The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Chapter XIX: The Line Between Good and Evil

— —

The line between good and evil is permeable and almost anyone can be induced to cross it when pressured by situational forces.
—Philip Zimbardo

— —

"You've got to mean it, Aeliana, Try again." Voldemort's voice was silky as he strode back and forth through the empty room, save for one sobbing house elf, prostrated across the floor. He waved his wand demonstratively, pointing it at the weeping elf. "Let me show you once more. Crucio!"

The wailing increased tenfold as the poor house elf writhed in pain.

Lia was trapped in her own conscience, too stunned to do or think anything, a cornered rat with no way out, except doing as told. But she couldn't. Everything in her recoiled at the thought of what he wanted her to do. Watching muggles get tortured was bad enough, but being forced to do it herself crossed a line. She'd already crossed a billion lines just to get to that point, but some hurt too much to simply traipse over and pretend everything was okay. For Lia, this was that line.

Slowly, the smallest semblance of a plan began taking root, as she forced herself out of her frozen horror. So much could go wrong, but it was the only option now.

Aeliana took a step forward, a mask of cold apathy on her face.

"Please, my lord, let me try again," she implored, raising her wand. Voldemort nodded, seemingly satisfied, judging by the twisted smile on his ghoulish face. He let his wand drop from the elf so she could try her own hand at the curse. Mouth dry, she said, "Crucio."

As much as he wanted her to "mean it," she didn't, and the house elf only squirmed in minor discomfort from the attempt. Saying the curse aloud was only a ploy, anyway, to convince him she was actually trying, even though she had a very different plan in mind.

Lia couldn't discern why he, of all people, would take it upon himself to teach her the Unforgivable Curses, but it made her uneasy. Theoretically,  shouldn't the "Dark Lord" have something better to do than teach a seventeen your old witch how to properly be evil? What was he playing at? If he was really so determined to make sure she reached rock bottom, he had an entire band of evildoers ready and willing to do his bidding and teach her if he so asked.

Before Voldemort could decide on whether Lia needed another demonstration on how to use the Cruciatus Curse and put the house elf through any more unnecessary suffering, Lia executed the second part of her plan, nonverbally trying her hand at an alternate illegal spell she had a much greater aptitude for. And no, she wasn't about to murder anyone. Yet.

The elf resumed his crazed thrashing as the Imperius Curse took hold. He wasn't in any pain, but Voldemort sure as hell didn't need to know that. As far as he was concerned, Lia was capable of the same cruelty the rest of his Death Eaters were infamous for.

"Very good."

He circled around her with a curious expression written across his deathly pale face that felt like he was looking straight through her, though she was positive her mind was closed tighter than Azkaban. Possibly the only reason she was able to pull off that little deception was because the Imperius Curse was the first he'd had her practice, but that meant they both knew there was only one left to be taught, and that sure didn't bode well for the Impiriused house elf shrieking on the tile floor. Lia could order it to fake being in pain all she wanted, but it couldn't very well fake being dead. Frantically, her mind scrambled for a distraction, any distraction or excuse, that would spare him his life.

"It would be a waste to use the Killing Curse on the elf, my lord," she said, working to keep her voice unaffected. Bored. "He's... it's of no use to us dead. At least alive, it can still serve you. Perhaps, I attempt this last spell on something else, my lord."

Lia held her breath in dreaded anticipation of his response. If he ordered her to murder the elf, she would have no choice if she had any desire to live, and if she was foolish enough to refuse, then that would just mean both of them would die. Was it selfish of her to even consider killing him to save her own skin, when his only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Are you feeling sympathetic?" Voldemort inquired smoothly. "This thing is beneath us and our noble heritage, Aeliana. Be not afraid to kill those that are lesser."

"I am not afraid to kill, my lord," she began. That was not entirely a lie. After all, everything she was doing was so that she could kill the man right in front of her. "But, from what I've gathered, you- we kill so that we can obtain our rightful dominion over our inferiors. House elves already wholeheartedly accept wizards, especially pure-blooded ones. I just don't see the point in harming those that are already loyal."

Lia hoped her argument made a shred of sense, because, the way her mind raced with fear, she couldn't be entirely sure. Her chaotic thoughts wandered back to her brother, Caius, wondering whether he would approve of what she was doing. Was he this afraid when he was confronted by Voldemort? Probably not. Caius was a true Gryffindor, through and through, as brave as any of our ancestors. Next to them, Lia felt like a fraud. She'd always wondered if perhaps she was only sorted into Gryffindor due to her heritage, because she certainly didn't feel brave, especially when looking into Voldemort's unnaturally crimson eyes, or at his skin, pale as death.

"The point," he said, voice deceptively soft, taking a lock of her hair in between his slender fingers, "is to send a message."

Their eyes locked, like fire against ice, and in his she saw what was about to happen a moment before it did. It was like seeing a tornado hone in on a village from a distance but being too far away to warn the villagers. All one could do was watch in horror as destruction unfolded. In a heart beat, he aimed his wand at the elf and the dreaded words left his mouth.

"Avada Kadavra!" Voldemort crushed the few strands of Lia's hair he still held in his hands in between his lithe fingers. His eyes still trained on hers, he added, barely louder than a whisper, "Message sent."

Lia couldn't help but wonder if that message was for her.

She hadn't even noticed how loud the elf's whimpering had been until it went completely quiet. Did Caius and the rest go out like that, the light leaving their eyes in a matter of seconds? Were their deaths just as meaningless? The stillness of death was so permanent, so eerie.

"What did you want with the Sword of Gryffindor?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask, seeing as she already had a pretty shrewd idea that it, too, would have been turned into a Horcrux. Maybe she just wanted to see his reaction, as foolish as that was. After all, if the question alarmed Voldemort enough, then Lia was very killable and he was very not at the moment. Realising she was being far too forward, she quickly added, "My lord."

As the silence stretched, echoing louder in the empty expanse of a room, Lia's fingers itched to raise her wand in defence. She held steady, however, knowing any sudden move would be suicide.

The longer she waited for a response, watching Voldemort watch her, a sharp pain shot through her lungs. Was it grief over the dead elf and her family that was caused her chest to hurt, or something else entirely? Trying not to move or make any sounds only made it worse, until the first cough escaped her lips. And then another. And another.

What was wrong with her? It was one thing to have a coughing fit after that thing with the muggles being attacked the other day and only narrowly escaping ministry capture, but now?