I do not own Harry Potter, I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of telling a story. J.K. Rowling is the one who makes the money off of this stuff.
Chapter 24: Searing
The next morning Harry found himself yawning from lack of sleep while he was waiting for NEWT level Charms to begin. When Flitwick clambered atop his usual stack of books, Harry turned his attention to the rest of the class, aware of a big mix of other houses surrounding him.
At the very back corner of the room, Harry could see Malfoy, as usual, flanked on both sides by Crabbe and Goyle. He sat slouched back in his chair, his arm flung along the back, his face set into a lofty expression, as though he were deigning to be there rather than needing to.
Harry frowned, focusing all his attention to Flitwick, who was calling roll. He had known he couldn't possibly avoid the blond-headed, supercilious boy the entire term, but still, the less contact they had with each other, the better.
He blamed Harry for putting his father into Azkaban, even though Lucius Malfoy had brought it upon himself, and in Harry's opinion anyone who supported Voldemort should be locked up with the key thrown away for good measure, particularly those in the Dark Wizard's inner circle.
He frowned, something about that thought wasn't quite right. It tugged at the edges of his memory. Sirius. Okay, maybe they should be given a trial first, some of them.
He focused his eyes on Flitwick as he called the last name, Blaise Zabini, then set his papers down and addressed them all in his high, squeaky voice.
"Sixth years, welcome to the first class of your NEWT level Charms experience. This, and your seventh year, will be the most important two of your lives. In this class, and others, you will be preparing for what you wish to do for the rest of your lives." He regarded them all seriously. "So make sure you study hard, and choose wisely."
He smiled at them all again, pleased, apparently, to have such a large assemblage of students for his NEWT level Charms. It was a testament to his teaching skills that they made it this far.
"I am most pleased to see so many faces remaining in my classes," He continued, "And hope that your diligence thus far carries on into the next two years, so that you may make me proud of you when you take, and pass, your NEWT tests."
Speech done, the tiny man clapped his hands together, "Now, this term we will be starting with the Disillusionment Charm, and of course, its counterpart. Do come up and collect a toad." He gestured at a large tank sitting on a counter to the left of his desk.
Thus class began, continuing on for a full three hours of lost toads, a few stepped on toads, though none were seriously injured, and more successful Disillusionment Charms than Illusionmented toads, so that the count was significantly reduced when those that could be found were returned to the tank.
Flitwick seemed unconcerned over the absent toads, merely shrugging and saying that they would turn up sooner than later. After this class he always had an irate Filch bringing him a few toads that had escaped for a couple of days.
"I daresay he almost looks forward to it." Flitwick winked at Hermione and Neville, who had lost track of his toad. "He has his lectures fine tuned to a point of artistry concerning the matter." Abruptly he cleared his throat. "Er, as is perfectly his right, of course."
"Of course, Professor." Hermione agreed good-naturedly, tapping her toad so that he changed colors to blend into the tabletop.
"Excellent, Miss Granger." Flitwick praised her as she changed the toad back to its normal color with another tap.
Then Neville took his turn as the professor watched, making him nervous. He tapped his toad and it turned into a garish tartan. The toad croaked in surprise, then settled down, flicking his tongue out to catch a passing fly. Neville turned an odd color when this revealed the toad's tongue was tartan as well.
"Why don't you try again, Mr. Longbottom." Flitwick said tiredly, changing the toad back to normal.
"Ye-yes, sir." Neville stammered. He tapped the toad again, and this time the charm worked perfectly, Hermione's toad shifting even as it hopped across a page of notes so that its warty back read of the spell that had changed it.
"Great, Neville." Hermione applauded, while Neville blushed, and Flitwick nodded in approval, having Neville change the toad back before moving on.
Harry was just prodding his toad across a page covered in little scribbles, watching as they slid across its skin, when he felt something strike the back of his robes. He twisted around while twisting his arms back, trying to see what it may be.
He yelped as he felt a burning sensation on his back, creeping up to cover his shoulders, his hands covered with the same feeling where he had brushed his robes. He yelled again and yanked off his robes, throwing them to the floor.
"Mr. Potter, what's wrong?" Flitwick squeaked, hurrying over as fast as his short legs could carry him.
