Always the Tone of Surprise

[pestilentginger]

#SinsOfTrust

Drip. Drip. Water falling somewhere on stones. I could hear it like a persistent rhythm. Drip. Drip. The only noise to break the silence.

It was driving me mad, that noise. Forcing me to stay anchored in the real world where pain and misery lived. I didn’t want to be there.

I’d had such a nice dream. That dripping had roused me out of it, and now I couldn’t call it back. It had been warm there and light. I had been floating, I think. Or maybe flying. Free and light and happy.

Not here. Not in this place.

Here it was dark and cold and someone was making a low moan. I wanted to tell whoever it was to bugger off so I could sleep again.

It took several minutes to realize that the person making that noise was me. Even longer still to realize the dripping wasn’t water at all but blood. Mine. I could taste it in my mouth as though I’d been sucking on copper pennies.

I tried to move. My body balked. A bright flash of pain lit the insides of my eyelids as though my entire skull was exploding, and then I couldn’t stop the screaming. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. The sound tore at my throat as though the sound were made of knives, slicing its way upward and cutting the air in two.

That’s when I realized I was tied down. Wrists. Ankles. Chest. Knees. Multiple parts of my body lashed to whatever I was lying on.

Everything hurt.

That sounds like an exaggeration. It is not.

I didn’t know that one person could experience and endure so much pain.

I remember how it felt to be splinched. The agony I went through was one I could never forget. This pain eclipsed and engulfed it entirely, and I quickly found I couldn’t remember how it felt to feel anything else. There was just this. Agony. As though every cell was tearing apart.

My name. My past. My years of study. All subsumed. There was only this. I was nothing, no one, and there had only ever been pain.

I wanted it to stop, but even verbalizing the words to ask for it was more than my mind could manage. I didn’t care if there was life afterward. Dead or unconscious, rescued or executed, they were all the same to me. I would have even settled for blissful nothingness. Drifting into the black behind my eyes. That would have been a mercy. Dead or unconscious, rescued or executed, they were all the same to me.

But in this place, there was no mercy.

Then a door somewhere opened. I heard it crash into a wall with a forceful explosion inward.

A voice spoke. I didn’t understand the words. They were words of power. I’d had those words once, but they were gone, gone, gone now. Had been torn out of me along with my banished sense of self.

And then...there was silence. Even the dripping stopped. I was too far gone to even say “thank you.”

With a silent sigh, I sagged, eyes closing, and again I fell into an internal abyss of the mind where no one could touch me anymore.

Gone. || #SinsOfTrust @AnguisMalificus @MythicalBelle @FacundMinister @NegligentChaos @TheLittleStag

[pestilentginger]

#SinsOfTrust

Lost is how I felt. Completely lost.

As a part of the Golden Trio, I had felt so confident, but since we had gone our separate ways, I was at loose ends. I had always looked to Harry to lead me, always followed in his footsteps, hidden in his shadow. And Hermione...she was always the one with the best plans. She was a genius, really. Even furious as I was with her, I could look back and acknowledge that. Me, I had no particular talents. Nothing to make me stand out. I got the leftovers all my life, and it was never enough.

Being part of the Knights gave me a sense of belonging. An acceptance and a purpose I hadn’t had in my life. Who would have thought that Percy and I would agree on anything? It was exhilarating being part of a secret society, entrusted with a mission and a responsibility that set me apart and made me feel important. Except when you’re a child and you make a mistake, people forgive you. They pick you up and dust you off and tell you it’s all right. Better luck next time. No one does that with you when you’re an adult. Make a mistake when you’re a grown man, and no one is there to take your hand and tell you to try again. You get labeled a failure, treated like garbage, shunned and cast aside and finally ignored.

