The Enigma of Life
Still speaks the silence
Hermione stood by the plate glass window staring out into the pouring rain longingly. It had been so long since she had been outside. She hadn’t left this room in what seemed like years. It could have been years for all she knew. She had no idea of how much time had passed. She had no contact from the outside world. Not a calendar, no newspapers, no magazines. She was lucky if she was gifted with blank parchment and a quill to write with.
Her eyes tracked the droplets of water as they meandered in a broken path, undulating in small rivulets to pool on the window sill as her mind wandered. It was all that she did these days. Well, it wasn’t all, but that was better off not thought about at this moment. Her world was silent now, and she was grateful that she had a moment of peace. She treasured it fore she had no idea who would visit her next or when he would return.
It speaks in riddles to my mind
Sometimes she thought that she had gone mad, that her mind had finally cracked. She knew that was his goal. He used her in the worst of ways. Well, it wasn’t him, but he watched. Using her to get to Harry, exploiting the mental connection that they shared to send him images as she was violated. She knew her friend, she knew that the images were torturing him. She tried to stay silent during these sessions, knowing that her cries and her tears and her begging would only make it worse for Harry. Those things wouldn’t help her anyway. It was the Dark Lord and he showed no mercy.
He watched and sometimes even directed whoever it was on top of her, a smile fixed on his reptilian face, his eyes glowing as she was violated in every way imaginable. She often wondered why he didn’t do it himself. Wouldn’t that be more hurtful to Harry? In the end, she thought it was because he couldn’t. His body might not perform like a regular body. It didn’t matter, he seemed to take pleasure in just watching.
And time keeps passing by
She’d never forget the day she was captured. School had been dismissed for the summer but she would not be returning for her seventh year. She, Harry, and Ron had decided that they needed to finish Dumbledore’s quest. Harry hadn’t told her the details yet. For that she was grateful because once she had been captured, Voldemort could pry it from her mind.
They had split up. Harry had returned to the Dursley’s to warn them. No matter how much he despised them, he knew that they were in danger and needed to move from the house that he had grown up in. Ron had returned to the Burrow where they were all going to meet for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. She had returned to her house, to her parents. She decided to wipe their memories of her. They were a target and the less they knew about her, the better. She was going to send them to Australia, far away from the war. If they prevailed, she would track them down later.
Little did she know, Voldemort had beat her to them. She had known the moment that she walked up the front steps that something was not right. She should have trusted her instincts and got the hell out of there. But it was her Mum and Dad. She loved them. The house was dark even though it was only seven in the evening. She entered the house quietly and listened from the entrance for sounds of her parents.
Silence.
She wanted to call out for them but she knew that was too dangerous. Someone other than her parents could be in the house. She felt a dark foreboding as she crept from room to room, her wand at the ready as she searched for her parents. The downstairs was clear so she headed upstairs. She paused before her parents room, her hand on the doorknob. She knew they were inside. She could feel it. She took a breath and pushed the door open.
She was unprepared for the sight that greeted her eyes. The once white walls were coated in crimson. Her father’s headless corpse was on the floor beside the bed. His head sat on his desk like a grisly paperweight. Blisters were clustered around the sunken pits were his eyes should have been. They looked like they had been burned out. The scent of charred flesh and singed hair hung heavy in the air.
Her mother was on the bed. Her throat had been slit. Her clothes were missing and she could tell from the mess between her legs that she had been raped, probably multiple times considering all the blood that had pooled there. Her prone body was littered with deep lacerations and bite marks. It had been a far from peaceful death. She had probably witnessed her father die before they ever even started on her.
Hermione turned from the scene and wretched on the floor. She was too late. She had to get out of here. Whoever had done this was likely still nearby. She should have apparated straight away but her birthday was months away. She didn’t have her license yet. Arthur was supposed to teach her how this summer. She edged her way downstairs and was greeted by the sight of Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange leaning against the wall in her family room. She stopped on the staircase and raised her wand defensively.
Casually, Rodolphus pushed off the wall. “Well, well, well, what do we have here, Lucius? Looks like the mudblood is finally home. I must say, the wanted posters do you no justice my dear.”
