Chapter 6: Tergeo

The man who sat huddled in the corner of the room raised his head to look at the new occupant of his cell. The figure reminded Harry more of a ghost than a living, breathing human. The man's skin was deathly pale, the only color coming from the cuts and bruises that marred his flesh. Once gentle brown eyes were now molted with a grotesque crisscross of broken blood vessels. His hair lay plastered to his skull with blood and sweat. The man looked, by all accounts, to be on the verge of death and Harry hadn't even begun.

Harry tilted his head slightly as he took in the sight before him. There was nothing new about the situation, apart from the speed at which Voldemort had chosen to end the man's suffering. Usually, a prisoner would remain in the cell for weeks or even months before Harry was called in to practice his dark magic on them. There was clearly something about this Frank Longbottom that had compelled his father to dispose of the man as quickly as possible. Harry couldn't help but wonder what it was.

"Who is he exactly?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the haunting gaze of his victim to look toward his father. The Dark Lord sat regally on the stone seat in the center of the room, calmly watching the two.

"No one but a pure-blood traitor. A man who chose to fall in league with mudbloods and the likes of Albus Dumbledore rather than seek to maintain the purity of the magical community."

As his father spoke, Harry couldn't help but glance back at the man in the corner. The mention of Dumbledore had spiked his interest considerably. His victim suddenly looked more interesting than he had a moment before. Harry had heard rumors of this powerful wizard but knew little about the man since his father refused to speak on the subject. All he knew was that this Dumbledore was manipulative and cunning and had betrayed Voldemort somehow many years ago. Part of Harry wished he could've had a moment to speak with the man on the floor and learn more about the mighty wizard, but he knew his father would've had none of it. Personally, the young wizard couldn't help but feel that this was, in a way, setting him up for failure. He knew he would, one day soon, have to face Albus Dumbledore in an actual battle. With how little he knew about the man, he was already at a distinct disadvantage.

But if there was one thing that Harry had gotten used to over the years, it was that his father kept many secrets from people…even from him. The sooner he learned to accept that fact and move on, the better things would turn out for him.

In the corner, Frank had now managed to move his body so he sat slumped against the stone wall, looking directly at Harry. The man's gaze slowly moved up the teen's body until it landed on the boy's face. Some emotion suddenly flashed across Frank's face and he raised a shaky hand to point at Harry, who watched silently.

"Y-y-you're too y-y-young t-to be h-h-ere," Frank managed to get out, "Y-y-you sh-should save your-self wh-while y-y-you st-still can-n. Get out of here!"

Somehow the man managed to cry out the last sentence before he doubled over in a fit of coughing. Behind him, the young wizard heard his father chuckle.

"Oh Longbottom, I'm afraid he can't do that," Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he suddenly felt the cold, bony finger of the dark lord settle on the back of his neck, "You see he is here on my request…to kill you. Do you hear that, Frank, this child is going to kill you."

There was something about the way the fingers dug into Harry's skin and the mocking way in which the Dark Lord spoke that made the teen increasingly uncomfortable. His father knew this man somehow and somewhere along the line, Frank had done something to anger the temperamental wizard. Unlike the other killings Harry had participated in, he was getting a strong feeling that this one was very personal. That would also explain why Voldemort had chosen to have Harry use the draught of darkness instead of a much faster and less painful way of dealing out death.

Already, Harry could feel his heart rate increase at the thought of using dark magic. He quickly tried to push the feeling as far back into his mind as he could. This was not the time for such thoughts. He needed to focus on his job.

Remember, he chided himself, you are to feel no emotions. Nothing.

But despite his best efforts, Voldemort seemed to have sensed something because he turned toward his son with a glint in his eyes.

"You feel it too, don't you, Harry? You feel it calling out to you…the power…the dark magic."

The teen schooled his face to remain emotionless, even as his scar throbbed slightly at his father's giddiness. He clenched his hands tightly, fighting the urge to let loose some of the magic that was building up in his body. In a last-ditch effort to calm himself down, Harry found himself concentrating on the horrified face of Frank Longbottom. The man was looking at both of them with such a look of fear and disgust that Harry couldn't help but smirk slightly. If only the man knew just what he was capable and willing to do.

Next to him, Voldemort withdrew one of the small bottles of the Draught of Darkness that Harry had brewed that afternoon. His left hand gripped uncomfortably tightly at Harry's neck as he held the flask out toward the young wizard.

"Are you ready?" the Dark Lord breathed excitedly, "Are you ready to see firsthand what a dark potion can do to the body? Are you ready to watch it rip him apart?"

