February 1943 - Mercy
"My turn" he said and everyone held their breath.
Annabel followed the prefect climb up the dais with her silvery eyes, her face showing nothing but apathy. In different times, she would have raised a sarcastic eyebrow, shot the young man a provoking smile. She would have called him a boy and lift her chin like the brazen girl she usually was.
It unnerved him, to find her so listless. If at least, she was being scared of him…
It made him want to walk towards her and brutally shake her frail body. Yet, he knew better than to give in to his Muggles's urges. He proceeded to take off his jacket, for he hoped to engage in a long duel with her. Slowly, he unfastened the buttons, staring her down.
She was only standing there, facing him. Slouched, her hand feebly clasped around her wand. Yet, she was holding his glance, which he believed was good omen.
"Don't you think this will slow you down?" he referred to her jacket with a movement of the chin and the crowd laughed. He had not meant to sneer, but he saw in the populace's behaviour the sign of loyalty. Most of them were Slytherins and they had already picked their side.
He watched the girl move her free hand to her throat, untie the blue scarf that was wrapped around her neck. She let the item fall on the ground while she looked at him, not bothering to undress further.
He knew the others would see her gesture as an affront and he braced himself for what might follow… Tom rarely fought in the duelling club despite his regular attendance, mainly because he knew that he would not find any worthy opponent. The club followed a strict hierarchy, and whoever wished to stand up to the heir had to defeat Nott first. Occasionally, he did kick the latter's ass, to reassess his authority over his people, and to remind Leonus who was in charge. Him granting himself to be Annabel's first would surely not go unnoticed…
"Look at that" jested Nott. "Surely our prefect has a soft spot for pretty girls"
Tom made a mental note to have a word with him later. For now, he ignored the boy's scornful comment. Instead, he placed his jacket on the edge of the stage, proceeding to roll his sleeves up.
"Do you wish to introduce yourself?" he asked the girl with a raised eyebrow.
"Do I have to?" she replied with a snobbish sulk that took him off-guard.
Tom drew in a sharp breath, frustration slowly creeping. If the girl kept acting like a brat, he would have to treat her like one. She could be a drama queen all she wanted, acting weepy and lamenting, but he could not let her disrespect him in front of his people.
"Very well then" he replied, bowing nonetheless to pay her his respect while Annabel dropped a half-hearted curtsy in response. A wave of indignation surged from the crowd and Tom's blood began to boil. He was not far from regretting to having brought her there. The girl's placidity seriously verged on impudence.
His jaw clenched, he assessed her capabilities. Usually, his skills as a legilimens was of great help during a duel, for it allowed him to be a step ahead of his adversaries. Yet, such ability would be of little use with her… Tom assumed that her skills lay in her stamina, a resistance she might have built over the years. He had sought information from Alastair that afternoon, learned that her grandfather used to train her.
At Lestrange's "go", the Slytherin casted the first spell, something to give Annabel an avant-goût of their encounter. A strong gust of wind destabilised her, and she struggled to keep her balance. The crowd scoffed, and he conceded the audience a smug smile. He expected the girl to reciprocate as he nonchalantly crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Sluggishly she raised her wand, but nothing ensued.
Why?
They had never fought against one another before. In the woods, they practiced on trees or plants, on dummies, sometimes, anything but each other. Yet, he knew how quick she could cast a spell, not even needed words nor a wand to do so. She was the second best witch in school after him, so what the hell was she doing?
His jaw clenched, he casted a second spell, projecting the girl against the wall that she hit in a loud thud. She winced, but no sound escaped her lips.
Tom waited for the girl to pick herself up. He raised a judgmental eyebrow as he watched her stand up. He searched for her eyes, that she kept obstinately on the ground, and only then did the obvious occurred to him.
Annabel did not come to fight.
She came to be crushed.
A rictus warped his face before he let out a caustic laugh. He would make her fight, he swore to himself.
With a rage he did not even know he possessed, he stamped. A wave of magical energy rushed towards the girl and the floor began to rattle like if shaken by an earthquake. A dark spot formed under her, from which sprung out a tide of decomposing arms. Hundreds of putrid hands grabbed at the girl's limbs, trying to immobilise her. Annabel kicked around, disgust contorting her mouth.
