A/N: This chapter was difficult to write. I struggled with this idea for a while and after reading the last book, decided to just go with it. R & R and let me know how you feel about it.

Warning: this chapter contains sexual violence... if you find that offensive, don't read. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: The Potterverse is not mine. Anything you recognize belongs to Rowling.

Chapter 26: Precious Things

If Sirius had to really be honest with himself, he'd admit the tiny pang of jealousy he'd felt come over him as Remus had talked about his daughter. Despite how she'd come into his life, Remus had been able to have what James and Lily hadn't, and what he doubted he ever would.

Sophie, the tall, lithe girl he'd first seen last summer, was more than just an extension of his mate, she was something entirely separate, born out of the embers of his relationship with Eris, born with a curse, yet wholly beautiful in a way that he couldn't put into words.

He felt for her much like the way he felt for Harry – to Sirius they were similar, except for one difference. For all his resemblance to his parents – not only in looks but personality – Harry had been shaped into the boy he was by people who hadn't deserved the privilege.

With Sophie it was different. In Remus, she had a loving parent. He'd been there for her, watching over her, teaching her, caring for her, and letting her know she was loved. Harry did not. He'd been loathed most of his life and had been treated cruelly by his aunt and uncle. As his godfather, Sirius felt it was up to him to make sure Harry got the love and care he deserved. This, he believed, was more than his obligation. It was his privilege, and he intended to fulfill it. He just, for the life of him, didn't know how he would do it.

As Sirius traveled southwards on the back of the rescued hippogriff, he couldn't help feel that Remus and Sophie's troubles were just beginning, and he couldn't help but feel the stab of guilt at having been the cause. Even though he doubted Remus could see the extent of it, despite his uncanny talent at foresight, it was only a matter of time before trouble caught up with them and took over their lives. Sirius hoped he was wrong because, much like the situation with Harry, he wouldn't be able to help them. Remus was his only friend in the world, the only person who really knew him, but as long as he was still considered a murderer, he would always be hiding out and on the run. He would always be apart from the ones he loved, and he wouldn't be able to do what he'd promised his mates years ago – be there. The knowledge of that hurt more than the last thirteen years of his life.

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The walk to the front doors of the castle had been much more different for Sophie than the walk to Gryffindor Tower earlier that day. For one, she hadn't been alone. Fred and George had volunteered to help her with her trunk to the waiting carriage, and they'd accompanied her down the same corridors, her trunk swaying ominously in every direction as they levitated it all the way down. They'd cracked jokes, tried to distract her from dirty looks that other students sent her way, and even sent a few subtle curses towards more vocal offenders, all in the name of being her friends.

She'd been grateful that her friends (some of them, at least) had been accepting of what she was. Even though it didn't change what had happened, or what was about to, it made all the difference in the world to her. She was even more grateful the twins had taken it upon themselves to accompany her to the carriage (despite her protests and aversion to saying goodbye), especially when Tristan Cates came through the doors with a group of his Slytherin cohorts.

"I see that fool of a headmaster has come to his senses," he said loudly to his mates when he spotted her, "finally getting rid of some of the rubbish." He stepped towards her, a smug, triumphant look on his face – a look she knew meant something more – and eyed her with disdain before he turned his mocking gaze to the twins. "Is she taking you two with her?," he asked, "Because she'll probably need a bite to eat next full moon." He smiled wickedly as his mates guffawed.

Fred stepped up to Cates, shoving his face up to the older prefects, while George subtly pointed his wand at his side. "Fuck off, Cates," he offered, smiling rather wickedly, too. It made Sophie nervous.

"That's a detention for you, Weasley," Cates snapped, losing his temper rather quickly.

"Are you mental? School's done in a few days and there's no more classes," George piped up, his wand twitching in his hand. Sophie threw him a pleading look and he unclenched his hand reluctantly.

"Well then, you can both serve it first thing in September," he answered as McGonagall appeared at the top of the tall staircase in her tartan traveling cloak, "I'll be sure to let the Professor know."

Sophie eyed him with disgust. He was everything she loathed and she'd be damned if he got his way, just as he had with Jimmy McGiffert. She leaned in conspiratorially towards him as his mates and the twins traded insults, the professor coming closer and now in hearing distance.

"And I'll let her know what you've been up to," she murmured, making sure only Cates could hear her.

"Just try," he shot back, scoffing. "As if anyone would believe you."

The tone of his voice stung her more than it should and angered every part of her.

