The pain was what must have brought consciousness back, though Genevieve wasn't sure why so many people were stabbing her, nor how long they had been at it, for every part of her body ached as though it had been going on forever. She groaned and rolled onto her side, surprised to find that the movement didn't push the knives further into her flesh. A flare of cold pain from her left arm sent a hiss through her teeth, but as her fingers grasped weakly at the painful spot she was dimly surprised that no blade stuck out of her skin.
She ran a shaking hand down her torso; no knives there either. None stuck into her skull, her shoulders, or legs. A great shiver radiated through her which made her cry out in pain, and she was suddenly aware of the voices of many people. No, not voices; laughter. Soft, cruel laughter that made her open her eyes and blink at her surroundings.
Glistening bars separated her from the rest of a gloomy room made entirely of stone. It was large enough that she couldn't see the far wall from where she lay, shivering on the hard, cold floor.
Cold, she thought numbly, shivering again. The thought penetrated her pain-addled brain and she realized why the bars of her cage were glistening: they were coated with ice.
"...one of the last bloodlines of fire mages in the world…" a voice was saying, one she didn't recognize. It might have been a man's, but it sounded unnatural and as cold as her surroundings. She shivered violently again and moaned, so that she didn't hear whatever the voice said next.
Craning her neck, her vision blurry, she saw a group of cloaked figures outside of the other wall of bars that made up her icy prison.
"...blood is highly desirable, in more ways than one. Who knows what new horizons lie in store…"
Genevieve tried to raise herself onto an elbow, but failed, rolling onto her back again with another cry of pain. More jeers and laughter, as reality settled into place in her mind. She was a prisoner of the Death Eaters. Her own parents had given her over rather than suffer the consequences of harboring her. Apparently, they had even given advice on how to keep her totally incapacitated.
At least they had done the job thoroughly.
It took her a few minutes to take in the silence that had fallen, apart from her chattering teeth. Steeling herself and craning her neck again, she found that she was alone. A single torch in a bracket on the stone wall was her only company. Squeezing her eyes shut, she began to cry rather noisily, wondering what was in store for her, with no hope of stopping whatever it was.
She slipped in and out of consciousness, always waking up to the same stabbing pains all over her body. It was impossible for her to know how much time had passed, but as she awoke once again and craned her neck to look longingly at the warm fire in the torch, someone was there.
Horror made her recoil, for a black-robed figure with a bone-white face, bright red eyes, and a nose like a snake stood there, considering her with mild interest. He moved toward the frozen bars of her cage and Genevieve, screaming with pain, pushed herself back against the wall, lying on her side. Strands of her damp, dark brown hair fell across her eyes.
The figure moved closer, and in a grotesquely long-fingered hand he clutched a wand. "Genevieve Wells," he said softly, his cloak whispering along the floor before he lowered himself to her level. Genevieve couldn't take her eyes off of him, terrified as she was. "A creature out of myth," the man continued in his cold voice, his snake-like nostrils flaring slightly and his red eyes narrowing.
"Wh-who are…you?" Genevieve gasped out, and the man gave a twisted smile.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
Lord Voldemort. Genevieve could not take her wide eyes from the white face, and a new type of shiver accompanied that of the stabbing pain. Dumbledore had told them all that Voldemort had returned after Cedric Diggory had died during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, and Genevieve hadn't quite known what she believed. Her parents had done nothing to confirm or deny the story Dumbledore and Harry Potter had spouted, though that wasn't very surprising. They didn't talk to her much.
Well, she certainly knew what she believed now.
"Your parents offered you to me in order to get into my good graces," Voldemort was saying, as if he could read her mind. "I place a high value on an offering of blood such as yours. You could rise high in the ranks of my followers should you choose to cooperate."
Genevieve was going to respond, but another shockwave of pain radiated out from her chest and she cried out, closing her eyes and squeezing the hem of her oversized sweatshirt in her fist.
"It doesn't have to be like this," she heard Voldemort say over the groan deep in her throat. Genevieve craned her neck again and saw that Voldemort had straightened and was pointing his wand at her. She flinched back, but warmth suddenly coursed through her body and she took a great gulp of air as if she had been drowning. The pain subsided with each heartbeat as heat chased the knives from her flesh and the ache from her muscles.
Still breathing heavily, she raised herself up on one arm, wiping the hair from her face. The ice had disappeared from the bars, from the floor and wall at her back. Her eyes darted from Voldemort's impassive face to the torch behind him, and again as if reading her mind, he smiled and raised his wand again, shaking his head.
"No, please–" Ice creaked as it crawled up the bars once again and spread across the floor toward her bare legs. Her breath became clouds in the air before her and shards sliced through her once more. She screamed and doubled over, holding her middle until she fell back onto her side, hugging herself and shaking. Tears squeezed from her eyes and froze against her eyelashes and cheeks, where they burned like white hot metal.
"Mercy is not in my nature, but see how I can fight against that nature if I need to?" Voldemort asked quietly. "Something to ponder, until the next time we meet."
Silence fell, with only Genevieve's own shaking breaths to break it, and she knew he had gone.
How long could she survive this kind of torture with her whole self intact? If he lifted the spell again, would she have the strength to fight back and win? If she struck and he still overpowered her, how much longer would he keep her down here, in such pain?
