He sat in his throne, eyes flickering over each face that was gathered there, acknowledging but ignoring the screams and jeers that filled the room.
Some people were catcalling and laughing at the scene before them – a scene most decent wizards and witches would consider cruel.
A lazy smile graced his features.
Unfortunately, they were not decent wizards and witches.
A young woman – a teenager – rolled on the floor, screaming and attempting to get away from the torture imposed on her. Red locks clung to her sweat-covered face, almost obscuring her features. He gazed at the rags that were hanging on her frame. Perhaps she had only kept them on to retain whatever dignity she had left.
Two Death Eaters circled her. One of them tapped his wand on his hand while the other casted another spell, causing the coals under the young woman to burn a sinister red. Another scream filled the room.
Etched on the faces of her torturers was anything but looks of pity. In fact, her cries of pain were only met with ecstatic stares and excited murmurs.
The Death Eater, previously tapping the wand, chanted a spell, healing her of the burns, only to prepare her for more agony.
"Get up, you filthy little blood traitor," someone jeered in the crowd around the unofficial arena.
"What's the matter? Cat’s got your tongue?" Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rang throughout the room, causing a few people to cackle.
The young woman shot a look of disdain towards the older witch who was standing at the edge of the torture area, the hatred, anger, and pain etched on her face.
"Your little boyfriend's dead. What are you going to do now, little baby?" the Death Eater mocked in a baby-like voice, earning still more laughter.
"She'll do what babies do – cry," another female voice sounded from the crowd.
With a sadistic glint in her eyes, Bella crouched down, staring at Ginny Weasley in the eyes.
"Better save your tears for later, darling. You're in for a rough night," she sneered, glancing at the men in the crowd who were eyeing the redhead with thoughts less than proper.
Out of reflex, the young woman tried to cover the intimate parts of her body, only earning more snickers from the surrounding crowd. Her eyes widened, the fright so apparent in them that Lord Voldemort wondered why she was even sorted into Gryffindor.
Make no mistake; he was not bored with the torture. However, seeing the same expression on every single prisoner could become a bit repetitive. The process itself had long lost its spark and nowadays, he found himself merely trying to find something that would ignite the excitement in him.
Thus far, he had been anything but successful.
He watched as a couple of the men walked to the middle and pulled up the girl. Ignoring her desperate screams, they pulled their captive towards a chamber to the right. As "corrupted" as the Light side preferred to think of him, Lord Voldemort had no interest in watching his men rape women.
With mild interest, his eyes slid back to the excited crowd in front of him.
Ah. Of course. He had forgotten that they had a good reason to be excited. And the cause was brought into the room moments later.
She stood defiantly in front of him, her eyes never leaving his as he scrutinized her. The rags she wore were not much better than those seen on the last prisoner and her hair looked like something a rat would call home.
The brains behind the trio, the one who helped Harry Potter in trying to defeat him. There were no doubts in his mind that the annoying young man would have been dead a lot earlier if she had not helped him.
The chatter immediately stopped the moment the Dark Lord opened his mouth.
"Hermione Granger," he hissed.
He was impressed. She neither flinched nor looked away when he said her name, something most prisoners did out of fear. What surprised him even more was when she tilted her head slightly higher, as if she was a regal queen looking down at her subordinates.
Her chocolate brown eyes held his gaze, unafraid that he might be looking straight into her mind at the moment – which he was doing.
A side of her mind, screaming for release from the world that was now under the regime of the Dark Lord. The other side of her brain, struggling to voice its eagerness to live and continue to learn. Guilt, undying guilt of failing loved ones. Relief, tainted with shame, that she was still alive. Sorrow, wishing to hold the hands of the people she loved. Happiness, regretful happiness and an underlying sense of gratitude that her loved onesdid not have to suffer what she was going through.
There was no fear. He almost wanted to laugh.
Her thoughts were certainly more complex and interesting than the other prisoners. Yet, he was even more curious if she would break down like the youngest Weasley. His mind was briefly distracted by the muffled screams and groans from the chamber the redhead was currently in while Granger was pulled over to the middle of the room.
A frown appeared on his forehead; he was very much annoyed at his followers for forgetting to cast a Silencing Spell inside the room. Then again, perhaps they had "forgotten" on purpose. He would have to remember to punish them for that. However, there were other matters on hand at the moment.
His attention was brought back to the Mudblood that was now standing in Ginny Weasley's place. Two different wizards walked around her this time. One of them raised his wand and cast a spell on the coals, igniting them.
She refused to scream, the insolence clear on her face and in the aura surrounding her. The flames in her eyes spoke of stubbornness and rage as her bare feet endured the sparks of fire. While some of his Death Eaters laughed at what they believed to be stupidity on her part, others silently watched in awe at her endurance.
One of the two wizards circling her suddenly flung a Cruciatus at her, taking her by surprise. A yelp of pain escaped her plump lips as she stumbled backwards, but she refused to fall down, steadying herself on the burning rocks of fire beneath her.
"Stubborn little Mudblood," the wizard who cast the Cruciatus muttered, still keeping the spell on the witch.
"The little Mudblood has gotten stronger, hasn't she?" Bella asked, an expression of mirth on her face, pulling out her wand.
For a moment, the Dark Lord thought he sensed a flicker of fear in her eyes, but it was quickly quashed by a look of determination.
He had already heard about her encounters with Bella in Lucius's mansion. Apparently, some of the mental scars had yet to heal.
The sparks of stubbornness in her eyes, however, ignited something in him. He could finally feel the slumbering excitement stirring in him again. He leaned forward, wanting to see the flares in her eyes, the tenacity in her stance.
The older witch screamed out the Cruciatus, causing the girl to scrunch up her face in pain and huddle into a ball on the ground. Even so, she still refused to give them the pleasure of hearing her scream. It finally occurred to him that her eyes merely showed a small fraction of the persistence she had. He was almost entranced by the way she still managed to throw a look of hatred at everyone present in the room while she was being cursed.
The look on Bella's face was of the utmost irritation and rapture; he could almost see the currents of elation coursing through her body as she held the curse on the younger witch. The older witch was waiting for the Mudblood to break. She was waiting for the sounds of screams to reach her ears and flood the room as she drove Hermione Granger to insanity using merely one spell. The longer she waited, the greater her anticipation, for the end result would only be sweeter.
He was also waiting. He wanted to see if she would break down, when she would break down.
Finally, Bella released the spell. The girl was shaking all over, but still refused to scream. A trickle of blood ran down her chin.
So she had to biteherself to refrain from screaming.
Little did she know that her resistance would only cause his Death Eaters to be even more obsessed with her. All of them wanted to see her break down. All of them wanted to be the one who could make her break down.
Fleetingly, her eyes made contact with his. Brown against red, swirling into the color of decay and corruption.
At that moment, the enthusiasm inside him sprang to life. The challenge. He was challenged by a girl. A little girl who was nothing but a prisoner in his realm. Yet, he felt alive, more alive than he had been for days.
A predatory smirk touched his lips. He accepted the challenge.
~-0-~