Invictus

Author's Notes: A short-ish chapter, but rather an important one... Hugs to Hijja for beta-ing it. Hugs to the rest of you for coming to read it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Invictus ~
by Chthonia

Part 12: Freedom

One Dark wizard standing behind me, one Dark-wizard-in-training standing in front of me.

It suddenly feels very claustrophobic in here.

Malfoy stares at me across the desk, his ferrety white face unreadable. His father takes a step back. I stand up.

There's a rustle behind me. I tense. His wand is out, but he's not using it. He just walks to the end of the desk and smiles his predatory smile.

"Up on the desk, Miss Granger."

I turn to sit on it, swing my legs up, twist round onto my knees to face them-

"No, Miss Granger. On your back."

I wish I wasn't trembling so, so... obviously, as I lie down with my head at his end of the desk so he can look down at me and I can't escape the amusement in those pale and merciless eyes.

He flicks his wand. I jerk away but thin ropes wrap round each wrist and slam me back onto the desk, the ends stretching away over each corner. There's a little leeway to move my arms, but not much.

All I can hear is the sound of air entering and leaving and entering and leaving my mouth.

Oh God, please don't let him do anything too horrible.

Maybe it would be better to pray to die quickly. Painlessly would be too much to hope for.

"You see, Draco – if we'd taken her hand, it would be rather more difficult to do this, would it not?"

"Yes, Father." He sounds a bit like he did at that Prefects' meeting when Professor Dumbledore told him off for bullying the first years.

"Yes," his father repeats. "Now, see to her feet, please."

Breathe in... out... in... out...

And ropes seize my ankles, taking a fraction of a second to settle before pulling taut. I swallow. My mouth is dry.

"Good," he says, smiling, smiling down at me. "You'll forgive the slight discomfort, Miss Granger. This will make things easier for all of us."

God, I wish I could claw at him, wish I could make that mocking porcelain face bleed...

"So, Draco. I believe Miss Granger was casting doubt on your aptitude for Unforgivable Curses. Would you care to show her the truth?"

"Certainly, Father." The little git is smirking too, I can hear it in his voice. "Which one do you want me to demonstrate?"

"I think Cruciatus, given that you've already been discussing it."

Oh, of course. It would be, wouldn't it?

Draco raises his wand, slowly, too slowly. He's frowning, eyes narrowed – showing more signs of concentration than hate, but still, he must really hate me, to do this.

"Crucio."

And blades of flame carve into my flesh and I scream I scream but I can't and there's burning acid running in my veins and my hands are on fire and my arms are on fire and legs, and my feet... thud thud – thud thud thud thud – thud and it's my feet juddering against the desk and-

"Stop."

It does.

I cough soundlessly, sucking in air. Every breath feels like a blade slashing down into my lungs...

All I can see is his face, leaning over me, not smiling now as he lays his wand across my throat.

"Finite."

And now my coughing is too-loud in the room. I close my mouth, try to contain the convulsions.

He lifts his wand from my throat.

"Would you bring me some water, Draco?"

Silence, then the sound of footsteps going away, water gushing from a tap, footsteps approaching, and then I can see both of them, looking down at me. Malfoy has a goblet in his hand.

His father pushes one hand under my neck and I jerk away and he grasps the back of my head and lifts it slightly. I gulp in a breath. And then I relax, letting the full weight of my head rest in his hand. There's nothing I can do to fight him, anyway.

He smiles, and beckons to Malfoy with a crooked finger.

Malfoy hands him the goblet.

He tilts my head further. He lowers the goblet so the metal is cold against my lips.

"Now drink, Miss Granger. We need you to be able to speak to us."

And he tips up the goblet and the water pours into my mouth and over my chin and down my neck and I splutter and swallow but there's too much of it-

He hands the empty goblet back to his son, pulls out a dark handkerchief and carefully wipes my neck and my shoulders and my face. The cloth is warm against my skin.

"Better?" he asks, smoothing my hair away from my forehead.

"I-" I can speak without setting off the coughing, that's one thing.

"Yes?" He raises an eyebrow. I want to tear my eyes away from that... God... penetrating impenetrable gaze, but I can't move my head while he's holding me like this.

"Y-yes. Thank you."

"Good." He lowers my head to the desk, removes his hand. The wood feels uncomfortably hard.

"So now," he says, "you'll be able to tell Draco what you really think about his command of the Cruciatus Curse."

