AUTHORS NOTE: So... Here's the next chapter a bit longer then the previous and with some action in. I'm not too certain about this chapter. In fact I'm really quite iffy about it... Yet for how I need Trowa to turn the war this is needed. I'm incredibly grateful for all the great messages and reviews I have been getting so thank you. Have a good day.
Chapter 8
The putrid smell of faeces, urine, vomit and blood stung Trowa's nose as he hung from a ceiling he couldn't see. His arms were stretched high above his head causing him to stand on his toes to try and release the pressure building in his shoulders. He had not had water in 24 hours and the water he had drunk had been warm with a sour taste. He was in training. Every wizard that wanted to join the Wizarding National Army was put through torture first. It was to prove that they were the best; that they would not break and that they would rather die than admit defeat and surrender. The rumour was that it had been Lucius Malfoy's idea to have one national army that belonged to the ministry to fight all rebellion. What was left unsaid was that he had utilised the idea of muggle governments and the armies they had to protect their countries. It was also rumoured that Malfoy was so enamoured by the idea of having an army standing behind him that he had been able to persuade Voldemort to do the same for wizards. The WNA had no allegiance to any other then the ministry. Whoever controlled the ministry controlled the army whether they were dark or light. It was with that thought that Lucius had convinced Voldemort to allow the members of the WNA to remain unmarked, for which, Trowa was pleased. It was all rumours of course no one knew who actually was calling the shots, all the WNA knew was that they got their orders and followed them.
"I don't think I can do this any more," a soft voice, broken and panting. Trowa turned his eyes appraising the figure before him. He was a young man, probably early twenties and in good shape. From the definition of his abdomen and the veins clear in the bulge of his biceps he was a frequent gym goer. Trowa was sure that the scars on the man's knuckles were from fist fights where he had proven he was stronger than the challenger. This man had been all ego and bravado, which had been swiftly beaten out of him. Trowa knew just by the pleading that this young man would be the one that the whole army would have to carry, the weak link. Trowa would make sure that he would be gone before he became too much of an issue.
"Stop pissing about. If you can't do this you shouldn't have applied," a sharp voice. There was a cruel mocking tone to it but Trowa could hear the person's own desperation seeping through.
Trowa knew that voice; it was the voice of the young lad that reminded Trowa of Duo. He would not speak of his past, another bastard child fathered by a pure blood and left to rot on the streets as was becoming more common and well known. He was tall and thin, sharp angles and joints. His eyes were dark and constantly narrowed surrounded by bruises of an insomniac. He had been found holding his wand above a dead body; he used the avada kedavra curse even though he only had rudimentary knowledge of magic having been taught the basics in one of the many workhouse Wizarding homes that existed. He was a killer and as such perfect for the army. Trowa liked him instantly. He was one of the only ones in the rag tag group that had been able to withstand the torture to a respectable degree. Not at the level of Trowa or any of the pilots but Trowa was still slightly impressed. It took a lot for a civilian to be able to withstand the cruciatus curse for more than two times without screaming. It took a lot to have your bones broken and not tell all your secrets. The boy had broken of course but it had taken him longer.
To Trowa this form of torture was nothing. He had faced much worse for a countless amount of years. He had been shot, stabbed; his bones broken, burned and watching his world die in front of him. The worst being his own friend, the boy he had trusted destroying him and leaving him to die in space. Those memories still kept him awake. This was nothing but to these children, for that was what they were, this was new. The cruciatus curse had been used multiple times with great effect. There had been three hundred new recruits, there were now fifty. The others, those who had not been able to handle it were swiftly disposed of. The other recruits said they were just let go, Trowa knew better. They had been killed. Weakness was not allowed in this army and Trowa revelled in it. This was where he could use his skills to perfection. This was where he belonged and would be able to win the war. He just needed to move up the ranks and he would do whatever it took to do so.
"Look at the lovely babies. How's my pet doing?" Bellatrix Lestrange walked in, her body swaying to an unheard song, blackened teeth showing as she smiled widely towards Trowa. Everyone in the room went silent. They were all terrified of her and her evident psychosis. She used her wand without discrimination and she had taken an instant liking to Trowa.
He was her new favourite.
"Have you missed me my pet," her voice whispered into his ear as her hand stroked down his body. She rubbed at his abdomen, outlining each muscle that rippled with the effort of remaining on his toes to take the pressure off his shoulders. She had ordered for them to be disrobed as soon as they had been recruited. They were left in their underwear and paraded like pets.
They had been appraised, their arms and bodies judged from every angle. Those who did not have the body of a soldier, who was not fit and healthy, were sent on their way. However, Trowa noted with an experienced eye that although the men chosen were fit and healthy they had the fitness of people who trained in a gym. They would be useless when faced with real life or death situations. Their bodies would not use to the effort of running on uneven ground that put pressure on ankles, or lifting your injured comrade and carrying them for miles as a dead weight. It was known that they would ten times heavier than their actual body weight. Trowa's body was honed to perfection for fighting, for running and for killing and it had seemed that Bellatrix and some others had realised.
