Disclamer: Nobody is mine, as much as I wish they were...
Our beloved Al and Scorpius, of course. Gorgeous CI done by !PINK @ TDA
I stop at the door and look back at him, biting my lip. “You’re sure about this?”
He nods slowly, and murmurs, “Look, I can’t positively say it’s him, but… I can’t vouch that he’s innocent.” His silver eyes meet mine. “I haven’t seen him for six months. He’s been acting really weird for a while though, after my Grandparents died and Mum got sick.”
I sigh and then open the door to the manor, allowing Scorpius to enter first.
“It’s your house,” I mutter to him. “What exactly are we looking for?”
He bites his lip and then after a moment says, “We can try and get into my Dad’s office, although, I’m not sure how well that’s going to work out.”
I shake my head slightly and then gesture forward, saying, “You first.”
Scorpius sighs slightly and moves ahead of me, quickly making his way through the many halls of his home. I follow behind closely, not wanting to get lost. As we wander through the halls I find myself glancing around nervously, carefully looking up the dark, deserted hallways.
I look nervously at the paintings, feeling like I’m in some bizarre horror movie as their eyes slide after us down the halls, watching us carefully.
I shudder as Scorpius grabs my arm and drags me away from another long, dark hall, towards a room on our left.
He stops in front of the doors, and, glancing up at me, admits, “Dad usually keeps this door locked.”
I shrug. “No harm in trying.”
Taking a deep breath, Scorpius sets his hand on the door and pushes lightly, looking very much like he wants to be somewhere else.
There is a long pause, and a haunting silence fills the room. Then the door swings open.
I glance at Scorpius who bites his lip, staring hesitantly into the room. He swallows slightly.
Realizing that he isn’t going to do anything, I step into the room, latching onto his arm and dragging him behind me.
I leave Scorpius standing in the middle of the room and wander around, digging through piles of papers.
After a moment I glance back at him. His silver eyes flitter around the room and he says to no one in particular, “This is where it happened the first time, you know?”
I stop and turn to look at him, confused. He continues, softly, “I was nine. My parents were in here, I remember my Dad was laughing with my Mum and he kissed her, and then they just held each other. She smiled at him, and he grinned back, and it kind of hit me how much they loved each other. And I thought that when I grew up I wanted someone who loved me like that. I wanted to love someone like that. Then grandfather came. He saw me and pulled me in here. He asked Mum and Dad to leave, Dad looked suspicious but grandfather just said he wanted to talk to me about something. So Dad and Mum left. And grandfather… He was already angry at something else so he put a silencio charm on the room. Nobody heard me scream.” Scorpius glances around again, continuing to himself. I’m not sure if he’s realized that I’m listening to him. “He said it was because I was eavesdropping, and that was impolite.” He shakes his head. “He gave me a scar on my hand. With a Muggle knife. Then he let it healed partially. He laughed later when he saw the scar.”
I feel myself freeze. “Scorpius…” I mutter, and he looks at me. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to understand—”
“You don’t have to,” he interrupts me.
“What?” I ask hesitantly, watching him carefully.
He smiles softly, his silver eyes actually looking amused. “You don’t have to understand. It’s enough to know that you won’t judge me because of it.”
I shake my head and ask him quietly, subdued, “Where do you think we could… Erm… Possibly…. Find something about my Dad?”
Scorpius hesitates but then nods to a bookshelf in the corner, leading the way across the room. He stops, running his hand over the books, and settles on one. He smiles. “It’s my dad’s journal.”
He opens it to the last entry we can find in the journal, and I peer over his shoulder, squinting so I can read the messy handwriting.
Something really strange is happening. I’m not one to normally be paranoid, but my parents are dead, Astoria is dying, and I feel as if someone is… Watching me. Even now, I’m glancing over my shoulder.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel sick and nervous. I haven’t felt this way since sixth year at Hogwarts. I don’t even want to go back to that. I was so afraid he would kill my mother…
But something is wrong right now. I don’t know what it is. Every time I try and forget the feeling it just keeps coming back. I don’t know. Maybe I am being unreasonable, but I don’t feel like it.
