Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Forty-Seven
Extra Extra, Read All About It: The Killing Fields
Part One


When Snape decreed that they’d be ten minutes late, Kiaya decided that it was more pre-meditated disdain than fashion. Not shockingly, he spent the extra time giving orders.

“You will give every impression of being a good little girlfriend who defers to my wishes, understand?”

Her heart leapt at the word but one glance at his stony face reminded her that it was all playacting. She was no one’s ‘girlfriend’, she wasn’t really even a bedmate. She was a duty, an obligation, or at least everything between her waist and her knees was a duty. Though she was only now finally able to admit to herself that she craved his attention and affection, she knew the only part of her that would ever get it was between her legs. She nodded glumly, not looking forward to the evening at all.

“Stop pouting. You've no one to blame but yourself for this evening. Try to stay as far away from him as possible. One strong whiff of that pheromone could very well send him over the edge into something really stupid.”

She glared at him and muttered, “Hasn’t sent you anywhere.”

He quirked a brow and continued, “I will need to speak with Malfoy privately for a few moments. Please leave the table for the toilet when you’re excused.”

“I’m not a dog!”

“No, you’re not. You’re a good little girl who’s going to let Daddy have a chat on his own for a moment.”

“Ooooh! Anything you say, Daddy,” she cooed in a breathless mockery and mild contempt.

He crooked his eyebrow again and said very slowly, his face just an inch too close to hers, “Don’t take that tone with me in public. Especially in front of Malfoy”

Her lips twisted into a mirror of his usual scowl. She challenged him with each word of her question, “And why not?”

“Because I will have absolutely no compunction of turning you over my knee and spanking you in public.”

Her quick inhalation and glare expressed her shocked outrage, but the flare in her eyes belied her anger.

He added, “And you won’t like it - this time.”

Twenty minutes later, Kiaya was… well, she wasn’t snuggled into Snape, but she was certainly closer than she needed to be. Snape’s arm was swung over the back of the booth they occupied. She could feel him playing with the silk collar of her robes and the soft material sliding over the nape of her neck caused tingles to radiate through her.

The formalities completed and drinks ordered from the dirty and rather smelly barman (two scotches and a tea), the desultory conversation and subtle jibes were set aside for Malfoy’s most charming smile.

“Miss Roundtree… Kiaya,” he corrected himself unbidden and leaned close. “A lovely young woman such as you must be bored to tears, stuck up in that moldering pile of rocks.”

“Erm, actually, I keep fairly…”

Malfoy interrupted, “Of course you’re swamped with teaching all of those beastly children….”

Snape interrupted, “Draco is young, but not unteachable.”

Malfoy ignored him and seemed to relax back against the seat. “… and all of your private work as well. Tell me, how is that shop of yours doing?”

“Oh, it’s fine, thank you. It’s slowly getting busier again.” How long was she supposed to keep up the small talk, she asked herself, and had Lucius Malfoy always been so handsome?

Malfoy smiled benevolently and asked, “Surely it must be inconvenient to drag your things back and forth between Hogwarts and your home?”

Snape ran his thumb just under the inside of her collar as Malfoy spoke; she stifled a moan but felt her nipples tighten. She hoped that she was discreet when she crossed her free arm in front of her body, on the table. “Erm, yes. I mean, yes, it was - when I was doing it. I don’t very much any more. I keep most of my things at Hogwarts now and just do my work there.”

“But that little shop is just so perfect for you. I really expected you to be staying there. You know, I stopped by on Saturday evening and was disheartened that you weren’t there.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I was… er, at Hogwarts,” she stumbled, realizing her repetitiveness.

Snape murmured, “She was busy Saturday night, anyway. Pity, though.”

Kiaya gulped, remember what she – what he – was doing last Saturday night, after dinner. She still hadn’t found the panties that he stripped off of her and was terrified that a student would find them. Even after combing the classroom inch by inch and Summoning them several times - well, times when students wouldn’t see her underwear flying through the corridors, they were still missing.

Malfoy spared Snape a dismissive glance. “Indeed a pity. Now tell me, when are you home?”