"Aren't you going to answer me my beautiful baby?" Bellatrix cupped his balls, squeezing tightly her nails digging in painfully, Trowa didn't grimace. He had once had sex with a woman who liked to dominate. He didn't care sex was sex and he knew that Bellatrix wanted him to submit her. For him, to wince and beg her for mercy. She wanted him on his knees and ready to do her bidding. She thought him weak like the fresh untainted meat he was surrounded by. He was insulted and she knew it.
The Bitch.
"To answer would be futile as I would obviously not give you the answer you wish. I could lie but we both know that you would realise the lie for what it was and torture me anyway. Tell me ma'am how would like me to answer," his voice was low and she had lean forward to hear what he said, her lips pulling back in a feral growl realising that she had no control over him.
"You stupid little bastard! How dare you talk to your superior like that!" her voice was shrill and she raised her wand.
"Crucio!"
His body arched, his shoulders screaming as they were pulled against their joints. He allowed no sound to escape; instead he looked her in the eye. The one thing she detested and feared the most. It was only a minute but his body was on fire. He wished to fall and curl into a ball, with someone to hold him and tell him it would be ok. Trowa growled inwardly, his anger rising. He was not weak.
"Did that make you feel better ma'am I do hope so," the same low octave. Bellatrix raised her wand again.
"Bellatrix stop! These men have passed the recruitment," Draco Malfoy walked in his back straight his eyes piercing. He was immaculately dressed though Trowa noticed how he tightened his fist and shifted just slightly whilst talking to his aunt in the way that he had. He was scared of her. Interesting. That was something he could use at a later date.
"Watch your tongue boy!"
"I am in charge of the recruitments as our lord placed me. You have done your job of testing their limitations and as such it is now my place to train them," Malfoy looked calm but there was a slight tremor. He was terrified of the woman before him.
"Of course baby Malfoy," Bellatrix mockingly bowed to him before turning once more to Trowa, stroking his face with a finger and then licking it.
"I shall see you again my pet." She walked out of the room, her walk that strange dance and a cackle falling from her lips. She was the cliché of a witch. Trowa barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
"Get them down and get them ready. Make sure they're washed first. We don't want the enemy smelling them before they see them," Malfoy sneered, his long fingered hand, delicately placed under his nose. The other wizards, high ranking members of the army rushed to do as they were told.
Trowa was let down and he barely restrained himself from falling. He would not show weakness. His arms fell to his sides awkwardly and painfully. His shoulders had dislocated. A sharp crack sounded and then another one. Trowa bit his tongue, blood seeping from between his lips. His shoulders had been placed back into their sockets with just a wave of Malfoy's wand.
"Leave him. He's coming with me," Malfoy turned to the wizards who following orders stepped forward to take Trowa. They saluted sharply and led the other recruits out, all battered and bruised their arms wrapped around their bodies, and heads hung low in shame.
These men had been full of bravado, saying that they could do everything and anything asked of them. Now they were snivelling cowards who had shit themselves. They were ashamed. Trowa did not care. He had seen braver men, tougher men shit themselves in the face of their executioner, he often being the one to hold the gun to their head and play with them, make them beg for mercy. There was nothing to be ashamed of. All humans had the same pathophysiology. It was the fight or flight system in action. It took many people years to be able to control that function. He faced Malfoy and saluted, his shoulders screaming in pain but he ignored it. Malfoy regarded him for a moment before walking out of the room, motioning for Trowa to follow him. He did.
"Tell me Barton where did you get all of those scars?" Malfoy's voice was soft. Trowa walked just behind and to the left of Malfoy as was his proper place when walking with a superior. He did not care that people were staring at him, their hands rising to their noses in disgust.
"War."
"Where? Were you in the battle of Hogwarts? You are no older than me," Malfoy kept his voice low as he led Trowa towards his own private room. Trowa's eyes narrowed. This was not protocol but he said nothing.
"There are many wars going on at any one time take your pick." The door shut behind him and Malfoy ambushed Trowa, shoving him up against the door, his wand pressed against Trowa's throat.
"You're a filthy mudblood!" Malfoy leant close to Trowa, spit flying from his lips onto Trowa's face, teeth pulled back in a disgusted snarl. Trowa weighed his options.
Malfoy had most of his weight on his left leg, one kick and Malfoy would go down, Trowa could crush his knee so he could not stand back up, break the brat's wand, and crush his windpipe. He could turn and walk out of here with no one the wiser and it would be all over and done within a couple of seconds. Trowa wouldn't do that though. He needed to join the army, he needed to rise through the ranks, and he needed to become listened to so that he could end this war.