It was a mistake, I knew, to have treated Hermione the way I had. I could blame it on the alcohol, but deep down, I knew that was a crutch. The fact was, I didn’t know why I had done it. I was jealous. Angry. Hurt. Full of wounded pride. She was so accomplished, and I was so...not. My family had been witches and wizards as long as the written records stretched, and yet here I was, Ron Weasley, nothing but mediocre despite being surrounded by others who were truly extraordinary. Was that what had made me finally snap? I couldn’t be sure. I had patches of my memory that were simply missing, lost to being blackout drunk, and I couldn’t call those moments back, even if I had wanted to. That was the only blessing I could take out of this nightmare situation. I couldn’t remember those moments when I had hurt her. It didn’t excuse it, but at least I didn’t have to relive it.

The Minister was right. I was a failure. I had let him down, along with all the other Knights. I was supposed to be helping them, and it seemed like all I managed to do was muck things up. Wind up in the press for all the wrong reasons.

And somehow in all this, Draco Malfoy had become her patron saint. How’s that for irony? The white weasel fucks up in the worst way you possibly can while we were kids, and somehow he got her on his arm and acting the Lord like he’s Bloody Prince Charming or something. Just the idea of him touching her rankled me. That’s what money will do for you. He always had it, and it bought him out of every problem he ever had. What did he know about suffering? He never had to work for anything in his whole life.

Serve him right, her handing him his walking papers. I may have been told off by her, but me, I knew it was coming. I had earned it. But Little Lord Fauntleroy with his silver spoon...his face was priceless. God, I’d give anything to see it again. You could literally see his heart crushing as that letter arrived. That was my silver lining, and whatever else happened to me afterward, at least I was there to see Malfoy get what was coming to him at last. It was the smallest taste of justice, but I would take it.

It was odd to think about it, but my instinct was to write Harry and Hermione and tell them about it. Have a good laugh at Malfoy’s expense like we used to. Ironic. Harry had all but gone from my life in spite of his marrying my sister, and Hermione...she would never speak to me again after all this.

I didn’t know where she had gone. I couldn’t imagine. After being driven out of The Leaky Cauldron, where did she have left? She clearly wasn’t going to go to Harry and Ginny’s. My entire family was out of the question. And without Malfoy’s Manor to retreat to, I knew her options were limited. Her parents were long gone, and as far as I knew, she didn’t have any relatives to fall back on.

At least I had that. They might berate and belittle me, but they were still my flesh and blood, and I knew they’d do what they could to help, even if it wasn’t much. I told myself that Percy would take me under his wing and protect me. Not that he’d been much good at that when we were younger, but surely by now we’d put all that behind us. I had to believe it anyway. As alone as I felt, I knew that Percy would do what he could to keep me out of trouble. He would talk to the Minister. Smooth things over. I told myself that it would all be okay. Percy didn’t have to like me, but we were family all the same. He had brought me into the Knights, and he would make sure that I would be taken care of. After all, he was my older brother. That was his job. Even Snood had reminded him of that fact. I was counting on that obligation to get me out of this mess.

And so when Percy arrived, I smiled. I was even grateful. “I knew you’d come,” I said. “I knew it. You couldn’t leave me here. Bloody hell. Took you long enough, didn’t it? Come to take me home, yeah?”

Percy didn’t smile at all. He looked at me with a cold sneer, as though he were looking at a stranger, and without saying anything at all, he raised his wand, and then the pain began. Pain beyond anything I had ever imagined possible. I fell to the floor, screaming in agony, feeling as though every nerve and cell in my body was on fire, burning from the inside out. Wandless magic had been something Percy was adept in. I’d never realized one could administer unforgivable curses that way. How wrong I was. I screamed until my voice broke, my throat raw. I begged him to stop until I couldn’t do anything but beg for death. This was what had happened to Neville’s parents. I could see why it drove them mad. I could feel my rational mind looking for escape, trying to find a hidden corner in which to curl up and leave the real world far behind. A place where the pain couldn’t touch me anymore.

And at the last I found it.||

[negligentchaos]

Sins of Trust

I have been, and will continue to be? One who is most loyal to his beliefs. It maybe what leads to my inevitable death, but a martyr I shall be for the voices of those who do not believe that there is a place for Mudbloods and their kind in the Wizarding world. Magic is a beautiful thing and it flows through us like the very blood that gives us life. It is why they do not belong, they’re tainted with the world and its miseries in a way that is hard to comprehend.