Perhaps…
Don't think it, she snarled at herself, even as her teeth chattered together and a fiery spasm lit up her arm.
But she did think it. She thought it often over the next few hours, at least, when she was conscious. Another wave of icy knives scraped at the inside of her skin and she grabbed her hair close to the scalp and pulled as she screamed before losing consciousness again.
The next time her eyes fluttered open, instinct had her craning her neck to look at the torch on the wall, and she gasped when she saw someone there, thinking it was Voldemort again, but it wasn't.
"P-professor…Professor Snape," she whispered.
Her potions teacher stood in the light from the torch, his dark hair like curtains around his face. He was perhaps one of the last people she had expected to see in this place, but for the first time since being jinxed unconscious in her own home, she felt a flare of hope in her gut.
Genevieve tried to move, but the pain made her cry out again and curl in on herself. Steeling herself and biting down hard, she succeeded in dragging herself to sag against the frozen stone wall behind her, screaming through her teeth as she did so.
Breathing hard, she opened her eyes and saw that Snape had taken another couple of steps toward the bars of her cage. "P-professor…" she breathed out sharply. "C-can you h-help…me…"
He grasped one of the frozen bars with his pale hand, crouching low and regarding her with glittering black eyes. "No," he said quietly, but before her hope could die, he continued, "but I know someone who can."
She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth again as a particularly painful throb exploded in her leg. Snape was still there when it faded back to baseline. "It will take a little time," he said.
"I'll just…wait h-here…then," she whispered, and Snape gave a smirk that might have been a smile. She wasn't sure, as she had never seen him smile before. And then he was gone.
A quiet crack most unfortunately jerked Genevieve back to consciousness with a moan of pain. "Miss," came a squeaky voice, and Genevieve, who had fallen to lay on the floor again, opened her eyes to see the long, stockinged feet and skinny legs of a house elf. "I am here to get you out," the house elf squeaked quietly.
She felt a small hand encircle her wrist before she was pulled into squeezing nothingness, hardly able to draw breath, then her knees hit hard stone and she fell over painfully. "We is here, sir," she heard the house elf call, and Genevieve rolled over onto her back, taking in great breaths of air. Her body still echoed with the pains of a hundred knives, but she could at least move without crying out, though she was still shivering.
It was just as dark wherever she was, but here the ceiling was too far away to make out, and there was the obvious absence of a cage. Turning her head to the right she saw glass glittering dully. Something swept by her head and she felt new hands on her neck, holding her wrist. Snape's face hovered above her as he performed whatever assessment he deemed necessary, pulling out his wand and waving it wordlessly over her and heat swept through her muscles. She moaned in relief as the heat beat back the pain and stopped the shivers.
"I know," Snape muttered, waving his wand one more time and sending more heat coursing through her.
"Are we…somewhere s-safe?" Genevieve breathed.
"We're at Hogwarts."
She turned her head again, realizing the glass structures she had seen were the hourglasses for House points, empty now, as it was August. She was lying in the entrance hall, then. "Hogwarts," she repeated, allowing relief to wash over her.
"I didn't imagine going home was an option," Snape said smoothly.
"No…clearly…" she muttered, closing her eyes and still relishing the heat releasing the last aches from her muscles. Her parents had always been lousy, disconnected, and abusive, but a betrayal like this stung her to the core. I'll never see them again, she thought suddenly, and not only out of fear they would take her right back to You-Know-Who. She never wanted to see them again.
"How are you feeling?" Snape asked.
"Exhausted," she said, her eyes still closed, feeling as if she could fall asleep right there on the hard flagstones.
"I'll help you up to Ravenclaw tower," he grasped her hand and forearm to help her sit, then raised her to stand, drawing her arm across his shoulders. He was surprisingly strong in his support of her up all the stairs and along the corridors. Genevieve's legs would barely obey her efforts to stay upright, and her feet dragged more than they stepped. Her eyelids were so heavy.
The familiar sound of a door knocker made her eyes flicker open, and a musical voice asked, "Glittering points that downward thrust, sparkling spears that never rust. What are they?"
Snape was silent, thinking, and despite her miserable condition, Genevieve was as well. This has to be a joke, she exhaled, her eyes closing again before saying, "Icicles."
The door swung open. "Clever," Snape remarked, supporting her over the threshold, "although a bit cruel given the circumstances."
"You can't blame him," Genevieve breathed. "He's just a door knocker."
She heard Snape sharply exhale through his nose in amusement. Across the common room they went, Genevieve barely conscious of the familiar surroundings, and through the door and down the stairs to the 7th year dormitory.
"Which is yours?" Snape asked, prompting Genevieve to force her eyes open once more. The six blue-bedecked beds hugged the walls of the circular room, and she raised a weak arm to gesture to the one farthest from the door, a black window by the pillow.
When Snape laid her on her bed she couldn't find even the will to roll onto her side, but instead lay there with a hand on her stomach, sinking into the softness beneath her.
"Professor Dumbledore will be here tomorrow," Snape was saying from far away, and Genevieve tried to make a noise of acknowledgement, but wasn't sure if she actually did. "Sleep well, Ms. Wells."
