A Different Order of Things
The first thing she was aware of, was not the two men speaking in a low voice at a distance from her in the room, but a ball lodged in her mouth, and a tight gag binding it fast. There was very little she feared more than not being able to breath, so instead of fighting it with the quick frantic bursts that were coming out of her at that moment, she tried to relax and breath calmly.
First things first. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
What was strong and a surprise to her nostrils was a cool mountain air smell and in fact could feel a little of it on her face. Then next thing to come to her attention was the fact that she was trussed up with immovable ropes in a vertical position against something, and thanked whatever force there was in the universe that she was still dressed, although her robe was gone. There was no way she could move anything, the ropes being rigid and again began to feel the rising tide of panic and had to concentrate on breathing easily and steadily.
She remembered the look of desperation on Hagrid's face and they way he dropped the parcel he was carrying as he lumbered towards her before she lost consciousness. Perhaps he would get help, but she wasn't that unrealistic, though her mind screamed for it anyway. She had only lately come into this world and it looked as if she was likely to be leaving it fairly quickly.
Severus, help, oh help me.
One of the two figures in the room that were just on the periphery of her vision, came near and she saw the mask but it was wasted on her because she knew the eyes and knew the unmistakable voice with its languorous enunciation. This was a barely civilized predator within a cultured sheath of exquisite urbanity. Despite knowing this, she glowered at him.
"Dear me, you are unable to tell me what a rat I am. Tut, tut, what a pity. I might have enjoyed that," he drawled, his voice crawling all over her.
Just take this gag off and I'll tell you exactly, Mr. DNA gone wrong.
"Feisty isn't she?" he said to the figure just out of her sight and then turned back, his chin up and his eyes hooded. "I do apologise for inconveniencing you. You believe, not unnaturally of course, that we are going to do something unpleasant, don't you? Hmm? And he stroked his cane over her face, over her breasts and her thighs, examining her contours left exposed by the ropes that bound her.
She knew he had wanted to do that in the office.
"But we have the very best of motives. We are going to give you a little present. Actually a very big present my dear. We are entrepreneurs! We are not going to take anything away from you."
Given half a chance you would.
She began to shake.
"There, there, such rage," he said, mistaking her fear for anger. "What a delight you are Ms.Danse. I do like a spirited woman. Severus is such a lucky chap. Don't worry, we won't damage you for him – in fact, you will be even more perfect. You will see," and he tapped his cane between her breasts, fondly. "And we need to get you back before he frets – if he frets at all that is," and then expressed his amusement.
A movement from her side vision interrupted the one sided conversation and Lucius bowed slightly to her as he heard the other figure approach.
"My Lord," he said to the figure, retreating slightly.
What swam into her view was almost nothing compared to the cold that accompanied it. It was if the world were already in ruins, the best disappeared as if they had never been. She found that she had to cling onto sanity with all her might.
Think of Severus, think of Fawkes, think of Dumbledore. They exist. They are not a dream.
Two slits in red eyes were examining her as if her soul where stretched out on a rack before him. It was like a pain without the relief of screaming, and she stared at his dreadfulness, hypnotized.
Severus… Forgive me everything. You were right and I was wrong.
The slits in his nostrils sniffed at her and if she had not been upright would have keeled over in fear. Prayer wasn't her strong point, but she wished now it was. She saw him lift one arm and with a fluid movement took out his wand with a gesture the wall behind him began to disappear. Slowly the outside was revealed and as he moved a little to one side, she could see a mountain range and the sharp cold came in on them. Her eyes widened, since they were the only things that were capable of reacting. The mountains from this high peak looked powerful and stunning and they were very close to the edge of a summit of one of them.
"Beautiful aren't they?" came the voice, more chilling than she could have predicted, and he had the same psychotic faux politeness as Lucius, but there was something in it that indicated that he could intuit many things and would not tolerate deception.
"And do you see," and he moved a little more, "that mass of buildings down there, down on the left. Yes?"
She nodded. The school could just be seen, with its miniature peaks and turrets, tiny in the distance. He turned and made something that she presumed was intended to be a smile.
The mad eyes swung back again into her view, close up. She could smell the foul breath.
"This is what we want to give you."
Give me?
"To you and my dear Snape. Such a faithful servant. There, I've said it: I'm a romantic at heart. You and Severus can rule over it for all eternity, turning out servants for me. Now wouldn't that be nice? You and he, side by side as my trusted leaders to the new generations. Good male and female role models for their soft little minds. Tempting isn't it?
