Chapter 4: Beaten Tears
Words like daggers you stare with your eyes
As you cut through my skin I begin to cry
Hidden from everyone these bloody wounds
My hopeless future forever looms
It was cold in the stone library when I woke, my arm drenched with my own scarlet blood. It was all a bit fuzzy. What had happened in that cold, stone room was unimaginable. That isn't to say impossible. After all, anything was possible inside the faux-glass house. That room, it was evil. I suppose it had been tormented with too much immorality.
I left that room as quickly as I possibly could.
The hallway was slightly warmer, and I returned to my room as quickly as possible. I was red with blood, and any affiliation with crimson was treason in the house of a Slytherin. I had no choice but to return to my room and remove my Gryffindor colors. But for one moment I had let my true colors shine, and that was an achievement.
"Looking red, Lily," jeered one woman with a silky voice. She was the seductress, Pamela Parkinson. She had a large chest and a fake face, beautified through magic. She was one of Tom's girls, though it was well- known that the Malfoys and their kin hoped dearly to bring her into their family. She was Slytherin to her core, and I hated her for it.
Her friend Narcissa Black, fiancée of Lucius Malfoy laughed her high- pitched laugh that caused shivers to course through my body and the scarlet hairs at the nape of my neck to stand up.
Narcissa and Pamela were bitches to the bone. I'd gone to school with them. Not to say I ever hung out with them. They were the type of teenagers who cursed the Mudblood stoners, and then chased their truly magical "magic dragons." They were haters of my origins, so I hated them. I always preferred to sit on the outskirts of a group of Gryffindor girls. They were pretty and popular. I hated them too.
I was an adult, though, and I could handle a couple of immature witches. I was Tom's-
No, I wasn't. I wasn't Tom's anything. I wasn't anybody's anything. But if I was somebody's something, I wasn't sure just what I was. If I were Tom's, what was I of Tom's?
I was so confused, but I held my head high and walked past the two women with as much dignity as I could muster. It wasn't all that hard. All it took to live with Tom was a little bit of pride.
The light in my glass room was dim when I arrived. Of course, that was understandable as it was already early in the evening. It was my favorite part of day, just after sunset but still before nightfall. It was brilliant.
But good things never stay.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked me quietly. Deathly quietly.
"I'm doing," I told him, "just doing,"
He shrugged, and flipped his hair out of his velvet eyes. He was frightening, yes, even as Tom, but he wasn't terrifying, and I recognized quite pointedly the gentle lust in his eyes as he spoke to me, and tried so deliberately invisibly to seduce me. I could see it, and I hated it, and yet I knew it was working.
"Lily-flower," he said softly.
I placed my hands on my hips and swayed them sensually. I placed a smirking pout on my natural crimson lips. I was red. And he loved it.
"You really must stop calling me that, Tom. You make me sound so innocent."
He remained quiet, and yet he raised a straight black eyebrow.
Was that a silent suggestion?
In case it was, I stepped forward, closer to him. I placed a red kiss at the side of his mouth. Gods, was he lovely. He had high cheekbones. I loved high cheekbones.
But then I could see him shake that impending desire off. However, I didn't know if Voldemort had subjugated Tom once more.
"Mudblood," he said ethereally. So deathly vaporously. "Where were you today? I didn't see you."
I looked at him. Had he ever called me that before, I wondered silently to myself. Had he really called me a Mudblood? He swore to me once, once a very long time ago, that he would never hurt me. No matter what happened or who he was, he promised he wouldn't say such things. Of course, I knew it could never be Tom I was speaking to. Underneath his fake kindnesses and many whores, I was his favorite and I know that deep in him he really did love me. Very, very deep in him.
I gave him a pointed look. I searched him carefully, wondering at his interest. Voldemort rarely cared when it came to my relations with Tom. True, I met him daily, and I fucked him regularly, but he did not question me. I was Tom's underneath it all. Not his. After all, I *was* a Mudblood."
"Master, I ask you politely, leave now. It is not your business in the least how I busy myself during the day. So please, please fuck off."
The man with the scarlet eyes that betrayed his heritage glowed in an odd flame.
Yet my eyes were icy. It seemed I stole his eyes.
"I said," he repeated slowly, "where were you." He grimaced in a way I knew was a grimace of Tom's. "It doesn't matter what you say. I know you were with Snape."
"Snape?"
"Yes, Snape. I do presume you knew his name before you fucked him. Or did you not even see his face? Did you just spread your legs?"