I’m worried about Scorpius too. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. He won’t even talk to me. I know he dislikes Hogwarts as well because he doesn’t have anyone to talk too. And with Astoria in St. Mungos…
That’s not the only thing that’s wrong.
Blaise contacted me yesterday. He says he’s talked to Gage. I’m worried now. I don’t trust Gage. And I don’t trust Blaise anymore. Not since he…
I don’t know. My family just seems to be falling apart. It always works this way. Everything is perfect, and then it crumbles to pieces and we barely survive.
Whatever’s going on… It’s not over yet. I feel so lost. And sick. Something awful is going to happen.
I just can’t shake the feeling.
The scariest part is that Blaise said Gage was asking about the Potters. That worries me. I might not like Potter, but I owe him my life.
And Weasley and Granger too. They helped save me.
Ergh… I just don’t know. Something is really bad. Something is going to happen, I promise. I can feel it. Blaise also mentioned—
“Mentioned what?” I hear myself whisper. I glance at Scorpius and ask, my voice getting louder as I panic, “Mentioned what?”
“I don’t know,” he gasps back, flipping the page, but stops. “There’s nothing on it. He stopped writing maybe?”
“Why didn’t he finish it though?”
“I. Don’t. Know,” Scorpius says in frustration. Then he groans, staring helplessly at the book. “Oh, dad,” he asks sadly, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Who’s Gage?” I ask, glancing at the paper again.
Scorpius looks back down as I do to.
He says he’s talked to Gage… I don’t trust Gage…The scariest part is that Blaise said Gage was talking about the Potters…
Scorpius bites his lip. “He sounds important, you know? Like he at least knows something.”
I nod, taking the journal from his hands, as he begins to pace around the room, and I flip through it quickly. I stop on one page however, staring.
“What is it?” Scorpius asks.
Speechless, my voice choking in my throat, I flip the book around and point to the sentences that are written on the page.
I should’ve known. Of course Gage killed them. And now Gage has Potter. I just feel sorry for Potter’s family.
I look up at Scorpius, paling. He stares back at me, wide eyed.
Gage—whoever he is—knows where my dad is.
And he’s going to kill him.
A prisoner’s POV
“What do you want with me?” I ask hoarsely, my voice sounding rusty and unused. I can only see his eyes. Their
eyes. There’s more than one of them. I can’t see them in the flickering darkness, but their eyes watch me. Like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey. They follow me silently, leaving a haunting chill over the room.
I think I can count three people. They’re watching me. None of them have spoken yet, but I’m sure one will soon.
I don’t recognize the voice of the first man who speaks. “I think you know what we want.” His voice reminds me of nails on a chalkboard, grating, deep, eerie. I wince slightly.
“No, I don’t,” I say pleadingly, shivering in my tattered clothes. I shake as another cold breeze enters the room, my teeth chattering. I’m glad it’s cold. This way they can’t tell that I’m trembling.
“We’ll have to go after your family and friends then.”
“What are you going to do to them?” I beg, feeling tears come to my eyes. I can’t cry. Not in front of him. That’s what he wants. I struggle slightly against the ropes, breathing faster, trying not to panic.
No. I… I won’t let them hurt them.
That’s when it occurs to me that I can’t do anything. I’m still here—in this haunting prison, my mind filled with tears, death, and screams.
I am alone.
“Whatever it takes to break you,”* he informs me, his tone condescending.
“Please,” I gasp, looking up at them. “I’ll tell you anything, just don’t hurt them. Please. Please.”
I can almost hear him sneer. “Stop begging, filth.”
I flinch as I feel the ominous presence move closer. Swallowing slightly, I try to lean back in my chair, only to find it’s impossible. I shudder again, and ask quietly, “What do you want to know?”
“Someone’s after us,” another voice pipes up. This one sounds familiar, as if I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it. His voice is lighter, easier to listen to. I glance around as he continues, “Do you know who? Why?”
I shake my head slowly, glancing up at them. Someone growls slightly. I look out the window, taking a deep breath.
