Title: Humble Sacrifice
Author: MoriwenCartel
Rating: R; Perhaps higher depending on when my muse takes me there.
Pairings: HP/GW, HP/DM eventually, RL/SB, LV/OFC (non-con), perhaps others later...
Summary: Post HBP eventually... yeah, I'm taking on that doozy of a plot JK gave us. ::crosses fingers::
Warnings: This is a Dark!Fic, with violence and descriptions of the "nastier" side of life. Consider this piece like any rated R, eventually NC17 movie; there will be swearing and violence and eventually more. Do not read if you are underage!! You've been warned. And yes.. this involves slash or yaoi. Flames are just annoying; so please if this offends… don't bother reading further. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I only own my personal original characters, my plot, my sanity (which is debatable) and my stuffed Koala. Other than that... don't sue.
Inter-species Law #215 Section B:
To maintain a place in society as an equal; the intelligent magical creature petitioning
must not use mental, emotional, or compulsion magicks of any kind against any witch or wizard on penalty of all their magic being stripped,
unless sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic, or other such responsible parties...
Magical creatures deemed beasts, Dark creatures, or those deemed unfit
to be held accountable for their actions will remain subject to the old ordinance, cited below;
Any creature or beast that uses magic against a wizard shall be put to death.
The war had come to an uneasy lull, and even the most cautious of the magical world had returned to a semblance of normalcy. It was two months since his death. Two months since the greatest wizard of the time was entombed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the new Head Mistress had no idea what to do next. True; the school was the safest place for the next generation but it was nigh impossible convincing most parents anymore. Voldemort's followers had not only gone after the Muggle-borns this time. It appeared as though all wizarding families had targets painted on their chests this time around. "He's unhinged..." McGonagall mused, sinking further into the confines of her over-stuffed chair with a nod to the newest painted occupant of the office, "...but why stop now? Something is wrong. Perhaps Mr. Potter will have more information for us tonight." The soft patter of rain on the window added to Minerva's already full blown migraine. She uncorked one of the many vials scattered across the desk and swallowed the chalk flavored potion with a grimace. "Poppy's never did taste as good as--"
--CRACK---
--CRA-CRACK-- CRACK-- CRACK---
A light; brighter than a thousand suns surged and burned as the five lightning bolts sliced the sky and scorched the Earth. The air smelling thickly of ozone, rolled and pulsed towards the castle, shattering every single window of the school. The shock knocked Minerva's chair against the far wall, papers fluttering onto the ground littered with shattered glass, leaves, and wizard's chess pieces. "Minerva dear, would you mind putting me back on the wall?" one of the portraits asked, an elderly Scottish woman in pale gray knit robes and an oddly familiar french twist.
"Sorry Mother, if you could kindly give me a moment to place my ribs back into my chest." grumbled the Headmistress, pushing a few dozen bobby pins back into place with a huff.
"I don't need your sarcasm, Daughter of mine. Now pick me up, I feel a draft." The portrait chided, lightly running her fingers along an always perfect hairline, smug look of supremacy clearly evident even through layers of brushstrokes.
Minerva pulled her shawl closer and scrambled up onto her feet via the overturned armchair. She rolled her eyes before picking up the arrogant portrait of the former Headmistress Meredith McGonagall and replaced the frame upon the wall. A flick of the wrist, a soft mutter of Latin and the room returned to it's former cozy glory; windows intact and debris neatly materialized into the trash.
"You missed a spot behind the third bookshelf, three feet to your left Minerva." remarked her mother, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across the lined and slightly weathered face.
Minerva grumbled softly under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Relax Minnie old girl; she's just oil paint and magic... she's just oil paint and magic... you can get through this. Now, what would Albus do? Straightening her skirt once again she sighed, shoulders slightly more hunched than two and a half months ago. Grabbing a teacup and saucer off the table, she conjured another cup of tea and a large squeeze of lemon. Blowing at the rising steam, she took a large sip as her office door crashed open.
"Headmistress! I didn't... know what... to do; I was tending... our new crop of Jasmine when it... and then I... oh..." murmured Professor Sprout fainted dead away, thick hair matted down with rain and sweat and face slicked with mud.
Frustrated with the other witch's babbling Minerva placed the tip of her wand against her fellow teacher's forehead and withdrew a long silver string of thought. Holding her wand upright with the silver cord swirling around the tip; she headed to the Pensieve in the corner and placed the cord inside before hanging her head over the basin. It's just easier doing things on your own sometimes...
