Chapter Ten of "Forgive Those Who Trespass"- The Third Pensieve

[lomonaaeren]

Thanks again for all the reviews!

Chapter Ten—The Third Pensieve

Draco ate the dried meat Harry had brought along slowly, pausing frequently to sip at the water Harry had conjured with the Aguamenti charm. Harry assumed the meat was a bit too salty for him, but when he turned around to apologize from conjuring a spray of water for himself, he found Draco staring directly at him.

Harry glanced down at his robes. It would be just like him to have let a chicken shit on him during the night or something. “What?”

A few sharp bites were his answer; Draco, cradling a piece of meat between the stumps of his fingers like a parrot snatching at a nut, required both his hands free before he could speak. Then he reached for the communication sphere and said efficiently, You are tired.

Harry laughed and shook his head, wondering if Draco had forgotten what they discussed last night. “Cognosco, remember?”

Not right.

“There’s not much I can do about it.” Harry smiled at him. “You need more sleep than you’ve got in the past, and someone has to remain awake to guard us, now that we’re so deep in the maze. We made a mistake that first night, both sleeping at once.”

I awake, you asleep.

Harry had been afraid of this. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth, though, because sooner or later he would run out of lies about the Awareness Charm. He held Draco’s stare and took a deep breath. “I don’t think I trust you enough to let you guard my sleep yet,” he said.

Draco jerked; he looked as though Harry had mocked him for losing his fingers. His hands trembled, nearly dropping the communication sphere, and Harry raised his wand, ready to levitate it if he had to. But Draco only stuck his chin forwards, shuddered once, and then tapped out, Now?

Even now, Harry thought that meant, or even still, but they hadn’t put a facet on the sphere for those other words. He shrugged. “Yes,” he said. “I know you’re much more trustworthy than you were when we were in Hogwarts—“

He had to pause and restrain his laughter at the distinctly sour expression that overcame Draco’s face. It seemed Draco didn’t enjoy being reminded of his schooldays. Well, Harry had to concede he was justified in feeling that way. Who would enjoy recalling numerous incidents of being a prat? Harry didn’t like it himself.

“But I still can’t give my full trust to you yet,” Harry said. Draco shot him another wounded look. He shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the way I feel. And until I feel that I can trust you, I’ll use Cognosco to stay awake, and you can rest. It’s probably better that way. How much rest did you miss when you were under the tender care of the Unspeakables, anyway?” Anger heated his voice.

Draco closed his eyes and shrugged, which could have meant he didn’t remember or didn’t care to discuss it. Then his stumps moved again. You sleep later.

“No.”

Both sleep.

“No.”

Stubborn, ungrateful git.

“I knew there was a reason you had me put that one on there.” Harry smiled again as Draco’s eyes rolled. “Listen, Draco. I do promise I’m trying to work on trusting you, and I’ll keep at it. You can attribute that to both Gryffindor stubbornness and our reluctance to let ideas get into our heads. Hermione had trouble instructing me and Ron, too. But I won’t change things immediately.”

You are tired, you are weak.

Harry shrugged. “So what? I’ve been tired before, and I’ve also used Awareness Charms for extended periods of time. Neither did me any permanent harm.” He immediately winced as he thought of the part sleep deprivation had probably paid in some not-so-remarkable decisions in the last year. But he put that thought away. Then, he’d been nothing but a frantic Auror trainee trying to survive in the first part of the program. Now, he knew how much was riding on his level of readiness to meet challenges. Their very lives, among other things.

Books?

Harry nodded, and turned around to survey the shelves. “Do you know where we should start?”

Draco walked confidently over to a shelf, stuck his nubs together, and pointed them all at a single large book. Harry cast a Summoning Charm to pull it down, and then stared at it doubtfully. It was bound in some blue, scaly leather that might have been wyvern skin. The letters on the front were purple and raised, and could actually have been studded with small amethysts. They said, The Ethics of Human Sacrifice.

“Ethics? Will that help?”

