Nov. 21 '78: Flying Too Close To The Sun: Captors

[James Potter]

▶︎ this is how it feels to take a fall...

This isn’t seventeenth-century France. You’re not gonna die in a dungeon.

    They won’t let that happen.

You won’t let that happen.

    They’re working on it.

You’re working on it.

    You’re gonna get out. All you need is a lucky break…

Lily would be so glad to see him. He figured they’d beat their record once he’d regained his strength. Sirius would give him hell for going missing. Remus would be eager to have him available for very important late night debates. Merlin only knew what sorts of topics were on the table without him around to mediate these days. Pete would be glad for him having his back again, pumping him up when the world - and himself - just said no. And Mick, Dorcas, Mary - he’d give just about anything to see someone from his real life.

Because this?

This wasn’t his real life.

I’ll find my way out. I will.

But as he willed himself away from the semi-comfort of sleep, instead of the faces of his family that plummeted themselves against the lids of his eyes when he shut them, memories of entertaining conversations filling his ears, he opened his eyes to the darkness and the quiet of his cell. For the umpteenth time in this last two weeks or so, he'd lost track, James forced back the panic that now lived at the end of every nerve and tried to stand. To free his arms. His legs. Because maybe, just maybe, the bonds had loosened while he’d been passed out. They hadn't. His tongue, cracked and dried as his split lip (his captors didn’t think he was all that funny, while he applauded himself for not losing his sense of humor in such an unideal situation), tasted like sh*t and did practically nothing to relieve his lip of the crusted blood left from their latest unilluminating session.

What's it gonna take for them to believe you won't give them what they want?

    You don't want to be still here after that. Figure this out, Potter.

Before he'd made any headway in his inspection - Like you're going to, when you're in an empty cell and can't f*cking move to literally save your life. - James had guests. He never knew when they were on their way, some sort of charmed soundproofing he figured - Oh, the element of surprise, is that so fun for you guys? - but did his best to compose his features as the door opened.

"Save us all a whole lot of trouble if you’d just let me go," James croaked quickly, hoarse but decidedly genial as he attempted to shrug. "You wouldn’t have to keep checking up on me. I could live my life." The flash of a once-winning smile, a hard - but not desperate, not yet - look to his eye contrary to his tone. "Just trying to help. Constant disappointment must be losing its appeal."

[Lucius Malfoy]

Never in his life had he wanted to murder someone.

Rabastan Lestrange was pushing that limit.

It had been almost a week since the boy had shown up at the Malfoy Manor, with none other than James Potter with him. Lucius had been baffled as to why Lestrange thought he could simply waltz to the manor with a prisoner, but he’d done it anyway. Lucius wasn’t even sure if this mission had been confirmed by the Dark Lord, because he wasn’t about to ask. He’d begrudgingly allowed  Rabastan to use his dungeon, but the past few days had been an annoyance. Because they weren’t getting any information from Potter, and Potter had a tendency to keep talking about bullshit when they were trying to get information. That was also infuriating, and Lucius was tired of being so angry all the time.

“I should have turned you away when you showed up,” he snapped to Rabastan as they made their way down the stairs to the dungeon. His black robes were getting caught up on the steps, and the mask in his hand was a reminder of just what he’d signed up for. Potter may not have ties to the Ministry himself, now that his parents were dead, but that didn’t mean he wanted his identity getting out. The Malfoys were highly respected at the Ministry, and he wasn’t going to let anyone change that. Putting the mask on and pulling his hood up, he opened the door to the room.

“Very funny,” he retorted to James, already feeling stuffy behind his mask. “It’d save us a lot of time if you just answered our questions.”

