Eden

by obsessmuch

An obsession that destroys everything it touches.

10. Power

'Stars, hide your fires, let not light see my black and deep desires.' – William Shakespeare, Macbeth

---

'Nox!'

A muttered incantation.

I open my eyes.

I can't have been asleep, can I? I only closed my eyes for a second!

The light has gone out.

I didn't even hear him come in. He's been gone for so long I'd started to think that he'd changed his mind about coming back at all.

I scramble to my feet in the darkness.

'Petrificus totalus!'

All of my limbs snap together and I fall smack onto my back. Tiny lights burst in front of my eyes, but I can't cry out through the wire that's sealed up my jaw.

I can't move...

...can't see...

I can only hear: hear that low, mocking chuckle.

'A simple little spell, but so effective, wouldn't you agree?'

click

click

click

The sound of his boots comes closer, stopping right next to my head.

'My, but this is certainly an improvement,' he drawls. 'It's such a pleasure not to have to put up with your tedious whining; your incessant need to prove your strength to me. I see you standing up straight with pride. I see you looking me in the eye, pretending you are my equal.'

He pauses.

'Well, now you are where you belong: on the ground at my feet. Useless, helpless, with such a delicious amount of fear in your eyes. Oh yes, I can see you. The Hand of Glory is a marvellous tool. So don't fool yourself that you can hide in the darkness.'

I feel his robes brush over me.

'It's darkness that shows us what we really are, Mudblood,' he murmurs. 'In the dark, one can be whoever one wishes to be.'

His footsteps move to the other side of the room.

click

click

click

'You are at my mercy,' he says quietly, with relish. 'That is something you never been able to understand. I am the one in control here, and I always have been. But still you continue in your insufferable insolence. Still you continue to fight against me, telling yourself that you are my equal.'

There's a long silence.

'By God, you will learn your place, by the time I am finished with you.'

He pauses again, letting the words sink in.

No. No, I won't accept it. He can't make me.

His footsteps come closer again, and I feel him crouch down next to me.

'I think I'll leave you like that for the time being,' he says negligently, running his wand down my cheek. 'It gives you no other option but to stay still, to stay quiet, and to listen for once.'

He stands up and walks away from me. I press my eyes into the darkness in a will to see something, anything…

'I am going to talk,' he says quietly, 'and you are going to listen.'

Only if I choose to…

'I want you to think back, back to when you were eleven years old, when you first received your letter of acceptance from Hogwarts.' He pauses for a second. 'I want you to think about how you felt when you opened that letter.'

What kind of game is this?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I don't think about it, because if I think about it I'll be letting him mess with my mind…

But in this horrible paralysed darkness I can't help but think about it. His words are all there is for me in the world at this moment, and I feel my brain working in spite of myself.

How did I feel?

Really, really excited. I can remember it now. I mean, I discovered that there was such a thing as magic, after all, that it didn't just exist in fairy tales. Not only that, but I could do it. Me! Hermione Granger. I was special, really special for the first time in my life.

But I was… I mean, at first I didn't really know whether to believe it. I had a horrible feeling that someone was playing some kind of trick on me. That it was a joke, or something.

'I imagine that it came as quite a surprise.' His voice cuts through the dark. 'You didn't even know that magic existed before your letter arrived, I'll be bound.'

Well, no, of course I didn't, but I can't be blamed for that! I'm muggle-born – of course I didn't know that magic existed.

'You grew up without magic,' he says. 'You grew up with muggles. You didn't even know what magic was until you were eleven years old.'

And suddenly there's a searing pain across my scalp, and my hair's being pulled by the roots, and I can't even flinch against the pain.

'What right had you to come into the magical world?' he murmurs, his voice a metallic rasp now directly in my ear. 'What right had you to magic? When countless pureblooded families had to work tirelessly for generations to keep magic alive, suffering persecution from muggles too afraid to admit their own inferiority, what gives a muggle – any muggle – the right to walk into a world that's ours by right of blood?'

He pauses, loosening his fingers from my hair.

'But you don't believe me, of course,' he says quietly. 'I can see that staring back at me from that open mind of yours. Well think about this: did you ever have any indication that you were different from the other muggle children you were no doubt surrounded by?'

Damn.

I know what he's talking about. People at school would talk about it – random performances of magic that they managed as a child without even meaning to.