As Snape scraped his nail over her neck, her mind went blank. She made a tiny, unintelligible sound of confusion, embarrassment and desire. Realizing that she sounded like an idiot and both men were staring at her in varying degrees of amusement, Kiaya tried to quell the rush of hormones and firing nerves. Her smile wasn’t as sophisticated as she would have liked but her voice was even when she asked, “Which home? I seem to have a few.”

Malfoy’s pale grey eyes were sincere as he gazed into hers and he asked “What do you mean?”

“Home. I suppose that I have several places that I call home. My parents’ house over the bakery, Mr. Basilton’s shop and Hogwarts.”

“Ah, but which bed is your favorite?”

Snape rumbled and Kiaya was just waiting for him to say, ‘mine,’ but he refrained. To forestall it, she said, “I suppose I’m still most comfortable in my cozy little attic room on Navarre Way.”

Triumph flickered in Malfoy’s face. “Then you should spend more time there.”

“I really enjoy teaching, too,” she felt compelled to say. “Even as much as I love being productive in the shop.”

“Of course you do. I am just positive that this event will be such a boon to your business that you won’t have to teach at all to keep yourself occupied.”

“But I like…”

Snape tugged her hair under the guise of toying with it. She shut up and let him handle it. It was, after all, why he was there.

“I know that you’re busy, but Kiaya, we need you,” Malfoy beseeched. He placed his hand over hers. “I need you.” Snape stiffened and Malfoy continued. “I need your help.”

Kiaya almost started giggling. He sounded like a character from a bad novel. Who actually spoke like that? Severus’s snort told her that he felt the same way.

“Erm…” She looked at Severus for guidance but his face was blank. “Well, erm, I’ll be glad to help, if I can but you haven’t really told me…”

“How remiss of me. I must have been distracted by your beauty.” He saluted her hand with a kiss in apology.

Kiaya squirmed in her chair, both from the ick factor of Malfoy’s lips on any part of her body and the sheer sensual delight in the texture of his beard stubble on her skin. She opened her mouth to protest but Snape spoke instead.

“Come now, Lucius,” Severus scoffed. “She’s pretty but you needn’t wax poetic.”

“Ah, Severus, the prince of inadequate… ideas,” said Malfoy. “I thought that you were more observant than that.”

Kiaya, stung by his dismissal of her mere prettiness, felt Snape shrug but didn’t look at him. Instead, she used taking a sip of tea as an excuse to free her trapped hand from under Malfoy’s.

“You know, Lucius, you’re absolutely right. There is a time when Kiaya is the most beautiful woman in the world.” Snape purred as he ran his fingers down the side of her neck and caressed her collar bone in a most inappropriate manner.

She couldn’t help but shiver her response to him. He knew that she shouldn’t, damn him. She even felt her nipples tightening. It was all part of the game, she told herself as she ever so slightly tilted her head to the side and hummed her pleasure. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, Kiaya was stunned to see him looking at her, his eyes full of dark, tempting promise. Biting her lip, she inhaled deeply as desire slammed through her. She wasn’t even embarrassed as she felt herself get wet for him. She felt herself growing warmer and barely resisted the urge to fan herself. Looking into his eyes, she remembered every orgasm he’d given her without blushing. She also remembered every orgasm that she gave herself with his name on her lips. He knew her thoughts. He had to, given the sensual smile on his lips.

Just as she felt herself leaning toward him, her lips parted for a kiss, Malfoy spoke.

His voice jolted her back to reality and she blushed an unbecoming magenta.

“To revel in that beauty…”

“Is a delight, I can assure you,” interrupted Snape.

“… Is something that the right man would pay thousands for,” continued Malfoy, shooting a repressive look at Snape. He inhaled deeply and leaned closer, his eyes intent on her. He looked hungry.

“Indeed. However, the lady is not for sale.”

Malfoy pounced. “Actually, that what I’d like to discuss… with her.”

Kiaya blinked. “Sorry?”

“The fund raiser, of course! It’s an auction.” He looked triumphant and expectant of lavish praise but didn’t lean back. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the potion-induced pheromone.

Kiaya wasn’t about to give him a bit of praise. In fact, she felt incredibly stupid. She had no idea what he was talking about but was pretty sure that if Snape didn’t get her out of here, Malfoy was going to start crawling across the table.

