Post by ring_junkie on May 25, 2006 10:06:16 GMT -5
It was the weekend, and Salvador was just on his way back down to the Slytherin dungeon common-room from the library, dressed – as per usual – in a silvery-grey, Victorian suit, complete with spats and – today – a green cravat. He liked to wear grey, simply because it complimented his eyes, and it looked good as a suit.
“Salvador!” A loud whisper caught his attention, and he had no sooner turned to see who it was than been dragged backwards into one of the many hidden corridors at Hogwarts and locked in a tight embrace, met with a deep and passionate kiss. After a few seconds, Salvador managed to free himself, and gave a smirk as he realised who the taller, slightly broader figure belonged to.
“Ethan…” The light in the corridor was very poor, and Salvador could only just about make out a dim outline of the seventh-year Gryffindor. But then, as abruptly as he had been dragged into the secret passage, Salvador’s smirk vanished. “I thought I told you no,” he said rather coldly, meeting Ethan’s brown eyes with his stormy grey ones.
He felt the Gryffindor’s arms tighten a little about his waist, and found himself pulled closer. “Salvador…” Ethan’s lips found his again, and, for a moment, the Slytherin closed his eyes in enjoyment, beginning to kiss him back.
“No.” Salvador pushed Ethan away, giving him an icy glare. He did not like to be disobeyed, particularly when he had ended his and Ethan’s relationship three times previously.
“But we-”
“There is no ‘we’,” he snapped, becoming irritated by the Gryffindor’s possessive side for what seemed the hundredth time, “and there is no ‘us’. You know I am seeing someone else; must I constantly remind you? Tess Malva.” To him, she would always be Contessa, bur everyone else called her Tess, so that was the way Ethan was going to recognise the name.
The stronger of the two placed his hands firmly on Salvador’s upper-arms and backed him up against the wall, turning hostile. The Slytherin felt his back hit the wall with a thud, and suddenly realised that he was trapped. His eyes darted from the wall that jutted out just beside him to the barely visible entrance to the passage, and then back to Ethan, who stood blocking his way, hands still on Salvador’s shoulders, standing right up against him, holding him in place.
It was the Gryffindor’s turn to smirk, having seen the way Salvador’s eyes had flicked over to the one route of escape. “You don’t like not being able to run away, do you, Salvador,” he spat, saying his name as though it were a particularly delicious swear-word he had been longing to try.
“Unhand me, Ethan,” ordered Salvador coldly, his mouth thinning. He was trying to ignore the part of him that craved Ethan, wanted to be taken advantage of… He finally beat it with thoughts of Contessa, the one whom he loved.
Still pinning the Slytherin to the wall, Ethan leant in and kissed him roughly again. Straining to free himself, Salvador felt the Gryffindor’s hands wander past the waist-band of his trousers. He had had enough.
“Let go of me, Ethan,” he hissed venomously, drawing his wand swiftly from his pocket and pointing it at the other’s neck. He could feel his heart doing double-time, and was struggling to completely hide the fact that Ethan intimidated him. The Gryffindor was taller, broader and stronger than him, and currently had him trapped with no escape. “Do as I say,” he continued, his voice quiet, level and threatening.
Ethan swallowed and removed his hands from Salvador, moving back a little way, but not far enough.
“Move,” the Slytherin snarled, green and silver sparks erupting from the end of his wand – which was still at Ethan’s throat – caused by the anger, and also the small amount of fear, he was attempting to control.
“Please… Salvador…” One of Ethan’s hands made its way up to the wrist of Salvador’s left arm – his wand arm – trying to gently move the wand away.
“If you do not back away from me immediately, I shall be forced to take measures I-” But Salvador did not finish. Ethan, bringing Salvador’s arm down forcefully by the wrist, twisted it sharply; there was a grinding crack, and the wand dropped to the ground, skittering away across the floor. Letting out a gasp of pain, despite himself, Salvador fell back against the wall, suddenly feeling light-headed. His arm was broken. He had felt the bones slide unnaturally across each other and strain as Ethan had twisted his wrist, then snap under the force.