But… I don't know whether I did. I mean, I would remember, wouldn't I?

No. There must have been something, anything. Something unusual that I couldn't explain…

There must have been something!

'You can't name such an occassion, can you?' His voice drips with malice. 'You never once performed any accidental magic, I'll be bound. Well, I can't blame you for that - it's only to be expected, after all. And do you know why?'

I'm sure that you're going to tell me.

'Because you do not have any right to study magic, that's why.I daresay even that idiot Longbottom managed some accidental magic before he arrived at Hogwarts.'

Neville's not an idiot-

But… I remember at the Hogwarts feast, Neville telling us all about how his Uncle dropped him out of the window and he bounced down the garden. I remember Harry telling me about when he flew up onto the roof of his school.

Why can't I remember anything like that?

Because not every witch or wizard is the same. It doesn't mean anything. People told you that you were the best witch in your year – don't forget it.

Lucius Malfoy's words don't mean anything. They're empty noises. Meaningless. I won't listen to them.

A warm hand brushes onto my cheek.

I wish he wouldn't do that.

But it goes on, his long fingers circling over the side of my face, and his thumb… gently brushing my cheek...

I move the one part of my body I can still move – I close my eyes.

A small sting crosses my cheek as he slaps it with the same hand that brushed it just a second ago.

'Keep your eyes open.'

I do as he says, and I feel his brain seep into mine, just for a second, as he reads my thoughts.

'Of course. You still cling on to the fact that you were considered to be 'the best in your year' at Hogwarts. And of course people said that. You worked hard. You memorised every spell and could perform magic perfectly, with no flaws whatsoever. But what you need to ask yourself is this – would you have been able to perform magic so well if you didn't work as hard as you did?'

I…

I don't know. How can I know the answer to that question? I've always been a hard worker – it's all I've ever known.

Although, I suppose, I did feel that I had to work harder at Hogwarts than I did at primary school. There just seemed to be so much to catch up on.

'You're beginning to listen, aren't you?' He breathes a small, satisfied chuckle. 'You're beginning to realise that I might have a point, after all.'

Shut up! I'll never believe what you tell me, never, never, never.

I hear him stand up.

'So, you still don't believe me?'

He walks around me, slowly.

Click.

Click.

Click.

'I wonder, did you ever speculate as to why you had to work so hard? Did you ever consider that you might be pushing yourself so far because you had to make up for the fact that magic didn't come naturally to you? Think about it – out of you and your two best friends, you were the only one without any magical blood in you, and consequently you were the one who had to work the hardest.'

But I didn't have to work the hardest – I chose to!

Didn't I?

I WON'T listen to him!

'Magic is hereditary,' he murmurs. 'There is no other way of looking at it. That you somehow managed to gain yourself some basic magical power is… unfortunate, but it does not give you the right to call yourself a witch.'

I don't believe you.

I won't believe you.

'It is not a toy to be played with by filthy Muggles. It is a privilege, one that should only be practiced only by those deemed worthy by their blood.'

Don't listen. It's twisted, pure-blood logic. That's all it is.

His wand trails down my cheek again.

My breath catches in my throat.

'You are a muggle-lover's experiment. An unfortunate victim of so-called equal opportunity. Nothing more.'

He stands up.

'I am going to prove to you just how unworthy to practice magic you actually are.'

And then I feel a huge shiver run through me, and my muscles all relax.

'Get up.'

I pull myself up into a sitting position, feeling the ache as my muscles ease into action.

'I meant for you to stand up, Mudblood,' he says, with a tiny hint of a chuckle, 'amusing as it is to see you squirm by my feet.'

Shut up!

I stand up quickly, looking out into the darkness with as much pride as I can muster.

It's no easy task when I can't even see what… who I'm trying to look at.

'Do you believe that you are worthy to practice magic?' he asks.

'Yes.' I glare right in front of me, hoping that he's in my eye-line. 'I'm just as worthy to practice magic as you are. I'm sorry if your belief that muggle-borns are lower than you has given you a false sense of purpose, but there's no way of getting around it. Magic is not always hereditary, and I have as much right to it as you do.'

There's a long, drawn out silence.

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

I wish I could see his face.

'Would you prefer it if there was some light in here?' His voice looms out of the darkness.

Does he even have to ask that?

'Yes.'