“Erm…”

Malfoy smiled charmingly and continued, “Not an auction of things. I mean, really, those who will be invited to this really could purchase anything we want.”

Kiaya gulped. She couldn’t purchase just anything that she wanted. She was just an apprentice and teach… oh. She stopped herself and remembered the exact contents of Mr. Basilton’s Gringotts vault. She still couldn’t bring herself to think of it as really hers, so she hadn’t really touched it for anything but the usual notes back and forth for supplies and potions. Perhaps she ought to indulge herself.

“Did you want a donation from me?” Kiaya asked as the pieces clicked together. Money. It was all about the money.

“I certainly do,” he said, “but not the kind that you’re thinking, though we do need money for the hospital.

The pieces weren’t clicking together.

Snape prompted, “What is it that you do want, if it’s not money?”

“I want Kiaya.”

Snape snorted his opinion but Malfoy continued, “On the auction block, of course.”

Snape pronounced, “No.”

“But how?” she asked, forgetting the rule about letting Snape handle matters.

“The auction is for services.” At Kiaya’s horrified look, Malfoy hastened to explain, “For example, you would donate a certain number of hours or days to refilling the winner’s potion’s closet. Any and all potions that person wanted, that could be fulfilled in the time allotted by you – or even a perhaps promise a certain number of specific kinds of potions. Medicinal potions or cleaning things, for example.”

“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad,” Kiaya offered, though she was still dismayed that he was asking her, of all people, to do this.

His expression was chiding when he said, “It’s being lauded by the few people who know about it, as brilliant, novel and fun.”

She ducked her chin, “Well, yes, it is that.”

“It would be such a boon to your business,” he oozed.

Looking up at Snape for assistance, she said, “Well, yes, it would.”

“It isn’t needed,” he said. “Thanks for the offer, though, Malfoy.”

“But…”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m the right person for that kind of thing , Mr. Malfoy.”

“Of course you are. You are beauti….”

Snape interrupted with a jerk of his head directed at Kiaya.

She revolted for barely a moment before taking one last quick sip of her tea and excusing herself from the table.

“Where are you going?”

Snape answered for her, “She’s excusing herself. I have a few questions about tomorrow evening.”

“She’s not a child, Severus,” said Malfoy.

Kiaya smiled and opened her mouth before her brain engaged. “No, I’m not,” she muttered as she stood up and turned, “but he does like it when I call him ‘Daddy’,” she finished under her breath, but not out of earshot, as she walked away.


When she returned to the table a few minutes later, Malfoy was gone and Snape wore an inscrutable expression.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Voldemort drummed his talons on the arm of his chair. He looked at Pettigrew with narrowed, red eyes and asked, as if testing him, “Peter, if you were going to destroy a town, how would you do it?”

Pettigrew answered quickly, as though he’d been thinking about the answer for a very long time. “I’d stun the lot of them, then tie all of the men up and make them watch as we rape and kill their women. Practice curses on the remainders until the streets ran red with blood, then loot and pillage the town for anything we can take.”

Severus grimaced. Pettigrew was likely more interested in the raping of anyone that could be held still with a curse than murder, the sick fuck.

It looked like the Dark Lord thought so, too, when he glanced at Lucius and Severus in turn and asked, “What say you to that, gentlemen?”

Lucius sneered, “That takes too much manpower and it lacks finesse.”

Severus looked at Pettigrew from under hooded eyes and in the most bored tone that he could manage, “It’s been done, Pettigrew. While you were off playing with Potter and Black, the big kids did it,” he looked at Lucius with a smirk and drawled, “what, three or four times, wasn’t it?”

Lucius snickered and held up four fingers. Mildly scathing, Lucius added, “We never did kill all of the women, though. Some were brought home for entertainment. Remember that last one, Severus?”

Snape nodded, his face blank.

“Ah, yes, the last one was unfortunate,” Voldemort tsked. “Lucius, how would you terrorize a town – with finesse, as you say?”

“Oh, I would go with the ‘get them where they sleep in groups’ idea. Take out hospitals or some such, then get the ones who showed up to help – light up the place with green, like fireworks. Could have some fun with curses and such, too, just for practice.” He thought about it for a moment then nodded thoughtfully. “It would be beautiful, my lord.”

