Marked
The hallway was soon filled with pitiful moans. Harry thought the other prisoners sounded even more pained than they had the previous evening, though Harry himself remained unaffected. Even Malfoy and Nott in their animal forms were huddled in the back of their cells. Harry finally got a good look at Nott’s animagus form and it was a porcupine.
Harry was uncomfortable and cold, but he wasn’t his usual pitiful mess around the dementors. He assumed that meant the dementor wanted to talk to him again.
He was partly right.
This time, instead of a solitary figure gliding past the cells, there were three of them. Harry could not tell one from the other, so he didn’t know which, if any, had been the one from last night. All three had stopped at his cell door and turned towards him.
For several long moments, Harry’s laboured breathing mingled with the rattling noises they were making. Moans were issued from the other cells, but they faded to the background as Harry focused on his three visitors.
“It’s remained the same,” one of the dementors stated.
“You’re certain?” asked another. Much like their looks, their voices sounded alike. However, there was a minute difference that informed Harry that different creatures were speaking.
“Interesting,” one of the creatures murmured which terrified Harry. It couldn’t be a good thing that they found him interesting even if it sparred him the horrible memories.
“What’s interesting?” ventured Harry. He figured as terrible as the notion was, he already had their attention. He reckoned he had nothing to lose by trying to get them to answer his questions.
The dementors made a particularly loud rattling sound. Harry was struck with a fear that they would attempt to suck his soul out despite the distance between them and wished he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. However, two of the dementors turned their attention to the third.
“I have connected with him,” the dementor admitted. “I attempted to ascertain how this was possible.”
“And?” asked one of the dementors.
“He claims not to know,” was the response.
The dementors turned their attention back to Harry. “How are you holding on to it?” one of them asked.
“I don’t know you mean,” Harry stated. Despite the déjà vu feeling, he was completely lost as to what they meant.
“Do you believe him?” one dementor questioned the others.
“I don’t know…” was the response. The three dementors moved minimally closer to Harry’s cell.
“Honest,” Harry squeaked out. “If you’d just tell me exactly what you’re talking about, I might be able to answer you.”
The dementors glanced at each other for a long moment. As they seemed to silently debate something between themselves, the moans of the other prisoners echoed down the hallway. Harry couldn’t stop himself from shivering. Eventually they turned their attention back to him.
“We must discuss this amongst the clan. We will likely have more questions for you,” one of the dementors announced. This was hardly reassuring as thus far their questions had been confusing.
All three of the dementors then turned away from Harry and continued down the hall. The sound of a door opening indicated that they were leaving but it took a while for the mood to get lighter and truly indicate that they were gone. Despite not feeling the full effects of the dementors’ presence, Harry desperately wanted chocolate. He doubted it would be provided when lunch showed up.
With the benefit of being animagi, both Malfoy and Nott seemed to recover quickly. Crabbe was still moaning pitifully in the cell next to Harry, so Harry assumed the man was not an animagus. He didn’t hear anything from Lestrange’s cell. Harry suddenly wondered how many of the death eaters were animagi and may have been privy to Harry’s terrifying encounter with the dementors.
Both Malfoy and Nott were regarding Harry curiously. Harry could tell that Malfoy wanted to ask what the deal with the dementor was.
“I don’t know what they are talking about,” Harry said. Malfoy looked at him carefully. He must have believed Harry because he eventually nodded.
“What did they say?” he asked.
“You didn’t –” Harry started to ask. When Malfoy nodded his head in a negative fashion, Harry turned to Nott for confirmation. He too shook his head.
“I’ve never seen anyone aside from the dark lord withstand the dementors let alone talk to them,” Nott stated.
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t me. I mean, I wasn’t controlling it. I’m usually treated to my worst memories,” Harry said. He realized he probably shouldn’t be so candid with death eaters, but the entire situation was freaking him out. What could the dementors possibly want with him? “It was one of the dementors that stopped it. He stated he connected with me. Whatever that even means!”
“Well… I suppose it’s better than the alternative,” suggested Nott.
