[Harry Potter] The Gift (+18)

Disclaimer: As I’m not a blonde, rich, talented Englishwoman, I’m afraid this isn’t mine. Harry Potter ™ and all related characters belong to JK Rowling. I just borrowed them for a bit of fun.

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WARNING: This story’s rating is not without reason. It contains torture, severance of body parts, object rape, mentions of rape, character death and blood/gore in general. If this is not your cup of tea, please leave now. You have been warned.

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The Gift

“Add more water to the broth, Bella. We have a guest.”

If there was something Bellatrix Lestrange did not like, it was being treated like a commoner or, worse, a housewife. Because she was no mere housewife; she was much more than that. She was one of the last pure-blood descendents of the most noble House of Black.

There was no one who could reign over her by right of blood, and those to whom she gave her allegiance had to be exceptional wizards, both in valour and ancestry. In her youth, her family had won over the powerful Abraxas Malfoy and convinced him to betroth his only son, the equally influential Lucius, to her younger sister Narcissa, becoming, therefore, close allies with the whole Black family, Bella included. While a young adult, she had been in the middle of a masterful union of houses, power and wills by being given in marriage to the incredibly wealthy Rodolphus, from the House of Lestrange, while her family kept a few other masculine pure-blood contacts on the side for her, just in case they were actually needed some day.

Of course, none of those even came close to what Bellatrix considered her most powerful alliance. The rightful heir of Slytherin, hailed for his support of pure-blood ways and traditions, eventually the most powerful and influential Dark Lord of all time, had, from the very start, commanded Bella’s allegiance in a way no other man had ever done or would ever do.

As time passed, Bella had found herself enraptured by the Dark Lord’s very presence, the sight and sound of him more alluring than the ideals he defended. She was no longer loyal to the cause; she was loyal to the terrible, godlike man behind it. And only that could make Bellatrix Lestrange, the fearsome Lady of Darkness, submit so tamely to a comment that, albeit jokingly issued, reduced her to nothing more than the very breed she abhorred.

“And who might it be, my Lord?”

The Dark Lord smiled, but said no more. Instead, he crossed the room to sit on a throne-like armchair placed atop a velvet-covered plank and eyed Bellatrix with an expression that, in anyone else, could have been mistaken for lust. In him, however, it was anticipation of a completely different kind – the anticipation of blood, which made the usually terrifying face seem even more inhuman than usual.

The Lord then clapped his hands twice.

“Bring our guest, Yaxley.”

The door the Lord had come through only seconds ago opened again, allowing a bulky, muscular and dangerous-looking man into the room. Yaxley bowed low, not bothering to hide his glee and then raised his wand for a Summoning charm.

Across the threshold came, this time, the limp form of a young man, suspended in mid-air by the force of the Death Eater’s magic. Yaxley let the boy down at the Lord’s feet, prostrating himself on the floor afterwards.

“You may go, Yaxley. Let no one bother me unless called first.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Yaxley rose to his feet, bowed low once again, and left without another word, closing the door behind him.

“Let no one bother you, my Lord? Is it wise, in these times…?”

The Dark Lord eyed Bella sharply, as if reminding her of her place, and his lieutenant steeled herself for well-deserved punishment. The Dark Lord, however, settled for chuckling darkly and stood up, beckoning her closer.

“Why, Bella, I must confess to being surprised. Surely you have already recognised our guest?”

With a flick of his wand, the lifeless lump of flesh was elevated in the air into a vertical position, spinning slowly between Bellatrix and her master. It was only when the circular motion brought the young man’s face into Bella’s view, however, that she gasped in awestruck recognition.

“My Lord, is that…?!”

The Lord’s grin became, if possible, more feral than before.

“Indeed, Bella, it is. Our dear Severus brought this… ah… treasure in just after sunset. I gave him the privilege of being the first to enjoy the boy, of course. I daresay everyone has already had their go.” The Lord’s face was now mere centimetres from the youth’s now still one, his expression completely focused on the emerald green orbs in front of his, his voice so low that Bella had to strain her ears to make it out.

“Except you, of course, Bella.”

The Death Eater could not contain her indignation at the implication of her master’s words.

