AN: A bit of a hard chapter to write, but I hope you like it all the same? Let me know.
Read and review please!
Song suggestion: Haunted, Taylor Swift. (Please let me know if you have a song suggestion, I know I don't always get it exactly right, so feel free to recommend for future chapters.)
Chapter Fourteen: Mental Torture.
The white of Blaise's bones could be seen straining underneath his clenched fists. Screams echoed in his head as torturous scenes haunted the aftermath of Lupin's legilimency. Sweat beaded his forehead and he had to steel himself not to collapse onto the table. Being forced reliving each and every memory in quick succession from the past horrendous year. A sharp pain thundered in the base of his skull as he glanced at Draco.
Malfoy was sat rigid, so tautly strung that a breeze of harmless wind could have knocked him over. Mr Weasley was grimacing as he witnessed Draco's memories. Every drop of blood spilled. Every second of torture. Every gruesome death. Blaise had been on the edges of the inner circle because of his association with Draco, but his best friend was in the thick of the fire. Privy to every and any horror the Death Eaters did. Blaise's pity went out to him.
Hermione's torture haunted his thoughts as Mr Weasley withdrew from his head. Draco blinked and felt the cutting edge of the table slicing into his hands. Trying to shake off the intrusion he glared at the Weasley patriarch. Hatred for the man who forced him to revisit the worst events of the past years fed the thick tension in the interrogation room.
"Proof enough?" Blaise sneered wanting to draw attention away from his tense friend.
The two Order members looked at each other for a moment, clearly trying to make the decision without allowing the two Death Eaters know. But Blaise could read the two men like a book and remained hopeful, although they both looked torn. Letting the two men silently judge, Blaise turned to his distressed best friend.
Malfoy had reclaimed his composure and was flexing his fists. But his mind was echoing torturing images, punishing him over and over. Professor Burbage devoured by Nagini. The torturing Thorfinn Rowle by his own hand. Murdering the eldest Creevey boy, who he remembered to be named Colin. Hermione's mutilation under Bellatrix's Dark Magic. That was the one that stuck with him. Her screams, the vulnerable side of her exposed like he'd never seen before, that rang in his ears like a reminder of every evil he had committed under Voldemort's rule.
Blaise nudged Draco's foot and the two shared a quick but inquisitive glance. Zabini raised a brow and his counterpart nodded slightly to which he returned the gesture. In such simple actions the two were reassured that the other was fine. Of course, in this war no one was truly fine, but the pretence was deeply ingrained. Fake assurances attempting to hold up morale. A morale that diminished with every death and defeat.
Plans formed in the dark Italian's mind. In the unlikely situation that the three Slytherins were not accepted he preferred having a backup plan. Perhaps they could go to Italy; his grandmother would let them stay at her villa. And if that failed, there was always America. Voldemort wouldn't dare attack them there, unless he was suicidal, which he wondered briefly if the nose less creature was. He was trying to exterminate most of the wizarding world under his pureblood regime, which meant he should be killed also.
Hypocrisy was the worst sort of judgement in Blaise's opinion. He'd heard of the racism of America and the anti-Semitism of the Nazis, thanks to his mother's most recent husband, and that America criticised the Nazis for their hatred of the Jews when they were racist too. It disgusted him that Muggles judged one another by their skin colour or beliefs in the past. How could someone criticise and hate another for something they couldn't change? That seed of information fertilized by Voldemort's, the Death Eater's, and his own actions planted doubt for everything his mother had said about the pureblood superiority.
"We see your reasons to defect." Lupin surprised them out of their thoughts, "And we accept your defection." There was a pause of breath and Malfoy and Zabini waited for the conditions that could shoot the dove, "But on conditions."
"You must swear, just like your friend Pansy did, to uphold the Order of the Phoenix above all else." Mr Weasley continued gravely, "There will be war boys, and you'll be forced to choose the right side. Choose now, knowing you will probably have to defeat your friends and family." Blaise assessed the older ginger man carefully. He could tell by his body language that he expected the boys to have absolutely loyalty to their families and friends on Voldemort's side, just as Mr Weasley would choose. But that Gryffindor loyalty could be the death of him, Blaise thought.
To Blaise and Draco, their family and friends became void the moment they sacrificed all their lives for a flawed system. They had loyalty only to those who served them best. The others failed. Blaise, Draco, and Pansy were the only family and friends that they each had now. They would remain together to protect each other in a way no one else had.
"Clearly we chose our side when we nearly killed ourselves to save your Order members to come here." Malfoy sneered and the two men glared at him. But he knew, though they would accept them, they would never trust them. They would never be seen as equals, no one would try to save them when they came under attack. In fact, they'd probably offer them on a golden platter. Malfoy would trust them no more than they would him.
"Arms." Lupin commanded and the two did as they were told. Grasping Lupin's wrist one at a time, they both vowed unbreakably to serve the Order to the death. Both knew while they swore their lives away, no one did for them in return. But, in their minds, it didn't matter. When Voldemort returned they'd sworn together to protect the three of them above all else, above any other vow made.
"Welcome boys, to the Order of the Phoenix." Mr Weasley announced solemnly.