More fun at the Ministry
Date: BACKDATED, Thursday, September 21, 2000
Time: Starting at 9:30 a.m.
Place: Spinner's End, then the Ministry of Magic, then Spinner's End again
Characters Involved: Perry Derrick, June Connors, and some not so nice NPCs
Rating: PG-13 for violence and a bit of language
Perry intended to behave himself, per the requests/commands/pleads of his pack. He responded by being somewhat insulted by their lack of faith in his self control; not that they weren't wrong to doubt him. Every order handed down from the Ministry compelled him to disobey. Who was the Ministry to confine them to their own home and treat them like common criminals? But fine, he would stay calm for the good of the group, he assured Glamis (who had taken him aside to explain the importance of complying with the government's wishes). All this meek obedience for the sake of proving that werewolves were thinking, feeling creatures too never sat well with Perry. But in this case, doing otherwise could negatively affect the entire pack. That was the last thing Perry wanted.
It was only Glamis's firm hand on his shoulder that kept Perry from jumping to action the moment they'd yanked June away. Just who were the animals, here? He glared around at them all (heh, they could've all been Slytherin Quidditch players) and stayed close to Zak and Glamis, watching for sudden movements. Not that he could do much; they all had to go quietly. He'd promised.
But when that ignorant troll called June a "bitch" Perry's thin control snapped, and one unnecessary shove from behind was all it took.
"Keep your hands to yourself-" The insult on his tongue was lost as he twisted his arm away and the WCU tried to prove who was toughest. Unfortunately he was messing with the wrong werewolf. Perry took him down with a quick and powerful punch, and was set to finish the job if not for a sudden blow to the side of the head. He had no clue what had hit him, but the pain was blinding and he nearly lost his hold on consciousness. The goons didn't give him another chance to move under his own power, at least four punching and beating him where he lay. At some point in the melee his nose took a direct punch (was it broken? He couldn't tell) and blood cascaded down his face. A kick to the side gave rise to nausea as well as the memory of the thrashing he'd given Marcus weeks before.
A meaty hand grabbed a fistful of Perry's hair and forced his head against the ground while a knee dug into his back, and then his right arm was twisted behind him. He winced against the pain, and for the first time in years (if ever), the fight had been taken out of him.
"The fucking savage. Look what he did to Fisher!"
Perry could no longer hear his packmates, he realized. His assailants yanked him to his feet and he shut his eyes tight against a wave of dizziness. His head hung from his shoulders until a hand seized his hair and forced his face up. The bitter odor of tobacco flooded Perry's nostrils as the man spoke. "Not lookin' too good now, are yeh, pretty boy?"
The Slytherin grinned. "Good one. Only took four of you, right?" He could still be arrogant even when his voice was so weak.
The reply was a heavy baton blow to the abdomen that caused his knees to buckle. Well, that explained what had hit him in the head earlier, at least.
* * * * *
Perry didn't remember getting to the Ministry. It felt like reality was put on hold, and then resumed again in a musty little room. He sat in a hard, uncomfortable chair, hands bound behind him, which was causing a terrible ache in his right arm. Snape's salve had done wonders for its flexibility, but this was too much. Blood still poured freely from his nose and dark bands were swelling under his eyes. The soreness in his back and abdomen made it painful to breathe, and he had trouble lifting his head, but at least the dizziness was clearing.
Fingers dug into his shoulder where one of the WCU's lackeys held a firm grip; he could feel the heat of bodies around him and he wanted nothing more than to show them what he thought of their heavy-handed approach to werewolves. But his senses had enough presence to inform him that fighting back at this point was useless. From the corner of his eye he could see a hand that held the black baton, each end capped by a shiny metal. Was that silver?
"Gave you a bit of trouble, did he?" A new voice; Perry lifted his head only slightly, enough to get the middle-aged Auror into view. He had the look of a boulder, all oblong curvy shapes in all the wrong places, a balding head and small, round nose, and a gut that sat over the belt of his trousers. He leaned against the opposite wall, holding a folder in one hand, tapping a pipe in the other, and looking positively foul. He seemed to want to be here as much as Perry.
"He's a nasty one." The hand on the boy's shoulder gave him a rough shake. "Clocked one of our men pretty well. We'll be making sure he doesn't cause you any trouble."
"For God's sake, at least let him keep his senses," the Auror said dryly. "Or we'll be here all day."
A chair scraped against the floor as the Auror pulled it up and sat down. "Peregrin Derrick?"
The Auror wasn't looking at him, lazily flipping through the folder in his lap. When Perry didn't answer, he continued on. "I'm going to ask you a few more questions. Be kind enough to answer these ones, will you? The sooner you submit, the sooner we can all leave."
This caused Perry to smirk. "I did submit. But I don't take abuse from anybody, not even Ministry dogs-"
He soon found that one of the WCU was close enough to offer a backhand to the face for any cheek. He winced as his head was whipped to the side, the blood from his nose splattering the ground.