Harry had, in fact, done a lot of reading about this particular draught and its properties. He knew the power the potion contained and the pain it could cause its victims once administered. But Harry had to admit that wasn't sure if he was ready to watch the man get torn apart right in front of him. He had never expected his attempt at the potion to actually work, so this scenario had never crossed his mind as a possible outcome for the day.

Harry shook his head, snapping himself out of his troubled thoughts. This was just his job. Surely he had seen much worse being done to people than whatever this potion would be able to bring about.

He quickly wiped his sweaty hands on his cloak before he reached for the small bottle that Voldemort held out for him. The glass felt warm to the touch, the navy liquid shimmering slightly inside as it sloshed around.

"You know what to do," Harry felt his father's presence vanish from his side as the man retreated back to his seat to watch the execution take place, "Make me proud."

Harry didn't react to the Parseltongue, but Frank certainly did. The man let out a soft yelp at the foreign hissing sound and covered his ears. Standing in front of him, Harry couldn't help but sneer at his victim's reaction. He relished the horrified responses that Parseltongue brought out of others, particularly Death Eaters.

"Well, what are you waiting for, boy?"

His father was clearly impatient for the man to be dealt with as quickly as possible. Harry muttered some kind of brief apology to his father before he straightened his posture and walked steadily toward the poor wizard. The man had released his ears and now shrank back as the boy strode across the short distance between them. Harry's grip on the bottle tightened as he knelt down in front of Frank, his bright green eyes darkening slightly.

"P-p-please don't do-o-o this," the man stuttered out, his eyes scanning frantically around the room behind Harry for any form of escape, "I-I have a-a-a famil-ly. A-a son-n. He's-s your-r ag-ge. P-p-please! H-have m-mercy!"

Frank's bare and bloodied chest was heaving under the weight of the stress and emotion that was now flooding his body. The cries and pleas were nothing new to Harry, but he did wish for his wand at that moment. At least so he wouldn't have to interact so closely with the victim. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible before the smell and sight of blood became too much for his stomach.

"Silence," Harry hissed as he grabbed the man roughly by the hair, pulling Frank's head back until it hit the wall with a hollow thud, "The less you resist, the easier this will be for you. You chose your side in this war and now it's time for you to face the consequences. You brought this upon yourself."

To Harry's surprise, Frank's struggling instantly ceased and the man went limp in his grasp, chest heaving, mouth wide open, pulling in deep breaths. Seeing his chance, Harry flicked off the stopper of the bottle and in one smooth motion emptied the entire thing down Frank's throat.

Peter Pettigrew's day had started out relatively normal. He had been helping Hagrid take care of the Whomping Willow. His task had been to distract the temperamental tree with swarms of sparrows while Hagrid cleaned up the broken branches, rotting leaves, and unfortunate dead animals from under its swirling boughs. This was a task that Hagrid insisted had to be done at least once per season in order to maintain the well-groomed look of the Hogwarts grounds. Peter, on the other hand, would have preferred to be inside the castle enjoying a nice hot cup of tea instead of battling with an angry tree. The weather in February was far too cold for anyone to be working outside, in his opinion.

Both groundskeepers had finished with the job just after midday, after which they had both retired to the kitchens for a hot meal. All this, save from the frostbite on the tip of his nose, was to be expected. In all truth, he felt extremely lucky to even have the job. He knew that Dumbledore had only hired him out of pity when he'd been fired from his job at the ministry library. Hogwarts had no need of two groundskeepers…but here they were.

It was later in the evening that things had started to change.

Peter had been walking listlessly up and down the corridors of the castle, checking for misbehaving students, when he had heard some of the portraits talking. Dumbledore had received a visitor from the ministry. An auror, one particular portrait was saying.

And this had worried Peter considerably. So much so that he had decided he needed to visit an old friend to discuss.

It wasn't that someone turning up from the ministry was anything new. On the contrary, it seemed to happen all the time. Instead, it was the fact that it had been several hours and Dumbledore had not called an order meeting. Usually when an auror appeared at Hogwarts, it was to tell the old wizard something important…something that usually pertained to the entire order…and to Peter

But, to his knowledge, Dumbledore had not done anything of the sort. Part of him wondered if he should floo-call Lily to see if she'd heard any news. After all, the witch had said that he could call at any time should he need something. Besides, it was his job to collect news of the coming and goings of Dumbledore and the order, was it not?

Maybe they are on to me, Peter thought frantically as he headed deeper into the castle, Maybe they know what I did.

Peter shook his head vigorously to dislodge the all too familiar thought. No, they did not know what he had done. The incident had been over for almost fifteen years. There was nothing that would lead the Potters or anyone else to suspect anything. Not now, at least. For all they knew Peter was just another victim of the dark lord's war to purify the magical world. Just another wizard who had been attacked by death eaters and lived to tell the tale.