“Is it?” countered Harry somewhat hysterically. While he didn’t want his worst memories replaying on repeat, it didn’t seem like a good thing to have the dementors’ curiosity focused on him either.
“I guess that depends on what they want from you,” Nott acknowledged.
“I don’t know!” Harry stated frustrated. “They’re being all vague. They want to know how I did something but won’t tell me what that something is. I wasn’t aware the dementors could talk.”
“Well, it was clear that they understood English as they’ve listened to orders from the ministry for years, but I admit, I hadn’t heard of anyone conversing with them before,” stated Malfoy.
“Great,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “I get to be special. Again.”
Neither Nott nor Malfoy responded to that though Harry could feel their eyes watching him. The moans from the other cells had tapered off. Occasionally Harry heard some grunts from the other cells but people seemed to be recovering. However the comparatively cheerful banter from that morning did not return. Some low murmured complaints floated down the hall but most of the prisoners were quiet.
“I don’t know what’s worst; the dementors or the guards,” said Nott.
“Dementors,” came Crabbe’s voice. “Definitely dementors.”
“I don’t know. The dementors don’t usually linger,” countered Malfoy.
“No, the dementors are definitely the worst,” another voice responded. “At least for anyone who isn’t an animagus. I’d take a beating any day over reliving those memories.”
“Beating?” questioned Harry. “Does that happen often?”
The grim looks on Malfoy and Nott’s faces did not comfort Harry.
“Most will leave you alone unless provoked,” answered Malfoy. “However, there are a few guards that just like hurting people.”
Having grown up with the Dursleys, Harry believed that. “Yeah, people kind of suck that way,” he stated. It wasn’t a new notion for him that some people were just angry and vengeful. It was probably foolish of him to assume there would be guards in place to protect him. Umbridge was proof enough that ministry employees could be bitter and corrupt.
“We can warn you which guards to look out for,” offered Malfoy. Harry appreciated the gesture, but even if he knew which guards were dicks, it wasn’t like he could avoid them if they wanted to confront him.
“It seems like you already caught Burke’s notice,” pointed out Nott. “He’s a nasty piece of work. It certainly makes me glad I’m past my prime.”
Before Harry could ask what that had to do with anything, the sound of the door opening at the end of the hallway interrupted their conversation. As the other prisoners did not immediately start moaning, Harry figured it was the guards this time instead of more dementors. His suspicion was confirmed as he heard them passing out lunch. Harry was surprised when it sounded like the guards were having a more difficult time rousing the prisoners than they had that morning. A large number of the ones that were responding were refusing the food.
By the time the guards reached Harry cell, they looked annoyed. Fortunately, Burke was not amongst them. They passed Harry his tray and he was surprised to note that it was the exact same meal as breakfast.
“Is it always the same?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” grumbled a few prisoners that heard Harry’s question. Harry took the tray without further comment and once again started picking at his food. He thought he understood now why so many of the prisoners refused their meal. Of course, the dementor visit likely negatively influenced their appetite as well. Harry was beginning to understand how most prisoners ended up looking rather gaunt despite Malfoy’s assurance that he would get three meals a day.
Harry forced himself to eat the meal and then morosely lounged on his cot. Despite the meal rousing the other prisoners, few seemed sociable at the moment. It didn’t help that almost immediately after lunch, Harry could hear Crabbe defecating. The smell trailed into Harry’s cell confirming his fears that when he could no longer hold in his own bowel movements, not only would Malfoy and Nott be privy to the view, the prisoners closest to him would likely be informed by smell and sound. It was not something Harry looked forward to.
Eventually the men around him start conversing. The murmur of it reached Harry though he only caught snippets of their conversations.
“Potter?”
Harry sat up from his cot and turned towards Malfoy. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you give us an update on current events?” proposed Malfoy.
“What?” Harry asked confused.
“Well, the guards don’t generally keep us informed. We have to wait for news from our judicial-wizards, but those meetings tend to be focused on our cases… So, what’s been happening in the world?”
“Er, well… Fudge is no longer minister. It’s Scrimgeour now,” Harry started. He wasn’t sure exactly what to talk about but he saw the value in talking. In the quiet mood that had sprung up after lunch, Harry had been left to worry about his situation. Even though these men were death eaters, speaking to Malfoy and Nott helped distract him.
