Cursed

Ianto screamed as several deep, vicious slashes flayed his chest.  One slashed up his neck and tore open his jaw and cheek.

“Don’t say it!” he gasped.  “It’s worse if you say it!”

Hermione looked at Jack as Owen worked to close the wounds and stop the bleeding.  “What is his name, here?”

“Ianto Jones.”

“Welsh?”

“You mean he’s not?” Jack asked, his eyes wide.

“I suppose he is, now.  But no.  Not when we knew him,” she sighed, then looked at Jack again.  “You probably heard of him, as well.  He fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Jack’s eyes widened.  “I know of the Battle,” he said.  “And you should know, he was at Canary Wharf, as well.”

“And without his magic,” Ron snarled, turning to kick Jack’s wastepaper bin across the room.

“Oi!” Gwen protested. 

“You know of the Battle, though?” Hermione persisted, and Jack wondered why.  When he nodded, she looked at Ianto, who was staring back at her, unable to speak without triggering the curses.  But he didn’t seem to want her to say this.  “The Sorting Hat landed on Ne… on Ianto’s head,” she caught herself, just in time.  “Voldemort set it ablaze.  But he broke free.  Ianto did.  And he pulled Gryffindor’s sword from the hat.  And he killed Nagini, Voldemort’s snake, which was the final horcrux.”

“Which made it possible to defeat Voldemort,” Jack nodded.  He turned to Ianto.  “That was you?  You’re…” he snapped his mouth shut when Hermione hissed.  “What happened?”

“He entered Auror training with us,” Ron said, looking to Harry, who was staring at their lost friend, trying to find Neville somewhere in Ianto’s face.  “About a year and a half in, he just… disappeared.”

“And was never looked for, again,” Ianto spat bitterly.

“That’s not true,” Hermione protested, tears forming.  “Ianto, you have to believe, we did look for you!”

“You only think you did,” he sighed.  “I found you, right after it happened.  And you all tried to kill me.  Even my Gran,” he let out a sob, not even seeming to notice the wounds that continued to open as he spoke of forbidden topics.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione took his hand and was relieved when he didn’t reject the offered support.  She sniffed, then collected herself.  “So they changed your appearance.”  She scanned him with a frown, taking a good look.  “Ianto, how tall are you?”

“Six feet,” he sniffed.

Ron whistled.

“What?” Owen asked, not liking the grim looks.

“They took, what?” Hermione looked to Ron and Harry.

“A good two inches,” Harry said.

“My God, without treatment, you must be in constant pain!” she exclaimed.

Ianto could only allow the tears to fall.  If he spoke, he’d be punished.  But his tears were confirmation.  After all, it would not have harmed him to deny something that was not true.

“Wait,” Owen interrupted.  “What do you mean?  Why is he in pain?”

“Our school friend was six feet, two inches tall,” Hermione explained.  “They changed him, with spells and curses and,” she looked at Ianto, her eyes full of pain, “and torture.  Now he’s six feet tall, and the compression of muscle and sinew and bone likely has him in constant discomfort.”

“Can anything be done?” Jack asked, appalled.

“Yes, but we need to lift the curses, first.”  She looked to Ianto.  “Any idea how many?”

Ianto closed his eyes, which Hermione took to mean he had an idea, but didn’t have it in him, to take the consequences of saying.

“I’ll start,” she said bracingly.  “First and foremost, you’ve been spellbound.”

“Mate,” Ron hissed.  “Can you access your magic, at all?”

“Hush, Ron,” Hermione said as Ianto simply hung his head.  “Don’t rub it in.”

“I wasn’t,” Ron protested, but he subsided into a pained silence as Harry rubbed the back of his neck, swearing under his breath.

“There’s a curse preventing you from telling us anything,” Hermione continued.  “And one that is attached to your true,” Ianto’s head came up and his eyes flashed angrily, and she quickly amended, “I mean, your original identity.”  She looked at him intently.  “And you confirmed earlier that if you ask for help, you are met with cruelty or violence.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

Ianto sighed.  He closed his eyes, then opened them, wiping his tears and looking to Jack.  “Jack, can you help me up, please?”  He held out his hand, only to have it smacked away.

“Get your own damned self up!” Jack snarled.  “My gods, Ianto, if you were any more needy, I’d have to put you in nappies and give you a fucking bottle!”

Jack stood and stalked away.  Owen glared at Gwen, who let a shocked giggle escape.  Tosh grabbed Jack’s arm angrily.  “Jack!”

Hermione grabbed her wand and said a quick spell to keep them from forgetting what had just happened.

“What?” Jack turned, his face all friendly concern.  “Ianto, why don’t we move you to the sofa.  The hard floor can’t be helping, right now.”

Everyone stared at him, gobsmacked. 

“Okay,” Hermione frowned.  “So the person the curse touches forgets, despite a memory incantation.” 

“What?” Jack looked around the room.  “What happened?”  Now he realized what was happening, he did feel a sort of sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the remains of the curse, no doubt.

Toshiko sighed and went around to Jack’s computer to pull up footage of what had just happened on the unexploded monitor.  Jack stared at the feed, shocked.

