Tormented

It had been almost a month since Riddle and I had implemented our rules. It was around eight thirty at night on a Thursday, curfew for everyone under fifth year was nine pm. Riddle and I sat next to each other reading for ancient runes, sometimes pausing to discuss something we had read. We were in the middle of one such discussion when the door to the common room creaked open and one of the first years, Franklin, shuffled in.

Tear tracks streaked his face, and he avoided eye contact with most of the room. Without hesitation, he walked directly to his assigned fourth-year mentor, Adalbert (Abe), and tried to speak. Seeing this interaction warmed my heart—it was proof that the system I’d worked so hard to implement was functioning as intended. However, I didn’t have the luxury of reflecting on that. My attention was immediately drawn to Franklin’s arm, clearly broken and hanging at an unnatural angle. He clutched it with his other hand, blood dripping steadily onto the carpet. To my surprise, he seemed to be asking Abe to fix it, desperate to avoid a trip to the hospital wing.

I had crossed half the room before my mind caught up with my body. I realized I couldn’t let my anger show—not yet, not while Franklin could see me. Pausing in front of Abe, who was calmly explaining to a distraught Franklin that only trained healers could mend broken bones, I interrupted as gently as I could.

“He’s right, Franklin. How about Abe escorts you to the hospital wing so you can get that arm looked at properly—and maybe a pain relief potion, hm? Before you go, though, I need to know who did this, okay?”

Franklin hesitated, clearly reluctant to answer. But after a reassuring nod from Abe, he finally spoke.

“It was these two Gryffindor sixth years… McLaggen and Goldstein, I think.”

I was already turning away before Franklin had even finished. I trusted Abe to handle the rest, but I hadn’t needed to hear the names to know who he was talking about. Those two had been terrorizing Slytherins for their entire Hogwarts careers. Recently, though, their attacks had become more frequent, Goldstein’s ex-girlfriend had recently begun dating a sixth-year Slytherin, and Goldstein was a rather jealous ex it would seem.

They weren’t bold enough to target their own year—cowards like them preferred to go after third or even second years. But this was the first time they’d gone after a first year—and the first time it had escalated to such a serious injury.

I glanced across the room to see Tom already waiting by the door, having left Abraxas with clear instructions on what needed to be done in our absence. Without a word, we walked out of the common room together, every pair of eyes in the house following us.

It didn’t take long to find the two boys. All the previous attacks had been ambushes near the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and we assumed this one had followed the same pattern. Acting on that hunch, we intercepted them on their way back to the Gryffindor common room. Tom led us through a hidden passageway he had discovered, one of many scattered throughout the castle, accessible only through Parseltongue.

Slytherin himself had left these passageways behind, and Tom had made it his personal mission to uncover as many as possible during his late-night patrols as Head Boy.

Tom and I seemed to have developed an unspoken understanding when it came to the logistics of our mission. We moved silently through the dimly lit corridors, our footsteps barely audible against the stone floor, before positioning ourselves to lie in wait for the two Gryffindor idiots. Our actions unconsciously mirroring theirs from just thirty minutes earlier.

They rounded the corner into a quiet stretch of hallway, one that was rarely used at this hour—few students ventured from the dungeons to the Gryffindor common room so close to curfew.

The moment both boys came into view, Tom and I stepped out from behind the tapestry we’d chosen as our hiding spot—a depiction of a unicorn beneath a starry night sky.

“It seems you’ve started a fight you cannot win,” I said, my voice calm but laced with steel as I fixed them with a cold stare.

I had at least four inches on both of them, and Tom, towering even over me by a good six inches, cast an imposing figure at my side. I could see the effect it had on them—the flickers of uncertainty in their expressions, the faint faltering in their postures.

“You will come to regret your actions—not just from tonight, but for every member of my house you have harmed,” Tom said, his voice low and sharp. The temperature in the hallway seemed to drop by at least ten degrees.

Unfortunately for them, they appeared to be laboring under the delusion that I was the weak link in our partnership. Their wide eyes turned to me as Tom flicked his wand from its holster with practiced ease. Perhaps they thought I would stop him, plead for restraint—but whatever foolish hope they clung to shattered the moment my wand was in hand, drawn barely a second after his.

The trembling returned in full force, and I grew tired of the sight of their cowardice. Turning away, I began setting wards around the hallway, ensuring our work wouldn’t be interrupted. With the protections in place, I followed Tom into the abandoned classroom where he had already dragged the two boys, reinforcing the wards on the door before turning back to face him.

“Let’s see… what should we start with, hm?” I could hear Tom’s voice laced with mockery, taunting the boys as I finished layering the last of the silencing wards.

