WARNING : THIS CHAPTER IS THE REASON THE STORY HAS AN R RATING. IT CONTAINS
RAPE, MURDER AND TORTURE. IF YOU HAVE STRONG VIEWS AGAINST SUCH THEMES,
DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER. I DO NOT CONDONE SUCH VIOLENCE AT ALL.
The door opened a little way, light spilling onto the bed, illuminating the sleeping girl. She sighed softly in her sleep, turning away from the light. He walked silently across the floor, to stand beside her, a mixture of hate and love in his face.
She was his daughter. Everything a Gryffindor should be, brave, outspoken, loyal. Not at all as he had expected her to be. And yet, he felt pride stirring in his dark heart that she had not given in so easily. She was fighting him with every ounce of her being, denying his right to the power she held.
She was his daughter. He hated her for being his weakness. He could no longer commit a terrible act without first thinking of how much more she would hate him for what he was about to do. He had become more merciful, knowing that cruelty to others hurt her more than being attacked herself.
She was his daughter, and he would never escape the fact that she held his heart in the palm of her hand. He wanted her love more than anything, but knew to achieve it, he would have to turn his back on all his grand plans. He was not prepared to do that.
A slow evil smile crept across his face. He would break her. Force her to watch as he defiled, mutilated and murdered, knowing there was nothing she could do to help his victims. He may even force her to commit some terrible crime.
She was his daughter. And she WOULD obey him.
*~*~*
Hermione jerked awake, feeling hands on her. Dark shapes dragged her bodily from the room, down the stairs to a central courtyard. He was there, surrounded by hooded shapes. With a wave of his hand, Hermione found herself being chained to the wall, her face held between cold hands as they turned her towards the 'entertainment'.
Voldemort nodded gracefully to his followers, and they opened the gates, watching impassively as a group of Muggles were herded in, crying in terror. Hermione's eyes widened in horror. She knew she didn't want to know what was about to be done.
The women were dragged away from the men, chained to the wall opposite her, their shrieks filling the courtyard. Hooded figures poured from every doorway, until the huddled men were surrounded by darkness. Despite her fear for them, Hermione felt pride in those she had been brought up amongst that they didn't cry out or try to beg for mercy. They seemed to know they could expect no quarter.
Wands were raised in unison, words spoken, curses hit their mark. Hermione cried out as the men fell, writhing in the agony she so clearly remembered. Except she knew their pain was much worse. Each curse was reinforced by four others who spoke the words together, the pain that gripped them four times as strong.
Then the beatings began. The Death-Eaters crowded around the men, kicking and punching with relish. The screams intensified, but slowly began to diminish, replaced with the death rattle that rose in their throats as they began to drown in their own blood. The Death-Eaters fell back, and Hermione resisted the urge to throw up. What was left of the brave Muggles were unidentifiable husks, covered in blood, mucus and faeces, twisted into shapes from the darkest depths of her imagination. Her cries mingled with that of the women as she comprehended the brutal murder of nine innocent Muggles.
'Stop,' she sobbed, unable to bear the thought that it was her father, her own flesh and blood, who had sanctioned this. 'Please, stop.'
Voldemort looked at her pityingly.
'Oh, but my dear,' he sneered, wiping her tear-streaked face, 'we are just getting started.'
He gestured towards the women, lined up against the wall. Hermione stared at him, horrified.
'No, please, don't,' she whispered, her cinnamon eyes wide with terror for the innocent women. 'Please . . .'
She shut her eyes as the first of the women was brought forward, a tiny brunette with wide staring eyes. She heard Voldemort mutter a charm, and her eyes snapped open of their own accord, her eyeballs held still, staring at the scene before her.
The tiny woman was held tightly between two Death-Eaters, a third preparing to strip her. He grasped the front of her dress and pulled, the thin fabric ripping easily beneath his hands. She pressed her lips together, determined not to scream. The Death-Eater's eyes glittered dangerously in the torchlight, as he roughly removed her underwear, leaving red marks and bruises along her fair skin. The woman was forced to the ground, her legs held painfully wide.
His laughter echoed about the walls as he entered her, slamming in and out of her small opening with such force, Hermione felt her body tense in sympathy. Another man came forward as the woman was lifted, still impaled, into the air. He held the blade of a dagger over the flame from a torch, and was looking at her, calculating. With a swift, terrifying movement, he removed the white hot metal from the flame, and pressed it against the woman's breast.
Hermione could see blood trickling from the woman's mouth, where she'd bitten through her lip. She still would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream. When they had had their pleasure, they withdrew, leaving her, broken, bruised and bleeding on the cobbles.
Hermione sobbed. She couldn't bear it, and began to thrash against her bindings, trying to at least turn her head if she couldn't close her eyes. The rapes became worse, more brutal and savage, until the Death-Eaters had all had their pleasure. Voldemort smiled over his exhausted followers.
'I believe she has seen enough for one night,' he said, gesturing to where Hermione hung, limp, between the two men. 'Go with speed, it is nearly morning.'
Hermione was carried back up to her room, and flung on the bed. She rolled over, without the strength to cry, and stared blankly into the darkness, terrified beyond belief.
*~*~*
The next time they came for her, she was ready. They weren't going to put her through all that again. She'd spent hours blaming herself, knowing there was nothing she could have done to save the innocents he had killed that night. Now, determined to remain where she was, she waited in the darkness for them.
As the door opened, four figures were silhouetted against the candlelight. Hermione rose, her blood boiling with anger, and began to throw books at them. Confused, unable to see her in the semi-darkness, the Death-Eaters cursed, and ducked the flying tomes. She hurled the heavy volumes at them, desperation giving her strength.
