Drabble: In Pieces - R
Title: In Pieces
Character/Pairings: Hermione Granger
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, Torture
Word Count: 640
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Written for: MNFF's DADA First Year's Class
Notes: Inspired by song In Pieces by Linkin Park
Summary: Hermione's captor tortures her in more than one way
The bright sun shone darkly upon the heavens as a young woman pushed steadily through a thicket of shrubbery in the dense forest that kept her captive; it snagged and tore at her robes almost violently as she tried getting away from her persecutor, or better yet, her cruel tormentor - dangling hope in front of her before viciously reminding her who she was: his property, to do as he pleased.
The soft, feathery lashes from the branches caressed her feverish skin, soothing it coolly, yet harshly punishing her for running in the first place as it broke through her skin. Her breath came in short puffs of air, as her lungs screamed in agony, begging for a moment of rest; a particularly long tree branch snapped as she violently pushed it away and it gashed at the ivory cold skin of her hand; a hot salty tear traveled down her warm skin, leaving a trail of anguish in its path as she pushed on hastily - desperate to get away from the fate that would befall her, should she stop for a moment of weakness.
Tripping on the root of a tree, her small cry of pain tore at her heart as well as her body. As she fell onto the grimy and cold forest floor, hope drained out of her as well; it withered her of all energy, it made her weep with sorrow and be filled with dreams of happier times even as it was violently gnashed out of her through her constant tormentor who took sick pleasure in hunting his victims by building up their hope of escape. Biting down on her lip to keep herself from crying like so many times in past moments of defeat, she tore through the skin and felt the metallic taste of blood slowly dripping down her chin, dripping onto the dirt below, mixing with the dusty earth in small pearly-red globs; it created a mud-like substance, like her own dirty blood.
A dark shadow fell upon her figure, casting terror to run through her body and left her a quivering mass of nerves like a forgotten piece of gelatin.
“Why do you always run if you know you won’t get away?” the voice of her captor drawled coldly, a white gloved hand gently caressing her jaw as it harshly pulled her around to face him. The fire that once burned in her eyes, dimmed each day that he pretended to let her go, mocking her to regain her freedom, and then punished her harshly for trying.
“Answer me, Granger,” he harshly rasped, tightly gripping her chin and bruising it along the process.
She hadn’t spoken in months; her broken spirit forbade her of giving him the pleasure of begging for mercy or crying out in pain. She’d learned to take the physical pain many years ago, and when he’d grown angry with her lack of a reaction, he had taken to brutally abusing her mind and spirit; he gave her hope, and she stupidly dared to dream, Gryffindor that she was.
More recently, he’d begun an assault of her body and mind, belittling her in every possible way conceivable to his twisted, pure-blood mind. He’d caress her skin in the shadows of the night, drawing blood with his nails as he raked his fingers over her frail form. Her cries of pain at first had excited him and he’d taken a sick pleasure in wooing her, and pretending to love her even as he’d scowl at her with hate when he’d finish.
“Why must I want you so?” he spat, slapping her brutally.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and a small glimmer of anger flashed in them; smiling in triumph, he sneered at the brunette wondering how much more it would be before she’d lay broken in pieces.
ETA: Updated July 26, 2010
Character/Pairings: Hermione Granger
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, Torture
Word Count: 640
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Written for: MNFF's DADA First Year's Class
Notes: Inspired by song In Pieces by Linkin Park
Summary: Hermione's captor tortures her in more than one way
The bright sun shone darkly upon the heavens as a young woman pushed steadily through a thicket of shrubbery in the dense forest that kept her captive; it snagged and tore at her robes almost violently as she tried getting away from her persecutor, or better yet, her cruel tormentor - dangling hope in front of her before viciously reminding her who she was: his property, to do as he pleased.
The soft, feathery lashes from the branches caressed her feverish skin, soothing it coolly, yet harshly punishing her for running in the first place as it broke through her skin. Her breath came in short puffs of air, as her lungs screamed in agony, begging for a moment of rest; a particularly long tree branch snapped as she violently pushed it away and it gashed at the ivory cold skin of her hand; a hot salty tear traveled down her warm skin, leaving a trail of anguish in its path as she pushed on hastily - desperate to get away from the fate that would befall her, should she stop for a moment of weakness.
Tripping on the root of a tree, her small cry of pain tore at her heart as well as her body. As she fell onto the grimy and cold forest floor, hope drained out of her as well; it withered her of all energy, it made her weep with sorrow and be filled with dreams of happier times even as it was violently gnashed out of her through her constant tormentor who took sick pleasure in hunting his victims by building up their hope of escape. Biting down on her lip to keep herself from crying like so many times in past moments of defeat, she tore through the skin and felt the metallic taste of blood slowly dripping down her chin, dripping onto the dirt below, mixing with the dusty earth in small pearly-red globs; it created a mud-like substance, like her own dirty blood.
A dark shadow fell upon her figure, casting terror to run through her body and left her a quivering mass of nerves like a forgotten piece of gelatin.
“Why do you always run if you know you won’t get away?” the voice of her captor drawled coldly, a white gloved hand gently caressing her jaw as it harshly pulled her around to face him. The fire that once burned in her eyes, dimmed each day that he pretended to let her go, mocking her to regain her freedom, and then punished her harshly for trying.
“Answer me, Granger,” he harshly rasped, tightly gripping her chin and bruising it along the process.
She hadn’t spoken in months; her broken spirit forbade her of giving him the pleasure of begging for mercy or crying out in pain. She’d learned to take the physical pain many years ago, and when he’d grown angry with her lack of a reaction, he had taken to brutally abusing her mind and spirit; he gave her hope, and she stupidly dared to dream, Gryffindor that she was.
More recently, he’d begun an assault of her body and mind, belittling her in every possible way conceivable to his twisted, pure-blood mind. He’d caress her skin in the shadows of the night, drawing blood with his nails as he raked his fingers over her frail form. Her cries of pain at first had excited him and he’d taken a sick pleasure in wooing her, and pretending to love her even as he’d scowl at her with hate when he’d finish.
“Why must I want you so?” he spat, slapping her brutally.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and a small glimmer of anger flashed in them; smiling in triumph, he sneered at the brunette wondering how much more it would be before she’d lay broken in pieces.
ETA: Updated July 26, 2010