|The Recruitment : NPC (recruitment_npc) wrote in the_recruitment,|
@ 2012-02-20 00:10:00
|Entry tags:||! 02/1977, ! complete, ! log, char: rodolphus lestrange, npc: lord voldemort|
Who: Lord Voldemort and Rodolphus Lestrange
What: Rodolphus must be punished for his brashness of actions.
Where: Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton
When: Sunday the 19th of February
Status: Complete log
Rating: PG-13 or higher. Magical torture ahead.
* Note: I highly suggest listening to Disturbed's Inside the Fire, Down With the Sickness, Papa Roach's Getting Away With Murder, and Three Days Grace's Animal I Have Become while reading this log to get into a proper mindset. You won't be sorry.
Twisted bodies, pain, inflicted by the sane
The guilty kill an innocent for their crimes
A living sacrifice, made at His own choice
A victory, a life for the dead
Taste the blood, it bled for you
The events of a week prior had been stuck in Voldemort's mind as he had planned and organised his Death Eaters to do tasks here and there. The focus had been in setting his followers in key positions, reinforcing the Knights of Walpurgis that shadowed the Ministry's efforts. Even before word had shown up in the Prophet of a muggle massacre in Dartford, Voldemort had known that something was happening, having felt a dark magic rising in the air even from as far as Little Hangleton. The Riddle Manor had been his safe haven outside of Borgin & Burke's, housing a simple warming charm and a rotation of his closest followers to do his bidding.
As he sat upon the large armchair before the blazing hearth, he stroked a large king cobra's slick head, staring at the eerie green and yellow flickering flames. Earlier in the day, he'd sent an owl off to Rodolphus Lestrange with a small portkey, demanding his presence before his Lord that evening for no stated reason. Voldemort's thin lips pursed as his eyes narrowed, awaiting his rash follower's appearance before him.
Even though there hadn't been an explanation attached to the summons, Rodolphus was pretty sure he knew what his Lord wanted of him. There had been a promise of punishment after the events surrounding Sirius Black's kidnapping and knowing the way Voldemort enjoyed castigation, the notion that he would forget or change his mind seemed unlikely. He had yet to decide, however, if he should be repentant or not. His spell work had been good and Lucius should have known better than to get in the way before Rodolphus was finished. Malfoy had gotten to have his fun, the kind of fun that made him question the future of his family line but his fun none the less and Rodolphus had wanted his fair turn. At the time, even through his exuberance, Rodolphus could tell his Lord hadn't been pleased but he couldn't understand why.
He probably should have been more concerned with what was going to happen to him.
Just like he'd done with the last portkey the Dark Lord had sent him, Rodolphus spent the day with his, turning it over in his hands and daydreaming about what lay ahead of him. The Cruciatus? Worse? As long as he left with the Mark, as long as he left at all, he was sure he could handle what was coming for him. As the designated time came, Rodolphus prepared for the magical pull. As before his landing was clumsy but since he had plans of bowing before Voldemort anyway it hardly seemed to matter. "My Lord," he murmured, not smiling and holding his breath.
Upon the appearance of his wayward follower, Voldemort stood from the comfort of the chair and waved away two of his inner circle who had stood by with wands lifted. They obeyed and closed the drafty parlour's doors behind them, leaving Voldemort alone with Rodolphus.
"My faithful follower," he dragged out lazily, encircling the bowed figure before him, "I am glad that you could join me. Did you wonder why you might have been summoned?" came the low question as he positioned himself behind Rodolphus, yet in front of the flames. He felt their warmth licking at his back and smiled, allowing the flames to threaten to engulf him. With a hissing that sounded oddly like a sentence, his pet cobra slithered toward him, winding her tail around Rodolphus's genuflected figure before joining her master at his side.
With a steady, slow motion, Voldemort pulled his bone-white wand from within his sleeve and held out his arm, allowing the upper half of his companion to slide onto his shoulder as he leisurely walked back around the bowed figure of Rodolphus, till he was facing him. "Or perhaps what you may hope to face tonight?" It was more of a statement than a question, but he allowed his eyes to trail over his follower, interestedly awaiting his response.
Staring at the ground was always the most difficult thing during moments like this. Rodolphus had always been curious, the type to act before he thought, which made it no surprise to him that he was here now. Because he couldn't look or anticipate his immediate future he counted the Dark Lord's steps as he circled around him, the tone of his voice forcing him to strain his ears to hear despite the stillness of the room. It was the sound of his own heart, suddenly racing madly in his chest that made it nearly impossible for him to hear. How bizarre. All day he'd been perfectly calm and now, suddenly, he was so alive. It wasn't unlike how he felt last week when he shared the evening with that Muggle family.
