Chapter 136:
Cygnus Lestrange lay awake, nothing but bitterness churning in his stomach. He knew he would be punished for his actions, but he couldn't bring himself care.
They could do nothing to him anymore, and he would not stop until Harry was dead.
He knew the other's anticipated his torture, dreadful tortures that he admittedly dreaded to think of, but none of it could sway him from his cause. What could be taken from him that hadn't already been taken?
He'd been stripped of everything that mattered to him, neither his lord nor Evans could do anymore.
When he started, he knew well the negative attention Tom would pay him, but that was just it, wasn't it…attention? Negative attention was still attention, and any attention was better than the dismissal he'd suffered, the alienation, the shame.
If torture and attacking Potter was what it took, he would take that attention.
Tom would not dare dismiss him and leave him unattended for a moment, he would be important, significant, again. He smiled faintly. Yes, that would be good.
He'd slice the boy's throat now when he came to sleep, if it weren't for his skill in warding his bed when he slumbered. None of them could get near, well, except Tom probably, but Tom was perfect.
He sighed, only to feign his breaths to something deeper as the dormitory door swung opened.
Measured, confident but quiet his lord's walk was flawless, so unlike Potter's, which was too light and quick. The Slytherin Heir changed quickly, hidden in shadows.
Only a minute later, that ugly light step came, though slower than usual. Unfortunately, Cygnus couldn't hear a grievous limp, just perhaps the weight of exhaustion.
He heard a melodic laugh escape Tom's lips, and couldn't decide if he hated it or not. He hated that it was Harry that coaxed it out.
"You don't give up, do you?" Harry muttered. "Salazar, you're as bad as Pomfrey."
"Oh, don't insult me, darling," came the soft response, Tom spun around into view again, from the bathroom. "I'm far worse than a nurse."
"Hmm. I don't know," Potter murmured. "Teenage Dark Lord and psychopath against the white dragon lady. Hard choice."
"Brat."
The laughter soured his stomach.
No, there was nothing they could do to him.
He could only go up.
The next day found Harry and Tom sitting in an empty classroom on their free.
In the afternoon, lessons would be cancelled, as that Ministry Official was coming to give them a talk type thing in the Great Hall. Attendance was, apparently, compulsory, though Harry couldn't think that any talk given by the ministry about the war could be particularly useful to him. For now, they were working on their…constitution, or manifesto, whatever one called this thing.
Harry felt incredibly awkward, and they hadn't barely started. In the light of the morning, it seemed so extremely arrogant to be trying to rule the world.
He didn't even want to be in charge of the world! How could he possibly know what was best for the world anyway? A blank sheet of parchment lay between them.
Harry stared at it awkwardly. Tom was watching him with amusement, to which he scowled.
"So, how are we doing…this?" he asked. This suddenly appeared a massive task, that he couldn't believe he'd agreed to undertake.
"First, we decide on our policies," Tom stated. "Just…give me your opinions. It's really not that different to what we normally do."
Harry swallowed.
"Are you actually planning on world domination, or is this in terms of what we're doing right here, right now, with Voldemort?"
"We'll start with Britain," Tom said, very simply.
Harry's mouth ran dry. Somehow, it hadn't hit him before, the true reality of what the other wanted to do when he left school. He wanted to run the country, revolutionise it, probably act its dictator.
It was an overwhelming realisation.
"…Why?" Harry asked, even quieter now.
"Why what?" Tom replied patiently. "Why I'll start with Britain? That should be obvious, even to one as politically inexperienced as you."
"Exactly!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm politically inexperienced, our policies probably don't match, I-you've never shown any inclination to wanting to share power or control with anyone-"
"If you'd be quiet and breathe between questions, I might actually be able to answer you," Tom remarked dryly. Harry glared.
"I'm serious."
"So am I," Tom returned, arching his brows. "Why you? Because you balance out my personality, and I yours, or have you not noticed? Rumour mills and subtext aside, you do realise I work well with you…better than I do with anyone else. Our strengths compliment, as do our…flaws. You're politically inexperienced now, I'm fully aware of how to play the game. I have no interest in general living and welfare and would find actually dealing with what people want to be overly tedious." Tom studied him, eyes intent. "Why you? Because it's you, and I would have no one else."
Harry cast his gaze down, biting his lip, unsure how to respond to such a frank, open response.
"Now," Tom continued. "I know perfectly well that you hold opinions, so come, talk to me. You have a voice, use it. Think of it as just another negotiation, another compromise."
