Post by ring_junkie on Jun 1, 2006 13:12:38 GMT -5
“What are you doing? Please don’t hurt me!” pleaded a voice. “Please! Not again…” It was a wizard, by the name of James Banks, and his voice was trembling, showing the fear that he couldn’t hide.
“No…?” This time it was a woman’s, quite low, but there was a cold tone in it that told him she was playing with him, toying with him; she was letting him struggle in her web until he could not get free, and then… well, she would strike.
“Please! …I – I have family… a – a little girl… her name’s Emily, sh-she’s only four years old… Please! The last word had been a desperate cry, for the tall, thin witch standing over him, who had previously had her arms folded, now unfolded them and pointed a wand down at him. But she did nothing. Having turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly against an anticipated attack, Banks looked slowly, timidly, up at her, shaking.
“A daughter…” She repeated, her voice portraying interest.
Banks nodded, letting out a relieved half sob. Maybe she would let him go now? Now that she realised he had to stay alive for his family… they needed him. “And a wife… and – and a son…”
The pretence dropped, and her voice became cold, harsh once more. “What do you want – a medal?”
Banks stopped talking and swallowed.
She bent down, her face close to his. “Well?” The word was short, one sharp, staccato beat.
He shook his head, shifting away from her across the floor, and she laughed, straightening up and taking a few steps away from him, still laughing. There were marks left in the carpet from where she had been standing there in those knee-high, black, stiletto boots.
“Crucio!” In a split second, she had stopped laughing, her expression swiftly becoming one of cold malice, and turned to face him again, flicking her wand at him. She watched him writhe around on the floor at her feet, screaming in pain, and slowly began to smile again, baring her pure white teeth and feeling a shudder of pleasure pass through her body.
The curse lifted, and Banks was left panting and shaking for the second time since she had turned up and blasted her way into his house when he’d opened the door. As far as he knew he thought he had done nothing wrong… nothing against her… But he had. He worked for the Ministry of Magic: that was enough for Niamh Avery. Niamh suddenly became very still, her head jerking up and slightly to the left, listening intently. The sound of car doors slamming and the voices of two people reached her ears, steadily getting closer. Banks seized his chance and started yelling as loud as he could in his weakened state, attempting to get to his feet, but he fell back, unable to move, to the floor – she had ensnared him with cords that had snaked out of thin air with a non-verbal ‘Incarcerous’ and now stood over him again, pointing her wand at his chest.
“Please…” the wizard sobbed as the voices grew louder, “…please… that’s my wife and my daughter… I beg you… don’t hurt them…”
Niamh smirked venomously.
“…I’ll do anything,” he choked, hardly able to speak for tears, “anything you want, just don’t hurt them… I’m begging you… I’ll pay you…! Please! …No… No, where are you going? Come back! Don’t hurt them!”
Niamh smiled with vindictive pleasure and gave a low laugh from her place now at the door frame of the living room, hidden behind it. “Oh, I won’t hurt them…” she said softly in her smooth voice, then flicked her wand at Banks once more with a non-verbal ‘Langlock’, gluing his tongue to the roof of his mouth so that he couldn’t speak, as the front door opened.
“James!” Marie was the first to see her husband; dropping her shopping, she ran into the living room, where he was, accompanied by a strangled yell from him. Eyes wide, he tried to signal that they were not alone in the house, but too late.
As soon as Marie had run past her, Niamh had stepped out, her cloak swirling around her, pointing her wand at the woman’s back, and snarled, “Avada Kedavra!” There was a flash of green light, and Marie slumped to the floor beside her husband, still wearing an expression of mild surprise, her blue eyes blank and staring. Letting out a deep sigh of pleasure, again feeling that wave, that burst, of ecstasy that only killing and torturing brought, Niamh lowered her wand again.
“…Mummy?” The small voice of a little girl sounded, and Banks’ daughter wandered over to her mother, having seen her collapse. Tears leaked out of Banks’ eyes, and he gave a muffled sob. “Mummy…” The girl sounded more distressed after putting her hands on her mother’s shoulder and giving her a gentle shake, and discarded the brown teddy-bear she had been holding to look pleadingly at her father. She began to cry. “Daddy, what’s wrong with-”
Niamh picked her up gently, one arm under her to support her, the other still holding her wand. “You must be Emily…” she said with a small smile, stroking the girl’s cheek with her wand-hand and shifting the child’s weight slightly so that she was easier to hold. Emily stopped crying, but silent tears still rolled down her cheeks. “Shh… it’s alright…”
She was comforted a little by Niamh’s low, soothing voice, and gratefully took the bear that Niamh had just stooped to pick up, but then gave a small whimper, turning to look down at Banks. “Wh-what’s going to happen to my daddy…?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, sweetheart.” Niamh hugged Emily closer to her, leaning the four-year-old’s head on her shoulder, but then smiled a cold, cruel smile down at the man tied up on the floor. “…I’ll take care of him.”