What?

Those thin lips curve into an even crueller smile.

"Oh yes. Because if you were right earlier, and his technique could use improvement, you'd be just the person to help him out, wouldn't you? I've heard all about how much you like to correct other students, how you like to show off the pitiful scraps of information you've managed to assemble."

He's... how can he even twist my willingness to help out in class? Can't he even respect an honest desire to help someone else understand how to solve a problem? Or is it just that he can't stand the thought of a mere Mudblood knowing more than people like Crabbe and Goyle, prime examples of pureblood intelligence that they are?

"Would you find it easier with Veritaserum?" he says quietly. "Because we could do it that way, if you'd prefer. But I'm afraid I would have to regard that as a breach of our agreement."

I am not going to give you the excuse to touch Mum and Dad...

But my mouth is dry again. I swallow. I shake my head.

"I..." I don't know what to say. How can I answer a question like that?

He smiles. He reaches out as if he's going to touch my hair again... but he pulls back.

"Perhaps a simpler question would be better suited to you," he says. "Hmm... tell me: how would you rate Draco's... application of Cruciatus, on a scale of one to seventeen?"

Rate Cruciatus on a scale? He's insane. How did he rate it, when it was him screaming on the floor?

But I'm not stupid enough to bring that up again.

"Perhaps it would help," he goes on, "if you also thought about where on that scale you would place the Cruciatus as performed by myself?"

I don't even want to think about that.

But his eyes are boring into mine and suddenly the silence is suffocating. Malfoy might as well not even be here, for all the attention he's giving him.

"That..." I whisper. I blink back tears, I don't know why they're coming now. "You can't apply a scale to that."

He smiles. "You flatter me, Miss Granger."

You smug, twisted...

"So. I take it that does mean you can apply the scale to my son's efforts."

"Four!" I cry out.

Four? Why the hell did you say four, for God's sake?

I had to say something! The bloody question is meaningless!

But... I've just handed him the excuse... Oh God.

"Oh dear," he says, turning to Malfoy, who's looking at me with new loathing. I close my eyes. I know what's coming. I could put the words straight into his mouth. And it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference if I'd said forty.

"It looks as though you'll have to try that again, Draco. And there's no need to hold back this time. After her earlier reprieve, I think Miss Granger will now agree that there are worse things to fear than Unforgivable Curses."

And I suppose you want me to thank you for that?

I open my eyes. But he's not looking at me, he's looking at his son. Well, why would he care about my reaction, if this is just about showing that slimy little git how to be as much of a bastard as he is? I should have guessed what he was up to.

Except that I've already decided that trying to guess is point-

"Crucio!"

And I scream as a jagged knife scores down my throat and my stomach
no mark, of course there's no mark but
only burning, burning deep in my bones-

"No! Stop it, please stop..."

"Shut up!"

He said... oh God, oh God...
I bite down on my lip. The room, the room, I'm
in a room with grey stone walls not searing white fire-

It's not real, it's just a spell

What's not real? the tall demon dancing above you
or the one clawing its way out of your belly-

Him, him, it's not him dancing its my head jerking from side to side

Black hands slide onto my cheeks, clamping head in place sending molten lava running down my neck

"No, oh God, PLEASE..."

Laughter grates my nerves like claws squealing on a thousand blackboards.

"Well, well, well, Miss Granger. Aren't we being sensitive all of a sudden?"

"You bastard!"
and my body jerks in convulsions that should crack my spine-

Thinned lips, twisting, melting... "I can assure you that I am not, and I will not have you cast aspersions-" squeeze eyes shut against claw slicing through my eyeball "-can trace my lineage back for more than twenty generations. I don't suppose you even know the names of your great-grandparents."

"I don't care-" as sharp-edged wire wraps round my ankles, round my legs, my waist, chest and cuts in- "I mean, please, stop it. Please."

His fingers tightening on my face, harsh and hot enough to scorch my flesh
searing through to the bone-

"Oh, but Miss Granger... Do you really think it's fair to ask Draco to stop while you still owe him a coherent review of his technique?"

Draco? technique? oh, his stupid scale... God, I hate him! but I can't hate him-

lash of a steel-tipped whip biting into my arm-

"It... it... God, I don't know, seventeen, twenty, seventy... enough, please, it's bad enough! Stop it, for God's sake stop-"

Hot tears rolling down my face like acid...

