Innocence Lost

WARNING: Graphic rape in the following chapter. This story will begin to get Darker, so there is no point in skipping this chapter and reading the next one.

You have been informed, so please take note. No flamers, as they will be burnt at the stake. I already have the pile of wood and lighter fluid at the stand by.

***

Hermione was awoken by a blinding light, the intensity of it stinging her eyes through their heavily-fastened lids. She experienced only a few seconds of peace before she remembered where she was and why she was there. Raising a flat hand to her forehead, she attempted to shield her eyes from the dazzling luminosity overpowering her senses. Through her hazy vision, she was able to make out the figure of her captor. As his form came into focus, she found herself wondering vaguely how someone so angelic looking to the outside world could be, in reality, a demon hidden in corporeal form. She trembled as she sat up fully, wrapping her arms around her legs in a shielding manner.

She noticed an unfamiliar addition to the room – a conjured chair that he had placed in the corner at the foot of the bed. His cane was standing next to it, the metal serpent's head leaning lightly against the wall. His outer robe was folded neatly on the seat.

Hesitantly, she looked up at him, her mind a sea of murkiness in the aftermath of her slumber, and she froze.

Lucius was calmly, oh-so-slowly, undressing himself. His eyes were glued to hers as his fingers went about their business. His muted stare mocked her, his silence sending an eerie shiver through her body. She wished he would say something, anything, but his lips remained sealed, his fingers continuing on their dilatory path. She wanted more than anything to will this nightmare away, and she was startled when he finally spoke out to her.

"It is time to begin your lessons," he stated casually.

His voice was dispassionate, as if he were commenting on the weather, but she wasn't focused on his tone as much as his actions.

"My son tells me that you are an avid pupil, so this should be pretty straightforward, even for a novice such as yourself." His fingers travelled downward to yet another set of buttons as he spoke.

Her eyes widened, her mind just now wrapping around the concept of what he was insinuating, and she scrambled to tuck herself closer into the wall, wishing she were invisible.

Lucius chuckled lightly. "You didn't think I was keeping you here for your good looks," he sneered, as he folded his vest in half, placing it on the chair and moving his fingers to the white shirt that he wore underneath it. Once finished with the shirt, he bent down to untie his boots.

Hermione's eyes travelled to the cane in the corner. Knowing it to contain his wand, she sucked in a lungful of air and prepared to leap from the cot, the wooden instrument her only calculable chance at salvation. Flinging herself with an almighty shriek, she dove for her captor's head, making a desperate grab for the hidden wand.

Lucius' eyes snapped up at the wild scream, widening in surprise as he was pounced upon by the desperate hellcat. She made a clumsy swipe for his cane, but he easily knocked it from her hands, sending it flying across the room. Stumbling, he lost his footing, and the blond should be: blond Death Eater was knocked bluntly onto his back. She was on top of him then, kicking, spitting, clawing and biting at whatever parts of him she could reach. He would have been amused at her spunk if a particularly vicious scratch down his torso hadn't shaken him from his momentary musing.

"Enough!" he bellowed, and quick as a snake striking, he clamped both of her small, flaying wrists in one large, more capable hand. His grip was vice-like, the constraint causing her to struggle even more desperately than before.

He pushed himself off the cold dungeon floor and lifted her with ease. She was still struggling against him, desperately trying to wrench herself out of his air-tight grasp. His strength, however, was unyielding, and he constricted her wrists roughly. The breaking sound of her own grinding bones reached her ears, spurring her to thrash about further. She kicked him viciously, trying to cause injury to his shins with her unprotected feet.

Summoning his wand from across the room, he raised it toward her chest. "Stupefy," he said in a booming voice. Hermione barely glimpsed the fiery red light before it came into contact with her body. She fell backwards lifelessly.

Lucius' grip was still tight on her wrists, and he pulled her roughly towards him, jarring the broken carpal bones and causing her to slump against him.

"Stupid cunt of a child," he snarled as he pushed her roughly back onto the side of the small cot. Her limbs were pointed in every direction, but it was obvious that he could not care less for her comforts.

After smoothing his tousled hair, he ran his left hand down to the deep gouges on his chest where she had marked him. Lifting his fingers up to his line of vision, he stared at the blood-covered digits, frowning at the fact that a lowly Mudblood had been capable of such an assault upon his person. The pale wizard growled low in his throat. Not only had the harpy attacked him, but she had also drawn blood.

His eyes narrowed in her direction and his blood began to boil to an explosive peak. He desired nothing more at that moment than to tear her limb from limb, but he knew his limitations. His Lord would be more than infuriated with him, and his own subsequent death would not be a pleasant one. Instead, he decided that he would break her the old-fashioned way – make her pay for drawing his precious pure blood.