"Merely one that would, if you have your way, shape the future of the world."
"If we have our way," Tom corrected, quietly. "And don't many of our negotiations relate to the future of the world anyway? For Salazar's sake, Harry, we spend most of hours fighting over time itself. In comparison, plans and policies aren't that big a deal."
Harry had the mad urge to laugh. Tom was right, in a manner of speaking.
"No muggle genocide," he stated.
And so they began.
Tom thought the first hour session had gone rather well, once they actually got started.
They would meet the Malfoy's again the evening, it would have been the afternoon, but for this stupid Ministry thing.
He would have got more done this morning, but for the inconvenience of lessons. They'd mostly discussed the muggle problem, and magic, this time round, and he was fully aware of the sheer enormity of what they were doing.
He was certain they could accomplish it though, even where others might fail.
Genocide had been ruled out, as had a full union between magic and muggle worlds.
They'd settled, after much argument and discussion on still allowing muggleborns into the world, but that had never truly been a bone of contention between them. Then, he'd suggested raising all muggleborn children from an early age in the Wizarding world, with magical parents, away from their birth muggles, to which the real debate had began.
Harry disagreed venomously, though he couldn't see what was wrong with that solution.
The other had wanted the muggleborn children to be allowed to stay with their families (with the provision that every family, pureblood or muggle, had frequent checks against abuse - not that he'd ever disagreed about that part). In the end, they'd struggled their way to something of a compromise.
Muggleborn children got to stay with their birth parents on the condition that they took an oath of secrecy regarding the magical world. The children themselves, could, at the age of thirteen, decide whether they wanted to return to the muggle world in the summers or not.
There would also be summer schools and magical orphanages available. Harry, bless him, had been surprised at how un difficult it was to work together, at least on a hypothetical level, once they got started.
He'd never doubted it, after all, they'd already been struggling to shape each other's beliefs for so long now. This was the stuff they'd kind of already covered. Harry had persuaded him away from flat out blood purity - he was a halfblood himself, after all, and he could see now that blood purity did more harm than good.
Magical purity was the way to go. It was all about the magic.
It hadn't all been smooth running, of course, they're differing views on muggles themselves was a point of frustration. Harry, infuriatingly, still couldn't see how vile and inferior they were.
Other than that brick wall, it went relatively okay, for a first effort.
Of course, he hadn't put all his cards on the table either…one day he would make sure that Wizards could live in pride, without need of secrecy and fear, even if it meant 'relocating' every muggle out of England.
Still, he would, if everything went according to plan, have lifetimes - an eternity - to fulfil all his agendas and create his utopia, he didn't need to push that issue straight away. It would take time, anyway.
They entered the great hall, to find that chairs had been set out, lecture style, only without the tables. Students were milling around in a mixture of excitement, worry and pure, undiluted boredom.
He firmly counted himself in the third category.
This was an absurd waste of time, but he'd get through it. He'd mentally plan the Horcrux thing further, instead, and maybe keep an ear out for good ways of discrediting the current ministry.
If they did end staying in this time period (not if he could help it) then it would do no harm highlighting the incompetence of those currently in power. It made a coup easier.
He reckoned he'd start on the Horcrux preparations tomorrow night…teaching Harry how to cast the Avada Kedavra, for example. He'd start small. Mice.
He couldn't say he wasn't looking forward to it.
He glanced sideways at Harry, who'd settled into a seat next to him.
There were several sessions throughout the day, and this one was for the fifth years. Even on the back row, he wasn't far from the front.
A plump, watery eyed ministry official with his hair in a blonde, balding ponytail stepped up to the front of the room, coughing for attention.
Large…not used to fighting, and when he did, he obviously favoured shielding as opposed to dodging. His physique wasn't good enough for dodging, for he was naturally quite broad.
Office worker, he had smudges of ink on his fingertips. Ring, he was married…newly. He kept twisting the gold on his finger as if he wasn't used to having there. He wasn't young though, more middle aged. A second marriage? Yes, second.
He wasn't handsome, rich or powerful enough to have had a string of lovers and divorces.
"This is going to be fun," Harry muttered, sarcastically. "He looks like he couldn't duel his way out of a wet paper bag."
He smirked at the echo of his own thoughts.
"Excuse me," the man boomed. "Quieten down now."