His robes were beginning to smoke, and when he held his hands up in front of his face, he could see large blisters, like those left by boiling water, rise. His shirt clung to his back, and he had an uneasy feeling that the same was happening to the rest of his body.
He stared at his robes, which Flitwick had extinguished, and tried to say something, but nothing emerged from his throat but an agonized cry. He hurt everywhere. He longed to rip his clothes from his smoldering skin and plunge into the nearest glacier fed pond. The nearest was outside the window, yes, out the window, that would be the fastest way. He stepped almost unconsciously in that direction.
"Hospital wing, quickly!" Flitwick cried.
Then he became aware of hands on him, propelling him towards the door, the pressure causing another terrible searing pain. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out again.
Thanks to that lack of noise was able to hear it. Mocking laughter, quietly triumphant, echoing from the far back corner of the room. He turned and caught a glance of Malfoy's smirking face before he was ushered very quickly through the halls and up to the hospital wing.
The moment Madame Pomfrey saw Harry she rushed him away from Ron, sending the other boy back to class. Harry she took into a room filled with tubs, one of which she filled to the brim with cooled water, then poured a generous dose of some blue-green potion into the water. She helped Harry undress most of the way, then left him a pair of trunks and went out of the room for a moment so he could slide into the tub in privacy.
Harry nearly wept with relief when the potion mixture and the cool water met his burning skin. He examined his legs and thin torso, finding that they indeed gained the same blister as on his hands.
What felt the worst, though, was his back. Even after he eased it beneath the water, it felt like it were swathed in smoldering wool. What had Malfoy done to him? He groaned and dunked himself completely under, only to be pulled out a moment later by Madame Pomfrey, who had a firm hand on the back of his neck.
"Don't want you fainting, young man." She said sternly, though he could sense a thread of worry under her businesslike voice.
Even the contact of the room-temperature air on his skin made him want to groan. Only by an extreme act of will was he able to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't keep his eyes from closing, however, as he grimaced.
"You see? This wasn't an accident, Professor Snape. I recognize the effects of a Searing Potion when I see it." She was saying angrily, her voice seeming distant though she still crouched beside the white ceramic. "And this was a particularly strong mixture!"
Harry squeezed his already closed eyes together even more tightly. Then he opened them with a feeling of dismay.
Snape stood beside Madame Pomfrey, examining him closely, his arms folded across his chest. His intense scrutiny made Harry feel like he were one of those specimens in the jars lining the shelves of the Potions master's office. Being in the bath tub did nothing to help dispel this feeling.
He wanted to cringe, but didn't, staring back as defiantly as he could under the circumstances. He wished Pomfrey would take him somewhere else, he didn't like feeling as vulnerable as he did under these circumstances. And he knew that he did not want to get out of the cool water if his life depended on it.
"I shall bring you another mixture that should help with the healing process, Madame Pomfrey," He told her in his cool voice.
Harry felt relieved, 'Good, go away,' He thought.
Snape turned on him and his eyes sharpened. "Do you know who it was that threw this Potion on you, Potter?"
"Malfoy, sir." He bit out triumphantly. "In Charms."
Snape's face tightened almost imperceptively while Harry watched him closely. As he did so, he noticed some things about his face that had escaped his detection before.
Snape looked drawn and paler than was his usual pallor, he had dark hollows beneath his eyes, and his mouth was pinched white. He looked as though he were lacking sleep lately, and had skipped more than a few meals. Harry thought that he knew the cause for this very well indeed.
"Very well." Snape said finally. He turned to Pomfrey, "I shall return momentarily." Then he swept out of the room.
Pomfrey turned back to Harry, her eyes tight. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Somewhat, ma'am," He replied quietly. He felt unexpected shivers beneath the painful burning of his skin and wondered if he were experiencing shock.
"Searing potion!" She muttered angrily. "It gives you second to third degree burns and spreads quickly. It was a good thing that you rid yourself of your robes, they had the greatest saturation. Professor Flitwick had to deliver them with utmost care to Professor Snape so that he could decontaminate them." She spoke swiftly as she levered him into sitting position, and began to apply a salve to his back. It began to feel cooler very quickly, but now he felt cold burning through him, making his body shake and his teeth chatter.
