Slytherin's Heir

Chapter Forty ~ Deal

His mind was foggy, irregular thoughts flashing groggily through his head.

Where—?

Sleep tugged mockingly on his eyes while light blinded him into shutting them. Percy's head lolled as he squinted. Vaguely he thought he recognised the simple white room.

The wooden frame of a chair dug uncomfortably into his back. His wrists were confined by coarse rope looped around both his hands and the seat, restraining him. The same applied to his ankles, equally stuck to the front chair legs. Clenching his muscles lead him to discover he was tied down tight, hardly any room for manoeuvring and certainly none for escape.

From behind him, a heavy door creaked open, followed by light and even footsteps. A shadow fell over Percy from behind, and slowly paced around the chair until they were face to face.

The face of his grandfather blurred in front of his own. Percy blinked rapidly to clear his mind.

Wake up.

He heard tutting sounds and slurred words from the mouth of the creature. "What a foolish move it was to run."

His senses were returning quicker, igniting the fire of alertness as he began to wake up.

You're in danger, wake up...

Towering over him as he regained his senses, Voldemort demanded to know, "What was that back there?" The question was posed with the confidence that the asker would surely be answered with the absolute truth.

Percy shook off the fog and provided neither answer or truths. In fact, he felt no inclination to answer at all. Instead, he voiced a question of his own. "Where's Nico?"

Voldemort's eyebrows rose. "Nico? The boy?"

Percy bit his tongue, cursing his mistake. He'd just admitted to knowing him by using his name. Given their current predicament, that was far from a good thing. But regardless, he needed to know if Nico was okay. Or at least still breathing.

"So you do know him."

"Nope!" Percy blurted. "He uh, told me his name earlier."

All Percy got from that was a disbelieving look from his grandfather.

"Who is he?"

"He's Nico. I just told you that."

Voldemort sighed. "What is he?"

"...Human?"

A stinging pain surfaced on his cheek, his head swinging to the right. Percy blinked, a little stunned.

"I will not tolerate your games. Continue to fool around and there will be consequences.," the tall creature promised with cold eyes.

Percy stifled a laugh, wondering what the creature planned to do with a stick. He knew wizards preferred their weaker magic to physical violence. He coughed. "Of course."

"What was the weapon you pulled out earlier? You weren't carrying it before," Voldemort inquired.

"That was..." Percy racked his brains. "Transfiguration." It was possible to pass off that he turned Riptide from a pen into a sword via transfiguration, right? Or maybe he should've said that he summoned it? Which was more believable? Dammit.

Voldemort frowned. "You've got a better grip on your abilities than I thought. Did you learn magic before Hogwarts?"

"Nope."

"You must've realised your magical affinity-"

"Nope."

Voldemort leaned forwards and taunted, "How's your mother?"