Eventually, a hush fell. "
Righto," the man stated. "My name is Robert Williamson. I work in the Department of Law Enforcement, alongside the Auror Division and the Magical Catastrophe division." He wasn't an Auror.
"Are you an Auror?" someone - a Gryffindor - called out. "I work alongside the Auror division," the man repeated. "All further questions will be answered at the end."
He exchanged a look with Harry, to which the other rolled his eyes.
"My reason for visiting you today is to reassure you of your safety - the ministry are doing everything they can do to combat the Dark threat. I shall also be informing you of the new rules and regulations that are being put in place to guarantee this safety."
He glanced sideways again, starting to feel magic bubbling dangerously. A frown was beginning to make its way onto Harry's face.
He suddenly had the feeling that this talk might be more interesting than he initially thought.
Williamson continued; detailing how all post to and from the castle would begin to be monitored, and how Hogsmeade trips and Quidditch games were to be cancelled (Hogsmeade due to the raids, leaving the safety of the wards; Quidditch due to the parents who would insist on coming in to visit.)
He knew exactly what was riling Harry - it was the lack of talk about actually training the students to be able to defend themselves. They didn't even have a new Defence Teacher yet.
Apparently, due to the curse of the job, they were having trouble finding willing teachers, especially in such suspicious times. The new person would be starting on Monday.
Harry's hand finally shot up, and he suppressed another smirk, knowing it was just a technicality and that the other wouldn't actually wait for acknowledgement before speaking. It was mocking gesture.
"And what of actually teaching the students to defend themselves as opposed to bubble wrapping them, as the latter won't do much good?" Harry questioned, loudly. The ministry official looked startled.
"Questions at the end-" Williamson stopped, staring. Tom knew he was picking up on who he was talking to, as he began to flush. Harry Potter fan. Clearly. The man coughed. "Questions at the end," he repeated, less firmly.
"Is that what you'll do when more people end up dead? Ask questions on how it happened? Cause I could just tell you the answer now and save the Ministry several weeks of mindless debate on the issue."
"Mr Potter-
""It'll, I dare say, be because most people in this room would get slaughtered on a raid because our Defence Teachers tend to be crap and the Ministry aren't doing anything about it, and nor is the headmaster."
"There are limited resources-" Williamson began, apparently goaded into actually responding (as Harry had, no doubt, intended) by the insult to Ministry competence.
"Your resources are going to wither to nothing then," Harry interrupted coldly. "As you're misusing those you've got. Have you talked to the Seventh Years, yet? Taught them how to fight? Because they're going to be thrown into the middle of this at the end of the year. There's your resources. Students. They're going to be your generations and graduates when you've finished killing everyone else off."
"The Ministry are doing-"
"Everything they can?" Harry laughed. "Then they're not doing enough. Seriously, you're giving me some crap on limited resources, and then they're further wasting resources on stupid, pointless talks to inflate the ministerial ego."
The man's eyes closed for a moment. Tom tilted his head back, thoroughly enjoying himself, aware of the annoyed murmurs that were going around the hall.
Harry may be politically inexperienced, but he was certainly good at fluking it, and had a lot of weight to his voice as the Boy Who Lived. They could use that…though Harry would probably need to be talked into it, with his hatred of spotlights and fame.
"And you think undermining the government is going to be a more effective way of fighting this war?" Williamson returned, obviously fighting for his composure. Harry was growing calmer by comparison, though his eyes were glittering dangerously.
"I think teaching people how to fight this war and defend themselves is a more effective way of fighting this war, yes," Harry said coolly.
The man seemed about to explode. He decided to add his two cents.
"You cannot hope to win a war when the leaders you're following are ineffective."
Harry shot him a look, and he returned it with an innocent expression, to which the other hid a smile.
The murmurs around them were getting louder now, angry. On their behalf. People agreed. He almost smiled himself.
Harry honestly didn't realise how perfect he was sometimes.
"Are you suggesting the ministry of magic is ineffective?" Williamson breathed angrily, looking completely lost with how to deal with this 'mutiny'.
Oh, the ministry were going to be in for a shock…
He and Harry exchanged looks this time, more for effect this time.
"Yes," they both replied promptly.
The man whitened.
Any good mood Harry could have possibly built up over the successes of the day vanished when he walked into the Common Room. Lestrange. He needed a way to deal with Lestrange, now, probably, unless he wanted to look like he was losing face.
And the bastard was sitting in Tom's chair. He almost gaped.