Yes, he thought viciously, she would fracture like one of Narcissa's expensive glass figurines. By the time he was through, he would have her begging for death; a death that would, unfortunately, not be given by his own hand. No matter. She was not even worthy enough to lick the underside of his boots.

He returned to his former task of removing his footwear, afterwards casting a Warming charm on his body. It would not do for him to be cold, he realised, and he consequently left his trousers in place. Pointing his wand at her once more, he bit out a harsh, "Enervate," and watched snidely as she came back to herself.

Her eyes grew large as she took in his half-clothed state, the bleeding nail marks on his torso jumping out at her against the pale, white flesh. A quick look at his face proved that he was indeed still livid over her actions, and she fled once more to the far side of the bed, vainly attempting to climb the stonewall in a fit of insanity.

Her wrists ached, but with the adrenaline pumping through her body she hardly noticed the pain.

He reached out, quick as lightning, and pulled her right foot out from underneath her, dragging her along the cot by her ankle. She was pleading with him now, mumbling words that fell on deaf ears as he flipped her onto her back.

"No, no, no," she babbled, mostly to herself, as she attempted to kick out with her left leg. He caught that one too, now holding both of her thin limbs tightly.

Hermione attempted to hold on to the thin mattress with her arms, but her broken wrists seemed to have a different idea. She howled out in pain, momentarily losing her grip on the tight-knit material.

"You will pay for these," he said in a cold voice as he glanced down at his marked chest. He threw his wand to the floor in the centre of the room, where it glided as though it were a sentient being, into the cane that housed it regularly. The connected pair then flew to the corner of the room next to the chair, landing gracefully mere paces from the wall. Lucius now had use of both his hands, and he ripped her cotton underwear from her body in one swift movement

"Now, I'm not going to lie to you, Mudblood," he spat, pulling her closer to his half-naked body, his breathing shallow from exertion. Her eyes were drawn up to his in one horror-struck instant, the glint emitting from them causing her to shiver involuntarily. "This will hurt," he said with devilish smile, "a lot."

She froze, unable to look away from the madness that lay behind his gaze. His eyes were glazed over with lust and anger – a heady combination – and she felt her body still in terror. Unable to control her limbs, she whimpered from deep within her throat, and she felt her body go limp.

"That's right," Lucius chuckled, "there is no use resisting. You will take your retribution like the polluted creature that you are."

At his mocking words, she found an inner strength of which she had been previously unaware. She sat up to her full-seated height and slapped him hard across the face. Unfortunately, she immediately regretted the action, as she felt her wrist snap back with an intense vibration, pain shooting like lightning up her arm. She screamed aloud at the self-inflicted assault on her senses.

"Little bitch," he swore, staring daggers at the young woman lying in agony before him. He undid his trousers and pushed them down his body in a smooth, fluid motion.

He wore no underwear, and the planned deletion to his clothing was not lost on her as she stared at his rigid member, a look of absolute horror on her face. Her brain screamed for her to move, but her body simply would not comply. It was as though he had cast another Stupefy on her when she was not looking.

Smirking at the terrorist-like effect he was having on his captive, he took advantage of her moment of compliance and pushed her coldly up the cot. He straddled her rigid body and placed a knee on either side of her waist. Leaning over her, he took her broken, rapidly swelling wrists in either hand and shoved them roughly above her head.

A whispered word and her wrists were bound by an unseen tether to the metal frame, his hands once again free to peruse her body. Thighs resting heavily on her hips, he reached down and rubbed her breasts brutally, the action so rough it was painful. She wailed loudly as the tremor vibrated through her body, trying desperately to dislodge his gravid frame with the use of her hips and legs. Her efforts were wasted – he was simply too heavy for her.

He expressed his amusement by applying more pressure to her breasts, kneading them as though he were preparing the dough for a pizza. She cried out in protest of his forceful behaviour, panicking as she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Removing his claws from her reddened bosom, he moved to the end of the cot and parted her thighs with his hands. She struggled valiantly against him, but his responding pressure on her legs and abdomen restricted her movement.

She watched in horrified curiosity as he inserted his index finger into his mouth, sucking it lightly before pulling it back out, at which point it made a popping sound as it left his lips. He smiled at her as he took his now wet finger and moved it to the crevice between her thighs. She shut her eyes tightly as he shoved the coated digit into her dry and unprepared opening, squeezing her lids together with all her might, tears now streaming steadily down her face. When he spoke next, she reluctantly reopened them to face her abuser.

"My, my, what do we have here?" he said teasingly. His finger coming to an abrupt halt as it met her hymen. "It seems that Potter's little Mudblood Slut is indeed a virgin." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

Hermione hastily twisted her head and slammed her eyes shut once more. An anticipatory shame flooded her body, and she felt her face grow hot.

"Tut, tut," he said, pulling his finger away from her pink centre and grabbing hold of her cheeks. He turned her head so that her nose was inches from his own, squeezing her cheeks lightly. When she refused to look at him, he tightened his grip, and she was forced to open her eyes to his leer.

