Secrets and Masks

36. Vultures

TW; SCENES OF TORTURE

4th June

7:34 pm

"Welcome, Zabini," Voldemort said. "So glad you could join me this evening. I trust your wife is well and in good health?"

"My apologies for my lateness, my Lord." Blaise bowed his head respectfully as he spoke. "And yes, she is quite well, and she's looking forward to attending your next Gala in the coming weeks."

When Blaise straightened, Voldemort was staring at him intently, eagerly. "Have there been any more visions that you wish to report?"

"None yet - but hopefully I see something soon that will aid your victory."

Voldemort's hand tightened around the elder wand in annoyance, but he sighed loudly and nodded. "Of course, I suppose it was foolish of me to expect you would see something else so quickly. I trust you are doing everything in your power to bring the visions forward, and I eagerly await the next one you see."

"Of course." Blaise bowed his head again. "How can I be of service to you this evening?"

"There is an Order member detained in the dungeons that require your special skills," Voldemort answered. His voice had dropped the adoration it had been dripping in when Blaise had entered the cathedral. "There is something that requires my urgent attention. I need to leave and will not be contactable for the next few hours." His eyes flickered back to Blaise's. "But whatever he tells you, do not share it with anyone. Keep it to yourself until I or one of my Demons are available. There is a spy among us, and until we can weed them out, the circle of those I trust is small. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord. Perfectly."

"Excellent." Voldemort spun his wand, preparing to Apparate. "Do whatever you need to to get him to talk. Use any tool or method - I do not care what you have to do, but I expect results from you, Zabini."

The hostage turned out to be Wesley Greenford, a Hufflepuff Blaise remembered from Hogwarts, but he looked rather different now. He had dirty blonde hair that was scraped into a bun, and he had traded in his glasses for tattoos and a much broader frame.

But as much as his outward appearance had changed, he still liked to talk. A lot.

In the two hours that Blaise had been interrogating him, he'd used every technique imaginable to try and earn his release.

He'd used threats, which rewarded him with a Crucio to the knees.

He'd used flattery, to which Blaise repaid him by tightening the chains around his body, suffocating him to the point he almost passed out.

He'd even tried his hand at persuasion, offering his interrogator the ten thousand galleons he had stashed away, as though Blaise didn't have twelve lucrative estates - and even a fucking castle - signed to his name.

Yes, Wesley talked and talked and talked, but it was never anything useful. Never anything even remotely interesting and useable - so Blaise was forced to get more ... creative.

Wesley screamed and thrashed against the chair he was bound to as Blaise wove his wand across the back of his skull for a fifth time. Blaise had started experimenting when the clock read half-past nine in the evening, trialling the use of sound waves for torture, and the results were starting to blossom.

"Please, please!" Wesley begged as blood trickled from his ears and down the sides of his face. He was growing more unsteady in his chair with every new curse Blaise was casting. If he weren't chained to the backrest, Blaise was sure that Wesley would topple over any moment. "No more I can't I can't do anymore ... just let me go, please mate. You don't want to hurt me, not really. We went to school together - I let you copy my Charms homework once - "