Harry talked a little of current events that he picked up mostly from Hermione, but it quickly became clear that that wasn’t the main topic Malfoy was fishing for.
“And how’s school?” asked Malfoy during a lull in Harry’s narrative of some of the more recent prophet articles. Harry immediately understood that Malfoy was asking after his son. Harry bit his lip while he considered how candid he ought to be with Malfoy. Harry eventually decided to be open given the fact that if the situation was reversed, he would want to know about his loved ones even if it wasn’t all good news.
“I have no proof,” Harry stated cautiously aware that none of his friends had believed him, “but I think Malfoy – er, Draco – I think that Draco was given some sort of task from Voldemort.”
Malfoy flinched but Harry didn’t know if that was due to the news about his son or from Harry stating Voldemort’s name.
“Don’t say his name!” someone hissed but Harry wasn’t sure which prisoner it came from. He was aware that more prisoners were now paying attention to his and Malfoy’s conversation.
“What sort of task?” Malfoy asked, bypassing the issue of speaking Voldemort’s name.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out all year,” Harry admitted. He watched Malfoy’s face and was surprised by the amount of pain he was displaying. Harry recalled how he used to think of Malfoy as cold and was surprised how quickly his opinion had changed. Dumbledore had mentioned something about Malfoy likely seeing Azkaban as safe compared to Voldemort’s wrath, but Harry didn’t think the man was actually that selfish. He genuinely seemed pained at the thought of his son having been set a task. Besides, it was becoming clear to Harry that Azkaban was hardly a safe haven.
Harry briefly recounted spotting Malfoy before school started and following him around. Malfoy and Nott seemed to be listening attentively. Malfoy only interrupted when Harry mentioned his suspicions regarding the state of Draco’s forearm.
“You think he’s been marked?” Malfoy asked breathlessly.
“He’s a bit young,” stated Nott. Harry thought it almost sounded like Nott was trying to reassure Malfoy that it was unlikely Voldemort would mark Draco.
“I’m not sure Volde- er, You-know-who cares how young someone is,” Harry shrugged. After all, Voldemort had attacked Harry as a baby and has been making similar attempts since Harry found out about the magical world. He also didn’t care how old Cedric had been before he had him killed either.
“But if it’s any consolation, my friends doubt that he’s marked. They too doubt Vol- you-know-who would mark someone still in school,” Harry attempted to reassure Malfoy despite his own doubts. Although Malfoy was wearing his best poker face, he seemed paler and more drawn than Harry could remember seeing him. Including the times just before dementors started patrolling their hallways. Faced with Draco’s father’s clear concern, Harry almost felt guilty about his suspicions.
“It’s rare but not unheard of,” stated a voice Harry thought belonged to Walden McNair.
“It’s an honour to be cho-“ Lestrange started to say from the cell next to Harry but Malfoy interrupted.
“What else? There must be more to your suspicions than just an odd conversation with a shopkeeper,” said Malfoy.
Harry told them about the strange events that had been happening all year. He felt awkward accusing Draco of Katie’s predicament to his father, but he forged on. A few of the other prisoners snorted in amusement when Harry mentioned Ron had accidentally consumed a love potion meant for Harry, but Malfoy seemed as tense as ever throughout the whole conversation. Harry thought it was an odd twist of fate that despite his strong accusations all year, Harry was parroting some of Hermione’s arguments about how Harry could be wrong about Malfoy. Harry himself didn’t believe but he found himself wanting to comfort Malfoy.
“It could have been anyone,” Harry stated after he mentioned the poison was supposed to be a gift for Dumbledore. Something of his own doubt must have been clear in his expression though.
“But you believe Draco was behind this,” Malfoy stated more than asked.
“Yes… I’ve tried to follow him a few times,” Harry was reluctant to admit how obsessed he’d become, “but he uses Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts so it’s difficult to-”
“Vince? My Vincent?” asked Crabbe from the cell next to Harry. Harry wondered if he should start referring to them by their first names so he could keep everything straight.