Hermione didn’t answer. She watched them warily as she finished descending the stairs. She would have to fight. At this point she would have apparated if she’d known how, license be damned. Her mind turned quickly. They were between her and the front door. If she could incapacitate them both she could get out the back door. There was a large forest behind her house. She could disillusion herself after she sent her patronus to the order.
It wasn’t very solid, she admitted. It would require her to best two skilled Death Eaters. It all hinged on her winning the fight. But it was her only option. She would not surrender herself willingly to the dark wizards.
Rodolphus moved a step closer and she retreated keeping her eyes on Lucius, who was the more dangerous of the two. He smirked at her and her thoughts went to Draco. He looked just like him at that moment. “Come,” he said silkily. “What are you going to do with that wand, Miss Granger? Hmmm? You can’t possibly think that you could beat the both of us?”
Her only response was to lift her chin defiantly. They didn’t know what she was capable of. Whereas she knew exactly what they were capable of. It gave her a slight advantage. They saw her as just a girl.
She sent her first hex wordlessly but was disheartened when Lucius blocked it effortlessly. “My, my,” he drawled. “You are full of surprises. I believe this will be fun.”
He sent his own curse back, which she blocked, ricocheting it back in their direction. It forced them to put up shields to protect themselves. She cast a shield around herself. It was basic but it would prevent most spells from reaching her. She pointed her wand at the ceiling and severed the cord to the ceiling fan. It crashed down on top of them and she used their distraction to run for the kitchen.
She ran for the door. It was sealed shut. She tried every unlocking spell she knew and even the exploding curse. The door remained the same. A chuckle sounded behind her and she whirled around, her wand raised.
“That was most entertaining, Mudblood. But the Dark Lord waits. He hates to wait,” Rodolphus intoned, his deep baritone echoing in the small kitchen.
Hermione’s eyes flickered around. They had her trapped but she would not go down without a fight. She blasted the cupboards open and sent all of her mother’s china at them, using the plates and cups like missiles. She watched as Lucius lazily blasted each piece aimed at him, the shards tinkling as they rained down on the tiled floor. Next was the cutlery. She heard Rodolphus curse as she hurled the knives from the chopping block at him. Lucius laughed out loud when he saw his partner battling with the enchanted utensils.
She used his distraction to send a slicing hex. She aimed it carefully so that it would penetrate his shield. It landed perfectly, slicing his cheek deeply. He looked at her incredulously, even as Rodolphus flailed in the background. He raised his hand touching the wound with his fingers. He pulled the digits away and looked at the blood smeared there. Then his face twisted into a grim smile.
His eyes pierced into hers as snakes erupted out of his wand and shot at her winding their way tightly around her. She dropped her wand as they bound her arms tightly to her body. The flying dishes abruptly dropped the floor. What she wouldn’t give to speak parseltongue. That would surprise them if she could command them to let her go.
Lucius had walked up to where she swayed, fighting to keep standing. He caressed her cheek and whispered, “Now I owe you one, my dear.” He licked her cheek and she turned her face away from him disgusted. Wasn’t he afraid of getting mudblood on him? He bent to her ear and whispered, “Let me give you a word to the wise, Precious, I always collect.”
She looked at his grey eyes fearfully as Rodolphus said, “Stupify.”
As I walk tearful through this life
That had seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then. She watched as lightning flickered across the sky, tears rolling down her face. She wondered what they were doing and if they were alright. She assumed that they were still out there, still fighting since she was still alive. She had no doubt that she would be killed as soon as she was no longer useful.
She almost embraced the idea. She was tired of this life. Even if Harry won and she was somehow freed, she wasn’t the same person that she used to be. No one who had gone through what she had gone through would be the same. She wasn’t sure if she could ever look Harry in the eye again knowing that he had seen everything. Tears welled in her eyes again as she thought of her best friend. He needed her and she had failed him. She had gotten herself captured.
She remembered waking up from the fight. She was in a dungeon, most likely belonging to the Malfoy’s. She was chained to the wall, her toes just barely touching the cold, stone floor. Her arms ached from hanging there. She jumped as the door at the top of the stairs creaked open. She watched horrified as Voldemort strode across the room towards her. She saw Lucius and Draco following behind him.
“This is her, young Malfoy?” he commanded.
“Yes, my Lord,” he answered.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive, my Lord.”
