The Son of Lord Voldemort

Chapter 91

The soft crackling of flames could be heard in the silence. Shadows danced on the walls to a song only they could hear. A fat cat slept quietly, its paws flexing as it dreamed. Books littered the tables, their contents no doubt swirling around in some sleeping Gryffindors mind.

Ron's angry voice cut through the silence like a knife into butter. "I don't think I can take it again." He paced back and forth in front of the hearth. The cats eyes opened at the loud noise before they fluttered shut.

"We went after them," Dean said. "We know they're stronger than us. It was reckless."

Ron spun around, his face red and contorted in fury. "Are you saying we should do nothing? After every thing those bloody junior Death Eaters have done."

Dean reeled back, as though he'd been slapped. "That's not what I said. I just think we should stop fighting like Gryffindors and-"

"And what?" Ron demanded. "Start fighting like those slimy snakes?"

"No, we need to fight smart like Ravenclaws," Dean said calmly, "sneakily like Slytherins, together like Hufflepuffs, and bravely like Gryffindors. We've all seen them duel, it's as if they've been training together all their lives. Which they probably have. They know how to work as a team, and play to their strengths. We attacked them without having a plan. We weren't thinking."

"Dean's right," Seamus interjected. "They fight better than any seventh year. If we ever want to beat them in a duel we need to practice. We can't get bested again. No one in Gryffindor is even talking to us because of it. We'll never make up all those points before the year is over."

"Maybe losing to them again was a good thing," Dean said. He continued when he saw Ron's face turn a brighter shade of red. "We haven't exactly been good students since we started here. If we put more focus into our studies, and learn extra spells. We'll have a chance. They deserve to get dropped down one hundred notches. We aren't arguing with you about that Ron. I know they're up to something. But we can't do anything about it as we are."

Ron stared at his two best friends. He knew they were right. He wasn't dumb, he just didn't care about school. All he had wanted to be for as long as he could remember was an auror. He wanted to catch bad guys and fight against those on the dark side. His brother Bill had told him years ago that in order to be an auror he needed good grades, but he didn't want to put in the work. He'd much rather play quidditch or wizards chess. But if studying meant he could send that bastard Riddle, and his band of future Death Eaters to the infirmary, and one day Azkaban, it would be worth it.

"I got a book of offensive spells for Christmas," Ron said. At the time he had hated the gift, but now it seemed it would come in handy.

"I got some from my mum," Seamus said. "I'll go get them."

Ron watched as Seamus ran up the stairs. An image of Harrison crumbling to the ground flashed in his mind and he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face.

Nymphadora could barely keep her eyes open. Dry blood and tears clamped onto her eyelashes like a starfish to a rock. She sucked in a breath of air and almost puked at the stench. Urine, blood, and other things she didn't want to think of mixed in the air like Death's cologne. Her entire body felt as though she had been dropped from the highest tower thousands of times. She rubbed her arm where the words blood traitor were carved into her flesh. The cuts weren't deep, but due to the curse placed on the blade used, she knew they'd be there forever.

It had only been a week or two since she had been taken. She wasn't quite sure how long for certain. She hadn't left the dungeons, and there were no windows. She couldn't even use the guards movements as an estimation, sometimes a guard would be stationed outside her door for what seemed like a hour, sometimes ten. She was no fool, she knew it was meant to confuse her, to keep her from recognizing time.

Nymphadora flinched as she moved her legs. A sob escaped her throat, but no tears came out. Whether from dehydration, or the fact that she had cried enough since she had been taken for four lifetimes, but she couldn't cry anymore. No matter what was done to her, no tears fell down her cheeks.

Nymphadora tried to stay strong. She was an auror, she had been trained for every situation. She had been trained to say calm, and to not allow her captor to mess with her head. No matter what was done, said, or shown to her, she had to stay strong. But Nymphadora found it harder and harder to stay strong. She forced herself to think of her friends and family. She had people who cared whether she lived or died. She had a life, a good and happy life to get back to. But as she looked around the room, and at the awful words carved into her arms, she didn't know if she could ever be happy again.

The door opened and she jumped. She mentally told herself to be strong, but the little mental strength she had left crashed down as Rabastan walked into the room. He smirked in amusement, as if they shared a private joke. His dark eyes danced with horrible intent.

"Good morning," Rabastan purred. "Did you sleep well?"

Nymphadora covered her breasts and Rabastan laughed. The sound made bile rise in her throat.

"Why bother with that?" Rabastan asked. "It isn't as if I haven't seen it all before."

Rabstan's eyes drank in her body and she began to shake. Images of the previous night assaulted her mind. Rabastan on top of her panting, his hands pulling at her breasts, him shoving himself inside of her without a care to how much it hurt. She subconsciously raised her hand to her right cheek where he had slapped her as she screamed at him to stop.

"No!" Nymphadora yelled, shaking her head. She pushed herself against the wall as he walked towards her.

"Enough of that," Rabastan snapped. He stalked towards her like a lion to a gazelle. Nymphadora's breathing sped up, and beads of sweat formed on her forhead.

The door slammed open, smacking into the stone wall. Rabastan spun around, his hand reaching for his wand. Nymphadora never thought she'd feel relief to see her deranged aunt. Bellatrix stood in the doorway, a crazed smile danced on her lips.

"What is the meaning of this Bella?" Rabastan demanded.

"I come with news from our Lord," Bellatrix said. "There's been a change in plans in regards to your little play thing." She sneered at Nymphadora before looking back at Rabastan. "Clean her up, remove all of the dry blood and other unmentionables, but leave her without clothes. Escort her to the main chamber, the Dark Lord will instruct you from there."

Nymphadora froze. She had thought being forced to be alone with Rabastan was hell on earth. The thought of being taken to the Dark Lord was too awful to think of. She looked at Rabastan, he didn't look pleased, but he nodded his head stiffly.

Bellatrix turned towards Nymphadora and her eyes gleamed with hatred. "One last thing Rabastan, the Dark Lord said to have her down at noon." Her smile turned deadly. "It's only nine."

A low chuckle escaped Rabastan's throat, as Bellatrix spun on her heels and slammed the door closed. As Rabastan slowly turned and peered lasciviously at her, Nymphadora wished, not for the first time, that Bellatrix would've just killed her.