Tom stared at the girl who was struggling to get free. Yet, she did not use her magic.
Irked, he headed towards her, his pace slow, feral. The tremor of the wooden floor increased and Annabel fell on her knees, her entire body convulsing from the tremble.
"Why aren't you fighting, Miss Selwyn?"
He meant his provocation to tame the audience, to feed the people what they wanted to see. Yet he began to wonder: if she did not defend herself, how far would he go?
"Fight me" he shouted as he stood in front of her, his tone in the imperative but the girl only looked down.
Tom stared at the prostrated girl at his feet, slivers of limestone tangled in her hair.
His chest tightened when he heard the crowd's outcry behind him.
If only she defended herself… Her passivity was only making things worse. As if her apathy had triggered something in them, the people were being all worked up, just like a bunch of overexcited apes.
"Fight me" he commanded once again. He waited for her answer, and at her lack of reaction, he raised his free hand.
Sternly, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, and pulled. The rotting hands disappeared, freeing her at last and he had Annabel crawl until the edge of the stage.
Ironically, Tom remembered that he had other girls walk on all fours like that before. He wondered what was the most embarrassing: crawling around naked to beg for a good fuck, or crawl in front of a crowd to ask for his mercy?
He stopped moving once he stood in front of the audience, and his voice boomed against the walls:
"Who wins?"
Tom sensed how the Slytherins grew impatient, certainly wondering why he did not make that insolent girl eat the dust already.
"Someone is being a little bit proud" joked Nott as he crossed his arms in front of his chest with a sly smile.
A voice in the back of the room shouted, requesting her to surrender. The demand spread just like wildfire and a split second later, the entire crowd was chanting:
"Surrender, surrender"
Tom let go of the girl's hair, squatted down next to her. In her ear, he whispered:
"Beg for mercy. I'll have to beat the shit out of you if you don't"
He saw her swallow, yet she kept her eyes closed.
"Fuck, Anna" he urged her, his hand gripping her arm.
"Come on mate, what are you waiting for?" shouted Nott from below.
Tom's stomach churned as he felt suddenly driven into a corner.
"Do it" he heard her say. He frowned, unsure of whether he had heard her correctly until she repeated herself.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze, her look plaintive.
"Just do it"
He swallowed, uneasy before he whispered:
"All right"
"It's going to hurt" he declared and she hummed in guise of a response. Tom stood up, and stepped behind her. He slid a hand under her chin to rest her head against his thigh. Slowly, almost lovingly, he stroked her hair, his gaze locked to hers. He placed his palm against her damp forehead and gently, he closed her eyes.
"Tell me when you're ready"
"I am" she murmured, and he sank his wand into her carotid.
As he began to cast the spell, two things occurred.
First a cramp, horridly painful, tensed his fingers. He dropped his wand, digits throbbing.
The next second, he felt a pull on his arm. Lestrange was issuing him that they had to leave, quickly.
"Somebody is coming"
Only then did he notice that the people were dashing off. Tom grabbed his wand, slid it into his back pocket. He turned to Annabel who was still on her knees, motionless. He called for her name but she did not move an inch, like if rooted to the floor.
"Leave her" snapped Nott who was already running towards the closest pipe.
Tom heard the swift footsteps of the intruder resonate inside the sewers, and he looked at Lestrange, who was awaiting for his command, standing halfway towards the exit.
"Leave" ordered Tom and the boy nodded and took to his heels.
Without thinking any further, Tom rushed towards the end of the stage where he squatted down, his fingers roaming the wooden floor. It was too late to escape, they had no other choice but to hide. The prefect congratulated himself for having searched the place already, knowing where to find a good hideout. He found a bump on the wood of the dais and his fingers gripped at the plank, lifting it up, then moved another.
"Come" he issued Annabel in a whisper as he heard the footsteps getting closer but the girl replied that she could not move, her voice alarmed. At last…
He accioed his jacket and walked back to her, silent like a snake. Swiftly he slid an arm under the girl's knees, wrapped another around her waist.
