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We’re Being Tortured


Fabian Prewett was leaning against the far back wall of his cell in the Ministry for Magic’s depths. His cheek pressed to the wall. A dementor hovered just outside the bars, it’s rattling breath loud compared to the silence of the dungeons. Fabian hid his face in the crook of his arms.

A door opened and a shaft of light broke through the darkness, illuminating a flight of stairs. Fabian looked up and watched as three shadows slowly descended the steps. The first was an auror named Boot that Fabian had attended training with, the second a little girl - Lucy Minchum, and the third was Harold Minchum himself. Boot waved his wand, casting a patronus of a parrot that flew over and flapped its wings at the dementor standing guard, shooshing it away. “Prewett, you’ve a visitor,” Boot called gently.

Fabian unfolded himself carefully, his limbs tingling from having sat in one position for such a long time. He stood, bracing himself against the wall and walked slowly over ‘til he was hanging onto the bars, his face pressed against them to peer out. He stared at the Minister and his granddaughter, and he stammered, “Mr. Minchum -- I’d hoped you’d come down -- I’ve asked for audience with you -- time and again -- you or Moody -- and I haven’t gotten it. I need a trial, Mr. Minchum! A trial! Please! I didn’t help kidnap those kids, nor did Newt Scamander. I beg of you.”

Minchum stood there, staring imperially at the shaggy haired twin, and finally he turned to look at Boot. “I require some privacy with my auror, Mr. Boot.”

“Yes, sir,” Boot replied, and he turned and went up the stairs.

The moment the door closed, Minchum turned back to Fabian Prewett.

“Minister,” Prewett began again, but he was cut off.

“Crucio,” Harold Minchum waved his wand violently, knocking Fabian to the floor of his cell with the force of the spell. Minchum released him after a moment and Fabian stared up from the floor, trembling, his eyes wide with surprise and pain.

Lucy Minchum stared on, unaffected.

Fabian struggled to compose himself - wiping away errant drool the curse had caused to leak away from his mouth with his palm. He stared up at the Minister warily and grabbed hold of the bar on the door and pulled himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving Minchum’s.

Harold Minchum’s eyes sparkled… dancing with amusement.

Fabian’s breath was shaking as he said, “Y-you aren’t… Harold… Minchum.”

Minchum reached a hand out and gripped Fabian’s chin roughly, grinning at him. “I find I am n need of your services, good sir… Now, Mr. Prewett, there are two ways we can play this game… One, you join me, and pledge yourself to the Dark Lord.”

Fabian’s face was stone cold. “And two?”

Minchum raised his wand.

“Crucio!”




Oliver Kent was biting his tongue as he worked on taking notes, very carefully making sure he had down every word Gideon Prewett was waving his wand to have written on the board by a piece of flying chalk. He was lecturing on various ways to disarm your enemies - including the expelliarmus. Wally was asleep, head resting against Ollie’s shoulder, snoring quietly. Liam looked over and shook his head and Dexter glanced to see that Gideon Prewett wasn’t looking then nudged Darcy and quickly balled up a bit of torn off parchment and started trying to throw the ball into Wally’s wide open mouth. Darcy laughed and joined in at the game. Vivian and Marcy, like Oliver, were involved in notes -- but of a different nature, passing their parchment back and forth, having a written conversation…

“...some wizards falsely believe the expelliarmus to be too rudi--” he stopped mid-word and clutched the desk, stumbling.

Six faces turned to look at him - Wally’s being the exception. Balls of parchment lay on the desk, clung to the chest of Wally’s robes, and on the floor around him.

“Sir?” asked Liam, seeing Gideon Prewett’s face contort in pain for a moment.

Gideon stumbled ‘round the desk, hanging onto it, panting and fell into his chair, shaking, his nerves weak and he clutched the arms of the chair with white knuckles. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Is everything alright?” asked Vivian.

Gideon looked over at her, his eyes a bit dazed, and he looked terribly confused for a moment, then he shook his head, clearing himself, and he tried to stand up. “I’m - I’m very sorry.” He cleared his throat, then tried to finish the sentence, “Some think the expelliarmus is too rudimentary to be really helpful in a true duel, but the spell is very helpful - and often unexpected, making it very usef---” Gideon stopped again, again clutching the desk as his knees went weak and he let out a cry of pain and he staggered down to his knees. “No,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “Oh no, no. Fabian. No!”

Ollie looked over at the others, the movement of his body making Wally slip and wake up and Wally yawned, looking around, “Wha’s happening?” he muttered, slurring sleepily as he woke, “Wha’s happening?”

“Somebody go get McGonagall! Or Dumbledore! Or Lily or Remus! Somebody who can help us!” Liam cried, getting up and running up to the front of the room, “Professor? Professor Giddy?”

Dexter and Vivian went together, running from the room to get help.




Dexter, Vivian, and Peter Pettigrew reached McGonagall’s office at exactly the same time, coming from two different directions, just as the Professor was stepping into the hall and locking her office door behind her.

“SIRIUS BLACK IS INJURED, COME QUICKLY!” shouted Peter at exactly the same time as Vivian and Dexter started yelling “HELP! PROFESSOR PREWETT’S IN TROUBLE!” so that their words all scrambled together is a great jumble of words.

McGonagall looked shocked between the two of them. “What exactly is going on? Mr. Pettigrew, you first.”

“Sirius has just collapsed on the staircase in the entrance hall!”

“But Professor Prewett’s collapsed in the middle of a lesson!” cried Dexter, “He’s just suddenly fallen to his knees! Professor, we need help!”

