A/N: This is a sort of rewind to something that happened a little bit before. This part's quite bloody so brace yourself.
February 11, 1914
A young man, not much older than Ginny, was curled up in a growing pool of blood on the floor of a dimly lit study. He was wimpering and clawing at the dark green carpet. Two men stood off to the left side, leaning against a cobweb-encrusted bookshelft. A ghost stood not six inches away from the boy's trembling body.
"What say you?" The ghost's voice boomed. The room seemed to shake. The weakened boy huddled on the floor flinched.
"Answer him, son," demanded one of the men by the bookshelf.
"I-I won't do it," the boy said meeky, blood dribbling from his frothing mouth as he sopke. His short breaths rattled painfully within his lungs.
"Wrong answer!" The ghost roared, kicking the boy in the side, causing him to flop onto his side with an ear-splitting yelp.
"You can't make me!" The boy shouted, tears pouring down his cheeks and mixing with the blood around his jaw.
"Oh yes I will," the ghost chuckled, kicking the boy again, this time in the back of the head.
He managed to hoist himself up with every last ounce of energy he had left and spat out a wad of blood.
"You can't!" he screamed as he pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and pointed it at the ghost, who, with a mighty swipe, knocked the wand out of the boy's hand. It rolled to a stop about a yard away from its owner. He struggled forward tried to retrieve it--his fingers were only an inch away from grasping it but the ghost crushed both the boy's hand and the wand under his shoe with a slow cracking noise, and it wasn't just the wand. The boy shouted in agony, tears spraying from his eyes and blood oozing from under the ghost's shoe.
"Salazar, he's my son, you shouldn't-" the same man from before began to plead, rushing forward.
"SILENCE!" The ghost bellowed. The man skulked back into the shadow.
"I'd die before I enter into this pact with you," the boy barely managed to say as he tried so hard to keep himself from collapsing.
"Really? Well then..." the ghost sneered, slowly drawing his own wand. "I could execute the killing curse... but that would not be as much fun as watching you die slowly and painfully. Crucio!"
The boy shouted desperately and wriggled uncontrollably on the floor, clinging to the threads of the carpet and tearing it to shreds.
"Is that enough for you?" the ghost asked with a cackle.
"No," the boy said through clenched teeth, his dark brown hair now drenched with blood from the kick to the back of his head earlier.
"Good... Crucio!"
The boy shrieked, tears gushing from his eyes and blood from his mouth. He wanted to yell stop, but he couldn't. He would rather die than give in. The pain became so excruciating that he dug his fingermails into his own shoulder, scraping off the flesh. It was the only way he could-
Suddenly, the door flew open and an even younger boy entered the study, startling the ghost of Salazar so that the curse was cut short. He let out a bloodcurdling scream when he saw what was happening to his only brother on the floor.
"Tom? What are you doing here?" the man asked, trying to steer his younger son to the door.
"I heard Victor screaming... What did you do to him?" Tom cried, pushing his father aside to hurry to his brother.
"Step aside, boy, or I'll torture you to death too," the ghost growled.
"Good, do so," Tom retorted, eyes now swollen with tears. He placed a small young hand on his older brother's quivering and bleeding shoulder.
"Tom, get out of here," his father stammered.
"No. I'm the ninth son. Don't do this to Victor. Please. He's had too much trouble on my account already."
"Tom, get out of here right now," his father repeated.
"I'm the ninth son. Just let him go!"
"Don't be ridiculous," the ghost of Salazar mocked him.
"No... look..."
With a look of utter anguish and horror, Tom extended his left arm and rolled up the sleeve of his robe to his elbow, revealing a black skull with a serpent rising from its mouth imprinted on the inside of his forearm.
February 11, 1914
A young man, not much older than Ginny, was curled up in a growing pool of blood on the floor of a dimly lit study. He was wimpering and clawing at the dark green carpet. Two men stood off to the left side, leaning against a cobweb-encrusted bookshelft. A ghost stood not six inches away from the boy's trembling body.
"What say you?" The ghost's voice boomed. The room seemed to shake. The weakened boy huddled on the floor flinched.
"Answer him, son," demanded one of the men by the bookshelf.
"I-I won't do it," the boy said meeky, blood dribbling from his frothing mouth as he sopke. His short breaths rattled painfully within his lungs.
"Wrong answer!" The ghost roared, kicking the boy in the side, causing him to flop onto his side with an ear-splitting yelp.
"You can't make me!" The boy shouted, tears pouring down his cheeks and mixing with the blood around his jaw.
"Oh yes I will," the ghost chuckled, kicking the boy again, this time in the back of the head.
He managed to hoist himself up with every last ounce of energy he had left and spat out a wad of blood.
"You can't!" he screamed as he pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and pointed it at the ghost, who, with a mighty swipe, knocked the wand out of the boy's hand. It rolled to a stop about a yard away from its owner. He struggled forward tried to retrieve it--his fingers were only an inch away from grasping it but the ghost crushed both the boy's hand and the wand under his shoe with a slow cracking noise, and it wasn't just the wand. The boy shouted in agony, tears spraying from his eyes and blood oozing from under the ghost's shoe.
"Salazar, he's my son, you shouldn't-" the same man from before began to plead, rushing forward.
"SILENCE!" The ghost bellowed. The man skulked back into the shadow.
"I'd die before I enter into this pact with you," the boy barely managed to say as he tried so hard to keep himself from collapsing.
"Really? Well then..." the ghost sneered, slowly drawing his own wand. "I could execute the killing curse... but that would not be as much fun as watching you die slowly and painfully. Crucio!"
The boy shouted desperately and wriggled uncontrollably on the floor, clinging to the threads of the carpet and tearing it to shreds.
"Is that enough for you?" the ghost asked with a cackle.
"No," the boy said through clenched teeth, his dark brown hair now drenched with blood from the kick to the back of his head earlier.
"Good... Crucio!"
The boy shrieked, tears gushing from his eyes and blood from his mouth. He wanted to yell stop, but he couldn't. He would rather die than give in. The pain became so excruciating that he dug his fingermails into his own shoulder, scraping off the flesh. It was the only way he could-
Suddenly, the door flew open and an even younger boy entered the study, startling the ghost of Salazar so that the curse was cut short. He let out a bloodcurdling scream when he saw what was happening to his only brother on the floor.
"Tom? What are you doing here?" the man asked, trying to steer his younger son to the door.
"I heard Victor screaming... What did you do to him?" Tom cried, pushing his father aside to hurry to his brother.
"Step aside, boy, or I'll torture you to death too," the ghost growled.
"Good, do so," Tom retorted, eyes now swollen with tears. He placed a small young hand on his older brother's quivering and bleeding shoulder.
"Tom, get out of here," his father stammered.
"No. I'm the ninth son. Don't do this to Victor. Please. He's had too much trouble on my account already."
"Tom, get out of here right now," his father repeated.
"I'm the ninth son. Just let him go!"
"Don't be ridiculous," the ghost of Salazar mocked him.
"No... look..."
With a look of utter anguish and horror, Tom extended his left arm and rolled up the sleeve of his robe to his elbow, revealing a black skull with a serpent rising from its mouth imprinted on the inside of his forearm.