"Ah, but it's not me you should be asking, is it? I'm not the one holding the wand."

So he wants me to grovel to the ferret?

a thousand banshees screaming screaming screaming-

Lift head, stare at
Malfoy, white-faced, frowning with concentration
and I never thought I'd ever beg him for anything but right now I just want it to stop-

"Malfoy, oh God-" whip slices into my belly, across my legs and feet "please, stop it for God's sake no more no more nomore... please..."

not a voice, a strangled moan as
nothing crushes the end of my fingers and slowly,
slowly nonono travels up towards my hand
but nothing's there it's just the spell it's all in your mind
and what fucking difference does that make when
every bone in my hands is being pulverised-

because Malfoy just sneers, but glances at him and says "Do you want me to?" in a strained voice and I don't know whether the strain is from effort or fear or just my hearing drowned in screams real and imagined and his father says "well draco do you think she's asking out of fear or respect?" and it's such a stupid question because it's not either it's the pain pain pain and i can't take it and he says "do you think you've taught her to respect you" and i scream out "YES" because no one can take this and malfoy laughs and says i'm lying and oh god i want to die and his father raises an eyebrow and it's a snake about to strike and his smile is like a guillotine blade falling as he shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I'm afraid it's not up to me."

a hot wire encircles my neck and cuts into my throat like butter and any reply drowns in frothing blood-

let me die let me die

spears skewer me from the soles of my feet-

i passed out before stop stop
need to get to that cool darkness, there, there
fighting though wall of devils snare crushing chest
dragging me back to life to pain to light
scorching solar flares that turn my flesh black, charred, crumbling
but i know to relax so i can fall through to the dark peace beyond.

. . .

Wet.

Something warm and wet on my cheek.

Like Grandpa's dog licking my face.

dog...

"Sirius...?"

Wet tongue on my other cheek.

I want to go home.

An arrow of pure pain pierces my heart. Home. I let out a half-sob.

"Hush."

I open my eyes. Lucius Malfoy's pale grey ones look back at me.

"I would appreciate it if you did not confuse me with that reckless blood-traitor," he says. "That is the third time you have insulted me today. Do so again, and you will overstep the bounds of my patience."

He brushes my hair back and wipes my forehead with his wet handkerchief. I can smell the damp leather of his gloves, mixed with that strange sweet scent of poison roses. Silent tears roll down my cheeks. He wipes them away.

And suddenly I know that I don't want him touching me like this and I jerk to one side but I'm still bound by his bloody ropes and it hurts where they rub on the raw flesh at my wrists and ankles.

"Think you're going somewhere, Granger?"

I ignore the bloody juvenile bastard-in-training and look back at... at the elder bastard who almost seems like more of a bastard because he's not quite acting like one right at this moment.

Those fathomless silver eyes make me shiver. They always do.

"Let me go," I say. "Please."

He looks at me for a moment, expressionless. Then he looks up.

"Well, you do appear to have made some progress, Draco," he says, "but there's still plenty of room for improvement. Our Miss Granger was rather too... coherent for most of that session. Remember that the purpose of Cruciatus is Pain, pure and simple. If you wish the subject to retain the ability to, shall we say, engage in discussion about a topic of mutual interest, there are other spells that are far more suitable."

"Yes, Father."

"Don't look at me like that. You need to learn this properly – you do understand that?"

"Yes, Father. I've been doing all the exercises you showed me."

"Yes. And your technique has certainly improved over the last few months. It's far better to be making that mistake at this stage than to be sending your subject into painless unconsciousness within the first few seconds, as do so many beginners. You just need to work towards maximum intensity. We'll talk about how once we get back to the house."

He reaches into his robe and hands something to Malfoy. "Now," he says, "the Portkey in this box will take you back to my study. Wait there for me, and we'll discuss tomorrow's lesson. I'll join you in a few minutes."

Tomorrow's lesson?

Malfoy scowls, looking down at me. "But Father, you promised-"

"I said, go."

Malfoy's scowl deepens, but he reaches into the box and is suddenly gone.

It seems oddly quiet without him. Not so much in terms of noise – one less person breathing hardly makes much difference – but, well, at least I know what I'm dealing with when it comes to his father. Sort of.

Though right at the moment I wish he'd just go away and leave me alone, even if he left me tied to this sodding table all night. What's he going to do in this 'few minutes'?