'Well, then - I am sure that a witch of your calibre should be able to cast a simple Lumos spell.'

'Are you…' I swallow sharply, my throat very dry. 'Are you going to give me a wand?'

He chuckles. 'Of course not. You insult my intelligence by even suggesting such a thing.'

But…

'How do you expect me to cast a spell if I don't have a wand?'

'Observe, Mudblood.'

And then there's a long, spiraling silence. I would think that he's gone, but I can hear his light breathing through the dark.

And then there's light.

Only a small ball of light, but light nonetheless, resting in a glowing orb in his free hand, and for a moment I can see his face, smirking in triumph as he watches me over the top of it.

He closes his hand around the orb, plunging the room into darkness once again.

Oh, all right. Well bloody done.

'Now I want you to try to do the same.'

But…

But what? You can do this! It's just like casting a silent spell.

This is different! If I couldn't even do wand-less magic as a child, when it's just so common, apparently, then how am I meant to do it now… in here?

In front of him?

'I have all the time in the world, Mudblood. I know that this is probably the most difficult thing you have ever had to do – this is, after all, a matter of being, not something you can just memorise from a book. You just take your time.'

I take a deep breath to control my temper, and I close my eyes.

Think, think hard…

Light, sunshine, electricity, moonlight…

How does wandless magic feel, anyway?

Come on, concentrate!

Lumos…

I look, but there's nothing

Never mind, try again…

I concentrate on light penetrating the darkness…

This horrible endless darkness-

THINK!

Lumos!

No, nothing… Try again…

Lumos…

'Lumos!' I whisper the word. I open my eyes, and…

Pure, unbroken darkness.

He chuckles. 'You can't do it, can you? You just don't have the ability.'

God, this is humiliating.

'That doesn't mean that I'm not a witch!' I say indignantly. 'Not everyone's the same. Plenty of people never do any kind of magic until they're trained to do it.'

'That is only the case for Mudbloods and Squibs. You cannot do wandless magic because you have no real magic power in you. You can do magic with a wand, yes, but not without. And that is the crucial difference. A wand is a magical device. Real magical ability comes from within the witch or the wizard.'

'That's not true!' I say. 'Loads of pure-blood children can't do magic without a wand. And even if they can, they only do it when they're pushed into it-'

I stop myself there, clamping my lips shut.

But it's too late.

There's a long silence, and all I can hear is my heart beat.

Is he still here?

A red light shoots out of nowhere and fills the lantern on the ceiling. Dark red light fills the room, and now I can see him, standing on the other side of the room, a small smirk on his face. He points his wand at the Hand of Glory, and the candle it holds goes out before the whole thing shrinks to the size of a pebble before he drops it into the pocket of his robes.

And then he looks up at me.

'Pushed into it, you say?' He walks over to me, slowly. 'Alright, Mudblood, I'll make a deal with you.'

He reaches me and he raises his hand to my cheek, brushing my hair away from my face.

'I am going to try and 'push' you into doing some wandless magic,' he says quietly. 'If a magical reaction is provoked in you, then I shall probably end up getting hurt in some way, but I give you my full permission to do that. Do you understand me? I am so certain that you will be unable to perform any wandless magic that I am giving you permission to cause me harm.'

He drops his hand from my hair and runs his wand down my cheek.

'Are you ready, Mudblood?'

I lift my head. 'More than you can ever believe.'

I say it quite calmly.

He smirks.

And then he raises his wand…

And I'm lifted up into the air, and I slam back into the wall. All of my bones are broken, surely to god, and I cry out as I crumple down on the floor.

He turns and walks to the other side of the room, spinning on his heel and pointing his wand at me.

'Crucio!'

No. Noooooooo! Please stop, I can't BEAR it! Everything hurts, feeling, living, being. Knives and nails and saws are being DRILLED into my nerves, please please please make it STOP-

I collapse on the floor as the curse leaves me, and he's standing over me. I can see his black polished boots.

And then he grabs me by the hair, and all I can see is his smirking face.

'Nothing? Nothing at all?'

Come on, think!

'Expelliarmus!' I whisper, focusing on his wand leaving his hand.

He just laughs at me and pulls my face closer to his.

'You can't do anything if it's not taught to you by a book, can you?'

He throws me to the ground.

'Perhaps you just haven't been pushed hard enough,' he says coldly.

