Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

Thanks to Jilliane for proofing this chapter. I hope I made all the corrections you suggested.

This chapter describes torture. If you find the subject matter too painful skip to the last third of the chapter. Believe me, when I did my research, I thought a third, fourth and fifth time about including even a mild description of this torture in the story. The description here-in is mild in comparison to what I read.

Torture of this type and worse is carried out everyday in every country. If you are affected by this story, do something. Contact your congressman, contact Amnesty International. Try to make it stop.



Chapter 8: Lucius Malfoy

I spent the next weeks in continual service to Greyback preparing various tinctures to fortify his pack, and making the Wolfsbane potion that he would need to further violate me. The Dark Lord's instructions had been explicit on my care. I was not to be killed, just made to suffer. Miss Weasley, now Ginevra to me, assisted me with the potion for the first time, her brewing skills adequate to the task of chopping and such. I would not trust her with the brewing yet. My life depended on the purity of the brew.

Borowiec had arranged for Miss Weasley to work solely with me. Her physical breakdown had been long in coming and with her workload cut in half she seemed somewhat recovered. She still had the dark circles under her eyes, a common problem to gingers of which I had heard Lily complain. Ginevra, I noticed, studiously avoided any reflective surface and when she did come across a mirror, she averted her eyes. I wondered at that, but said nothing. I too avoided mirrors, but not from any psychological aversion. I just did not wish to be reminded of the curse of my father's genes stamped so definitely on my face.

During the day, we brewed, and at night, she sneaked books out of the small town library so that we could read. She discovered an American author called Stephen King and was quite taken with his book, The Stand. I read it to placate her, but soon became engrossed in the post-apocalyptic scenario, much too close to our own for comfort, but fascinating nonetheless. I truly enjoyed the struggle of the protagonists even as I identified the various characters with people I knew. If ever a literary figure was written that mirrored the Dark Lord, it was Randall Flagg. I even referred to him as the Walking Dude in my mind, so taken was I by the image.

I accidentally used the moniker one day, in a discussion with Ginevra over our afternoon repast. She laughed, the sound of bells and spring rain, and said, "I wonder if that King fellow knew You Know Who."

I felt heat creep up my neck. I had not been one to let fancy take me since I had been a small child and the thoughts had been beaten out of me by both my parents. Life at Spinner's End was too depressing to permit fantasy to reign. I turned to my empty plate, grumbling something derogatory, really more of a warning to myself than a statement to her. She fell into hurt silence though, and I immediately regretted my utterances. I finished my pasty and cleaned the area before returning to work, unable to think of statement that would make me look less of an utter bastard. As I stated before, I was beginning to care for Miss Weasley whether it damned me or not.

Later, after we spent the rest of the afternoon working in strained silence, I turned to her. "Miss Weasley, Ginevra... I am unused to frivolity in myself. Please forgive my comments. They were directed wholly at my own faults."

"I thought..." She twisted the cleaning cloth in her hands, her small, deft fingers kneading the harsh cloth between them in a fascinating way. I tore my gaze from the almost sensual motion. "I thought I had made you uncomfortable somehow. I didn't even hear what you said, honestly."

I knew she was lying. I had been lied to enough to discern fact from fiction, and by better deceivers than the young woman before me. I inclined my head in that way I had that would make the most recalcitrant student confess their every sin. She merely smiled at me, her eyes warm, and her expression open. "Severus, I think we need to cut your hair. You look ridiculous with it singed half off like that."

My hand drifted to the lank and ugly mass. I felt another bit of heat creep up my neck the warmth settling in my cheeks. I have never been vain about my looks. I have no illusions about my appearance. I certainly know that lank hair, a hooked nose and body that could only be described as painfully thin, was not the stuff of most female or male fantasies. I have no illusions, and at both Hogwarts and Spinner's End I had all the enchanted mirrors replaced with Muggle ones. They never had anything good to say about me. I scowled at her without an answer. Ridiculous chit.

"Oh, now I've upset you," she said with an affecting pout to her voice. "I really didn't mean to, I just thought... Well, you always looked so dashing and put together at Hogwarts; I thought you would want to look that way again."

Dashing. Me. I knew she was having me on then, and the thought hurt me almost as much as when I had overheard Lily talking to one of her Gryffindor friends about my looks at the beginning of fifth year. I mastered my emotions as I gave the appropriate sneering response to cover the pain her words caused. "Please, Miss Weasley. I do not wish to become an object of your ridicule."

I slammed out of the room, into the bathroom, not at all amused by her observations. I had enough of derision to last a lifetime starting with my father's dulcet tones. I wanted no more. When I returned to the room, Miss Weasley was gone.

I was summoned early the next day before breakfast. I dreaded these days. Greyback spent much of his free time in search of the perfect way to humiliate me. On the days he chose to call me early, he usually had rather painful ideas of what would be appropriate. To my surprise, Frederick Weasley was the one to prepare me for the ordeal ahead. He knocked and then entered my cell, looking decidedly uncomfortable as I stripped and he fastened the leash to my iron collar. I jerked forward as he pulled my hair while clipping the brass fitting. "Sorry, Professor."