He needed Draco Malfoy on his side.
"No I'm not," Trowa allowed his head to fall back; Malfoy's wand pressed sharply against his throat as he pressed his body up against Trowa's to keep him there. Trowa knew that Malfoy was aware of how Trowa was larger than him and was well aware that Trowa could easily take him down.
"I did a search on you Barton. The Barton family only ever had one child who was killed for being on the wrong side. You were not that child!"
"I'm a bastard."
"Bullshit!" Malfoy pressed the wand further into Trowa's throat.
"It's true. One of your superiors had sex with my mother; she hid the birth in shame and got rid of me the moment I was born. I was left to be brought up with muggles until it was time for me to go to school. I went to a small Wizarding school in the depths of Russia." Trowa had done his research.
He had not wanted to change his name and had done research after he had left the safe house. Stage two was all the players needing to get into place and he and Heero had decided this would be his. Duo and Heero would have left also to join the secret muggle army that had been formed by the current prime minister to defeat Voldemort, condemning him as Hitler. Everyone would be playing their parts and this was his. None of the pilots could join him for they had no magical skill.
"Oh and who would that be? Do you truly believe I am that much of a fool Barton?" Malfoy pressed closer and Trowa noticed the panic in the man's eyes before him. Malfoy was scared. If Trowa was muggle born than Malfoy would be punished.
"Ask Lestrange. Ask him if he raped a woman on the night of The Dark Lord's downfall; ask if she was a beautiful witch with flowing blond hair and blue eyes." Trowa allowed anger into his voice. It was befitting of someone who would have been sent away by the woman who had given birth to him because he was a child of rape. Truly he cared nothing for these emotions.
"If that is true that makes you a very powerful man Barton."
"Yes and we both know that it is in both of our interests to keep this titbit of information secret." Trowa ignored Malfoy's hand stroking and outlining the large scar that ran down the centre of his chest, past his navel and disappearing below his underwear. It was the scar from where Quatre had fought in Zero one and had aimed his gun at Trowa and he had been left in space to die. It was a bitter memory and even after the years it was still tender.
"Who are you really Barton?"
"I am just a soldier wanting to do what is best for the Wizarding world," Trowa saluted Malfoy.
"The powers that be find you interesting. I have been told to make you lieutenant over your own platoon to see how you handle war. Do not disappoint me," Malfoy stepped back and waved his wand.
Although Trowa would have preferred a shower, feeling the hot water that burned his skin pounding against his tight muscles, he understood magic was quicker and easier. Malfoy had made sure he was clean his skin tingling and gleaming. There was no fresh smell like that of shower gel or soap just nothing. Malfoy handed him a pile of clothing.
"You had this planned from the beginning?" Trowa asked as he eyed his wand, a wand he had stolen from a foolish and idiotic man who had bet it all in a game of Russian roulette that Trowa had ultimately won because of the man backing out when it came to the last four shots. The man was swiftly disposed of so as not to alert people to Trowa and what had happened. It was not a loss to society though as this man had disturbing and disgusting thoughts about children. Trowa felt no guilt as he levelled his gun at the man's forehead and pulled the trigger. He had died with tears on his cheek and his nose dripping. He had died a coward.
"You made quite the impression on the minister Barton. Many of the generals, as well as those who have fought in wars before saw your scars for what they were, your wand was recently used multiple times with dark curses and the way you answered interrogation and survived the torture made them feel that whilst you are young you had seen war and may not be prone to freezing when faced with the enemy," Malfoy watched as Trowa dressed.
It was muggle inspired with the loose black trousers tucked into heavy boots and a black vest. A robe specially designed for combat finished it. It was not constricting, instead having two deep slashes from waist to ankle either side so they could move, run, kick and jump as well as reach the wand holster that wrapped around their thighs. The colour scheme was all black though Trowa's had a green trim.
"The green shows you are the lieutenant."
"I have not earned the right to be a lieutenant," Trowa placed his wand in his holster, his hands itching for a gun.
"Then earn it." Malfoy stepped up to Trowa, looking up to him slightly. Trowa gleefully realised that he was taller than Malfoy compared to when he was still Harry Potter and he had been shorter than most including some of the girls.
"Remember Barton what was said stays between us and do not disappoint me," his voice was nothing but a whisper. A silly attempt at intimidation. It did not work and instead Trowa saluted. Malfoy disappeared and with a wave of his own wand, Trowa followed the man's magical signature as he knew this was another test.
It was the screams that alerted Trowa to the fact that he was suddenly at war. Gunshots were loud, explosions heating the air and Trowa smiled. He stretched heavenwards; the weight on his shoulders disappearing as he finally felt that he was home.
"Barton what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Malfoy hissed. Trowa turned and quickly ran towards the back of the fighting.