Voldemort grunted and turned to Severus who lounged by the fireplace. “Severus?”

“Sounds complicated, my lord. You’d have to go haring about to catch stragglers and going after people who are already bed-bound lacks sport.”

“Then how would you manage it?” Voldemort’s question was a test.

Severus shrugged carelessly and said, as though the answer was obvious, “I’d poison their water supply.”

Voldemort hummed and tapped his thin lips. “I propose a competition. Whichever of you does the best job at the aforementioned project – and I do mean according to the press and what I see when I visit the scene, of course – will receive a five hundred galleons sponsorship in Lucius’s auction. It is for charity, after all.”

*~*~*~*~*~*


Umbridge Revealed as Death Eater!

Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, High Inquisitor,
temporary Headmistress and Senior Undersecretary and Special Assistant to the Minister of
Magic, himself, was today revealed to be a Death Eater by Lucius Malfoy (who was last
year imprisoned on the same charge and later released when he proved to have been
placed under the Imperius Curse). Mr. Malfoy, upon sight of Miss Umbridge walking
the halls of the Ministry, stumbled to the floor and declared, in front of several
Aurors and the Minister, that while under the Imperius Curse he had seen The
Dark Lord himself give orders to Miss Umbridge to torture and discredit our hero,
Harry Potter.

Upon being exposed, Umbridge dashed to the nearest fireplace and disappeared.
Her current whereabouts are unknown. As a reminder to our faithful readers,
Dolores Umbridge was kidnapped by the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest
over the summer and recently returned to Ministry service as head of
the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Mr. Malfoy has been officially commended by the Ministry.


The Replacement Event Revealed!

The Ministry of Magic
has formally announced that
the new Event of the Years will
be a Wizard’s Service Auction! Plans
are currently being finalized for this
auction, where high-profile wizards and
witches will be auctioned off as “slaves”
to perform specific duties for the purchaser
(i.e. house cleaning, home repair, creation of goods).
No duties will be unpleasant, illegal or immoral.

The fund raiser is twofold. The nominating process to
generate a prospective “slave” contact list will generate
income as well as the auction itself in ticket and “slave”
purchase prices. Nominations for the “slaves” to be placed
(voluntarily) on the auction block may be sent to the Ministry via
the address listed below. Nominations must include a 5 Galleon donation
to St. Mungo's.

The deadline for nominations is 30 November.

Nomination tallies will be published by the Daily Prophet on a weekly basis.

Which witch or wizard do you want?
Send your nominations to:
Intermediate Assistant to the Minister of Magic
P. I. Weasley
Ministry of Magic
London




*~*~*~*~*~*

Jasmine Swan did not nap, hadn’t napped in years. But there, at half-twelve in the afternoon, in the cozy armchair in front of the broad window of The Three Flowers, looking out on Diagon Alley – and as Diagon Alley looked in on her – Jasmine took a short break between the throngs of women rushing to get formal robes. As she gazed at the crowds meandering by, in front of Myrtle’s Maquillage’s giant mirror, her mind slowed and her eyes unfocused until she was seeing only colors and shapes move in front of her. Unbidden, her eyes drifted closed.

In her dream, impossibly green eyes watched her as she floated through a field of wildflowers with petals like looped embroidery floss. There was no breeze, but his black hair, cut in an old fashioned style, waved in the wind. His face was handsome, perhaps verging on too handsome. His clothing was fifty years out of date, but apparently well made, out of fine fabrics. The sky was an improbable blue with a lemon yellow sun. When she bent down to look at the floss flowers, she saw that she was wearing old fashioned witches robes like she’d seen in a photograph of her great-grandmother, Ivy.

The man, who looked oddly familiar, spoke and Jasmine stood again. She couldn’t understand his words so she took a step closer. He wasn’t speaking English, that was for certain; after a moment, she wasn’t sure that he was speaking any real language at all. The sound was familiar, though, she’d heard those breathy hisses before. She watched the man’s face as he spoke. Even though she couldn’t understand, his eyes offered her an invitation to take his suddenly outstretched hand. She hadn’t even seen him move. As she gazed at him, trying to understand, his eyes slowly changed from bright green to the darkest crimson. Recoiling in horror, she looked at the man’s outstretched hand. His fingers grew unnaturally long; an ugly gold and black ring twisted on his gaunt finger.

