Redemption
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,362
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,362
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money from these writings
Hermione's Ordeal
A/N: Hopefully short, teaser chapters will end soon as I have some free time lurking on the horizon. Thank you so much readers! And, I would like to give a special thanks to kazfeist for not only sticking with the story, but reviewing!
Hermione’s Ordeal
*
The hours leading up to Hermione’s torture were rather uncomfortable, but bearable. Typical muggle torture techniques were utilized half-heartedly in the days that had followed her abduction. She was underfed and deprived adequate sleep through a combination of an unrelenting light and sound barrage that wreaked havoc on her physical and emotional wellbeing. Cruelly, whenever she seemed to adjust to this disgusting mockery of a light show he would plunge her small, magically sealed cell into a desolate darkness that was bone achingly cold. The worst part was his eyes. Day and night he would stare at her. His unrelenting gaze was devoid of emotion during the day and yet, they seemed particularly malicious and smug at night as they were the only thing visible in the unrelenting darkness.
On the third day he spoke to her for the first time since he had penned the ransom note. “It seems your assumption was correct Hermione; apparently you mean so little to him that you have warranted absolutely no response whatsoever. Let’s give him some incentive, shall we?” he delivered dryly, as if he was playacting a guard and he just couldn’t be arsed to deliverer the lines properly. “I have no desire to clean up your piss,” he stated irritably. “Get on with it,” he ordered, glaring at the wide-eyed girl, jerking his head toward the toilet.
Using the toilet while being watched so blatantly was awkward and degrading, but it was nowhere near as embarrassing as wetting oneself would be. He was going to torture her and although the dread cursing through her veins was making her extremities grow cold and numb, the whole situation seemed so surreal. What was she even fighting for? Her sanity and life of course, but torture basically for tortures sake was a hard concept to swallow.
Come here, he beckoned silently, for her to leave her cell, with a crook of his index finger.
Swallowing convulsively, Hermione slowly exited her cell dragging her feet as if she could halt the inevitable by remaining within the confines of the magically designated space. It was hard facing her captor, but if was going to torture her, he would damn well look her in the eye.
Eyes rapidly filling with tears of fear, Hermione silently wished he would just get on with it. Her shrill scream pierced the air scant seconds after he bellowed Crucio and her last thought was, ‘why in Merlin’s name was I anxious for this to begin?’
The pain was a relentless onslaught of excruciating sensations volleying between being burnt alive while being stabbed and a feeling of suffocation that felt as if her bones were being crushed while the air was being forced out of her body.
Stopping so as not to kill the girl, the man watched dispassionately as she threw up the meager contents of her stomach. “Oh, Hermione I’m sorry,” he began with false sympathy, “forgot to take the pictures,” he added nonchalantly.
Crying brokenly, Hermione began to shake, fearing a renewal of the curse. And when Hermione finally believed the nightmare over, he reapplied the curse with a lazy flick of his wrist. Blacking out due to the overwhelming pain, Hermione came to, to a hard nudge to her ribs.
“The Cruciatus is becoming rather tiresome, don’t you agree?” her attacker crooned as he swept her sweat dampened hair away from her pretty, though grimy, face in a parody of a lover’s concerned caress. Stroking the side of her face softly with the pad of his thumb, he grasped her chin firmly, angling her so she faced him; “I’d much rather you were convulsing under me in pleasure,” he offered, giving her a means to avoid further physical pain.
Looking him in the eye, Hermione whispered bitingly, “I’d rather be tortured.”
Violently shoving her head towards the hard, earthen floor, he spat, “What a foolish girl.”
As her scream rose in crescendo, she silently agreed with him.
Hermione’s Ordeal
*
The hours leading up to Hermione’s torture were rather uncomfortable, but bearable. Typical muggle torture techniques were utilized half-heartedly in the days that had followed her abduction. She was underfed and deprived adequate sleep through a combination of an unrelenting light and sound barrage that wreaked havoc on her physical and emotional wellbeing. Cruelly, whenever she seemed to adjust to this disgusting mockery of a light show he would plunge her small, magically sealed cell into a desolate darkness that was bone achingly cold. The worst part was his eyes. Day and night he would stare at her. His unrelenting gaze was devoid of emotion during the day and yet, they seemed particularly malicious and smug at night as they were the only thing visible in the unrelenting darkness.
On the third day he spoke to her for the first time since he had penned the ransom note. “It seems your assumption was correct Hermione; apparently you mean so little to him that you have warranted absolutely no response whatsoever. Let’s give him some incentive, shall we?” he delivered dryly, as if he was playacting a guard and he just couldn’t be arsed to deliverer the lines properly. “I have no desire to clean up your piss,” he stated irritably. “Get on with it,” he ordered, glaring at the wide-eyed girl, jerking his head toward the toilet.
Using the toilet while being watched so blatantly was awkward and degrading, but it was nowhere near as embarrassing as wetting oneself would be. He was going to torture her and although the dread cursing through her veins was making her extremities grow cold and numb, the whole situation seemed so surreal. What was she even fighting for? Her sanity and life of course, but torture basically for tortures sake was a hard concept to swallow.
Come here, he beckoned silently, for her to leave her cell, with a crook of his index finger.
Swallowing convulsively, Hermione slowly exited her cell dragging her feet as if she could halt the inevitable by remaining within the confines of the magically designated space. It was hard facing her captor, but if was going to torture her, he would damn well look her in the eye.
Eyes rapidly filling with tears of fear, Hermione silently wished he would just get on with it. Her shrill scream pierced the air scant seconds after he bellowed Crucio and her last thought was, ‘why in Merlin’s name was I anxious for this to begin?’
The pain was a relentless onslaught of excruciating sensations volleying between being burnt alive while being stabbed and a feeling of suffocation that felt as if her bones were being crushed while the air was being forced out of her body.
Stopping so as not to kill the girl, the man watched dispassionately as she threw up the meager contents of her stomach. “Oh, Hermione I’m sorry,” he began with false sympathy, “forgot to take the pictures,” he added nonchalantly.
Crying brokenly, Hermione began to shake, fearing a renewal of the curse. And when Hermione finally believed the nightmare over, he reapplied the curse with a lazy flick of his wrist. Blacking out due to the overwhelming pain, Hermione came to, to a hard nudge to her ribs.
“The Cruciatus is becoming rather tiresome, don’t you agree?” her attacker crooned as he swept her sweat dampened hair away from her pretty, though grimy, face in a parody of a lover’s concerned caress. Stroking the side of her face softly with the pad of his thumb, he grasped her chin firmly, angling her so she faced him; “I’d much rather you were convulsing under me in pleasure,” he offered, giving her a means to avoid further physical pain.
Looking him in the eye, Hermione whispered bitingly, “I’d rather be tortured.”
Violently shoving her head towards the hard, earthen floor, he spat, “What a foolish girl.”
As her scream rose in crescendo, she silently agreed with him.