“Excellent! I’m most pleased, Lucius. This will be most useful in discouraging the Potter brat. I believe that you deserve a small reward for bringing her to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Lucius?”
Lucius looked first to his son and then at Hermione. “Whatever pleases you, my Lord.”
Voldemort smirked at him, “Very well put, Lucius. Please, take our guest to the specially prepared room on the third floor. I will meet you there shortly.”
She had remained quiet throughout this whole exchange. She was already in a dire situation. She didn’t need to make it worse. Little did she know how bad it was going to get.
Dreams pass by silently
Lucius had released the chains and she had fallen to the floor, her arms screaming in pain as the blood rushed back to her hands. She rubbed her sore wrists as he hauled her to her feet and disappeared with a pop.
They landed in a bedroom. The very same room that she occupied even today. He pushed her down on the bed. “Make yourself at home, Mudblood,” he sneered. “I doubt you’ll be leaving anytime soon.”
Hermione stared up at him. She wanted to retort that her friends would come for her but she knew that they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. She was incidental. Expendable. All that mattered in the end was that Harry survived long enough to confront the Dark Lord. Everyone close to Harry knew the danger and accepted it.
They stared at each other. Hermione grew more and more uncomfortable as his eyes traveled over her. Why was he looking at her like that? Wasn’t she beneath him or something? She didn’t have to wonder for long as Voldemort popped into the room. His entrance was silent.
“Miss Granger, I do hope you like your new accommodations. Normally, filth like you would be in the dungeons but for what I have in mind this setting is far more fitting. Don’t you think, Lucius?”
Lucius looked at her carefully for a minute before responding. “I’ve found, my Lord, that you always have good reasons behind your decisions. As much as it irks me to have the Mudblood here in my home, I know that it is for our ultimate goal and I take pride in the fact that I can be of service to you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it. He sounded like a pompous git. Voldemort saw her actions and smiled a terrifying smile. “I’m pleased to hear it, Lucius. Now for that reward. Miss Granger, are you a virgin?”
Hermione was indignant. That was personal. Moreover, why on earth was he asking? She couldn’t hold her tongue. “That’s none of your business!”
Lucuis smirked as Voldemort stepped closer to the bed where she was sitting. “Answer me, Mudblood. I could always check.”
Hermione looked at him horrified. She didn’t even want to imagine him poking around down there. “Fine! Yes, I’m a virgin. Satisfied?”
He smiled again, all sharp teeth. He looked like a shark. “Immensely. Lucius, I want you to do the honors while I watch.”
Lucius looked at the Dark Lord surprised. He wanted him to be the first to break Harry Potter’s best friend. It was truly an honor. Even if she was just a Mudblood.
Hermione was confused until Voldemort sat in a chair facing the bed. Lucius turned back towards her and she noted the predatory gleam in his eyes. She stood up quickly but she wasn’t quick enough. Lucius grasped her arm tightly.
“Going somewhere?” he drawled. “There is nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Now be a good little girl and be still so I can enjoy this. It is time for me to collect on that debt. After all, I do owe you one.” He gestured to the thin line on his cheek that was still healing.
She struggled against him as he pushed her back onto the bed. She was no match for his much bigger and stronger body. She gasped as he spelled her clothing away. She started to cry as he spelled her hands to the head board.
“Much better,” he murmured. “Don’t you think, my Lord?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Much better. Make it hurt, Lucius. You know what I like.”
Hermione’s vision was blurred with tears. She was mortified. No one had ever seen her naked. Not even her roommates at school. She knew what was going on now. Lucius was going to rape her while the Dark Lord watched. He knew about his connection with Harry.
She flinched as she felt his hand on her dry slit, touching her where no man had ever touched before. “This will hurt, little girl,” he breathed into her ear.
With that, he pushed himself inside her inch by agonizing inch. She screamed. She couldn’t help it as he tore through her innocence. She wanted to die. She tried to buck him off of her but that only served to excite him. He was nearly in a frenzy as he fucked her.
“So fucking tight,” he murmured against her sweaty brow. “You should feel privileged. Not many have felt the thickness of my cock.”
She closed her eyes as the tears tracked down her face. Harry was probably seeing it all. She didn’t want to see Voldemort’s eyes as he watched her being defiled. She laid there as Lucius strained against her, grunting as he came to his completion.