You'll find out.

I'd rather not, thanks.

He's standing behind my head, staring into my eyes with that strange look he has sometimes, as if he's trying to slither down into my soul. It's... I don't know. I can't look away. I wish he would.

I wish he would go.

He pulls out his wand.

Oh God...

"Your fear," he murmurs, "is almost as exquisite as your pain."

I close my eyes. I wish Malfoy was still here. Being stuck with his father in this sort of mood...

I hear him move round to the left side of the table. I jump as he tugs lightly at my sleeve. I open my eyes and watch as he walks to my feet, where he pulls down the hem of my robe, straightening out the folds where my thrashing about made it ride up my legs. Then he's standing beside my right hand.

He trails one gloved finger across my wrist, just beside the rope. I wince – it's really sore just there. He slides his thumb and forefinger around my wrist, holding it firmly as I stare at the ceiling, lip trembling and my left hand clenched against the pain.

I hear him shifting his feet and then his face is above me again.

"You do realise," he says quietly, "that this hand belongs to me?"

I'm not going to dignify that with an answer.

"Yes, little one," he says, "your choice of punishment earlier still stands. Just because I'd rather leave your hand attached to your arm for now, doesn't mean it isn't forfeit. Mine, to do as I like with."

That's... warped. And ridiculous, seeing as how he was going to let Macnair kill me anyway.

Or is that what he's getting at?

I hold his gaze, narrowing my eyes.

I take a deep breath.

"You do not own me, Lucius Malfoy."

His eyes widen. I can feel my heart thumping in the silence. I can't hear anything at all.

Names have power.

Then his mouth twists into a sneer.

"Brave words, little Mudblood," he says softly. "But, when it comes down to it, they are only words, aren't they? I decide when it's time for you to die, and meanwhile you obey all my commands with a most gratifying alacrity. You see: you are learning your place, even if you can't yet bring yourself to admit it."

No. No way.

It's hard to breathe. I try to keep my voice steady. "You have no right..."

"Oh, you were meaning legally?" He laughs. "Well, in that case, feel free to go file a complaint at the Ministry."

Bastard.

"Not moving, Mudblood? Well then, it rather looks as though you share my opinion on the relevance of current Ministry legislation to your situation, doesn't it?"

I turn my head away. From the corner of my eye I see him reach out towards me – but then he jerks his hand back, lifts his wand and gives it a sharp flick. The ropes binding me fall to the floor.

"Get up."

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the desk. I... I feel numb, as if I'm in some horrible dream. It's true, I am doing what he tells me to do – but that's only because he has all the power, not because I agree he has the right to it.

I resist the urge to hide my right hand in my lap. He wouldn't like it.

"You are pathetic," he hisses.

I stand up. So I have to put up with a few minutes of insults, but hopefully after that he'll go back to Malfoy and leave me alone.

"Pathetic," he repeats. "Weak, ignorant, ugly, dirty... You are inferior to me in every way."

God, it's easy to see where the ferret gets it from.

He seizes my chin and forces me to look at him. "Talk to me, Mudblood... Tell me about your place in the world. Tell me what you've learned here."

And I know what I have to say. He'll probably kill me, but he's going to do that anyway. And someone needs to say it to him. Maybe my being here can have some purpose after all.

Please God, help me now. Help me be worthy of Gryffindor...

I look him straight in the eye. "All I- all I've learned is that you seem to need to prove you're better than me. But you don't really believe that yourself, do you? If you did, you wouldn't even care what I think."

He freezes as the words sink in. Then two red blotches appear high on his cheekbones. And then he hits me hard across the face.

"How dare you!"

I stagger backwards, holding my hand to my cheek. I can taste blood.

He's never hit me before, not with his hands, he's always used a wand or a knife. There's a bead of spit on his lower lip and his nostrils are flaring wider than I've ever seen them before.

I back away across the room. But there's nowhere to go. In two strides he's caught me by the throat and hurled me against the wall.

"That's it, Mudblood," he snarls. "I've had enough of you! Give thanks to your useless God that I don't have time to kill you slowly."

And... and... I don't hate him.

Fear, yes – I don't want to die and I can't stand the thought of any more pain – but it's so obvious now that he and the ferret are just two more bullies in a long line of bullies who've been indoctrinated with such an inflated idea of their own importance that they can't live with themselves unless they enlist the whole bloody world to support them in that belief. And it's horrible and evil and I wish to God I'd never got in the way of it but I can see so clearly now how hating it only feeds it and I just don't want to be part of that any more.