"Mr. Potter!" She said in alarm.
He turned to look at her, finding her very blurry. He tried to say he was alright, but his teeth refused to stop clattering against each other. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he felt himself falling into darkness, hearing her call his name in fear before he slipped out completely.
The strange sensation of cold within heat followed him into the darkness.
He was sitting in a chair, his hands like large pale spiders spread across the faded tapestry of the upholstery. The room he was sitting in was completely unfamiliar, though warm and comfortable, filled with a combination of antique furniture and assorted knickknacks, all in relatively good taste. He appreciated that without knowing why he did.
The large marble hearth was cold, and the wind blew the pale damask curtains into the room, their ends trailing across the floor, and one catching the woman who was standing before him across the arm.
She was a tall woman, neither young, nor particularly old, though a few strands of silver shone in her dark sable hair. Her eyes, wide, unfocused, defiant, were a fetching shade of dark blue that bordered on being purple. She was clothed in a nightgown of pale lawn, that streaked with small spots and streaks of blood that he now saw had emanated from her mouth, the lower lip of which had been bitten nearly through. Bitten to keep herself from screaming.
"You are being unnecessarily difficult." He said in a voice higher than it seemed it should have been. Harry felt frustration behind those words. "Just tell me where it is, and we shall see about sparing you."
"I tell you I no longer know." She spat at his feet, "And I care this for your mercy."
"A pity that you spoil your own lovely carpets." He said warmly, "I had thought to keep them for my own use."
She spat again, this time her expectoration leaving a large red stain on the pale weave.
"Crucio," Voldemort said almost negligently.
The woman arched back, her mouth open in a silent scream, but still she did not utter a single sound. When he lifted the curse she straightened slowly, panting with the effort, swaying to keep her feet.
"Courage, love." A painting behind her cried, a portrait of a swarthy man with black hair and a large mustache, it looked as though he were trying to lean out of the frame, wishing he were not oil and canvas so that he could help her.
"Nothing less, Faddey." She replied with a gasp.
"Touching." He hissed. "Wormtail, do something about that painting."
The short bald man who had been standing behind his chair asked in a squealing sort of voice. "Destroy it, Master?"
"I think not," He felt his face contort into some horrific semblance of a smile. "Silence it."
Wormtail pointed his wand at the painting and muttered something, and the swarthy man froze, motionless, now truly only oil and canvas.
If the woman felt grief, she did not show it. If anything she stood straighter, her eyes burning. She stared at him with cold fury in her eyes.
"Tell me." He demanded again.
"I...do...not...have...it!" She enunciated carefully. "The secret has been passed, broken, kept, I do not know. But I would never tell you even if I knew!"
"Who?" He demanded.
She remained stubbornly silent, though she could not quite contain her scream when the Crucio was once again applied, it contained no words.
"Who."
"I will never tell you." She said as calmly as she could while blood trickled form the corner of her mouth, and seeped from her nostrils. "Never, not in a million lifetimes!"
She spat again, blood landing on the hem of his robes. He twitched them irritably and called Wormtail, who had once been Peter, close. Harry saw Peter lean toward him, shades of revulsion in his eyes that he could not quite hide. "This goes nowhere. Have the others located her niece?"
" No, my Lord, she has vanished." Peter simpered.
"She tells true, she does not know. But her defiance annoys me." He said in a sibilant whisper.
"Shall I take care of her, Master?"
"Hmm...no, I think I will take this one myself. A pity though, she comes from a very old family of purebloods." He did not feel sorry for the situation, instead there was a building feeling of anticipation that was not Harry's own.
He turned back to the woman, "I give you one last chance, I am feeling very generous today." He leaned forward, pointing his wand at her. "Tell me."
"Never!" It was a clarion call of pride and honor. She would not waver, Harry could tell, and by sharing his mind he knew Voldemort knew this as well.
"So be it." Voldemort said. A sickening feeling of excitement coursed through him as he raised his wand to shoulder height, it was a feeling that Harry thought should feel akin to something, but he knew not what.