"Better," he said with a self-satisfying smirk. She was enraged and terrified simultaneously, wanting nothing more than to wipe that sick smirk off his face. Unable to perform said action in her current predicament, she chose instead to stare at him menacingly, pure loathing evident in her eyes and face.

He chuckled to himself. "And here I thought you would be simple to break, but it seems that I have underestimated you, Mudblood. All the more fun for me."

He moved so quickly that she had no opportunity to take advantage of his displacement. In an instant, his legs were melded together between hers, and his palms were braced heavily on her thighs as if he were trying to perform a push-up.

She had scarcely a second to register the feel of his fleshy head against her nether lips before a rapid movement on his part changed her world forever.

He braced his knees against the mattress and pushed himself forward roughly, sheathing himself within her in one swift movement. Her lids flung open at the feeling, and she gave a glass-shattering scream.

"Ah, sweet music to my ears," he said as he began to move heedlessly inside of her. "You're a little dry, but no matter. I'm sure you'll be slick enough once you begin to bleed."

She searched the room for an escape, her eyes landing on his Dark Mark. Each time he pulled back to prepare for a new propulsion, the tattoo would come into her vision; then it was veiled from her sight once more as he pushed forward into her. The skull and serpent became a point of reference for her, its appearance signalling the inevitable thrust about to come her way.

He continued to drive into her, every grind against her cervix sending a shock of pain to her centre. She could feel him inside of her, tearing her apart from within. Her inner walls were constricted snugly around him, and no matter how hard she tried to relax, she was simply too tight, too unprepared to accommodate his girth.

The blood from her freshly pierced hymen was sliding down the crevice of her arse, the brunt of which was creating an awful sucking sound each time he entered and exited her opening.

His ball sac was slapping repeatedly against her soiled flesh, dispersing tiny sprinkles of scarlet fluid along both of their exposed bodies.

By this point in time, Hermione had drifted into a state of incoherence. Her voice had long since given out – screaming was no longer an option. In a gesture of defeat, she stopped fighting him. She lay there, limply, utterly detached, not even waiting for the nightmare to end. She simply did not care any more. Hermione had given up.

"All the fight's out of you now?" he grunted, his movements unfaltering. "How very disappointing," he drawled as he continued to pump in and out of her. "I do so very much like it when you struggle." He exhaled roughly. "Puts a little more fun into it, if you know what I mean."

She tuned him out as best she could, his words sounding like little more than distant echoes in her mind. She had gone into a trance – no present, no future – there was just nothing.

"Yes, so very dull," he said, his breathing turning ragged. "Not surprising, really. Mudbloods usually are such simple creatures."

Her only response to him was the occasional involuntary shiver of her body against his, perforated thusly by the goose bumps that appeared on her flesh in the coolness of the surrounding dungeon cell.

Eventually, her mental and physical exhaustion grew to be too much for her. She allowed her mind to pass into the realm of peaceful darkness, a brief and heavenly respite from her now pitiful and painful existence.

***

She awoke in solitude, thankfully, and no longer restricted by the charm that had held her hands in place. She didn't move, however, choosing instead to lay stock-still, wallowing in the bane of her own existence.

Every inch of her body ached with an intensity that she found it difficult to breathe. She feared the pain that even the slightest of movements would bring. Maybe if she lay unmoving, if she let her mind go blank, she would be able to forget the fact that her innocence had just been brutally ripped away from her.

She slowly slid one of her hands down her aching body, a single digit reaching carefully between her legs. The moment her finger touched bare skin she pulled it back quickly, pain rippling through her from below. The combined body fluids from the uninvited coupling had dried to form a crust around her opening, pulling the sensitive skin taut around it. The bruises lining her thighs and genitals – caused by his hard, uncompromising thrusts – merely added to the agony. She reached her hand tentatively back down between her legs, disregarding the renewed pain it brought her. She found it a just sacrifice for the comfort she was able to obtain by wedging a hand protectively between her thighs. When the throbbing had somewhat subsided, she rolled onto her side and wept.

She wished she could take it all back – make it go away. She felt immoral, tainted and unclean. Each attempt to block the memories from her mind only brought them back ten-fold, and she found herself at the edge of emotional insanity.

She threw an arm over her face, scrubbing viciously at the unwanted tears that had begun to flow freely down her cheeks. If Harry and Ron did not come for her soon, she feared she might shatter into a thousand little pieces – so small, so unrecognisable, that no one would ever be able to pick up the pieces of her shattered remains and put them back together again.

***

Thanking my beta acciobook7.

My lack of reviews has left me a little apprehensive. As this is only my second piece of writing, and my first dark-fic, please review and let me know your thoughts on how I am doing thus far. All reviews are appreciated.