The Gryffindor was back up against him, pressing himself closer, though still holding Salvador’s thin wrist firmly so that he could not move his arm without causing himself excruciating pain. “There’s just something about hearing you in pain, Salvador,” his grip tightened and Salvador flinched, struggling not to make a sound to give away the fact that Ethan really was hurting him, “that really does it for me.”
The pain was now coming in short, sharp bursts, shooting up his arm. The Gryffindor’s hand squeezed, then released his wrist, and he finally stepped away. Salvador made to move away from the wall, but it was now his turn to find himself at wand-point.
“Bastard,” he hissed, his face even paler than usual; his body was partially in shock from the sudden injury it had sustained.
“Oh, you have no idea how good this feels,” Ethan sneered, keeping his wand pointed directly at Salvador’s chest. The Slytherin’s eyes flitted to his wand – which lay on the floor only a few feet away – but Ethan saw, and made sure to position himself between it and Salvador.
“Is there a point to this?” he demanded scathingly, hoping to get by on an act of bravado. Against Ethan, without his wand he felt completely defenceless. All he had were words.
“I could have you do anything I want. Just think – anything…”
“I have absolutely no desire to partake in the fantasies your sick, twisted, depraved mind is likely to think up, Ethan. And if you think that pointing a wand at me is going to make any difference whatsoever, then you really, truly are an imbecile.”
“You think that just because you’re in Slytherin you can do whatever you damn well please… you think you can say you love me and then just cut me off, drop me like… like some toy you’ve got bored of! I am not going to just lie down and let you walk all over me, Salvador. I will not be treated like this by anyone… and I just hope Tess whatever-her-name-is realises what you really are before too long – for your sake.”
A cold, seething anger was now building up inside the Slytherin. No one talked to him like that… There was a moment’s pause, in which both men glared at each other, staring the other down. Salvador won; the icy fury now emanating from him was magnified to double in his eyes.
In the split second that followed, it was clear that Ethan had not expected the injured Salvador to be able to move quite so fast – the Slytherin dived for his wand, snatching it up awkwardly in his right hand to avoid further damage to his left, he pointed it straight at Ethan, snarling, “Crucio!”
The Unforgivable Curse acted for the briefest moment, before Ethan’s curse struck him in full force, blasting him backwards into the wall.
“Sectumsempra!” Salvador hissed, swiping his wand across the line of Ethan’s body as the Gryffindor struggled to his feet, panting from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.
“Petrificus tota-”
“Stupefy!”
“Protego! Incarcer-”
“Levicorpus!”
“Impedi-” But Salvador was too quick for Ethan, who now found himself suspended in mid air by the ankle. “Liberacorpus!” He freed himself, then a second later Salvador found himself thrown into the wall again by another non-verbal blasting curse from Ethan, who was bleeding from the gash he had received across his chest from the Slytherin. Giving a yelp of pain as his full weight landed on his injured arm, Salvador did not have time to block the next curse, and was not prepared for the one that followed. “Sectumsempra!” Ethan roared, turning Salvador’s attack against him, and the Slytherin felt the curse cut through his skin, leaving him with a deep slash from his left shoulder to the middle of his chest. And less than a moment later, “Crucio!”
The pain was unbearable. It was as though thousands upon thousands of icy cold daggers were stabbing all over him, ripping open his body, tearing across his muscles, clawing his very flesh away from his bones. And it wouldn’t stop. It went on and on, never relenting, never pausing… Someone was yelling horribly in torture – but then he realised that it was him; he was the one screaming, writhing in agony at Ethan’s feet, pleading to die… But then it lifted.
Salvador was left lying sheet white, shivering uncontrollably, on the floor, his breathing shallow, and very fast. Everything had gone black and white, and strangely blurry around the edges… His body felt hollow, only now the space where his insides had been was filled with aching agony. His eyes flickering closed, then forced open, his vision returned to colour, and he heard Ethan’s hastily retreating footsteps, saw the light let in by the end of the passage extinguished as he shut the door. Salvador couldn’t move, despite feeling strangely light, as though he were floating. His eyes closed again, and this time he let them close, sinking into black oblivion.
