October 25, 2012
Author's Note: Heart-felt thanks goes to every reader who has corresponded with me about this story. Each of you that reviews and PMs me about my writing makes me want to write a great story to share online.
If the chapter isn't believable, as I fear, I'm amenable to reviewers telling me what scenarios might have worked better, given the circumstances.
Warning: Disturbing content, including violence, premeditation of rape and murder, sexual innuendo, adult situations. If you choose to not read the horror in this chapter, skip to the bottom of the page to get a simple recap of necessary plot information.
Chapter 9
"Greyback!" Antonin vaulted down the stairs of the Hog's Head Inn and searched for the brute through a crowd of ruffians.
The pub's fireplace was congregated by a crowd of Death Eaters flooing to their homes for supper with their families. Perennially unmarried blokes littered the tables of the pub. Among them, Fenrir Grayback, sitting with a pack of currish outdoorsmen, was shuffling a tattered deck of cards.
Antonin prowled around the table and faced off, wand in hand, against the werewolf, who continued to riffle a bridge of cards in his woolly hands.
"What's got your two 'little bells' in a twist, Dolohov? A new pair of knickers?"
The scruffy band of Snatchers sitting with the werewolf put their hands to their clothes, ready to draw their wands, should the altercation get ugly.
"What's your interest in the schoolgirl?"
"Snape wasn't joking, was he, men?" Greyback slapped the deck of cards to the table and stood up, leaving the Snatchers to deal him out of the next hand. "My, oh, my. Indeed, you have taken a shine to the runt."
Antonin steeled his eyes and forced a nonchalant expression on his face. "I did the job Snape required of me. Stick to your job, and don't touch the girl. If she makes a run for it, I will be the one who brings her back, not you."
"Giving orders? See, now, I don't recall your Dark Lord telling me to report to you," Greyback challenged.
Dolohov shook his head. "This is a warning. Stay away from her – you and your dogs. She won't run. I'll make sure of it."
Fenrir broke into a grin. "You are a bold fucker." He slapped his hairy hand on the man's shoulder. He drew Antonin closer to his chest, angling away from the projecting wandtip, and spoke in the voice of a confidante, "It's a couple of whelps what got your wolverine occupied."
"My vol-wer-een ?" Antonin lowered his wand, reverting to an old habit of transposing vee and double-u in speech.
Fenrir snickered. "How could I not see your new little pussy's resemblance to Aliz Wulff? Snape told me 'n' Scabior how in one short afternoon you've already got her tasting your cigar and lapping your juices."
Antonin's face flushed with red splotches above his black stubble of a beard. After he stowed his wand as a distraction, he forced himself to look into the leaden silver of Greyback's eyes. "I did no such thing to her."
"Pity you insist on being an unadulterating gentleman, then. I doubt Warrington and Flint are showing similar restraint with the bint at this moment. I don't suppose Pucey has much restraint either."
"Damn those maggots!" Dolohov felt his chest solidify and his nipples harden as adrenaline coursed through him. "Where have the bastards taken her?"
Scabior chuckled as he folded his hand at the table. He tottered back on his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "She must be some pert little witch to attract so much attention." He caught Antonin's glare, and continued, "Aberforth sent her to the cellar. She's been nipping at a bottle already, so it won't take much for those boys to spread her like an eagle. They were looking awful peckish, if you know what I mean."
"Damn them to Hell!" Dolohov pushed Greyback aside and stormed toward the cellar door.
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Less than an hour earlier, Hannah had been kneeling on the crumbly earthen floor of the cellar. She had been attempting to put her suicide plan into action, chiefly, lighting herself on fire.
When she had tried prying open a crate of Fire Whiskey using her bare hands, she'd only succeeded in wedging a large splinter under the nail of her middle finger. She sucked on the pulsing and painful finger, and was now wishing to free of the pain so that she could focus on the task at hand. She had thought better of using a healing spell, because the barkeep had warned her about the dangers of her magic combining with the copious supply of alcohol, thus causing a catastrophic explosion.
A low male voice startled her. She froze in panic when she heard the lewd suggestion: "Suck my cock instead of your finger, and we'll both be happy." Another man guffawed.
Hannah felt her back and neck stiffening in terror. She fought her body's fear-induced paralysis and stammered. "I-I've got a wand. Leave me a-alone."
She heard a deep grunt as shoes twice as long as her own feet stepped into her view. The black leather was unobscured by the same-colored robe ending just above the ankles. A new, gruff voice accompanied the feet and growled, "My wand does all sorts of tricks. Open my robe and see for yourself."
"Go away," Hannah said firmly, without removing her eyes from the crate in front of her.
"And leave Warrington and Pucey to chase their Quaffles into you? No. Look at me, Bitch, and remember my face. I'm Marcus Flint. After you blow me some head, I'm going to fuck you good and hard. Look at me!"
Hannah shook as she fished her wand out of the folds of her robe. "I am not afraid to duel you," she whispered, wrenching her head up to look at the menace looming over her.
Flint bared his crooked teeth and sneered. "Leave the duel for Cassius. It's Warrington who fucks dead bodies."