His mind screamed, 'No! No! No!'. But he knew that nothing he could do would effect the outcome.
"Avada Kedavra!" He said with something akin to joy.
A bright green light shot out and enveloped the woman, then it disappeared and she crumpled gracelessly to the floor, her sightless eyes staring at the ceiling and her sable hair spreading across the pale carpets.
"And now..." Voldemort said carelessly. " I know you're there, Harry Potter. I have been wondering at your absence." Harry's mind tried to shrink back or flee. "Did you wish for me to spare her, or did you enjoy that as much as I did?"
Harry's psyche screamed in mute denial. "Oh, of course you didn't. You wanted to save her didn't you?" There was high pitched, mocking laughter, and with a feeling of searing pain Harry found himself thrust out of Voldemort's mind and back into consciousness.
Harry tried to roll over but hands were restraining him, he was just able to clasp a hand over his mouth before Madame Pomfrey thrust a bowl under his chin and he could vomit, which he did, emptying his stomach completely.
He was aware of more presences that Madame Pomfrey and looked up with wide, horrified eyes to find both Professor Snape and Professor Lanya leaning over him, one with an expression of concern, the other with a blank mask.
"He killed her." Harry gasped at them. "He tortured her and then, and then..."
"Shh..." Lanya told him quietly, laying a cool hand on his forehead. "There will be time." She looked at Professor Snape, who glanced at Madame Pomfrey, who turned to get a vial that Harry recognized as Dreamless Sleep.
He caught her arm as she made to pull away, then paused feeling ridges beneath the material. She shook loose, not un-gently but not as though she didn't think he had noticed.
"Durry, he's my pet chrono." He said urgently. "Could you ask Ron to bring him here?"
"I shall do so myself, Harry, should Madame Pomfrey permit?" She looked questioningly at Pomfrey, who was returning with a glass of potion for Harry to drink.
"I suppose I could allow him in as I have no other patients yet. Just make sure you keep it close." She said reluctantly.
"Thank you Ma'am." Harry said to the both of them, before accepting the glass and downing it before his stomach could rebel again, knowing that even with the potion, he would sleep better with Durry to turn his dreams.
Please, please, please review!!
Chapter 24: Searing
The next morning Harry found himself yawning from lack of sleep while he was waiting for NEWT level Charms to begin. When Flitwick clambered atop his usual stack of books, Harry turned his attention to the rest of the class, aware of a big mix of other houses surrounding him.
At the very back corner of the room, Harry could see Malfoy, as usual, flanked on both sides by Crabbe and Goyle. He sat slouched back in his chair, his arm flung along the back, his face set into a lofty expression, as though he were deigning to be there rather than needing to.
Harry frowned, focusing all his attention to Flitwick, who was calling roll. He had known he couldn't possibly avoid the blond-headed, supercilious boy the entire term, but still, the less contact they had with each other, the better.
He blamed Harry for putting his father into Azkaban, even though Lucius Malfoy had brought it upon himself, and in Harry's opinion anyone who supported Voldemort should be locked up with the key thrown away for good measure, particularly those in the Dark Wizard's inner circle.
He frowned, something about that thought wasn't quite right. It tugged at the edges of his memory. Sirius. Okay, maybe they should be given a trial first, some of them.
He focused his eyes on Flitwick as he called the last name, Blaise Zabini, then set his papers down and addressed them all in his high, squeaky voice.
"Sixth years, welcome to the first class of your NEWT level Charms experience. This, and your seventh year, will be the most important two of your lives. In this class, and others, you will be preparing for what you wish to do for the rest of your lives." He regarded them all seriously. "So make sure you study hard, and choose wisely."
He smiled at them all again, pleased, apparently, to have such a large assemblage of students for his NEWT level Charms. It was a testament to his teaching skills that they made it this far.
"I am most pleased to see so many faces remaining in my classes," He continued, "And hope that your diligence thus far carries on into the next two years, so that you may make me proud of you when you take, and pass, your NEWT tests."
Speech done, the tiny man clapped his hands together, "Now, this term we will be starting with the Disillusionment Charm, and of course, its counterpart. Do come up and collect a toad." He gestured at a large tank sitting on a counter to the left of his desk.