“Yes. I don’t know how much he knows about Draco’s task,” Harry stated. Although he couldn’t see Crabbe’s face, Harry thought he heard the same fatherly concern that Malfoy had been expressing.
“And Theodore? Has my son been aiding in these… events?” asked Nott.
“Not as far as I can tell,” Harry stated. While he though the news would make Nott feel relieved, Harry remembered that they were surrounded by other death eaters. Not helping in a task set by Voldemort might actually backfire later on. “I think Malf, er, Draco is mostly trying to do it on his own. I overheard Snape offering his help but Draco… he thought it was best if he did it himself…”
For a few minutes, the others were quiet as they absorbed the news. Eventually some of the men started guessing at what Draco’s task could be. Each suggestion seemed to worry Malfoy no matter how outrageous it seemed.
Harry must not have concealed his own concern, or pity, because Nott stated, “Severus is sure to help him, Lucius”, but he was watching Harry intently.
“It has been at least seven months,” Lucius responded. “The dark lord expects results. What if it’s already-” Lucius didn’t finish his sentence, but took a steadying breath. He started to pace along his cell. “There must be something I could do, even from here.”
“What are you going to do from here?” asked Mulciber from the cell on Malfoy’s other side.
“I don’t know,” Lucius sounded both frustrated and desperate. “If I can contact Narcissa-”
“Narcissa would have already demanded your aid if she thought could you help,” Mulciber pointed out.
“Well I can’t do nothing,” Lucius hissed. “What if... Draco cannot fail.”
Harry was a little horrified to see that Malfoy seemed to be on the verge of crying. It was ten thousand times worse than being faced with a crying Cho. Harry could not think of a single thing to say. The man had appeared cold and distant in the past, but it was clear that he loved his son. Harry recalled the numerous times Draco had indignantly proclaimed he would tell his father about any sleight. Harry had the epiphany that Dumbledore was wrong. Lucius Malfoy has been fighting his son’s battles for years. The man would probably gladly stand in front of even Voldemort if he though he could shelter Draco from further harm. Being stuck in Azkaban, unable to help his son, was probably a fate worst than any pain Voldemort could dish out for his previous failures.
Lucius paced in his cell while the corridor grew silent. The man would occasionally wipe furiously at his eyes. He made no obvious sound, but it was clear to Harry that the man could not hold in his tears. Harry tied not to watch him, but the alternative was looking at Nott. The older man was watching Harry intently, which made him uncomfortable.
“Oi! Potter!” Rodolphus called out, making Harry jump.
“What?” he asked.
“Which team is winning the quidditch league?” Rodolphus asked.
Harry stared at the wall separating him from Lestrange incredulously. The man wanted to talk about quidditch now? Harry couldn’t help thinking the man was an insensitive arsehole. Harry figured the man must have as clear a view of Malfoy as Harry did. Clearly it wasn’t the time to talk quidditch.
“Please tell me it’s the Appleby Arrows,” Nott stated. Harry turned his incredulous expression towards Nott feeling even more confused. He had just begun to think that Nott was alright, even if the man was a death eater. Harry couldn’t figure out why Nott was focused on quidditch instead of saying something supportive to his friend. Or even an acknowledgement that the situation sucked balls.
“Nah, Puddlemere United is the only one worth their salt,” announced Crabbe.
“I’ve always rooted for the Harpies,” announced Lestrange.
“We remember that all too well,” Mulciber snidely commented. As the others started ribbing Lestrange about some youthful indiscretion where he apparently tried to sneak into the Harpies locker room but instead mistakenly went into the opposing team’s locker room. Apparently, the Moose Jaw Meteorites were not too happy with him.
“I didn’t even know Canadians could get angry,” laughed Rabastian as he recalled the trouble his brother had gotten into.
As the others continued to tease Lestrange, Harry noted that Malfoy seemed to be calming down. He did not join in the conversation, but he no longer seemed to be breaking down. Harry thought he understood why Lestrange and Nott had started the conversation, but Harry probably would have preferred if someone had first acknowledged how crappy everything was. Still, Harry started talking about the recent matches he’s read about in the papers. He even spoke about the recent Hogwarts quidditch games, though he skipped over his own recent injury.