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Nestled against the edge of the Forbidden forest a swirling grey mist pooled around the edges of the newest Herbology garden; more a tribute to the Former Headmaster than practicality. A circle of stones sat amidst six rose bushes; a small bench facing North lay covered in ivy vines. Night-blooming jasmine and oleander sat between and around the bushes, their mixed scent hung thick and perfumed the air. The full moon cast a bright glow, bathing the stones in all the hues of silver and cream. Minerva smiled wryly; casting a sympathetic thought to dear Remus and his monthly troubles. The rain seemed to only enhance the colors and scent; and Minerva's gaze shifted to Professor Sprout. The world suddenly exploded in light and the tang of ozone. Five bolts struck the circle in five points, and lines of fire coursed across the ground clockwise until a pentagram blared to life. As the smoke and flames cleared; Professor Sprout's gasps drew Minerva's eyes. There, lying directly in the center of a burnt pentacle was a petite girl, clothed only in what seemed to be thigh length dark hair. Picking up her cloak from the sodden ground, the frazzled witch covered the young woman and picked her up gently before running towards the school. Minerva ran to keep up with the memory, and watched as the young girl was brought to the Hospital Wing, and the other witch ran to her office. She watched as the Herbology Professor flung the door open, and then quickly pass out. Content; Minerva closed her eyes and focused on returning to reality...
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Severus Snape was having a rather awful day. He was having a rather poor week; and one rather miserable month. Make that two... he groused, and huffed the greasy hair from his eyes and winced. Agonizingly slow, he lifted his left hand and softly touched his chilled face. Fingertips traced over a large gash cutting across from his left temple, over the cheekbone and down the bridge of a nose broken for the fourteenth time. They trailed over his swollen shut right eye, a split lip and dislocated jaw bone before smoothing down to his neck. A broken collarbone was next, a dislocated left shoulder, three broken ribs on the right and two on the left. His stomach and hips, though covered in bruises, were thankfully intact. Severus tried to raise his legs and a hissed curse passed his chapped and bloody lips. My leg must be broken; I can't even feel my left foot... How long have I lain here...? Turning his head slowly to the right and choking down the rise of bile; Severus' gaze settled to the window. The full moon was almost mocking him in it's plump and complete face. Another three weeks... I've lost another three weeks. At least they healed my back. His mind wandered to when last he woke up in his newest hell; they had whipped him so hard the flesh had been flayed off his bones. He could still feel the bite of the wind on his exposed spine and couldn't help but shudder. It was only going to get worse; even after all the torture he suffered, Severus Snape refused to break. His will; his sense of self was all he had left.
The thunderous sound of footsteps drew Severus from his thoughts and an icy tongue of fear licked up an overly abused spine. Closing his good eye; he focused his mind and tightened his mental defenses as the metal barring the thick door clanged open. The light from the hall caused sparks of colors to dance across the backs of his eyelids and he barely suppressed the shudder as a cold, clammy hand ran in a mockery of tenderness across his cheek. A muttered Latin phrase had him floating off the mangy, lice ridden pallet. His hands were clamped in iron shackles which hung from rusty chains in the center of the room. The position forced his dislocated shoulder to wrench painfully; the end of the bone grinding and scraping against the bone socket with a sickening crunch. It took every ounce of his willpower not to scream. His toes barely brushed against the rough stone of the cell; his ribs being pulled apart even by his meager weight. A soft chuckle echoed behind the former potions master; before the chains running from his wrists to the ceiling were yanked cruelly, pulling him completely off the ground and leaving him to sway. Severus savagely bit his tongue to keep from screaming, good eye forced shut as tight as he could manage. The remnants of his grimy shirt was meticulously cut from his back, and that same cold and clammy hand stroked over his recently healed spine and shoulder blades. A rough tongue traced the curve of each scar marring his back; both new and old and then trailed up along the back of his neck. Breath; hot and damp sent the hairs there to stand on end before sharp teeth sank into his flesh, breaking the skin before roughly tearing away. Blood pooled from the wound and flowed down his back, as Severus tensed and grinded his teeth in agony. Will not... scream... will not give... satisfaction... Severus keep your head...
The mocking caress returned; and his captor stalked in front of him, before digging long, yellowed nails into the still bleeding wound on his neck. The clammy hand cupped his jaw and a thumb pressed into the joint, pushing the dislocated bones a complete inch and a half apart. The cartilage stretched, tendons popped, and the muscles tore; finally wrenching a soft grunt from the captive man. His good eye shot open in pain and ebony depths locked with pure emptiness.
"Come now, Sssseverusss; you didn't think I wasss going to let you off for your betrayal? Oh... you did, didn't you? How sssweet. You know; our little Dragon didn't take nearly as long to break... But no matter. You will ssscream for me. Now be a good pet and open that mouth..."