They won’t do anything. Not yet. I haven’t told them what they want to know.
“Oh, really?” The voice is becoming a hiss, as if the person is transforming into a snake. “You’re sure?”
A low guttural sound comes from behind me, causing me to freeze, only to find someone poking their wand into my neck.
They won’t kill me. They can’t. I have to make it home. For my wife. For my children.
Every moment with them is slowly disappearing. I can still feel the presence of the dementor near. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the tension building up in the room, the menacing feel they’re giving off.
“I’m positive,” I whisper, turning slightly, as much as I can, to look at the man. My voice catches in my throat. I can’t cry.
I won’t cry.
I’m stronger than this. Or, at least I thought I was.
I begin to tremble again as the other person pushes his wand into my neck harder. There’s another person behind me. Somewhere.
I can feel his eyes on my back, following my every movement. I take a deep breath, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“Hmm…” There is a long pause, and I swallow, my hands wiggling slightly against the ropes that are tying me to the chair. I tilt my head back against the chair, thinking to myself, Merlin, please let him believe me. Don’t let them go after my family.
I try to recall a happy memory, something to help me get through this interrogation.
Nothing comes to mind.
All I can see is death. And blood. Tears. And more death. I will die soon enough, I know. If I don’t give them what they want, they’ll kill me. Possibly today.
“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” his voice is growl, a hiss, reminding me of another voice, and a memory flashes through my mind.
“Yes, I dare.”**
I pull myself out of the memory as he takes a step closer to me, I try to lean back, but that’s impossible in the chair. “You’re a filthy liar. You don’t really care about your family, do you?”
I stare back at him blankly, determined not to answer, but I can feel a breathless sob rise in my throat.
What if he’s right? I care, but what if they think I left them? What if they think I don’t care? No. I can’t think about that.
I close my eyes tightly.
“I don’t know anything,” I say harshly. “I’ve been locked up in here. I only know that I was looking for you.”
“Yes,” he laughs, jeeringly. “Well, you found us, didn’t you?”
The person next to me slowly shifts restlessly. He seems confused, lost. Which doesn’t make sense to me.
Shaking my head, I look back to the other man. “I suppose I did,” I say, glancing down at the floor.
He sneers, watching me closely.
“Oh, has the filth got nothing else to say?” he asks disturbingly, his voice has gone deeper, and I can tell he’s mocking me.
I swallow. “I have nothing else to say to you. I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
“Oh, but I have a feeling you can,” he muses, chuckling slightly to himself. I glance nervously at the man to my right as his wand presses further into my neck, leaving my skin stinging, drawing slight blood that drips its way down my neck and onto my tattered clothes, slowly reaching my hand, where it drips off my fingers and onto the floor, making a slight pattering noise.
I shudder, closing my eyes to try and calm myself. I have to keep them from going after my family.
I have to.
“Very well,” the voice agrees, an obviously fake tone of cheerfulness filling his voice. “It appears we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
I stare back at him, swallowing my fear, trying to find any courage I have left. There must be something. Where’s all that bloody bravery and courage when I need it?
His voice drops an octave, becoming a deep growl, a snarl. “Do it.”
Then another voice, one right next to my ear, that sounds immensely familiar but I don’t have time to identify because he murmurs, “Crucio.”
I scream as the jet hits me, causing me to fall back weakly, helplessly, against the chair as a wave of pain that feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before comes over me. I grit my teeth to keep another sound from escaping, but can’t stop the tears that come to my eyes. My body begins to convulse, as if it suddenly has a mind of its own. My hands scrabble against my bonds, trying to claw my way out of the ropes. I can barely breathe. I gasp, trying hard to make myself take in another breath. A red haze of pain has settled over everything and I can barely see straight. I feel as if I’m being struck a thousand times, poked with a thousand needles. I feel as if I’m dying slowly, like I’m suddenly bleeding to death after being shot by a bullet. I begin to cry breathlessly, unable to stop myself. I’m dying, oh, Merlin, I must be dying.
I can’t live through this.
