"F**king pick it up NOW!"
His large body stood over her small crumpled one. She was curled in a tight corner of the warm living room, her knees pulled up to her chin tightly and her hands pushed toward his overbearing form - protecting her face from the damage that would surely be inflicted.
Peeking at his face from under her lashes she saw that his handsome face was twisted into a menacing scowl, his white teeth gritted together like a ferocious animal. His dark hair was partially covering one of his wide eyes while his high cheek bones casted an almost black shadow over the lower half of his face.
One of his hands was balled into a tight fist- his knuckles were stark white.
"Didn't you hear me, Mudblood? Pick-it-up-NOW!" He took another step toward her and in a split second she saw that his hands came crashing down upon her wrists. She screamed, thrashing around until he released her for a moment to slap her face.
She immediately became motionless and flopped almost lifelessly in his arms.
"You will not make such a racket. You hear me?" His voice was quiet, and he spoke into her ear, his lips just ticking her lobe. When she didn't reply, his grip on her became tighter and she whimpered in pain knowing full well that there would be a bruise there in the morning. He clenched harder still and she nodded briskly, willing for his hold to loosen.
Slowly, the pain in her wrist eased and she sighed with the small amount of relief it gave her.
Suddenly, he grabbed her hair and ripped her head backwards, making sure that her body was arched uncomfortably. He stared at her right in the face, his eyes glistening red. His voice was eerily soft, frightening in the way that it was almost conversational.
"That's a good Mudblood. Now, pick up that quill."
She nodded her head again, grimacing when the small movement she made caused white pain to ripple across her scalp.
He quickly released her, causing her to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap.
"PICK IT UP!" He screamed, pushing her head down to the floor.
She whimpered again in pain as her nose collided with the wood. She felt a thick, warm wetness seep down her upper lip and she knew that her newly fixed nose was broken again.
She felt his body press down upon her; his knees digging painfully into her back.
"I don't think you heard me, dear little Mudblood-" He spat, his fingers ripping her hair from the roots painfully hard so that her head was arched back unnaturally. "I said pick up that quill." His tone turned to one that sounded almost soft and caring, as if his lips caressed every single word he spoke.
Gritting her broken teeth and pushing her arms forward from underneath her body, she was slowly able to pick up the quill in her pale fingers after a frustratingly long minute.
In a flash, the pen was gone and the hard pressure that had been stabbing her in the back disappeared.
Her head dropped to floor and she realised that no one was holding her head back any longer; it was so painful on its own that she could no longer tell the difference.
His voice was at her ear again and she felt like cowering away in terror. Instead, she lay there like a rag doll and simply listened, praying to God that he would just leave her alone.
"Little Mudblood dear-" He began, his voice soft and endearing despite the words he used. "-I promise that I'll be back soon."
She felt a wet, light pressure on her cheek and despite how much that very act disgusted her, she could do nothing but lay upon the wooden floor feebly.
She felt a cool breeze wash over her face and the click of a door.
That was the moment she realised that he was gone.
It was the moment she realised that he would be back soon.
And that was the moment where for the first time in her life, she longed for death to take her.