"I'm nearly positive I know why I'm here, my Lord," he answered, shocked by the evenness of his tone despite his inner turmoil and conflicted, foreign emotions. He took a deep breath as he contemplated the second question he was sure Voldemort didn't really want answered. "Whatever you decide I look forward to. I would urge you to be harsh since I'm an unfortunately stubborn man. I am anxious, however, to learn how I can best serve you. My only desire is to be an effective weapon."
Voldemort feigned disinterest in the replies as he gazed upon Rodolphus, Nagini settling in around his neck and hissing her thoughts to her Master. He merely turned an ear toward her, stroking her head and long neck with his free hand before pointing his wand toward the sole umbrella stand in the room. He wordlessly transfigured it into a multi-armed stick creature that hobbled forth, grasping onto Rodolphus and pulling him forcefully into a standing position, his arms being held tightly behind him by the vice-like grip of the mutilated looking garrote.
"My obtuse Rodolphus, you may wish to retract your statement," he hissed, lowering his wand hand as Nagini's tail curled sensuously against the hum of magic abating in his limb. "You see, while I often prefer to use magic against my enemies, what I have in store for capricious allies is far worse when they cannot control themselves in my presence." With a slight flick of the wand still resting in his lowered hand, the garrote's strangling device snapped over Rodolphus's neck, pulling taut enough to cause discomfort, but not necessarily choke. Voldemort's amusement finally rose to his eyes, a slight crease in his smooth features the only indicator.
With a slow shuffle of feet, he came face-to-face with Rodolphus and aimed his wand at the man's chest, merely a few centimetres away as he uttered the Cruciatus. The king cobra still coiling about her Master slithered along his neck with excitement, craning her head forward in anticipation of his next demand.
The tip of the wand angled towards his chest told Rodolphus he wouldn't have to wonder what the Dark Lord's Cruciatus would feel like for very much longer and he wasn't disappointed. The magic ripped through him, maybe even literally ripped through him. He couldn't be sure one way or the other because both, he imagined, would feel the same as this. His back and shoulders slammed back against the garrote as he locked his knees, tensed all his muscles, which only made it worse. While he was determined to learn a lesson, or at least satisfy his Lord's desire, Rodolphus told himself he wasn't going to scream. His jaw clenched as he pressed the back of his skull against his wooden captor waiting for it to be over or at least to abate.
It was better than this, that much was plainly obvious.
There was a small sensation of pleasure that passed through him at his follower's obvious pain, almost bringing a smile to his lips, but as the Cruciatus wore on, he became less satisfied and more impatient to hear the torment echoed in Rodolphus's voice. For the first time since inducting the man into his Death Eaters, Voldemort's hand shot out like an uncoiling predator and touched the clenched jaw of his follower, stroking lightly before digging sharpened claws into the tense flesh. His wand released the Cruciatus as he leaned forward, his pale face hovering above his follower's.
"Let me hear your pain, Rodolphus," he drawled almost lovingly, claws scratching downward and leaving bloody trails. "This could go on for hours; do you think you can maintain such composure in the face of your well-deserved punishment?" His wand hand lightly swished toward the garrote, causing its vice-like arms to pull back sharply, placing extreme pressure on its victim's arms. Voldemort's lips pulled up into a smile filled with cold detachment while he intently watched Rodolphus.
Even after Voldemort had lifted the curse Rodolphus could still feel it in his muscles, in his guts, pulling at him and through him. He'd been holding his breath, his abdomen tight and throbbing, and now without the magic to hold him he slumped against the garrote a strangled, tortured groan he tried desperately to swallow back forcing its way out of him. Through the dizzy haze of pain, the Dark Lord's whispered words barely registered but the bite of his nails was almost welcomed as a different sort of pain. How he could sound so tender while inflicting such damage didn't make any sense. What made even less sense was that he liked it. He shouldn't like it.
"My Lord?" His words stumbled over his tongue and he couldn't be entirely sure what he said was even comprehensible. It probably wouldn't have to be for Voldemort to understand. Opening his eyes, Rodolphus found himself staring into the gaze of a snake. A very large, very white serpent that morphed into the familiar face of his Lord when he blinked. He would have preferred the animal if given the choice. It wouldn't have been nearly as terrible. "As you will." He couldn't. He definitely couldn't keep his composure, not for hours.