At least that was what he had led them to believe.

In truth, that Halloween night fourteen and some odd months ago would haunt him for the rest of his life. He hadn't meant to do what he did, but he'd had no other choice. He had been blackmailed and coerced into showing Lucius the location of the Potter's home. And what had happened next…well no one, not even the dark lord himself had expected. No one could have predicted that Harry's, a baby's, magic would react in such a violent way.

One of his biggest disappointments from that night was that the boy's magic hadn't been strong enough to kill. It had, instead, only ended up knocking him unconscious. It was the least he deserved after what he had done.

I tried to kill him, for Merlin's sake. I tried to kill Lily and James's son. A child…a baby.

Only he'd messed it all up. Now, instead of being set free, he would forever be in service to the dark lord. He would forever be a Death Eater; the Dark Mark hidden under a glamour on his right arm stood testament to that. He hadn't even been permitted to talk to Lucius after that night to understand how Harry had died in the end. He only wanted to know how Lucius had managed to kill the small child after his own attempt had failed so miserably.

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Don't think about that right now.

Peter slowed his pace as he neared the familiar door that led to the potion master's chambers. The small man came to a stop in front of the old wooden door and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of as many thoughts and emotions as he could. He had experienced Snape's legiliency skills on more than one occasion and didn't feel like going through it again tonight.

Peter reached out to knock, his hand shaking and sweaty. But before his hand could even make contact with anything, the door was flung open violently, causing Peter to stumble forward. He quickly righted himself and looked up to see the pale face of Severus Snape standing in front of him. He'd expected a snide comment from the man about his ungraceful entrance, but instead, the man just stared at him, a sorrowful look in his black eyes.

"Wh-what is it?" Peter felt his blood instantly start to run cold. Something bad had happened. But to whom? To which side?

"Frank Longbottom's just been killed by the Dark Lord."

As soon as the last of the liquid left the glass bottle, Harry jerked his hands away as if burned. He quickly leapt to his feet and backed away unsure of what would happen next. His gaze was fixed firmly on the poor man he had just condemned to die; he barely noticed as his father rose quickly from his seat to get a better view.

In the corner, Frank Longbottom still sat slumped against the stone wall. His eyes were tightly closed now as he spluttered and coughed on the toxic liquid. A small trickle of the draught slowly made its way through the stubble of beard that covered the man's chin. The wizard's face was pulled up into a grimace as though preparing himself for the pain he was sure was about to hit…

But nothing happened.

In Harry's potions book it had clearly stated that a victim would begin to convulse and cry out in extreme pain after only a few seconds of the potion being administered. But Frank was doing neither of those things.

Harry looked down in bewilderment at the empty bottle he now held. He knew Frank had somehow managed not to swallow some of the potion, but even a drop was enough to do considerable damage. Not to mention that any liquid that got onto the skin would begin to burn and smoke. There was no way that Frank would've been able to hide the amount of pain that he should have been feeling.

Something had gone wrong.

"Why isn't anything happening?"

Voldemort's voice sounded from directly next to Harry startling the boy from his confused thoughts.

"I-I don't know."

Harry felt his scar sear with sudden pain as his father's temper flared to life. He didn't resist as he felt the Dark Lord grab him roughly by the arm and spin him around.

"I will only repeat myself one more time," the black eyes flashed dangerously as Harry felt his scar throb painfully, "What did you do to my potion?"

Harry's eyes were now watering from the immense pain radiating from his forehead, but he managed to hold his father's gaze.

"I honestly don't know. I don't know why it didn't work. I really don't know," Voldemort's long fingernails were now digging harshly into Harry's upper arm, "Is it possible that this Dumbledore did something to make his followers immune?"

Harry knew this was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left his lips. He felt more than saw his father's anger rise at the mention of Dumbledore.

"You idiot," the Dark Lord spat at Harry, "There is no way to get immunity against a draught. Especially not one so potent. The potion…my potion, is not the issue. The issue is that you did something to it in order to humiliate me." The man pushed Harry away from him, reaching into his long robes for his wand.

The force behind the shove and the pain radiating from his scar proved to be too much for Harry. With a gasp of alarm, Harry stumbled backward before falling onto his back on the cold floor. He dared to look up and internally groaned at the sight. For the second time in a week, he found himself sprawled out on the floor his father's wand pointed directly at his chest.

In the corner of the room, Frank Longbottom could do nothing but watch with wide eyes as Voldemort stood menacingly over the teenager.