Author's Note: I'm feeling sorta indecisive with which direction I'm going to take Vengeance in, so I decided to take a break and type up this one-shot that popped into my head earlier today. It's set sometime after the Battle of Hogwarts in Deathly Hallows. Voldemort wasn't killed by Harry, and the war went on.
Oh, and just a warning. This is rated M for language and smut. If you can't handle it, please don't read on.
Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.
Torture
I open my eyes. Darkness surrounds me.
The torch in the hallway must have gone out.
My mouth is dry. My stomach rumbles. I can't remember the last time I ate.
For a moment I envision a long table in front of me, filled with dishes laden with food. A feast—must be something I remember from before I ended up here. Yes, I tilt my head back and see a stormy sky, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall.
I blink, and all is dark again.
I can't remember how long I've been here.
I wonder what time it is. What day. What month. What year.
I do know that it's been longer than one year because they've switched people several times. When my hearing was better, I overheard someone saying that they only switched jobs every three to four months.
Jobs. What kind of a description was that for the types of things they did to us?
I remember the first man well.
He'd entered and told me that it'd be better for me if I just gave in from the start. I think I spat on him. He wasn't insulted. Apparently many prisoners resort to spitting when they're wandless and chained to a wall. The second day he'd used the Imperius Curse on me, but I threw him off. My willpower was very strong then.
It's still strong now.
The latest man… I call him Birdy because he has an eagle tattooed on his arm. And because it irritates him. In my position, I can do little more than irritate my tormentors.
What a pathetic existence.
There's a loud slam. Someone must have just entered the hallway.
I hear someone cursing about the darkness.
Flickering light spills into my cell from the hall. He must have relit the torch.
Not a minute later, I hear the screams.
No.
Not again.
I retreat into the safety of my thoughts.
What was I thinking about before?
The first man. When the Imperius Curse didn't have any effect on me, he returned with an array of knives. I quickly grew to hate him after that.
The memory of my own screams alerts me to the screams coming from the neighboring cell.
I wish they would use a Silencing Charm on their prisoners.
Do they get off on the sound of torture?
My stomach growls again.
My arms ache, and I wish for the billionth time that I could lie down.
I haven't been removed from the wall in too long. The newest worker declared that I would not be taken down until I submitted—he cleans me up with a wave of his wand and gets to work. The others were better. I was allowed to come down to bathe. It was rare, but it happened.
The screams.
I can't stand them.
They make me want to scream too.
I wish I had a sense of time. Is it day or night? It's impossible to tell here.
Then there's another slam outside.
It must be him.
I shudder involuntarily and steel myself for what's coming.
I haven't broken yet, and I won't break today.
When the door swings open, I'm staring at the ground. I know that he's come to torture me, but I don't want to face him until I absolutely have to.
It's cowardly, but I can't help it.
"Granger."
The voice is familiar, but it's not the regular man. My head snaps up.
Grey eyes.
Blond hair.
That same sneer.
Draco Malfoy.
Fuck.
I can't believe my awful luck.
I suddenly become conscious of my appearance, and I hate that he sees me like this.
I'm dressed in rags. Covered in filth. My hair's matted. I'm surprised he still recognizes my face.
As though reading my mind, the next words out of his mouth are, "You look awful."
"As do you."
I'm lying, and he knows it. He looks perfect, as painstakingly flawless as always.
He points his wand at me and mutters the Scouring Charm to clean me up.
He says nothing for a long time, and all we hear is the screaming coming from the next cell.
I quickly grow impatient. "Are you just going to stand there?" I rasp. My throat hurts when I speak.
"For now."
We stare at each other. I refuse to look away—I won't back down. He's the one to break the staring contest, and I manage a triumphant smile.
He waves his wand, conjuring a small glass cup.
"Aguamenti."
I narrow my eyes as the cup fills with water.
He moves to stand in front of me and holds up the glass.
I glare at him.
"If you're not thirsty, just say so. I won't force you to drink."
I almost turn my head away, but I need water to survive. Refusing water is stupid.
I open my mouth slightly, and he pours the liquid down my parched throat.
When the glass is empty, it vanishes.
He stays standing right in front of me. His eyes study me as though I'm a specimen.
I'm still impatient. I want to prove to him that he can't break me, but if all he does is stand there, then there's nothing to prove.
"Weaselbee's dead, did you know that?" he says with a smirk.
He's lying.
He leans closer to me, and I turn my head away from him.
I hear a whisper in my ear.
"I killed him myself. I watched the light fade from his eyes."
No. He's lying. I won't believe him.
"Aren't you going to try to attack me?" he asks.
"No. You can't make me do anything."
The water helped a lot. My voice is much more recognizable now.
