Some have called me a traitor. I don't see myself that way. Besides, it's not as if they know the whole story. As if they care about the whole story- how i lost everything, how i lost everyone, how I was taken without my will, without my consent.
How i was degraded and abused, beaten and broken, my spirit like so many shards of glass on an unforgiving stone floor. And then, how, finally, I was remade in his image, I was given purpose and drive. HE gave me knowledge. He gave me power. And it was heaven just to belong once more.
oh i can see the sneer on your face already, my invisible judge: 'I wouldn't do that', you say, a righteous look on your face. 'I wouldn't change, i would simply stay true to my ideals through adversity'. Oh really? Are you sure? So...tell me, have you ever been punched? And no, a drunken brawl or a catfight doesn't count, with whiskey on your breath and sex on your mind, the whole night a series of hazy mistakes.
I mean, has anyone ever approached you in a calm collected state, and drawn back his fist and punched you right there, in the pit of your stomach, so hard that you bless the surprise and the shock because at first you don't feel it. But then even that slim shield falls and you feel sick and queasy like you just swallowed a baseball whole and its righty there in my esophagus and it wont go down and i find it hard to breathe.
And then, right after the nausea, I curse the day i went to biology class because I remember all the important bits of a woman;s body that are there and how I kind of want children and oh god am i permanently damaged? Are things inside me bruised and sick and bloody and broken?
Then, after all this has gone through my mind, its right then that you realize that oh my god, he can do that again and again and again if he wants and no one will stop him and I cant defend myself, tied here to this wooden chair. And it can all just keep on going and going forever until i do what he wants. I could just sit here stay here be here for so many days hurting. And my thoughts show in my face and i feel like telling him whatever he wants to know and he knows it too and I am ashamed.
And i say just stop please just stop, and i think maybe i can lie to him and mix some truth in so he wont know. And maybe that shows in my face too, because his right hand goes behind his back and when his limb reappears my eyes are riveted to the gleaming thing in his fist. it is long and curved and bright and it gleams at me, winking innocently and then he brings the knife closer and closer to my neck and i hide relief that it will be so soon finding shed-that I may die with my conscience clear of betrayal. but then the knife lowers to the underside of my breast.
It makes a slow circle and my breast is exposed, clear as day, but I feel no humiliation no embarrassment, only a hot choking panic. and i wish he would punch me-had i been complaining before? kick me whatever just dot cut off- dont cut off my breast. 'please, I will tell you anything i swear to god i swear to god' and the knife lowers and the man smirks and i am in the clear and the panic dies down enough that I feel such hate, such a great hatred towards the man who has reduced me to this state that I memorize his features , Not that i could see his entire face because of the mask. his height his build, so that one day i dot know how, i dot know when, I will avenge myself upon him.
Yes i gave him names. and dates. and places and passwords. and i planned his death as i did so. and when i could think of nothing else that would be of use to him there was silence. and he approached me once more. the knife came out to under my exposed breast.
"I told you everything! i swear i told you everything!"
he leaned close to me and as he cut upwards he whispered, "I know"
And that was his mistake for as long as I live i will never forget the smell of him, like steamed rice and jasmine and earth.
he left then, in a flurry of black robes and blood.
I heard him speak as he closed the door.
"granger give you too much trouble?"this was a strange voice, not my captor.
"no no all women are the same, threaten the tits and they come bawling."
"so why the mask lestrange? its not as if she can escape", silence. "I mean if you don't mind me asking..."
"The dark lord wants her matriculated into one of the research teams, unfortunately we cannot afford to lose any brain power until the item has been recovered. and i would rather not have a mudblood vendetta on my hands. apparently she's ingenuitive. Now i would just love to stay here and"...blah blah blah, I had tuned out the rest.
lestrange. lestrange. lestrange but i had to listen, I had to listen! focus, girl!- but the pain , the blood! my breast just lying there on the floor for all the world like a bad practical joke.
I was still in shock though, and I relished it. i listened, hard
"oh, and noxley, before i forget, send a healer in there before she dies of blood loss. and quickly! the dark lord will be most displeased and it will be entirely on your head!"
"right away!"
nothing else was worth listening too. things were getting cloudy. i wondered if there was a potion for regrowing breasts. I chuckled into unconsciousness.