Deep within the castle's bowels, four figures hung in irons against the cool, damp walls of the dungeons. Now and then, the gloom was broken by flashes of crimson light, the night's silence shattered by screams and the jingling of chains straining.
"Crucio."
The taste of blood filled Oleandra's mouth as she bit down on her tongue, determined not to give her torturer the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She was holding brave while she still could, but she did not know how much longer she could cling to her sanity… what little of it remained.
"How does it feel?" Daphne whispered, her breath tickling Oleandra's ear. "To be tortured by your very own wand?"
The moment Daphne had seized the Elder Wand, its power had coursed through her, and she had known at once it was hers. She, not Oleandra, had killed Dumbledore, and was therefore its rightful master. With the Deathstick in her grasp, she had no longer seen any need to murder a perfectly good pure-blood Witch of marriageable age as she'd initially planned; the wand's allegiance was already hers.
"Answer me, and the pain will stop," Daphne said soothingly. "Where did you hide the ring? I've seen it on your finger, so I know you have it."
Even so, before releasing Oleandra back into society, Daphne had to ensure her sister understood she was beaten. Oleandra Greengrass, after all, had shown a remarkable talent for miracles, and her loyalties were dubious at best. That stubborn streak had to be crushed until no trace of her former self remained, and the hiding place of the ring Horcrux also needed coaxing out.
Furthermore, the mystery of the magical golden sword that had blown the top off the Grand Staircase, buried deep in the floor at the foot of the stairs in the dungeons, where it had fallen and undoubtedly remained even now, demanded unravelling. Draco had claimed Oleandra had forged it— which Daphne highly doubted— but since the little git had mysteriously vanished (probably vaporised, in her opinion), she would simply have to wrench the truth from her sister's lips… were she inclined to open them.
"So, you refuse to talk," Daphne said coldly. "Perhaps I should torture your little friends here, and see if their screams loosen your tongue…"
The ceaseless torture had taken its toll on Oleandra; her fevered mind wasn't working properly right now, yet even she knew things would take a dramatic turn for the worse— if such a thing were possible— should Daphne read Ron's memories.
Oleandra's mind couldn't be read, but Ron knew about You-Know-Who's Horcruxes, and worse, he knew that she knew… all thanks to her Mirror Doppelganger, who had spilled everything in a bid to win the Gryffindor Squad's trust while she accompanied them on their camping trip.
"Oi, Ron," Oleandra said thickly. Her tongue felt wooden. "Look over here."
Ron turned his head to the side, just in time to catch a wad of bloody spit full in the eye.
"Hahaha!" Oleandra cackled. "Made you look!"
"Bloody hell!" Ron screamed, rattling his chains. "Are you completely mental!? What is the matter with you!?"
Without his noticing, every trace of the word Horcrux had vanished from his mind, spirited away by a thin thread of Fairy magic. If Daphne— or rather, the Horcrux that had managed to seize her body— tried to read his thoughts, she would see only that Harry and the others were off in search of some, magical MacGuffin too convenient to actually exist, one that might solve all of their problems, if they ever found it.
"If that was meant to show how little you care for Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom and Mr Finnigan, I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that," Daphne said coldly. "After all— even though you had no hand in Dumbledore's death, even though they all despised you as the worst sort of traitor— you were still trying to protect them, weren't you… Oleandra? In your own selfish way."
Ron and Neville were deeply ashamed of how they had treated Oleandra and Astoria. It was obvious to them now that they never had anything to do with Daphne's betrayal. Despite Oleandra's inexplicable conduct that fateful night when Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower, she and her sister should at least have been owed the benefit of the doubt.
"Ginny…" Ron croaked. "What… why…?"
Ron's mind went blank as the explanation he'd come up with for Ginny's impossible betrayal fluttered just barely out of reach of his mind. He knew there had to be a logical explanation for it all, so why couldn't he remember…?
"I'll have a go, so do your worst," Neville croaked. "But don't tell her anything, Oleandra."
"CRUCIO!"
Oleandra closed her eyes, but she couldn't shut out the pitiful screams that tore from Neville's throat. They rang in her ears again and again, until his voice grew too hoarse to make even a whimper.
Where had it all gone wrong, she wondered?
Even good old Felix hadn't managed to summon enough luck to extricate her from her predicament just hours before, as the roof of the Grand Staircase Tower caved in and the teachers closed in, wands raised. It had seen no way out, so it had urged to give herself up.
The Lethifold couldn't rival Daphne's and Ginny's true flight, and the death curse Oleandra had cast had drained her too deeply to muster the wherewithal to Disapparate. Short of being swarmed and killed, she'd had no choice but to throw down her wand and surrender…
Even so, Felix Felicis still coursed through her veins.
Oleandra had lost track of time, but she still felt inordinately confident in herself. She was certain that if she waited long enough, good things would come to her. In what way, she did not know, but she was certain that as long as she held strong and didn't give in, she would be saved… and that knowledge gave her strength.
Neville sagged, his body only held upright by the manacles binding his wrists as he hung from the wall. He had fallen unconscious.
"One down," sighed Daphne, examining her new wand with great interest. "Who'd like to go next?"