How ridiculously easy it is, after everything that's happened, to let all the hate fall away! It's a freedom so beautiful, I almost smile.

I've won, Lucius Malfoy. You can't use me any more. So kill me now and have done with it.

Something flickers in his eyes as he shifts his grip on my throat. I- I don't want his face to be the last thing I see before I die, but I won't look away. Let him see, and remember, and please God let there be something that comes out of this nightmare that helps the Order get rid of him and Voldemort once and for all.

He presses down on my throat, the edge of his hand hard against my windpipe. I hold my breath.

Mum, Dad, I'm so sorry I couldn't say good-bye. I'm sorry I didn't manage to get myself out of here... I'd come home if I could, if only I could...

And I can't hold my breath any longer so I open my mouth to gulp in more air – but I can't.

I can't breathe!

The panic floods through me and I have to breathe and I push against his arm and try to prise his hand away from my throat and I can't breathe and I'm going to die but I can't budge his arm and I can't breathe and he just looks at me with those cold dead eyes and I'm going to die and it's so bloody unheroic to be struggling like this but – Air.

Air. Oh, thank God.

His hand is still on my throat, but he's eased the pressure so I can suck in a breath and it's never been so sweet. I'm still pushing on his arm – I need to keep it away so he doesn't press in again to stop me breathing...

"Well, well, Mudblood. It seems that you're not so ready to die after all. Such a pity you don't get a say in the matter."

No... no, he can't.

"Let go of my arm," he says.

What, so he can suffocate me?

"I said, let go of my arm." He increases the pressure. I can't stop him.

I drop my hands to my side. I don't have a choice.

One second... two seconds... and then he lets me breathe again.

And he's standing there with his hand on my throat and I'm not even trying to defend myself and there's nothing I can do except watch him play God.

He could have killed me at almost any time since he brought me here, I know that. But this... not an exotic and powerful spell, but such a simple matter of whether his hand is here or there... it feels more real, somehow. My life is literally in his hands.

His gaze is probing mine, but I... I can hardly bear to look at him. Would it really make any difference? Do I really want to see the look on his face when he decides it's time for me to die?

I don't want to die. Who the hell did I think I was kidding with all that noble-in-defeat stuff? I don't want to die.

But the alternative... oh God. At least if he kills me he can't use me – for making potions, training the ferret or whatever other vile scheme he might come up with.

He takes his hand away from my throat. I take a deep breath, trying to blink back the tears pricking in my eyes.

I shouldn't care. I can't afford to care.

Slowly, he peels off his right glove.

And now I understand. It's appropriate, in a way, that he should kill me with his bare hands. Appropriate that he should have the honesty to finally touch me at the moment he exercises the ultimate power he thinks he has the right to wield. Appropriate – and unexpected. I suppose I could see it as a mark of respect. I should be honoured.

But I don't want to die.

He doesn't remove his left glove. He just curls those fingers round my chin, tilting it up so I can't look away from him, from the way his deep cold grey eyes are searching mine.

I could drown in those eyes.

Drowning is one of the more pleasant ways to die, I've read.

And he wants to watch, to know the precise moment of my death. The moment he kills me. I don't think I want to... share that with him. But he'll take it regardless, like he's taken everything else he wanted.

And now he's lifting his right hand towards my face, and I do my best not to blink because even if I know now that I'm really too much of a coward to be Gryffindor, I will at least try to meet death with some dignity.

But he doesn't put his hand on my throat. He just touches a long white finger to my temple and draws it slowly down over my cheek, tracing the scar he made when he forced me to take his Veritaserum. His touch is unexpectedly warm...

But it summons a shiver from the very depths of my soul.

And he trails that warm finger behind my jawbone, onto my neck, resting lightly on the pulse-point there so that I can feel my life-blood beating between us.

To my utter horror, I find myself blushing.

His lips twitch. He lifts his finger away, staring at it for a moment as if he's surprised it hasn't rotted away just from touching my skin.

Just do it! There's nothing more for you here! You can't use me any more!

But he releases my chin and takes a step back, looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes and I... I can't look away.

"Well, well, well, Hermione," he says, smiling darkly. "What an endlessly entertaining creature you are."