"Maybe not," she whispered, before she knew what she was going to say, "but they'll believe the letters Jimmy wrote," she paused long enough to see the smugness on his face vanish, "the ones where he details everything you've made him do since September." She really didn't know much more than a few details, but the lie came easily. The look of fear on his suddenly pallid face told her she'd hit a nerve.

By the time Cates tried to respond, Professor McGonagall was already sending the Slytherins away and scolding the twins for what she'd overheard. He stopped mid-word, leaving a syllable hanging in the air and then walked away slowly, looking back at Sophie with an unreadable but chilling look on his face.

Before Sophie had the chance to wonder if she'd gone too far, the twins were wrapping their Quidditch – toned arms tightly around her and assuring her they would see her at the hearing in three days. Then she was ushered into a waiting carriage by a thin – lipped McGonagall, and watched the castle grow smaller in the distance as the carriage wound its way towards the village and her new, temporary quarters.

Two days later, Sophie was bored and lonely. She'd been confined to the village, had been watched closely by the proprietress, Madame Rosemerta (at the request of the Headmaster) and hadn't been allowed out past dark. As there was nothing much to do at the Inn except read or worry, and the village wasn't as exciting as the students always imagined, Sophie found herself wishing for the day of the hearing to come quickly. Yet she was afraid of what the decision might be, and even worse, she was worried about her father, who'd promised to be at the hearing, and hadn't yet returned.

There had been no letter by owl post, no word to the Headmaster and no sign of him anywhere. Sophie, almost sure he'd gone to meet with Sirius Black, was troubled by increasingly grim thoughts. What if the Ministry caught him? What if he's been caught with Black?Or worse, what if they found Pettigrew and he's done something horrible to the both of them? The last thought made the guilt she'd been carrying since the night she let the double-crosser flee get the best of her.

Sophie sat absentmindedly at a small table in a corner of the Three Broomsticks, killing time and going over the possible outcomes of what lay ahead for her the next day, when a voice broke her uneasy trance.

"Sickle for your thoughts." The man, young with longish, tousled hair, stared at her expectantly from the next table.

"Excuse me?" The pub was only moderately busy but the buzz of people talking and laughing over drinks and food was unvarying. She hadn't really heard him and didn't recognize his face. She had no desire to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger.

"You looked about three towns away," he answered, smiling over a glass of amber liquid.

She didn't respond and consciously tried to fight the instinct to smile politely (an instinct ingrained into every 'nice girl' the world over, she imagined).

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, looking abashed, "I was just thinking, 'I know how you feel', you know?" He smiled again, revealing cigarette – stained teeth.

"I doubt it," she answered finally.

"Right, right," he replied, bobbing his head and taking a sip from the frosty glass, "pretty girl like you can't possibly have nothin' in common with a mug like me." He gave a self – deprecating laugh.

She gave one short, breathy laugh despite her desire to be left alone and the man responded by revealing more yellowing teeth. ""Why would you call yourself that?" she asked, suddenly curious about the odd man.

"If you only knew," he went on, encouraged by her question, but not really answering, "you'd agree with the 'mug' part." He looked down at her nearly empty bottle of butterbeer which she'd been sipping on for the better part of the last hour, and asked, "how 'bout another. On me."

Before she could respond, he stood up and rushed over to the bar. Sophie felt a tiny jolt of panic. Was he making a pass? She wasn't sure. She'd been made a pass at a few times before but this time felt different. There was something about the young man that made her feel ill at ease. Perhaps it was that she was in the pub alone, without any mates to back her up, or perhaps it was the way his bluish eyes darkened at the edges, making him look a little creepy.

As he walked back to her table and placed the bottle upon it, she realized her lycanthropic senses were on alert but she didn't know why. It made her feel strange enough to jump to her feet and make an excuse, before heading up the stairs to her room.

"Wait," the man called after her as she ascended the steps. She turned and noticed Madame Rosemerta watching from the bar with a stern look on her face.

"Yes?" She eyed the man suspiciously.

The man held out the nearly empty bottle she'd been nursing. "Just thought you'd want to finish your drink," he said, looking sheepish, "didn't mean to chase you away before you'd had the chance."

She stood on the steps for a moment, his action softening her resolve, and took the bottle from him, still eager to get away from him and up to her room. "Thanks," she said, lifting it slightly in the air, "cheers."

"Right," he answered, "cheers."

She nodded slightly and turned, walking up the stairs quickly, looking behind her as she approached the door. She had the strangest feeling he would follow her but found the corridor empty. You're being silly, she scolded herself as she unlocked the door. Still, she shut the room door firmly behind her and locked it with a spell.