Temporarily happy with the groan that made its way to the surface, Voldemort released his nails and reverted to petting lightly, letting his hand linger as his face smoothed into its usual neutral look. His voice rose only a fraction to relay what he needed to.
"I must commend you for your colourful work last weekend, but heed this, Rodolphus: my Mark is not to be idly brandished above muggle skies after such a callous show of craftsmanship." Voldemort had gone to inspect the deed himself when his insiders warned him of the Ministry's response. Well-concealed by shadows, he had seen the Dark Mark lingering in the sky, an agitated Auror trying desperately to dispel it and finally succeeding. After he'd gathered enough information from one-half of the Auror duo with a well-placed Imperius, he vanished in a crack of magic, leaving the confused man to wonder what had occurred.
However, he had to concede that Rodolphus had a deliciously evil streak through him that he needed in his followers. One final incantation of the Cruciatus aimed for Rodolphus as Voldemort gave Nagini the signal to latch onto her prey. Her tail and most of her body coiled over the trapped Death Eater, relaying to her Master what she felt of his reactions to the Cruciatus.
Knowing exactly what was in store for him made the Dark Lord's second assault even more awful and wonderful than the first time. The reflexes of his body, the ones that struggled for self preservation, fought to escape what was impossible to avoid while the sick parts of his brain longed for more, more pain, more of this high, the gentle touches of his Lord's fingers followed by this torture that made him want to tear his way out of his own skin or beat his head into a wall just so it would stop. The duality of the conflicting desires were incomprehensible but he had no desire to understand them anyway. How far could he go by screwing up just enough to garner his Lord's private attention but not so much that he became more trouble than he was worth? Was it true that Crucio could drive a man to madness?
His Lord had wanted to know his pain and the velvety body of the serpent around him would definitely know the way he twitched within its coils, but even if Rodolphus had wanted to maintain his pride (especially since it was quite possible Bellatrix was lurking somewhere around this massive house), the desires of the Dark Lord amounted to more. So much more. He would definitely sing for Him.
Somehow, the second time around the curse felt monumentally worse than he remembered. Anticipation did nothing to overstate the sensation and although it was a struggle to do so and he ended up biting his tongue to the point of tasting blood, Rodolphus allowed himself to give into the sheer torture of it, his shout echoing through the spacious chamber he'd been summoned to.
Surprisingly, screaming did nothing to lessen the pain.
A truly reverential sigh made its way past his lips, touched by the screaming and the sensations that Nagini was hissing to him in between shouts. It was all music to his ears.
After what had to be at least twenty slowly ticking minutes of his imposed torture, with Voldemort leaning almost sumptuously against Rodolphus's twitching body to feel the pain for himself, he called Nagini from her prey. She obediently slithered back over his offered arm and settled across his shoulders like a living stole possessed of the ability to strike fear into a man's heart. He reluctantly pulled away from his agonised servant and dropped the spell from the garrote, causing it to leap back into place in its corner, once more a lone umbrella stand.
Voldemort's soft gaze ran over the fallen man before him, having now lost the cruel support behind him, and yet he did not release the Cruciatus, opting to let his follower feel it for another few minutes before finally snapping his wand with a twist, the torture abruptly ceasing.
"You've done well, my loyal Death Eater. Tonight you have earned your name. Now away from my sight." With a dismissing hand, he turned back to his chair and sat upon it, leaning against the softness while Nagini curled up to his neck and he gazed steadily at Rodolphus, a hand poised at Nagini's head for the stroke that she longed for.
Having lost consciousness of what was going on around him a long time ago, Rodolphus hit the floor like a hunk of meat. Without the support of the garrote behind him he was left to convulse on the ground. He recalled what Rosier's father had looked like and distinctly remembered Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick as he had tortured them and figured he must be about the same, like he was attempting to tie himself in a knot while inwardly he just wished it would be over one way or another.
When Voldemort finally deemed to release him Rodolphus didn't move, half curled up in a fetal position as his body that felt as heavy as a corpse raced with a million heartbeats. Somewhere in the middle of everything, somehow, he'd managed to get something right which meant no matter what he felt like tomorrow, he could chalk this evening up to a win. At being dismissed, the Death Eater did his best to collect himself and with a trembling hand he withdrew his wand to apparate home using what felt like the last of his strength to hope he didn't splinch himself.