Emily sniffed, hugging her bear tightly.
“You come with me, Emily,” Niamh continued to smile down at Banks vindictively, then turned, heading out of the living room door, still with his daughter in her arms, “and it’ll be fine… you’ll see.”
Unable to move, Banks gave another muffled sob, listening to Niamh moving upstairs onto the landing. After a moment of silence, there was a little gasp, and no more… But Niamh did not return for another full two minutes; and when she did, it was without Emily, but with the bear dangling lifelessly from her hand, dark red staining its head, that cold smirk still at her mouth. The cords binding Banks disappeared, and she removed the ‘langlock’ curse from him with a wave of her wand.
“What have you done?” he sobbed, staggering to his feet. “What have you done to my daughter? Where is she?” he demanded, “Show her to-” Banks soared through the air, his body arching unnaturally, and hit the wall with a smack, dropping limply back down to the floor. His neck was broken. A deep red puddle was slowly spreading around his head, soaking into the carpet. Next, the poker that had been resting by the fire flew up and, like a spear, pinned the blood-stained teddy-bear to the outside of the open front door, splintering the wood and piercing the bear through the eye. Moving outside and magically locking the door behind her, Niamh thrust her wand towards the sky. “Morsmordre!" A great skull, comprised of what appeared to be green sparks shot up into the evening sky, shedding an eerie green light over Banks’ house, and a snake protruded from it’s open mouth. The Dark Mark. Pausing for a moment to admire her work, she began to laugh. It was a long, cold laugh that ended abruptly as she disapparated, but the sound was left, still ringing in the street.
On the wall directly at the top of the stairs, written in blood, was the message:
As if it needed to be any more obvious, with the Dark Mark hovering high above the house, marking the spot that served as prey to a Death Eater.
Niamh apparated in Hogsmeade, pocketing her wand, and made her way to the Hogshead, still smiling to herself at what she had done. Ordering a White Russian cocktail, she moved over to a table in the furthest corner and sat down, smoothing out the dark purple dress she wore underneath her black witches’ robes. It wasn’t a formal dress, such as many of the other Death Eaters wore, but something she felt comfortable in. It had long sleeves and was tight, clinging to her thin frame, but the skirt wasn’t, and allowed her free movement. The neckline, however, was a low-cutting V. Taking a sip of her drink, she let her golden-brown eyes survey the pub.
“No…?” This time it was a woman’s, quite low, but there was a cold tone in it that told him she was playing with him, toying with him; she was letting him struggle in her web until he could not get free, and then… well, she would strike.
“Please! …I – I have family… a – a little girl… her name’s Emily, sh-she’s only four years old… Please! The last word had been a desperate cry, for the tall, thin witch standing over him, who had previously had her arms folded, now unfolded them and pointed a wand down at him. But she did nothing. Having turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly against an anticipated attack, Banks looked slowly, timidly, up at her, shaking.
“A daughter…” She repeated, her voice portraying interest.
Banks nodded, letting out a relieved half sob. Maybe she would let him go now? Now that she realised he had to stay alive for his family… they needed him. “And a wife… and – and a son…”
The pretence dropped, and her voice became cold, harsh once more. “What do you want – a medal?”
Banks stopped talking and swallowed.
She bent down, her face close to his. “Well?” The word was short, one sharp, staccato beat.
He shook his head, shifting away from her across the floor, and she laughed, straightening up and taking a few steps away from him, still laughing. There were marks left in the carpet from where she had been standing there in those knee-high, black, stiletto boots.
“Crucio!” In a split second, she had stopped laughing, her expression swiftly becoming one of cold malice, and turned to face him again, flicking her wand at him. She watched him writhe around on the floor at her feet, screaming in pain, and slowly began to smile again, baring her pure white teeth and feeling a shudder of pleasure pass through her body.
The curse lifted, and Banks was left panting and shaking for the second time since she had turned up and blasted her way into his house when he’d opened the door. As far as he knew he thought he had done nothing wrong… nothing against her… But he had. He worked for the Ministry of Magic: that was enough for Niamh Avery. Niamh suddenly became very still, her head jerking up and slightly to the left, listening intently. The sound of car doors slamming and the voices of two people reached her ears, steadily getting closer. Banks seized his chance and started yelling as loud as he could in his weakened state, attempting to get to his feet, but he fell back, unable to move, to the floor – she had ensnared him with cords that had snaked out of thin air with a non-verbal ‘Incarcerous’ and now stood over him again, pointing her wand at his chest.
“Please…” the wizard sobbed as the voices grew louder, “…please… that’s my wife and my daughter… I beg you… don’t hurt them…”
Niamh smirked venomously.