Tom came to a slow halt next to him, as did most the other Slytherin's, who had frozen.
"You have some nerve, Lestrange," Tom said, quietly. Lestrange laughed, hysterically.
"What are you going to do about it, my lord?" the other challenged. "Torture me? There is nothing you can do to punish me more than you have already done."
Harry felt uneasy. Before, Lestrange had always, at least, heeded Tom…was this no longer the case? It was no longer a matter of Harry leading this, they would both have to step in, or crumble in Slytherin hierarchy. Salazar.
"Oh, trust me," Tom smiled, radiating menace, the temperature in the room seeming to drop. "I haven't even started on everything I could do to you."
Harry noticed Lestrange's fingers had started scratching and clawing at his skin again at the words. Tom's eyes flicked to the action, and his smile widened heartlessly.
"That trick? I can assure you, stripping and flaying the skin off your body is child's play."
The yew wand was out, tapping against the Slytherin heir's palm, as he began to circle, predatory. Lestrange swallowed, watching the movement, his pupils dilating. Harry felt a wash of disgust…was that fear or lust? And he'd just had a horrible idea...
"Do what you will, Tom," Lestrange replied, laughing again. "There's nothing you-"
"Torqueo."
The next second, Lestrange was on the floor screaming.
Harry understood immediately, and mentally readied himself. Tom couldn't, and wouldn't, indulge his sensibilities and dislike of torture when his empire was at stake. This was a matter of survival.
It wasn't the cruciatus, the Hogwarts wards would hardly allow it, but he knew this curse to be painful.
Lestrange had tears streaming down his face, about to pass out, by the time the young Dark Lord cut the curse, for brief respite. Harry thought fast.
He didn't condone torture, but some level of torture was…inevitable here. He wasn't going to kid himself about what or who he was dealing with.
He'd also noticed that Tom tended to deal with physical pain, despite his claims about the curse of emotion. Of course, as he'd shown before, Tom did also know how to dish out emotional and mental pain with a brutal effectiveness, but…it was clear he favoured physical torture, for whatever reason.
Maybe because he thought it worked better, or that it was more showy for times like this, and looked more impressive to his audience, and was therefore more effective in that manner for proving the point he was trying to make, the warning.
It was, certainly, awful to witness.
His insides twisted. This was only going to get worse.
The screams seemed to pierce his soul, but, in a way, he took comfort from that. How much longer would he still have a whole conscience? Before Tom could continue, for round two, when Lestrange was already crumpled on the floor, sobbing wretchedly, Harry stepped forwards, resting a hand on the Slytherin Heir's shoulder.
Tom's eyes flashed him a deadly warning look.
"Really, Tom, don't you think that's enough?" he said, in response. Lestrange's eyes shot to him, suspicious, perhaps even fearful. "I mean," he shrugged, bracing himself that he was actually doing this, sickened to the stomach. "It's not his fault he's in love with you."
Blaise Zabini felt a shiver run down his spine at Potter's cruelly kind tone.
"He only wants your attention," Harry continued, "the poor thing, you neglect him so."
He inwardly winced.
Whoever said Harry Potter didn't know how to torture a bloke was fatally wrong; this was harsher than what Riddle had done, and Riddle's punishments were enough to make him cower in terror of provoking them.
Riddle aimed at the body and the mind. Potter was aiming straight at the heart, in public, emotional humiliation.
Scars faded, and in the magical world, most injuries and physical tortures could be cured without lasting damage (when they didn't involve the mind) but this type of embarrassment and shame lasted forever.
He kept his features very carefully composed.
It was no secret that Potter and Lestrange hated each other, and that the latter had this coming for a long time, and deserved it.
Nonetheless, it was eerie to watch, especially as, next to Riddle, it was very easy to dismiss Potter as relatively harmless and certainly more merciful and nice.
In a way, this was merciful, sparing the physical torture and pain. In a way, it was worse.
He supposed that was the point.
Was Lestrange really in love with Riddle? He'd assumed it to be mere sycophantism, lust for power, not actual lust for the young Dark Lord himself. How humiliating.
Riddle shrugged back, adopting an innocent air, and that perhaps chilled him more.
They were fully capable of working as a team, and it said something about Potter's character when in private with Riddle, that he had earned the opportunity to give the other any sort of guidance.
None of the rest of them would have gotten away with stepping into Riddle's way like that.