“So does Sirius!” Peter squeaked, “James said to get you!”

McGonagall looked very concerned and she took Vivian’s hand, who was reaching for hers, tears in her bright eyes. McGonagall looked at Peter, “Go and alert Poppy, Mr. Pettigrew, tell her to prepare two beds.” She waved her wand, sending a silver cat patronus running down the hallway ahead of them, “And Albus will be on his way in just a moment…”

Peter nodded and ran off to the hospital wing.

McGonagall hurried down the corridor, her robes swishing at her ankles as she followed the two first years.




A great crowd had gathered about the staircase, and James was trying to shield Sirius from them with how he knelt beside him. Remus was kneeling beside him, too. It was Remus that had said they shouldn’t move him without help - for in falling to the stair, Sirius’s jacket had come open and revealed the shoddy bandages across his chest, the blood oozing about them. He was so pale! Remus’s hands shook as he clutched onto Sirius’s hand. “Please be okay,” he said quietly, “I can’t lose you…” he leaned closer so that he was whispering into Sirius’s ear. “I know you didn’t mean what you’ve said. Don’t let this darkness get you, my Star. I love you.”

Sirius didn’t move, barely breathed…

Remus looked up at James, tears in his eyes. “He’s going to be alright, yeah?” he asked.

“Of course,” James said thickly, though he didn’t sound certain. “He’s Sirius.”

And then there was McGonagall, running down the steps, her face folded with worry as she approached, “Stand aside! Step aside!” she called, plowing her way through the clusters of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Slytherins, that were gathered and staring, whispering, muttering… As she broke through to the center, where Sirius lay, James sat up from where he knelt, revealing Sirius’s chest and McGonagall gasped. She waved her wand, levitating Sirius’s body up, “Everyone out of the way!” she yelled at them, and they parted like the sea before Moses. James and Remus ran along behind her up the stairs.

Remus was carrying Sirius’s pink t-shirt and the invisibility cloak, running along behind them. He bit his lip, not wanting to say what he was thinking - not wanting what he was thinking to be true… He clutched the ring in one closed hand.




Gideon’s clutch on the desk tightened, tears streaming silently from his eyes… he didn’t even look up when Albus Dumbledore arrived at his side. The first years looked on with frightened expressions upon their faces. “Mr. Prewett,” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, “Mr. Prewett, what has happened?”

“Fabian. It’s Fabian.” Gideon cried, “Oh my brother! My brother!” He looked to Dumbledore. “Save him. Please save him. He’s being tortured… we’re being tortured.”

Dumbledore stood up, and he waved his wand… and a great silver Phoenix appeared before him. “Go to Alastor Moody. Tell him to see to Fabian Prewett immediately.” And with a crack the patronus was gone and Dumbledore turned back to Gideon.




Crack after crack after crack of the cruciatus hit Fabian so that he convulsed there on the floor, a mess, his nose bloody and eyes unfocused. His already shaggy hair hung in his eyes and stood practically on end as he landed on his stomach and tried to crawl away from Harold Minchum - or whoever this really was, for Fabian was convinced this was not the true Minister for Magic.

“I will kill you if I must,” said the low voice of the fake Minister.

Fabian whispered, “You must. I won’t join Voldemort.”

Minchum stared at Fabian.

“I don’t c-care how many times you torture me,” Fabian added.

Minchum cleared his throat, “Very well. We’ll see about that. Crucio!”

Fabian let out a long, agonized cry.

Above, the doors to the dungeon opened and there were hurried footsteps on the stairs. “Prewett One?” It was Moody - and he ran into the dungeon as Minchum released Fabian from the spell and quickly waved his wand…

“Imperio.”

Minchum turned to look at Moody as he approached and the girl, Lucy, looked on with wide eyes…

“What in bloody hell is goin’ on down here?” Moody demanded, eyes wide. He looked from the crying girl to Minchum’s surprised expression and Fabian Prewett’s prone body…

“He’s just confessed, Mr. Moody,” Minchum said steadily, “Just confessed to everything! Fabian Prewett’s just confessed to me that he’s been working for the Dark Lord!”

Moody looked concerned, “Confessed?” He turned to look at Fabian Prewett.

Imperiused, Fabian had been made to stand up, to collect himself, to sit upon the bench in the corner of the room and to look up, a grin upon his face… a horrible grin that played about the edges of his mouth, his eyes dark…

“Yes,” Fabian said darkly. “Long live the Dark Lord! TOUJOURS PUR!”

Moody’s stared into his face. “Mr. Prewett --”

“That is enough! Don’t you see, Alastor, more evidence to his guilt. Accompanied by the confession he’s only just made to me, I’ve enough evidence to convict.” He turned to look over his shoulder, “Mr. Boot!” Minchum called - for down the stairs with Moody had come the second auror as well. “Summon the dementors.” He stared coldly at Fabian Prewett. “Under the authority given me as the Minister for Magic, I hereby charge you, Fabian Prewett, with the kidnap and-or murder of over one hundred children - magical and muggle born - over the past six months, including the grand daughter of the Minister, and the murder of the daughter of the Minister. I charge you with conspiring with the Dark Lord against the wizarding world, and with treason against your fellow wizards. I thereby invest my power to sentence you to life in Azkaban, to be served following the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Fabian Prewett’s face stayed perfectly stoic - did not even flinch - and a chill went through Moody’s bones, a horrible suspicion, a sinking feeling. He turned to look at the Minister.

“Alastor, you will, of course, be our witness?” Minchum requested.

Moody drew his wand, “I’m sorry Mr. Minister, but that just won’t do.”