"Who's the dog here, boy?" the offending guard spat. Perry didn't bother lifting his head. He was determined not to show himself as weak-as much for pride as to keep his handlers from thinking they could take advantage of him-but he was beginning to think he had already lost that fight. There wasn't much he could do to protect himself, especially when there were four trained guards to one unarmed, shackled werewolf.
Never had he so wished for the presence of his packmates.
"That's enough," the Auror said a few seconds too late. "Now, Mr. Derrick. Tell me about the activities of you and your fellow werewolves since joining the residence of Severus Snape."
"We do arts and crafts," Perry replied unhelpfully. "Snape's a master crocheter, did you know?"
"Why are you living with Severus Snape?"
"You don't know?" He paused to allow a weak inhale. "And you work for the Ministry?"
The Auror pulled something from his pocket and stood. "Hold up his head."
Perry knew what was coming, but it seemed the WCU guards were just as prepared for a reaction. Just as he felt the impulse to leap to his feet, the hand on his shoulder became a muscled arm around his neck and another body braced a knee on his thigh, practically sitting on top of him. His head was wrenched back, face turned up, and a hand gripped his lower jaw while two more pried his teeth apart. He could do nothing but swallow the Veritaserum poured down his throat.
Thank goodness for Snape's antidote. He could feel the burning in his cheek even as he coughed and choked on liquid that had flowed down the wrong pipe. He didn't have to feign the weakness in his upper body as he was released. His eyes watered; his head was killing him.
The questions were neverending; just as Perry thought the Auror had run out, he'd come up with more. But he at least seemed sensitive to the fact that Perry had endured quite a bit already, and whatever beatings the WCU itched to give were infrequent. They used the baton against his exposed neck only once; it was indeed silver, and it burned like hell. He hated the lot of them even more for causing him to cry out in such an undignified way, but to his humiliation it did the trick; his answers came a little more easily after that. Not always truthfully; as if it mattered. Perry couldn't see the point in most of the questions, except they seemed bent on incriminating Snape for developing a werewolf army. Morons, all of them.
Perry had stopped paying attention for a while, until he realized the interrogation had taken on a different theme.
"When were you bitten, Mr. Derrick?"
"Five years ago." This question had followed a series of where and how and by who, and the WCU thugs had snickered at Perry's discomfort while answering. His replies had become curt and brief, only a few words at a time.
"Have you seen any of your family in that time?"
"What?"
The Auror paused in his pacing. The folder was still open. "Your family. Richard Derrick, born in Yorkshire, birthdate June 5th, 1951. Wife, Agatha Derrick, born January 8th, 1959. Second child, Aster, born August 10th, 1986. Remember them? They disappeared around the same time the Ministry lost track of you actually. Then you popped up some years later a werewolf. Where were you all during that time?"
Perry's coherence came rushing back, but he kept his eyes focused on the floor below him. When the silence had worn on for long enough, a heavy hand clocked him in the back of the head.
"Answer him, dog!"
The door opened and a head popped in. "Rose."
The Auror stepped away, and Perry strained to listen. Their discussion was hushed and he couldn't hear much; something about a solicitor, faulty charges and release. He heard Auror Rose's reply a little better. Stall him, dangerous werewolf, assault on a Ministry official, very serious. The hand on Perry's shoulder tightened.
The door closed, the Auror returned and the questions resumed. "Where is your family, Mr. Derrick?"
"I don't know."
"You all disappeared at roughly the same time, and just before the war broke out."
Perry's teeth clenched briefly. It hurt to breathe, let alone speak. "They found out I'd been bitten, so they took off. I haven't seen them."
"They left their home and all their possessions just because their son was bitten by a werewolf?"
He grimaced. "I guess."
"Was your father a Death Eater?"
"...No."
He didn't answer fast enough. "Look at me," Auror Rose said.
He didn't reply to this fast enough either. One of the WCU took it upon himself to grab Perry's hair and pull his head back. The boy got his first good look at the skeptical Auror who had questioned him for eighty agonizing minutes. The man stood over him, tapping his infernal pipe, and then he leaned down, face full of deep, serious lines, beady yellow eyes staring right through. Perry's, in turn, were unfocused and watery, and held little of the arrogance with which he'd entered.
"Was your father a Death Eater?"
It was another ten minutes before Perry heard a loud and angry voice approaching, and then the door was flung open. Whatever was said (or yelled) flew right over his head, but he couldn't have been more thankful for this new presence. With the threat of a lawsuit, the binds on his hands were taken and he was pulled to his feet. He swayed briefly and Jackson Bingley placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Perry immediately flinched away. "Don't touch me."
Bingley took his hand away and allowed the wolf to find his own balance. But as they headed for the door, he was able to offer a handkerchief for Perry to wipe the blood from his face.