As the other men started recounting their own Hogwarts quidditch days, Lucius was eventually pulled into the conversation. Harry learnt that he and Mr. Weasley started their animosity on the quidditch pitch. Harry hadn’t even known Mr. Weasley had played quidditch. He probably should have guessed given how many of his children played the sport.
Harry laughed at Malfoy’s recounting of his own glory days playing quidditch. It seemed he pulled as many dirty tricks as his son. Even if Draco wasn’t playing quidditch at the moment, it gave Harry some ideas of what to look out for. Assuming Harry ever got out of Azkaban.
When Harry turned to Nott, he noticed the man was smiling at him. Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the man almost seemed proud. Harry felt a little guilty for thinking poorly of him before. The man clearly knew his friend better than Harry. It was clear now that the change of conversation had probably helped more than empty platitudes. There was nothing Malfoy could do from Azkaban, so unless Harry helped him escape, he could only offer empty words. And even if Harry had shared how Sirius managed to escape, Harry didn’t know if the same strategy would even work for Malfoy. Could peacocks even swim?
As the conversations continued around him, Harry let himself slowly relax again. At least until an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach started making itself known. He tried to ignore it as long as he could.
“Potter?” asked Nott.
Harry looked at him helplessly. “I need to...” Harry trailed off, but glanced towards the toilet in the corner of his cell. When he glanced back at Nott and Malfoy, it was clear that they both understood his problem. It was also clear that they both could clearly see him if he went to the bathroom now. Harry realized he has yet to see either of them go. He wasn’t sure if Azkaban’s diet contributed to constipation or if both men managed to do their business when he was asleep. Harry wished he could train his body to wait until the dead of the night. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could hold it in for much longer.
“Could you maybe, er, not look?” Harry asked.
Nott smirked at him, but moved to the other side of his cell and turned his attention to Crabbe. Harry thought the man could probably still see him in his periphery, but at least wasn’t watching him full on. Malfoy merely nodded and went to lie down on his cot. Harry figured Malfoy probably understood Harry’s discomfort. It must have been a hard adjustment for someone as dignified as him.
Harry tried to go as quickly as possible. He was glad that it wasn’t particularly loud, and it didn’t clog the toilet. The situation was embarrassing enough as it was. Harry waited for one of the other prisoners to comment, but no one did.
Conversations eventually tapered off, but Harry felt more relaxed than previously. He couldn’t say Azkaban was pleasant, but he thought he could survive it until Dumbledore got him out. Harry still hoped it would be soon. As nice as the death eaters were being - and boy did Harry think that was a weird thought – he would rather be back at Hogwarts and know that his friends weren’t in trouble for helping him at the ministry.
A door at the end of the hall opened, which caused Harry to tense. It was difficult to tell time here, but it felt too early for supper. The sound of footsteps confirmed that it was guards and not dementors returning.
Burke and another guard walked over to Harry cell. For a brief moment, Harry thought that perhaps Dumbledore had done it and Harry was free. But one look at Burke’s smiling face let Harry know that wasn’t the case.
“Stand up and face the wall, Potter,” Burke said.
“Why?” Harry asked.
“Just do it,” Burke insisted while pointing his wand at Harry. The other guard also had his wand trained on Harry and didn’t seem inclined to answer Harry’s question. Harry got up slowly and reluctantly turned his back on both men.
“Hands against the wall,” Burke instructed. When Harry was in position, he heard his cell door unlock. Burke was quickly at his side, and manhandling his hands behind his back. Harry’s face smacked into the wall. His glasses were pushed up but fortunately didn’t break.
Burke started guiding Harry out of the cell while the other guard kept his wand trained on Harry.
“Are you releasing the boy?” asked Malfoy.
“Shut it, Malfoy,” Burke responded as he dragged Harry away. The other prisoners watched their progress with even more interest than when Harry arrived.
