barty crouch jr (mask) wrote in raveled, @ 2016-10-25 23:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! decade: 1970s, ! log, barty crouch jr, bellatrix black lestrange |
week 2 prompt: elective
WHO: Bellatrix and Barty feat. an unfortunate muggle
WHEN: 1978
WHAT: A lesson in the Cruciatus Curse
WHERE: Some clearing in the woods
WARNINGS: Use of Unforgivables…
REPOST: Stormwatch
Even though it was well past midnight, Bellatrix looked extremely content and well-rested -- she was smoking and perched on the stump in the clearing as if it was a much more comfortable seat. It would have almost been a charming moment between mentor and mentee if it wasn't for the muggle hanging limply in mid-air just above their heads, illuminated by a chunk of moonlight. "I'm not going to bore you with all the theory since I assume --" a raised eyebrow "-- you've been reading up on it in preparation, but I'll reiterate that desire is the most important part of this. You have to really want to cause pain -- it's not enough to be angry or irritated. Observe." She pointed her wand at the floating man and he immediately fell to the ground, landing in the dirt with a thump. "Crucio!" He began writhing and screams filled the clearing. Bellatrix watched, eyes glittering, and then lifted it. “The Cruciatus curse,” Barty muttered quietly, smugly, to himself and to the muggle, broadening the scope of this lesson so that the muggle could learn of its own inferiority to the two --- “outlawed in 1717. In consideration for re-legalisation for aurors, by none other, than my father...” He stopped, hand holding his wand delicately in front of him. He smirked, the poetic realisation that he would be doing his father’s just bidding gripping the wand: “Crucio.” -- and, nothing. The muggle barely turned. For all his talk, Barty was but a boy; during Bellatrix’s spectacular demonstration, while the muggle writhed and screamed, he still flinched noticeably. And he, too, knew, that he lacked that desire she spoke of. After all, there were few that he truly desired harm upon. "You aren't angry enough with the muggle," Bellatrix said clinically, resting her chin in her hand. "You should be, though, when considering the kind of pollution they've inflicted… Crucio." It was said almost boredly and the man let out another piercing scream. "When I started, I found it helpful to very clearly imagine someone else's face." Ted Tonks. "Pause and picture that first, then try again." Barty supposed that I don’t hate them would have been an unsatisfactory answer. In truth, he had little opinion of muggles beyond the vague desire to enslave them. Instead, he considered Bellatrix’s advice. His mind shuffled through images: Lord Voldemort. Winky. Regulus. Mother. Father.. -- Father. He frowned, staring at his wand as his tried to manipulate his desire into it. Father is the muggle. He pointed. “Crucio.” Father deserves this. The muggle coughed. Barty sighed audibly. Later, Barty would contemplate what this event would suggest about his relationship with his father -- perhaps, that he might still love his father in a weakness that would prevent him from desiring harm to his father -- but for now there was but a second line of thinking his mind would, consciously or not, proceed to. Thinking of his father would always unconsciously bring back that unsuppressable anger. “Crucio.” Be the sword through which I channel this anger, he willed his wand. The muggle’s screams, this time, should have been satisfactory. "Much better!" Bellatrix crowed. She leapt to her feet, smoke trailing from the cigarette in her fingers. As Barty lowered his wand, she nudged the now sobbing man with the toe of her dragon leather boots. "Oh, stop bawling. I can't hear myself think. Barty, I'm curious if he remembers the facts you were reciting earlier..." Barty, now a toothy, triumphant boy with his first successful Cruciatus (baby’s first torture scene, anyone?) under his belt, was all but ready to indulge Bellatrix’s twisted sense of humour. “Muggle,” he said, rolling the man under his cleanly shined shoes, “in what year did the Ministry outlaw the Cruciatus curse?” The muggle blinked and twitched incoherently, but somehow recognized it was being addressed. “What are you f-fucking talking about -- why are you d-doing this --” it stammered. “Wrong,” Barty sighed, an overexaggerated hint of exasperation creeping in his voice. “1717. Crucio.” The curse landed, but not strongly -- the muggle let out a short yelp of pain as if stung. Bellatrix made a tutting noise. "Focus! Don't be overconfident. You're letting the game get in the way of thinking about what you're doing -- do you want to hurt him or not?" Bellatrix knelt down in the dirt beside their prey, frowning with mock-concern as she placed a pale hand against his forehead. "You think we're not being very sporting right now, but Barty's got to practice somehow, hasn't he?" She rocked back on her heels and glanced up at Barty with a razor of a smile. "One more… ah, quiz question, perhaps, and then I'll finish off what's left of it." Barty gulped, ears flushing red as he acknowledged his mistake of bravado. “Yes,” he said, with patience, with focus, with memory, as his mind realised the perfect final question. “The man who wants to re-legalise this curse -- you recall, I’m sure, that he is none other than my dear father--” and, wand at the ready, in his mind’s eye he saw the old man, his namesake, with his team of elite aurors taking the same stance he was, ready to deliver the crooked justice that he would deem fit “-- muggle, what is my father’s name?” The muggle stared in fear. “You never said it! I don’t know it I sw---” “--Crucio! Say it muggle! What is my father’s name?!” The student finally found the hate. |