Eventually they backed out, shutting and locking the door behind them. Hermione slumped by the bed, exhausted. Slowly a triumphant smile curved her pale lips. She'd done it.
The door opened a little way, light spilling onto the bed, illuminating the sleeping girl. She sighed softly in her sleep, turning away from the light. He walked silently across the floor, to stand beside her, a mixture of hate and love in his face.
She was his daughter. Everything a Gryffindor should be, brave, outspoken, loyal. Not at all as he had expected her to be. And yet, he felt pride stirring in his dark heart that she had not given in so easily. She was fighting him with every ounce of her being, denying his right to the power she held.
She was his daughter. He hated her for being his weakness. He could no longer commit a terrible act without first thinking of how much more she would hate him for what he was about to do. He had become more merciful, knowing that cruelty to others hurt her more than being attacked herself.
She was his daughter, and he would never escape the fact that she held his heart in the palm of her hand. He wanted her love more than anything, but knew to achieve it, he would have to turn his back on all his grand plans. He was not prepared to do that.
A slow evil smile crept across his face. He would break her. Force her to watch as he defiled, mutilated and murdered, knowing there was nothing she could do to help his victims. He may even force her to commit some terrible crime.
She was his daughter. And she WOULD obey him.
*~*~*
Hermione jerked awake, feeling hands on her. Dark shapes dragged her bodily from the room, down the stairs to a central courtyard. He was there, surrounded by hooded shapes. With a wave of his hand, Hermione found herself being chained to the wall, her face held between cold hands as they turned her towards the 'entertainment'.
Voldemort nodded gracefully to his followers, and they opened the gates, watching impassively as a group of Muggles were herded in, crying in terror. Hermione's eyes widened in horror. She knew she didn't want to know what was about to be done.
The women were dragged away from the men, chained to the wall opposite her, their shrieks filling the courtyard. Hooded figures poured from every doorway, until the huddled men were surrounded by darkness. Despite her fear for them, Hermione felt pride in those she had been brought up amongst that they didn't cry out or try to beg for mercy. They seemed to know they could expect no quarter.
Wands were raised in unison, words spoken, curses hit their mark. Hermione cried out as the men fell, writhing in the agony she so clearly remembered. Except she knew their pain was much worse. Each curse was reinforced by four others who spoke the words together, the pain that gripped them four times as strong.
Then the beatings began. The Death-Eaters crowded around the men, kicking and punching with relish. The screams intensified, but slowly began to diminish, replaced with the death rattle that rose in their throats as they began to drown in their own blood. The Death-Eaters fell back, and Hermione resisted the urge to throw up. What was left of the brave Muggles were unidentifiable husks, covered in blood, mucus and faeces, twisted into shapes from the darkest depths of her imagination. Her cries mingled with that of the women as she comprehended the brutal murder of nine innocent Muggles.
'Stop,' she sobbed, unable to bear the thought that it was her father, her own flesh and blood, who had sanctioned this. 'Please, stop.'
Voldemort looked at her pityingly.
'Oh, but my dear,' he sneered, wiping her tear-streaked face, 'we are just getting started.'
He gestured towards the women, lined up against the wall. Hermione stared at him, horrified.
'No, please, don't,' she whispered, her cinnamon eyes wide with terror for the innocent women. 'Please . . .'
She shut her eyes as the first of the women was brought forward, a tiny brunette with wide staring eyes. She heard Voldemort mutter a charm, and her eyes snapped open of their own accord, her eyeballs held still, staring at the scene before her.
The tiny woman was held tightly between two Death-Eaters, a third preparing to strip her. He grasped the front of her dress and pulled, the thin fabric ripping easily beneath his hands. She pressed her lips together, determined not to scream. The Death-Eater's eyes glittered dangerously in the torchlight, as he roughly removed her underwear, leaving red marks and bruises along her fair skin. The woman was forced to the ground, her legs held painfully wide.
His laughter echoed about the walls as he entered her, slamming in and out of her small opening with such force, Hermione felt her body tense in sympathy. Another man came forward as the woman was lifted, still impaled, into the air. He held the blade of a dagger over the flame from a torch, and was looking at her, calculating. With a swift, terrifying movement, he removed the white hot metal from the flame, and pressed it against the woman's breast.
Hermione could see blood trickling from the woman's mouth, where she'd bitten through her lip. She still would not give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream. When they had had their pleasure, they withdrew, leaving her, broken, bruised and bleeding on the cobbles.
Hermione sobbed. She couldn't bear it, and began to thrash against her bindings, trying to at least turn her head if she couldn't close her eyes. The rapes became worse, more brutal and savage, until the Death-Eaters had all had their pleasure. Voldemort smiled over his exhausted followers.
'I believe she has seen enough for one night,' he said, gesturing to where Hermione hung, limp, between the two men. 'Go with speed, it is nearly morning.'
Hermione was carried back up to her room, and flung on the bed. She rolled over, without the strength to cry, and stared blankly into the darkness, terrified beyond belief.
*~*~*
The next time they came for her, she was ready. They weren't going to put her through all that again. She'd spent hours blaming herself, knowing there was nothing she could have done to save the innocents he had killed that night. Now, determined to remain where she was, she waited in the darkness for them.
As the door opened, four figures were silhouetted against the candlelight. Hermione rose, her blood boiling with anger, and began to throw books at them. Confused, unable to see her in the semi-darkness, the Death-Eaters cursed, and ducked the flying tomes. She hurled the heavy volumes at them, desperation giving her strength.
Eventually they backed out, shutting and locking the door behind them. Hermione slumped by the bed, exhausted. Slowly a triumphant smile curved her pale lips. She'd done it.