Information, Draco said with a sharp lift of his shoulders, and cupped his palms. Harry placed the book in his expectant hands and turned back to the shelves, hoping to scan the titles and produce a miracle.

But all the while, the questions continued growing in the back of his mind, feeding on each other the way that young dragons were said to do when their eggs weren’t separated from each other sufficiently.

How much of his knowledge about this room came back with the memory of him and Pearl drinking here? How much does he remember of what they were arguing about? How did he know where that book was?

What else isn’t he telling me?

*

By the time that they were ready—or, at least, Harry was ready and Draco had conceded that it would take much more research to make much of a dent in the books that littered the shelves and the floor—to leave, Harry’s uneasiness had grown. Twice, long, loud calls had sounded down the maze outside, though nothing had come near their door. That made Harry think it was a large enough beast to be heard from a distance, which was not a comforting thought. He’d shot a glance at Draco each time the call echoed, but received only shrugs.

His face was blank, though, carefully tucked and folded so as not to display emotion. Harry swallowed hard and tried not to think about what Draco was hiding, then wondered if he should think about it.

Draco had gathered some information, but when he tried to explain it to Harry, the sphere proved not to have enough words and Harry didn’t think he could have understood the ones Draco tried to mouth to him even if he heard them aloud. Draco finally gave him a disgusted look and tossed several books directly into his satchel. Harry stifled a sigh and thought again that Hermione would have been better at this.

When they started out into the maze, Harry did have a chance to pause and study the flame-like patterns carved on the walls. He couldn’t make anything out of them, though. If they were letters, they had been turned upside-down and fringed and tortured until a mirror and a decrypting spell would have been necessary to read them. He did turn around once or twice and see Draco running the edge of his hand over them. He stopped when he caught Harry watching.

“This doesn’t increase my trust of you, you know,” Harry said, as light-heartedly as he could.

Draco set his mouth and didn’t respond.

They ended up having to retrace their route, since the Malfoys had evidently hurried them away from the main corridors. Draco led them confidently enough, which made Harry wonder at the source of his knowledge again. Could a complete picture of the maze really have come to him in that one memory of the wooden table?

Maybe he’s guessing and doesn’t want me to know.

But once more, if he started doubting that, then he might as well start doubting everything. Harry bit the corner of his mouth hard and continued obediently following Draco, ducking under lower lintels of stone now and then. He wondered gloomily what would appear ahead when the tunnels broke. Another checkerboard room? A second clutch of Malfoys, made from other scraps of Draco’s fingers?

A shock of white light told him the truth soon enough. Harry halted and debated for a long moment if he really wanted to see what was in the next Pensieve. Then he sighed. He would look. He hadn’t wanted to hunt down Voldemort most of the times he’d faced him, either, but he had.

Draco stiffened when he saw the light. Harry doubted he would have noticed if he hadn’t looked up just then, because the next moment Draco was back to his usual self, leaning casual and relaxed on the wall and watching Harry with a mixture of impatience and disdain. But Harry had seen, and he was hardly about to let it go.

“Well?” he demanded, stepping forwards. “If you know something about what’s ahead, tell me!”

Draco gestured imperiously for the communication sphere. Harry floated it over to him. Draco selected, More memories, from the sphere, and looked sidelong at Harry, as much to say Ask a stupid question…

For the first time in his life, Harry thought he understood how Professor Snape had probably felt when faced with his insolence in class. It wasn’t just because he was the son of James Potter, he thought, and his irritation now wasn’t just because of his distrust of Draco. Their survival here depended on both of them. If Harry kept making efforts and getting rebuffed, he didn’t see a reason to make the effort at all. They would die just as quickly if one of them refused to share information as if they both did.

“You won’t be more specific?” he asked.

Draco shook his head.

And he had agreed to won’t, not can’t, Harry thought. He evidently had some idea about what the memories in the Pensieve might contain, if not the exact and specific images. Harry hissed to himself and shouldered past Draco, who stared after him and then rushed to catch up.