You and your insanity. I'd rather die first. You don't know. I've already seemed to have died once already.
"It is a great honour," said Lucius from the sidelines. Voldemort put up his hand, long, long tapered hands, too long for human hands, with spike-like nails beyond them. Lucius bowed his head in abeyance.
"Lets see what we have then." And to her horror he pressed his hand between her breasts and held it there, motionless. Nausea from her stomach nearly revolted up through the ball and the gag at the very touch of him, even through her clothes.
"Oh, yes, we know all about this. You and your sound. My good servant Malfoy, whom you have already met, came straight away to tell me, didn't you Lucius?"
Oh hell, outside the door. No wonder he made a beeline for her with his unnatural curiosity.
"Yes sire."
"He felt the pain. Heard everything. What an effective little weapon. Mm. I can feel it. Strong: it just needs a little adjustment," he said, as if he were a doctor examining his patient.
Oh, Merlin, he can feel it. Not that.
"Let's see if we can do something about that, shall we?" and waved his wand and made to slice her bodice from top to bottom, exposing her down to the skin.
How weird. She hadn't marked him out as a sexual predator. Lucius yes, but not this – creature.
Then he pressed hard against the centre between her half revealed breasts, making her scream through the gag. Lurid lime green fire like small lightening bolts flashed out from his abnormally long fingers and from his palm, straight into her chest.
Pain shot through her, rattling her body and then nothing, blank.
She was looking down from somewhere to three figures below, one unwrapping someone from their bindings, while someone else watched. She realized that the third was her own body and that two figures talked over it. There seemed to be nothing that she could do.
"Is it there?" asked the watcher who did not look human, though he was upright, while the one with the mask examined her by now prone body.
"Yes my Lord, embedded nicely. Will it remain?"
"Never fear, it is there for ever," said the repellent one. "Now, mend those clothes and take her back to that stinking wild man of Dumbledore's. Be careful with her, I don't want her damaged – in any way, whatsoever, understood Lucius?"
"Yes, my Lord."
What was it with her and losing consciousness and coming back round?
It had happened several times now, and she was sick of it. The world needed to stop spinning and stay still for a bloody change. Opening her eyes she saw two figures standing over her, but both had their heads away from her. One turned and put his frail hand on her arm and bent closer and she shrank from it. The other swung round and peered at her with his hollow black eyes. That was better.
Mm. Delicious.
"Elrin," he said with a gentle sternness. "Are you all right?"
Silly creature. Of course I'm all right. Couldn't be better. What's that old fool doing here?
And she pulled him towards her, wanting him on the bed with her.
He jerked up out of her grasp and looked at the other man, the bearded one.
"Why am I here?" she said, puzzled as to why she should be in the ward. "There's nothing wrong with me."
"You were Disapparated by two men in Knockturn Alley. You were kidnapped my dear girl." said Dumbledore softly.
"Don't call me 'your dear girl'" she snarled and attempted to sit up then, too weak, lay down again.
The old man and the younger exchanged looks above her. The dark one suddenly bent down and grasped her face and stared intently into her eyes.
Oh yes, give it to me baby. Tell Dumbledore to go away.
When he had seen, he stood up slowly, hard despair on his face.
"It's my fault," he said bitterly in a low voice.
"Do not blame yourself Severus. It is fruitless to do so."
"What can I do then? You tell me!" he shouted, and swung away, arms clutched round his body, facing the window.
Could everyone not speak over me? It's very rude.
The Headmaster sighed with compassion as he watched the younger man's hunched back and then his eyes followed him as the Professor straightened and marched furiously out of the ward. Albus looked down at her and his face was grim.
Well, he's a happy bunny. What's he fussed about? Needs to get a bit more bran in his diet. Wish he would go away.
And the old man did, after a word with Poppy.
In time she got stronger, and so did her displeasure. After managing to escape from the ward and Poppy's incessant interference, she found that she could wander around the school not doing very much and was bored out of her brains. There was nothing to do and there was nothing she wanted to do. She certainly wasn't going to work on that precious manuscript of Severus'. Anyway, he hadn't mentioned it since she came back.
Good riddance to a load of old rubbish.
The Slytherins gave her some entertainment, especially Draco, whom she related well with. He had a wicked sense of humour, sharpened now he was older, and they tore apart the staff with the exception of the Potions Professor, shrieking with laughter into the night in the common room with plenty of smuggled alcohol.