Bottle still in her hand, she considered it for a moment, then drained it and placed it on the table by her bed. She decided to owl the headmaster, hoping he would have answers for her as to her father's whereabouts and dug through her trunk for a sheet of parchment and a quill. The room was dimly lit and a little chilly, despite the time of year, and Sophie noticed the window open just a crack. When did I do that? She couldn't remember opening the window but figured it had been one of the house elves that worked at the Inn letting the room air out.

As she sat at the tiny desk by the window, a strange sensation came over her. She had the sudden feeling her legs were made of lead. Feeling the rest of her body become heavy, she managed to get to her feet and drop to the foot of the bed. She was oddly aware of the muted panic rising like bile in her throat. What in Merlin is wrong with me? she thought as she felt her body going limp and her mind fuzzy. It was as if she'd been suddenly hit with a sleeping charm, or given a potion…

Just as it dawned on her that something wasn't right, she noticed a faint, unfamiliar scent in the air. She sensed it becoming stronger and jumped as a hand came out from the darkness and gripped her arm roughly. She tried to scream but another hand clamped over her mouth, effectively silencing her.

"Hold still, werewolf," a deep, rough voice said behind her on the bed, causing her to struggle even more, "and it won't be painful."

Sophie felt very weak. She stopped struggling and, despite her shock and fear, felt her body go limp in the man's arms. She sensed almost immediately they weren't alone.

"Good girl," came another voice from a corner of the room.

Sophie felt a jolt of surprise and terror.

"Sit her up on the bed," the same voice, distinctively Welsh, commanded. She was pulled backwards on the four – poster, and thrown against the headboard as the man moved, knocking her head painfully against the mahogany slab. "I said, 'sit'," the voice reprimanded.

She then felt herself being propped up. She found she could barely stay upright.

"I've a message for you and your kind," the same voice said as a stout man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and formidable and Sophie was scared to death.

Her mind was sluggish and she couldn't focus on his face as she struggled to stay alert. Somewhere beyond her vision, the door opened, letting the light from the corridor stream in before it shut once more. She immediately sensed the presence of another.

"If your kind think you can mingle with us, you're sorely mistaken," the man said in a coarse, deep, distinctive voice, "we don't want your kind here, got it?"

She swayed and blinked furiously, desperately trying stay awake and understand, but comprehension and words finally came. "Fuck off," she slurred defiantly.

She felt a hand grip her face hard and her chin was forced up. "You think this is a joke, werewolf?" The man who'd propped her up on the bed sprayed her face in spittle as he hurled out the last word in disgust.

"I told you it wouldn't listen."

Sophie felt another jolt of alarm at the sound of yet another voice. But this time she knew exactly who it was.

"Let'smake her," said the rough voice from somewhere beside her in the darkness. The suppression of excitement was barely disguised.

Sophie was gripped with terror anew. "What did…" she struggled to speak, "what did you do… to me?" She was afraid, and her instincts, though dull, were screaming at her. Get out of this, they told her,anyway you can.

"Made sure you couldn't attack, creature," the rough voice answered, chortling as she tipped over, her head hitting a post.

The familiar voice joined in the laughter but the stout man silenced them both.

"That's enough!" he hissed, then to Sophie, "your father didn't take us seriously eight months ago but I'm sure you can convince him to stay away from the innocent townsfolk of Hogsmeade."

Confused, the mention of her father nonetheless roused her and the thought of him gave her a sudden boost of strength. She jumped to her feet and swung out her arms, making contact with the man beside her, and then hurled herself at the taller man in front of her, knocking him to the floor.

"Get her off!"

She struggled with him for a moment, her hands clawing furiously at his eyes and face, until her head was jerked back with a sharp pull of her hair. She let out a yelp and clawed at the arm but her short, stubby nails did little damage and she was pulled up and thrown to the opposite corner of the room, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"Stop!" Tristan Cates voice echoed through the room.

The two other men seemed to freeze in their tracks and Sophie realized he was the one running the show, not the other way around.

"I think it's got the message," he went on, "now go, I'll take it from here."

Sophie tried to push herself up off the floor as the others moved and whispered in the dark.

"That's not a good idea, that one's dangerous, she is."

She fought back the drowsy feeling that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Despite Mullins' incompetence with the potion," he retorted, "she's easily handled now."

Inside, the wolf growled in frustration. She felt it struggling to get out.

"What do you mean?" the Welsh man asked, "bottle's right there on the nightstand."

Though her mind was hazy, she realized why she could barely move. A potion had been slipped into her butterbeer. The man in the pub had been in on it, too.