As they moved past the main doors, Harry noted that no other guard was stationed there. He assumed the second guard with them was supposed to be at that post, but as Burke led him down the stairs, the guard followed.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry expected Burke to take him back down the hallway that he came from, but instead the guards turned the other way. They passed a number of rooms that seemed to be meeting rooms, but Burke hurried Harry along too quickly for him to get a proper look.
When Harry saw a large B displayed at the end of the hallway, he wondered if they were transferring him to the other ward. However, Burke stopped in front of a door just before block B started. Unlike the other rooms they passed along the way, this one didn’t seem to have a large window allowing them to see into it.
“Wiblin,” Burke gestured to the other guard to open the door. Wiblin waved his wand and the door swung open.
Unlike the rest of the prison, this room was brightly lit. No longer accustomed to such light. Harry had to close his eyes against the brightness. When Burke urged him forward, Harry forced open his eyes. And immediately wished he hadn’t. In the center of the room was a chair with chains; exactly the same type that had been at his trial last year. Harry didn’t know what these men planned to do, but he was certain he did not want to sit in that chair.
“Potter, sit,” Burke said.
“No,” Harry replied and he tried to prevent Burke from pulling him any closer.
“Sit,” Burke insisted. Harry tried to resist, but after a short scuffle, he felt his limbs lock up. With a few swishes from Wiblin’s wand, Harry was moved towards the chair. As soon as he sat down, the chains wrapped around him. Once he was secure, Wiblin release Harry from the spells he cast. Harry tried to struggle, but the chains tightened painfully.
“It occurred to me that we overlooked an important aspect of your processing, Potter,” Burke stated. Once he was sure that Harry was secure, Burke moved towards a cabinet on the side of the room. He grabbed a box and made his way back to Harry. He summoned a chair – one without chains – and sat down facing Harry.
Harry tried not to respond, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he was scaring him. But his resolve crumbled when Burke started tugging his shirt collar away from Harry’s neck.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, somewhat hysterically. He was not reassured when Burke merely smirked at him and charmed his shirt to remain in place.
“You should be thanking me. I agreed to work overtime just to ensure that you would be settled in,” Burke responded mildly. “Do you know how we help prisoners adjust to their new circumstances?”
Harry eyed the box, knowing he wouldn’t like whatever was in there.
“We find it helps if they have a visual reminder,” Burke stated as he opened the box. Harry braced himself for any sort of torture device, but only a potion bottle and some cloth were in the box. Burke pulled out the cloth and cut off a piece using his wand. Harry flinched at the sound and the chains constricted once again.
“Of course, we have to make sure it’s permanent. Not easily removed by a spell or whatnot,” Burke continued. He uncorked the potion and poured some onto the cloth. “You know, make sure the message really sinks in.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat at those words. He flashed back to Umbridge saying much the same thing during his detentions with the blood quill.
Burke brought the cloth to Harry’s neck. Harry braced for pain, but it only felt like wet cloth brushing over his skin. After a moment, he tossed the cloth aside and brought his wand to Harry’s neck.
“What are you-“ Harry started to ask but broke out in a surprised cry as Burke started to move his wand. A sharp pain followed where Burke’s wand touched.
“Hold still now,” Burke admonished. “it’d be a shame if it was all sloppy.”
Harry tried to glance down but couldn’t see the area that was in pain. Noticing this, Burke summoned a mirror that was at the back of the room. Burke arranged it so Harry could watch as he worked. Before Burke returned to his task, Harry was able to see a black line on his neck.
Before he could catch his breath, Burke started moving his wand again. Immediately, pain blossomed from the area where wand and flesh met. A black mark appeared following the path the wand took.
Burked hummed in satisfaction and drew his wand away. With horror, Harry realized it was the first rune in his prison number.
Burke took a moment to admire his work before he moved his wand back to Harry’s neck. The sharp pain returned.
“Stop,” Harry gasped.
“Surely you can take it, Potter,” Burke responded.
“You – you can’t do this,” Harry said.
“I already am,” Burke gleefully stated and went back to working on the second rune. Harry tried to struggle, but the chains already held him tight and only constricted further the more Harry struggled.
