The Werewolf Factor

"The Werewolf Factor"

Part I- "The Preparation"

Ginny:

We were together in it, no matter what you might hear. We didn't like what was being done to us, but whatever horrible things happened during our captivity, we stuck together through it all. By the end of it, when the whole nightmare was over, most of us were closer than family. Good thing for me- I was in dire need of one, being I had none then...

Everyone seemed to be going mad at the beginning. I can clearly remember Padma Patil sitting in her corner, crying for hours on end and ignoring her sister's feeble attempts at comfort. Even though most acted annoyed by it (we weren't as close then, having just been thrown together in an underground room), they all felt the same way. The strain hurt me, too. I found myself thinking of things long gone: my brothers, my parents, life at Hogwarts. To past the long, hopeless hours, I began creating mental drafts of rescue letters I would send if I could, knowing very well that chance would never come. Besides, how could we have possibly described all that had happened to us when those tortuous weeks were over? That would be an interesting message: "We are Hogwarts students captured by a Dark Lord that everyone still doubted to be alive and we're being transformed into hellish monsters to terrorize Wizard-kind. Please send help."

Yes, the terrifying ordeals we all went through were a way of uniting us, us held prisoner in the basement dungeon of the Malfoy Manor.

Lavender:

I overheard the two Death Eaters standing guard at the single door of our room, talking of their latest orders. Tomorrow the captives, meaning us, were to be "weeded out" in the main underground hall. I shuddered to think what the code words "weeded out" could mean, but my heart leaped at the thought of being unchained and allowed to walk freely. After two weeks of less than six square feet of personal space, even the absence of those heavy chains and locks would feel heavenly. Not only that, but that bit of freedom might have been a chance for escape. The others would think I was crazy for even suggesting an escape attempt so soon, but I was bursting for a bit of fresh air, even to move around at will. Looking back, and knowing what would happen, I realized how stupid my fleeting idea really was.

It was painful to think of Hogwarts when we were surrounded by that misery. For some reason, only sixth and fifth years were taken when the school was invaded, probably because we were so easy to subdue, yet our bodies were still strong enough for their purpose. There were about fifty of us, divided into five different dungeons for fear of rebellion. Many who were there I knew, but most were only faces in the crowd back then. The Death Eaters killed every muggle-born in the school, and most of the half bloods. Only a few half bloods survived, and they were all with us, waiting for our verdicts. Some of the totally pure-bloods were also killed, either because of long-ended family disputes with the Dark Side or just for the sport of killing. Bodies were probably piled up by the hundreds; I didn't see. We were hustled away by portkey or Apparation straight to Malfoy's Manor. I'm sure the bonfire could be seen for miles...

From our arrival we were separated into dungeons (by some order of House and year unbeknowst to us). I share the room with Gryffindors Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, and Ginny Weasly, a fifth year. From Ravenclaw are Terry Boot and Padma Patil, Parvati's twin sister, and the Hufflepuffs are Justin Flinch-Flenny and Hannah Abbot. Besides that are two wide-eyed fifth years whom I've never laid eyes on before. Needless to say, there are no kidnapped Slytherins. Those who didn't leave to study at Durmstrag are waiting upstairs for their turn at guard duty. The Slytherins who refused to join the Dark Side were slaughtered and burned along with their classmates, many brought down by their own fathers. The relentless regime of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has no understanding of family. The "weeding out" is now a point on the horizon to break the monotony of the days.

Romulus:

Fate is a strange thing. It can reward, it can change- it can even demolish a person and allow his neighbor to walk unscathed. Perhaps it was a twist if fate by which things happened, or maybe it was chance that made everything go so horribly wrong.

At the "weeding out," as the Death Eaters codenamed it, they were pleased to have some excitement and spill some prisoners' blood, even if only in sport and disposal. It began when all the prisoners were herded out into the central dungeon. It was more of an underground hall than a dungeon, really. The ceiling arched almost fifty feet above the flagstone floor, and was supported by massive pillars carved with winding serpents. The walls, smoothly hewn and windowless, were covered with bunches of chains and countless rusting instruments hanging on iron spikes. They were no longer used, of course, but they hung there- grotesque reminders of their useful glory days. One could only imagine what the tools' daunting images played upon the prisoners' minds as they were led into that awful place. The captives were lined up according to their groups. Those who could stand, at least. Many still bore the wounds from the attack on Hogwarts. I pitied the m terribly, but I had to keep my face clean of any emotion because of the Death Eater standing next to me. I was to be watched at all times, even though I had been there long enough now to officially be one of them- a frightening thought...