"You're vile."
"Perhaps, and yet I now have reason to kill you."
I raised a cool dark red eyebrow. "You wouldn't." Not that I would care. Oh, dear god, I wished right then that he would. It was not a major feat to die at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was, however, quite honorable to stand up to the man. And so I did.
"Never be sure, Miss Evans. To me, you are no more than a whore."
"Certainly," I agreed, "but I'm am also a keeper of the peace. I did not as much as touch the slime on the right hand of Severus Snape, so leave me be. I shan't betray Tom, however I give little more than a monkey's balls for you, Master."
He struck me swiftly, and I faced him once more in rapid haste.
"Touch me not, master, for I assure you: I can do more than you can ever imagine."
Voldemort sneered. He knew full well that I was much more than a prostitute. Yet he also knew that I was profusely noble, and in that I was not only superior to his Death Eaters, but I was superior to himself. As I was such, why the hell would I submit to his orders? Why would I yield my power to evil when I was so good?
"I'll leave you now, Miss Evans," he stated impassively, but his ruby eyes divulged his anger.
"You're going to go fuck yourself, my *lord*?" I asked carelessly, indifferent towards the consequences and cold towards his previous deeds.
"No," he said faintly. "I'm going to fuck a little first years girl. Bones was her name."
I knew a girl named Bones once. She had a little sister. I scowled, knowing it was Suzie Bones that they caught. I damned the Dark Lord Voldemort at that moment, I damned him to the pits of hell.
It was only a millisecond later when cold, pale flesh smashed itself coolly against my face that I knew I had voiced my thoughts aloud. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how much pain I endured in that house of glass. It didn't matter what was done to me as wounds were cut deeper and deeper. It didn't matter what words were said. I didn't care because it slowly dawned on me at that moment that I was going to die. Maybe not at that moment, but I was going to die in that house.
And then it stopped, and I was left, cloaked in blood, betraying my Gryffindor self for the whole world to see.
Tom stood above me, tears falling from is eyes in angular crystals. I could hear him begging me for my amnesty in cold, harsh, formal words. And when he stopped, the last thing I heard was a soft, "You won't last much longer, Miss Evans, no matter what I do. You will die. And I won't cry for your dead body. I won't cry."
Only then did the tears fall.
Words like daggers you stare with your eyes
As you cut through my skin I begin to cry
Hidden from everyone these bloody wounds
My hopeless future forever looms
It was cold in the stone library when I woke, my arm drenched with my own scarlet blood. It was all a bit fuzzy. What had happened in that cold, stone room was unimaginable. That isn't to say impossible. After all, anything was possible inside the faux-glass house. That room, it was evil. I suppose it had been tormented with too much immorality.
I left that room as quickly as I possibly could.
The hallway was slightly warmer, and I returned to my room as quickly as possible. I was red with blood, and any affiliation with crimson was treason in the house of a Slytherin. I had no choice but to return to my room and remove my Gryffindor colors. But for one moment I had let my true colors shine, and that was an achievement.
"Looking red, Lily," jeered one woman with a silky voice. She was the seductress, Pamela Parkinson. She had a large chest and a fake face, beautified through magic. She was one of Tom's girls, though it was well- known that the Malfoys and their kin hoped dearly to bring her into their family. She was Slytherin to her core, and I hated her for it.
Her friend Narcissa Black, fiancée of Lucius Malfoy laughed her high- pitched laugh that caused shivers to course through my body and the scarlet hairs at the nape of my neck to stand up.
Narcissa and Pamela were bitches to the bone. I'd gone to school with them. Not to say I ever hung out with them. They were the type of teenagers who cursed the Mudblood stoners, and then chased their truly magical "magic dragons." They were haters of my origins, so I hated them. I always preferred to sit on the outskirts of a group of Gryffindor girls. They were pretty and popular. I hated them too.
I was an adult, though, and I could handle a couple of immature witches. I was Tom's-
No, I wasn't. I wasn't Tom's anything. I wasn't anybody's anything. But if I was somebody's something, I wasn't sure just what I was. If I were Tom's, what was I of Tom's?
I was so confused, but I held my head high and walked past the two women with as much dignity as I could muster. It wasn't all that hard. All it took to live with Tom was a little bit of pride.
The light in my glass room was dim when I arrived. Of course, that was understandable as it was already early in the evening. It was my favorite part of day, just after sunset but still before nightfall. It was brilliant.
But good things never stay.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked me quietly. Deathly quietly.