A jet of black light flies out of his wand, shoots towards my neck.

And I can't breathe. I'm choking, gasping, there's something strangling me and I can't breathe at all. I kick my legs out, scratch at my own throat with my hands, but nothing can take it away, nothing, oh god…

'Why don't you try to stop me?' His voice comes from far away. 'Any real witch would be able to stop me, why can't you?'

Think… think!

I CAN'T think!

Just as tiny black spots start to appear in my eyes the gag leaves me and I'm gasping, choking on air and he's laughing at me.

'Do you perhaps begin to understand that you don't have any real trace of magic in you? Any real witch would feel the magic within her reacting instinctively to such treatment.'

He reaches down and wrenches my head up by my hair to face him.

'So tell me, can you feel any kind of magical power running through you right now?'

I focus so hard, trying with all of my might to force it. Every nerve in my body burns with the effort.

But if I were able to do it I'd have done it when he first started to torture me, surely?

He smiles.

'But, of course, you just can't feel it, can you? And do you know why that is?'

I know what he wants me to say, but he can go to hell if he thinks I'm going to give in to him again.

'It means that I just don't happen to be able to do wandless magic,' I say, my voice shaking. 'It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm muggle born. I was the best in my year at Hogwarts - that has to say something about my magical ability.'

He sneers. 'Even Weasley can do wandless magic,' he drawls. 'I saw it happen. Just the once. Bellatrix was being a little… forceful with her questioning of the boy, and she suddenly fell backwards, clutching at her stomach even though she hadn't been touched. How does that feel, Mudblood? Your brainless little friend is more magically adept than you.'

'And do you know why that is?' I ask furiously. 'It's because he's not brainless. He's a great wizard – a far better wizard than you'll ever be.'

And I don't regret saying that. Even though his face is losing the small amount of colour it has in rage, I don't regret saying it at all.

'And why would you say that?' he asks quietly.

'Because he's good,' I say proudly, 'and because he's kind. You might patronize him, and call him stupid, young, and poor, but you're not fit to lick Ron Weasley's boots.'

The corners of his mouth just twitch up slightly, as if I've said something that both amuses and enrages him.

And then I feel his hand whip across my cheek in a slap.

'So,' he says, his voice quiet and his face full of malicious amusement, 'you dare to suggest that I am lower than that pathetic boy, do you?'

'You are lower than him!' I hiss. 'What else do you expect me to think? He's one of the best people I know. You – I hate you more than anything else in the world!'

And that horrible, mirthless smirk disappears.

And then I see his fist…

And then I feel pain.

I feel everything break, everything, and I cry out, but he keeps hold of the front of my robes

'Believe me, Mudblood, the feeling is entirely mutual,' he hisses.

I can taste blood in my mouth.

I reel my head back to face him again. He holds me close for a moment.

And then…

He reaches out, trailing his fingers down my face again, delicately skating them down my cheek.

'You always think to bring yourself up to my level,' he murmurs. 'But I am the one in control here; you know this. I don't see why you feel the need to try and persuade me otherwise.'

He rests his fingers on my jaw, looking intently into my face…

And for some reason I find myself talking.

'Why do you do that?'

A hard look creeps into his eyes and he drops his hand from my face, still holding on to the front of my robes.

'Why do I do what, exactly?'

It has to be said.

I take a deep breath.

'Why do you… touch me?' My voice is very wobbly, but I manage to push myself onwards. 'You said once that you didn't want to touch me any more than you had to, but now you do it all the time. You're always touching me, and when you do it's like…'

I trail off. His face is so full of cold, still rage that it terrifies me.

'Like… what?' He's almost whispering.

I will not be afraid.

'You like to think that you have complete control over me. But secretly you know that you don't. There's one way in which you won't let yourself have absolute power over me. You know that. You can't have complete control over me in that way because I'm muggle-born, and it would go against everything you believe in to go that far.'

I know that I should stop, I know it, because he looks so angry right now that he almost looks inhuman.

But I don't stop.

'And I think you can't stand it,' I say quietly. 'You can't stand that you can't have complete control over me, and so you use touch as a means of imitation, as a way of gaining some measure of power over me in the one way that you can't…'

I trail off, stopping myself from going any further, because I've pushed it too far, I know it. He's actually shaking with rage.