That's when the elimination started. The Death Eaters surveying the ranks pulled forward the scrawny ones, the struggling ones, the maimed ones... Nearly a third of the original number was killed on the spot, while the "lucky" ones watched in horror. Some strained to help the dying but were held back, others were simply transfixed. A willful redheaded girl caught my eye as she grappled with her captor, her eyes ablaze, shouting uncontrollably. She noticed me staring at her and glared and cursed back, thinking I was another Death Eater. I looked away quickly, embarrassed and ashamed. I felt almost as ruthless as if I was a Death Eater, letting them all die while I stood to the side, doing nothing.

The massacre continued with only one flaw: an escape attempt. Some audacious student decided to make a run for it as her classmates were being ushered back to their dungeons. She only made it halfway across the stone floor when she was hit with a powerful Impediment Curse. She let out a resounding scream that filled the hall, then was thrown a good five feet by the force of the spell. She remained motionless until she was brought to the feet of the Dark Lord, who was sitting and watching the whole thing with an indifferent eye.

"Well, well..." said the cold voice that I had come to resent so much. The poor girl was shoved to her kneed before him, now sobbing in fear. The Dark Lord made his mind up quickly. "You have defied Lord Voldemort's strength by running when you know there's no escape. For such a thing you must be punished."

The girl (a sixth year, I could tell when she was closest to me) looked up into his glowing red eyes, narrowed with anger and annoyance. He motioned to eh nearest Death Eater, who hurried forward and seized the cowering figure. "She will wander in darkness forever," he said to the Death Eater. The whole room was silent, excepting the girl's frantic sobs, waiting for what would come next.

The girl was dragged so the others could see that happened to those who resisted and dropped to the floor. More Death Eaters crowded forward to hold the girl, others took aim at her face. The hall watched with baited breath.

It was Lucius Malfoy who fired the first spell. Although he was cloaked and masked, I recognized him by height. "Diffindo!"

She screamed again as the severing charm hit her in the eye. Blood spouted onto the floor, and several members of the looked away. One younger one retched. The other eye was hit, too, and the screams of the girl doubled. She will never see again.

That night, I lay in my cell on the other side of the bottom floor, beneath the room where the Death Eaters are meeting. Their footsteps paced the ceiling above my head, and I heard louder and louder shouting and laughter as the Malfoys' house-elves pour more drinks. The gash underneath my hair throbbed and still stung from that evening's beating.

Now that the sick and weak prisoners had been eliminated, the Dark Lord's plans will continue as usual. My role in the scheme was approaching quickly as the month died and the moon grew full. I'd thought it all over carefully, and there was nothing I could do; the Dark Side is breeding an army from me, from the wolf. The wolf is always inside me, waiting with an unsettling patience for its monthly reign. Imagine what fifty of these monsters could do under control of the Death Eaters.

For the rest of the month, I would be like the wolf, and I would wait...

Lavender:

I never before realized how nice it was to have vision, to take in your surroundings. I took it for granted, and now I lived in darkness, true to Voldemort's words.

After the weeding out (and we now knew the meaning of the phrase), we were led back to our holding dungeons with one change from before. They knew now we were too frightened to try and break loose now, so we were unchained and could walk feely within the room. Despite the new conditions, no one talked much or even dreamt of going near the only exit, which was heavily barred and closely guarded by a masked Death Eater. I mostly sat against the wall, listening to the brief and whispered conversations around me. I needed someone to take my arm if I wanted to walk around the room so I didn't trip of step on anybody, and the for-granted feat of crying was impossible for me, being I had no eyes to do it with. My classmates were wonderful to me, talking to me and helping me move. They made me a blindfold (more so they wouldn't have to stare at my empty sockets than for my benefit) to tie across my eyes. It was made of coarse black cloth. I only knew that because I heard them rip it off the hem of one of their school cloaks; otherwise I'd be clueless. Everything was different now.

Only seven of us were left in this dungeon now. The two fifth-years I barely knew were killed, along with Hannah Abbot. We weren't surprised; her leg was torn apart during he attack on the school and her health had been steadily declining from the start.

We were hoping that the same amount of food would be sent regardless of a smaller number of mouths, but they had kept record of the deaths and cut back even more than they needed to. Whatever we had, though, we all got an equal share of hard, moldy bread, water, and an awful, floury paste. Seamus Finnegan divided the portions. He seemed to have become a natural leader, whether he wanted to or not. He treated everyone with respect and people listened to him, even the other boys (who were aggressive towards anyone who dared start a disagreement with them).

