The Dark Lord's Wrath Part II
-October 15 1991-
Sirius isn’t ashamed to admit that he joined the Order purely out of spite. When Sirius was thrown out of his home, he vowed that he would do everything he could to bring shame to the Black family name (not that they needed much help with that) and hopefully, drive his mother into an early grave. So he’d run off with Jame’s parents, a predominantly light family, had become an auror focused on fighting Dark Wizards, joined the Order of the Phoenix to fight against the Dark Lord that his mother loved so much, used his childhood home as the meeting place, even.
Yet, as the years passed and Sirius lost more and more to the war and his spite, Sirius found himself regretting a lot of things. The biggest thing Sirius regretted was listening to that old man when he told Sirius not to take Harry. Had Sirius just put his foot down, Harry would be alive and the Dark Lord wouldn’t be so bloody obsessed with his precious godson.
Sirius had often thought of leaving the Order. He was an auror still, despite his involvement in the last war, but Sirius knew that if it got out that he was still involved with the Order, he could lose his job. Or even worse, he could be sent on a year long mission out of the country again. Somehow, though, he never really made any moves to leave the organization.
Now everything was changing. The Order was steadily losing its influence and power, and when the Order returned Harry to the Dark Lord, Sirius knew it was time to make changes. Sirius had sat in his room while Dumbledore gave his precious godson to the Dark Lord, his lover holding him as he sobbed. It was at that moment that Sirius realized, Dumbledore could not offer him what he needed.
At first, Dumbledore offered them a place to fight against the Dark Lord. When the Dark Lord won the war and the world changed accordingly, Sirius assumed that Dumbledore would have a plan to take back Wizarding Britain. (He didn’t.) Over time, Sirius watches as the Order meetings grew less and less frequent while the information they shared grew less and less important and eventually, they were named rebels and outlaws to the public and whatever power the Order had, vanished.
The Order could no longer provide Sirius with the things he needed. They could not offer him protection---not whilst they ran from the law like rats hiding in sewers. They could not offer him family---not whilst they returned the last member of Sirius’s broken family like he was nothing more than a package to barter with. No, the Order could not do what it promised, so why should Sirius stay?
It all came to a head, however, when Snape barged in and accused Dumbledore of ordering a hit against Harry. Even if Dumbledore denied it, the truth of the matter was simple: Dumbledore had a secret spy whom they all knew nothing about. Said spy attacked and attempted to kill Harry. No matter how you look at it, Dumbledore looks guilty. Pair that with the knowledge that Dumbledore left Harry in an abusive home and everytime Sirius tried to come for him, Dumbledore would step in along with Dumbledore’s creepy obsession with Harry…
No, Dumbledore was hiding something. And Sirius wanted no part in it.
It was time.
“Remus.” Sirius called from his comfortable place on the couch. He heard the rattling in the kitchen cease as his lover stopped making dinner to walk into the den where Sirius sat.
“What is it?” Remus asked, looking at him in concern. Sirius knew that he looked grim, but Sirius could not force himself to calm down and smile to ease his lover’s anxiety. “What’s going on?”
“We need to talk.” Sirius said firmly.
“Not something you ever want to hear,” Remus said with a nervous chuckle. He sat down in the armchair across from him and folded his hands into his lap. “What’s going on, Siri?”
“When I saw Harry for the first time,” Sirius said softly, looking into his lover’s hazel eyes. “I cannot describe the love I felt. And when Jamie asked me to be godfather…” Sirius smiled at the memory.
“Sirius…?” Remus asked softly, drawing Sirius back to attention. He cleared his throat and blinked back the tears as he continued.
“When I thought we lost Harry,” Sirius said softly. “That feeling of emptiness that was left by Lily and James’s death just multiplied. It was so hard back then, trying to get through all of that.”
Remus nodded, and Sirius knew that in that moment, Remus was reliving those months in his head. How hard it was for the both of them when they realized that Harry wouldn’t be living with them. How hard it was for Sirius to deal with the grief and the burden he placed on Remus as he struggled to cope.
“Seeing Harry again… Seeing him again was the greatest gift I could’ve ever asked for,” Sirius said, his voice thick with emotion. Remus looked up at him then, and Sirius smiled shakily at the sight of tears rolling down his cheeks. “And having to give him back again. Having to lose him again,” Sirius’s voice broke and Remus clenched his hands. “That feeling… it was much worse than it ever had been before.”