Harry refused to look at him. He really might punch him.

The Pensieve rested on the usual ivory pillar, with the shadowy letters near the bottom. Harry bent down to look at them. Din. He frowned. This was the first set that had looked as if it could be an English word.

Crepidin, he thought, if he put the letters on all the pillars together. He didn’t know what word that might be. It wasn’t English, but it also didn’t sound like Latin.

He shrugged and started to cast the usual Sticking Charm on his feet, but someone seized his arm and spun him around. Harry found his breathing speeding up until he realized it was Draco. Someone, indeed, he thought, and then shook his head and pulled away when Draco tried to mouth something at him, his face set in hard, angry lines.

“No,” he said. “What happened is very simple. I confessed I didn’t trust you completely yet, and then you started actively keeping things from me. You even admitted to it. Why the fuck should I trust you now?”

Draco cast a harsh glance at the Pensieve, and then extended a hand towards Harry. Harry glanced at the cupped palm. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you because you had your fingers bitten off?” he asked. “Because I do already, but it rather lessens my sympathy to think that you’re helping the people who did it.”

Draco wriggled his palm. Harry finally realized what he wanted, and bit the corner of his mouth again. Then he shrugged, because he had no choice, and dropped his own hand into Draco’s. Draco promptly turned his hand around, clasping Harry’s wrist as best he could.

You can trust, he mouthed at Harry—all of them words Harry had seen enough of now to recognize right away. Then there came a phrase that took longer for him to distinguish, but he managed to snare even that; Hermione would have been proud of him. I promise.

“And what’s that promise worth?” Harry muttered, but he was propitiated, and Draco had probably known he would be. Harry had the distinct idea that Slytherins knew how to handle Gryffindors better than the other way around.

He decided to make one more test. “But you still won’t tell me what you suspect is in this Pensieve.”

Draco raised one eyebrow and nodded to the basin of silvery liquid, as much to say that he didn’t need to tell Harry; Harry was about to go in and see for himself.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, and then moved to disengage his hand.

Draco clutched at it and refused to let it go.

Harry could have dragged it away easily enough; with Draco’s lack of fingers, especially a thumb, he couldn’t maintain anything like a good grip. But the look in Draco’s eyes—gently apologetic, genuinely remorseful—made him sigh, curse himself for a soft-hearted idiot, and grip back, briefly.

Then he turned and plunged his head into the Pensieve.

*

He found himself in the middle of the enormous, brilliantly lighted room that the Unspeakables had bitten off Draco’s fingers in. He tensed and turned around, already preparing himself for another scene of suffering, perhaps the time when they had taken Draco’s ribs or his voice.

But this memory must have happened before that, because Draco was standing among the Unspeakables with a small frown on his face and a par of whole hands clasped loosely in front of him. He glanced behind him, but didn’t talk to the woman who stood there. It was Pearl, Harry saw a moment later. She clasped Draco’s shoulder with a firm, steady pressure, but she didn’t speak either.

In fact, everyone was quiet, Harry noticed as he moved among them, trying not to even breathe too loudly. It was an expectant silence. Harry tried not to think what it was expectant of. He had no doubt he would find out soon enough.

He tried to reach back to the sense memory of his own body and feel Draco’s hand clasped in his. It didn’t work. He swallowed and glanced at the several doors that lined the round room, wondering when something would change, and if the thing that changed it was about to come through one of those doors.

Sure enough, one of them grated open at last. Harry saw Richard take a step towards it, and then he seemed to decide it was unseemly to be too eager. He halted with a small shake, but still leaned forwards like a cat held away from catnip, trembling now and then.

Harry watched with a queasy feeling as a slender figure in an ash-gray robes was brought in by several Unspeakables walking on either side of him. This was a grown man, but so skinny that he looked more like a fifteen-year-old. As he came nearer, Harry saw the skin hanging off his ribs in confirmation of prolonged starvation. He winced. He remembered all too well what that felt like.