And then it’s gone. The pain suddenly flees, and I’m left gasping, sweating, leaning back on the chair for support.
“Again,” the voice hisses.
I hear that muttered word again, and my mind it swept away by the pain. I’m lost in it as the spell runs its course. I begin to shake like I’m suddenly possessed. I can’t stop. I can’t. My breaths rip through my lungs and all I can feel is pain, pain, pain. I can’t control my own body anymore—it’s as if someone has taken over and is just telling me to scream and shake. It’s all I can do. I can’t think, I can barely breathe. Oh, god, oh Merlin, I’m going to die. I can’t…
I begin to cough, blood dripping out of my mouth. I shake harder, my hands clawing at anything in reach, my legs clenching against the chair to ensure that I don’t fall. The only thing I can hear is myself panting, the only thing I can feel is pain, as if someone has decided to stab me with knives and leave me lying there. My legs begin to twitch in an odd motion, leaving me crying as I try to make them stop. They don’t do anything. They keep twitching, and I realize that I really am no longer in control of my body. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. I writhe in pain, the only thing keeping me upright is the ropes that are tying me to the chair. I can hear laughter. Sick, twisted laughter. They’re laughing at me. I feel myself begin to cry and shudder again, and I can’t make myself stop. My vision is a blur by now, everything is wobbling as I shake. I let out a pathetic whimper, my hands twisting behind me to try and do something
. To try and make the pain go away, as if attempting to claw at my chest or something just as useless would actually help. I’m breathless again, and I can feel my heart racing, my stomach clenching. Oh, Merlin, please tell me I’m not going to vomit.
I start to thrash about, feeling like I’m barely able to move or something will crush me even though I somehow seem to be still flinging myself everywhere. I can’t live through this any longer. I feel paralyzed, but I’m still screaming and crying, writhing about, and that red haze is everywhere, and all I can feel is agony. My thrashing has made the ropes bite into my skin, causing thick, warm blood to drip down my hands and pool onto the floor behind me. I thrash again, causing my head to hit the back of the chair, and I can feel blood on the back of my scalp.
Then everything goes black.
A captor’s POV
I can hear the screams. I want to stop. I have to stop. No
, a voice in my head whispers, don’t move. Keep casting the spell.
I obey, shuddering, as one part of me keeps my wand in place, pointed at him while the other part tries to move my arm.
Another scream pierces my ears as I wince, and the other two laugh out loud to themselves at the person’s pain, their laughs malicious and content at the same time, both oblivious to the horror I’m feeling.
Why am I doing this?
I can’t stop. Don’t stop
, the voice commands again, and I know that they’re laughing at me as well as him.
We’re both subjects to their sick, twisted sense of humor. They find the other’s pain and my vulnerability funny. We’re tools they can use us however they want. I close my eyes, gritting my teeth.
They’ve been playing me. A growl escapes my teeth, but I am still unable to force my arm away. I can’t stop. I want to vomit.
I can’t stop. And it’s not the sick pleasure of hurting someone this time. I am physically incapable of stopping.
Don’t make me do this
, I beg the voice, tears prickling my eyes. Please, don’t make me hurt him anymore. I can’t do it.
The voice laughs. You’re not trustworthy, but we need you. You’re key to this plan, and you won’t be able to escape anymore
I take in a shuddering breath, trying to stop my trembling as the person whimpers quietly, his hauntingly clear eyes meeting mine, his so full of pain as he shakes harder, like a leaf falling in an autumn breeze.
I want to help him. I want to save him. But I can’t. I can’t stop.
My wand hand wavers, and the voice barks, Don’t stop. Don’t.
I shudder, but I am unable to stop the spell. I am unable to stop him. He flows through me now, he has complete control.
I shudder as a flash of pain comes through me that I know is all his doing. But I can’t break our connection. Only he can, and I know he never will.