She didn’t move as his weight disappeared from her. Her hands were still affixed to the headboard, it wasn’t like she could cover herself. She did flinch as she felt a hand between her legs. Her eyes flashed open and she was greeted with the gleaming red pupils of Voldemort as he gathered her virgins blood. She closed her eyes in despair as she thought about all the insidious things he could do with her blood.
“Thank you, Miss Granger. I’ll be seeing you again real soon.” She cringed as he trailed a hand almost lovingly over her cheek. Then he disappeared.
I see them waving back at me
That had only been the first time of many. The Dark Lord had turned her into some sort of Death Eater call girl. Her wardrobe consisted of skimpy lingerie and sheer robes. She might as well have been naked. She had nothing to do except sit in this room and wait for someone to show up.
And show up they did. In a never-ending stream. She couldn’t even begin to count how many times she had been raped. It seemed like everyone had taken a turn. Including Severus Snape. That had been most awkward. If she was so abominable, she couldn’t understand what kept them coming back. And of course, he was always there watching.
These days, she lived inside her dreams. She dreamed of a world with no war, no hate, no pain. She dreamed of death, longed for it. She wanted to put an end to her suffering.
All hope is long since gone
In the beginning, she still hoped. She hoped by some miraculous circumstance that the Order would burst in and rescue her. She hoped that Harry would finally prevail and she could go home. Then she would remember what happened to her parents and realize that she had no home to go to.
She knew that if she ever made it out alive that no one would ever want her. She was damaged goods. Used over and over. They probably wouldn’t even trust her. She had spent too long with the enemy.
No, she realized that hope was foolish thing. She would get nowhere by hoping. It only served to cause her pain as first days, then weeks, and then months passed and she was still in the clutches of evil.
I guess it really never was there at all, a mirage passed on
Looking back, she knew that she never had any hope. From that moment in her house, after she made the discovery of her parents, she had no hope for escape. There was no hope to be saved. The only hope she had left was for a speedy and painless death. Which was no hope at all really. Voldemort would be the one to kill her. She knew that she would not die from a quick avada.
Hope was a dangerous thing to have. In the end, it only caused pain when all that you hoped for and dreamed for was gone. There would be no ministry career for her, no way for her to change things that she felt were in need of changing. There was no way now that Ron would ever want her. If they survived this damnable war, that is. The more she contemplated things, the lower she sunk into the pit of her own personal hell.
I know the darkness will break me
And you can not save me, can’t catch my fall
I feel the sorrow embrace me, this life depraves me
I’m lost forevermore
She was breaking. She could feel it. The old Hermione would never give up, would never go down without a fight. Now, she gave up too easily. What else could she do? She had been here for far too long. Harry couldn’t save her. Ron couldn’t save her. The Order couldn’t save her. Without her magic, she couldn’t save herself.
She had asked for parchment and a quill. Lucius had laughed at her. “Are you going to write your memoirs? I doubt anyone would be interested in reading about the life of a whore.”
She hadn’t answered and he had disappeared. After a nap, she had seen the parchment and quill left on her nightstand. It was probably the nicest thing anyone had done for her the whole time she had been in this forsaken place.
She wrote on the parchment as if it were a person, someone that she could confide her feelings in and share her fears. She didn’t care if they read it. In fact, she was sure that they did, getting some kind of perverse satisfaction from the way they had broken her down. She was so full of sorrow. She felt lost in a sea of evil. She didn’t have one friend in this place. Even the elves that attended her were too terrified to speak with her. She was all alone in this life. She longed for a friendly face, a kind touch, or a warm embrace. She had taken so much for granted before.
She missed her friends. She missed warmth, hot cocoa, and school. She missed her books. She had asked once for something to read. Lucius had laughed and said that he would relay her request. Some time later, Voldemort had popped into her room.
She had fled into the corner as there was no where else to run to. He had smiled, his lips a thin razor across his pale face. “I hear that you want some books. Tell me, Mudblood, why should I grant your request?”
Hermione was terrified to answer. If she answered that she was bored, he could very well bring more Death Eaters to her room to ‘entertain’ her. Tears filled her vision as she stumbled over her words.
