Theodore
Vicky and I were supposed to have a date on June third, the day after Annalise’s birthday. But her last class was Herbology, and mine was Divination, so we decided to meet in the middle, in an empty classroom. On my way down, I was grabbed and pulled into a dark room. Before I could react, I was shoved into a chair and heard someone say, “Incarcerous.” Ropes started to coil around me.
“Can we not today?” I asked calmly, trying to reason with my kidnapper, “I’ve got a date. How ‘bout you let me go, and we can pick this up next period? And trust me, I won’t bail. I’d be happy to miss Potions.” I said, turning on my pansexual white boy charm.
My captor chuckled humourlessly, “You fucking idiot.” He mused, “With all the warnings I gave you, you’d think I was asking for a reason not to do this. But no. I am going to enjoy every ounce of pain I cause you.”
“Who are you?”
“Lumos.”
At first, everything was a blur, the sharp light a hard contrast to the previous darkness. Then, the silhouette solidified into a person, “Goyle?” I was so surprised, I actually laughed out loud, “What are you gonna do, turn my shoes into slugs? Honestly, we both know you’re horrible at magic. You’ve only ever passed, like, one exam.”
Goyle scoffed, “That’s not the point I’m trying to make here, fuckface. Do you remember what that one exam was?”
“What?”
“The one exam I passed. What was it about?”
“I don’t—”
“It was about the unforgivable curses.” Goyle said with a murderous grin, “And I passed it with flying colours.” He leaned closer to me, “Would you like me to demonstrate?” he whispered.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t, actually. So why don’t you just put the wand down, and—”
“Crucio.”
The pain was excruciating. Imagine every fiber in your body snapping and rejoining over and over again. Then multiply it by ten. When he finally let up on the curse, I looked up at him, my fear visible, “Why?” I managed to ask.
Goyle chuckled, “Do you want me to start at the beginning?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “In November, you pushed me. Made me spill ink all over my new robes. So I sent lightning your way.”
“Because I pushed you?” I asked, “That’s a bit—”
“In December,” Goyle interrupted, “You called me a virgin. Embarrassed me in front of all of your petty little friends.”
“They’re not petty—”
“So I decided to kill you.” He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “Unfortunately I missed. Hit that other boy instead.”
“That ‘other boy’ was Charles Zabini. You murdered your best friend’s brother.” I told him, aghast.
Goyle just scoffed, “Best friend?” he repeated, “I would never be friends with that fag.”
A.N.
Goyle is the homophobic shitbag, not me. I support any LGBTQ+ readers, and identify as bisexual myself. I believe you will all agree with and join with me in saying, “Vincent Goyle is the worst person ever. Honestly just fuck off, man.”
As soon as he said the word, my hatred towards him grew twenty times, “That what?” I asked, glaring at him and clenching my fist. If only I’d had my wand.
Goyle ignored me and continued, “In January, Weasley was being a perv. So I ripped out his eye. In February, Longbottom elbowed me. The black eye lasted three weeks. So I sent her letters day after day until she finally broke. In March, you decided to piss me off with a prank. So I pushed your girlfriend into the lake with a squid under the Imperius curse.”
“That was you?” I asked angrily, pulling against the ropes.
“In April, you were dumb enough to prank me again! So I slit Thomas-Finnigan’s throat. In May, Longbottom got us both detentions. But since she wasn’t around, I shot Potter instead.”
“You could’ve killed them!” I protested.
“If I wanted to kill them, they’d be dead.” Goyle told me.
“You wanted to kill me and I’m still alive.” I said before I could stop myself.
Goyle smiled his evil, twisted smile and whispered menacingly, “All in due time. Crucio.”
He held the curse for about five minutes. Five minutes of complete and utter torture. I felt my sanity shaking loose with every second. When he finally let up, my throat was hoarse from all of the screaming. I prayed to whatever gods there may be that he hadn’t cast any silencing spell on the room.
“Do you know why I hate you, Lupin?” Goyle asked suddenly.
“Enlighten me.” I said, still catching my breath.
“I hate you because of your father. A werewolf.”
“Oh, so you’re homophobic and racist?” I noted.
“Shut up.” he said, punching me in the gut. I obeyed. “Did you know that it was a werewolf that killed my parents?”
“Okay, I’m sorry for your loss, but what does that have to do with me?” I asked, genuinely confused, “It wasn’t my father that killed them.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same.” Goyle spat.
“That doesn’t even make a little bit of sense.” I told him.
Goyle sighed, “You’re right. It doesn’t. Unfortunately for you, this is really fun, so…Crucio!”
This happened again and again and again. I lost track of the time I spent screaming in agony. I felt so numb that I hardly noticed when James ran into the room, limping, shortly followed by two professors. I was vaguely aware of the fight happening in front of my eyes as James untied me. But I remember the look on Goyle’s face as he was tackled to the ground. Victory. He was fucking proud of what he’d accomplished. I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone more than I did then.