Seamus was especially kind to me in the days following the weeding out. One evening he even came and sat next to me. He asked me how I was and how I was feeling and whether I wanted to walk around.

Seamus:

Lavender told me she was fine, thank you. She asked why I wasn't with everyone else. Sighing, I carefully considered my answer. She seemed angry towards anyone who offered her sympathy these days, still not accepting her condition. I didn't blame her at all. Actually, I felt guilty for letting the creeps do this to her. Why wasn't I there to help her, to do anything to distract the Death Eaters? I could have done something, and then she wouldn't be here suffering. Don't act like it's your fault, I told myself. Put what you can't change in the past and learn form it. What mattered now was the present, and protecting Lavender and the rest of them.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. I turned by thoughts back to entertaining her.

"I'd rather sit with you," I answered truthfully. She was easy to talk to when she wasn't in a mood, and we were friends before this- ever since we went to that Yule Ball together in the fourth year.

Her expression softened and she let her shoulders relax. "Have you heard anything about what's going on from the guard?"

"He won't tell us anything. Our only hope of getting information is if someone overhears another one of them giving him orders. And why would they discuss anything that important with him?"

She nodded grimly in agreement, thoughtfully. I quickly tried to say something optimistic, to keep up the morale. Negative news is not what everyone needed at the moment. "We're safe for now, though. We'll know when danger's coming a mile away."

"I hope so," she said, and let her chin fall to her chest. Her reply got me thinking; would we really know when our time came? We knew the only reason we had survived this far was that we were being used for something, and we would find our purposes as soon as You-Know-Who decided to show us-this we had figured out for sure. I had a feeling- one of those gut-instinct feelings- that something is about to happen.

Romulus:

"We know you've had contact with them, boy. Are you going to admit it or take the hard way?" Nott snarled, his reddening face inches from mine.

I wiped the fresh blood from my nose away with the back of my hand and noticed I was shaking. "I told you- I got that thing from one of the prisoners." Nott glared at me for a moment, then with a roar kicked me square in the chest with his heel. The chair I was sitting in toppled backwards, and the back of my head bounced off the floor. I rolled off and scrambled away before he could reach me again. "Tell the goddamn truth, boy!" Nott shouted. "The only way you could have gotten hold of this is if one of your worthless father's friends brought it to you. Tell us what you know, or do you want your master to get involved?!"

"Don't' know... what..." I mumbled, my head starting to spin. Nott strode over and kicked me onto my back, brandishing a small folding knife- hardly big enough to cut something, let alone do any damage.

"Do you know what this is?"

I couldn't see- my vision went blurry- but I knew what it was, all right. "Yes, Sir, I know."

"And how exactly did it get in your cell if they didn't give it to you?" Nott's voice had grown dangerously soft.

"I got it off one of the corpses," I lied. The insignificant thing had turned up in my cell during an inspection. I truly had no idea got there, probably left by a Death Eater or by an earlier inhabitant, but telling them that would just result in another round of beating.

Nott drew his arm back and struck me across the face, causing my nose to bleed anew. "All the prisoners were searched and their pockets emptied as soon as they came in, you fool," he said. "Unless you're saying one of those dead people went and found it somewhere. Miserable little liar," he added, and hit me again.

I began to shake not with pain- no, other times have exceeded that one by far- but out of rage. Another Death Eater who was standing by came forward. "Should I alert the master?" he asked, gleefully eyeing my blood on the floor.

"Yes, I suppose there's no other choice," answered Nott. I felt my face pale and go cold, doing nothing to stifle my anger. The other Death Eater left the room, leaving Nott pacing the floor and me too afraid to move. It would be better if I had some story to tell. They would beat one out of me either way, whether it be well thought or unreasonable, tortured babble.

This realization I accepted without feeling; the process was by now routine. It amazed me that I had been here for four long years, ever since I was thirteen. I had never even left the Malfoys' property. On certain nights I went outside, of course, but the whole estate was bordered by a ten-foot stone wall that no one could scale. This is a secure place, which is partly why the Death Eaters made it their headquarters.

However long I had stayed there, it was anything but home. I had a home once. My mother raised me alone, barely keeping food on the table. I only occasionally saw my father. I suppose you could say he was the one who ruined my whole life.

The Death Eaters stormed our house just before I would have started my fourth year at school, looking for me. They weren't really interested in who I was; more in that someone tipped them off as to what I was. Straightaway they Apparated me here and left the house burning, my mother dead, and the Dark Mark glittering above the flames.

