A/N: Chapter the tenth. W00T. Am I living up to any expectations? If not, tell me what you'd like to see, and I'll try to fit it in before the end (which is quickly approaching, though I have a few chapters left, at least).
And I know that Voldemort is kind of OOC, but he's confident. He knows he's going to kill Harry, and a son of the rest of the rebellion in the bargain. He's feeling pretty damned good about things.
A lot of this is taken from the original draft at this point, if you remember it.
Jezebel's last name is Toiracsi, so that doesn't confuse you.
If you're still reading this, review, please. Love to Als, who is my one faithful reviewer. hug
Kinda short, but whatever. Can't fault me, really--three chapters in a day is damn good for me.
Warnings: Same as previous. Possible mistakes, too—I wrote two chapters today.
Disclaimer: Same as previous, don't own Harry Potter, blah blah blah. I think you know the drill by now.
"I have him, my Lord. Bellatrix will be along soon."
"Well done, Toiracsi. Put him next to Potter. They have lived together—is it not fitting that they should die so?" I had never met the Dark Lord in the flesh, but it was no trouble to guess who that sibilant hiss of a chuckle had to belong to.
"Yes, my Lord." Roughly, she shoved me against the wall next to Harry's still form. The only good thing about this situation was that Voldemort had just implied that Harry was still alive—though for how long, I didn't dare guess.
"Bind him tightly, now. We wouldn't want him to get ideas about escaping." That cold, quiet laughter made my face burn. I wasn't as afraid as I know I should have been. I was just too angry to be scared.
"I'm a good sport, Weasley. I gave Potter a chance, you know. But, in the depths of his heart, I think Potter wants to die. That's why he couldn't beat me. Do you want to die, Weasley? Oh, I took your wand, but I'm going to give you a chance, as well. If you're strong enough, I'll let you live a little longer." He laughed again, and I was angrier than ever. I couldn't give up.
"Crucio!" It was slithering, this time, rather than a bark, but I know I screamed just as loudly as Antonia had. The pain was more than terrible—I thought I was going to break, to shatter into a million pieces. And then it stopped, and I sagged against the wall, feeling the echoes of that agony echo through my body.
"He's stolen your hair, Bel." I heard Bellatrix say, and I had no idea what she was talking about. "He makes that lovely red of yours look awful. Why don't you take a turn? Teach him a lesson, while I take care of Dolohov. If it pleases you, my Lord."
"It does."
"Crucio!"
The torture began anew. It was different this time, but no less awful. This time, I wasn't breaking, but being torn, shredded by the anguish. (1) This time, it didn't stop so soon. Consciousness was slipping away from me, and for a moment, I thought I was going to die from it—or go mad, like Neville's parents.
Then it finally stopped, and the relief was the sweetest thing I'd ever felt. I heard harsh breathing, but it took me a moment to realize that it was mine. Then the laughter started—high, cold laughter—laughter that was completely without mirth—laughter that kept Harry awake sometimes, that he'd tried to describe to me, once, but hadn't been able to do justice. That laughter alone could almost drive you mad more quickly than even the Cruciatus Curse.
I felt a wand tip pressed to my temple, and all realistic sensation faded from my mind. I wasn't sure I heard it or not, but I would have sworn someone whispered "Legilimens!" before I blacked out.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
The darkness seemed to spin for a few moments. I wasn't ever really sure how long it had been since I'd been knocked out, but it seemed like only a few moments.
Abruptly, the spinning stopped, and I nearly lost my footing on the dirt floor. Slowly, the darkness began to recede, and I could eventually see again.
The large room I now looked out upon closely resembled pictures I'd seen of the Roman Coliseum, and I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach again. The Coliseum had been best known, in the wizarding world, for the public execution of charlatans, escaped slaves, and the occasional witch or wizard who displeased those in charge.
Dreading what I might find, I started studying my surroundings more closely. In the center of the stone amphitheater, there was a stake driven into the ground. Bound to the forbidding three meter length was a sickeningly familiar human shape, which I'd last seen attached to the wall next to me.
I stood there for possibly a full minute, looking for anything that would help me get Harry down—that Isabel (2), or whatever her name was, had taken my wand from me, after all—but then I noticed a deep, rough growl issuing from the unusual warmth behind me, and I decided that I needed to move, as it occurred to me what the Romans had used, more often than not, to perform executions.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW
(1) I would guess, given what Bellatrix said about having to mean the Cruciatus Curse, that every caster is different. It follows that, if the caster really wants to hurt the victim, then it will ache in a certain way, according to the caster. If the caster is less convicted or just doing it for the pure sadistic pleasure of it, it might twist a little more, or some other nuance like that. It depends on the caster, and the relationship to the victim.
(2) He means Jezebel, but I seem to recall that Ron can have an awful time with names.
