A/N: Thanks for everyone's patience. I've been trying to work on Woman and Nightmares along with a lot of European history research, so the stories and updates are coming as quickly as possible. As always, reviews and concrit are highly appreciated.
This chapter has rape in it- you are forewarned.
xxxxxxxx
Minerva didn't sleep at all. After staring at the ceiling for three hours, she decided enough was enough.
Climbing out of bed, she started her morning toilette. The clock displayed 3:04 am.
Hopping into the shower, she did a quick rise-off of her slim body and then exited. Hearing a slight knock at her door, she went to grab for her robe, but Esmerele walked in anyway.
"Not looking, just getting my shower too." Her daughter raised her hands over her eyes and made her way to the shower, dropping articles of clothing along the way.
It didn't really matter either way. The two of them were quite used to being with each other. Not to mention their bodies were nearly identical.
Minerva threw on her silk robe and let it hang from her body. A quick spell and the water evaporated. Removing the steam from the mirror, she said another spell and her hair went twisting up into a bun. It wasn't complicated like she normally did, but it was secure and tight on her head.
Long day ahead of her. Couldn't be bothered with her hair today.
She heard the water cut off and her daughter step out.
A moment later, she was standing beside her mother, both sets of emerald eyes staring into the long vanity mirror.
"We look so much alike its uncanny." Esmerele said.
"How the hell did no one figure out you were my daughter when you were here?" Minerva shook her head.
"No clue. I guess they weren't looking for it."
Gently, Minerva asked, "How's your back?"
Turning around, Esmerele dropped her towel, feeling goose bumps rise on her back. They weren't from the cold, but from the guilt she knew her mother must be feeling.
A gasp followed as Minerva's eyes traced the scars that now lined her daughter's graceful back. Easily two inches wide, the scars looked as if a whip or a reed had been taken to her daughter's flesh. One ran nearly the entire length of her spine, the other went across her shoulder blade, and the other started below her rib to the curve of her lower back.
Tears sprung to Minerva's eyes as her long fingers delicately traced the harsh lines, feeling Esmerele's body give a small shake at each new contact.
Guilt. Heartbreaking, gut wrenching, all encompassing- guilt.
Why wasn't she there to protect her daughter? Why hadn't she been keeping tabs on Donal all these years?
Why… why… why… why…
What if she had been there? What if she had killed him when she had the chance?
What if… What if….
Minerva doubled over in sobs and wrapped her arms around her daughter's waist, burying her head on Esmerele's shoulder.
"If I could have stopped him I would, believe me, I wouldn't have let this happen! I could have… I should have… This is all my fault!"
Esmerele turned around and wrapped her mother into a tight embrace. "It's not your fault, Mama, you have saved my life! You're here now! You've always been here! I love you! I don't blame you…"
"But I blame myself! I can't even bear to think…"
Esmerele pulled away and placed her hands on her mother's face. "Look at me."
Green eyes looked up, glassy and wet with saline tears.
"I love you, Mama. I am here. Don't think about what could have been or what might have been. You'll hit your head on the future if you're forever looking back, regretting the past, remember? Fear isn't the answer here. Self-loathing isn't the answer. We both have chosen our own lives and our own ways of coping. We'll manage, Mama! We always do! Just like we got through Papa's death… we'll be fine."
Xxxxxxxxx
Donal and Lucius sat across from each other smoking cigars and drinking whiskey after dinner. The gray smoke lingered in the air like a ominous cloud.
"You're really going to kill that old bitch, are you?" Lucius sneered.
Donal drained his tumbler and refilled it with more of the amber liquid. "Yes sir."
A pause.
"How long has it been?"
"Too long."
"And you're feeling…"
"You know exactly how I feel. I remember a man not long ago in Azkaban who sought the same."
Lucius pulled on his cigar, the smoke billowing out of his flared nostrils. "I do know."
"And I helped you then, did I not?"
"You did."
"And so?"
"I was never going to stop you. Only so long as I can witness."
Donal gave an almost imperceptible nod. Lucius tried to hide his sadistic smile.
"Follow me."
The men rose and left the back door, then up a winding staircase to the third floor.
Lucius turned to Donal. "Second door to the end on the right. I'll be in the next room."
"Rules?"
"Absolutely none."
Donal turned and nearly ran down the hall, opening the door and closing it quietly behind him.
Narcissa turned with a start upon hearing the door open. Fear began to rise in her chest when Donal's figure emerged from the shadows. Not that her husband's figure wouldn't elicit the same response.
"Evening, m'lady."
"Evening."
Dread filled her heart. She knew what was next. She knew the typical "old boys" agreement that haunted this house. God, she hated it. Loathed herself for going on with it. But she was in no place to complain.
Perhaps this was her punishment for giving McGonagall a head's up.
She turned to move towards the bed as she had done every time in the past, but Donal grabbed her arm roughly and held her in place.
"Kneel." He commanded.
Her knees gave way of their own accord, bile rising up in her throat.
She tried to keep her face passive.
Donal reached down and roughly undid the clip in her hair. The blonde and black locks fell about her pale face.
His calloused hands then reached down into her dress and ripped, exposing her plain black bra and her nearly emaciated frame. The jagged lines of her collarbones and her ribs appeared and disappeared as her breaths came unevenly.
Another harsh movement, and her bra was thrown to the side, her breasts exposed.
She felt so worthless. Oh, for her parents to see her now… they'd be so proud.
Donal unzipped his pants and pushed his boxers down, his erect member springing up.
Narcissa blankly stared ahead, not wanting to move.