“Hssahssaa!” the man exclaimed.

“But I don’t understand!” she replied. Worry crept into her voice. Jasmine shook her head. A dream. A dream. It had to be a dream. She tried to wake herself. Panic crept into her thoughts as he approached, reaching for her with those odd hands.

She turned to flee. Suddenly, a huge rampant serpent lifted out of the grass and flowers. Terrified, Jasmine screamed – but the scream was soundless. She sucked in another breath, ready to scream again and automatically raised her hand. She didn’t have her wand, but her will would…

The snake opened its mouth; Jasmine recoiled. Its fangs dropped with venom. It was, by far, the largest snake she’d ever seen – or hoped to. It undulated up in the air, standing as tall as she was. Jasmine was sure that there was a lot more of the snake coiled on the meadow floor.

“He wants you to take a walk with him,” said the snake in perfectly clear, if beautifully accented, English. The snake’s voice was female.

Jasmine gulped and tried to speak. Taking a deep, calming breath, she tried to be as logical as one can when speaking with a snake. She said, almost surprised that she had a voice again, “But I don’t want to.”

“You should walk with him,” said the snake. Sunlight glinted off of its… her… beautiful green and gold scales… skin. She was beautiful. Light and colors played over her shiny skin as muscles bunched and rippled underneath it. “He loves you.”

“But,” she spluttered. Jasmine looked at the now smiling man. His eyes were still red but the shock had worn off. “But who are you?”

He smiled and said nothing as she looked back at the snake. “Who is he?”

The snake’s tongue flickered out before she spoke again. “His name is Thomas. He needs you.”

“Why?”

“To love,” replied the snake, as though the answer was completely obvious. Her voice was a lovely contralto.

“No, I can’t. I think I love someone else,” Jasmine said haltingly.

The snake leaned in; Jasmine felt the snake’s breath wash over her skin. Poison dripped from her fang onto Jasmine’s now exposed arm. She sucked in a gasp – the venom burned!

“You will love him, or you will regret it.”

Strong hands shook Jasmine awake. A small shriek of startled terror escaped from her lips before she looked into the concerned eyes of her grandmother. Panting, she looked down at her arm. There was a small red splotch where the poison had dripped in her dream.

Before her grandmother could speak, Jasmine threw herself into her arms and babbled out the entire dream. Remus Lupin listened to the account and immediately Floo’d Dumbledore.

*~*~*~*~*~*
Myrtle’s Maquillage Turns Faces Green

Authorities are investigating how
and why the giant mirror decorating the front of
Myrtle’s Maquillage in Diagon Alley suddenly began turning
the faces of onlookers green. The spell seems to have been emitted
directly through the mirror rather than as a spell on the mirror itself, as all of the other
spells in and around the giant mirror are. The jinx was performed when
any passerby spent more than a moment looking in the mirror.
It is believed that the jinx began at 12:30 in the afternoon.
Customers and passersby were affected for approximately one hour
before a clever employee of Myrtle’s Maquillage
tossed a tarp over the glass. Aurors have no suspects and those affected by the
jinx were returned to normal at St Mungos. The mirror has since had all spells
stripped from it and shop owner Myrtle Wimper says that recharming the mirror
will be a long, expensive process.


On The List

In alphabetical order, the following witches and wizards have been nominated to participate in the
First Annual Wizarding Service Auction to take place on 29 December . Several hundred nominations
have been made, however, only those with the accompanying 5Galleon donation have been listed.
Total number of nomination votes has been noted next to the name.

