Disclaimer: I can barely buy highlighters, I don't own Harry Potter!
7.
You never stood a chance. With a stab of his wand, Tom sends you careening into the far wall of the cell, adding to the collection of scrapes and bruises that adorn your skin. You scramble off the floor, the adrenaline coursing through your veins helping you ignore the painful impact. A few more jabs of the yew wand, and you are chained tightly to the wall behind you, unable to move anything but your head. Snape and Hermione receive the same treatment.
You spew curses at the man standing in the middle of the cell, having learned well from your uncle and the members of the Gryffindor quidditch team, not to mention Dudley's beloved action films and an irate Professor McGonagall. Necessity is the mother of invention after all, and you have no weapon left but your tongue. When he finally silences you several minutes later with a well aimed charm, even the Dark Lord looks mildly impressed.
"Now", says Voldemort, "What to do with you. I was going to leave you alone today, Potter, give you a chance to…rest, however you just couldn't do that, now, could you?"
You settle for giving the man your most furious glare. Sadly, he doesn't begin screaming in agony or spontaneously combust. Clearly, you need to work on your death stare.
"So, I must now figure out a way to punish you suitably. I had considered knives, but they are so very messy." The Dark Lord shifts his stance slightly, looking you up and down. "Hmm, yes, I think that is the solution. Bella!" He shouts, turning suddenly to look over his shoulder. "Bring me the irons. The five should do it."
You blink, puzzled. Irons? What, did Tom think he was going to frighten you with a display of deftly pressed trousers?
The way both Hermione and Snape pale does not escape your attention however. Suddenly, these 'irons' are much more intimidating. You try to speak, forgetting momentarily that you have no voice. Voiceless, magicless, clueless, things are not looking good for you. Hermione's lips are pursed and her fists are tightly clenched. Snape's eyes are closed, and his head is resting limply on the stone behind him. You swallow dryly. Crap, you think. Way to go Potter. Looks like you've really done it this time. And considering the situation you've already managed to drag Snape and Hermione into, that's saying something. Bloody Tri-Wizard Tournament! You curse the whole event in your mind, not for the first time. You never wanted to participate in it in the first place, you're not exactly a fan of the whole dying thing. But it happened, and then you ended up here. In a dungeon. About to fall victim to some mysterious torture.
Bellatrix the Mad enters the room, and your heart rate jumps to about a thousand beats per minute. Those are no clothes irons. They are a strange pair of what look like round clamps, about the diameter of your forearm. Basically nothing more than a half circle of metal, attached at one end to a flat bar and connected like scissors.
With a flourish and a tap of his wand, the curved end of each iron begins to glow a bright cherry red. Your heart plummets into your stomach. Without thinking about it, you begin to yank frantically at the chains that hold your wrists in place. This isn't happening, you tell yourself frantically. The cruciatus curse you can handle. You aren't so keen on finding out what this is like. By the time Voldemort rips the tatters of fabric from your forearms, you are gagging with fear. It's really happening, and there's nothing you can do about it.
A/N: Thoughts, please? I am considering upping the rating to M, but haven't decided yet.