The man’s eyes passed from side to side, but not frantically, the way Harry thought a truly terrified victim would have looked; it seemed to be more a reflex action, as if he had given up in soul but his body hadn’t got the message yet. The Unspeakables laid him in the middle of the floor and spread-eagled him, then hooked chains to iron bands already set on his wrists and ankles and sank the chains into the floor with spells. The man remained quiet, and only launched a few ineffectual struggles that his bonds easily contained. Then his captors moved away, and the Unspeakables’ silence sharpened into eagerness like a spear-point.

Richard turned to face Draco. Draco lifted his wand like a sword, and Harry expected some conflict to occur between them. But Richard only nodded, smiled, and said, “As we agreed, Draco. Carefully. If they’re damaged, then we’d have to start all over again with someone else.”

Harry expected Draco to yell, protest, stamp his foot, refuse; given the pallor of his face, this was at a part of the timeline when he’d already realized what the Department of Mysteries was doing and decided he didn’t like it. But to Harry’s astonishment, Draco nodded once and then moved up until he stood next to the victim’s torso just above the legs. He aimed his wand and held it still for long moments, shutting his eyes.

Maybe that’s a delaying tactic.

If it was, it was a shitty one. Draco opened his eyes in the next moment and let out a long stream of Latin that baffled Harry’s ears immediately; he had enough trouble with three-word incantations, and this one was a good ten or twelve terms long.

Bloody gashes opened along the man’s chest, tearing through the thin robes he wore as if invisible knives were cutting them. The blood grew thicker and thicker, and still the man didn’t cry out, though his eyes watered. Harry wondered, horrified, if they had already stolen his voice.

Draco made another gesture, spoke another spell.

And the man’s organs began to float out of his chest, soft round masses of sopping flesh and tissue.

Harry saw steam rise as they exited the body that had housed them; the air of the torture chamber, in reality, must be cold. He wanted to look away, thought he should—he owed no duty of witness here to someone who waited for him, but rather privacy to a man long since dead—but instead he stood there with his brain in suspension and noticed every detail of the deed.

The liver shone like wet metal. The intestines were long, quivering layers of smooth sausage. Something small, the pancreas or the spleen, darted among the larger organs around it like a small fish seeking safety from the jaws of a shark. The lungs fluttered twice even as Draco removed them, still pregnant with air; Harry thought they resembled dying butterflies pinned to corkboard.

Draco whirled his wand again and spoke a third time, confident, strong Latin words that pulled the organs from the man completely and deposited them into a series of waiting jars. Like the jars ancient Egyptians used to keep the organs they pulled from the body when they were making mummies, Harry thought mechanically, and then wondered why in the world he remembered that.

He also realized something else: among all the organs that had emerged, he hadn’t seen the heart.

The man was still breathing, still alive, though, from the expression in his eyes, not still sane. The Unspeakables who might have been his escorts moved forwards again and raised the chains from the floor. Harry wondered if they would finally allow the poor bastard to die, but they simply stood there, while other Unspeakables went to a different door on the far side of the room and led in four—things.

Harry would have called them horses, except that that was a little like calling a dragon a snake. Their bodies were made of flesh the same dark color as the liver Draco had extracted, and their muscles bulged and rippled obscenely underneath it. Harry couldn’t see a trace of fur, except on their dark gray manes and tails, which swung and clanged in harsh cries that made him think the “hairs” were metallic. Their nostrils flared magma-red; their eyes were the color of rotting flesh. Harry saw the edges of curved fangs when their mouths opened to neigh, which produced no sound but knocked a small puff of stone dust from the ceiling.

The Unspeakables attached the horses to the chains, one for each limb their slit-open victim had. Then Richard said, “Draco? As we agreed.”

Harry glanced at Draco desperately. The blink Draco’s eyes made as they closed and opened again looked like the heaviest in the world.

Then Draco lifted his wand and said simply, “Verber.”

A whip manifested in midair above the victim’s chest, a precise distance from each creature. Then it lashed, so quickly that Harry couldn’t make out the individual blows. He was only certain each pseudo-horse had been struck.