No matter which direction he looked, left or right there were people lying in their own blood, limbs askew or completely blown off. The wizards were losing, it was clear to all. They had sent inexperienced soldiers who at the same time had never met a muggle and had no idea the damage muggle weapons could do. Trowa knew from the experiment at the safe house that muggle technology combined with the magic to either malfunction or work better than expected, explosions were magnified by the magical protection the wizards were using. The smell of gunpowder stuck to the hairs of his nostrils and he allowed himself a feral smile. He could do his best. He had already spied the machine gun. A lone gunman laying two metres to the left. He could take him out quite simply.
"Barton!" Trowa sighed as he ran forward, his hand twitching as he longed to have a gun in his hand but not yet.
Reaching the back of the battlefield the men he had been strung up with were stood there. Faces ashen, vomit dripping from their chins at the sight of their own people with their limbs missing, the screams of pain.
"Barton is in charge. Don't let me down." Malfoy disappeared with a flourish of his wand and Trowa growled. Just like most in charge they allowed their men to die before them. Lions led by donkeys for that was what war is.
"We're going to die!" A young boy, sixteen and wet behind the ears stood his hands shaking eyes darting back and forth. He would faint Trowa was sure of it.
"Some of you will yet if you do not listen to me! The fools have left us because they want to whittle us down to the best of the best. Let us prove that we are the best. The only way to beat these muggles is to use their own weapons against them."
"How the fuck are we meant to do that? I've never even met a muggle how am I supposed to know what weapons they are using except they make loud noises and have no finesse." The sharp faced street rat spoke up.
"You either learn quickly or die. They have already done the hard work of taking off the safety so all you need to do is grab the gun, the metal things in their hands, point at a muggle preferably the head or heart and pressed the trigger. It will recoil so hold your arm firm." Trowa magically summoned a gun from a nearby dead body and showed them how to hold it and what the trigger was.
"It doesn't seem that bad," the arrogant boy from earlier who had been full of bravado before being weak and pathetic stated. Though his face was ashen the bravado was back. Trowa didn't need a man like that. He shot him in the knee cap. The boy fell down a high pitched scream tearing from his lips as he instantly reached for his knee to stop the bleeding. Trowa didn't try to help him.
"It doesn't matter whether you are a wizard or a muggle. This gun can kill you instantaneously and your magical shields will not save you. So listen." The men saluted him sharply, their eyes briefly glancing to the pained young man.
"They are expecting us to come at them straight on, wave our wands around and stand there like idiots. They have aimed all of their explosions to the central route. We are not going that way. Let the other fools go forward we are going around. Your ten," Trowa pointed out the smaller males. "Go to the left, keep your heads down and bodies low, and cover yourself in a disillusion. Any dead muggle you come across, steal their weapons. When you reach the far outer corner, where the large metal tank is use your levitation skills to levitate it to the sky, spin it around with flair and throw it as far as you can. You then hide in the bushes and shoot the muggles from behind." The men nodded their faces grim, their lips pulled in a grimace but they were resolute. He motioned for them to leave. They did so with a sharp salute.
"You ten go to the right. Do the same with the disillusion charm but this time aim the avada kedavra curse to the central pocket of soldiers? Pick up any weapons your can. Do not aim for their chests as they are wearing protective vests. Aim for limbs. We want some survivors to go back and spread the fear of us. They should learn not to underestimate us." The next ten, slightly larger but still easily concealable also saluted and left. That left the large males who would be easily noticeable and were only of use as bodyguards. They shared about one brain cell.
"You boys have the fun task. You need to stay in the back and kill any muggle you see. Stop them before they see us and try and make it as painful as possible. As soon as they get scared they lose all tactics. If one of you falls, the others close rank do not break the line." The men nodded.
"What about you sir?" It seemed strange how they had already become accustomed to the idea he was in charge.
"Me and these three here," he pointed out the smartest of the men which included the sharp faced street rat "We shall be going for the leaders. Once they are dead it is their protocol to fall back to base and regroup."
Everyone parted and Trowa held the gun loose in his hand. He heard the screams and felt when the tide started turning in their favour. Fewer explosions went off and he had to admit seeing the tank in the air was impressive.
"Now lets go," they snuck out, each taken a point around Trowa as they snuck forward. Each man used their wand ruthlessly, each guarding the others back as Trowa barked out orders. They stole the weapons from the deceased and were quick learners. They shot at limbs before they could be reached and aimed for the skulls.
"Fuck," Trowa felt a graze on his side. His hand instantly went to the bullet wound. A smile on his lips. This was his sort of war. As he turned his head, his gaze steady and gun extended he aimed towards the person who shot him. There was only a second of hesitation before he pulled the trigger.
The enemy went down, long braided hair flying out behind him as hit the dirt.
