ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ | ᴛᴏᴍɪᴏɴᴇ

Whispers from the Past, ch. 45

            The Auror was being kept in a small, cramped tent on the edge of camp, away from others. Harmony and Voldemort ducked in through the entrance and were met with the sight of five Death Eaters surrounding a tied-up young man on the ground like vultures. By the look of their hostage, he had already endured several intense bouts of torture and beatings. One eye was swollen shut with the other bloodshot and weepy. Blood and sweat plastered his blond hair to his scalp. Busted lip, bruised body, ripped clothing. Harmony swallowed back a cry of empathy; the young Auror had fought his way here under a noble cause. She may love the Dark Lord Voldemort and sympathize with their followers but she knew that they were still the "bad guys" of the Wizarding World, bent on taking control.

The Auror's eyes were downcast, chin to chest. Drops of bloody spittle dripped out of his mouth to his shirt. But when Harmony and Voldemort entered, they were announced and the Auror's eyes shot up to them. Immediately he looked at Voldemort with fear and malice, but when his eyes drifted to Harmony they softened and he looked away again.

"What has he told you?" Voldemort asked his men.

"Nothing yet," Mag said. His sleeves were rolled up and blood smeared his knuckles. "But it shouldn't be long now. Isn't that right, my little Auror friend? Are you ready to share with our glorious Dark Lord?"

Mag stepped closer to the young man who curled up into a little ball to protect himself. Mag snatched him by the collar, hauled him up to his knees, and then shoved his face down into the floor.

"Show some respect!" Mag shouted. "Bow before the Dark Lord!"

"Thank you, Magnus," Voldemort sighed. "Now let him speak."

Everyone turned their eyes to the Auror, waiting expectantly. The poor man was a bloody mass of trembling limbs. His swollen lips were open but no sound came out save for pitiful, broken sobs.

"How did you know about the pick-up location?" Voldemort prompted.

The Auror shuddered at the Dark Lord's voice. He kept his gaze focused on the ground his nose was pressed into, but still he said nothing.

Mag kicked his boot into the man's ribs, making Harmony flinch. The man grunted, falling onto his side.

"Speak when the Dark Lord says you may speak!"

A whimpering sound sputtered at Mag in reply. Mag pulled out his wand to jam it into his face threateningly, then hissed in his ear, "I can peel the flesh from your bones if that'll help the words flow."

Harmony gasped and turned away, knowing full well that Mag was serious and Voldemort wouldn't stop him. But then she had an idea.

She grabbed Voldemort's arm and said, "Let me talk to him."

"Go ahead, then."

"I mean alone."

"Why?"

"Look at him." She waved a hand over the Auror. "He's terrified."

"That's the point," Voldemort said with a tremor of a laugh in his voice. "The terror will force the truth out of him."

"Not when he can hardly get a word out. He needs to calm down, and threatening him," she shot a look at Mag, "isn't going to help."

"Hm," Voldemort grunted thoughtfully. "I'll stay with you."

"No offence, darling," she said, smiling a little, "but you don't have the most calming presence. Trust me. If he speaks, I will tell you everything."

Voldemort sighed heavily through his nose but nodded in agreement.

Harmony stepped up to Mag who was still crouched over the Auror like a vulture.