My time spent both at the side of the Dark Lord and then under the influence of the Polyjuice potion that gave me the ability to become Alastor Moody showed me clearly that they’re polluting our world with their tech-no-logies or however it is pronounced. I do not need to learn it as it serves no purpose in my mind. They use something known as ‘eckeltricity’ to create monstrous things that clearly are unnecessary and make them truly lazy and obtuse.

Their ideologies are tedious at best and childish at their worst. Therefore, to bring such base and debased beings into our world cannot be allowed.

My Father, although loyal to the laws of the Ministry and Wizengamot was as all pure blooded patriarchs are, most loyal to his son and heir as was my late Mother who lost her mind within the cold walls of Azkaban so that I may regain my freedom of sorts. That freedom had enabled me to return back to the Dark Lord and instill fear into hundreds of witches and wizards who had been foolish enough to believe that the lives they had been living was appropriate.

I had managed to convince all that I was held within the cold walls of Azkaban only to receive the Dementor's’ Kiss thanks to that naive and somewhat idiotic Cornelius Fudge - but that once again? Hadn’t been me, it had been one of the Dark Lord’s absentee followers who had abandoned the cause and I had fled.

Of course, the knowledge of what I had succeeded in doing not once? But twice failed to reach the Daily Prophet and other newspapers because it showed that the Ministry was as incompetent as they had always been. Perhaps, they should have insisted that Albus Dumbledore become the Minister of Magic prior to his death at the hands of the betrayer, Severus Snape. Slimy bastard should have been tortured for what he did but I wasn’t able to be alongside my Master at the Battle of Hogwarts much to my sorrow.

How I would have enjoyed ripping out the hearts of the Mudbloods and foul creatures who had been born of magic and Muggle. But necessity called for me to escape the country and I had succeeded in doing so until the time was right - I refuse to disclose my temporary location when escaping from the Ministry and their infuriatingly determined Aurors as it would taint my being but I shall only say this?

I was all too happy to return to the home I had felt safe and content in at various times of my life - especially as no one was aware of anyone inhabiting the somewhat large and antiquated residence that had been home to mystery and death for decades and left those in the village afraid of the ghosts who lingered.

I devoured books on various practises of magic, investing time into how I could remove the level of insanity that I knew lingered below the surface of my mind believing that it had been the time spent within Azkaban after my Father’s betrayal that had triggered the fragility of my mind. Add to it; the decade of the enforced Imperious Curse upon my being and it was no wonder that I showed every sign of a madman…

It was no wonder, that I looked to anyone who stood back and said that those not born to pure magic were to be the ones to save us.

However.

As much as I looked to Lord Voldemort to restore the Wizarding World to one to be proud of, I wondered if it was partially a fuck you to the Muggle Father whom he had murdered and then whose bones had brought him back. Voldemort used his Muggle heritage as and when it suited him to bring about what he desired and that abuse of family is one that is looked down upon within the witches and wizards of pure heritage.

… Which was why I stood with the Lestrange brothers who weren’t blind to what the Dark Lord was. Unlike Bellatrix who I swore wanted to kneel at his feet and ask the heretic how he wanted her to jump or whether his boots should be licked. She was one to say emotions clouded judgement when living solely by the emotion of infatuation from one who saw her and the rest of us as tools in his games against Dumbledore.

I do not have loyalties that can be swayed. Nor do I have revenge guiding me because such things will only lead to the misfortune to fall all who are left vacant in the cells below ground and against the crashing waves against Azkaban’s grey tower.

What I do possess is a clarity of thought and process, and I am mildly amused as I relax by the open fire on this cold night; that no one is aware of my existence. The greatest minds in the Wizarding world of England and Europe as a whole are going about their daily business believing that chaos and darkness is gone - it has not I assure you for it lingers in the hearts of those who blame others for their untold miseries.

…. and I have always enjoyed playing with marionettes… especially those with the bright smiles and innocent eyes.

