Chapter Nine In the Dark
The darkness.
There is nothing but darkness.
There is only ever darkness.
I can't remember the last time I saw actual sunlight.
This room, this cell has been my home for an infinite number of days. The air is damp, it smells, the smell is something I can't escape.
I'm so hungry. They only ever give me water. Water and that green potion once every day, or what I can only assume to be days. There must be something in the potion that keeps me alive; I can't see any other purpose for it. The water's not bad either, not like you read about; people being kept prisoner, given only muddy and stale water. I think the water comes from a tap or a well, I don't think they would go through the trouble of messing with my water.
I really wish they would unchain me though. Whenever they come in to give me the liquids, they either unchain me or chain me up. I've been chained for so long now and I'd really like to sleep. My wrists are attached to something that reaches up to the ceiling my ankles to the floor. I've been standing like this for over a day I think.
Maybe they forgot about me.
Maybe they're leaving me here to die.
I don't want to die.
Watching him sleep, his eyelashes lay softly on his cheeks, his lips parted just so. His chest rises and falls gently with each breath.
I think this may be the first time he's slept without the aid of the sleeping draught.
I wonder what's going on inside his head; I know the purple potion stopped his dreams.
I wonder if he'll dream.
I can hear footsteps outside my cell, someone must be coming. Perhaps they'll grant my wish and unchain me. The heavy solid wooden door opens and I'm blinded by the light, and my hopes rise as one of the two dark silhouettes --death eaters I realize-- comes over and begins fiddling with the chains around my wrists as the other frees my feet.
"Wouldn't look so hopeful if he knew what's coming," A dull male voice spoke.
"She's going to have fun with this one." A second equally dull voice spoke, wrapping a blindfold around my eyes. "I almost feel sorry for the thing, fuckin' mudblood."
One of them punched me hard in the stomach and I realize, as I keel over, that my wrists are no longer attached to the ceiling, but rather chains that are being held by one of the death eaters.
They drag me down a hall, walking too fast for me to stay with their pace as they pull on the chains around my wrists. I try to keep up, but am barely able owing to the blindfold and the shackles that still bind my feet.
I can hear screams in the distance.
There is sobbing all around me.
In a way I don't want the blindfold to come off.
We stop finally, but before I have the chance to even move, my arms are raised and chained again, this time at an almost unbearable height. My feet are again chained to the floor, about my shoulder width apart. I don't know how long they're going to keep me like this but I seriously hope it's not for long; my shoulders are already starting to hurt.
"Have fun." I hear one of the men grumble somewhere behind me. Then I hear the two sets of heavy footsteps disappear in the opposite direction as we had come.
This room smells different. Coppery. It's much colder than my cell and I can hear a gurgling ---like bubbling mud--- off to my right.
After about a minute I come to realize that there is another sound, metal on metal. There must be someone else in the room.
"Who's there?" I demand; my voice bounces off the walls.
There is no answer, only a sizzling followed shortly by a gulping sound and then footsteps. Soft padding footsteps come right in front of me. Soft fingers brush against my cheek and in a moment my blindfold is removed. I am greeted by a black cloak covering a figure that is about a head shorter than me. My eyes dart to the right, a small cauldron hovers over another larger one, the larger one holding a fire, the smaller one bubbling and emitting a soft steam.
"You've been here for so long, why don't you just tell them about the Order's plans?" A familiar feminine voice comes from the depths of the dark hood.
"I don't know anything about any bloody 'Order'," I answer. I'd been asked the same question when I'd first arrived. Something about Professor Dumbledore and some "Order of the Phoenix". I've never heard of this Order, unless they had terribly mixed up this with the DA.
"Please," The woman's voice whines, "For me?" She lowers her hood, and by the soft light provided by the cauldron's small flames, I gasp in shock at what I see.
"Elizabeth, what're you doing here?"
"Tell me the Order's plans." Elizabeth whines, ignoring my question. She takes a step towards me, bringing her face mere inches from my own. "Pretty Please." Her voice holds a certain sugary tone which is completely uncharacteristic of the Elizabeth I know. She usually ridicules girls who talk like that.
"You're not Elizabeth." I state.
"Don't hurt my feelings Seamus," She feigns offence. Something in the line her lips make reminds me of Elizabeth, everything about her reminds me of Elizabeth.
"How'd you get here?" I ask.
"I'll answer that when you answer my question." She says shaking her head softly.
"I don't know anything about this 'Order'," I answer. "Besides, everything I know, you know."
"Well remind me." Elizabeth whispers, seductively drawing her long nails over my lips. They turn from soft tickling to razor sharp in an instant and the nail of her index finger bites into my lower lip, it stings.