Oh god, what have I done?

He pulls back from me and slams me into the wall.

Shit, OW! Thunderbolts and pain and HATRED pound through my body.

He slams his hands onto my shoulders, pushing me into the stone.

'So, I want control over you, do I?' he hisses. 'I want power over your body, is that what you're suggesting?' He laughs mirthlessly before he slaps me hard across the face with the back of his hand. 'You pathetic little bitch! Do you really think that I'd ever consider you in that way?'

He pummels his fist into my stomach and I double over, collapsing onto the ground.

'You are filth!' His voice is harsh with rage. 'You are nothing! What right have you to say such things to me?'

I'm crying, crying in front of him again like I promised myself I would never do, screaming as he kicks out at me again, and again, before turning and walking to the other side of the room.

THINK, Hermione!

He turns around and raises his wand at me.

'Crucio!'

Oh, nooooooooo! Please, I can't do this anymore! I just want it to stop, please, make it stop, I'm BURNING!

I'm shivering, whimpering on the ground when the curse leaves me.

He wrenches me up and slams me against the wall again.

Hate. Hate. HATE.

'You useless, worthless mudblood! You can't even do the tiniest amount of wandless magic to protect yourself. What kind of witch are you? You're pathetic, do you hear me?'

And I try to think, but I can't think anymore. I just feel. Pain, hatred, agony, humiliation.

He slaps me hard across the face.

'By god, you will learn your place!'

HATE. HATE. HATE.

I crumple to the ground, but he stands over me, and he's not finished yet.

I feel my eyes burn again, burn like they did in my cell when they tried to get me to tell them about Harry's family…

I scream with the pain, pressing my fingers to my burning, bleeding eyeballs.

'No!' I scream, and he lifts the curse from me.

He's laughing at me.

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

'What do you want?' he asks maliciously.

'I want you to stop!' I whimper, forgetting my pride and everything else, everything else that just doesn't matter if he'd only leave me alone!

He laughs again, wrenches me up by the arm and presses me into the wall, so close, just like he was the other day, in that one moment when he let me think that he would-

'But I thought you wanted to be able to do some wandless magic, Miss Granger.'

'My name's Hermione,' I whisper.

The laughter dies from his face and he pulls my head back and slams it into the wall, breaking it, smashing it.

HATE, HATE, HATE.

Pain. Unending pain.

'You worthless Muggle bitch!' he hisses. 'What right have you to a first name? You are less than dirt. Your name is Mudblood; you deserve no other title.'

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

I feel electricity shoot up through all of my body. It courses through me, flies through my nerves, my blood.

He comes all the closer to me and I feel his whisper harsh in my ear, full of mocking laughter.

'You are useless. Worthless. I don't need to prove to you how worthless you are – if you don't know it already then there's no helping you.'

Oh just FUCK OFF! Leave me alone leave me alone!

He wrenches my head round to face him again, and he looks at me for a moment…

And then he slaps me again.

I can't bloody stand that. Even cruciatus is preferable.

I hate him so so so much.

The electricity flies through me, coursing through my veins.

Focus, Hermione! Channel it!

He chuckles cruelly.

'As if I'd ever touch you,' he murmurs, 'you piece of muggle scum!'

HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE-

The electricity shoots out of me, through my fingertips, and suddenly he flies backwards, flies away from me across the room, back, and back…

He lands on the ground at the other side of the room, sprawled on the stone floor.

I look at him blankly through my tears, getting my breath back as I watch him pick himself up.

Oh my god.

I look down at my hands, spreading my fingers out as I stare at them incredulously.

That… that was me!

I did it!

I did it!

'Ha!'

I let out a tiny gasp of amazed laughter, because that was me, me!

He stands up, pointing his wand at me.

I press myself back into the wall, because he still has his wand, and that out-weighs everything.

But despite the pain and the agony that holds on to my body, I'm smiling. I'm smiling because he hasn't won, not this time.

I've won.

And he knows it.

'You…' he splutters, his face harsh with anger. 'You little…'

But it doesn't matter what he says, not anymore.

'I told you!' I whisper.

He storms over to me and he wrenches me up by the hair.

He looks down into my face, pointing his wand directly into it, and he looks so angry but I just don't care. He's lost this one.

'Damn it!' he hisses. 'Damn it!'

