Safe and Sound

“Conjunctivo!” I bellowed, wand pointed at the woman in the chair in front of me. She screamed out in pain, her shrieks bouncing around the granite walls as her eyes underwent unbearable pain, the conjunctivitis curse doing its work. I held the curse for a few moments, letting her scream, her hands secured and unable to claw at her eyes. Though many saw that as a precaution, I had done it as a favor, to keep her from clawing out her eyes.

Behind me, I heard a brief sound of approval from Dolores Umbridge, a short, portly woman who dressed in the god-awful color of pink. She had heard of my unique extraction methods that were usually quite successful. My mind had a disturbing knack for thinking of ways to harm people that most did not consider. Simple charms like the one I was currently inflicting were the perfect examples.

Releasing the curse, the woman’s screams cut off, leaving her breathless and whimpering in the chair. She looked deflated, her breath harsh and thin from screaming so much. Her muscles must have been paining her, from the amount of tensing and straining against her holds that they were undergoing.

I watch, my face set in stone as I stepped aside, Umbridge continuing her questioning. Though I could feel the bile stirring in my stomach at the crimes coming from my hand, I remained impartial, as I always had. The woman in front of me was a sacrifice, one of many I had to make to keep my cover.

That had always been the difference, between my brother and I. Harry never made sacrifices of people, no matter if they were strangers or friends. He could not and would not accept leaving someone behind, or letting them suffer just so that he could reach his goal. I on the other hand, could not afford that.

When the woman, who had no energy in her to answer, ignored Umbridge’s questions, she turned to me. “Potter, continue.”

I fought the urge to grind my teeth together in hate. I entirely loathed everything about Dolores Umbridge, and there were many times throughout that day that I had wanted to turn the curses on her, to watch her scream through her throat until it bled, until she couldn’t scream any more. I wanted to watch her suffer.

Instead, I stepped forward, hearing the woman cry, her eyes looking at me with absolute terror. Deep down, the girl that was once me sighed in delight at that terror. The look in her eyes had given me power once, and though I fed off of fear no more, I knew that fear held a power over people that was strong, stronger than most things.

Walking up to the woman, who flinched wildly like an animal when I came up, I loosened her bonds slightly, but not enough that she could get out of them. They were enough to give her wiggling room, to which Umbridge demanding, “What do you think you are doing?”

“Quiet, Dolores,” Yaxley snapped, knowing very well that I did not do things without reason. “The girl knows what she’s doing.”

With the woman’s bonds loose, I pointed to each one of the ropes, casting a flagrante curse on each of the bonds, making the woman freeze. Trembling, she tried not to touch any of the bonds that were loosened around her arms and legs, knowing that the moment her skin touched the ropes she would be burned.

Stepping back, I watched as realization flickered in the woman’s eyes. She began shaking her head over and over again, saying rapidly, “I swear I got my wand from Ollivanders! It was given to me, like everyone else! I swear I did not steal it!”

The woman was taking extra care not to touch her bonds for fear of the incinerating burn upon contact from the curse. But I raised my wand, point it at her chest, knowing exactly what to use to get her to strain against them, to make the cursed ropes touch and burn her naked flesh.

“Crucio.”

My ears were met with a horrid scream, only increase in volume and frequency as the woman strained against the ropes. The smell of burning flesh hit my nose as she tossed in the chair from the torture curse, in turn harming herself with the burning ropes.

My eyes watched as the ropes burned into her skin, turning them red and then drawing blood as she cried out in incoherent pleading. Her wrists and ankles were slowly burning away, the flesh rotting and raw. Deciding I didn’t want her to pass out from pain, I removed the curse and approached her, healing each wound with a quick, “Episkey.”

“Why are you healing her?” Dolores demanded, her meaty hands slamming on the table.

I whirled around, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “You asked for a professional, did you not, Dolores?” I snapped, causing her to blink in fear. Good, she was scared of me. “Unless you want her to bleed to fucking death or pass out like a bloody sack of flour, I suggest you let me heal the wounds in order to inflict them again.” She did not reply, but set her face in a glare as she sat back down pointedly. “Continue your questions.”

The woman continued to scream that she had not stolen the wand. I shook my head at her, not understanding her stupidity. If she would just lie and say that she stole the wand, she would be released from torture. The pure stupidity of the need to be honest was getting her in more trouble.

Perhaps she was too distracted by the pain to think coherently, but the woman still denied stealing it. I opened my mouth to tell her to stop lying so that I could stop torturing her, that her screaming was annoying me when Umbridge once again commanded me to do something worse.

My head turned to the side and I demanded Yaxly to get me a thick, but not impossibly thick cloth. He disappeared for a moment, returning with the requested fabric in his hands. I tested it in my hands, nodding my head.

Next I held my wand to the cloth, wetting it entirely until it was thick with water. “Tilt her chair back,” I demanded him. He scurried around the back, tilting the chair back of the crying woman. To the other death eater in the room I said, “Drape this over her face and hold it very tight across her face.”

He stepped forward quickly and I watched as he did so. Looking at the woman who was already struggling to breathe under the fabric, I hoped this was enough to lie and say she stole a bloody wand. If pain wouldn’t get her to try anything to get out, panic and uncomfortably would.

“Hold it tight,” I ordered the boy again as I stood high over the leaned chair, pointing my wand directly at her face, the tip only a few inches above her covered face. “Aguamenti.”

The water poured from the tip of my wand heavily onto the cloth, the woman instantly choking and sputtering in the chair, the sensation of drowning overwhelming her sense. It was a muggle torture tactic called water boarding, giving the victim the sense that they were drowning, unable to breath as water filled their senses and the cloth prevented air intake.

After a few seconds I called off the charm and ordered the cloth to be removed, knowing that it didn’t take long for the affect to take place. Cloth removed, the woman vomited water, expelling it everywhere as she had a choking fit, gasping for the air that she was cut off from.

“I stole it!” she hollered shrilly at last. “I stole the wand long ago! Please stop, I stole it!”

Turning to Umbridge, I saw her shocked expression, her eyes turning to me. I did not smile, nor did I gloat. Forcing someone to confess to something they didn’t do through torture was no feat to me, though she seemed like she approved.

“They were right,” Umbridge said happily as they dragged the woman away. “You have a dark talent, Reagan Potter.”