He backs up, and I turn my head to face him again, meeting his cold grey eyes.
"Oh, I beg to differ. I'll have you in the palm of my hand within three sessions."
"Really? I've spent a lifetime under the Cruciatus Curse. I've been filleted with a knife and put back together. Even your dear aunt couldn't break me. What makes you think you can, Malfoy?"
There's a strange glint in his eyes as I finish speaking. I don't like it.
"They don't know how to approach you," he says.
"Give it your best shot, then."
"Not so fast. You must be starving."
I don't understand what he's trying to do. If he thinks being nice to me is going to do the trick, he's gone completely mental. I tell him so.
He laughs.
"I just don't want you to be focused on your stomach when I get started."
Fair enough. I feel hungry enough to eat an elephant.
But throughout my meal, I can't stop fretting about what's to come. A house elf enters with several plates of food, but as Malfoy begins to feed me, all I can think about is how I will be tortured. Has he come up with an even nastier method of torture? Surely it can't be any worse than having bits of flesh cut off my body and then immediately reattached.
That had been the favorite torture method of the second-to-last man. He'd worked methodically, starting from my calves, moving to my thighs, stomach, breasts, arms. I lived through it only because he had experience reattaching parts.
I shudder at the thought of all the people who suffered and lost pieces of themselves before he perfected that skill.
Malfoy blows on the liquid in the spoon and offers it to me again. He must have thought that I was reacting to the temperature of the stew.
I look at his eyes. They're focused on the food and my mouth at the moment.
I wonder what happened to him.
The last time I saw him, he'd been a coward. I remember the way he'd begged a Death Eater to spare him in the corridor, during the Battle of Hogwarts.
He can't have come up with a more horrible way to torture me. There's nothing personal about torture. He can't use the fact that he knows me against me… can he?
When the food is gone, I feel better than I have for days… or weeks.
At least there's something in my stomach. And I don't sound like a dying old hag.
Finally I hear the door of the next cell open and close. The screams have died away, and a heavy silence lies in their wake.
The empty plates vanish from the small table, and I expect an array of tools to take their place.
Steak knives, an axe, a hammer, a wrench, a whip, a clamp, a chainsaw?
My brain is flinging out possibilities without thinking.
Not even Mister Carver could fix the damage done to a person by a chainsaw, I'm sure.
Malfoy turns to face me.
My eyes are still on the table. It's still vacant.
I turn my attention to the man towering over me.
He smiles again when our eyes meet.
The anticipation is annoying me to no end. Why can't he just get started? I want this to be over. I want him to know that he can't break me. That he can't succeed.
"So, I'm guessing you won't give in right now," he says.
I glare at him in reply.
"That's what I thought. Let's get started, then."
He turns away and places his wand on the table.
This I don't understand. Won't he be using it?
He turns back around and takes a few steps in my direction.
I'm prepared for anything. There's nothing he can do that will scare me.
Oh, I'm lying to myself.
That look in his eyes already scares me.
His hand comes up to my collarbone, and I instinctively jerk away from his touch.
My reaction makes him smirk.
I silently curse myself for responding the way he wanted me to.
He rests his hand on my collarbone again, and this time I don't flinch. His palm is very smooth, and I wonder how rough my skin has gotten.
He slowly slides his hand up my neck and cups my cheek.
I suppress the urge to turn my head away.
My skin feels like it's burning where his hand comes into contact with my cheek.
Not a painful burn. Sure, it's nothing I've felt before. But it doesn't hurt. This I can handle.
"Is that all you've got?" I scoff.
Why am I egging him on?
"I'm just getting started."
He suddenly turns away and picks up his wand, and I know the main event is coming.
He flicks his wand.
No pain.
It takes a moment for me to realize that he's Vanished the rags that I was wearing—I'm too surprised by the fact that I'm not writhing in pain.
Then I glare at him.
"If you're going to rape me, then I'm sorry but you're going to have to try something else. That's been done before. It didn't work then, and it won't work now."
My words don't seem to have any effect on him. He comes back to me and frowns as he looks at my scarred body.
I'm not afraid of being looked at. This body is proof of all that I've suffered.
His hand touches my left breast, and I glare at him.
I want to scream at him to get his hands off me, but that's just what he wants.
He squeezes gently and then touches my nipple, lightly rubbing in circles.
A jolt of some strong feeling surges through me.
I take a deep breath.
Still no pain.
He places his hands on my bare hips and leans toward me.
I turn my head away.
A pair of lips caresses my neck, and I gasp.
He leaves a trail of openmouthed kisses downward to the valley between my breasts, and I feel warmth steadily growing in my belly.
I've never felt this before.
But it doesn't hurt.
I can take it.