“Oh, I vote for the toes!” I chimed in, my voice light, almost playful. “Always so much fun—and entirely undetectable!”

Turning sharply, my Slytherin cloak billowed dramatically around me, the effect purposeful and satisfying. Tom glanced at me from where he lounged on the desk, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. But it wasn’t his reaction that thrilled me—it was the sheer terror etched across the boys’ faces.

My blood hummed with anticipation. Torture wasn’t just a skill I’d been trained in; it was one in which I excelled. And never before had I found subjects so thoroughly deserving.

With a flick of my wand, their shoes and socks were yanked off and sent skidding across the room. The sound of them landing echoed faintly in the silenced space. Slowly, deliberately, I stalked forward, stopping just behind the chairs to lean in close, my presence looming over them like a shadow.

“You two have been very naughty,” I said in a saccharine tone, one deliberately crafted to set their nerves on edge. “We’ve let this little charade go on for far too long, my young lions.” I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping into a mocking drawl. “What’s the matter? Jealous, perhaps? A little emotionally stunted? And you thought it was acceptable to take it out on my baby snakes?”

With a sharp flick of my wand, Goldstein, seated to my right, let out a strangled cry, his chair jerking as he instinctively tried to grab his foot. The bindings held firm, forcing him to remain still, though the pain etched across his face was unmistakable. From where I stood, I could see his pinky toe bent at an unnatural angle, the bone clearly broken.

My attention shifted to McLaggen, whose face had gone pale. A damp patch began spreading across his trousers, and I smiled, cold and unyielding.

“Ah, ah, not yet, darling,” I cooed, wagging my finger. “We’ve only just begun to have fun.”

Another flick of my wand, and McLaggen’s cry echoed Goldstein’s. His pinky toe snapped to match his partner’s. I stepped back, taking in their panic with quiet satisfaction.

I was nearly on my sixth toe when I looked up to see Tom approaching, his expression unreadable. “I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the pathetic sight the Gryffindors had become.

He traced his wand in a complex pattern, and I watched with a detached fascination as they seemed to freeze entirely. Then, little cuts began to appear along their arms, each one starting from their elbows. They emerged in swirling patterns, delicate and intricate— beautiful in their execution.

Blood began to drip from their arms, pooling slowly on the floor. I realized, in the back of my mind, that I would need to have my cloak professionally cleaned afterward, though I sighed and dismissed the thought. I should’ve known Tom was a messy torturer.

“We will remain here until we receive detailed, convincing testimonies of your desire for peace with the snakes,” Tom said, his voice calm, without a hint of emotion. “You will swear off any harm toward them and offer yourselves for service whenever the house calls. You will never repeat a word of what happened tonight, nor implicate either myself or Makaria in any schemes. You will come when called—no matter the reason, no matter the cost. Do you understand?”

He spoke slowly, methodically, as if the words meant nothing to him at all. But I had been around him enough to see the disgust hidden in his eyes, the dark satisfaction he drew from their suffering.

Another flick of his wand, and the bindings were undone. Immediately both boys fell to the floor and began crying, pleading maybe, with us both to let them go.

“You will swear a vow to me, bonded by Makaria, and then you’ll be free to rest,” Tom said, his voice almost patronizing as he looked down at them with a smirk. His gaze shifted to mine, and in that moment, I truly understood why so many girls around the school had crushes on him.

I quickly broke the eye contact, focusing on Goldstein. I yanked him up and had him swear the vow first. McLaggen followed suit, and with that, the fun was over.

Clean up was the worst part usually but we now had such willing helpers that it was rather enjoyable. After dispelling the wards I had carefully set up, we escorted the boys back to their common room, making sure they entered. Then, without another word, Tom and I turned and walked back toward the dungeons, small smiles tugging at the corners of our lips.

Thankfully curfew for sixth and seventh years was eleven. We made it back to our house just in time.

**********

The room was silent when we entered, save for the crackle of the fire, and although most of the room was engaged in some form of school work or another I knew the reason the entire house was diligently working at eleven pm on a Thursday was not coincidence. I saw the way that eyes tracked the dark brown stain marring the green piping on the hem of my robes, and the concerned expressions by those close enough with Tom to notice his small smile.

Tom and I however, elected to ignore the tension. We sat back down upon our thrones and picked up the conversation we had been having on ancient runes as if we had never stopped.

That night as I lay down for bed I felt significantly lighter than I had in many months. I resolved to make revenge a more permanent fixture in my schedule. It appeared to be therapeutic for me.