"Hold onto me" he ordered quietly as he lifted her in the air and carried her bridal-style towards the opening he had created. He lowered her first, until her body touched the floor under the stage, and he slipped in the crack. He put back the planks above his head as he crouched, holding himself to the beams around him.
He knew he would not be able to hold that position for long, that eventually he would have to lie down. Yet, there was barely any room for two. When the footsteps finally entered the room, Tom realised that he already had pins and needles in his calves. Very slowly, he placed one knee on the ground, gently settling between the girl's legs. He brought a finger to his lips, issuing her to be quiet and he felt how she spread her thighs further, as if to make room for him. He lied down on top of her, his weight resting on his elbows.
Tom heard the person walk, and in their heavy steps, he recognised the school's attendant. Tom believed that the boring lives of janitors only made sense whenever they caught students red-handed, a thought that seemed confirmed by the man's grumbling. The latter snorted in frustration, from the turned on torches or from whatever hinted that the room was occupied only a few minutes ago.
Tom felt the girl's respiration quicken under him, her chest moving up and down as the steps echoed closer to the stage. Suddenly, the man moaned in delight. The prefect exchanged a glance with Annabel whose face was partly lit up by the light that seeped in the cracks of the planks.
"Ravenclaw" the man exclaimed and Annabel gasped. In a split second, the man was jumping on the stage, searching for the origin of the sound.
Above them, the wood cracked from the man's heavy steps. When Annabel's face disappeared in the darkness, Tom pressed his hand on her mouth, for her breath was quick and shallow, and he feared the sound might give them away.
They remained like that for a while, Tom's palm muffling her sounds, the both of them still in the darkness. Until, finally, they heard the man climb down the stage, his footsteps fading, disappearing in the winding of the sewers.
—
Annabel did not know how long they waited, motionless in the dark.
Tom's palm had left her mouth though, for her breathing had calmed, but they were both wary of leaving their hideout too soon. So there they stayed, in that inappropriate position, the young man's leg between her thighs, his crotch pressed against her hipbone. She knew her skirt was up, revealing more skin than was decent, and scandalous thoughts crossed her mind. She was thankful for the shadow, which at least concealed her shame.
After what felt like hours, Tom finally lifted himself up, relieving the pressure on her body. He pushed away the planks and hoisted himself from under the stage, offering her his hand to ease her through the hole.
She glanced around.
Her scarf was gone.
Naturally, the janitor would have taken it.
She sighed and absentmindedly watched Tom put on his jacket. The young man climbed down the dais, helped her out once more and without a word, he headed towards the sewers. She followed him, in absolute silence, the two of them proceeding to the higher storeys of the castle. She believed she had upset him, for he did not utter one word to her and once they reached the staircase that led to the Ravenclaw tower, he stopped.
Annabel was about to walk past him, but Tom seized her arm, made her spin. Without an ounce of hesitation, the young man slid a hand behind her head as he pushed her against the closest wall. One hand lifted her chin, and the prefect turned her face to the side, as if to inspect her skin.
She let him examine her, feeling the cool fingers of the young man on her throat, his digits running down her carotid artery. He stopped where he had sunk his wand earlier and his thumb grazed at the soft flesh.
Without a word, he removed her jacket and made her spin once more, so that her chest was now pressed against the wall. He kept her there, his palm between her shoulder blades. She protested when she felt Tom's hand against the small of her back, for he began to lift her shirt.
"No" she whined, trying to push him away but he firmly held her.
He hushed her, saying he just wanted to see something but she struggled, and he finally let go of her. She turned around, closed to tears, her cheeks flushed.
"Who do you take me for? I'm no whore you can take against the wall!" she yelled, surprised by her own words. She glanced up, and Tom made a face like if she had slapped him.
Seconds passed, heavy.
"I only wanted to see where I hurt you"
Tom stepped back, handing her her jacket and Annabel wished she could go back in time.
"Good night" he declared coolly, before he disappeared in the darkness.
Author's note: That chapter makes me sad. Some difficult times ahead I'm afraid! Thank you for reading, following and favouriting this story! argenteusvipera I'm afraid that Anna did not give her best in this fight, my apologies... Wish you all a great week!