"I was just trying not to lead the pitiful creature on, actually," Tom replied, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders in turn, tugging the boy closer, looking down at Lestrange, still in a foetal position upon the floor. "Pathetic thing just doesn't get the hint, do you Lestrange? Oh, how desperate can a man be, how low can he sink, to beg torture just for attention, like a common slut."
He didn't know what Potter was thinking at that statement, if Riddle had been saying it to someone else or in some other time or place, he was sure the golden boy would have reared up in the victim's defence, but now his features kept a blank neutrality that revealed nothing of his thoughts, but the mockingly thoughtful way he continued to view Lestrange.
Their prey.
Because, with a horrible clarity, he could see quite evidently that this what it was…two predators circling a fallen prey, toying with it before the fatal blow…and the rest of them…vultures.
Slytherin was a house of vultures.
It was no wonder he'd ended up there.
His mother had made an art of it, had made a vulture a predator, picking her victims out alive, only to claim her prize when they were barely cold between the sheets.
Maybe it was because of that, this familiarity, that he couldn't help but admire the flawlessness of their attack as much as he cringed from it.
"Now, now, be nice," Harry chided. "You'll hurt his feelings. We wouldn't want that. He obviously finds your cruelty…stimulating and then you'd never get him to leech off."
Lestrange muttered something, broken sounding. It sounded like a please.
"Hmmm," Riddle said thoughtfully. "What amazes me is why he thinks he ever had a chance…" the Slytherin Heir crouched then, tapping Lestrange to get him to reveal the expression he was trying to hide. "Lestrange, why is it that you thought you had a chance with me?"
"Stop it, Tom," Lestrange murmured. "Please. I-" He looked around the room, at them all frozen, half fascinated and half horrified by what they were witnessing, but transfixed nonetheless.
No. He never wanted to cross either of them. Riddle looked around himself with an air of surprise.
"What's the matter? I thought you liked my attention…you seemed so eager for your audience before? Publicity not to your taste? I suppose you'd prefer a private room with me, wouldn't you? Come on, lovely, answer my questions, I don't like to keep waiting." There was no response, and Tom tisked. "Do you want me to hurt you again, Lestrange?"
Such a patronising tone, so sweet, so very, very terrible.
Blaise soon decided that he would always rather Tom Riddle showed him obvious anger and rage, then this. Riddle looked over again at Harry, who, he noticed with some relief, was a little pale, even his expression was still fixed.
Personally, though he wasn't sure if anyone else picked up on it for Harry looked so perfectly at ease in posture, he had the suspicion that Harry did not want to be doing this.
But he was proving he could.
Many assumed Potter couldn't play this game, that he was too much the golden boy, too nice.
Blaise realised now that he could, and had always been able to - he just normally refused, held back. He could destroy any of them so easily. He didn't know why that surprised him, the boy was friends, or lovers, or whatever they were, with Riddle, he couldn't possibly be fully nice or innocent.
Riddle would have torn him apart.
He also suspected that the past Slytherins (barring Lestrange in his idiocy) had always known this, because they had never, that he had seen, questioned Harry's right to be at Riddle's side.
They could have ganged together and tried to overthrow him from Riddle's favour, but they didn't. Harry didn't need to keep verbally punching, he'd started this whole thing off, and that was enough to tell them all exactly what he was capable should they push him to it.
It served it's purpose, but it also showed what type of man that Harry was. He didn't unnecessarily hurt people, if he could avoid it.
Maybe that made it all the more frightening when he did finally lash out.
"Harry," Tom said, lightly. "He won't answer me. I think we broke him."
"I'm loyal," Lestrange offered desperately, with a strangled cry.
"Is that why you've been incapable of following any of my orders recently?" Riddle returned, immediately.
"I was loyal until you cast me aside as if I was nothing!."
There was a silence, in which Riddle studied Lestrange. Then his head tilted, his voice growing even more softer, puzzled even.
"But you are nothing. You always have been and you always will be. Love you?" Riddle laughed, an icy sound. "Why would anyone ever want to love you, least of all I!"
And that was when Cygnus Lestrange truly broke.
A/N: Eeek. I don't make a habit of writing 'torture' scenes, so I'm rather nervous. Especially as I know you guys think Lestrange's has had this coming a long time. Nonetheless, the idea makes me uncomfortable, and I suppose, like Harry, I would never condone it. Which makes it very hard to write. I hope it turned out okay...if you can call torture okay...
Thanks for the reviews 3