I can remember little about the first few days. I was locked in a windowless, pitch-black room for what seemed like one long, dazed night. Screaming was no use; it just told the guards I was still conscious. They took me out when I had gotten too weak to struggle, and they taught me my first lesson of living behind bars.

I ask myself why this happened to me, but I really know the answer. How many of my kind are there today? And in the country alone? I was easy prey- someone who could be manipulated, and something that suited their purpose. I fit the position perfectly, so one of the Dark Lord's spies working in the Magical Creature Department at the Ministry found my files and tipped him off. Another reason to blame my father.

The clatter of the rusty latch on the door brought me back to the room and brought back my terror as the door swung open. Nott bowed as the Dark Lord and another, shorter Death Eater wielding a club entered, and shut the door after them.

"What have you gotten from him?" the Dark Lord asked, thinking I couldn't hear him from the floor.

"Nothing, Master," Nott replied. "He tried to pass off a few lies, but he's said nothing helpful... yet."

The Dark Lord didn't answer, but sat down in the chair standing beside the bare table. The matching one, the one that had held me during Nott's questioning, lay smashed on the floor. The Dark Lord looked down at me, considering, then reached a pale hand into his robes and extracted his wand. My blood suddenly became icy again, and my heartbeat for a moment stopped.

"So far, boy, your...punishments have been mostly physical. Those in charge of you seem to think bloodletting in your case might prove more effective than magic. However..."

He raised his wand almost indifferently and pointed it at me. I willed myself to look anywhere but directly at him, but some force, invisible hands with surreal strength, wrenched my chin towards his gaze. "However," he continues, "If you don't want to cooperate, a round of Cruciatus might do you good. Older and better wizards than you have been cursed into madness by it. We might have broken your body, but step out of line, and your mind becomes our toy. Crucio!"

A sharp bolt of pain wracked my body. I started yelling, not even knowing it, and writhed at the Dark Lord's feet. Then it suddenly ended, but hatred coursed through me instead. I wanted nothing more than to grab a wand and curse the wizard in front of me into oblivion- or else fists would do. But I couldn't, I wouldn't. The reward for such rebellion would be death. Either death or an eternity of pain...

"Now, boy, stop playing your little games and tell us what we need: have you or have you not had contact with the outside and the Ministry?"

I heard the question clear enough, but I didn't answer. I couldn't even remember anymore. Perhaps I was going mad, just as his Lordship said I would. I'd been there for so long, captured and enslaved by the Dark Side- too long for words, seemingly...

Nott coughed suddenly, which brought me back to the peril I faced. I prepared to answer, but the Dark Lord was already impatient.

"Chain him to the wall," he ordered, voice steely with bitterness. As Nott roughly lifted me beneath the arms, I let myself go limp in hopelessness. We had gone through this routine countless times. I still bore the bruises form the last session. I couldn't handle another on top of those. I wouldn't stand for it! Just say no, tell them no, no...

"No!" I yelled. As an act of defiance, I tried sanding on my own, but my shaking legs gave way beneath my weight and I stumbled, still being dragged by Nott. I flailed and kicked until he released me with a thud onto the floor. I rolled over and scrambled towards the door in a half-blind panic when I was seized by the shoulders and yanked back by Nott.

"Leave me alone, you sons of bi-" I shouted, cut off by Nott slamming his fist into my jaw. Stars winked in front of my eyes, and Nott took the spare time to drag me to the wall and pin me face-first into it.

In the wall next to my face was a strange apparatus. A heavy iron ring was embedded into the concrete, and dangling from it were two chains ending in locking cuffs. Into these cuffs Nott forced my wrists and locked them with an ancient, rusty key. I was immobile. The chains were exactly the right length so that if I stretched out fully my knees were suspended an inch or so above the floor. The position put amazing pressure on the wrists and shoulders.

Nott laid his keys on the table, grabbed the back of my shirt collar (which was now soaked and stained with sweat and blood and grime), and tore it open, exposing my back. In this position, I was completely powerless.

Then came the beating. The Death Eater that had entered alongside th Dark Lord came forward, grinning maliciously and swinging a heavy wooden club- an instrument used well in Malfoy Manor's proud days of old, when prisoners were brought from across the country to succumb to the enemy's wishes. When it first came down upon me, I hasp, and by the second, colors were swimming in front of my vision. By the third, I was screaming with each stroke.

The blunt thud came down on me again and again as he worked me over. With each blow it felt like bones were being crushed and grinded, flesh was pounded, and sometimes skin was punctured, reopening old wounds. It's at this point in every beating that I was sure the end would come. The pain became so intense I was convinced I would die, or, even more of a blessing, pass out. But no- I was forced to live on. The Death Eaters were careful of that.