Time: Starting at 9:30 a.m.
Place: Spinner's End, then the Ministry of Magic, then Spinner's End again
Characters Involved: Perry Derrick, June Connors, and some not so nice NPCs
Rating: PG-13 for violence and a bit of language
Perry intended to behave himself, per the requests/commands/pleads of his pack. He responded by being somewhat insulted by their lack of faith in his self control; not that they weren't wrong to doubt him. Every order handed down from the Ministry compelled him to disobey. Who was the Ministry to confine them to their own home and treat them like common criminals? But fine, he would stay calm for the good of the group, he assured Glamis (who had taken him aside to explain the importance of complying with the government's wishes). All this meek obedience for the sake of proving that werewolves were thinking, feeling creatures too never sat well with Perry. But in this case, doing otherwise could negatively affect the entire pack. That was the last thing Perry wanted.
It was only Glamis's firm hand on his shoulder that kept Perry from jumping to action the moment they'd yanked June away. Just who were the animals, here? He glared around at them all (heh, they could've all been Slytherin Quidditch players) and stayed close to Zak and Glamis, watching for sudden movements. Not that he could do much; they all had to go quietly. He'd promised.
But when that ignorant troll called June a "bitch" Perry's thin control snapped, and one unnecessary shove from behind was all it took.
"Keep your hands to yourself-" The insult on his tongue was lost as he twisted his arm away and the WCU tried to prove who was toughest. Unfortunately he was messing with the wrong werewolf. Perry took him down with a quick and powerful punch, and was set to finish the job if not for a sudden blow to the side of the head. He had no clue what had hit him, but the pain was blinding and he nearly lost his hold on consciousness. The goons didn't give him another chance to move under his own power, at least four punching and beating him where he lay. At some point in the melee his nose took a direct punch (was it broken? He couldn't tell) and blood cascaded down his face. A kick to the side gave rise to nausea as well as the memory of the thrashing he'd given Marcus weeks before.
A meaty hand grabbed a fistful of Perry's hair and forced his head against the ground while a knee dug into his back, and then his right arm was twisted behind him. He winced against the pain, and for the first time in years (if ever), the fight had been taken out of him.
"The fucking savage. Look what he did to Fisher!"
Perry could no longer hear his packmates, he realized. His assailants yanked him to his feet and he shut his eyes tight against a wave of dizziness. His head hung from his shoulders until a hand seized his hair and forced his face up. The bitter odor of tobacco flooded Perry's nostrils as the man spoke. "Not lookin' too good now, are yeh, pretty boy?"
The Slytherin grinned. "Good one. Only took four of you, right?" He could still be arrogant even when his voice was so weak.
The reply was a heavy baton blow to the abdomen that caused his knees to buckle. Well, that explained what had hit him in the head earlier, at least.
* * * * *
Perry didn't remember getting to the Ministry. It felt like reality was put on hold, and then resumed again in a musty little room. He sat in a hard, uncomfortable chair, hands bound behind him, which was causing a terrible ache in his right arm. Snape's salve had done wonders for its flexibility, but this was too much. Blood still poured freely from his nose and dark bands were swelling under his eyes. The soreness in his back and abdomen made it painful to breathe, and he had trouble lifting his head, but at least the dizziness was clearing.
Fingers dug into his shoulder where one of the WCU's lackeys held a firm grip; he could feel the heat of bodies around him and he wanted nothing more than to show them what he thought of their heavy-handed approach to werewolves. But his senses had enough presence to inform him that fighting back at this point was useless. From the corner of his eye he could see a hand that held the black baton, each end capped by a shiny metal. Was that silver?
"Gave you a bit of trouble, did he?" A new voice; Perry lifted his head only slightly, enough to get the middle-aged Auror into view. He had the look of a boulder, all oblong curvy shapes in all the wrong places, a balding head and small, round nose, and a gut that sat over the belt of his trousers. He leaned against the opposite wall, holding a folder in one hand, tapping a pipe in the other, and looking positively foul. He seemed to want to be here as much as Perry.
"He's a nasty one." The hand on the boy's shoulder gave him a rough shake. "Clocked one of our men pretty well. We'll be making sure he doesn't cause you any trouble."
"For God's sake, at least let him keep his senses," the Auror said dryly. "Or we'll be here all day."
A chair scraped against the floor as the Auror pulled it up and sat down. "Peregrin Derrick?"
The Auror wasn't looking at him, lazily flipping through the folder in his lap. When Perry didn't answer, he continued on. "I'm going to ask you a few more questions. Be kind enough to answer these ones, will you? The sooner you submit, the sooner we can all leave."
This caused Perry to smirk. "I did submit. But I don't take abuse from anybody, not even Ministry dogs-"
He soon found that one of the WCU was close enough to offer a backhand to the face for any cheek. He winced as his head was whipped to the side, the blood from his nose splattering the ground.