They cried out again, those soundless neighs Harry now suspected were too low for him to hear, and then dug hooves like razored obsidian into the floor. They leaned forwards against all the weight and resistance of the object between them, straining to move forwards, to move away from each other.

And the man in the center, the man they were drawing and quartering, opened his mouth and began to scream.

Harry put his hands over his ears. The sound traveled through his fingers like a stake through a vampire’s chest. Frenzied, beyond hope, beyond madness, it gabbled and scraped and slid against him, ringing like claws over his soul. Harry could feel tears as thick as blood traveling down his face.

The sound of the man’s body ripping had no right to sound as much like heavy, wet cloth parting as it did.

Harry looked only once more, to see the pseudo-horses galloping freely around the room, each dragging behind it a sodden lump no longer recognizable as human. Green and black and red liquid layered the floor where they passed in puddles and streams and rivulets and mountaintops.

Harry lost control of his stomach then, and could barely hear Richard praising Draco for a job well done. He was glad of the excuse not to turn and look at Draco’s face. Maybe, just maybe, he had already made the ethical arguments to himself before he entered the room, and this was the result of a long process of self-deception.

Maybe.

But now Harry had to deal with the image of Draco not only as a person who could passively watch suffering, but as someone who could actively cause it. And it was suffering so extreme his mind failed to comprehend it.

Harry lifted his head and wiped bile from his mouth. The light was sliding into darkness, but not into the abrupt stopping that signaled the end of all memories in the Pensieve, which meant he had more to view. He would have to keep as open a mind as he could, and reserve all the judgments he could make until later.

He would have to give Draco justice, if he ever could, after this.

Harry knew that. But he was tired, and sick, his throat and his stomach and his heart sore, and he had never felt less adequate to any task in his life. He thought of jerking himself out of the Pensieve right here and now. What else did he need to see? As Ron would argue.

He didn’t.

Was that courage or foolishness or stupidity?

No one to answer the questions but him.

Harry pressed forwards.

Chapter 11.

Comments

[blonde-cecile.livejournal.com]

I'm still enjoying this, in all it's yuckiness. ^-^ And I love that, every so often, Harry considers what Hermione would think about something, or how Ron would react. Regardless of whether he's on a mission to save them or not, it feels very true to Harry's character that he weigh their judgments and responses in various situations. Keep up the excellent work!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

This Harry is very, very firmly attached to his friends, more so than any of the other Harrys I've written (I tend to either shuffle Ron and Hermione off-stage or just construct a plot that means Harry doesn't have a lot to do with them). And you can argue that he absolutely has to keep his spirits up, or else he'll just give up and consider them dead.

[ravenqueen55.livejournal.com]

Excellent! And I'm ever so curious as to what other memories await Harry in the Pensieve...

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

The other memories are not nice, either.

[xelloss-poo.livejournal.com]

Omg. This is just sooooo creepy and byet so good!!! I love it, but its just so mentally disturbing!! *shudders*

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thanks.

I have a hard time writing this story, sometimes. The scene was just supposed to be a drawing and quartering, and then my mind had to add more details.

[lunasky3.livejournal.com]

wow. this is getting really good :D:D how long is this story going to be? because this was "pre" slash, i was just wondering..

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

I'm not sure how many chapters there will be. They definitely have five more Pensieves after this one and a few more extreme challenges along the way, but I can't plot those out to a definite length.

There will be slash at the end, though.

[firedraygon97.livejournal.com]

My gosh, couldn't they have given the man some kind of anesthetic before doing that to him?! Ugh, this quest for immortality is so twisted. I wonder what the deal was that Richard spoke of. Surely it's not just to get rid of the Dark Mark now. *shudders*

Very lovely chapter. I really like Draco's reaction to Harry not trusting him now. Great work!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

In this case, no. They really needed the man's suffering in order to fulfill their "purpose," as they saw it.

And thank you!

