2000, 08, 27
Subject: Greengrass, J. - Suspected Death Eater
Personnel: Croaker, B. - Unspeakable, Smythe, P. - Recorder
Greengrass was dressed in ill fitting clothes that looked like they could have fit him five or ten pounds ago, torn and ragged, stained and dirty. The man himself had dark shadows under his dull, lifeless eyes. Different colored bruises molted across his face. There seemed to be no fight left in him, and he didn't even react when Croaker entered the room.
"Your friends have been very naughty. Very naughty, indeed."
The Unspeakable stood in front of Greengrass and grasped a handful his hair, pulling his head up so that Croaker could see his face. "Where are they taking them?"
"I -" Greengrass rasped and visibly struggled to swallow, his lips swollen and split. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lies." Croaker jerked his hand, ripping out a chunk of hair. He brushed his hand off with a look of distaste. "Where have your associates taken the others? And why?"
Over the quite sounds of Greengrass' denial, a new voice spoke up. "Buford, he's been here for days. You know that. He may not know anything about tonight's disappearances."
Croaker turned to look at the unseen man, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Don't ever call me that, Smythe. I am well aware of how long he's been our guest, I'm the one who brought him in, and I'm not letting him go until he tells me what I want to know."
"Won't tell you anything." The words were quiet, but there was a glimmer of defiance on Greengrass' face that said more than the barely audible words could have.
"What was that? Are we being argumentative now?" Croaker seemed to be amused. He drew his wand and tapped the end against the suspect's chest.
"Did I forget to mention I went by your house to day. Had a talk with your wife. Lovely woman. It would be shame if she were to disappear tonight, as well."
Incredibly Greengrass began to laugh, a deep painful sound that quickly turned into a rumbling, liquid cough. Blood pooled at the corner of his mouth and it was obvious that something inside was ruptured. Greengrass raised his face and spat a mouthful of blood at Croaker's feet. "Who's the liar now?"
"You'll pay for that." Dark droplets were spattered on the Unspeakable's shoes. The wand was shoved against Greengrass' temple and Croaker leaned close to whisper the spell; almost looking as if he was enjoying himself as the suspect stiffened and cried out.
The small bits of unbruised skin around the poor man's lips began to take on a blue hue, his breathing extremely labored.
Smythe spoke up once more. "Stop it, Bu-Croaker. He can't take much more. We need to get a medi-witch in here."
For once tense moment the wand was leveled at the unseen man, rage making a mockery of Croaker's handsome face. "I say what happens in here. Me. He's scum, less then nothing. His only value is in what he can tell me. His fate is in my hands and in this room I am a god!"
The wand emitted a burst of purple light and Greengrass screamed. Blood began to stream from his nose. His eyes bulged and he turned to look at the unseen observer as if seeking help, fingers stretching toward him even though his hands were tied to the chair.
Moments later it was over, and Greengrass was dead.
"Gods, what did you do?"
Buford Croaker pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the spilled blood from the top of his shoe. "I tried to save him, Smythe. You saw it. He had a heart attack during questioning. There was nothing we could do."
"You - you can't do that -"
Croaker slowly sheathed his wand. "Yes. I can."