He woke with a start. He had no idea how long he had been lying unconscious in that cold, stone passage; it could have been five seconds, five minutes, or even five hours – he had no way of knowing. It had actually been two minutes.
Feeling weak, and drained, he got shakily to his feet, hissing in pain as his left arm gave an unpleasant twinge when he tried to use it. Sub-consciously, almost, his hand went to his pocket to reach for his wand in order to shed some light into the darkness, but it wasn’t there. He didn’t know where it was.
Utterly helpless, and too weak to stop himself, Salvador sank back down to the floor, feeling – for the first time since God knew when – tears, angry, frustrated tears of humiliation and pain, well up in his eyes, threatening to roll down his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep, shuddering breath, then – losing control – thumped the wall, hard, with his fist. A spasm of jarring pain shot up his left arm and he let out a gasp, closing his eyes tightly and biting his lip to stop an angry outburst of swearing. But instead, and even worse, a sob fought its way out of his chest and escaped him. The unfamiliar sensation of a tear falling down his cheek caused him to instinctively brush at his face with his hand as though a mosquito had landed there, though that one tear was followed by another, and another… Salvador Dariusz Riddle was crying.
After a few moments – having regained control of himself sufficiently – he ran a trembling hand once more through his hair and proceeded to feel around for his wand on the floor, careful not to lean any weight on his left arm.
Hardly anyone used this passage; most people preferred to go the way he had been headed before Ethan had grabbed him. But Ethan was going to pay for that. Oh yes… Ethan was going to pay dearly…
“Lumos.” Just as Salvador found his wand and lit it, he heard someone moving down the passage towards him. Scrambling to his feet as fast as he could, given his weakened state, he tried to hide the fact that he had a broken arm, tried to conceal the gash across his shoulder, which was still bleeding, attempted to do something about his tousled, untidy hair, and his clothes, now bloodstained and dirty from the events of the duel… but to no avail. It would be a very different Salvador that this person was about to see.
((Ehe ^^ Well... what can I say? *whispers* ...I got bored...))
“Salvador!” A loud whisper caught his attention, and he had no sooner turned to see who it was than been dragged backwards into one of the many hidden corridors at Hogwarts and locked in a tight embrace, met with a deep and passionate kiss. After a few seconds, Salvador managed to free himself, and gave a smirk as he realised who the taller, slightly broader figure belonged to.
“Ethan…” The light in the corridor was very poor, and Salvador could only just about make out a dim outline of the seventh-year Gryffindor. But then, as abruptly as he had been dragged into the secret passage, Salvador’s smirk vanished. “I thought I told you no,” he said rather coldly, meeting Ethan’s brown eyes with his stormy grey ones.
He felt the Gryffindor’s arms tighten a little about his waist, and found himself pulled closer. “Salvador…” Ethan’s lips found his again, and, for a moment, the Slytherin closed his eyes in enjoyment, beginning to kiss him back.
“No.” Salvador pushed Ethan away, giving him an icy glare. He did not like to be disobeyed, particularly when he had ended his and Ethan’s relationship three times previously.
“But we-”
“There is no ‘we’,” he snapped, becoming irritated by the Gryffindor’s possessive side for what seemed the hundredth time, “and there is no ‘us’. You know I am seeing someone else; must I constantly remind you? Tess Malva.” To him, she would always be Contessa, bur everyone else called her Tess, so that was the way Ethan was going to recognise the name.
The stronger of the two placed his hands firmly on Salvador’s upper-arms and backed him up against the wall, turning hostile. The Slytherin felt his back hit the wall with a thud, and suddenly realised that he was trapped. His eyes darted from the wall that jutted out just beside him to the barely visible entrance to the passage, and then back to Ethan, who stood blocking his way, hands still on Salvador’s shoulders, standing right up against him, holding him in place.
