This is a collection of stories for a challenge of HPFC. It will contain fifty stories, each focussing on a member of Dumbledore's Army in the aftermath of the war.

This first chapter was also written for the Twister Challenge Week 24 (pairing: Neville/Hannah).

Please note that this story contains a sexual scene between two consenting adults, and mentions of torture.

Hannah: Tarnished

Rating: M
Summary: Neville realises that Hannah did not escape the war unscathed.
Pairing: Neville/Hannah
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but she ends up at his place after the wake. He stares at her hair, enchanted by its shine in the firelight as she examines the photographs on the mantelpiece.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but she ends up staying for a drink. He stares at her mouth over his Firewhiskey, transfixed by its pink roundness as she speaks.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but she ends up sitting on his couch, her thigh pressed against his. He stares at her knee, fascinated by the way it curves and dimples.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but she ends up pressing a searing kiss to his mouth. He stares at her eyes, astounded by the turbulent emotions he sees within them.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but she ends up straddling his lap while she pulls off her blouse. He stares at her satin-clad breasts, sickened by the angry, barely healed wound marring the milky skin.

"Shit – Hannah – what – ?"

"Don't talk," she murmurs against his throat.

It's like she's touching every part of him. Every thought is thick and laboured, as though his brain has turned to molasses. It would be so easy to succumb to her heat.

"No – Hannah, just wait a second."

"Neville, please…" she whines against his shirt buttons. "Please, I need this."

He's drowning in the feel of her. He never realised what want really felt like. He's never wanted anything so much in his life. Her mouth is trailing down his chest behind her desperate fingers, following his blood's southward flow.

"Hannah! Fuck." He has to grasp her shoulders to get her to surface. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she replies, breathless, her mouth swollen and dark.

"But –" His brain still seems to be running on delay.

"Don't you need it too?" she asks, so quietly he can barely hear her. "I can't think about death anymore. I need to be alive. I need to feel."

He doesn't say anything. He can't seem to make his mouth form words.

"Neville, look what they did to me." She drags the cups of her bra down, revealing full, shuddering breasts – perfect white skin, disfigured by three raw, ugly lines. Lashes.

Something in him breaks. He can't drag his eyes from the wretched marks, moving with her heaving chest. Her right nipple is puckered where the first welt intersects it. He's nauseated – aghast – she must see it in his face.

"Don't you see?" she whispers. "I can't escape it. I need to feel something."

He realises he hasn't taken a breath since she shattered him. He tries to draw one, but it seems to get caught somewhere on the way. A million questions race through his mind – Who did this? Why didn't you tell us? Can you touch my cock?

He reaches out a trembling hand and touches the scars, raised and dark against her skin. She shivers, the tiniest of moans escaping her, a tear sliding down her face. He catches it with his tongue.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but he ends up naked on his own couch. He stares at her back, all pale skin and contours, as she scrapes his nipple with her teeth.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but he ends up groaning as she takes him, aching, in her hand. He stares at her fingers, caressing, growing confident.

He doesn't quite know how it happened, but he ends up inside her, wondering if she can possibly feel as good as he does in this moment, desperately trying to meet her hips as she moves above him. He stares at her face, contorting in pleasure, as she shudders around him, her fingers pulling at her own blemished breasts in her passion.