Demon Child
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon or Harry Potter.
"I am in the temper that if I were underwater I would scarcely kick to come to the top."
-John Keats.
()~()~()~()~()
The Sorting was finally over and all of the students were sleepily following the prefects to their dorms. Serenity was once again at the end of the line, her cloak hiding her scarred face. Those passing her made sure not to come close. They were still staring and talking about her, but their voices had risen above the quiet whispers they had previously been.
When the password was spoken, and everyone headed into their dorms, the first years trailing behind the other like lost puppies. Serenity sat calmly before the blackened stone fireplace, and steadily observed her surroundings. Instead of the red flames she expected, a green-tinted fire danced within the hearth. The soft chairs were green velvet with silver silk lining, and the couches appeared well worn.
Staring down at the unnatural flames, her thoughts wandered back to a time before she had even dreamed of a heaven on earth called Hogwarts..
***Flashback***
"What's wrong with you, girl? Are you just that idiotic? The spell isn't that challenging. Do it again." The tall, masked man was one of Father's Deatheaters. He had told this one to teach her magic instead of sending her to a school.
She was only five, but she was taught the most painful torturing spells; the ones reserved for traitors. There was no point to try and convince any of those ruthless men and women that she was too young, too innocent for such things.
"Inferno." The frail looking child pointed a wand toward a cowering house elf, knowing that she would have to hurt it to save herself, even if only for a little while.
She flinched and turned her head away as the elf screamed. That spell burned you alive; it starts with your internal organs, and the 'fire' slowly eats its way outward until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes.
The Deatheater grabbed her head and forced her to watch what was happening to the defenseless elf.
"You cannot be weak, girl. You are useless enough to my master as it is. You must watch. This is what will happen to you if you displease Lord Voldemort."
()~()~()~()~()~()
The chiming of a clock in the corner of the room pulled Serenity from her reverie; it was already midnight. She shook her head to clear it, only to stumble back into her memories.
()~()~()~()~()
She was seven now, and today was a very special day. The silver haired child was smiling, but the happiness didn't reach her wine red eyes. Today was her birthday, and she had received word that her father was going to send her away to get more of an education. Serenity could hold her own in a magical duel even against some of the older Deatheaters, but she was still weak physically. She was going to be taught to use weapons to her advantage.
"Come, girl." A Deatheater appeared in the doorway to her small, gray room. The corners were full of dust, and a moth-eaten old pallet was the only furniture in sight.
Serenity stood from her place on the ground, and lifted a tiny bag that was nowhere nearly full. It contained only her few, ragged clothes; she had never been given any toys. She followed the man out into an empty corridor. He led her up a flight of stairs, and then through a cleaner, more used hall. He pushed open the wooden double doors before them, and turning his head to make sure she was still behind him, he entered the crowded chamber. Her footsteps echoed in the shocking silence.
What seemed like hundreds of masked Deatheaters turned to stare down at Serenity. She walked with her head down, counting her steps, doing anything to keep her mind away from where she was.
It felt like years had passed before she reached the front of the room. She was aware of the man beside her bowing and saying softly, "My Lord."
"Rise, Snape." The Dark Lord gestured with one pale, slim hand. Snape rose from his place at her side to stand with the rest of the crowd. Serenity dared to glance upward at her father. He was the only one not wearing the plain white mask that the others were ordered to don whenever they were called to his presence. The tall, black haired man sitting upon a raised platform, the greatest Dark Lord of all time was her father. He could have been mistaken for the immortal god of war, Ares, sitting above them, the weak mortals, atop a stone plateau. From the tales she had heard, the idea certainly wasn't laughable. Serenity knew that her mother was dead, but no one liked to talk about it. She learned that early, so she never asked anymore.
"Girl, have you been told why you are leaving?" The Dark Lord's rich, deep voice sent a shiver tumbling down her back.
"Yes." Her voice was as shaky as her knees, and she was trying not to fall onto the floor in an ungraceful heap.
"You will show me the respect I deserve!" His voice rose, and she imagined that she felt the floor tremble.
"Yes, My Lord." She was struggling to hold back tears now; Serenity was beyond terrified. She felt queasy, and she hoped that she wouldn't make a fool of herself before her father's troops. That was the only thing that kept her on her feet. If she could only prove that she was worth something, then maybe she would be useful to her father.
"That's better." His voice softened again. "You are being sent away to learn to fight."
()~()~()~()~()~()~()
A small girl, no more than eight, was battling with a much older man.and she was winning. Serenity's movements with a sword were graceful and sure. She could have beaten the Dark Lord himself! In a flash, she had the man pinned to the ground with a sword point at his neck.
"You can do better. That was mediocre." The man shoved the sword away from his neck, and stood with ease.
"I don't like swords though." The girl frowned down at the hunk of metal. "Don't complain!" Before she could move, her instructor's sharp sword slashed her face. "Complaining is a sign of being weak! Do you want Lord Voldemort to kill you? You are like a little lamb on its way to the slaughter. Do not be weak. Showing your emotions is being weak. Do not let your opponent know what you are thinking."
He walked out of the room, not giving his bleeding pupil a second look.