But Donal wrapped her hair in his fingers and thrust her head back, forcing himself into her mouth.
"Suck." He demanded.
She closed her eyes but felt an open palm smack her face. "Open. I want to see the look in a whore's eyes."
She prayed that the tears would stay at bay as she felt him ramming against her; she fought against the gag reflex, making her stomach convulse from her straining muscles.
And from his hiding spot behind the mirror in the other room, Lucius had his trousers down around his ankles, his hand stroking himself methodically as he watched his wife's subtle hints of agony.
Donal's fingers tightened their deadlock on her hair, her tender scalp protesting in pain.
More erratic, frantic, his thrusts sped up and came to a sudden halt. The milky substance hit her mouth and she willed herself to swallow and be done with it.
His grip released, and she tried to grab what was left of her clothing and make her exit.
But his dick was still hard and his need, unsatisfied.
"Not yet, my Lady slut," his dark voice mocked.
She turned back, her eyes wide.
Donal pointed to the sofa. "Bend over. Now."
Narcissa moved slowly over to the sofa, dreading what she new was going to come. Oral sex? She could handle that. But there was something inherently violating and cruel about being entered by another.
Her body had long since stopped responding to any man's advances. Her sex no longer wetted for the touch of eager fingers. Her cycles had long since ceased. Her capacity for a true physical attraction long since gone.
Maybe she'd lost it the first time she'd slept with her husband. No, she remembered. Maybe it was after the tenth or so house party.
Countless... Countless times she'd been taken by men who always expected the woman of the house to be obliging.
And goddamn it, she had been the perfect Lady, hadn't she? Never once complained about the disgusting ways the Slytherin upper class families worked.
And as she placed her shaking hands on the seat of the sofa and felt his hands push the fabric of her dress up and over her back… as she felt her underwear being pulled down her legs… she knew she'd never complain and never say a word.
His words lingered in her ears… whore… slut….
And they were true words, weren't they? She was nothing but a fake, a stupid girl playing a role she had no business playing. She was a whore.
The worthless whore of the manor.
Her sex was clean and dry, the only evidence betraying her true feelings of repulsion.
She felt a wet, rough tongue run up and down her center, and she bit her lip to hold in her screams of protest.
But Donal, taking her shaking for arousal, continued his ministrations.
Two fingers pushed forcefully inside her, and she couldn't stop a tear escaping from her dark brown eyes.
She tasted the rusty blood in her mouth; she bit down harder on her thin lips as Donal removed his fingers to replace them with his throbbing member.
She couldn't help the tiny whimpers of pain that escaped from her lips as he pounded himself harder into her. It felt like her body was ripping, bruising…
And in reality, it probably was.
Harder and faster, his fingers dug into the tender flesh of her thin hips as he forced her backwards onto him.
The tears now dripped a steady stream down her face, the pain becoming close to unbearable. She wondered if it would feel much different if she'd been having sex with a knife.
She doubted it would.
After what seemed forever, his movements became wild and uneven, and with a deep moan, he stopped, releasing himself inside her.
He pulled himself out and jerked his pants up, zipping them up and tucking his shirt in as if nothing had happened.
With trembling legs, she managed to somewhat fix her dress.
With a nod and an evil sneer, Donal walked out of the room.
Closing her eyes, she apparated herself to her room.
Out of harms way, her weak body landed in a crumpled heap on the tile of her bathroom floor.
She tore off her dress and underwear and burned them on the spot.
Blood dripped down the inside of her thigh and her hips were already showing bruises where his hands had held her. Any movement of her torso or legs sent blinding shots of pain through her womb. Narcissa's delicate lips were chapped and bloody from her teeth.
Trembling, shaking, she dragged her body to the shower and cut on the water.
She let herself scream and cry, her body and soul violated, broken, and ruined.
xxxxxxxxx
The cold air hit Minerva's face as she exited the side of the castle. The fog lingered around the trees of the Forbidden Forest like a tent held up by stilts. Solid, dense, the clouds blocked her from seeing more than ten feet ahead of her.
She raised her wand and flicked, the fog slowly moved away giving her sight access to the forest in front of her.
Now, the matter of leveraging the playing field in her favor. Minerva had home advantage, but she wasn't as familiar with the terrain as she was with her Manor.
She went from one tree here to another about ten feet away, creating small portkeys embedded in the trunks- marked by a double M. Touching it would transport her to a nearby tree, but she would be far enough away to be out of harm's way- if only for a moment.
Moving about in the small pathways created by centaurs and other creatures, she moved the dirt around to fill in the larger holes and smooth out the places where the roots jutted out from the trees.
Carefully avoiding the holes that contained animals, Minerva crafted small bushes around their homes.
She wasn't fond of collateral damage, and that included the natural creatures that lived here.
On a few select trees, Minerva made a portkey to Hogwarts and to St. Mungo's. These were labeled H and SM. Two taps on the double M portkeys would take the person to the H trees, three taps to the SM trees.
Transfiguring into her cat form, she ran around the forest floor, climbed up the trees…. Memorizing the landscape with her acute senses.
The trees had long, tall trunks, but the top branches easily connected to the tops of the others. Moving about at a quick pace wasn't difficult.
Minerva made a mental note to practice jumping about in animagus form.
She carefully eased out onto a solid looking branch and leapt, her claws extended, her body stretching in perfect form.
Landing solidly, she made her way to the trunk and perched herself amongst the large branches.
Today was the 21st.
Three days. Three days was all she had.
She sprang forward on nimble cat paws.
Xxxxxxxxx
Reviews and concrit are oh so welcome, darling readers!