“What’s the matter, Potter?” Wiblin asked. “You can cast a torture curse, but can’t take a little tattoo?” The guard moved behind Harry’s chair and pressed down on his shoulders. It didn’t hold Harry any more in place than the chair already managed, but Harry did feel more trapped.
Harry could do nothing as Burke carved the runes and numbers into his neck. He stared over Burke’s shoulder at a spot on the wall and tried to ignore everything. It wasn’t the pain so much as the fact that he felt helpless. He couldn’t stop them, and if Burke was telling the truth, he wouldn’t ever be able to remove it. Even when Dumbledore rescued him – if Dumbledore rescued him – Harry would never be able to truly put it behind him. The tattoo would always be a part of him.
Burke tried to draw it out, but eventually moved back with a satisfied air.
“There you go, Potter. One nice little souvenir,” Burke smirked at him. Harry was tempted to spit in his face, but bit back the impulse. Who knew what else the man would draw on him as revenge. Wiblin moved back towards the cabinet and returned with another potion bottle. Burked poured some on a new piece of cloth and pressed it to Harry’s neck. Harry hissed at the newest sensation of pain.
Harry really didn’t want to look, but eventually could resist no more. The black symbols were not overly large but stood out prominently on his neck. The skin around the area was an angry red shade, but as Burke patted the area, the red seemed to be receding.
“We’ll have you all healed in another minute,” Burke commented. Harry thought it was a rather odd concern for the man that just violated him by putting the unwanted tattoo there in the first place. He didn’t know why the man would care if he was healed or not. Perhaps he would get fired if Harry’s tattoo got infected.
Harry refused to say anything to both men as Burke continued to pat the tattoo for longer than a minute. In fact, as the pain receded completely, Harry became aware that Burke was no longer patting the area so much as caressing it. As his hand passed from one side to the other, he let his pinky drag along Harry’s collarbone. Harry’s unease grew at this new attention. He didn’t forget Burke’s extra attention during his pat down.
“I need to get back to my post,” Wiblin stated, causing Burke to pull away from Harry.
A few quick incantations ensured that Harry’s skin was clean, his shirt was no longer stuck to the side, and the chains unravelled. The tattoo area felt a little tingly, but before Harry could feel it for himself, Burke heaved Harry up as Wiblin put away the boxes. Harry felt unsteady and couldn’t move away from Burke as he spelled Harry’s hands behind him again.
Harry didn’t protest as the men guided him back to his cell. He felt a little like one of Mrs. Figgs’ cats going to the vet. Resistant to get into the carrier on the way, but couldn’t wait to get back in after being poked and prodded.
Harry didn’t look at any of the other prisoners as he made his way down the hallway. He just wanted to lie down, hopefully sleep, and pretend that nothing had happened.
“Back where you belong,” murmured Burke as Harry stepped into his cell. His hands were unspelled and the cell door closed. Harry turned towards him but said nothing. He just wanted Burke to go away.
“You’re really one of them now,” tried Burke again. Harry made some non-committal noise, which wasn’t the reaction Burke was angling for. However, Wiblin shifted and started moving back towards the end of the hallway and Burke reluctantly followed.
Harry was glad to see them go, but it left a clear view of Malfoy and Nott’s cells. Both men were watching him. Feeling ashamed, Harry turned away. He sat on his cot and stared at the wall.
“Potter,” Malfoy called softly. Harry ignored him and stared more intently at the wall. Harry ignored his second attempt as well. His hands started trembling so Harry clenched them into fists.
“Harry,” Malfoy coaxed. Despite himself, he turned towards the man.
“What did they do?” Malfoy asked, keeping his voice low and coaxing. To Harry’s horror, he felt tears welled up in his eyes.
Harry tilted his head and slowly pulled his collar down until the new tattoo was visible. Malfoy hissed in shock.
“Bastards,” muttered Nott.
Unable to hold in it, a tear fell down Harry’s cheek. He let go of his shirt and furiously wiped away the tear before rubbing at his eyes. It didn’t stop them from coming, now that Harry had let the first tear fall.
“They won’t get away with it,” vowed Lucius, trying to comfort the boy.
“They already have,” whispered Harry, unaware he mimicked Burke. He felt defeated.