AN: Advanced warning, this is not a light fic. This has been something that's been tugging at the back of my sick and twisted mind for a while now. I'm not entirely sure I won't change it all again later.
This story involves rape, will involve much death, a lot of violence, and probably a lot of swearing as well. I'm not sure how it's going to turn out, as this is the only bit that my brain has plotted, but it will not be very pretty.
For those of you who have read it, this could be considered a cross over between The Dark Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop, and HP. Not quite directly, but we'll see when my story telling catches up with my brain.
I do not own anything you recognise. And now, on with the show.
This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.
When they come for me
Come for me
I'll be gone
The dark clutched at her skin, crept down her throat and muffled the screams that wanted to bubble to the surface. Hysteria richocheted of the damp stone surrounding them. One of the girls sobbed. Another clutched at her arms, nails leaving neatly curved puncture holes.
They'd been kidnapped. From their beds in Hogwarts. Her stomach cramped in terror. Her bladder was suddenly too full. The stench of urine reached her nose. Damp trickled down her leg. She stopped caring when the door opened.
Rough hands grabbed them, all four of them, and threw them into the hallway. The girls in front of her were too stiff and landed hard on the stone. She stumbled and they fell together into a pile of arms and legs and terror. Behind them a male laughed, made a crude joke that scorched her ears and wiped her brain. They were hauled upright again, and hurled forwards, through another door.
This one led to a darkened room. There were other men there, laughing, jostling one another. One of the girls cried out. She knew it would not end well for them. She'd known that from the moment foreign hands had clamped around her arms. She knew it even more now. Her stomach rebelled. She vomited. One of the men laughed.
"I'll take her," he said, and she recognised that voice. Her spine constricted. That sickeningly smooth, aristocratic lilt of Malfoy Senior. Her stomach heaved again. There was nothing left but bile.
Her mind withdrew, drowning itself in nothing. Her body was dragged to a bench. Malfoy already had his pants undone. Her mind retreated further at the invasion, dropping, dropping at each thrust, diving deeper. Somewhere, above, below, all around, something creaked and shattered.
Severus would have liked to have said he knew the moment it all went wrong, but he didn't. He didn't know until it was much, much too late.
It wasn't when he had walked in to the Malfoy manor for a spot of whisky, at Lucius' invite, to see the others there. It wasn't when he realised what tonight was going to entail. It wasn't even when they dragged out the Finest and Brightest Witches of Hogwarts. It wasn't even when the 'entertainment' began, when he heard their screams and the terrifying silence from one of the girls.
Oh no, it was not. It was only as Lucius was finishing up, pulling his pants together, when he felt it. The horrible tugging under his barriers, as though he was sitting at the edge of a whirlpool, the current teasing his feet. No one else had noticed. They were all too busy with their 'revelry', or putting themselves in order for the next to have their turn.
Avery took a step forward. He never made the second step. Something terrifying was coming out of that whirlpool. Severus desperately wished he could close his eyes, close his mind, and hide from it. It would be of no use. It could see everything. He cowered against the wall and held his breath as it passed over him, deeming him insignificant in its splendour. It left him weak.
It turned to Avery and that pleasant tinkling of a whirlpool howled into a maelstrom and took him with it. He screamed as it screamed. Avery went curiously blank and … just … fell. And tickled into dust. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs to scream. He pushed himself further into the wall, turning his head. Hiding.
It whipped up the dust and the othe rmen knew something was happening. They drew their wands, pulling up their pants, leaving the broken flesh they had been partaking of. The maelstrom deepened, the presence dove and for a moment there was silence but for the whistling of cadaver dust.
He was the first to feel it, he was sure, coiling from deep below them, deep below the protections within his own mind. An unearthly howl of rage preceeded it – her, oh god it was her. In the center, in the eye of the storm, lay the silent girl, staring blankly at the ceiling. Lucius had noticed, was raising his wand. Without a thought, he threw himself into the violence, between her body and her white haired torturer.
He needn't have bothered. The howling built in his brain until his ears popped and his nose bled. He shut his eyes against the pressure building. Something shattered. Some things splattered against his face, his body. But still the howling rose, blanketing his mind.
He would die here, he thought, as something hot trickled down the side of his head. It would undoubtedly be very painful. He relaxed. It would be more painful to fight it. He let his mind sweep into the current of the maelstrom, disconnect from his body and become lost in the storm. It was easier to not fight.
It was easier to die.
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