“My Lord, pardon me, but I would rather not soil myself with such… filth.”

This time, the Dark Lord laughed out loud, meeting his servant’s black, merciless eyes with his crimson, deadly ones.

“Nor would I expect you to, my dearest Bella. I can rightly say that you, out of all my servants, respect the value of being a pure-blood. No, consider this a reward for so many years of dedication to me, Bella. A gift from Lord Voldemort to his most faithful servant.”

Bella bowed low, prostrating herself in front of the Lord as Yaxley had done earlier. “It’s a honour, my Lord. Tell me what to do and I shall do it gleefully.”

“Rise, Bella, and look at me.”

Bellatrix obeyed immediately, facing her master with such joyful ardour that the Lord nodded in appreciation and cupped her chin.

“He will be yours to do as you please for the next hour, my dear Bella. My only condition is that you leave him conscious and aware for me.”

Bella looked at the form suspended in mid-air. “My Lord, he seems already too far gone for it, I’m afraid. Take a look at his eyes: they’re dead.” She stated dispassionately.

“Ah.” The Dark Lord let go of Bella and started pacing around the unconscious boy. “That would be because he is currently under the effect of a potion. A nice invention of Severus’s; I must reward him later for thinking of it especially for this occasion. Of course, after several blunders one must make sure everything goes according to plan, must one not? It had its disadvantages, however – I believe Severus mentioned the drinker would not be able to speak articulately for the twenty four hours after its ingestion. It matters not, though – this boy will not need to make any speech or incite the populace to rebellion again, not when he will not live to see another sunrise. He just needs to be aware. Now let us see how he will react to our presence, Bella. Excito!”

Immediately, the glazed emeralds became sharper and started moving, taking in their surroundings and finally coming to rest on Bellatrix and her Lord, widening in recognition.

“Hello, Harry. How kind of you to join us. Bella, if you please… do the honours.”

The Death Eater Queen smiled predatorily, enjoying the fear the boy emanated despite his valiant efforts to keep a fearless façade.

“Crucio!”

The green eyes shut themselves in pain. Every muscle was strained and the handsome, masculine jaw clenched so forcefully it almost seemed impossible, but their guest did not make a sound.

“Crucio!”

The eyes opened, showing fear, strain and defiance. In the boy’s forehead, near his scar, a vein seemed ready to pop. His hands closed in on themselves, forming fists, and his toes curled, but he still made no sound.

“Crucio!”

The eyes became bloodshot due to the strain. From the boy’s mouth, a small rivulet of blood started running, probably because he had unintentionally bitten into his cheek. His hands, too, became bloodied, nails digging unmercifully into flesh and, even though the young man’s mouth eventually opened, he remained stubbornly silent.

Bellatrix’s rage was etched on her face. The boy would not mock her in this way. She would make him scream.

“Appareo whip!”

A large whip, looking filthy and used, was conjured out of nowhere, falling into her hands as if it belonged there. Bellatrix ran her wand over it, impregnating it slowly and thoroughly with a grimy, foul-smelling substance. A last wave of her wand, and her victim was now naked and standing chained to a wooden pillar.

The whip lashed out violently, striking the young man’s back with tremendous force. A harsh breath was sucked into that shamefully delicious mouth and exhaled rapidly, as if it proved the boy’s bravery and the rightness of what he stood for. That, Bella thought, was Gryffindor House’s worst fault: they never knew when to give up and concede defeat.

She was going to enjoy breaking the half-blood.

Two, three, four, twenty, thirty. A few moans could be heard along the way, but the boy was, amazingly enough, still in control of his mind.

Too bad he was their enemy. Such loyalty to a cause was rare to find amongst the Dark supporters.

Bella risked a glance at her Lord and master, who was watching the boy with narrowed eyes. The urge to please kicked in more forcefully than ever before. Although her master had forbidden her to whip more than the back of captives who were not just useless playthings whose information had already been extracted, telling her to leave them to the sharp efficacy of Walden McNair, she doubted the Lord would mind it much when the victim was an enemy he had been chasing after for so many years.

With another flick of her wand, the chains changed their position and the body did a 180 degree rotation, allowing her and the Lord a full view of the youth’s face.

