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xxix. TWENTY-NINE
CRUCIATUS
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THE ELF WAS miniscule. He was so sweet and adorable, so loyal and caring towards his masters. Whenever he was given a task, he would go ahead to complete it, regardless of what he was being asked to do. If it meant to put his life in danger for someone else, little Knoiseate would do it. Yet, what Melora had come to realise, was that nothing a house-elf did would ever be deemed as satisfactory.
Was torturing him a punishment for not doing as he'd been asked? Was it that he was too slow, or too old, and the intense pain would something to wake him up? No, that wasn't the case at all. In fact, the sole reason that Melora was supposed to use the Cruciatus Curse on the elf was for her to practice using the spell. He was a target for her. A dummy.
Knoiseate's cries of pain filled the room, and echoed through the corridors as she screamed the curse at him. He sprawled out on the floor, screaming deafeningly, as he dealt with the agony alone. Whilst his body was very much awake and able to feel, he was growing weak and tired from the intensity of the pain. His breathing was heavy, and for a small elf, he was very determined and resilient for fighting against the curse.
Melora lifted it, and watched, heartbroken, as the elf was left to breath again. But she had not yet finished. Behind, laughter surrounded her. The emmitted pain was clearly giving her mother some sense of joy as she watched everything work out perfectly before her. A daughter who was capable of dealing unbearable pain at will, and an insignificant house-elf that was rightfully getting what he deserved. In Bellatrix's eyes, this was ideal.
Once again, Melora screamed the curse at the elf, and he writhered and screeched until he could barely think. His tiny nails were digging into the floor, scraping away at the ground in a poor, desperate attempt to find something - anything - to grab onto. She didn't want to keep the pain flowing into him, because very shortly it would prove to be too much, and he would lose his sanity. Having a crazy elf certainly wasn't beneficial to anyone, and she knew it would result in his death. The elf was only five years old. If he was to die, she could only hope it was not due to her actions.
"You stopped," her mother said, frustration and disappointment evident in her voice. "Do you not think he deserves this? You aren't sympathising with him, are you?"
Melora shook her head quickly. She wanted to explain why she'd stopped. He was about to break. But she knew that talking now would result in her having to talk about her absence over the summer. She still didn't have a reason for being away. It wasn't as though she could just throw the Weasleys into deep water, because it wasn't actually their fault. She had gone to them. And as well as this, there wasn't anyone else for her to blame that would be believable.
"Fine!" the woman huffed as her daughter remained silent. "If you want to be weak, then stay quiet."
Melora felt both heartless and reckless as she watched the elf suffer, his weak body struggling to stand himself up, so that he could scamper away in fright. She turned to her mother expectantly, wondering what could possibly be asked of her next. She looked proud as she nodded at what Melora had done to the elf - if you could even call it pride. But her joy was not to last long, as anger then smeared itself across her mother's face.
"Where did you go this summer?" Bellatrix suddenly hissed, looking angry as she awaited a response from her daughter. "I thought you'd been taken. But I'm smarter than that. I want to know where you went, Melora."
She felt slightly panicked as she remained silent, not daring to speak about how she had run away from her home willingly, and gone to live with the Weasleys over the summer. To mention such a thing would not only get her into trouble, but also them. And trouble for Melora would most likely result in death. She had to admit, her mother was quite ruthless when it came to things like this.
"You have to talk to me, girl!" she screamed, which made Melora a little angry. Whilst the nickname of 'little Melora' also annoyed her, she despised the idea of being called 'girl'. If she had the confidence to speak against her mother like that, she would have done. But even if she did, she knew that she wasn't technically able to do so.
Bellatrix shook her head disappointedly, before raising her wand at the girl, "It's only fair you receive the same treatment as that elf, don't you think?"
She didn't wait for a response, only crying the curse loudly, sending Melora down to the floor. She was a larger body, and could therefore withstand more pain - naturally - but still, she screamed in exactly the same way.
She let out the most bloodcurdling scream, before falling silent. She then did exactly what Knoiseate had done. Her nails fought their way into the floor, the pressure increasing as more pain flowed into her body. Slowly, they scraped across the floor as she lost her grip. She heard one of them snap.
Bellatrix continued to curse her, and Melora stared her mother in the eyes, coldly. She fought the temptation to scream again until her head burned. She felt the tip of her finger start throbbing, but she didn't look at it; she was far too occupied with battling with the Cruciatus Curse. It worked its way into her body, twisting and snatching at every nerve it reached. It felt to her as though her skin had been replaced with ice, and as she tried to cope with the stinging cold, her body began to shake. It was like electricity wired straight into her spine.
It burnt, it stung and it ached. But despite the horrible amounts of pain, all she managed to voice from then on was a soft cry - a feeble, quiet cry - which wasn't enough to satisfy anyone. Whatever made her stop herself from screaming, she had no idea, but it was working well. And just as she thought the pain had reached its worst, it ceased.
"Get out," Bellatrix said sternly, although she was half-convinced she was only saying it because she didn't know what to do next. The many people she had tortured in her life seemed to be much more responsive than her daughter had been.
Shakily, Melora stood and left the room. Her breathing was very heavy as she tried to recover herself from the experience. It was a horrible moment of her life, but after the pain had gone, she felt surprisingly calm. She knew this was the life she was going to have to follow. She had no choice now. And now she'd experienced it once, she knew what to expect.
But her feeling of calm abruptly came to an end, as George Weasley managed to slip into her thoughts again. She fell into a deep pit of sadness as she thought of him. In some way, it brought her back to reality.
Her original thoughts rested with their last few memories together, but they then drifted to wonder what he was doing at the current time. For a moment, she was lost in thinking about him, but she realised what wad happening too soon. She couldn't think about him, could she? They wouldn't see each other again, so there was no point. If they ever did meet, it would most likely be during a battle, when they were about to kill one another. And that was not what she wanted to think of.
The pain in her finger started up again, and it was aching considerably more than when the incident had first occured. She glanced down at it, and gulped. Her nail, as she had presumed, had snapped off. And there, before her, was half of her index finger's nail, loosely attached, and a whole lot of blood. Shocked that she'd managed to hurt herself so much, she apprehensively looked down at her bedroom floor to see if she'd left any contents on it as she made her way into the room.
Small drops of her blood highlighted the route she had taken away from her mother's fury. Thick, red liquid symbolised the pain that she had gone through. And her beating heart that sat safely inside of her ribcage told her that she hadn't messed it up too much.