It was the Gryffindor’s turn to smirk, having seen the way Salvador’s eyes had flicked over to the one route of escape. “You don’t like not being able to run away, do you, Salvador,” he spat, saying his name as though it were a particularly delicious swear-word he had been longing to try.
“Unhand me, Ethan,” ordered Salvador coldly, his mouth thinning. He was trying to ignore the part of him that craved Ethan, wanted to be taken advantage of… He finally beat it with thoughts of Contessa, the one whom he loved.
Still pinning the Slytherin to the wall, Ethan leant in and kissed him roughly again. Straining to free himself, Salvador felt the Gryffindor’s hands wander past the waist-band of his trousers. He had had enough.
“Let go of me, Ethan,” he hissed venomously, drawing his wand swiftly from his pocket and pointing it at the other’s neck. He could feel his heart doing double-time, and was struggling to completely hide the fact that Ethan intimidated him. The Gryffindor was taller, broader and stronger than him, and currently had him trapped with no escape. “Do as I say,” he continued, his voice quiet, level and threatening.
Ethan swallowed and removed his hands from Salvador, moving back a little way, but not far enough.
“Move,” the Slytherin snarled, green and silver sparks erupting from the end of his wand – which was still at Ethan’s throat – caused by the anger, and also the small amount of fear, he was attempting to control.
“Please… Salvador…” One of Ethan’s hands made its way up to the wrist of Salvador’s left arm – his wand arm – trying to gently move the wand away.
“If you do not back away from me immediately, I shall be forced to take measures I-” But Salvador did not finish. Ethan, bringing Salvador’s arm down forcefully by the wrist, twisted it sharply; there was a grinding crack, and the wand dropped to the ground, skittering away across the floor. Letting out a gasp of pain, despite himself, Salvador fell back against the wall, suddenly feeling light-headed. His arm was broken. He had felt the bones slide unnaturally across each other and strain as Ethan had twisted his wrist, then snap under the force.
The Gryffindor was back up against him, pressing himself closer, though still holding Salvador’s thin wrist firmly so that he could not move his arm without causing himself excruciating pain. “There’s just something about hearing you in pain, Salvador,” his grip tightened and Salvador flinched, struggling not to make a sound to give away the fact that Ethan really was hurting him, “that really does it for me.”
The pain was now coming in short, sharp bursts, shooting up his arm. The Gryffindor’s hand squeezed, then released his wrist, and he finally stepped away. Salvador made to move away from the wall, but it was now his turn to find himself at wand-point.
“Bastard,” he hissed, his face even paler than usual; his body was partially in shock from the sudden injury it had sustained.
“Oh, you have no idea how good this feels,” Ethan sneered, keeping his wand pointed directly at Salvador’s chest. The Slytherin’s eyes flitted to his wand – which lay on the floor only a few feet away – but Ethan saw, and made sure to position himself between it and Salvador.
“Is there a point to this?” he demanded scathingly, hoping to get by on an act of bravado. Against Ethan, without his wand he felt completely defenceless. All he had were words.
“I could have you do anything I want. Just think – anything…”
“I have absolutely no desire to partake in the fantasies your sick, twisted, depraved mind is likely to think up, Ethan. And if you think that pointing a wand at me is going to make any difference whatsoever, then you really, truly are an imbecile.”
“You think that just because you’re in Slytherin you can do whatever you damn well please… you think you can say you love me and then just cut me off, drop me like… like some toy you’ve got bored of! I am not going to just lie down and let you walk all over me, Salvador. I will not be treated like this by anyone… and I just hope Tess whatever-her-name-is realises what you really are before too long – for your sake.”
A cold, seething anger was now building up inside the Slytherin. No one talked to him like that… There was a moment’s pause, in which both men glared at each other, staring the other down. Salvador won; the icy fury now emanating from him was magnified to double in his eyes.
In the split second that followed, it was clear that Ethan had not expected the injured Salvador to be able to move quite so fast – the Slytherin dived for his wand, snatching it up awkwardly in his right hand to avoid further damage to his left, he pointed it straight at Ethan, snarling, “Crucio!”
