Chapter Seven

Vicilia Coarse

I got back to Paris around midnight. The driver was kind enough to drop me off near the train station where the Beauxbatons platform was located. The station was fairly empty accept for a few late night travelers, security guards and homeless people taking advantage of the warmth.

The bookshop was closed, but the lunch counter was open twenty-four hours. I bought a muffin and some juice and sat down at one of the tables, waiting.

The whir of the escalators and the voices over the PA made the most noise in the station. Occasionally the sound of trains drifted through the corridors. When I was finished with the muffin and juice I threw them in the trash and found another spot to stand and watch the marble wall.

A security guard passed me on his rounds and gave me a slight glance before moving on. I knew I'd have to move on before he came back, or he might get suspicious.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long. Someone emerged from the marble wall, a traveler wearing muggle clothing and carrying a briefcase. The way the entrance was set up it would look as though he just came from the lunch counter or the bookshop.

I waited until he was a safe distance before following him. He led me through a quiet neighborhood, past a block of stores and stopped at a bus stop. He then reached into his briefcase and pulled out his wand.

There must be a bus here, like the Knight Bus. I thought.

I approached casually. After all, I was a wizard too and it wouldn't be suspicious if I ran to catch the bus too.

When I got close enough there was a series of loud popping noises. Suddenly, I was surrounded by three wizards and two witches, all pointing their wands at me.

"Accio knapsack!"

The straps tore from my backpack, spinning me around as it flew to the caster.

"Accio sword!"

My sword flew from my coat, hilt first. I tried to grab for it.

"Stupefy!" A witch yelled.

The spell struck me in the chest with enough force to knock me back a few steps. But it didn't do more than that.

"Petrificus totalus!" The second witch shouted.

Again, the spell hit me and for a few moments I felt my body constrict. But the full body bind failed and I was free again.

"Nothing is working on him!"

"Of course it isn't." The wizard I followed snapped. "Grab him."

Two of the wizards grabbed me by the shoulders and tried to bring me closer. I reacted quickly, kicking one in the shin. When he jumped back in surprise and pain I balled up my fist and slammed it into the second wizard's face. Blood splattered as I broke his nose.

All that working out seemed to have paid off. Another wizard rushed me with a knife. I ducked, grabbed his wrist and flipped him into his back. The wizard that grabbed my sword stabbed me in my exposed stomach was exposed. With my last bit of strength I managed to punch him once in the jugular.

Death took minutes to finally claim me. But not before the wizard with the briefcase pulled out a newspaper and forced it into my hand.

Despite how it's described, reviving from death is not like waking up. There's no transition from the dream to waking state, no yawning, no grogginess.

Reviving is a sudden and painful experience. Lungs that haven't received oxygen for hours fill up, painfully as the heart begins pumping blood again. Memories, knowledge and images hit you with the speed and force of a tsunami, with twice as much destructive force.

I was strapped down on a table, stripped down to my knickers. My sword, my dagger, and my coat were gone. I couldn't tell where the portkey had taken us, or how long it had been since then. My only clues were a strong musty odor, like the smell of wet clothes sitting in a laundry hamper for several weeks and what I guessed was a boarded window.

"He's alive," a woman said in French.

She came around to the front of the table so I could see her. Two of the wizards lit several candles with their wands, illuminating the room. She had gold blond hair and was dressed in black robes, with a smattering of violet and gold streaks in the fabric.

"Radu was right about you. It was quite a shock to those of us who have worked with him, since he has taken every head he's come across. Perhaps he is growing weak."

"A growing testament to you I guess," I said. My response was a slap across the cheek from one of the wizards, the one I'd kicked in the shin I think.

"My name is Vicilia Coarse. In time you will come to address me with your screams of pain and torment."

"I'm not interested in marriage, thanks."

Vicilia held up a hand, presumably to hold off another blow I had coming.

"Good. Wit and sarcasm are signs of anxiety and fear," she said, removing her wand. "Fear will help us with what we've come to accomplish. Crucio!"

A flash of light struck me.

"Ahhhh!" I screamed.

Vicilia looked surprised.

"I thought it would not effect him."

"It doesn't, he's faking it you fool!"

The wizard from the train station, the one I'd been following emerged from the shadows. He was in silk red robes this time, sporting a crest of a dragon, wings spread, and flying beneath a pale moon.

"He'll lead you on until you kill him," the wizard said, gazing at me with contempt. "Then when we drop him in a river somewhere he'll revive and laugh at what bloody fools we've been."

"You're good," I said, with mock praise. "I bet you knew I was going to follow you too."

"Ever since your watcher reported that he lost you en route to Amiens."

He came closer, rolling up his sleeve and revealing two marks. One was the mark of the death eaters. The other was a letter "Y" inside of a circle.

"You're…one of the Hunters aren't you?" I said, realization dawning on me.

"You're good," he responded, returning my mocking. "As soon as he made his report I went to Gare De Lyon to wait. One of our own disguised as a muggle security guard alerted me to your presence and then I moved. You were so predictable."

"Spare me the criticisms."

"Enough!" Vicilia shouted. "I am in charge here. Simon, go back to ze Dark Lord. Zis one will be no problem for me and he shall have what he wants shortly."

