Cruciatus

Few people have seen true terror. Some claim that nightmares haunt them or some other childish excuses to feel a thrill. Few people actually understand that terror isn't about a thrill or a shiver; it's a will- shattering emotion that can paralyze, destroy, or change. True terror is watching your parents writhe in pain in front of you. Seeing their eyes dim slowly as the pain becomes less alien and more natural, craved...

I have seen terror; I've felt numbness that it brings.

No one really knows the truth about my parents. About how it wasn't Death Eaters who cursed them to insanity. No one realizes that my parents were addicted to pain.

It began before I was even born. My parents were newly wed and on a honeymoon in Greece. There they attended a nightclub and felt the first pangs of seduction that pain held. The club was called the "Crucy", a very thin play on words. But then again, no one said that my parents were intelligent. In Crucy, the patrons would cast simple spells on each other. Some were lethal, such as the popularly known "Fate's Scissors", others were merely used to cause pain, "Cutters", "Blades 'n' Stones", and the club's inspiration, "Cruciatus."

My parents spent every night for a two-week long vacation at that club. I know because I've seen pictures. Horrible pictures with flashing lights, smoke, and twisting bodies. I can only be glad that photographs can't relay sound.

After I was born, my parents still wouldn't give up the addiction. I still have nightmares of their screams and laughter mixed into a rising serenade, full of crescendos and nothing else. How can anyone sound so wretched and exultant at the same time?

They couldn't live without the pain that each curse caused. According to the diary my mother kept during her few sane moments, my first word wasn't 'Mommy' or 'Daddy' or anything normal. No, my first word was 'Cruciatus'. The worst part is the fact that my mother thought that it was 'cute' that I said it. Grams would be appalled, but then again she didn't know. Or if she did, she pretended not to. I can't blame her. Had I not had to live it everyday, I would try to dismiss it as a nightmare as well.

Occasionally, when I was about 6, my parents would curse me. I did get hooked, though not as badly as them. I just have to mortally hurt myself once or twice a month. It's stable now. However, according to my parents, to have the pleasure of feeling pain, one must also cause it. I guarantee that if Draco Malfoy and I were to compare our knowledge of magical torture, I would win without contest. It's rather ironic.

Anyway, I would routinely join my parents once a week for a session during which, I would torture them. I was not even 8 years old and I was using a forbidden curse. I haven't an idea why the Ministry never picked up on it. Perhaps my parents were smarter than I thought. Fat lot that knowledge does them now, locked in an asylum. Everyone thinks that Death Eaters did it. No one suspects the truth.

It was late November and one of our 'sessions' had begun. My parents did the normal baby curses on me, dog bite, itchies, etc. Then they told me to use 'Cruciatus' on them. I did and I lost control. They never realized.

"More! More!"

"C'mon Son! You can do better than that!"

They screamed loudly, escalating laughter, pure, unadulterated ecstasy...

And eventual stupor.

And I caused it. You can't imagine how it feels, every time I pick up my wand, I remember. Their eyes, dull, lifeless eyes, still haunt me. Everyone just thinks I'm a natural klutz, I'm not. I may seem weak or klutzy, but it's only because every time I sense magic I stiffen and begin to shake. I've done my best to flunk out, but I always can't; can't disappoint Grams. Luckily, Lupin understands. He's the only one who ever has, he even bewitched the Boggart so that no one would learn the truth, though I have to admit, it was a bit embarrassing to have everyone think that I feared Snape of all people. Lupin still writes me, he acts like the parent that I don't have, that I can't have all because of my bloody magic!

Every November I visit my parents at St. Mungo's. They don't see me, at least they don't seem to, but I know better. When I'm left alone with them, I can see that night reflected in their eyes. They pull against the bonds of the beds. Their mouths forming words I know all too well.

"C'mon Son. Just a little bit. They won't know. Just a little???"

"Please, please, more, more pain...more pain....please!"

Every time I visit them. I have to watch them; listen to their withdrawal-induced words, with the full knowledge of knowing that it was I who put them there. That I made them the way they are now.

I am a torturer and secret addict, I destroyed my parents by doing as they said, I am Neville Longbottom.