The Unforgivable Curse acted for the briefest moment, before Ethan’s curse struck him in full force, blasting him backwards into the wall.
“Sectumsempra!” Salvador hissed, swiping his wand across the line of Ethan’s body as the Gryffindor struggled to his feet, panting from the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.
“Petrificus tota-”
“Stupefy!”
“Protego! Incarcer-”
“Levicorpus!”
“Impedi-” But Salvador was too quick for Ethan, who now found himself suspended in mid air by the ankle. “Liberacorpus!” He freed himself, then a second later Salvador found himself thrown into the wall again by another non-verbal blasting curse from Ethan, who was bleeding from the gash he had received across his chest from the Slytherin. Giving a yelp of pain as his full weight landed on his injured arm, Salvador did not have time to block the next curse, and was not prepared for the one that followed. “Sectumsempra!” Ethan roared, turning Salvador’s attack against him, and the Slytherin felt the curse cut through his skin, leaving him with a deep slash from his left shoulder to the middle of his chest. And less than a moment later, “Crucio!”
The pain was unbearable. It was as though thousands upon thousands of icy cold daggers were stabbing all over him, ripping open his body, tearing across his muscles, clawing his very flesh away from his bones. And it wouldn’t stop. It went on and on, never relenting, never pausing… Someone was yelling horribly in torture – but then he realised that it was him; he was the one screaming, writhing in agony at Ethan’s feet, pleading to die… But then it lifted.
Salvador was left lying sheet white, shivering uncontrollably, on the floor, his breathing shallow, and very fast. Everything had gone black and white, and strangely blurry around the edges… His body felt hollow, only now the space where his insides had been was filled with aching agony. His eyes flickering closed, then forced open, his vision returned to colour, and he heard Ethan’s hastily retreating footsteps, saw the light let in by the end of the passage extinguished as he shut the door. Salvador couldn’t move, despite feeling strangely light, as though he were floating. His eyes closed again, and this time he let them close, sinking into black oblivion.
He woke with a start. He had no idea how long he had been lying unconscious in that cold, stone passage; it could have been five seconds, five minutes, or even five hours – he had no way of knowing. It had actually been two minutes.
Feeling weak, and drained, he got shakily to his feet, hissing in pain as his left arm gave an unpleasant twinge when he tried to use it. Sub-consciously, almost, his hand went to his pocket to reach for his wand in order to shed some light into the darkness, but it wasn’t there. He didn’t know where it was.
Utterly helpless, and too weak to stop himself, Salvador sank back down to the floor, feeling – for the first time since God knew when – tears, angry, frustrated tears of humiliation and pain, well up in his eyes, threatening to roll down his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep, shuddering breath, then – losing control – thumped the wall, hard, with his fist. A spasm of jarring pain shot up his left arm and he let out a gasp, closing his eyes tightly and biting his lip to stop an angry outburst of swearing. But instead, and even worse, a sob fought its way out of his chest and escaped him. The unfamiliar sensation of a tear falling down his cheek caused him to instinctively brush at his face with his hand as though a mosquito had landed there, though that one tear was followed by another, and another… Salvador Dariusz Riddle was crying.
After a few moments – having regained control of himself sufficiently – he ran a trembling hand once more through his hair and proceeded to feel around for his wand on the floor, careful not to lean any weight on his left arm.
Hardly anyone used this passage; most people preferred to go the way he had been headed before Ethan had grabbed him. But Ethan was going to pay for that. Oh yes… Ethan was going to pay dearly…
“Lumos.” Just as Salvador found his wand and lit it, he heard someone moving down the passage towards him. Scrambling to his feet as fast as he could, given his weakened state, he tried to hide the fact that he had a broken arm, tried to conceal the gash across his shoulder, which was still bleeding, attempted to do something about his tousled, untidy hair, and his clothes, now bloodstained and dirty from the events of the duel… but to no avail. It would be a very different Salvador that this person was about to see.
((Ehe ^^ Well... what can I say? *whispers* ...I got bored...))