"Who are you?" I demand. I can feel the drop of blood streak down my chin
"It's me, Elizabeth." She answers, and she starts to roll up the sleeves of her robes. Her hand freezes when she reaches the elbow of the one sleeve. My eyes sweep momentarily over what appears to be an ink sketch on her arm before she quickly steps behind me. "----Lucius" I hear her mumble. When she returns, both her sleeves are down and she holds something in her hand.
"You're not."
"Don't hurt my feelings," She whines. Her fingers reach for my robes and she begins unbuttoning them. I look down to see the long object in her hand, but she uses her free hand to gently nudge my chin up so I was looking her straight in the eyes.
The cold air hits my chest like a bag of bricks and I realize that she had unbuttoned not only my robes, but the button down shirt I have on as well. I try to move away, causing the chains both on my feet and my wrists, to rattle loudly, the sound bounces off the low ceiling and walls.
"Who the hell are you?" I demand my voice harsh and cold to match the room.
"I'm Elizabeth." She persists, and taking another step towards me, she stands on her toes, and pressing her body against mine, she tries to kiss me.
This is much more than I can bear; my body hardens as I tense and I clamp my mouth closed tight, turning my head purposefully away from her so she can't reach my lips.
"Fine," Her voice turns cold and she walks to my side, busying herself with my sleeve. I suddenly realize that there is another figure in the room, leaning against the wall near the cauldrons.
"Why don't you just tell her the Order's plans mate?" Dean asks walking over.
"Dean, that's not Elizabeth," I pull against the chains, but immediately am met with more than just the pain of the iron on my wrists, but a sharp, piercing pain in my side.
"Oopsie!" Elizabeth's voice comes falsely high. She continues with what she'd been doing, cutting away at my robes so they fall in shreds on the floor at my feet.
Dean continually presses me for information about this 'Order' I'm beginning to think this isn't Dean.
My attention is drawn to Elizabeth as she cuts off my clothes, piece by piece, article by article. I am embarrassed, and want to stop her before I am completely naked, but I am immobilized, afraid that the knife she holds will slip again.
"Isn't that just the worst part?" She asks as though reading my thoughts. "The waiting, the anticipation--" She pokes my chest with the knife's tip, it doesn't break the skin but as she drags the metal over my chest beads of blood rise on the line. "You never know where or when I'll…cut." The blade had sliced along and eventually cut deep into the flesh on the opposite side of where the first cut had been. I don't cry out, but my gasp could be interpreted as such.
The cell is cold and as she lowers the knife to remove my last article of clothes, my body quivers slightly.
"Wouldn't want to move, would we?" she asks sweetly, dean chuckles.
There is only one way to overpower a man that is worse than breaking his will of silence. There is only one way to truly have completely broken a man, to have total power over him.
His sleep has to be full of bad memories. At least when he's awake, he can focus on other things besides memories.
She watches as his facial features begin to contort while he mumbles randomly.
To reach out and smooth his sandy hair would only mean waking him. Perhaps it would be kinder to wake him. But I know he hasn't slept well at all this week, he needs his sleep.
She watches as Seamus trembles under the heavy red covers, his eyes squeezed tightly closed, his knees drawn to his chest as he lay in the fetal position.
I wonder if he'll ever tell me exactly what happened…I wonder when he'll be ready…I wonder when I'll be ready.
He felt the cold of the coppery, dingy cell tearing into him. The small fire in the little cauldron did nothing to ward off the cold.
He wished he could cross his legs, cover himself, curl up on the floor, anything. He had been violated by the vile creature which looked so much like his girlfriend.
His pure, beautiful, loving girlfriend…how he missed her.
He stood, still chained feeling dirty, so dirty, he wanted nothing more than to escape his body. His shoulders burned, his abs stung as they were cris-crossed with numerous shallow cuts.
Without warning the chains holding his wrists raised towards the ceiling, taking away the slight slack that had been there. With pain that he scarcely could have imagined, his feet left the ground so he was suspended only by his wrists.
Crying out in agony as his assent was halted; his toes only just skimming the floor, his shout was answered by leather straps which extended from the chains around his wrists and wrapped around his arms and all the way to his biceps, putting the strain on his shoulders rather than his wrists.
"Did you know," Elizabeth spoke. "Some people say that burning human flesh smells," She paused a moment pulling a red hot metal poker from the fire, admiring the glowing tip with fascination. "…just like cooking pig?"
His eyes widened as she approached. "You wouldn't…" His voice trailed. He no longer felt anything, but became acutely aware of the heat pulsing off the rod as it neared the bottom of one of his feet. He felt as though his head was under water, there was suddenly no other noise, not the distant sobbing, not the yelling in the corridors, not even the bubbling of the cauldron. He heard only the angry boiling hiss below himself, the shout of pain which echoed off the walls, a shout that must have come from his own mouth, and the splatter of projectile vomit which hit the floor at his feet.
Cruel, high pitched female laughter filled the air as everything turned black.