A few days after that, Valentine's Day arrived and the school burst with teenage hormonal excesses. Cards whizzed round, tempers frayed, the odd wand duel went on throughout the day. She thought it very entertaining, especially since most of the staff's reserves of patience were low. Severus stormed around the school, diving through their giggling huddles like a harvester through a cornfield, scattering juveniles in his wake, snapping and snarling at everyone.
This was fun.
In the evening, she took a long, long bath. The bathroom mirror shut up when she told it to keep its' filthy opinions to itself, and she certainly didn't bother covering it. Why should she?
It's only a bloody mirror.
She tried on the dress she had bought with Xiomara, and it wasn't too bad really. The bodice was deep purple slashed with black lace, and the neckline, although not particularly low, was very becoming to her breasts – and if she bent down – wow! She smirked to herself. The skirt was not so hot, and it was fortunate for her that Xiomara came in at that moment, wondering guardedly if she needed any help. Elrin wanted the long skirt to be a bit slimmer, more chic with a good long slash up the side.
"Less horrible 'nice girl look,' more 'glamour'." She said, twisting as she examined herself in the mirror.
Xiomara looked ghastly. Her dress wouldn't be so bad if it had been fitted tightly. And she had no breasts at all. Still, she was being useful.
The Professor waved her wand and took some excess material off the skirt, which pleased her, sliding her hands down over her hips and her thighs, and then her bottom as she turned round, admiring what she saw. There was a little trail at the back where the material dragged on the ground.
Perfect.
It suited her long body, that and the bodice showed her elegant curves well.
Good.
"What about my hair Xiomara? Up, up, sharp and sleek, I think. No silly coy bits dangling down."
What had she been doing before this?
Next to be done was to put on the long, long gloves, cut off at the palms and riding high on her arms. Xiomara put a small clinching spell on them so they wouldn't fall down. Lastly and more deliciously were the shoes. Oh heaven. Less like shoes: more like weapons of war: high, and sharp.
A good kick with one of those and she would have Poppy's ward full.
Make up, she had forgotten make-up.
"Xiomara, I want make-up."
The Professor, with her back to her, paused at the demand, thought about it, breathed in and turned round.
"Tell me what kind."
She did so, except she wanted a particular Muggle lipstick she had bought in Hogsmede.
"The rest you can do by magic, but I want the good old fashioned lipstick."
Minutes later she was finished. She definitely looked complete with make-up, her eyes now powerful and her lips provocative, a slick and blatant red.
Xiomara thought it was over the top for a school dance, but held her peace, and wondered to herself what she was doing here with her, except that her past friendship demanded it and because Severus had asked her to. He had told her to humour her a little but not get in her way. It had become a relationship of mistress and servant. He hid his hurt well, but she could see he was having trouble accepting it. Knowing they had previously been working on something secretive, she assumed they no longer were, and observed him pacing about everywhere, even more than usual.
As they went down the wide staircase to go to the main hall, passing students gaped.
This is good. This is nice. Just how it should be.
She held her head high and moved through the bustle of students crowded in the entrance. They parted quickly and she strode through, the tight skirt hugging her hips comfortably and her heels snapping on the stone flags. She bent her head to the Slytherin contingent graciously who in turn stood open mouthed. Draco looked as if he might cum in his pants.
How amusing.
They were all in their dress robes, some of them passable, some of them hideous. Those parents should be ashamed. She passed Harry and he had a similar reaction to Draco. Hermione appeared almost shocked.
Silly miss stuck-up, she would show her what a real woman looked like.
The decorations were not as bad as in Lockhart's day; she was pleased to see. It seemed a little less nauseating.
Walking towards the Professors, she wondered to herself.
What was a flock of Professors? A grim of Professors?
They were dressed in their usual abysmal style. Except of course Severus, manifesting as his usual glorious self, sharp in black velvet frockcoat, and as she approached, he joined the heads turning towards her. Then she could see into his black eyes and observed with amusement and deep satisfaction that he looked utterly stricken. Rose petals that had been magically programmed to fall continuously, released a heavenly scent through the hall, and strings of decorations on the walls were arranged in what could be termed tastefully done.
Albus opened the evening, and the students began to dance, moving towards each other like microbes toward food. She sneered, watching, as they sorted themselves out to begin the partnered evening. It proved to be a very boring one eventually, as no one asked her to dance, and there was no one to dance with anyway. Maybe if Lupin were there, possibly he would do at a pinch. Severus she found to be a slippery eel, keeping on the move, blasting bushes outside and finding couples in dark corners within. Anywhere where two bodies might be squeezed, he found them, and he had his work cut out.
Why he bothered, she couldn't imagine. It was very selfish of him to leave her there by herself.
