did the Dreki have in mind? She drew her breath in, held it, and then exhaled. In—hold it—and out. In—hold it—and out. In—hold it—and out. Nothing was happening. Laura relaxed a little, feeling easier.

A presence entered her mind. She couldn't see it with her eyes, but rather she felt it, in the same way she felt the presence of her now-broken connection to Tim. It was golden and almost human, but its feet were clawed.

Relax…the soft voice was soothing in her head. Laura's arm twitched as she felt something flow through the particles of her skin, like grains of sand working in from her pores to the bone. The feeling was so alien that she tensed up, resisting this alien presence in her mind and body. STOP IT! Another wave of relaxation flowed through her veins. All her muscles released; her mind focused on a peaceful vision of still waters. Laura knew nothing for quite sometime afterward.

Snape turned away, unable to watch as Biana healed Laura. Though the Dreki method was exceedingly effective as well as fascinating, it turned his stomach to see the bones of the woman's arm move of their own accord, centimeter by centimeter until they would finally fit back together into their original position. Such things made him slightly queasy.

And I though I'd defeated that reflex long ago…he mused to himself as he studied the floor. But I guess watching someone die slowly becomes numbing—no, not numbing, but after hundreds each one loses their special meaning as a life. Speaking of life, how on earth could Laura have withstood that beating that she'd took? He'd escaped the attentions of Lord Voldemort before—or perhaps he was being left to the unavoidable demise of hunger. That was probably it.

Snape glanced back at Laura, her face blank and relaxed. He hadn't thought she was brave enough to withstand so much agony—after all, she wasn't a Gryffindor, just a brainy Ravenclaw. Judging by her condition when Biana had carried her through the door, Voldemort had lost her before he had found out what he wanted. That wasn't necessarily good—that just meant he would try other ways of finding out what he wanted later.

But what could he want?

That was obvious. That red-haired boy that had been with her that first day when he'd been abducted. Some relation to Potter—Snape froze. No wonder Voldemort was so interested in Laura! He massaged his temples with his fingertips, feeling a headache coming on. That boy had to be James' son—Laura was far to young to have a teenage son. If he was James' son, then he was Harry's brother, and Voldemort had shown an uncanny interest in Harry ever since his birth. Going by the clues and the little Snape actually knew of Voldemort's personality, Voldemort would do nearly anything to get his hands on anyone left of the Potter clan, especially Harry Potter's twin brother.

"Oh god," he said softly to himself. "Oh my god." He knew the answer. If Laura didn't give up the information, Voldemort would take drastic steps to ensure that the red-haired boy was delivered safely into his power. Anything. Would he storm Hogwarts? No, he was clever. Would he attack Hogwarts?

"He will," Snape whispered, his voice drawing echoes. "Oh gods, but he will."