Time passed in a whir of blurred image and disjoined sound. Bleeding heavily, I caught my breath as Nott turned to the Dark Lord, waiting for orders.

He had sat, watching and enjoying the torture, and now deep in thought. After a while, he spoke to Nott.

"I'm afraid we must make more of an impression on our young friend. Send for Lucius, and tell him to bring the rod." He met his servant's gaze, and they shared an evil, knowing smirk. Nott bowed and left the room.

"Why don't you just give in?" the Dark Lord said softly. "Whether you are guilty or not matters no longer. Why don't you just submit? What is there to prove- strength?" Although I faced the wall and couldn't see it, I was so certain his red eyes were surveying me up and down that I almost felt their burn.

"You have proved strong, boy, if that satisfies you. No on expected you to last this long without giving up. Indeed, if only you did learn to agree, you would make a fine Death Eater. I would see to it that you rose in the ranks. You'd be master over these dolts who are just your age. Ahh, Lucius..." The door sung open and Malfoy, with his ever-present, cocky walk, strode in, holding a small pole wrapped in cloth. Signaled by a nod from the Dark Lord, he carefully unwrapped the cloth. The square-cut rod of pure silver gleamed in his hands. The Malfoys had melted down a shield with the family crest to make it just form me. I was anything but honored.

Malfoy swaggered over to me and held the bar horizontally, an inch away from my skin. "This is your last chance, boy. You can join- or pay... Give him a taste of it," the Dark Lord added in an undertone to Malfoy. Lucius, handling the bar gingerly, gently let it make the slightest brush against my side. A sensation that stung and tickled at the same time spread over where it touched. The feeling sent shivers up my spine. It was clear the Dark Lord wanted a quick and final answer.

I let my sweaty forehead sink onto the blood-spattered wall. I couldn't think of anything to say, but I saw Malfoy's boot down near my leg. Screwing up my face, I spat onto his foot with a defiant oath.

I could almost feel the Dark Lord's wrath growing. "Don't hold back, Lucius," he told Malfoy, settling back into his chair. Malfoy leered and advanced on me. I let my forehead fall back onto the concrete and clasped my hands together.

There is only one thing in the magical world that can kill a werewolf in its indestructible animal state: coming in contact with pure silver. In human form the effects aren't quite as drastic, but too much can still be deadly. At each place where Malfoy presses that rod made of the foul stuff, a red, blistering stripe appeared. My nerves were on fire, my limbs shook from the burn. I'm sure I cried out more than once, but it's hard to recall since all reason was overwhelmed by pain.

When the Dark Lord finally raised his hand for Malfoy to halt, my whole back was covered with either ugly, blistering rashes, still fresh and stinging, or gashes made earlier, which had mostly stopped bleeding because the wounds had been burnt shut.

"You see what became of your choice?" he asked, low and amused. "Do you see how Lord Voldemort punishes those who resist? Not just you, boy, the whole race of wizards who will not submit. You know of what I speak. The time for action, for the plan, steadily approaches. The prisoners whom we have held so long will come into play. Just think: the young fools will be turned upon their own friends, parents, siblings. And none of them can stop it..." He paused, eye gleaming madly, savoring the thought of chaos amid his enemies. "Leave the boy chained for a night," he continued. "Let him think about what will pass as soon as the full moon rises. And make sure everything's secure." With that, he strode from the chamber, black robes billowing.

With his master gone, Malfoy dropped all dignity. "You want to be free?" he sneered, dangling the ring of keys in front of my face. He tossed the whole mess onto the seat of the chair. "Have a good night, stupid bastard," he laughed, and with another poke in the ribs from the silver bar, followed his master, slamming and bolting the door from the outside.

As for spending all night chained up, I wasn't worried. I'd done the same escape countless times, desperate for a bit of freedom, even if only a night's worth. I stretched out my leg to the farthest extent and hooked my foot around the closest leg of the chair. Dragging it nearer, then gently tipping it forward made the keys slide onto the floor. I trapped them under my foot, then pushed them up the wall, to my mouth, then to my hand. The shackles were off my wrists in no time. I sank to the floor in a puddle of my own warm blood. By dawn I would have to lock myself back in, of course, but I was not anxious. Why should I care? There was no hope, not for me, not for the prisoners, not for anyone. It would take a miracle to save us all. As I dropped into a fitful sleep, I didn't bother to hope for a miracle.