[darkestnight12.livejournal.com]

*runs for the bathroom*

Wow. I'm amazed at how descriptive you manage to be. Thank god that this isn't a movie though. If it was, I know what I'd be having nightmares on for the next few days. -_-;;

Cliffhanger! *is shot*

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Er, sorry? (Though I'm pleased with the reaction, honestly).

[thrnbrooke.livejournal.com]

Oh poor Harry! How horrified he must be. And Draco... I don't even know where to begin.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Yeah. There was a good chance Harry would have retreated from Draco forever if not for the memories in the other Pensieves.

[shukuun.livejournal.com]

Wooooooow. That was horrible (in a good way!). Haha
This memory really isn't going to help Harry trust Draco, is it? *sigh* I wonder what Harry will say to Draco this time. =/

Keep up with the amazing work! =)

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[neji-chan.livejournal.com]

I loved the interaction between Harry and Draco in the first part: Harry admitting he doesn't entirely trust Draco and Draco's reaction to the statement; the fact that they can argue even with Draco unable to speak; Draco trying to explain Harry things and Harry not understanding any of it (Harry should tell Draco Hermione always used small words while explaining magical stuff to Harry ::lol::).

It would be just like him to have let a chicken shit on him during the night or something asjhgweiga I laughed so hard after reading this!! Those kind of awkward things do happen to him... XD

reluctance to let ideas get into our heads More like, reluctance to let ideas that contradict other ideas they previously had on the matter get into their heads.

Harry had the distinct idea that Slytherins knew how to handle Gryffindors better than the other way around. Oh, Harry. When it comes to manipulation, Slytherins are the masters ::lol:: I can't believe he didn't know that.

The torture scene was awesome, very descriptive and blood-chilling! Poor Harry, for someone with the need to help anyone in trouble, seeing this... No wonder he was sick.

But the look in Draco’s eyes—gently apologetic, genuinely remorseful— So Draco knew or suspect what was in that Pensieve. Is that why he chose The Ethics of Human Sacrifice to read? He can't remember what exactly is in the Pensieve, he doesn't have the memory. Maybe there's a pattern?

Looking forward to the next chapter!

Oh, and Merry Xmas!

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

Eventually, Draco will have to explain the magical concepts to Harry in more detail. I wonder how that will go.

Trying to let them argue without words is hard! I always have to keep in mind Draco's limited vocabulary, even with the sphere, and come up with new gestures.

Your statement about Gryffindor ideas is probably closer to the truth than mine.

Harry doesn't think he did too badly against Draco in school. (And, in school, Draco knew how to irritate Harry, but his plans weren't always the greatest).

Harry's helplessness is the factor that grates on him most in this situation.

Happy Christmas to you as well!

[dysonrules.livejournal.com]

Ewwww! I was hoping these Pensieve memories would help them, but they only seem to be making Draco more repugnant to Harry. Those are some sick bastards with the torture. I wasn't sure why they bothered to draw and quarter the fellow after he had his organs removed, but I figure there must be some grotesque purpose for it, eh?

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

They needed both the organs and suffering from the prisoner in question, just as they needed both the bones from Draco's body (and his memories) and his actual body to be present and suffering.

[gilith-ramaloce.livejournal.com]

Well blegh! Yet strangely wonderful as well. ^^; I look forward to more memories.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[issahime.livejournal.com]

God, that was positively disgusting. But I still couldn't stop reading. Unfortunately, it's times like this when having a vivid imagination is a curse...

Still loving the story, however. This genre is such a huge change from the holiday fluff floating around everywhere at the moment. It's a bit refreshing, really. Cleanses the palate.

[tsuj.livejournal.com]

Harry had the distinct idea that Slytherins knew how to handle Gryffindors better than the other way around.
---
Indeed.

At the end, I really *felt* Harry's reaction to the core.

[lomonaaeren.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

That's what I usually try to do: remove the author's voice as a presence from the story and let the character's reaction leak through.

[cmwinters.livejournal.com]

DAMN.

And what's happened to the heart, I wonder? O_o