Thus class began, continuing on for a full three hours of lost toads, a few stepped on toads, though none were seriously injured, and more successful Disillusionment Charms than Illusionmented toads, so that the count was significantly reduced when those that could be found were returned to the tank.
Flitwick seemed unconcerned over the absent toads, merely shrugging and saying that they would turn up sooner than later. After this class he always had an irate Filch bringing him a few toads that had escaped for a couple of days.
"I daresay he almost looks forward to it." Flitwick winked at Hermione and Neville, who had lost track of his toad. "He has his lectures fine tuned to a point of artistry concerning the matter." Abruptly he cleared his throat. "Er, as is perfectly his right, of course."
"Of course, Professor." Hermione agreed good-naturedly, tapping her toad so that he changed colors to blend into the tabletop.
"Excellent, Miss Granger." Flitwick praised her as she changed the toad back to its normal color with another tap.
Then Neville took his turn as the professor watched, making him nervous. He tapped his toad and it turned into a garish tartan. The toad croaked in surprise, then settled down, flicking his tongue out to catch a passing fly. Neville turned an odd color when this revealed the toad's tongue was tartan as well.
"Why don't you try again, Mr. Longbottom." Flitwick said tiredly, changing the toad back to normal.
"Ye-yes, sir." Neville stammered. He tapped the toad again, and this time the charm worked perfectly, Hermione's toad shifting even as it hopped across a page of notes so that its warty back read of the spell that had changed it.
"Great, Neville." Hermione applauded, while Neville blushed, and Flitwick nodded in approval, having Neville change the toad back before moving on.
Harry was just prodding his toad across a page covered in little scribbles, watching as they slid across its skin, when he felt something strike the back of his robes. He twisted around while twisting his arms back, trying to see what it may be.
He yelped as he felt a burning sensation on his back, creeping up to cover his shoulders, his hands covered with the same feeling where he had brushed his robes. He yelled again and yanked off his robes, throwing them to the floor.
"Mr. Potter, what's wrong?" Flitwick squeaked, hurrying over as fast as his short legs could carry him.
His robes were beginning to smoke, and when he held his hands up in front of his face, he could see large blisters, like those left by boiling water, rise. His shirt clung to his back, and he had an uneasy feeling that the same was happening to the rest of his body.
He stared at his robes, which Flitwick had extinguished, and tried to say something, but nothing emerged from his throat but an agonized cry. He hurt everywhere. He longed to rip his clothes from his smoldering skin and plunge into the nearest glacier fed pond. The nearest was outside the window, yes, out the window, that would be the fastest way. He stepped almost unconsciously in that direction.
"Hospital wing, quickly!" Flitwick cried.
Then he became aware of hands on him, propelling him towards the door, the pressure causing another terrible searing pain. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out again.
Thanks to that lack of noise was able to hear it. Mocking laughter, quietly triumphant, echoing from the far back corner of the room. He turned and caught a glance of Malfoy's smirking face before he was ushered very quickly through the halls and up to the hospital wing.
The moment Madame Pomfrey saw Harry she rushed him away from Ron, sending the other boy back to class. Harry she took into a room filled with tubs, one of which she filled to the brim with cooled water, then poured a generous dose of some blue-green potion into the water. She helped Harry undress most of the way, then left him a pair of trunks and went out of the room for a moment so he could slide into the tub in privacy.
Harry nearly wept with relief when the potion mixture and the cool water met his burning skin. He examined his legs and thin torso, finding that they indeed gained the same blister as on his hands.
What felt the worst, though, was his back. Even after he eased it beneath the water, it felt like it were swathed in smoldering wool. What had Malfoy done to him? He groaned and dunked himself completely under, only to be pulled out a moment later by Madame Pomfrey, who had a firm hand on the back of his neck.
"Don't want you fainting, young man." She said sternly, though he could sense a thread of worry under her businesslike voice.
Even the contact of the room-temperature air on his skin made him want to groan. Only by an extreme act of will was he able to keep his mouth shut. He couldn't keep his eyes from closing, however, as he grimaced.