"Who's the dog here, boy?" the offending guard spat. Perry didn't bother lifting his head. He was determined not to show himself as weak-as much for pride as to keep his handlers from thinking they could take advantage of him-but he was beginning to think he had already lost that fight. There wasn't much he could do to protect himself, especially when there were four trained guards to one unarmed, shackled werewolf.
Never had he so wished for the presence of his packmates.
"That's enough," the Auror said a few seconds too late. "Now, Mr. Derrick. Tell me about the activities of you and your fellow werewolves since joining the residence of Severus Snape."
"We do arts and crafts," Perry replied unhelpfully. "Snape's a master crocheter, did you know?"
"Why are you living with Severus Snape?"
"You don't know?" He paused to allow a weak inhale. "And you work for the Ministry?"
The Auror pulled something from his pocket and stood. "Hold up his head."
Perry knew what was coming, but it seemed the WCU guards were just as prepared for a reaction. Just as he felt the impulse to leap to his feet, the hand on his shoulder became a muscled arm around his neck and another body braced a knee on his thigh, practically sitting on top of him. His head was wrenched back, face turned up, and a hand gripped his lower jaw while two more pried his teeth apart. He could do nothing but swallow the Veritaserum poured down his throat.
Thank goodness for Snape's antidote. He could feel the burning in his cheek even as he coughed and choked on liquid that had flowed down the wrong pipe. He didn't have to feign the weakness in his upper body as he was released. His eyes watered; his head was killing him.
The questions were neverending; just as Perry thought the Auror had run out, he'd come up with more. But he at least seemed sensitive to the fact that Perry had endured quite a bit already, and whatever beatings the WCU itched to give were infrequent. They used the baton against his exposed neck only once; it was indeed silver, and it burned like hell. He hated the lot of them even more for causing him to cry out in such an undignified way, but to his humiliation it did the trick; his answers came a little more easily after that. Not always truthfully; as if it mattered. Perry couldn't see the point in most of the questions, except they seemed bent on incriminating Snape for developing a werewolf army. Morons, all of them.
Perry had stopped paying attention for a while, until he realized the interrogation had taken on a different theme.
"When were you bitten, Mr. Derrick?"
"Five years ago." This question had followed a series of where and how and by who, and the WCU thugs had snickered at Perry's discomfort while answering. His replies had become curt and brief, only a few words at a time.
"Have you seen any of your family in that time?"
"What?"
The Auror paused in his pacing. The folder was still open. "Your family. Richard Derrick, born in Yorkshire, birthdate June 5th, 1951. Wife, Agatha Derrick, born January 8th, 1959. Second child, Aster, born August 10th, 1986. Remember them? They disappeared around the same time the Ministry lost track of you actually. Then you popped up some years later a werewolf. Where were you all during that time?"
Perry's coherence came rushing back, but he kept his eyes focused on the floor below him. When the silence had worn on for long enough, a heavy hand clocked him in the back of the head.
"Answer him, dog!"
The door opened and a head popped in. "Rose."
The Auror stepped away, and Perry strained to listen. Their discussion was hushed and he couldn't hear much; something about a solicitor, faulty charges and release. He heard Auror Rose's reply a little better. Stall him, dangerous werewolf, assault on a Ministry official, very serious. The hand on Perry's shoulder tightened.
The door closed, the Auror returned and the questions resumed. "Where is your family, Mr. Derrick?"
"I don't know."
"You all disappeared at roughly the same time, and just before the war broke out."
Perry's teeth clenched briefly. It hurt to breathe, let alone speak. "They found out I'd been bitten, so they took off. I haven't seen them."
"They left their home and all their possessions just because their son was bitten by a werewolf?"
He grimaced. "I guess."
"Was your father a Death Eater?"
"...No."
He didn't answer fast enough. "Look at me," Auror Rose said.
He didn't reply to this fast enough either. One of the WCU took it upon himself to grab Perry's hair and pull his head back. The boy got his first good look at the skeptical Auror who had questioned him for eighty agonizing minutes. The man stood over him, tapping his infernal pipe, and then he leaned down, face full of deep, serious lines, beady yellow eyes staring right through. Perry's, in turn, were unfocused and watery, and held little of the arrogance with which he'd entered.
"Was your father a Death Eater?"
It was another ten minutes before Perry heard a loud and angry voice approaching, and then the door was flung open. Whatever was said (or yelled) flew right over his head, but he couldn't have been more thankful for this new presence. With the threat of a lawsuit, the binds on his hands were taken and he was pulled to his feet. He swayed briefly and Jackson Bingley placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Perry immediately flinched away. "Don't touch me."
Bingley took his hand away and allowed the wolf to find his own balance. But as they headed for the door, he was able to offer a handkerchief for Perry to wipe the blood from his face.