Inglourious Muddbloods 21-- Starring Arthur the Apache
anonymous
December 11 2010, 03:32:14 UTC
Another short update. ---
There was something that muggles knew that wizards, apparently, didn’t, and that was that confessions and intelligence obtained under torture were usually inaccurate. It was in human nature to say anything to get the pain to stop. Of course, most muggles who used torture didn’t care. It wasn’t their purpose to procure information, or, if it was, it was only a secondary aim. For the most part, muggles tortured simply because they enjoyed torturing, or, less commonly, it was because the torturee liked to be tortured. Sometimes, turing the sessions, he would think of France and Germany. If either of them were in his place, they would probably be getting off on this. He imagined their moans and cries, only begging for mercy when it stopped.
He honestly hoped they weren’t actually using his information. He couldn’t even imagine how stupid they would be if they had. The nations (the Mudbloods, as the Death Eaters called them), wouldn’t stay in the same place twice, never staying anywhere for longer than a day, so any actual information Canada had was long out of date. They would torture Canada, Canada would confess wrong information, Snatchers would look but wouldn’t be able to find anything (or more likely, wouldn’t bother to look because they were so terrified, and then say they couldn’t find the Mudbloods), and then they would torture Canada again. It was a futile, useless, pointless cycle, which was why only muggles who actually wanted information had, for the most part, decided to stop using torture to get it.
However, Canada was learning a second thing about torture, something that had never been outlined in the new rules of war - and that was how quickly torture desensitized.
For the last five - days, was it? There was no way to tell in the basement or the windowless room he was tortured in - well, the last five times, he had managed to get through without saying a word, and honestly, it was only getting easier. By now, it was so easy for him that the next time Bellatrix Lestrange pointed her wand and said “Crucio!” at him, Canada felt nothing.
Well, feeling nothing at all wasn’t exactly true. Without fail, the cruciatus curse caused his body excruciating pain, causing him to writhe and forcing him to scream, but his mind really could no longer care. What his body experienced was like the woman crying out in the apartment next to his whenever her husband beat her - surprisingly easy to ignore through a thin, thin wall.
Mrs. Lestrange had gotten her knife again, and had begun carving into his arm again, another futile pursuit. Mrs. Lestrange couldn’t figure out why, even with an enchanted blade, the wounds would heal within a week, so she did it again, and again, and again. Perhaps Canada should be grateful for the carving, then - it was the most accurate track of time he had in this place.
Canada’s body screamed, Bellatrix seemed to enjoy herself, but Canada himself remained indifferent. It didn’t make very much sense to him, as Ollivander had told him many, many times how he shouldn’t resist because extended exposure to the cruciatus curse was known to cause insanity. Then again, perhaps this distance was insanity. He would have to ask Russia later.
“Where is the cloak?” asked Bellatrix Lestrange. Hissed, more like. She always hissed, along with everyone else in this damn place. It was rather getting on Canada’s nerves. The curse stopped for long enough for Canada to speak.
“Cloak?”
“You know the cloak, the cloak of invisibility!” she hissed again. Oh, that thing, the thing they kept asking about that he had never heard of before he came here. Of course he had no idea, but they never liked ‘I don’t know’ as an answer.
“Maybe,” said Canada, his voice hoarse from screaming that he was only vaguely aware of doing, “Maybe I shoved it up my ass. Have you checked there?”
Bellatrix shrieked in frustration and attacked again, the curse that much more intense, and resumed her carving. Blinded by anger, she’d accidentally put three ‘d’s in ‘mudblood,’ making it now ‘muddblood’. Canada would have laughed if his mouth wasn’t so busy screaming.
---
There was something that muggles knew that wizards, apparently, didn’t, and that was that confessions and intelligence obtained under torture were usually inaccurate. It was in human nature to say anything to get the pain to stop. Of course, most muggles who used torture didn’t care. It wasn’t their purpose to procure information, or, if it was, it was only a secondary aim. For the most part, muggles tortured simply because they enjoyed torturing, or, less commonly, it was because the torturee liked to be tortured. Sometimes, turing the sessions, he would think of France and Germany. If either of them were in his place, they would probably be getting off on this. He imagined their moans and cries, only begging for mercy when it stopped.
He honestly hoped they weren’t actually using his information. He couldn’t even imagine how stupid they would be if they had. The nations (the Mudbloods, as the Death Eaters called them), wouldn’t stay in the same place twice, never staying anywhere for longer than a day, so any actual information Canada had was long out of date. They would torture Canada, Canada would confess wrong information, Snatchers would look but wouldn’t be able to find anything (or more likely, wouldn’t bother to look because they were so terrified, and then say they couldn’t find the Mudbloods), and then they would torture Canada again. It was a futile, useless, pointless cycle, which was why only muggles who actually wanted information had, for the most part, decided to stop using torture to get it.
However, Canada was learning a second thing about torture, something that had never been outlined in the new rules of war - and that was how quickly torture desensitized.
For the last five - days, was it? There was no way to tell in the basement or the windowless room he was tortured in - well, the last five times, he had managed to get through without saying a word, and honestly, it was only getting easier. By now, it was so easy for him that the next time Bellatrix Lestrange pointed her wand and said “Crucio!” at him, Canada felt nothing.
Well, feeling nothing at all wasn’t exactly true. Without fail, the cruciatus curse caused his body excruciating pain, causing him to writhe and forcing him to scream, but his mind really could no longer care. What his body experienced was like the woman crying out in the apartment next to his whenever her husband beat her - surprisingly easy to ignore through a thin, thin wall.
Mrs. Lestrange had gotten her knife again, and had begun carving into his arm again, another futile pursuit. Mrs. Lestrange couldn’t figure out why, even with an enchanted blade, the wounds would heal within a week, so she did it again, and again, and again. Perhaps Canada should be grateful for the carving, then - it was the most accurate track of time he had in this place.
Canada’s body screamed, Bellatrix seemed to enjoy herself, but Canada himself remained indifferent. It didn’t make very much sense to him, as Ollivander had told him many, many times how he shouldn’t resist because extended exposure to the cruciatus curse was known to cause insanity. Then again, perhaps this distance was insanity. He would have to ask Russia later.
“Where is the cloak?” asked Bellatrix Lestrange. Hissed, more like. She always hissed, along with everyone else in this damn place. It was rather getting on Canada’s nerves. The curse stopped for long enough for Canada to speak.
“Cloak?”
“You know the cloak, the cloak of invisibility!” she hissed again. Oh, that thing, the thing they kept asking about that he had never heard of before he came here. Of course he had no idea, but they never liked ‘I don’t know’ as an answer.
“Maybe,” said Canada, his voice hoarse from screaming that he was only vaguely aware of doing, “Maybe I shoved it up my ass. Have you checked there?”
Bellatrix shrieked in frustration and attacked again, the curse that much more intense, and resumed her carving. Blinded by anger, she’d accidentally put three ‘d’s in ‘mudblood,’ making it now ‘muddblood’. Canada would have laughed if his mouth wasn’t so busy screaming.
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