“Padfoot…” Remus said softly, and he stood up from his place at the armchair to sit next to Sirius and wrap him up in a hug. Sirius leaned into his lover’s embrace and took a deep breath before he continued.
“Moony I don’t think I can keep doing this,” Sirius admitted. Remus’s grip on him tightened. “Back and forth, Remmie, we just keep going back and forth. They keep saying that we’re gonna get him back but… but… Harry wasn’t happy here with us.”
That was the hardest part, too. Admitting it. But Sirius knew that Harry wasn’t happy here when he was with them. He knew that Harry was happier with the Dark Lord, and as selfish as Sirius was, as much as he wished he could, Sirius wouldn’t take him from that. All Sirius wanted was for Harry to be happy. And if he couldn’t be happy with them…
Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “Remus, let’s be honest here. What are we doing?”
“Sirius?”
“The war is over. It’s been over for so long now,” Sirius said, turning so that he could face Remus. “The Dark Lord isn’t enslaving muggles, he isn’t abusing Muggle-borns. He hasn’t persecuted creatures. Hasn’t hunted for rebels. Hell, he let me keep my job as an auror despite the fact that I was against him in the war!”
“What are you saying?” Remus asked carefully, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Sirius sighed, his hands dragging down his face. “Why are we still doing this, Moony? I mean, really, what has the Order done for us?”
“I thought we were fighting against a dictator.” Remus said. Sirius scoffed.
“As much as I hate to admit it, the Dark Lord isn’t a dictator.” Sirius exclaimed. “He doesn’t even show up in public. I mean, bloody hell Remmie, Fudge is still the Minister! Besides fixing the Ministry so it’s less corrupt, what has the Dark Lord even done?”
“Well he hasn’t done any of the things the Order said he would.” Remus conceded softly.
“See? This is what I’m talking about!” Sirius cried. “In my opinion, the Dark Lord isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to this place.”
“So what are you saying, Siri?” Remus asked.
Sirius bit his lip, an image of Lily and James flashing through his mind. They believed in the Order’s cause, but they didn’t live long enough to see the change the Dark Lord did to the country. They left Sirius in charge of their son and Sirius would be damned if he didn’t do his job. His eyes hardened with determination.
“Harry is happy with the Dark Lord and all I want is to do is my duty as Harry’s godfather,” Sirius said. “And you know what they say… If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”
The Inner Circle sits impatiently around him, everyone glancing around the room as they wait for Voldemort to say something. He called them to his castle and Voldemort knew that they were eagerly awaiting his orders. He can tell that they are nervous by the way they risk glances at his arms and take note of something missing. Little One refused to be away from Voldemort so the sight of him (or lack thereof) in his arms made them on edge.
Voldemort had placed Little One in his bed swing and left Nagini with him under strict orders not to let him out of her sight. Voldemort had spelled the door shut so that no one could enter, and even then, should someone break into the room, Nagini would bite to kill. Little One had protested, of course, but Voldemort was insistent that he stay there.
He didn’t need his precious seeing what was about to happen.
“My prized followers,” Voldemort said, breaking the tense silence. “I come bearing great news. The traitor that attacked Little One has been identified and you all will help with his punishment!”
It was silent for a moment before Bellatrix’s crazed laughter filled the room. Voldemort watched with sadistic glee as his followers slowly began to smirk. He knew that they were all coming up with ways to torture and maim the man that dared to harm Little One.
Voldemort snapped his finger and a House Elf entered the room with a loud pop. “Fetch the rat and bring him here.” Voldemort ordered. The elf bowed before he popped away, only to arrive a second later, a bound and gagged man in tow.
His followers eyed the traitor with deadly smirks and Voldemort floated the unconscious rat to the floor. He woke him with a spell and watched with glee as the man went through a sea of emotions. First confusion, then awareness followed by terror, and horror at the situation he found himself in.
Voldemort leaned forward in his throne, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously at him. “Hello Peter Pettigrew,” Voldemort said slowly, watching as said man flinched at Voldemort’s tone. “I’m so very glad I could invite you to this party.”
Voldemort waved his hand when the rat began to mumble frantically against his gag, and the cloth in his mouth disappeared. “M-My Lord… p-please I, I s-swear that I am b-but loyal to y-you!”
Voldemort looked over the rat’s shoulder to where Bellatrix stood, bouncing back and forth on the heels of her feet. Voldemort tipped his head down slowly at her and Bellatrix cackled at the permission and instantly fired a cruciatus at the trembling man.