“…I’ll do anything,” he choked, hardly able to speak for tears, “anything you want, just don’t hurt them… I’m begging you… I’ll pay you…! Please! …No… No, where are you going? Come back! Don’t hurt them!”
Niamh smiled with vindictive pleasure and gave a low laugh from her place now at the door frame of the living room, hidden behind it. “Oh, I won’t hurt them…” she said softly in her smooth voice, then flicked her wand at Banks once more with a non-verbal ‘Langlock’, gluing his tongue to the roof of his mouth so that he couldn’t speak, as the front door opened.
“James!” Marie was the first to see her husband; dropping her shopping, she ran into the living room, where he was, accompanied by a strangled yell from him. Eyes wide, he tried to signal that they were not alone in the house, but too late.
As soon as Marie had run past her, Niamh had stepped out, her cloak swirling around her, pointing her wand at the woman’s back, and snarled, “Avada Kedavra!” There was a flash of green light, and Marie slumped to the floor beside her husband, still wearing an expression of mild surprise, her blue eyes blank and staring. Letting out a deep sigh of pleasure, again feeling that wave, that burst, of ecstasy that only killing and torturing brought, Niamh lowered her wand again.
“…Mummy?” The small voice of a little girl sounded, and Banks’ daughter wandered over to her mother, having seen her collapse. Tears leaked out of Banks’ eyes, and he gave a muffled sob. “Mummy…” The girl sounded more distressed after putting her hands on her mother’s shoulder and giving her a gentle shake, and discarded the brown teddy-bear she had been holding to look pleadingly at her father. She began to cry. “Daddy, what’s wrong with-”
Niamh picked her up gently, one arm under her to support her, the other still holding her wand. “You must be Emily…” she said with a small smile, stroking the girl’s cheek with her wand-hand and shifting the child’s weight slightly so that she was easier to hold. Emily stopped crying, but silent tears still rolled down her cheeks. “Shh… it’s alright…”
She was comforted a little by Niamh’s low, soothing voice, and gratefully took the bear that Niamh had just stooped to pick up, but then gave a small whimper, turning to look down at Banks. “Wh-what’s going to happen to my daddy…?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, sweetheart.” Niamh hugged Emily closer to her, leaning the four-year-old’s head on her shoulder, but then smiled a cold, cruel smile down at the man tied up on the floor. “…I’ll take care of him.”
Emily sniffed, hugging her bear tightly.
“You come with me, Emily,” Niamh continued to smile down at Banks vindictively, then turned, heading out of the living room door, still with his daughter in her arms, “and it’ll be fine… you’ll see.”
Unable to move, Banks gave another muffled sob, listening to Niamh moving upstairs onto the landing. After a moment of silence, there was a little gasp, and no more… But Niamh did not return for another full two minutes; and when she did, it was without Emily, but with the bear dangling lifelessly from her hand, dark red staining its head, that cold smirk still at her mouth. The cords binding Banks disappeared, and she removed the ‘langlock’ curse from him with a wave of her wand.
“What have you done?” he sobbed, staggering to his feet. “What have you done to my daughter? Where is she?” he demanded, “Show her to-” Banks soared through the air, his body arching unnaturally, and hit the wall with a smack, dropping limply back down to the floor. His neck was broken. A deep red puddle was slowly spreading around his head, soaking into the carpet. Next, the poker that had been resting by the fire flew up and, like a spear, pinned the blood-stained teddy-bear to the outside of the open front door, splintering the wood and piercing the bear through the eye. Moving outside and magically locking the door behind her, Niamh thrust her wand towards the sky. “Morsmordre!" A great skull, comprised of what appeared to be green sparks shot up into the evening sky, shedding an eerie green light over Banks’ house, and a snake protruded from it’s open mouth. The Dark Mark. Pausing for a moment to admire her work, she began to laugh. It was a long, cold laugh that ended abruptly as she disapparated, but the sound was left, still ringing in the street.
On the wall directly at the top of the stairs, written in blood, was the message:
LORD VOLDEMORT
WILL RETURN
WILL RETURN
As if it needed to be any more obvious, with the Dark Mark hovering high above the house, marking the spot that served as prey to a Death Eater.
* * *
Niamh apparated in Hogsmeade, pocketing her wand, and made her way to the Hogshead, still smiling to herself at what she had done. Ordering a White Russian cocktail, she moved over to a table in the furthest corner and sat down, smoothing out the dark purple dress she wore underneath her black witches’ robes. It wasn’t a formal dress, such as many of the other Death Eaters wore, but something she felt comfortable in. It had long sleeves and was tight, clinging to her thin frame, but the skirt wasn’t, and allowed her free movement. The neckline, however, was a low-cutting V. Taking a sip of her drink, she let her golden-brown eyes survey the pub.