"I will have worse than that today, I'm sure," I muttered.

He returned evenly, "Not by me, you won't."

He took the leash without further comment and led me from the room.

It had been days since I had been allowed out, and the weather, while always dismal in this little corner of England, had taken a turn for the worse. The skies were leaden and low hanging, promising snow or some other precipitation. I shivered uncontrollably as the winter air hit my skin. The change was not upon me, and I felt the cold very keenly. Mr. Weasley muttered a warming charm but the effect dissipated as soon as he cast, as I had not clothing to keep it upon me. I walked faster, knowing I hastened my quality time with Greyback, but needing even the meagre heat of the building that housed him.

Weasley took me to a room unfamiliar to me in the basement. It was cluttered with file cabinets and smelled of mould. The Yank serviceman who had been turned before I came to the colony was sitting at a table behind a Muggle contraption that was loaded with wires. The air in the room had a sharp note of ozone or the odour of strong magic. The Yank would not meet my eyes as Mr. Weasley asked, "Where do you want him, Bruno?"

"The Alpha said the chair. Get the bucket from the next room and fill it with water." Bruno's expression was stoic and his voice mild, but an element of unease shifted through the command. "He'll want your sister here for it. Get her and return."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Weasley whispered as he led me to a metal folding chair in the centre of the clutter.

Bruno approached, fitting me with wires that led back to the contraption. He placed the wires under my scrotum, and wrapped a copper coil around each of my large toes. His grey-green eyes swept up to mine, meeting my gaze in an almost apologetic manner before he returned to the machine and waited.

I felt like retching, and thanked Providence that I had not partaken of a large breakfast. Greyback was obviously going to exploit some Muggle electrical technology to effect my humiliation. I did not know whether I wished to survive the new horror, or to die this day. Either way, I knew without being told, that I would beg for death or violation at some point. Greyback was very astute in his choice of tortures.

Weasley returned with the bucket, sloshing water on himself and across my feet as he placed it by me. The Gryffindor left, returning moments later with his white-faced sister. Her eyes were troubled, but she said nothing to me. What words could she offer to me that would help me face Greyback's horrors? I smiled at her, a true one without the edge of derision that I projected so effectively. She lifted her gaze from my face to a point above my body, but made no answering smile as her chin wobbled slightly. Her Gryffindor bravery was to be tested.

"Today, Traitor, we go Muggle. They are so inventive when it comes to the extremities of pain, don't you think?" Greyback boomed heartily upon entry. My torture soon commenced.

&*&*&

Afterwards, Miss Weasley cleaned my body, which was covered in various forcefully expelled exudates. She did so without expression, her hands deftly easing across my seared flesh. She came to the wire under my scrotum and made a soft inhalation, nothing more as she pried the wire from my flesh. I cried out, unable to do any less as the agony of the wound increased. She soothed the electrical burns on my genitalia with the burn cream that she had secreted away after Bonfire Night. I tried to speak, but it felt as if a band was around my chest, compressing my lungs and heart in a painful vise. The most I could do was gasp inarticulately.

I remember Greyback leaving after the torture, mumbling something about a Summons to the Dark Lord, but I suspected he had another boy to molest.

My torture had consisted of electric shock, rape by a large, Muggle sexual aid, and a rather mild beating. Greyback had wanted more output from the Muggle device, but the Yank had convinced him that I would die if the box were turned on fully. After a few bursts of sharp agony from the Muggle contraption, I had convulsed so badly that the Yank refused to do more.

As I twitched in and out of a haze of pain and memory loss, I once again noticed Miss Weasley's cool hands upon my heated flesh.

I heard the Yank ask, "He's gone?"

I lifted my eyes to the corner to which the younger werewolf had spoken, and saw a figure in the doorway. In my haze-filled mind, I recognised the face but could not place a name to it.

"Yes." Upon hearing the figure's voice, I realised the Yank spoke to Borowiec.

I attempted to raise my head from the rough pallet of papers and file folders on which I had been deposited after the Alpha made his exit. Ginevra pushed me back down as she ran her hand over my chest and up my arms. She continued her soft stroking of my flesh, absently punctuating the motion with occasional pats. I felt the deep gnawing hunger once again for contact, and in my pitiable condition I could not deny myself by shaking off the girl’s hands.

Bruno let out a sigh. "I can't fucking do this anymore, Dusun. I was in the motor pool, not Intelligence... I didn't sign up to... It's wrong what he did to him."

Heavy silence descended on the room until I heard the Yank say. "This whole thing is fucking sick. I thought this was just supposed to be a way to get information from the Traitor, not a session to get the old bastard off."

I heard the Yank vomit, the contents of his stomach splattering to the floor as the miasma of acidic bile filled the room. After a moment, the Yank asked, "Is this shit what you were talking about?"

"Yes." The Beta understood the code in which the Yank spoke. I tried to follow the conversation, but my mind felt as if it were wrapped in cotton wool, even if my body was still reacting to the electrocution.

"He's ape-shit crazy, isn't he?" Bruno cursed softly to an answering affirmation by the Beta. "I'm in, then."