They’re still laughing cruelly as they watch his convulsing body, as they watch blood drip slowly down his hands. They’re still laughing as his head tilts to the side oddly, as if he can’t control himself anymore. They laugh as his legs contort into odd shapes before going back to normal. They laugh his hands scrabble and claw against his ropes. They laugh as he panics. They laugh as he begins to cry again, they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
I can’t get the sound out of my head. Like the kind of noise you hear, that ominous sound right before something bad happens, like a feeling of surprise and dismay you can’t shake.
It’s lodged in my memory, and I am unable to shake the feeling of horror that seeps through me, that settles into my bones. What are they planning on doing next?
They can’t kill him. Not yet.
They still need him. They can’t make me kill him.
I fight as hard as I possibly can against him, but I am unable to stop myself. The voice is in control.
The voice has taken over.
And there’s nothing I can do.
I watch as his eyes meet mine. He thrashes again, and then hits his head, passing out in the chair. I swallow, and am finally allowed to drop my arm. I look fearfully up at the other two, unable to do anything else. I can almost feel their smirks as they look at the mess in front of them. The one man passed out on the chair, barely able to breathe, blood dripping from his hands and head. The other man—me—standing beside him, practically groveling, as I look up at them with tears in my eyes, silently begging them to release me.
, the voice growls and I look away, closing my eyes as I move to stare at the ground. There are no windows in this room, and the bare light that filters through the light bulb on the ceiling that they’ve just turned on isn’t enough. I can’t quite see them. They’re dark outlines are a short distance away.
The light bulb flickers, causing me to glance up, and then at them. Suddenly, I am in darkness, as the light bulb burns out completely, leaving me frozen in the middle of the room.
I hear footsteps, and suddenly, I know what’s going to happen.
They lock the door behind them as they exit, leaving me alone with him, as I hear the voice command, stay where you are.
I find myself unable to move and my hands clench into fists, still trying to fight against it. But there’s no use. I know there’s nothing I can do, and the harder I fight the worse it will end up for me.
But I have to fight. I can’t watch as I do horrible things, unable to stop myself. I’m hopeless. Useless. Pathetic.
You can move. Don’t leave the room.
Letting out a slight groan I drop to the floor, leaning my head against the wall, exhaustion and sorrow sweeping through me. I’m destroying my life. All because I’m too weak to fix this.
I’m too weak to fight back. I shudder softly and begin to cry quietly, trying to calm myself down at the same time.
The person in the chair moves slightly and groans, his eyes fluttering open. He glances around, trying to move. All that happens is his legs shift feebly, almost as if they’re flopping about. He whimpers again, rubbing his eyes on his shoulders on what’s left of his tattered shirt as he blinks drowsily.
I sigh. I’m too weak to save him. I’m too weak to do anything. I can’t fight back. I’ve never been able too.
It’s like a curse.
I can’t fight them. I won’t ever be able to. I sigh tiredly, knowing that I’m going to be here for a long time.
A/N: Chapter eleven. Hope it wasn’t too creepy. Or freaky. The prisoner’s POV was my main worry in this one.
So, this chapter was written for Shoot for the Stars 1999's Hunger Games Trilogy Quotes Challenge, as I mentioned in the chapter summary, and the first starred quote is on page 151 of Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins, and the second starred quote is on page 742 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows which is (of course) by J.K. Rowling.
Anyways, chapter twelve consists of little bits of Lily and Ginny. There’s also James and his surprise. Then Louis, Hugo, and Rose show up, and of course, Al and Scorpius. Oh, and some screaming.
Here’s the preview:
He pauses and looks at the bookshelf, suddenly he pauses. “Take the books off.”
“Why?” I ask, glancing at him as he starts to pick books off the shelves. He turns and raises and eyebrow at me.
“Haven’t you ever seen one of those scary movies where…” he trails off and then asks, “Seriously? I watch muggle movies and you don’t? What is the world coming to? I must be messing with the Malfoy name.”
I shake my head and join him in taking books off the shelf. “What is the point of this?” I demand, looking to him.
Scorpius pauses to watch me and then glances back to the shelf where one last book is sitting. He watches for a moment and then says, “I could be wrong, but…”
I’ll try to get the chapter up as soon as possible. Reviews make my day. *hint, hint* :) Thank you all for reading.