"Remember," Simon said, looking into her eyes with a poisonous glare. "Remove his head. If he escapes you will beg me to kill you."

Simon disapparated and I was left with Vicilia and her subordinates.

"I guess we'll have to resort to more…primitive methods of torture." She said, pretending it was a huge inconvenience.

Vicilia went to a table loaded with instruments. I recognized them from a display of muggle medical tools outside the Department of Misused Muggle Artifacts at the Ministry of Magic. My Dad would take me to his office at the Ministry and we'd stop in to say hello to Mr. Weasley.

"You into collecting muggle tools?" I asked. "I know someone you might-Ahhh!"

Vicilia dug into my chest with a knife. It was jagged and rusted and the screaming seemed to satisfy her immensely.

"What do you know of the horcruxes?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Vicilia made deep cuts along my arm, slowly draw out the pain.

"Are you in league with ze Order of ze Phoenix?"

"Who? Ah!"

That last answer earned me a slow gash along my thigh. Blood dripped onto the floor as the cut on my chest healed.

"Do you know the location of Harry Potter?"

I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the screams I knew she wanted to hear.

"The last time I saw Harry Potter was on the night of my death. I don't know what happened to him after that. AH!"

Vicilia placed the knife aside and picked up a surgical scalpel.

"This will be a bit more painful. But so much more enjoyable for me."

Vicilia placed a hand on my stomach and with a light push, pierced the skin.

"I wonder how much I can cut before it heals," she said, eerily whimsical.

"I don't know anything of use to you," I protested. "I died and that's it! I can't tell you anymore because I left the wizarding world."

"Perhaps zat is true," Vicilia said, cutting along my stomach. "But you still have use to us. You can tell us about ze immortals you know. Where zey live, how old zey are. Radu is very interested in zat sort of thing. And ze more we help him, ze more he is useful to us."

"Forget it," I said, trying to disconnect the pain. "I'll never betray my friends."

As I said it, images of Amanda ran through my mind. She was there in spirit, holding my hand as Vicilia cut me open.

Blood and fluids spilled down the sides of my body. There was a violent gurgling sound in my stomach as I vomited.

One of the wizards did a spell to clear up the vomit that splattered my face, but I was left to swallow and choke on the rest. I died a few moments later. When I revived Vicilia asked me where my father worked in the ministry.

"He's an Auror," I lied.

She began making an incision in my stomach again. This time she had used a charm to make the scalpel feel warmer with each incision. So each time it cut it felt as though a hot rod were being driven into my stomach.

"We know about your kind," Vicilia said, pulling the scalpel slowly. "We know you have to learn to lie to survive. We also know that magic will not work on you, so a truth potion would be ineffective."

"That might not be entirely true," one of the wizards said.

Vicilia fixed him with a death glare. The wizard swallowed before going on.

"W-well, spells rely on magic. But potions are based on principals of chemistry and alchemy. We've never tried a potion on Radu before, but it might work on their kind."

Vicilia drove the scalpel into my stomach again, letting the warming metal do its damage as she considered.

"Zere is another possibility," she said, voicing her thoughts. "Direct spells don't appear to work, but it appears charmed items harm them well enough."

"Nope…" I tried to lie. "Just faking again."

"For example…"

Vicilia waved her wand over the straps binding me, transfiguring them into barbed chains and making them wrap around my body. The barbs dug into my flesh causing me to scream involuntarily.

"Let's start again with horcruxes."

"For the second time, I don't know what those are."

"But you must know of a particular item. Have you seen zis?"

One of the wizards conjured an image of a cup. It was made of gold, with expertly crafted handles and the image of the badger; the symbol of Hufflepuff. A portrait of Helena Hufflepuff hung from the wall of our Professor Sprout's office. Whenever our house head invited me and the prefects for tea Hufflepuff's would be drinking from it. Worse yet, I knew exactly where it was.

"Looks like a piece of junk," I said.

"While I tend to agree," Vicilia said, holding her wand over me. "It is precious to ze Dark Lord. He is quite eager to find it and yet is not certain where it is located. Our first thought was zat Dumbledore must have destroyed it."

"It hasn't been destroyed, it's-" I bit my tongue suddenly. I was never leaving this room now. Vicilia exchanged a triumphant smile with the wizards.

"So you are not as ignorant as you are pretending," she said, twitching her wand.

The chains tightened and the barbs dug deeper into my body.

"Tell me where it is."

"I don't know. Argh!"

"Where!"

"I don't-ack!"

"We can do this as long as it takes. We can kill you over and over and over until you decide to give us what we want."

I had to gulp and swallow several times, fighting the pain with each word I said. "And if… I go… insane from… the torture?"

"Zen we will take your head. And you have not been immortal for that long. I should think you'd want a little while longer to enjoy it."

She pulled back the chains, allowing me some small relief. While I gasped for air, wincing with each breath, I considered what I had going for me. In the first place I knew Radu was determined to get my Quickening. There was no telling what he'd do if they killed me before he had the chance. Not that this made things better, but at the least it gave me some kind of time frame to work with.

But now the stakes were higher. I actually had information they wanted. I was never going to get out of here.