"You see? This wasn't an accident, Professor Snape. I recognize the effects of a Searing Potion when I see it." She was saying angrily, her voice seeming distant though she still crouched beside the white ceramic. "And this was a particularly strong mixture!"
Harry squeezed his already closed eyes together even more tightly. Then he opened them with a feeling of dismay.
Snape stood beside Madame Pomfrey, examining him closely, his arms folded across his chest. His intense scrutiny made Harry feel like he were one of those specimens in the jars lining the shelves of the Potions master's office. Being in the bath tub did nothing to help dispel this feeling.
He wanted to cringe, but didn't, staring back as defiantly as he could under the circumstances. He wished Pomfrey would take him somewhere else, he didn't like feeling as vulnerable as he did under these circumstances. And he knew that he did not want to get out of the cool water if his life depended on it.
"I shall bring you another mixture that should help with the healing process, Madame Pomfrey," He told her in his cool voice.
Harry felt relieved, 'Good, go away,' He thought.
Snape turned on him and his eyes sharpened. "Do you know who it was that threw this Potion on you, Potter?"
"Malfoy, sir." He bit out triumphantly. "In Charms."
Snape's face tightened almost imperceptively while Harry watched him closely. As he did so, he noticed some things about his face that had escaped his detection before.
Snape looked drawn and paler than was his usual pallor, he had dark hollows beneath his eyes, and his mouth was pinched white. He looked as though he were lacking sleep lately, and had skipped more than a few meals. Harry thought that he knew the cause for this very well indeed.
"Very well." Snape said finally. He turned to Pomfrey, "I shall return momentarily." Then he swept out of the room.
Pomfrey turned back to Harry, her eyes tight. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Somewhat, ma'am," He replied quietly. He felt unexpected shivers beneath the painful burning of his skin and wondered if he were experiencing shock.
"Searing potion!" She muttered angrily. "It gives you second to third degree burns and spreads quickly. It was a good thing that you rid yourself of your robes, they had the greatest saturation. Professor Flitwick had to deliver them with utmost care to Professor Snape so that he could decontaminate them." She spoke swiftly as she levered him into sitting position, and began to apply a salve to his back. It began to feel cooler very quickly, but now he felt cold burning through him, making his body shake and his teeth chatter.
"Mr. Potter!" She said in alarm.
He turned to look at her, finding her very blurry. He tried to say he was alright, but his teeth refused to stop clattering against each other. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he felt himself falling into darkness, hearing her call his name in fear before he slipped out completely.
The strange sensation of cold within heat followed him into the darkness.
He was sitting in a chair, his hands like large pale spiders spread across the faded tapestry of the upholstery. The room he was sitting in was completely unfamiliar, though warm and comfortable, filled with a combination of antique furniture and assorted knickknacks, all in relatively good taste. He appreciated that without knowing why he did.
The large marble hearth was cold, and the wind blew the pale damask curtains into the room, their ends trailing across the floor, and one catching the woman who was standing before him across the arm.
She was a tall woman, neither young, nor particularly old, though a few strands of silver shone in her dark sable hair. Her eyes, wide, unfocused, defiant, were a fetching shade of dark blue that bordered on being purple. She was clothed in a nightgown of pale lawn, that streaked with small spots and streaks of blood that he now saw had emanated from her mouth, the lower lip of which had been bitten nearly through. Bitten to keep herself from screaming.
"You are being unnecessarily difficult." He said in a voice higher than it seemed it should have been. Harry felt frustration behind those words. "Just tell me where it is, and we shall see about sparing you."
"I tell you I no longer know." She spat at his feet, "And I care this for your mercy."
"A pity that you spoil your own lovely carpets." He said warmly, "I had thought to keep them for my own use."
She spat again, this time her expectoration leaving a large red stain on the pale weave.
"Crucio," Voldemort said almost negligently.
The woman arched back, her mouth open in a silent scream, but still she did not utter a single sound. When he lifted the curse she straightened slowly, panting with the effort, swaying to keep her feet.
"Courage, love." A painting behind her cried, a portrait of a swarthy man with black hair and a large mustache, it looked as though he were trying to lean out of the frame, wishing he were not oil and canvas so that he could help her.
"Nothing less, Faddey." She replied with a gasp.