There was a time eventually, when he found himself in the middle of the room amongst the dancing couples and she took her chance. She strolled purposefully towards him and he stood there as she came up close.
"Well, my dear Severus," she purred in his ear and wrapped one leg round his, feeling the sharpness of her heel digging into his leg, "Time for a little fun I think."
He was not responding, his face whiter than normal, and had all the appearances of being frozen to the spot. So she put the flat of her hand on his chest and rubbed it sensuously up and down. Students around them were amazed and amused, slowing their dance steps to watch. She did not see them, nor did she care.
"Madam, this is not appropriate behaviour," he growled, furious, streamers and rose petals still raining down about down about them.
"Well, Mr.Stuffed-Shirt. If this were a tango it would be totally appropriate. You don't want to let these children grow up ignorant do you Professor? They could at least have some proper education." Then she grasped one of his hands and thrust it flat down the length of her, from her breasts to her stomach and down as far as she could get and his eyes widened in horror. The students, with their mouths wide open, not daring to breathe, thought that yes, they should have lessons. However, the Potions Master was not going to give them that pleasure, because he seized hold of her wrist and dragged her behind him, her heels nearly slipping on the floor.
"Oh, you are so masterful, Severus. Yes, let's go somewhere else." She could hear the giggles as they passed.
His face like thunder, he pulled her out of the corridor past curious stares and laughter. She waved at them with her other hand. Then he pushed her through an unmarked door, closing the door firmly behind him. It was an old drawing room, not used very often.
"Oh Severus, you hot devil you," and plunging inside his frockcoat, started to pull his shirt out from inside his trousers. For a second or two, he was taken aback, but recovered and held her wrists. She squirmed against him, her bodice thrust towards him so that he could see straight to her breasts. He closed his eyes for a second, and then pushed her apart, holding her at arm's length.
"Elrin!" The name stuck in his throat, his voice hoarse. "This cannot be."
"What do you mean, lover?" wriggled her seduction at him, pouting.
"I – will not do this." The sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck.
"Why not?"
"Because, damn it, I don't intend to."
"Oh, just a little bit, honey. A little shag on that sofa perhaps? Or on that big desk over there? I need it. You can't refuse me."
"I just have."
This was too much. All dressed up and no one to have sex with. Too much. The hospitality in this place stank. Wanted his dark looks and his curling lip. It's not fair. He refused me before. I remember. Don't think I haven't.
He watched as her mood changed, and her body language with it.
"Then I'll have to take what I want," and she pressed her hips against his, legs splayed out firmly either side of his, high in her shoes, and her mouth, red and swollen ready to bite into him. He defended himself and in his strength held her off. She began to get mad, flailing her arms. He would have to restrain her. Then suddenly she moved a little further away, beginning to vibrate the sound and after a moment or two he could begin to feel the pain and sank to his knees.
Mm. Much better. That's how I like to see a man.
For a few seconds she gloried in the deep sound as it began to fill the room, charging her body with power, and it spoke of embrace and binding and crushing encirclement. It celebrated coming together, but not in love, though it was often given in the name of love: it spoke of supremacy and capitulation, of the unyielding and the acquiescent. It celebrated the seizure of slaves, of loot, of the enthralled rape of people, of countries, of bodies, of minds.
It began to rattle candlesticks in the room and his head was near the floor. Unfortunately for her she caught a heel in a fold on the carpet, and stumbled, breaking her breath note. Furious, she wavered in the high shoes and then decided to attack in the good old-fashioned way by lifting a nearby heavy vase. She was about to hit him on the head with it, when he managed, though still somewhat in pain, to lift himself a little, find his wand and cry, "Stupefy," before she could do so. For a second she stood, the vase crashing to the ground and then tumbled towards him and he caught her with his body. For a while he kneeled there, cradling her limp across his lap, her head soft against his shoulder. He knew that soon she would have to be stopped, and that it was likely that he would have to be the one to do it.
Carefully, with the tenderness he usually reserved for the brewing of his potions, he wiped off the brutal red lipstick with a handkerchief from his pocket, smoothed her forehead and idly wound some of her hair that had come loose around his fingers. Her face was relaxed and quiet and more like the radiant Elrin he knew when she was translating the Phoenix and he cursed all the stars in heaven for doing this. She did not see him hold her in his arms and lift his head up to cry to the fates, the world, to any life force that meant something. A cry from the very deepest part of himself, from the dark unknown and the shining light of him, that tore out of his soul: a cry so painful, so loud, that it might have come from all humanity.