"I'm doing," I told him, "just doing,"
He shrugged, and flipped his hair out of his velvet eyes. He was frightening, yes, even as Tom, but he wasn't terrifying, and I recognized quite pointedly the gentle lust in his eyes as he spoke to me, and tried so deliberately invisibly to seduce me. I could see it, and I hated it, and yet I knew it was working.
"Lily-flower," he said softly.
I placed my hands on my hips and swayed them sensually. I placed a smirking pout on my natural crimson lips. I was red. And he loved it.
"You really must stop calling me that, Tom. You make me sound so innocent."
He remained quiet, and yet he raised a straight black eyebrow.
Was that a silent suggestion?
In case it was, I stepped forward, closer to him. I placed a red kiss at the side of his mouth. Gods, was he lovely. He had high cheekbones. I loved high cheekbones.
But then I could see him shake that impending desire off. However, I didn't know if Voldemort had subjugated Tom once more.
"Mudblood," he said ethereally. So deathly vaporously. "Where were you today? I didn't see you."
I looked at him. Had he ever called me that before, I wondered silently to myself. Had he really called me a Mudblood? He swore to me once, once a very long time ago, that he would never hurt me. No matter what happened or who he was, he promised he wouldn't say such things. Of course, I knew it could never be Tom I was speaking to. Underneath his fake kindnesses and many whores, I was his favorite and I know that deep in him he really did love me. Very, very deep in him.
I gave him a pointed look. I searched him carefully, wondering at his interest. Voldemort rarely cared when it came to my relations with Tom. True, I met him daily, and I fucked him regularly, but he did not question me. I was Tom's underneath it all. Not his. After all, I *was* a Mudblood."
"Master, I ask you politely, leave now. It is not your business in the least how I busy myself during the day. So please, please fuck off."
The man with the scarlet eyes that betrayed his heritage glowed in an odd flame.
Yet my eyes were icy. It seemed I stole his eyes.
"I said," he repeated slowly, "where were you." He grimaced in a way I knew was a grimace of Tom's. "It doesn't matter what you say. I know you were with Snape."
"Snape?"
"Yes, Snape. I do presume you knew his name before you fucked him. Or did you not even see his face? Did you just spread your legs?"
"You're vile."
"Perhaps, and yet I now have reason to kill you."
I raised a cool dark red eyebrow. "You wouldn't." Not that I would care. Oh, dear god, I wished right then that he would. It was not a major feat to die at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was, however, quite honorable to stand up to the man. And so I did.
"Never be sure, Miss Evans. To me, you are no more than a whore."
"Certainly," I agreed, "but I'm am also a keeper of the peace. I did not as much as touch the slime on the right hand of Severus Snape, so leave me be. I shan't betray Tom, however I give little more than a monkey's balls for you, Master."
He struck me swiftly, and I faced him once more in rapid haste.
"Touch me not, master, for I assure you: I can do more than you can ever imagine."
Voldemort sneered. He knew full well that I was much more than a prostitute. Yet he also knew that I was profusely noble, and in that I was not only superior to his Death Eaters, but I was superior to himself. As I was such, why the hell would I submit to his orders? Why would I yield my power to evil when I was so good?
"I'll leave you now, Miss Evans," he stated impassively, but his ruby eyes divulged his anger.
"You're going to go fuck yourself, my *lord*?" I asked carelessly, indifferent towards the consequences and cold towards his previous deeds.
"No," he said faintly. "I'm going to fuck a little first years girl. Bones was her name."
I knew a girl named Bones once. She had a little sister. I scowled, knowing it was Suzie Bones that they caught. I damned the Dark Lord Voldemort at that moment, I damned him to the pits of hell.
It was only a millisecond later when cold, pale flesh smashed itself coolly against my face that I knew I had voiced my thoughts aloud. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how much pain I endured in that house of glass. It didn't matter what was done to me as wounds were cut deeper and deeper. It didn't matter what words were said. I didn't care because it slowly dawned on me at that moment that I was going to die. Maybe not at that moment, but I was going to die in that house.
And then it stopped, and I was left, cloaked in blood, betraying my Gryffindor self for the whole world to see.
Tom stood above me, tears falling from is eyes in angular crystals. I could hear him begging me for my amnesty in cold, harsh, formal words. And when he stopped, the last thing I heard was a soft, "You won't last much longer, Miss Evans, no matter what I do. You will die. And I won't cry for your dead body. I won't cry."
Only then did the tears fall.