Chuckling softly, my fingers slip over the soft edges of worn diaries taking in information and the details of charms and hexes that will ensure I am safe when I return from the shadows reborn with a face that none shall fully recall… A variant of the disillusionment charm will ensure none recall me if they encounter no matter how long they are in my presence. It’s too easy… but I do like the simplicity of survival…

The flutter of wings distracts me from a page of the diary I am currently researching information from, the wizard I had procured it from being one to use fifty words in place of ten; and I see an owl whose body is drenched setting within the alcove of the broken window. I recognise it of course; I’m not likely to have unwanted mail arrive in this bleak location but I am reticent to approach incase the bird has been tampered with by anyone who is curious as to what an owl would be bringing to an area not known for magical beings..

The bird calls for me as it has been trained to do so by myself and the sender of my mail.

And with a nod, he kicks off the scrolled paper so that I may see the untampered with seal of the long died out Gaunt family. A family I can assure you were ones that should have been burnt by those who see Muggles who learnt of how nature could heal a soul and the body of a broken creature.. solely for the betrayal of a heart to a pitifully stupid Muggleborn.

All things are to ensure that none know the truth, none but one and even he often finds himself stripped of memory.

“You never fail me do you Little Stag, now what do we have here…”

There was lists of information, and an amusing recollection of how that foolish chit had broken not one pureblood, but two.. Hmmm perhaps I should interfere in that little menage?

Laughing softly, I returned to my book after sending my reply instructing that all should continue as it should - and I would tear them all apart, and I’d ensure they all received the kiss I was sentenced to endure… It was such a shame, that there wouldn’t be a hero in our world anymore when I was finished with them - nor would there be any chance of their being a continuation of that bastardised family when I was done with each and every of my little pawns.

[pestilentginger]

#SinsOfTrust

It was bad enough to have been humiliated in front of Hermione, but adding Malfoy's derision into the mix was beyond tolerance. However, having gone through rejection from her already, I wasn't nearly as affected by her goodbye letter as that ferret was. I had some consolation in that, at any rate. I had almost expected rejection, but Malfoy...I'm sure he's never had anyone reject him in his entire bloody life, and the look on his face was priceless. I would have paid money to see that years ago.

Honestly, I was drunk enough, my reaction time was slower, and I hardly had time to register what was happening before she had disappeared. The liquor I had drunk downstairs had caught up with me, and my head was spinning like mad. Not that it would have mattered. The way the Minister had me bound without my wand, I couldn't have done anything anyway. My only weapon was my tongue, and I used it against Malfoy as best I could.

“Threw you over too, did she? Bitch. I knew it was only a matter of time. No one would ever want you, you ferret. Didn’t take long for her to suss you out, did it? Wonder whose dick she’ll be riding next? Krum? What’s your bet, eh?”

But before I could say much more, Draco was pushing past me, and the Minister was snarling and dragging me by the collar down the stairs and out through the front door onto the street. His words stung, and his rough manhandling of me was alarming, though if I had been sober and in possession of my wand, I would have given him a good run for his money.

“Leggo!” I shouted, stumbling onto the stones, but before I could fight him off or say anything further, we apparated away.

I had thought perhaps Arcturus was simply helping me get out of an awkward situation, removing me from the pub so I could sober up and avoid a public brawl. The Minister had always seemed more of a man of words than of action. It only took a few moments in this new place for me to realize how wrong I was.

Blow after blow rained down on me, and all I could do was huddle on the floor, trying to cover my head. Too drunk to stand and fight back, I felt the wind go out of me with a swift kick from him to my ribs. Something broke. I felt it give and crack, and I cried out in pain, doubling over. All the while, he berated me, belittled me, mocked me. I was helpless to do anything but endure it, tasting blood on my tongue and begging him to stop.

All the while, though his actions were violent and his words were like knives, the tone in his voice and the expression on his face was detached and remote, as though he had no real reaction to what he was doing. That was most disturbing of all.

Finally, the blows stopped, and with a whimper I dragged myself into a darkened corner, barely able to move for my injuries. The beating had sobered me up, but I was dizzy and nauseated and aching. Overwhelmed with pain, I vomited, then collapsed in a heap, sliding into darkness as my consciousness fell away.