"I get off on the suck and fuck." It was the first voice she'd heard. He was a squat, muscled goon with a square jaw, which was now yammering at her. "I like to chew off their little titties while they're still warm so I can have me a good suck off. Fucking inconvenient when a witch is shorter than me." He looked over her size, calculating how she'd fit his desires.
Hannah blanched in disgust and looked away, her eyes landing on a third young man, who was taller and skinnier than the other two. He was frowning in disbelief at his lurid companion.
Marcus seized hold of Hannah's wrist and gouged a thick finger against her knuckles until she dropped her wand. "Alright, then, Pucey. You were always the smart one. Charm her mouth to open for me."
Hannah struggled on her knees to escape from Marcus, but the way her arm was suddenly twisted behind her back took her breath away in pain. She found herself immobilized by the man's physical force. She craned her neck to look up at the taller man who came forward, wand extended, and she begged him, "No, don't do this!"
Marcus growled, "Prove you have what it takes, Pucey. Charm her mouth and throat wide enough to take me in. You remember how big I was up in your ass. I don't need to reacquaint you with the biggest cock in the history of Slytherin, do I?"
"Help me! Please, somebody, help me!" Hannah screamed, her throat burning with the pain of forcing her voice so loudly.
Adrian hesitated, staring at Hannah's desperate face. He flicked his wand and mumbled something, but a measly spark flew out of the tip and nothing else happened.
"Do it!" Marcus shouted at Adrian, who flinched.
"I can't – I won't do this." Adrian slumped his shoulders. "It's sick, Flint."
"Crucio!" Marcus yelled. He'd let go of Hannah's arm to curse Adrian. As the man fell to the ground and curled up like a fetus, shaking and whimpering in pain, Marcus gloated.
Hannah grabbed her wand from the ground and used a simple charm to open the crate of Fire Whiskey. With her free hand she grabbed a bottle, tossed it high into the air of the phosphorescent-green-lit cavern and aimed a second charm to force the contents to disperse in the air. "Inflammo!" The droplets of Fire Whiskey caught fire in mid air. Hannah cowered close to the ground, her arms shielding her face and the top of her head.
She heard the bellowing cries of Marcus Flint and Cassius Warrington first. An odd sensation of coolness enveloped her before she heard Adrian Pucey's girlish screams of agony.
##########
Antonin had heard Hannah's heart-curdling plea for help just after he used "Alohomora" to unlock and open the cellar door. He had a knack for moving soundlessly, which he used for his advantage that moment, not knowing what he'd face when he reached the bottom step.
He took in the scene of the Abbott girl crawling on her knees, scrambling to find something on the ground. Flint was relishing the pain he exacted through the Cruciatus curse, while Warrington looked on in lusty appreciation of the victim's suffering.
His wand was at the ready, but Antonin remained in the shadows, calculating the time that Flint would lose interest in casting the forbidden curse. Hannah's incantations and movements caught his attention. Then he saw Warrington peruse her antics with curiosity, the mug's heavy-set eyes glinting in malicious mirth.
It was the glimmer of light that set Antonin into motion. The ambient green light reflected off the bottle of Fire Whiskey as it sailed up into the air. He registered the smell of the hard drink in the air moments before she set the cellar aflame. He leapt toward her as thousands of tiny fires erupted in his face. His swift action gave him a chance to cast an air bubble charm around her crouching body before his own magic burst out of control and forced him to transform into his dark magic Animangus.
The fire now felt pleasantly warm against his thickened hide. The screams of agony and the stench of burning flesh were only mildly irritating. His eyes lit upon Hannah Abbott, who was trembling on the ground, tears cascading down her cheeks. He gently wrapped his long tail around her and brought the protective air bubble close to his hind claws, brooding over her like a she-dragon protecting an egg in her clutch.
He read horror in her eyes as she looked up at his enormous body. Her fear of him made him unhappy. He wanted to see that look of trust that she had given him in the afternoon. Looking away from her frightened face, he sucked in a great breath, swallowing the fire in great gulps. His tongue flicked the air to sense where the Fire Whiskey still burned, and he swallowed more and more fire, like a giant draining a pond dry.
A gradual lessening of peril relieved the dark magic that had instinctively transformed him into his dragon Animangus. With all but a few pockets of fire burning in the corners, his body returned to his human form. Gently releasing the bubble charm, he cradled Hannah to his chest, brushing his fingers through her singed hair, slipping her barrette off, and letting her sob, with body-wracking cries, on his shoulder.
Recap for those who chose not to read the disturbing contents of the chapter: Hannah was threatened with rape by Marcus Flint and Cassius Warrington. Their companion Adrian Pucey refused to participate and was tortured by Flint. That moment gave Hannah an opportunity to explode a bottle of Fire Whiskey and set the air of the cellar on fire. Antonin was warned by Fenrir Greyback and Scabior that the lecherous boys were with Hannah. He arrived in the cellar in time to shield Hannah from her fire with a full-body bubble charm. His dark magic forced him to turn into his dragon Animangus, which protected him from the fire and gave him the ability to put out the fire by swallowing it.