Wide green eyes stared at dark ones just before the whip struck a bare nipple, tearing it open violently, and a breathy hiss of pain left the boy’s mouth. Another one, this time on the face, aimed for the left eye, coaxed a pain-filled scream out of him. It was music to Bellatrix’s ears, and looking at her master, she could tell he was pleased.

Too bad she couldn’t do it again. The Dark Lord would certainly object to the boy being completely blinded – he would want him to witness his own destruction at the Lord’s triumphant hands. She would have to find some other means to achieve her ends.

Decisively pointing her wand at the manacles chaining the boy to the thick pillar, she made them change their position so as to stretch his muscles past their limit. The boy’s remaining eye watered copiously and his breath became increasingly laboured before another painful shout could be heard. Bellatrix’s already wide grin became markedly sadistic.

She waited until the boy looked up at her to strike again. There was still defiance in him in spite of his condition, but now he almost reeked of fear and defeat. It was like his rationality was telling him to surrender and make the end as quick as possible, but his damned courage wanted him to keep fighting against all odds. How touching. And fitting, too. The boy had never been more than a puppet, after all.

The young man howled in pain when the whip struck, consecutively and repeatedly, his other nipple, lower belly and, finally, landed across his thighs, leaving Bella wondering if she could go for the kill, so to speak.

Turning around to seek permission from her master, she found herself eye to eye with him and, for once, the eyes she faced looked almost human, save for their colouration, so dilated were the pupils.

“Carry on, Bella.”

The brief order had been issued in a breathy whisper, but it left Bella with no doubt that the Lord knew what she was planning to do and was looking forward to it.

Another look at the boy’s body and Bella almost regretted her decision. Although marred and bloodied, it was still undeniably exquisite. Had he been on the right side, Bella would have gladly made him one of her many allies. But the boy was not on the right side, and such perfection was wasted on the likes of him – a filthy son of a mudblood, champion of the lesser, and leader of a rebellion against the values her master fought so hard to reinstate in a decaying wizarding world. He was a threat, and he needed to pay dearly for it.

Blinding rage against the youth sprang fiery and deadly inside Bella. With force enhanced by magic and emotion, the whip lashed out viciously, striking the boy’s pelvic region once, and then, with less passion, twice, thrice, ten times, the angle varying a little each time to ensure that a slightly different area could be covered each time at first, and then that the whip struck already torn flesh. The screams were almost inhuman, the coppery smell of blood almost overwhelming when Bella stepped back to admire her work.

The flesh was mangled, the youth's inner thighs, testicles and penis covered in blood, but her aim seemed to have been worse than she had previously thought. There was a single, albeit deep, wound in his cock, deep enough to tear the flesh open but not nearly enough to sever it from the rest of the body, as she originally intended.

Looking at the blood it dripped, however, she decided that perhaps it was for the best. Bella advanced until she was standing mere centimetres from the panting, shuddering and crying boy. Where was the famed Boy-Who-Lived now?

Cleaning a spot on the ground, she knelt, looking up at the now almost irrational youth. Then, with a snakelike movement, her tongue started lapping at the boy’s penis, licking the blood and making him shiver with disgust and burning pain at the contact of her saliva with the wound.

With a malicious smirk, Bellatrix took the head into her mouth, continuing to suck at the wound so expertly that the boy seemed to lose what little awareness was still left in him, animal instincts taking over in the form of a tentative semi-hardness despite the pain he must still be feeling. Bella’s smirk around it became more ferocious before she felt a hand lie on her shoulder.

“What do you think you are doing, Bellatrix?”

Recognising the use of her full name for what it was, Bella decided to jump ahead to the final part of her plan. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she brought her teeth down on the wounded member unmercifully, making blood spill out more forcefully than before and leaving her prey a hysterical, bloody mass as she got up and faced her master.

The Dark Lord’s face was a mix of fury and arousal, his eyes piercing as he stared at her.

“What was that about, Bella, my dear? I thought you did not want to soil yourself?”

“Teaching the half-breed his place, my Lord. Cleansing his impure blood, making him pay for all the trouble he’s caused us.”