Borowiec grunted in assent as he moved toward me, his footsteps light on the stone of the floor. I jerked away from him, moaning through sharp and broken teeth, cutting my tongue on the jagged edges. Borowiec knelt beside Ginevra. "Severus?"

I moaned, unable to control my voice, unable to remember words through the haze of endorphins that had flooded my body. The sound of Borowiec's voice promised agony and I cried out as he began to examine me. "What can be done for him after this treatment, Bruno?"

The Yank came closer and I felt a keening sound of terror rip from my throat. Miss Weasley soothed me once more, cradling my head in her lap and smoothing my brow with the warm flat of her palm.

"Nothing much. He's just going to have to get over it." I heard the smacking of wires against flesh and then felt the Yank unwind the wires from my toes. My flesh peeled away with them. "Fucking A. You, little girl, Ginny, right? Put that shit on his toes. They're burnt too bad for us to leave them."

The pressure in my chest increased as I gasped for breath. I felt my life force slipping from my tenuous grasp. For whatever reason, whether it was my need for vengeance or my equally strong desire for the soothing physicality of Miss Weasley, I fought the pull of death.

I felt large, blocky fingers at my throat then and I heard Miss Weasley give a sharp whack to the intruding hand. She hissed, "What the fuck? Haven't you hurt him enough, you stupid bastard?"

My pulse pounded erratically against the fingers as Bruno said, "He needs to be seen by a doctor. His heart rate is erratic. I think he might be having a heart attack."

Borowiec rose and I heard him mutter a spell. Blackness swallowed me.

&*&*&

I awoke in increments, first becoming conscious of the soft, artificial trilling of a Muggle machine, and then feeling the pain of an object in my arm, above all else, I was aware of the fresh, outdoors scent of Ginevra as she held my hand. I opened my eyes to slits, revelling in the warmth of the blankets and the softness of the bed under me. Ginevra sat huddled tensely in a chair beside the bed, staring at a point beside me. I turned my head to what she looked at and was greeted by the sight of Lucius Malfoy in all his sartorial elegance.

Lucius had aged since I last saw him. He was showing the strain of allegiance to the Dark Lord, servitude that was obviously wearing on him even as his side claimed victory. I turned to Ginevra and whispered, almost pleading with her, "Leave."

She moved forward, shaking her head. "No, Severus. Borowiec told me to stay with you until you're released."

I tried to argue but Malfoy stayed my speech with a swift gesture of his hand. I felt my heart rate speed and the accompanying sounds of the Muggle machinery caused Lucius to jump slightly. I smirked. "Lucius, please let Miss Weasley go. I have suffered enough degradation in front of her, and she is unlikely to want to acquiesce quietly to your attentions. She has been brutalised enough. Please, Lucius."

Lucius' eyes narrowed in the manner I had seen him do when Abraxas had been particularly nasty to him, the pain and fury in his eyes masked by his smooth drawl, "Old man, there is no reason for her to leave. Neither you nor Miss Weasley appeal to me in that manner."

I cleared my throat, not knowing where I stood with this new Lucius, my true master. "What is your game, Lucius, or should I call you something more appropriate, such as Sir or Master?"

"Don't hold that little spell against me, please, Severus." Lucius had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I needed some insurance about your loyalty, and the Dark Lord provided me with the perfect opportunity."

"Of course. You have always been one to take advantage of any situation. Tell me, how is the family? Is Draco well, and what of Narcissa? I have so missed our little tete a tetes these last months." I made sure my sneering contempt of my former friend was evident in my tone and on my visage.

Lucius looked as if he might strike me as he flowed from his chair, his cane drawn back in the air. I cringed, even as I raised my chin, and just as suddenly as my new Master stood, he sat, his leather-clad hands shaking in an almost palsied manner. The lines in his angelically beautiful face deepened as he said, "My wife is dead, and my son has gone mad."

I felt a pain radiating from my left arm, not the Dark Mark, a more crushing pain that caused me to be unable to breathe properly. Ginevra sat forward, adjusting something on the clear, round line that was connected to my arm, her expression concerned.

She bit her lip as she watched my struggle. She finally spoke in a hesitant voice I had never heard from her before, "Mr. Malfoy, t-the Muggle Healer said Severus mustn't be put under any stress. Maybe you should come again later... if that would be okay. Sir."

Lucius gave Ginevra a look that spoke volumes about his feelings on the matter but inclined his head finally, drawing his gloves more tightly on his fingers before standing. He said, "I shall return when you are more stable. We have much we need to discuss, and it seems that Miss Weasley, as your self-appointed guardian, must be present to ensure I do you no harm."

I struggled to breathe around my parting words, "Get fucked, Lucius."

"I shall return tomorrow, Severus. Please ensure that your little Gryffindor is informed of the true nature of our relationship." Malfoy sneered at me and once more bestowed a speaking look between Ginevra and me before he moved to the door. "Until then, Miss Weasley, Severus."

As the door closed on his figure, I felt Ginevra's fingers intertwine with mine and my laboured breathing eased. She pressed a button and spoke into a little grid to call the physician.

Thanks for reading. Please take a moment and tell me what you think.