Hearing the traitor that ripped apart his most precious scream and writhe about on the floor in agony was a fantastic sound. Voldemort grinned as Pettigrew flopped about on the floor like a fish out of water, his ugly face turning an interesting shade of purple as he struggled to breathe in air.
Regretfully though, Voldemort raised his hand to stop her. He didn’t want the man to suffocate to death, oh no, that was much too quick. The man who ripped open Little One’s neck did not deserve such mercy.
“Be honest with your Lord,” Voldemort said carefully, reclining back into his throne. “Did you enjoy attacking an innocent and harmless toddler?”
Pettigrew sobbed against the stone floor, and Voldemort's face scrunched with disgust at the sight. “P-Please.” he whispered softly.
Voldemort looked to Lucius and nodded at him. Lucius grinned and cast the torture curse again, and the traitor’s screams echoed across the meeting hall. One more Voldemort stopped the curse just as Pettigrew appeared to suffocate.
“What possessed you to do such an idiot thing, I wonder?” Voldemort continued. “You must have known I would find you.”
“I---... I…” Pettigrew choked on his spit as he sobbed out incoherent words.
Voldemort tutted in mock disapproval before he stood. He snapped his fingers at the two Lestranges in the corner and they were at his side instantly. Rodolphus held the rat’s left arm while Rabastian held the right. Pettigrew whimpered and Voldemort leaned closer to the man with a deadly smirk.
“What did you do first, hmm?” Voldemort asked. “How did it play out? Did you just start ripping at his stitches or did you incapacitate him first?”
“M-My Lord, please I---”
“ANSWER ME!” Voldemort screamed, his fury-filled words bouncing off the walls. Pettigrew violently flinched away from him and sucked in a shaky breath before he opened his mouth on a sob.
“I… I hit h-him first, My L-Lord.” Pettigrew said in a nearly silent whisper.
Voldemort hummed in contemplation for a moment before he nodded. Without warning Voldemort whipped his first forward and smashed it against his nose. Pettigrew’s nose made a satisfying crunch against his first and blood spurted out of him like a faucet. Pettigrew let out a hoarse scream before he choked on his blood, forcing him to spit it out.
“Like that?” Voldemort asked in a dangerous whisper. Pettigrew whimpered. “I asked you a question.” Voldemort snarled.
“Yes My Lord.” Pettigrew responded, his teeth stained with blood.
“What else did you do to my child, rat?” Voldemort demanded.
Pettigrew trembled against the Lestrange’s hold. “M-My Lord, p-please, I b-beg you---”
“Do not try my patience.”
Voldemort’s eyes were deadly and the room was silent---save for the agonized whimpers of Pettigrew---as the Inner Circle watched the sadistic Lord come out to play. It had been a great many years since they’d seen this side of the man, and they were all anxious to see what the Dark Lord would do to the man.
“I… I kicked him, M-My Lord,” Pettigrew admitted. “In the stomach.”
“Would anyone like to do the honors?” Voldemort asked, looking up at the sea of his Inner Circle. Bellatrix giggled madly as she jumped up and down. “Bella, my dear, would you like to play?”
Pettigrew’s breathing noticeably increased as the man began to hyperventilate. Bellatrix merely squealed happily. “Oh thank you, My Lord!” she cried before skipping over to the trembling man. “I wore my special heels today!” she cried, lifting her dress to show dangerously pointed shoes made from daggers. The heel of the shoe was quite literally a throwing knife. Pettigrew let out a panicked sob.
“Go on then, my dear,” Voldemort said with a sadistic smirk. “You’ve been so good lately. You deserve a reward.”
Bella giggled before she suddenly spun around, slamming her foot into Pettigrew’s large belly. The high-pitched squeal the rat let out could match that of a pig. Bellatrix paid no mind to the agonized screams as she continued to kick him, each kick ending with her heel being plunged into the man’s gut.
After nearly five minutes, Voldemort stopped her. Bellatrix pouted but nodded, stepping away from the rat. Her dress was covered in spatters of blood, and she left bloody footprints on the stone floor as she walked back to her place at the chairs.
Voldemort’s crimson eyes traveled over the traitor’s trembling body. There were numerous puncture wounds on his gut, each one dribbling out bits of blood. The man’s face was pale as he let out coarse whimpers. Blood stained the floor as he stood in a pool of it, and Voldemort noticed that the blood had splattered all over the Lestrange’s pant legs.
