Hello All! This is my first attempt at non crossover, it's a sort of answer to the Marraige Law Challenge-with a twist and most of it is set behind Enemy lines.
James and Chris who beta'd, thank you muchos! Hope you all enjoy, it's a little dark...
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS RAPE AND TORTURE, IF THIS OFFENDS YOU PLEASE DO NOT PROCEED.
Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to J.K Rowling, and all BTVS belong to Joss Whedon, I do not make any money from this, and I own nothing..at all...
We are all caught in times terrible rhythms. Born from one void we surrender unto another. In between our steps fall into that well trodden pattern. We grow, we reproduce, we decay, and we die. The same patterns performed by interchangeable pieces. The things we learn, the people who touch our lives, the brave and the vain, the honest and the cowardly, the craven and the kind we lose it all in the end. Yet what is it that we really lose? Despite the entanglements of memory, the past is gone forever; it will not come this way again. The future rushes ever onwards, ever elusive, evaporating as we reach out to grasp it. All we will ever have, all we will ever lose is this moment, this present, this eternal now. There is nothing else.
As a child loneliness was my only constant; books my only companions. I threw myself into each new tale with such abandon because I wanted to lose myself in that maze of words. I was always disappointed when the story finished and I had to find the way back to myself again. Back to a world that doesn’t understand me filled with people who fear difference and punish it when they see it… Plain Jane, Brainy Janey.
When I was eleven, I thought I had been present with the perfect escape. My life had become a story, a fairytale. It began with a woman who could have stepped from the pages of one of my tales; a witch. She told me I was different special and she brought a letter which invited me to attend a school where that difference would be accepted and appreciated: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. At first the reality of unicorns, of werewolves, of magic itself distracted me but the loneliness soon began to gnaw at me again. I tried, I really did. I told myself if only I could show them, make them see… I drove myself harder than anyone as if that would win me friends. But even amongst the different I was a freak, ignored, mocked, tortured in ways big and small. Then I was saved from trolls by my Storybook Knights: Harry and Ron. Ron unpromising beginning a tentative friendship grew until we were The Gryffindor Three, The Golden Trio, incomparable, indefatigable, inseparable.
But I should have remembered how all fairytales end. Not with those comforting disneyfied lies, but with the stuff of blood-soaked nightmares. Cedric’s death in our fourth year made me realize all connections can be severed, all knights can be defeated, anyone can meet their match. This new war with Voldemort was going to kill most of us. It wasn’t just about Harry; it was about ALL of us. Every Muggle, every squib, every magical person. I wouldn’t live to see my twentieth birthday. I wouldn’t marry, nor have children. I would never see how my story ended.
I lived my life in constant terror. Everything could be ripped away from me every moment of every day. The mind has a tremendous capacity to cope. It was all too easy to become accustomed to the terror, until it felt familiar and familiarity breed complacency. With attention focused on Harry it was all too easy to delude myself that my family and I were safe.
They attacked my home on the Christmas Eve of my sixth year. Voldemort and his Deatheaters had been unsettlingly quiet. I wanted one day with my family one day to forget about the war. So I ignored the tension in the air, the instinct to run…
I wasn’t sure what woke me to be honest, but when I did awaken, the room was filled with an oppressive, pregnant silence. The lack of sound was in itself unnerving. My mum snored, light snores that I could hear if I strained, but I couldn’t hear anything…and it was cold, chills chasing up my arms and every hair on end. I couldn’t breath, I was so afraid. It caught in my throat, drowning me in a sea of sadness and it was hard to think, to feel anything but that paralyzing fear… The knob turned, slowly, like in a horror movie and I grabbed for my wand bringing it up, but my hand shook…I couldn’t still it, couldn’t focus. My mother stood in the open doorway, but there was a masked figure with her. My eyes widened, I wanted to fire a spell but the words froze on my lips. My mother’s body dropped to the floor, beautiful brown eyes staring up at nothing… My heart clenched, it was hard to breathe.
Sound rushed back with an agonizing pop, I could hear my father screaming, begging, and everything was too loud. I wanted to move and I couldn’t and even blinking felt like a small eternity. My wand was raised but I couldn’t even form the words to fire the spell. Too slow. The robed figure stepped towards me, my wand moved. Too slow.
I could only see my mum’s beautiful brown eyes and hear my father screaming. And then blackness swept over me.
2 days later
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Ronald Weasley asked, disbelief lacing his words, his face too pale. Hermione Granger, by turns annoying and adorable but undeniably vivacious, always reminding you she was there. How could she be gone?!
“Kingsley was at the house, Ron, “mum whispered her eyes bloodshot from crying. I was numb. Why would anyone go after her?!
“Did they look for her?” it was nearly yelled. Ginny glared at me, putting a soothing hand on mum’s arm. Her eyes were rimmed red from crying.
“Aurors are out tracing spells at this moment, her parents-she wasn’t in the house Ron.” I glanced at Harry whose face was blank; I think he was in shock.
“Do you think she’s dead?” he asked voice hollow.
“They would have put her body on display; they’d want us to know.” Ginny cut in, her face was too pale “She has to be alive; they must want something from her.” It didn’t seem likely, but I wanted to believe her words more than anything.
“Why would they take her instead of killing her?” This from George, I shot him a glare.
“Would you rather she be dead?”
“That’s not-“George started angrily.
“-what he meant!” Fred finished defending his twin. I stood angrily, pushing my chair back.
“Why are we just sitting here we need to find her!”
“I’m afraid all we can do is wait for the Aurors to finish their search, we don’t’ even know where to start.” Dad whispered, I looked around at their pale faces not believing my ears.
“You’re just going to sit here while she’s out there being tortured?!”
“You don’t know-“
“They hell I don’t!” I flung my arms up in the air, “She’s Muggleborn! Harry’s best chum, you think they took her to have a tea party?!” No one said anything; I shook my head, “That’s what I thought.”
You were burning, skin blistering, aching, and hurting.Dying.
He stood over you anger a touchable thing, his grey eyes were heavy with it. You cough, breath rattling in your chest-you could not get enough air to scream. Avery is watching his brown eyes alert, interested. His breath hitches as a blister bursts, you flesh seared and bleeding, the pain so much you are sure death would follow soon.What do you know?
You blink up at the ceiling;heart squeezing, blood running cold and stomach turning. There was a smell, thick and heavy, crawling down your throat.BurningDying
The Death Eater makes a sound, aggravation. With a swish and jab, a silent spell and the damage was gone. The skin whole and perfect, but your bones ached, throat raw from screaming...Who is in the Order?
“I don’t know.”Crucio
The pain is quick, unforgiving. Some say pain has a color, a feel-but this-it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. An endless agony that rips through the very core of your being, bows your back and peels the skin from your bones. Endless
And then it stops but your body twitches with aftershocks of pain, your body curls into a fetal position-it will not protect you from the next curse, or the next jinx. Perhaps it was only a few minutes of torture...Perhaps more. Time has lost it's meaning, you can't think of anything accept the pain. You are hauled to your feet, strung up by invisible cords. He regards you carefully.
"You think you are so clever Granger, but you are not." He is calm, gloved hands caressing his wand in a way that makes your stomach tight with apprehension, "I will break apart that big head of yours and find out all your little secrets...You will
talk just like every Mudblood before you."
Blood has gathered in your mouth, you spit it onto the stone floor and he grimaces in disgust-it makes you smile, and the laugh that follows is rough and choking. Dying