"Touching." He hissed. "Wormtail, do something about that painting."
The short bald man who had been standing behind his chair asked in a squealing sort of voice. "Destroy it, Master?"
"I think not," He felt his face contort into some horrific semblance of a smile. "Silence it."
Wormtail pointed his wand at the painting and muttered something, and the swarthy man froze, motionless, now truly only oil and canvas.
If the woman felt grief, she did not show it. If anything she stood straighter, her eyes burning. She stared at him with cold fury in her eyes.
"Tell me." He demanded again.
"I...do...not...have...it!" She enunciated carefully. "The secret has been passed, broken, kept, I do not know. But I would never tell you even if I knew!"
"Who?" He demanded.
She remained stubbornly silent, though she could not quite contain her scream when the Crucio was once again applied, it contained no words.
"Who."
"I will never tell you." She said as calmly as she could while blood trickled form the corner of her mouth, and seeped from her nostrils. "Never, not in a million lifetimes!"
She spat again, blood landing on the hem of his robes. He twitched them irritably and called Wormtail, who had once been Peter, close. Harry saw Peter lean toward him, shades of revulsion in his eyes that he could not quite hide. "This goes nowhere. Have the others located her niece?"
" No, my Lord, she has vanished." Peter simpered.
"She tells true, she does not know. But her defiance annoys me." He said in a sibilant whisper.
"Shall I take care of her, Master?"
"Hmm...no, I think I will take this one myself. A pity though, she comes from a very old family of purebloods." He did not feel sorry for the situation, instead there was a building feeling of anticipation that was not Harry's own.
He turned back to the woman, "I give you one last chance, I am feeling very generous today." He leaned forward, pointing his wand at her. "Tell me."
"Never!" It was a clarion call of pride and honor. She would not waver, Harry could tell, and by sharing his mind he knew Voldemort knew this as well.
"So be it." Voldemort said. A sickening feeling of excitement coursed through him as he raised his wand to shoulder height, it was a feeling that Harry thought should feel akin to something, but he knew not what.
His mind screamed, 'No! No! No!'. But he knew that nothing he could do would effect the outcome.
"Avada Kedavra!" He said with something akin to joy.
A bright green light shot out and enveloped the woman, then it disappeared and she crumpled gracelessly to the floor, her sightless eyes staring at the ceiling and her sable hair spreading across the pale carpets.
"And now..." Voldemort said carelessly. " I know you're there, Harry Potter. I have been wondering at your absence." Harry's mind tried to shrink back or flee. "Did you wish for me to spare her, or did you enjoy that as much as I did?"
Harry's psyche screamed in mute denial. "Oh, of course you didn't. You wanted to save her didn't you?" There was high pitched, mocking laughter, and with a feeling of searing pain Harry found himself thrust out of Voldemort's mind and back into consciousness.
Harry tried to roll over but hands were restraining him, he was just able to clasp a hand over his mouth before Madame Pomfrey thrust a bowl under his chin and he could vomit, which he did, emptying his stomach completely.
He was aware of more presences that Madame Pomfrey and looked up with wide, horrified eyes to find both Professor Snape and Professor Lanya leaning over him, one with an expression of concern, the other with a blank mask.
"He killed her." Harry gasped at them. "He tortured her and then, and then..."
"Shh..." Lanya told him quietly, laying a cool hand on his forehead. "There will be time." She looked at Professor Snape, who glanced at Madame Pomfrey, who turned to get a vial that Harry recognized as Dreamless Sleep.
He caught her arm as she made to pull away, then paused feeling ridges beneath the material. She shook loose, not un-gently but not as though she didn't think he had noticed.
"Durry, he's my pet chrono." He said urgently. "Could you ask Ron to bring him here?"
"I shall do so myself, Harry, should Madame Pomfrey permit?" She looked questioningly at Pomfrey, who was returning with a glass of potion for Harry to drink.
"I suppose I could allow him in as I have no other patients yet. Just make sure you keep it close." She said reluctantly.
"Thank you Ma'am." Harry said to the both of them, before accepting the glass and downing it before his stomach could rebel again, knowing that even with the potion, he would sleep better with Durry to turn his dreams.
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