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon or Harry Potter.
"I am in the temper that if I were underwater I would scarcely kick to come to the top."
-John Keats.
()~()~()~()~()
The Sorting was finally over and all of the students were sleepily following the prefects to their dorms. Serenity was once again at the end of the line, her cloak hiding her scarred face. Those passing her made sure not to come close. They were still staring and talking about her, but their voices had risen above the quiet whispers they had previously been.
When the password was spoken, and everyone headed into their dorms, the first years trailing behind the other like lost puppies. Serenity sat calmly before the blackened stone fireplace, and steadily observed her surroundings. Instead of the red flames she expected, a green-tinted fire danced within the hearth. The soft chairs were green velvet with silver silk lining, and the couches appeared well worn.
Staring down at the unnatural flames, her thoughts wandered back to a time before she had even dreamed of a heaven on earth called Hogwarts..
***Flashback***
"What's wrong with you, girl? Are you just that idiotic? The spell isn't that challenging. Do it again." The tall, masked man was one of Father's Deatheaters. He had told this one to teach her magic instead of sending her to a school.
She was only five, but she was taught the most painful torturing spells; the ones reserved for traitors. There was no point to try and convince any of those ruthless men and women that she was too young, too innocent for such things.
"Inferno." The frail looking child pointed a wand toward a cowering house elf, knowing that she would have to hurt it to save herself, even if only for a little while.
She flinched and turned her head away as the elf screamed. That spell burned you alive; it starts with your internal organs, and the 'fire' slowly eats its way outward until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes.
The Deatheater grabbed her head and forced her to watch what was happening to the defenseless elf.
"You cannot be weak, girl. You are useless enough to my master as it is. You must watch. This is what will happen to you if you displease Lord Voldemort."
()~()~()~()~()~()
The chiming of a clock in the corner of the room pulled Serenity from her reverie; it was already midnight. She shook her head to clear it, only to stumble back into her memories.
()~()~()~()~()
She was seven now, and today was a very special day. The silver haired child was smiling, but the happiness didn't reach her wine red eyes. Today was her birthday, and she had received word that her father was going to send her away to get more of an education. Serenity could hold her own in a magical duel even against some of the older Deatheaters, but she was still weak physically. She was going to be taught to use weapons to her advantage.
"Come, girl." A Deatheater appeared in the doorway to her small, gray room. The corners were full of dust, and a moth-eaten old pallet was the only furniture in sight.
Serenity stood from her place on the ground, and lifted a tiny bag that was nowhere nearly full. It contained only her few, ragged clothes; she had never been given any toys. She followed the man out into an empty corridor. He led her up a flight of stairs, and then through a cleaner, more used hall. He pushed open the wooden double doors before them, and turning his head to make sure she was still behind him, he entered the crowded chamber. Her footsteps echoed in the shocking silence.
What seemed like hundreds of masked Deatheaters turned to stare down at Serenity. She walked with her head down, counting her steps, doing anything to keep her mind away from where she was.
It felt like years had passed before she reached the front of the room. She was aware of the man beside her bowing and saying softly, "My Lord."
"Rise, Snape." The Dark Lord gestured with one pale, slim hand. Snape rose from his place at her side to stand with the rest of the crowd. Serenity dared to glance upward at her father. He was the only one not wearing the plain white mask that the others were ordered to don whenever they were called to his presence. The tall, black haired man sitting upon a raised platform, the greatest Dark Lord of all time was her father. He could have been mistaken for the immortal god of war, Ares, sitting above them, the weak mortals, atop a stone plateau. From the tales she had heard, the idea certainly wasn't laughable. Serenity knew that her mother was dead, but no one liked to talk about it. She learned that early, so she never asked anymore.
"Girl, have you been told why you are leaving?" The Dark Lord's rich, deep voice sent a shiver tumbling down her back.
"Yes." Her voice was as shaky as her knees, and she was trying not to fall onto the floor in an ungraceful heap.
"You will show me the respect I deserve!" His voice rose, and she imagined that she felt the floor tremble.
"Yes, My Lord." She was struggling to hold back tears now; Serenity was beyond terrified. She felt queasy, and she hoped that she wouldn't make a fool of herself before her father's troops. That was the only thing that kept her on her feet. If she could only prove that she was worth something, then maybe she would be useful to her father.
"That's better." His voice softened again. "You are being sent away to learn to fight."
()~()~()~()~()~()~()
A small girl, no more than eight, was battling with a much older man.and she was winning. Serenity's movements with a sword were graceful and sure. She could have beaten the Dark Lord himself! In a flash, she had the man pinned to the ground with a sword point at his neck.
"You can do better. That was mediocre." The man shoved the sword away from his neck, and stood with ease.
"I don't like swords though." The girl frowned down at the hunk of metal. "Don't complain!" Before she could move, her instructor's sharp sword slashed her face. "Complaining is a sign of being weak! Do you want Lord Voldemort to kill you? You are like a little lamb on its way to the slaughter. Do not be weak. Showing your emotions is being weak. Do not let your opponent know what you are thinking."
He walked out of the room, not giving his bleeding pupil a second look.