[Deleted]

"If you'd turned me away, then you'd have Randolph Vanderhyde to deal with. I can go owl him if you like." Aaron stepped back as if to leave the room, already knowing that Malfoy was going to take back his earlier frustrations. He didn't necessarily want to be here, in this horrible looking manor, either, but they all had to do what they had to do in order to help the Dark Lord. This plan of his hadn't been run by Randolph, but he was certain that if the older man was ever included, he would see it for what it was; a stroke of genius. Too few people were paying attention to the Order, all of them worried about what the Aurors might do to catch them, none of his fellow Death Eaters focusing on the big picture. The Auror department was large and eons old, and that made it practically impenetrable for their forces. But the so-called Order of the Birds - Aaron had it on good authority that this was the name - they were the way into the Ministry. 

And if there was anyone that was involved in this resistance, it was the idiot they had tied up downstairs. "Pureblood with high marks, could have any position in the Ministry or Quidditch that he wanted, and he turns them down? He even married a Mudblood. Obviously, he's fighting for her. You're a fool to believe that all he is is a blood traitor." Aaron put his mask on as they walked down the steps to the dungeons, their shoes clacking on each step. He drew his wand and stepped inside, letting Malfoy follow behind. Almost immediately the sass that Potter was known for came out, reminding him of all the stories he would hear about the younger student in his school days. Lucius did his best to sooth their prisoner, playing up the good, civility of someone that's on your side.

Aaron just laughed. He'd known how to play this since he'd learned of the woman. "We have your mudblood whore." It was disgusting for him to think of her being anything other than that to someone of Pure blood. He grinned behind his mask, knowing that Potter would be able to hear it in his voice, "She's tied up on my bed, waiting for me to be done here. I don't usually like redheads but I'll make an exception tonight."

[James Potter]

This had all seemed so theoretical, once upon not a very long time ago. Going through Agent and Captain reports, reading their testimonies and strategies used by both sides during interrogations - everything for them to learn was right there on the pages, or available from the mouths of their own senior teammates. Physical and mental and emotional manipulation could come for them at any time, and before they went into the field they had to be ready.

Ready? How can you be ready for this, really?

As much as he'd attempted to find a place of peace inside of himself, a place where he could think clearly and make a plan, a place where he could calm down, a place where he could reassure himself that the cavalry was coming, James had never been so keenly aware of his limited ability when left on his own. His limited power. Stripped of wand and allies, left to rot alone in the dark, unwanted memories, regrets, swarmed around him when the quiet won over his will. But he would come out of this, he would, and he wouldn't tell them anything about the Order. They could make him suffer, they could do their worst, and he wouldn't speak.

Then how are you getting home?

He spoke up as soon as the door opened, eyes flitting over the pair. Focus, James. Focus. There has to be something you can use. One of them was hooded and masked, very much not wanting to give him any clues. He spoke in a voice that frustrated James to no end, because he knew it, he knew that he did, in the back of his mind. The other had the gall to laugh, and James ground his teeth at the sound. But that laugh was nothing, nothing, to what came from the vile man next. Before he knew what he was doing, his chair scraped against the floor as he struggled against his bonds in a quick fury.

"You're lying!" he roared, sparks flying like heat lightning across the dungeon floor. "You don't have her - you don't, I know you don't!"

"Shh, shh, I'm at home, love. I'm safe. Don't let them get to you."

    "C'mon, Prongs, you really think we'd let anything happen?"

He breathed heavily as the legs of his chair thundered down, eyes to his knees before he squeezed them shut. They were right - they were right, Lily was protected, she was safe, she was far away from here. There was no chance that this villain had her in his grasp, no chance, no chance. And if somehow he did, Lily would've sent a message, they'd decided on that months ago - she wasn't here, she couldn't be here -

"Hang on, James. I know it's hard, but it's just a little longer."

    "Trust us buddy, see you real soon."

"I know you don't have her," he affirmed, more to himself than to the wizards, although his body still reeled from just the thought...

"Your magic hasn't done that since you were a kid, son."

    "Wait it out until they've gone, Jim You can do this."

So much for a cool, calm, and collected session. Get it together.

"Go on, let's get this over with," he spat. "What d'you want me to refuse to answer today?"