“That’s not,” he swallowed.  “That can’t be me.  I…” he looked at Ianto.  “Ianto…”

But the younger man couldn’t bring himself to look at Jack.  He stared at his hands, which were shaking, clutching one another in his lap.  This was all so pointless!  Why couldn’t the potions work faster?  They never understood.  They never remembered.

Hermione looked at Ianto.  “That’s not all, is it?” she asked.

Ianto shook his head slowly and hissed as another scratch formed.

Hermione frowned.  “Can you tell me?”

“Initiation,” Ianto said, then cried out as a deep gash opened along the inside of his left forearm.

“Fuck!” Owen swore, and jumped to close the wound.  “And that’s me, out of foam.  If I go get more, can you all please refrain from flaying him alive while I’m gone?”  With that, he stood and ran for the med-bay.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said.  “What do you mean by ‘initiation’?”

Jack looked down at his knuckles, noticing what was left of the bruises that Ianto had kissed, and remembered Ianto’s words when they found him, earlier.  “Toshiko,” he said, his voice quiet, “find out what happened in here, before things started going haywire.”

“No,” Ianto forced himself to stand.  “Please, Toshiko.  Don’t!”

But it was too late.  Owen returned with more foam just as she found the point in the feed when Ianto entered the office, earlier.  She played the conversation he and Jack had shared.  Jack’s lovely words.  Ianto’s kiss.  Jack’s rage.  The beating was nothing compared to the words, and Ianto was filled with shame and humiliation at everyone hearing them.

“Ianto,” Jack looked physically ill.  “Ianto, I’m…”

Ianto found himself leaning away from Jack’s outstretched hand.  “It was the curse,” he muttered.  “It’s okay.  I understand.”

Jack listened to Ianto’s words, which weren’t convincing anyone, at this point.  He felt guilty and horrified that he had been battering his… Ianto.  And Ianto had just been taking it, his belief that the abuse was all due to the curse showing a faith in Jack that left the older man breathless.

But the fact remained.  Even if it was due to a curse, even if he didn’t remember, he had still been abusing Ianto.  He swallowed his tears, wondering if there was any way back from that and felt his anger at those who had hurt his lover solidify.

“How many times?” he asked, his voice low and hard.

That got Ianto’s eyes off his own feet and on Jack’s face.  He looked terrified.  “What?”

“I know you know what I mean.  How many times have I… done that?” he pointed at the monitor.  He dropped his arm and stepped closer to his lover.  “How many times have I hurt you?”

“Because of the curse, you mean?” Ianto tried to joke, but it felt like a knife to Jack’s gut, and Ianto dropped his head, again.  “Sorry.”

“Tell me,” Jack said, reaching out, but pulling back when Ianto flinched.

“Two other times,” Ianto said, his voice small.  “Once before,” he seemed to catch himself, “before you went away.  I… wasn’t used to… to reaching out, but I messed up.  After…  After John Ellis died.”

“You said you got mugged,” Tosh said, her eyes bright with tears as Jack realized how violent his response had been.

“I lied,” Ianto shook his head.

“And?” Jack had to know.

“The night we had our,” Ianto looked around nervously, but continued, “our date.”  He sniffed, ignoring the shocked expressions of the other members of Torchwood. 

“The night you said that Weevil got the better of you,” Jack said, dismayed.

Ianto shrugged.  “You dropped me off at my place.  I tried to kiss you on the cheek, to thank you for a lovely evening.” 

“And are the beatings always accompanied by such charming words?” Jack asked, feeling shocked and ashamed.

Ianto nodded.  “It’s harder, with the words,” he admitted quietly.  “Sometimes,” he sniffed again as the tears that hadn’t quite stopped began again, in earnest.  “Sometimes I wonder if it’s the curse.  Maybe,” he sobbed.  “Maybe you mean those things you say.”

“Ianto,” Jack looked stricken.  He wanted to pull Ianto into his arms, to reassure him, but for the first time in a very long while, he felt unsure.

“If you ask for anything,” Hermione spoke, looking up from the CCTV playback.  “If you initiate any sort of… emotional exchange, the other person lashes out at you.”

Ianto didn’t even look at her.  He felt incredibly tired.

“How do you get any work done?” Ron asked, frowning.

“It’s only on a personal level,” Harry whispered, beginning to fathom the horror and cruelty of the curse.

“Enough,” Ianto said, his voice rough.  “Please, just… enough.  Let it be.  Let me be.”  He was speaking to his shoes, too tired to lift his head, too ashamed to look at anyone.  He pulled out his… Jack’s… stopwatch – broken at some point during the beating – and lay it on Jack’s desk, eliciting a choked sob from the older man.

Now he just needed to summon the wherewithal to leave.  He could probably make it up to the Quay before collapsing.  He looked towards the door, but Harry, disturbed by something in his tone, had maneuvered himself between Ianto and the door.

“What…” Hermione had gone back to watching the CCTV.  Her eyes moved from the monitor to Jack’s desk.  “What are these?” she asked, reaching for the phials.

“Don’t touch them!” Ianto blurted, putting himself between her and the desk.  He turned and began putting the stoppers back in each bottle as Hermione, Ron, and Harry did spells to identify the contents.

Hermione looked at Ianto, shocked. 

“What have you done?”

***