When his lips close around one of my nipples, I gasp again. My entire body shudders as his tongue swirls around the hardening nub.
What is he doing to me?
For some reason, I don't want him to stop.
Then his lips are moving downward, leaving kisses on each of my ribs. His tongue runs across a newly healed scar near my bellybutton, and I grit my teeth. That really itches.
His hands have moved away from their positions on my hips, sliding down my legs.
He's on his knees now.
For a moment I forget that I'm a prisoner and wonder how strange this would look to anyone who knew us. Draco Malfoy, kneeling before a Muggle-born?
His hand has moved between my legs now, spreading them apart.
So he is going to rape me. It's just not going to happen immediately.
But this clearly feels different.
One of his fingers slides along my folds.
I gasp and try to close my legs, but I'm too weak.
His thumb rubs against a particular spot, and I can't hold back a moan.
Mortified, I bite my lip and avoid his eyes.
He doesn't comment but doesn't stop either, moving his thumb in small circles.
I feel myself getting damp down below, and I inhale deeply, repeatedly, to stop myself from making any more noise.
I'm on fire.
This doesn't hurt, but I want to scream.
Without stopping his assault on that erogenous zone, he slides his finger along my now-slick folds, and my body quivers in anticipation.
I try to shut down my reactions to no avail.
I'm quaking in response to his touch.
Finally his thumb stops moving, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
But when I look him in the eye, he looks smug. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and fear seizes me.
He isn't finished.
I close my eyes to escape his gaze.
Bad choice.
When his mouth suddenly covers that bundle of nerves and sucks, I'm caught off guard. I let out a loud moan. And after that first shout, I can't seem to stop.
He inserts two fingers into me, and I cry out.
He alternates between sucking hard and gently nibbling, maintaining a steady rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.
I moan incessantly, gradually getting louder as the sensations build up.
I feel so, so close to the edge.
He withdraws his fingers.
I grunt disapprovingly and then bite my lip again.
I'm determined not to make another sound.
Then he's lapping at my slit, and my vow of silence is broken only a few seconds after being made.
He thrusts his tongue up inside me, and I groan.
The sensations coursing through me are clouding my mind.
More.
I want more.
He grants me what I want, pushing his tongue farther inside of me. I don't know if he's reading my mind or if I'm pleading aloud. I've relinquished control over my body.
But just as I'm reaching my end, just before I reach the apex, he pulls away, sitting back on his heels.
I ache for his touch so badly that I want to cry.
He looks up at me.
"Did you like that, Granger?"
I still see some of my juices coating his lips, dribbling down his chin. He grins wickedly and licks his lips, closing his eyes as though he's savoring the taste.
"You're a delicacy."
Please don't leave me like this.
I don't make a sound.
He wipes his chin clean and stands up.
I sense that he's done, but I don't want him to go.
My whole body is taut. I want to release this tension.
I can't take it.
He turns around and picks his wand up.
"Malfoy," I whisper.
"Oh, you're not going to make it that easy on me, are you, Mudblood?" he asks, spinning around with a smirk on his face.
I don't even care that he's calling me a Mudblood. I just want his tongue back inside me—no, I don't think I would be satisfied even by that. I want him inside me.
"Well, Granger? What's the verdict?"
For once in my life, I don't know what to say.
A devilish grin stretches his lips.
"If you want me, you're going to have to submit."
No. I won't break. I can't break. I've been ripped apart. I can't break now. Not by something that didn't even hurt.
But it does hurt. I feel like I physically need his touch.
"You're going to have to submit," he repeats, and then drops his voice to a whisper as he leans toward me, "and you're going to have to beg."
I can't bring myself to plead with him, and he seems to see that from my eyes.
"Well, don't worry. Two more times, and I'm sure you'll be begging."
"I hate you," I growl.
I'm alarmed at how hoarse my voice is. Did I really howl enough to lose my voice?
"The feeling's mutual, Granger, I assure you."
His lips graze my forehead.
"Until next time."
Before I can say another word, he's gone.
The overwhelming need washes over me, filling me head to toe.
It's worse than starvation.
Worse than thirst.
Worse than all the filth that surrounds me.
Worse than being chained to this wall for months.
If I ever get out of here, I am going to kill Draco Malfoy.
But I'm going to have my fill of him first.
The flame in the hallway flickers and goes out again.
Far away, I hear more screams.
All I can think about is next time. When will he come again?
Bloody fucking hell.
Author's Note: Well, I hope you liked this little one-shot! If you did, you're welcome to check out the chapter story that I'm working on. It's called Vengeance. Yep, shameless self-promotion! Haha ;) But seriously, whether you liked this or not, please leave me a review and let me know how to improve!
Thanks for reading! :)