The Lord’s unmerciful eyes all but burned holes into her dark ones before straying to look at the still screaming boy chained to the pillar next to them and bleeding copiously all over the floor. He would eventually bleed to death, Bella knew, and that moment could not be far, judging by how much he had already lost.

“You are lucky, Bella.” The Lord’s eyes were still fixed on the boy. “This is a special day, so you shall not be punished – for now. Nevertheless, I would think you have already done quite enough. I shall take over now. Stand back.”

Taking the order submissively, Bella bent low once again, kissing the hem of her master’s robes before straightening herself and retreating to the door.

Meanwhile, the Lord’s eyes seemed glued to the scene before him, seeing an enemy that had once seemed eternal driven to such helplessness and despair by him. Not directly, of course, but he would correct that soon enough now that the boy was dominated.

“Accio Gryffindor’s sword.”

The sword came through the door, shattering it with the magic-driven impact and showering Bella in sharp pieces of wood as it zoomed past her, directly into her master’s waiting hands.

“Hello again, Harry. Did you miss me during your little interlude with dear Bella? She was most gracious towards you, I saw, was she not?”

Defiance sparkled for a moment in the eye Bella had spared, as if her being told to step back had made things easier. Foolish boy.

“Do you know what this is, Harry? The genuine sword of Gryffindor. I hear it has become your weapon of choice lately, has it not?” The Lord eyed his prisoner amusedly. “How fitting, that… the moral heir of Gryffindor defeated by Gryffindor’s very own sword at the hands of the rightful heir of Slytherin. I call it poetic justice.”

The Dark Lord raised both hands, one wielding his wand, the other the sword. Touching the tip of the wand to the point of the sword, he whispered “Igneus”, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged, torch-lit room now that the boy had momentarily stopped wailing.

Slowly but steadily, the metal began to redden, emanating a fiery glow that made the Lord’s face more terrible than before.

“Now, Harry, shall we begin?”

In a swift movement, the tip of the sword had dived between the boy’s forcibly parted thighs and plunged past his entrance, tearing it and making him howl in agony. The sword was almost immediately withdrawn, the smile in the Lord’s face maniacal.

“Just a taste, Harry, just a taste. Now, where next? Oh, yes…”

Pressing the flat side of the sword against the marred chest ensured the boy’s howls continued, accompanied by another wave of the smell of charred flesh, before slicing the skin of the flat belly open with a sweep more powerful than that of Bella’s whip.

Another excited pause, while the Lord moved to the other side of the post, out of the boy’s line of sight. The motions of the blade were immediately followed by hysterical screams, as the victim’s panic-addled mind realised what had happened. Even more blood had joined the ocean already on the floor by the time the Lord had returned to his original position in front of the boy, now sustained against the post only by magic, his arms hanging limp by his sides and the ropes that had bound him lying bloodstained on the floor.

“Did you like that, Harry? I shall send one to each of your dearest friends, of course, as a nice souvenir of your person and a taste of what is coming for them. A good idea, is it not?”

Bella doubted the boy would have had the guts to answer the rhetorical question even if he had not been made to swallow that potion.

“Tell me, Harry, did it feel good to defy me? To be the wizarding world’s little hero while everyone thought me gone forever, dead, even? How did you like it, Harry? Did it please you, make you feel important? Make you feel powerful, more powerful than me, the king of wizards?”

The Dark Lord stopped, panting furiously, and approached the bloody mass his enemy had been reduced to.

“So let me tell you something, Harry. The subtleties of Magic and Fate are things someone like you cannot even begin to understand. You see, I was predestined to be the Wizard amongst the wizards, their one and sole leader for the rest of the wizarding world’s life. Fate tempted me, and I almost fell for Her tricks. Fate put you, Harry Potter, in my way to test my worthiness, and although it was not clear at first, it is now. You were the hurdle I had to overcome to prove myself worthy of Fate’s plans for me, and so I did. I overcame you. I’ve won Her trust. But that should not come as a surprise, should it?”

The Lord’s breathing was ragged and his eyes maniacal as he placed the tip of the incandescent sword over the boy’s heart and thrust violently, impaling him. The blood gurgled in the boy’s throat just before the Lord twisted the sword inside him and the remaining green eye became dull and lifeless.