“I….I…”
He saved her from answering. “I feel no need to stimulate your formidable mind, Mudblood. I have heard of your intelligence and really can’t afford for you to learn anything else. Maybe, possibly, when I kill that loathsome boy, I will grant such a request. That is, if you can convince me that you deserve to live.”
During this speech, he had gradually moved closer to her now trembling form. She would never ask for anything again. Not if it was going to bring her a private visit from him.
She cowered in the corner as he approached, her eyes on the floor. She cringed as she felt his cold finger under her chin lifting it so that she could meet his gaze. She was not prepared for him to invade her mind. She felt him shuffle through her memories, lingering on her recent thoughts of death.
She felt him leave her mind as suddenly as he had entered it. Smirking, he released her chin. “I’m afraid, dearest, that death will not come for you until I decide it. You are mine, now and forever.”
He disappeared, leaving her shivering in the corner. She was confused and afraid. What had he meant? Did he mean to keep her alive if he won? She shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t live out the rest of her life like this. She wouldn’t.
My life darkens year by year, and no one seems to really care
How long could she stay in the dark? She felt like a plant starved of sunlight. She felt weak and melancholy. Years had passed and she was still here. She could see the changes in herself when she looked in the enchanted mirror in her bathroom. She was no longer a girl. She had turned into a woman.
She wondered if the light had lost the war and the Dark Lord had decided that she was amusing enough to keep around. He still came at irregular intervals, a different man or woman with him each time. Each time was different.
She had found that Lucius was fond of bondage. She was always tied up in some way when he was with her. He was also very inventive with his methods of torture. Once, he had held her down with magic while he had stimulated her with his wand, which he had set to vibrate. He had made her climax so many times that she was screaming out in pain for him to stop. She was so over-stimulated that it was no longer a pleasurable sensation but a deep-seated throbbing pain. She could hardly sit afterward.
Bellatrix preferred to use a blade, slicing her mercilessly as she tongued her abused pussy. She was always restrained during her time. Once, she had even carved the word ‘Mudblood’ into her flesh.
The Lestrange brothers always came together. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. She was always terrified when they came. They took turns and then took her at the same time, one in each hole fucking her to the point of collapse. More than once, she had to be administered a strengthening potion just so that she could crawl to the bathroom to clean herself afterward.
The Dark Lord didn’t limit this torment to just rape either. He had Draco Malfoy practice the ‘Imperious’ curse on her, forcing her to become a willing participant in her assault. He made her enjoy it. This was probably the most humiliating thing that had happened to her. Not just because it was Draco Malfoy, her enemy and tormentor at school and her peer, it was because he made her like it. He made her want it.
She could only imagine what Harry thought when he saw it. He would think that she had joined their ranks, that she was one of them now. If that was the case, she would be killed on sight if the light did prevail.
My fear always lingers here, its growing stronger deep inside of me
She continued writing on the parchment, when she could persuade Lucius to bring her some. It was her only outlet. She was sure that Lucius or the Dark Lord was reading her thoughts but it didn’t really matter. At any point, they could come and use Legilimancy to read what was there anyway.
She became obsessed with death. She wanted to die. She had thought about ending her own life. She had always viewed this as the coward’s way out until recently. The more she thought about it the more she thought that it was noble. She could end her life on her terms. She was scared, though. She was scared of what would happen after. She had been raised a Christian. In Christianity, if you killed yourself you went to Hell. She already lived in hell, she didn’t want to spend eternity in another hell.
She was conflicted. She knew that the Dark Lord wouldn’t kill her until he was good and ready and that it would be more pain than she could ever imagine. She just didn’t know if she wanted to wait for the inevitable or help it along. She was beginning to consider that ending her life on her own terms by her own hand was the only freedom she truly had left. Surly her friends would understand when they heard of her death, they would understand that she couldn’t take it any longer.
It won’t set me free
Fear.
It was an ever present emotion. Anytime anyone entered her room, she was scared for what was going to happen to her. At any moment, they could descend upon her room and drag her out to be the night’s entertainment. The Dark Lord had hinted more than once that that would be her fate. At the war’s end, she would be used in the celebration. That she would be the final member of the ‘Golden Trio’ to go down. He had insinuated that it would be a fitting demise for her station in life.