“Aunt Hildegard”, aunt – 1
“me”, unnamed self - 7
“my mother”, unnamed mother -24
“my mother in law - keep her” unnamed mother in law - 2
Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, inventor, alchemist, defeater of dark wizards - 273
Barnabas Cuffe, newspaper editor who is not amused - 3
Barry Ryan, Keeper, Irish National - 13
Bertie Bott, inventor, bean-maker - 4
Celestina Warbeck, singer - 112
Cornelius Fudge, Minster of Magic - 2
Derwent Shimpling, comedian - 12
Devlin Whitehorn, Nimbus Racing Brooms - 5
Filamina Malkin, proprietor Madam Malkin’s - 23
Fred & George Weasley, proprietors Weasley Wizarding Wheezes - 17
Gwenog Jones, Beater, Holyhead Harpies - 58
Harry Potter, duh - 79
Kiaya Roundtree, potions mistress - 29
Lord Voldemort, villain – 8
Alexander D. Filipepi, portrait painter - 8
Myron Wagtail, Weird Sisters singer - 173
Narcissa Malfoy, investment expert - 9
Rosemerta Bosson, proprietor Three Broomsticks - 19
Rufus Scrimgeour, Auror – 44
Gilderoy Lockhart - 16
The Weird Sisters (in sum) – 216


Scrimgeour’s Office Raids 2 Last Night

Last night, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,
Rufus Scrimgeour “visited” the homes of Lucius Malfoy and the former
home of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. It’s been reported that no
one was at home at the Lestrange's, “Which is good,” Scrimgeour said,
and the Malfoys “were welcoming and gracious.” Nothing illegal was found
in either home.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Dolores Jane Umbridge huddled in the small shack in the jungle of Brazil. It had been three weeks of hell, living in the squalid hut on the edge of a tiny Indian township. Roaches climbed the Bundimun infested walls and waddled through her sheets at night. Every day was a trial to find food that wasn’t covered in red ants or the ubiquitous mold. It rained twice daily but it never brought relief from the sweltering heat. Dolores was even forced to abandon her favorite pink cardigan and heavy robes in favor of a sleeveless shift.

Leaving this hellhole would be a bit sad, though. Dolores had gotten used to the wonderfully servile nature of the native Muggles. The small tribe treated her like a goddess for saving their best warriors from a Fire Slug that had attacked their village. The men had been hunting the beast that had devoured their crops, leaving only a fiery trail into the jungle. She had been slogging through the dense foliage, seeking a place to hide from the Ministry until this could all be sorted out. Using a Reductor Curse, she was blasting a path through the underbrush when she hit the Fire Slug, accidentally killing it. The natives came along just as she was putting out the resulting blaze with a spell and had immediately assumed that the round, pasty-faced woman in formal witch's robes was a deity sent to defend their tribe from demons. In return for the protection, they gave her handmade clothing that she hated but wore because it was cool, four meals a day, twice-daily baths and the hut.

It was time to move along, though. Tonight would be best so the villagers didn’t try to keep her by force. She didn’t want to stay in one place too long for fear of being found by the Aurors or Voldemort. The Ministry would send her to Azkaban and Voldemort would likely kill her for refusing his invitations to join up. Deciding which fate was worse kept her mind occupied when she wasn’t bored to tears.

Dolores thought to herself that perhaps the next place would be someplace in America. Getting lost in a big city would keep the Ministry and Voldemort away from her for a while. She could start sending pleading letters to the Minister, explaining and begging while she was there. While the American Muggles were barbaric, crude and too numerous for comfort, if one persisted in being just slightly rude, they would leave her alone. Both New York City and San Francisco had huge wizard populations so she planned to avoid those cities. Dolores tried to think of other large cities as she found her carpet bag and began to pack. She muttered to herself as she worked. “Pack!” she instructed her belongings; clothing and hair bows lifted from the handmade baskets and dropped neatly into the bag. Perhaps Chicaglo. Chicalo? What was the name of that place?

Crack

Lucius Malfoy appeared in the room, his wand pointed at her heart. “Hello, Miss Umbridge. You’ve caused a great deal of trouble for a lot of people.” He tutted as she waved her wand in panic. A flick of his wrist brought her wand flying into his hand, “Don't bother trying to Apparate. I've put a Bell-Jar charm on the hut, nothing in or out until I lift it.”

She lifted her head and straightened her back as much as she could. “I am Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic himself and I….”

“Not any more you’re not,” he interrupted, “Percy Weasley is now the Senior Undersecretary. You are a fugitive living in a…” he looked around with an offended sniff, “a hovel in the middle of the jungle.”