“What else did you do, hmm?” Voldemort asked, gliding over to where he stood. (Stood was too strong of a word. Hanging limply in the hold of the Lestrange’s was much more accurate.)
Pettigrew let out a silent sob. “I… I’m s-s-sorry!”
“On no, no, no,” Voldemort tutted. “Buck up, Pettigrew, it’s not over yet. Come now, tell me what else you to my precious.” The gentle tone seemed to scare the man even more as he let out a louder whimper.
“I… I r-ripped out h-his s-stitches!” Pettigrew said in between gasps. Voldemort hummed, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the pathetic man in front of him.
He stepped away. “You know, I despise muggles. They are everything wrong with humanity,” he said. “They destroy the planet they live in, fight amongst themselves for petty reasons like the color of their skin or which god they believe in. They rape their women and they slaughter their men and abuse their children, all the while cursing that which they don’t see for their wrong doings. Never once do they take responsibility for their actions, instead choosing to blame someone else for their misfortune.”
He turned around to see his Inner Circle looking at him curiously while Pettigrew let out harsh gasps as he lost more and more blood. “I do not hate muggles for their lack of magic,” he continues. “Oh no, I am fascinated by the way they continue to expand despite having no magic.”
He sighed and walked back to Pettigrew, his hand snapping forward to seize his jaw and turn it so that Pettigrew’s eyes could meet his. “Do you know why I hate muggles, rat?” Voldemort asked. Pettigrew whimpered. “Go on, ask me.”
“W-Why?”
Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “Because they are hypocrites.” he said with a laugh. “They destroy and they take and they ruin and never once do they try to fix. To save. To heal. As if they were in a loop, doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again, never learning from the last heinous act they commited.
“They’ve become so good at destroying and torturing and killing, in fact,” Voldemort continued. “That they invented machines to do it for them. They’re really quite effective, you know. They inflict quite a bit of pain. Would you like to see?”
“No, no, no, no,” Pettigrew began to whisper over and over again, blood dribbling down his cheek. “Please, please.”
Voldemort waved his hand, an image popping into his head as he conjured it. The machine sat heavy in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” he asked. “It’s called a bone-saw. Muggles use it to quite literally saw bone. I’ve never tried it before, but I hear that it works rather well. Would you be a dear and try this for me?”
Pettigrew’s eyes shot wide open, his mouth opening on a silent scream as the machine turned on. When the saw hit his shoulder, however, the scream turned out to be quite loud. Blood splattered everywhere as the machine drilled through his flesh. There was a loud thump as his arm collided with the floor before Voldemort vanished the machine.
“Oh dear,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “I believe he’s going to bleed out rather fast. Have your fun with him while you can, I suppose.”
Pettigrew’s screams filled the air once more as his Inner Circle began to cast several cruciatus at him at once. Voldemort watched as the traitor that hurt his child screamed in pure agony for the last time before his heart gave out.
Voldemort sighed and took in the mess around him. Blood covered most of the floor, a single severed arm laying in a large pool of it. Pettigrew’s slowly cooling body lay in a heap right next to Bellatrix who continued to jump on him, despite him being dead. Voldemort looked down at himself to see that he was covered in blood.
“Mipsy.” Voldemort said calmly. The House Elf popped into the room and let out a high-pitched squeak at the sight. “Clean this up, will you? Feed Nagini the body.”
“Mipsy be doing so, Dark Lord,” Mipsy said with a stuttered curtsy. “Right away!”
Voldemort allowed himself one last look at the mess before he walked away. Everyone in the castle gave him a wide berth as he walked past, each one looking at him with wide eyes as they took in his appearance. He walked up the stairs to his personal wing where he entered his bedroom and walked quickly to the bathroom.
Voldemort washed the blood off his hands and face, watching with satisfaction as the water turned pink before it went down the drain. He vanished the blood off his clothes before he set them to be washed, donning a simple robe that he could wear to sleep.
He then walked into Little One’s bedroom to see Little One deeply asleep in the bed swing, Nagini coiled around him protectively. Voldemort sent her away with promises of a large meal before he lifted the sleeping child into his arms.
“You’re safe now, precious,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “Safe now.”
He walked back into his room before he tucked the sleeping Inferius into his bed, Voldemort settling in next to him, a protective arm wrapped around him.
Voldemort slept soundly for the first time in weeks.