She shuddered as a cold chill raced up her spine. She was tired, bone-weary of being scared all the time. After what had happened yesterday, she was ready to embrace death. It would come for her anyway. She would consider this her last act of defiance against the Dark Lord. It was the only way left for her to fight back.
I know the darkness will break me,
And you can not save me, can’t catch my fall
I feel the sorrow embrace me, this life depraves me
I’m lost forevermore
She felt the difference in the atmosphere when he entered the room, simply materializing before her. The Dark Lord stood before her, his cold, red eyes scrutinizing her carefully. She kept her eyes on the floor as his gaze lingered on her.
She shuddered as the moment stretched longer. Why was he staring at her like that? Was it finally time for her to die? Did he kill Harry? Her thoughts whirred frantically until he broke the prolonged silence.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
She shook as she raised her eyes fearfully to his glimmering crimson orbs. Unadulterated terror thrummed through her veins as she held his gaze. What did he want? What was he looking for? His face was a perfect mask of indifference as he regarded her for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, he spoke, “Lay on the bed.”
She moved hesitantly to comply, all manner of tortuous scenarios playing out in her mind. What was he doing? There wasn’t anyone here with him, why did he want her on the bed? She didn’t dare defy him. If she did, he would only do something infinitely worse than what he already had planned. As she moved to lay down, he corrected her.
“No,” he whispered. “On your stomach.”
She looked at him for a second before turning herself onto her stomach. Her heart palpitated wildly under her ribs as she felt him looming over her. One whispered spell later and her hands were fastened to the headboard. She stiffened as he vanished the negligee she was wearing. She froze as she felt his tongue on the sway of her back just above her buttocks.
She fought the urge to squirm as he traced a trail up her spine to her neck. His lips brushed her ear as he spoke, revealing to her finally what he had planned. “I’ve decided to mark you, dearest.”
She moved to protest and he pinned her down forcefully, suffocating her under the strength of the spell. “Not a dark mark,” he hissed angrily. “I would never make you one of my Death Eaters. It is a binding mark. You will never escape me. Even if, by chance, you escape this place, I will be able to find you in a heartbeat. I will know your feelings, your wants, your needs. There is nothing and nowhere you could hide from me.”
She said nothing as he straddled her legs, pinning her hips to the bed. She shuddered as he pressed his wand to the small of her back. “I’m afraid this will hurt, a lot. Perhaps I should just make you want it.”
Again she remained quiet. He would do what he wanted and that was that. Another whispered spell later and she found herself liking the idea of him branding her. There was one small part of herself, in the darkest corner of her mind, shouting that it was wrong and she needed to fight.
She writhed in pleasure as he traced the design to her flesh, burning it into sharp relief on her skin for all eternity. The tiny niggling voice in her mind was screaming in protestation, urging her too fight his hold. But she didn’t want that. She felt warm and happy, floating on a cloud of bliss as he marked her as his.
He finished the design and released her arms. He rolled her over and latched onto one of her breasts. Her subconscious howled at her to do something, that this was the Dark Lord but she was locked under his spell. She wanted him to want her. She parted her legs eagerly for him, urging him on with her moans of pleasure.
She keened as he viciously ate at her aching pussy, his forked tongue squeezing her clit mercilessly. She spiraled off into a wave of ecstasy, still climaxing as he thrust into her. She cried out as she climaxed again, her interior walls clamping down on him. All the while, her mind fought against his control.
She eagerly met his thrusts with her hips as he pounded into her over and over, the head of his cock slamming against her cervix. Then he lifted the spell. Her mind cleared instantly and she was beyond horrified by what was happening. He wrapped his hands around her throat as she struggled with him. She fought to breath, clawing at his hands, trying to pull them from her throat. Her vision blurred as she fought for air and she felt him stiffen and cry out as he climaxed. She felt his seed splash against her walls in deep, hot spurts coating her in his semen.
He released her neck just as her vision began to darken. She gasped, drinking in great gulps of air for her starving lungs. She felt the rush of his juices leaking out of her as he pulled out of her. She closed her eyes and cried quietly as he replaced his robes. She retreated into herself as far as she could go, blocking out the rest of the world. She didn’t move as he trailed a finger over her cheek almost like a lover’s caress before he disappeared once more.