"Obviously wasn't good enough. Now both of you get out, before anyone sees you in the corridors. I'll handle it from here."

Sophie barely listened as the three voices argued in hushed, harsh tones, forcing her mind to focus. Fight it, a voice urged her,fight it or you die.

As she gathered the little energy she had left, she pushed herself to a standing position, leaning against the wall for support. The distinct sound of retreating footsteps, a stream of light through the darkness, and then she felt only a solitary presence in the room. Cates.

"So," came Cates' voice by the door, "I bet you wish you hadn't fucked with me, eh?" He sounded amused, as if he was playing a practical joke.

Sophie tried to retort but the words caught in her throat.

"What, no snappy comeback?" he taunted, coming into view as he waved his wand and lit the lantern by the bed with a spell. She then felt her body being lifted into the air and she landed like a rag doll on the bed.

"Where's the letters?"

Somewhere through the haze and fear, Sophie understood why this was happening. She suddenly hated herself for lying. Shaking her head, she pushed out two words: "No. Letters."

Sophie was suddenly hit in the stomach with a fist. Pain coursed through her whole body, and she let out a stifled scream. The fists made contact with every part of her body, sending an excruciating ache through every nerve. She writhed unwillingly on the bed, and heard a strangled cry escape her lips as Cates chuckled maliciously. Then, as suddenly as the assault began, it ceased.

"Tell me where they are!" he demanded again, his voice filled with rage.

Sophie knew she had to tell the truth. "The – there's… no… le – ters," she gasped, struggling to breathe. Her throat was dry and she could barely speak.

Tristan Cates climbed onto the bed and straddled her, then leaned over her, pushing his face up to hers. In the dim light, his blue eyes shone gray, and the malice in them was palpable. "You're a filthy, lying cunt," he spat out, "tell me where they are. Now!"

Sophie felt the wolf inside gather its strength at the indignity of being treated cruelly by the Slytherin. She bucked under him and knocked him to the side, then slid off the bed onto the floor, her legs giving out as she tried to stand. Cates, bleeding from a gash on his head, growled in pain and anger and leapt over the bed, grabbed her by her tawny locks, and knocked her head against the hardwood floor. An intense throbbing shot out of her eyeballs from the back of her head and she whimpered audibly. She tried in vain to focus but it was no use. The repeated blows to the head made sure of that. Stop it! A voice screamed in her head. Stop it now!

As she lay there powerless, her mind scrambling to form a coherent thought, Cates began to slap her repeatedly in the face. "I'll teach you to fuck with me," he growled as his hand came up and connected with her cheek over and over. The vicious action had the effect of bringing her round and she struggled beneath him, trying to yell but only able to manage a feeble cry. Kill him! a voice screamed in her head, rip out his throat! Do it! But another voice, a voice more like her own, yelled back. No!

"You little bitch," Cates seethed, his hand ceasing its assault on her cheek, "you feel for Jimmy, do you?" He shifted lower and she felt his hands slip under her shirt. She began to squirm under him in dread. "Think he's been used?" He pulled the blue cotton roughly, tearing it open to reveal pale, scarred skin. "Ugh!" he exclaimed, a revolted look on his face. Sophie prayed he would move away, but he continued to paw at her chest, pulling off her bra. "You need to be taught a lesson, youlittle cunt. Just. Like. Him." He bent lower and she choked out a sob as his lips burned the pale skin of her breasts, and his teeth ripped into her soft flesh. A searing pain overwhelmed her senses just as screaming and howling converged in her head and she could feel herself slipping into darkness.

No.

The word played over and over in her mind as Cates grabbed her other breast and twisted it roughly, the sudden pain of the hostile act jolting her awake once more, but only for a terrified moment, before she began to slip into darkness again.

Please, No.

His hot, stale breath brushed the side of her face as he whispered crudely into her ear and his face swam in and out of focus as he scratched her scarred flesh roughly with manicured hands, his fingernails biting into her sides as he pulled her jeans down her thighs.

Oh, Merlin, no!

She whimpered loudly as he pried her knees apart and slipped a hand between them brusquely and she realized it was really happening.

NOOOOOO!

Let's out a breath... I'm sorry, I had to do it... it was necessary for the story and the character...

The title of the chapter is a song by Tori Amos, off her debut album, which is sad and moving and beautiful and very fitting... there is another song on the disc that is about just this subject but I thought it would be too obvious...

The next chapter deals with the aftermath, as Sophie struggles to make sense of it all, while others come to her aid, each in their own way...