“But I’m not! I’m innocent! You were under Bellatrix Black’s Imperius Curse when you said those things! I just know it!”

His slight smile was no reassurance, nor was the patronizing murmur, “Of course I was. I’m so very glad that you can tell when someone is under the influence of dark magic.”

“I can! That’s why I was chosen to teach at Hogwarts,” she spluttered. “And you, Mr. Malfoy, obviously are under that influence now. Please give me my wand and I will remove the curse. This is all dark magic.”

His most charming smile – the one that used to make her feel like swooning, now made her stomach seize in fear. “I… I….” she fumbled.

“What in Circe’s name are you doing in the middle of a jungle, surrounded by these primitive Muggles?” he asked as he cast a Cooling Charm on himself.

She whimpered. Why was he here? Who was he working for? How did he find her?

“You know, I really don’t understand Muggles very well. There are so very many of them. I like to think of them as very large mosquitoes – completely useless except as an annoyance to higher beings. What do you think of them, Dolores?

“I… I… hate them” she said, hope written across her face that this small commonality would bond them.

“I actually know you do. That’s why the Dark Lord wanted you to… assist him in his efforts to exterminate them.”

When Delores just whimpered a response, Malfoy continued, “You know, I don’t hate Muggles. Hate is wasted energy that has no outlet but a loss of control that is better suited for other matters. I am simply annoyed by them.”

The smile that she was trying to muster fell.

“They do have some of the most useful creations, you know? In the pursuit of one of my little hobbies, I’ve done a great deal of research into the ideas of pain and death. It’s a hobby, you understand.”

She was silent but beads of sweat rolled down her jowls to soak into the hideous blouse that she was wearing.

“Did you know that Muggles have some very creative ways of killing each other?”

She shook her head, not daring to breathe. She felt like a mouse under a cat’s paw.

“The most efficient thing that we have is the Killing Curse – and while it’s good when you’re in a rush, it just has no panache. Do you know what I mean by panache, Dolores?”

She sniffed and mustered the sliver of bravado that she had left. “Of course I do!”

“Style! Class! Sophistication! Muggles have these machines that project bits of metal at high speeds into the human body. It rips flesh and there is a great deal of blood but it’s loud. Not subtle at all, but it’s very interesting. Very impersonal, in my opinion. One does not have to point it at a vital organ, of course, but that is how one does damage with the thing. Otherwise, you can point it at say… a knee, and completely shatter it. Rather like a Reductor Curse but with more accuracy.”

She gulped. Death would be too easy for him – he was going to torture her.

“Can you imagine the agony of having your knee shattered, Dolores?” He seemed so casual and nonchalant standing there in his wizard robes and long blond hair blowing gently in the breeze that never seemed to find her. He wasn’t even sweating.

A whimper was his only answer.

“Oh, Dolores, calm down. I’m not going to break your knees. It lacks style. I don’t have one of those pistol things with me either, though I do have a lovely set in the small room off my salon, behind the portrait of my grandfather.”

Her eyes narrowed and she wagged her finger at him as she blurted out, “I knew it! I knew there were hiding places when we raided your house!”

“You were right, I have many such chambers in my home. The Ministry is far too unobservant to notice such things… officially,’ he smirked. “Of course, some of the Aurors that are sent to my home are less than vigilant when it comes to searching in places they know not to look.”

She gasped. “Who?”

“Well, it can’t hurt to tell you now, can it?” He asked pleasantly as he waved her wand around.

Maybe she could bargain with the Aurors or even Fudge himself with the information. She could break it all wide open, if she could….

Her legs suddenly snapped together and, unbalanced, she fell back against the wall, her arms flailing. Gaping at him, she saw his slight smirk and her own wand pointed at her. He’d hexed her with her own wand!

“Tut tut. Can’t have you trying to go anywhere, can we?”

She snarled, “Bastard!”

He tsked. “Dolores, you know better than anyone who my father is – and his father, and his father's father. My pedigree is longer than your arm, which is why you insisted on toadying up to me.”

“I…I…”

He purred, “Come now, don’t think that I didn’t notice. I thought it flattering.”