Tears shed in silence, they run in rivers down my face
It was a long time before she found the strength to move. She had slept with the Dark Lord. He had marked her as his. What did that mean? Would he continue to allow his Death Eaters to sleep with her or would it be him alone from now on?
Tears seeped endlessly from her eyes as she relived the encounter over and over. She was ashamed of herself. She had liked it at first. Even though the Dark Lord had her imperioused for the first part, she felt like a traitor. She didn’t fight hard enough. She wasn’t strong enough.
She dragged herself upright and on shaky legs had made her way to the bathroom. She had to get his essence of f of her. She paused in front of the mirror. She looked like a person who had been thoroughly shagged. She turned and looked at the mark burned into her flesh. It was a snake, black in color, tribal in design that snaked its way across her lower back.
She turned away from the mirror in disgust. She really never could escape now. She stepped in the shower and scrubbed herself until her skin was red and raw, contemplating what she would do next.
And what am I still living for
That was days ago. Now she stood by the window, watching the storm. She had come to her decision. She wouldn’t live like this any longer. She would be the Dark Lord’s puppet no longer. She would suffer no more.
She had no reason to live. Her friends would not hold it against her. Her parents were long dead so they wouldn’t be hurt by her death. She had no husband or boyfriend that would cry for her. The only thing to be gained would be the ire of the Dark Lord. Her death wouldn’t be in vain if it frustrated him. She would show him that she was no one’s doll, that she wouldn’t be locked away to be played with at his every whim.
She had thought long and hard on how she would accomplish ending her life. The mirror and window were both enchanted. She couldn’t break them although she did try very hard. She tried to pull the legs off his chair so she could use the sharp end of a nail to cut her wrists but the damned thing wouldn’t break. She considered using a sheet to hang herself but there was no place to hang it from. There weren’t any poisons available to her either.
She had cried in despair. She couldn’t escape him in death either. Then her eyes had landed on the quill on her bedside table. It was sharp. Very sharp. And utterly fitting she thought. She felt very peaceful at that moment. She knew what she was going to do and it would be all over very soon.
I can not take this pain no more
The storm continued to rumble overhead as she sat on the floor by the window. She wanted to be able to look out at the clouds as she died. She wanted to have a semblance of freedom as she left this world. She took the quill in hand and cried out as she stabbed it deep into the flesh of her arm. She dragged it upwards, tearing into her skin and muscle. Blood gushed from the deep wound. She pulled the quill out and took a ragged breath before plunging it into her other arm. She repeated the process and warm viscous fluid rushed over her fingers.
She dropped the bloody quill to the floor. She lay on her back and watched the lightening flash across the sky. Her body grew colder and colder as the life rushed from her. She felt sad but happy at the same time. She wouldn’t hurt anymore. She wouldn’t be scared anymore.
Her vision swam in and out of focus and her head grew lighter and lighter. But she still wasn’t dead. Shouldn’t she be dead? She couldn’t lift her arm, she couldn’t move her legs, but she was still breathing.
Shallowly.
She felt a presence sweep into the room. It was him. His shadow fell across her face. She blinked and struggled to focus on his face. Her arms tingled as he healed her wounds, the skin stitching itself back together seamlessly.
“Scourgify,” he whispered.
Then he picked her up and deposited her onto the bed. He held her for a moment, her face pressed against the skin of his throat.
“Why?” she croaked. “Why didn’t I die?”
He chuckled darkly, holding her closer. “Foolish girl. Didn’t I tell you that you belonged to me? That I decide whether you live or die? Your life is tied to my own now. I drank your virgin’s blood. As long as I live, you shall live. If I die, then you die. It’s as simple as that, dearest. Your good friend, Mister Potter, understands the consequences if he were to kill me. Why do you think so much time has passed? He can’t stand the thought that he would kill you if he kills me. I believe he may like you more than just a friend. I believe that he loves you. He has gone into hiding. Him and the rest of that miserable order. I am picking them off one at a time, slowly but surely. Victory will be mine all because ‘the boy who lived’ loved. Rather ironic, don’t you think?”
She wouldn’t answer him. She couldn’t. She could only think of the implications of his statement. His words echoed through her mind, ‘as long as I live, you live.’ He was as close to immortal as you could get. Her eyes slid closed as she spiraled into the dark abyss. She could never escape him.
Not even in death.
~~~~FIN~~~