“Lord Voldemort always wins.”

Um final... Diferente!
No entanto, encaixa-se nas personalidades das duas personagens que retrataste aqui (vou ignorar o HP porque foi apenas um corpo, não teve um papel "ativo", coitado xD). Uma louca, sádica e psicótica que não olha a meios para satisfazer is desejos de quem considera um Deus (mais ou menos como religiosos fanáticos) e um tirano incapaz de sentir a mais pequena réstia de emoção mas totalmente crente que está a seguir as regras do Destino.
Por estranho e desconcertante que seja, gostei do teu texto e da tortura que aplicaste aqui! O chicote foi um toque interessante :)

Wow. Obrigada, Fox*. Esta história não costuma ter muito boa recepção, e foi mesmo tirada da net por uns tempos por causa disso, como tal alegra-me que tenhas conseguido perceber o objectivo: caracterização de dois vilões com uma situação inerente aos mesmos. Francamente, esta é, em termos de caracterização, a história que escrevi que mais me agrada. (E antes que alguém pergunte, eu gosto muito do Harry, razão pela qual nem consegui escrever falas para ele neste texto.)

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Okay, deixa-me ver se consigo dizer qualquer coisa mais ou menos articulada e construtiva para além de "Okay, PERTURBADOR!". Isto porque suponho que já estavas a contar que ouvirias algo semelhante mesmo antes de publicares o texto. Também não estou a dizer que é perturbador no mau sentido, porque, bem, é darkfic. Ser perturbadora é a função dela. E esta pelo menos é in character, por assim dizer.

O inglês também está muito decente - tens tendência a abusar das vírgulas um pouco mais que o necessário, algo que se nota particularmente no princípio, mas à parte disso não houve gralhas que me saltassem à vista. Invejo-te a tua beta. Lamento é que não tenhas feito o Harry abrir a boca, embora entenda o porquê de não o teres querido fazer. Porque como disse a Fox, ele acabou meio reduzido a um adereço, penso que em grande parte por essa razão.

P.S. - Por uma questão de curiosidade, quando é que esta história foi escrita? Ela precede a publicação de Deathly Hallows, ou estamos a correr com a noção de que Snape era realmente um traidor?)

P.P.S. - Vou precisar de colocar um (+18) no título disto. Espero que não te importes, mas, uhmmm...ele é MUITO necessário neste caso.

P.P.P.S - Penso que irei dar uma vista de olhos ao resto das tuas histórias.

Olá Moggo! Claro que estava à espera desse tipo de reacção, e estás à vontade para colocar todos os avisos que entenderes serem necessários. Como tu disseste, a fic é perturbadora, ponto final. (Isso, no entanto, não justifica ameaças à minha integridade física, como já aconteceu noutras paragens.)

O facto de o Harry ser um boneco ali no meio prende-se, não só com o narrador (ponto de vista da Bellatrix) e com a natureza , como também com o fact de eu gostar bastante dele. Não consegui fazê-lo dar luta e magoar-se mais no processo quando sabia que a história ia acabar desta maneira - a ideia surgiu-me para o final da história ("Lord Voldemort always wins"), e originalmente a Bellatrix não fazia parte dela.

A história foi escrita em 2008, um ano após a publicação de Deathly Hallows. Dito isto, eu acho que o papel do Snape aqui seria dúbio e que talvez a poção tivesse algo mais para aliviar o sofrimento do Harry. Eu adoro o Snape e acho que foi mal explorado na série original, como tal tentei fazer com que também a menção dele aqui fosse misteriosa e pudesse ser deixada à mercê da interpretação do leitor, porque ele é demasiado complexo para poder ser estereotipado como vilão ou bonzinho.

Em relação a beta-readers para fics em Inglês (Harry Potter ou originais), podes ir ao Perfect Imagination (passo a publicidade, que eles não me pagam para isso). Eu gostei muito de trabalhar com a Romany e a Raisinous, que vieram de lá. E sim, eu e as vírgulas somos muito amigas, como dá para notar!

Em suma, obrigada pelo comentário :)