He lets go of my hair and grabs hold of my arm, pulling the tiny key out of his robes and holding it up.

'The west bedroom.'

And we're pressing into a tiny space, floating through blackness…

We come to land in my bedroom. Well no, not my bedroom, but the bedroom I have been given. The plain stone room with the bed, the wardrobe, the dressing table and the bathroom.

He flicks his wand at me, and I collapse to the floor as all of my muscles become completely lifeless.

And he… he picks me up, and he carries me over to my bed, laying me down on its soft covers.

It's then I start to panic.

But… he just sits down on the bed, and he summons the bottle of healing lotion over from my dressing table. He dabs it on my face with his bare fingers, all over the new cuts and bruises he has no doubt inflicted on me in the last hour. When he's finished he points his wand at me, and a warmth spreads over my body, making all the pain and all of the hurt go away.

What the hell is he doing?

He leans over me, his face above mine as he presses his wand into my ribs.

'I am going to allow you to move now,' he says quietly. 'But you are to stay perfectly still. If you so much as twitch, I shall Crucio you until you don't even remember your own name.'

I feel a tiny shudder run through me as the curse lifts. He presses his wand further into my ribs, and I spread my fingers on the bed-cover. But apart from that I don't move a muscle.

'A little magic means nothing, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'That you can perform magic doesn't give you any right to practice it. Your blood still renders you unworthy to perform even the most basic spell, do you understand me?'

And I nod, because it doesn't matter anymore. He's not winning now. He knows that he isn't.

Not that I'm winning of course. He's far stronger than me and he has his wand. And right now, I only feel fear. The pain, the rage that pushed me on before, they're gone to be replaced only by terror.

And fear isn't enough. I can't feel any of the electricity pounding through me now.

He presses his wand further into my ribs and he leans right over me, his chest touching mine through my… our robes, and I can feel his breath light on my face.

Please, don't.

His free hand brushes over my cheek, his fingers gently grazing my face, slowly.

I suppress a shiver.

And then he moves his hand down, down between… between my breasts, and further down-

Don't!

But when he reaches my stomach he shifts his hand sideways, and it… his hand eventually comes to rest on my hip, pressing it down into the soft mattress underneath me…

Underneath us…

I hold my breath involuntarily as he holds me beneath him, his hand pressing down on my hip, his wand still digging into my ribs.

'I don't think I need to remind you that I am the one in control here.' His voice is so quiet, almost whispering.

I'm holding my breath.

'Do you understand that, Mudblood?' He leans in even closer to me, his breath brushing my face. 'I have power over you.'

I nod.

Right now you do, anyway. But whatever you do, you know that I'm magical now. You know.

He waits a few seconds.

His breathing is heavier than it was before.

He gets up off of the bed, pointing his wand at me still.

'In any case, it is of no importance,' he says coldly. 'After all – what is life, if not a series of fleeting memories?'

What… no… he can't…

He can.

'You coward!' I whisper.

A muscle goes in his jaw.

'Believe what you like about me, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'It is of no consequence to me.'

He raises his wand.

No-

'Obliviate!'

I bolt up.

I can't have been asleep, can I? I only closed my eyes for a second!

But wait a minute, I'm… I'm… on my bed?

I look around me and… I'm back in my room. Well no, not my bedroom, but the bedroom I've been given.

But… when…?

And… he's here, standing on the other side of the room, watching me with a face devoid of expression.

'I have brought you back to your room,' he says quietly. 'I do not have any more time to waste on you.'

But… I don't understand…

'When did you bring me here?'

'Just now,' he says. 'You were sleeping when I returned, and so I brought you back here.'

But… I don't remember falling asleep…

Did I, though, without realizing? I was just resting my eyes for a minute, just after I'd finished the food he left for me.

'Why didn't I wake up?'

'Why didn't you wake up when I first brought you to this room after I locked you in the cupboard downstairs?' he says impatiently. 'I have ways of keeping you asleep when it benefits me.'

He walks over to the door.

'It's late,' he says curtly. 'You should get some sleep.'

But… if I've been asleep already then why…?

He opens the door and he leaves the room, slamming it shut and locking it behind him.

I sit still on my bed, staring in silence at the closed door.

I shake my head.

I get up off my bed and I go into the bathroom, running myself a scalding hot bath so that I can wash the memories of the cellar away.