Forsaken
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own anything.
Chapter 2: Cruciate
The door opens.
"Malfoy."
I look up, the shock evident on my face. I'd given up on being called. And, I guess, that's why I should have been expecting it. The other kids in the room were all wearing the same expression. I think they've forgotten that my father is eventually going to get out.
"Malfoy," the Death Eater repeats, looking directly at me. It's hard not to miss me. My father and I could be clones.
I still haven't moved and the Death Eater's starting to get tired of waiting. I know it but I still can't budge an inch. It's as though I'm under the full body bind, but it's one I've cast myself.
The Death Eater's wand was in his hand, and I still couldn't throw off the curse. It's upsetting. I can't figure out if it's the shock of the fear that's doing it.
Finally, someone breaks out of the trance and throws a sock at me. Higgs. I can move now. Perhaps it was Higgs who cast the body bind on me.
What am I? A raving loony? He can't do that. That's the nervousness getting to me. I can't say Higgs has never done anything good for me any more.
Smoke fills the room and I can tell it's because the Death Eater's toasted Higgs' socks. That's better than confiscated. I can just imagine later when we go back to Hogwarts him not having any socks. I smirk to myself as I join the DE at the door before he casts something on me. Usually it's a sneak peek at the cruciatus to come. Or if you're Avery, just an imperio.
It's just the imperius curse. I guess he just doesn't want to have to deal with me freezing up again like in the room.
I follow the Death Eater down corridors I'd half forgotten about. This certainly wasn't going to be a reunion with my father that I was going to enjoy.
As we drew nearer, vivid memories I couldn't suppress came crawling back into my mind. The Cruciatus Curse. It's like being on fire on the inside, a burning crawling through your veins, killing you with every pump of your heart. But it's worse than that because it's like every joint is bending back the wrong way and every bone is slowly breaking. There are small biting insects running through cuts only you can see and feel. It's like your skin's been flipped inside out and needles have been scraped along the bloody surface of your mangled flesh. And you can't breathe. Your body freezes, like I'd just experienced, so it's too much to ask for you to be able to inhale, exhale. How you're even alive afterwards is a mystery.
The previous two times I'd been down here, it had been especially bad. There are a few reasons why. One is because there was so much time between the two that I forget how bad it is before each time. But the others say it's something you can never get used to and seems to get worse and worse every time.
The second reason is because my father is one of the top Death Eaters there are, so Voldemort himself casts it on me. For the others, some lower ranking DE usually does it. Sometimes the Dark Lord isn't even present. When my father screws up, he screws up royally. Being part of the inner circle means that he's ruined a plan that's come from Lord Voldemort himself.
Don't ever let it be said that Voldemort's power lies in his ability to control people. That's not where it all comes from. He's Slytherin's heir, making him very, very powerful indeed. And he's clever. It's a very dangerous combination. Take Potter for example. He's got great power, but he's an idiot. I'd bet he doesn't even realise just how powerful he is. The air around him resonates with magic wherever he goes. And Dumbledore's got brains, but not so much power. It's his brain that does all that. He's so good he even has the illusion of power.
Reason number three for why torture's especially bad for me is because Lucius is a Malfoy. He's been taught how to hide emotions. Voldemort keeps the cruciatus going for ages and ages, just to get a reaction from him. Usually Voldemort just realises he's got better things to do and punishes Lucius in some other way. I don't know what that is, though I'm sure it includes mother.
Sometimes I don't think father cares. But Lucius knows how the cruciatus works. He knows it's nothing physical and it's nothing that'll kill me. Cruciatus is a mind thing. It won't kill you because, like a good torturer, it knows how far it can go. But it can drive you insane if the caster is overenthusiastic.
We're here.
I'm told to stand in the middle of the floor. I do, eyes and face revealing nothing. I am cursing myself for letting the lowly DE see my surprise when he entered the room to collect me. I stand with my hands clasped together behind my back. Voldemort is right in front of me and he laughs as he looks at me. Funny, I don't feel a tremor of his magic, I usually do when this close.
"At ease, soldier," he says mockingly. Confusion would have been written upon my face at this point, but my guards were up now. "Bring Lucius in." He waves his hand and the doors open.
In comes my father, escorted by two of the lower DEs. He looks like he's seen better days. Still, he maintains the Malfoy air and I am encouraged to keep my façade. Sometimes I really wish we were back in the old days when Voldemort was gone. Sure, mudbloods were multiplying, but back then, my father was a dad. Stupid Wormtail.
"Come, Lucius. Sit." A chair is conjured and Lucius sits. He has a fine view of what's to come.
"Crucio!"
The effect is immediate. Fire. Ants. Knives. Needles. It's like someone's plucking out my eyes and shoving them back in again.
Claws are ripping me apart, pulling out my insides.
My nose burns and I refuse to let it run.
Tears try to force their way out of my eyes.
I'm shaking but refuse to give up and sprawl ungainly on the floor. What would father say?
It feels like I've been dumped in a pot of boiling oil.
No, that's not it.
My skin is boiling.
Something sharp is poked down my throat and turned and spun, forever disturbing my insides.
I try to throw up but something stops me, forcing me to taste the chyme before shoving it back down my throat, burning on the way back to my stomach.
The burning stops and is replaced by freezing.
First my toes, and I can't bend down to rub them.
Then I can't feel them.
This is good. A slow death but one that won't hurt so much.
I look down and see blood covering my feet. Large nails are sticking out and the blood keeps pouring.
Now I have to resist the urge to let the liquid in my bladder out.
Do I care what father says? After all, he's the one that got me into this mess.
The stuff in my arse is deciding it wants to come out, too. Definitely not a pretty sight.
The wrong stuff wants in. The wrong stuff wants out.
And then the fire's back, shooting up my spinal column. It's worse because I'd just gotten used to the numbness.
Screw you, father! I don't bloody care.
The tears come now. I've wet myself and regurgitated on the stone floor of the dungeon.
It hurts.
I let out a scream and feel no more.