jon yaxley knows WAY more than jon snow. (yaksleak) wrote in dissentwo, @ 2013-04-01 22:59:00 |
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It had been over three weeks since Jon had begun to understand what Evan Rosier had done to Marina, and they had not been easy weeks to pass. Work had kept him distracted to an extent, as had his and Charlotte’s newly intensified friendship with Julian Nott and Ewart Mulciber, but the knowledge that Rosier was out there, safe and sound while Marina had god knew what trauma in her head (on her body?), had eaten away at him while he’d waited. He’d spoken to the Dark Lord. It had been nerve-wracking. His lord was not in the habit of granting favours even to his most favoured servants, and Jon certainly was not among their number. He’d gone into the meeting fully prepared not to leave it alive (and wouldn’t that have been a relief?). But more than anything, the Dark Lord had seemed amused at his indignation. He had ordered Jon to wait until after King’s Cross. Then he would have his chance to punish the Rosier boy. So, a few days after King’s Cross — and taking a curse for the Hayes parents, and having to sit through the shame when of all people it was Ewart brought to fix the damage — when the dust had settled, he wasn’t surprised to receive word that he was to house Evan for the time being. It had, despite everything else, given him more a sense of life — of grim joy — than much had in the past months. Spending time with his friends was always a relief from the vague sense of purposelessness that plagued him for most of his waking hours, but this was a different sort of relief: Jon had something to do. He had a chance to use his less savoury assets for something worthwhile, for once. “Are the accommodations to your liking?” He only had a one-bedroom flat, but it had been easy enough, to work away at the dimensions of the place, to hide another room within the tiny confines of his home. He knew well enough that Rosier probably wished he’d been sent to the Selwyns or the Malfoys instead, and the thought gave him another twinge of grim pleasure. Still, he’d been polite — even cordial — to Evan from the moment he’d been brought there. Best to have the boy’s guard down, and the beating he was in for would be twice as painful, if he didn’t see it coming. While the Dark Lord might have been aware of how Jon felt about the Hayeses, Evan was neither smart enough nor observant enough to have picked up on that fact. As such, he'd not even questioned when he'd been sent to Yaxley's to hide out - though, yes, he did regret not being sent to flashier accommodations. "They'll do," he said, throwing his bag on the floor. The disarming curse, as well as the stunner that followed it, was delivered silently — if nothing else, years as both a Hitwizard and a Death Eater had done wonders for his wandwork — sent when Rosier’s back was turned. One could argue it was dishonourable, hexing a young boy in the back, but one could also argue that when a young boy had assaulted, threatened, blackmailed, and permanently traumatized a young girl, he had officially forsaken his right to be treated with respect. As Rosier fell to the ground, Jon cast another spell, muttered this time, binding him tightly in magical ropes, invulnerable to all but a well-cast, quite specific spell. Rosier would have a hell of a time moving them, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to cut them. As Jon pocketed the boy’s wand, he wondered how long he’d keep Rosier tied up like this. Of course, he’d need to be fed, watered, allowed to sleep. Jon would have to ensure he wouldn’t be able to break free until it had been made absolutely clear to him that any retaliation would not be tolerated. But, he thought, he was likely more than capable of keeping Rosier bound and in pain for a good week, if not more. When everything was properly secure — the ropes double-checked, the door locked, Rosier’s belongings out of sight and out of reach, the wards on the room set against apparition, detection, and... well... escape — Jon brought the boy to, standing over him. He’d melded the ropes to the wall and the floor, Rosier’s hands behind his back, his legs firmly bound together. Rosier would be able to move his head, if he really wanted to, but not much else. Jon wasn’t sure whether or not he hoped Rosier would try to look away, force Jon into binding his head in place too somehow. He smiled slightly when Evan began to come to, lips tight despite the fact that the smile did, briefly, touch his eyes. “Hello. Welcome back.” So unused to being caught on the receiving end of violence was Evan that even as he slowly came to, it took him a moment to realize exactly what had happened. He was groggy, yes, and a bit shaken up from the hit to the floor, but as his face registered Jon's grim smile and he figured out what had just happened, his face darkened from confusion into anger. "What the fuck, Yaxley?" In response, Jon sent a silent Cruciatus to Evan. Under normal circumstances, he tended to struggle with Unforgivables more than most in his position; there was no question, however, of his not utterly meaning it under the present circumstances. He stopped the curse after only a couple of seconds, crouching a few feet away from Evan, at eye level. “It’s my understanding that you had some fun with the Muggleborns you went to school with. How many?” Evan had been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus exactly once before, several years ago, when he'd pissed off his father in a fairly spectacular manner. The memory of that had been burned into his mind for years. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined he could still feel that sensation, like a thousand tiny razors slicing your skin and flesh back in thin slices. He hadn't remembered it, though, not exactly. His screams died in his throat as the spell came to an end, though he could taste the vomit in his mouth where a bit of it had risen up his throat. "I don't know. A few. Why do you care, they're only mudbloods?" Again, a short burst of the Cruciatus, longer this time by a second or two. Jon stayed in his crouch, his gaze intense as he studied Evan. He was oddly still as he crouched there, appearing utterly unconcerned at how long this would take, not looking away or flinching in the least at the sound of the boy’s screams. He seemed, Jon thought, much more the boy he was when he shrieked. “How many?” he asked again. Evan coughed , blood and spit sliding down his lips from where he'd bit into his tongue. "I dunno, three? Depends on what you count as fun." “Tell me exactly what you did and who you did it to, and I’ll consider not using the Cruciatus on you again in the immediate future,” Jon said, voice calm, though his knuckles were nearly white on his wand as he held it. "Like fuck I have to tell you anything." Jon gave Evan another small, tight smile, his knuckles finally going white. He had already wondered if he’d be able to convince Ewart to fix any potentially fatal damage he did, though he had no desire to pull his friend any deeper into this utter mess than others already had. It wouldn’t do for Jon to kill one of the Dark Lord’s most promising new pets, after all. Maybe he should. Jon suspected if he killed Rosier, he’d be taken out soon after. Perhaps that would be best for everyone. “You’re going to tell me exactly what you did, or I’m going to burn your little cock off and shove it down your throat,” he said in the same calm voice, gaze steady on Evan’s eyes. “The Dark Lord needs you as his lapdog, but he doesn’t need you whole for you to work. The way I see it, you’re probably a better dog the less whole you are. So if you ever want to be able to look at a girl and feel anything but phantom pains again, I’d start talking, Rosier. We have a debt to settle. I need to know how many pounds of flesh I’m owed by your sorry cunting arse.” "I only took one at school. There were a couple muggle girls last summer." “What did you do to them?” Jon prompted. “I’d advise honesty. I don’t take kindly to being lied to.” "Same thing I did to Marina. Why the fuck do you care about some dirty blooded cunts?" Jon pressed his wand into Evan’s abdomen, a muttered curse heating the tip so it began to burn through his clothes, through flesh, sending tendrils of searing heat into Evan’s belly, seeking blood. It wouldn’t have too much of a lasting effect beyond the burn on his flesh, but it would hurt, and it would hurt for hours. “The Hayeses are protected,” he said, voice still deadly quiet, though there was a heat behind the words. “What you did was very stupid.” "The Hayeses are mudbloods," Evan managed to spit out, after several long seconds of screaming. Jon twisted his wand deeper, a fresh surge of fire threading through Evan’s torso, into his veins, carrying the burn along with blood. He waited until Evan’s screams died down again, releasing him from the curse, before he spoke again. “The Hayeses are my mudbloods, Rosier. They are mine. They are not for you to play with. They are not for anyone else to play with. I don’t take kindly to deluded little cunts touching my property. Am I being clear, pup?” "Fine, fuck." There was blood on the floor from where he'd practically bitten off sections of the inside of his cheek. "It's not like I fucking knew." A slash of Jon’s wand across his shoulder left blood soaking the boy’s clothing — just a shallow cut, for now. “You never speak to them again, Rosier. You don’t speak to them. You don’t speak to their parents. You don’t speak to their friends. The Hayeses are verboten to you unless you have express orders from the Dark Lord.” He drew his wand down to where one of Evan’s kidneys was, sending a small shock, just enough to make it ache. “But first I’m going to make you hurt twice as badly as she has. I’m going to wear you down to nothing. I’m going to make it clear just how serious I am. And Rosier?” He leaned closer, smiling at Evan. “I’m doing this with the Dark Lord’s permission. Keep that in mind the next time you think you’re a big boy.” |