She tried to distract him from this humiliation. “Which Aurors work for you?”

“No Aurors work for me, ultimately.”

“But….”

“They work for the Dark Lord – as does the reporter from the Daily Prophet who wrote that lovely article that got you fired.”

“It was a lie! All a lie! I thought that you were under the Imperious Curse to say such things ... but you weren’t! You lied! I knew you were too good to be true!”

“You knew nothing,” he interrupted and cast another Cooling Charm. “You’ve been licking my arse for years, Miss Umbridge. Don’t try to say anything different now.”

“We never should have let you out of Azkaban!” she exclaimed.

He Silenced her with another flick of her own wand. She gaped and gasped but her high, thin voice was blessedly gone.

“No, you shouldn’t have. You also shouldn’t have refused the Dark Lord’s invitation after he so generously provided you with Dementors to get rid of Potter.”

Her mouth worked in obscene protest but the spell prevented her speech.

“The Dark Lord was very displeased when you neglected to pay your due to him. A favor or three wouldn’t have been difficult, Dolores.” He looked up at the single beam holding the ceiling up and smiled. “Imperio!”

Dolores’s eyes glazed over. Her fear disappeared into the night. She was willing to do absolutely anything that Malfoy wanted.

“Lift your hands above your head,” he commanded.

A flick of her wand released the Leg-Locker Curse and she stumbled. She slammed into the wall as her hands lifted, but she had no thought of disobeying him, even to save herself from pain.

“Come here,” he directed.

She righted herself and walked to the center of the room. He yanked her arms apart so that she looked like she was about to start flapping them to fly. Her uplifted wrists waved below the supporting beam in a wide Y.

He used her wand to levitate her up. Her feet no longer touched the floor. A strong Sticking Charm secured her hands and wrists to the beam.

“Can you hear me, Dolores?”

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was monotone and the pink of outrage and fear in her cheeks had faded. Sweat from the jungle heat beaded on her forehead and slid down her flabby neck.

A wave of his wand removed the Imperious Curse and she looked around wildly and her legs flailed. He was still supporting her with the charm, though. Her silent scream just made Malfoy chuckle.

“I’m going to show you one of the more creative ways Muggles use to kill their own; it’s very ancient and most interesting. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” He released the Levitation Charm and she fell only as far as her Stuck arms would let her. Her howl of pain was lost, but he reveled in her expression of anguish.

He Conjured a comfortable chair and watched. “Crucifixion doesn’t have to take place on a cross, you know. Just being suspended like this will do it.” He eyed her corpulent body distastefully. “Especially with your weight. You’ll asphyxiate, you know, because your lungs and the muscles in your chest can’t work properly.”

She flailed her legs even more, silently screaming. Her entire body writhed in the air. Malfoy just watched with a twisted smile on his face.

“The more you wiggle the worse it’ll be, you know. You’ll just die faster.”

She stopped moving. Her face was beet red and every panted breath was torture. She stared at him, pleading silently. Her pudgy toes inched around, trying to find a foothold. She tried to heft herself up for more support, but her now weak muscles coupled with a sedentary lifetime prevented it.

“The Romans were brilliant at crucifixion, you know. They could keep someone alive for 48 hours – the person actually died more of infection and shock after a good leg-shattering. It was considered to be very humiliating to be crucified in those days; slow, painful and you had time to hear people mock you while waited to die. Of course, now it’s just fallen out of fashion.”

They stared at each other for a long time as her breathing became more and more belabored. After only a few minutes, her head dropped forward in a faint. Her eyes rolled back then closed.

Malfoy, growing bored of the sport, waited for the death rattle. It came almost silently – she had no more breath left. He wrinkled his nose when her body emptied itself as muscles relaxed.

Shaking his head over the waste of a good minion, he searched her belongings for the locket that the Dark Lord had sent him after. Looking at the thing, he sighed. It was hideous: silver with a script S carved into the top. He didn’t care for it, but since the Dark Lord wanted it, he would have it.

Malfoy removed the Bell-Jar charm and Apparated away, leaving the body of Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Ministry toady, former Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Headmistress and late not-very-nice person, suspended from the roof of a squalid hut in South America.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

continued.