TWINSENSIBILITY PART FIFTY ONE
Mar. 10th, 2010 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrules*cringes* That's all I have to say about this episode. *sidles away*
Lysander snapped awake with a gasp, utterly disoriented for a moment. He tried to move and heard the clink of chains. The sound helped to revive him and he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. He had been moved, apparently, and cursed himself for falling asleep. He had dragged his chair over to the spot where the floor had opened up, thinking to fall down upon the wizard’s head and hopefully break the cretin’s neck.
Instead, he had apparently drifted off to sleep, despite casting several Fatigue-banishing Charms on himself throughout the course of the night. Exhaustion had finally won out—Lys had no idea how many hours had passed since he was taken, but his last Tempus Charm had revealed it to be sometime after 3 o’clock in the morning.
He blinked carefully, hoping he hadn’t been blinded, and was rewarded when several grayish shadows revealed themselves. He nearly sighed with relief. Not blind, then, just in a very dark place. He moved his right foot, hoping his ankles had not been chained when he had been shackled to the wall currently pressing cold, rough stone into his back.
An even greater relief than discovering he wasn’t blind filled him when he felt the familiar rough length of his wand move against his instep. He thanked Merlin once again that he had chosen to wear boots rather than trainers on the outing to Hogsmeade, not wanting his favourite shoes to get muddy. It had given him a convenient place to stash his wand—not that it did him any good at the moment, bound as he was to the wall by both wrists.
How had the man gotten him out without awakening him? Lysander was confused for only a moment before he realized the arsehole had obviously sneaked into the room when it was most likely for Lys to be asleep—apparently using some other point of entry—and then cast a Sleeping Charm to keep him from awakening.
Light flared suddenly, too bright, searing Lysander’s retinas. He clamped his eyes shut and silently cursed the bastard.
“Poor boy,” the wizard said. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Lysander said nothing, knowing the taunting tone would not bode well for any reply.
“Soon it won’t matter. You’ll be in a better place.” The man snickered at his own words and then Lysander felt a hand yank at his shirt before the sound of ripping cloth came to him. He blinked against the brightness, struggling to see through the blotches of colour marring his sight.
The man brandished a knife, using it to hack at Lysander’s shirt. His robes were already gone, possibly left behind when the man had removed him from the other room. Lysander desperately wanted to know what he was doing, but he dared not ask. The tip of the knife nicked his shoulder and he choked back a gasp.
“Poor, pathetic child,” the man crooned. “Taken from your posh school and used and abused. It’s too bad you aren’t a girl. Although you’re pretty enough, boys just don’t do it for me. More’s the pity.” The man roughly pinched one of Lysander’s nipples, causing tears of pain to well into his eyes. He shrank away, pushing back into the stone as best he could. The man chuckled. “But mummy and daddy don’t need to know that, do they?”
He left Lysander’s shirt hanging in tattered strips and stepped back to look at him critically. Lysander met his eyes defiantly rather than cringing back. Be strong, like Lorcan, he repeated to himself, over and over.
“Just one more thing,” the wizard said and slapped Lysander hard across the face. Lysander’s head smacked into the stone and his lip split open with a sting of pain. Blood gushed into his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He whimpered slightly, for the first time thinking the maniac might actually kill him.
“What do you want? Why are you doing this?” he whispered.
The man glared at him through eyes that seemed more than a bit mad, especially when he smiled. “Because I want your parents to suffer, boy. I want them to suffer forever.”
With that, he stepped back and pulled a camera from beneath his robes. Lysander tried to look defiant instead of terrified, but he would be willing to bet it wasn’t working. Blood dripped onto his chest and his head throbbed with pain.
After snapping several photos, the man turned and walked away, toward a door that Lysander had not seen before, and did not see again when the room was plunged back into blackness. Lysander let his head drop weakly and he fought back sobs.
“Lorcan, where are you?” he whispered.
Lysander snapped awake with a gasp, utterly disoriented for a moment. He tried to move and heard the clink of chains. The sound helped to revive him and he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. He had been moved, apparently, and cursed himself for falling asleep. He had dragged his chair over to the spot where the floor had opened up, thinking to fall down upon the wizard’s head and hopefully break the cretin’s neck.
Instead, he had apparently drifted off to sleep, despite casting several Fatigue-banishing Charms on himself throughout the course of the night. Exhaustion had finally won out—Lys had no idea how many hours had passed since he was taken, but his last Tempus Charm had revealed it to be sometime after 3 o’clock in the morning.
He blinked carefully, hoping he hadn’t been blinded, and was rewarded when several grayish shadows revealed themselves. He nearly sighed with relief. Not blind, then, just in a very dark place. He moved his right foot, hoping his ankles had not been chained when he had been shackled to the wall currently pressing cold, rough stone into his back.
An even greater relief than discovering he wasn’t blind filled him when he felt the familiar rough length of his wand move against his instep. He thanked Merlin once again that he had chosen to wear boots rather than trainers on the outing to Hogsmeade, not wanting his favourite shoes to get muddy. It had given him a convenient place to stash his wand—not that it did him any good at the moment, bound as he was to the wall by both wrists.
How had the man gotten him out without awakening him? Lysander was confused for only a moment before he realized the arsehole had obviously sneaked into the room when it was most likely for Lys to be asleep—apparently using some other point of entry—and then cast a Sleeping Charm to keep him from awakening.
Light flared suddenly, too bright, searing Lysander’s retinas. He clamped his eyes shut and silently cursed the bastard.
“Poor boy,” the wizard said. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Lysander said nothing, knowing the taunting tone would not bode well for any reply.
“Soon it won’t matter. You’ll be in a better place.” The man snickered at his own words and then Lysander felt a hand yank at his shirt before the sound of ripping cloth came to him. He blinked against the brightness, struggling to see through the blotches of colour marring his sight.
The man brandished a knife, using it to hack at Lysander’s shirt. His robes were already gone, possibly left behind when the man had removed him from the other room. Lysander desperately wanted to know what he was doing, but he dared not ask. The tip of the knife nicked his shoulder and he choked back a gasp.
“Poor, pathetic child,” the man crooned. “Taken from your posh school and used and abused. It’s too bad you aren’t a girl. Although you’re pretty enough, boys just don’t do it for me. More’s the pity.” The man roughly pinched one of Lysander’s nipples, causing tears of pain to well into his eyes. He shrank away, pushing back into the stone as best he could. The man chuckled. “But mummy and daddy don’t need to know that, do they?”
He left Lysander’s shirt hanging in tattered strips and stepped back to look at him critically. Lysander met his eyes defiantly rather than cringing back. Be strong, like Lorcan, he repeated to himself, over and over.
“Just one more thing,” the wizard said and slapped Lysander hard across the face. Lysander’s head smacked into the stone and his lip split open with a sting of pain. Blood gushed into his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He whimpered slightly, for the first time thinking the maniac might actually kill him.
“What do you want? Why are you doing this?” he whispered.
The man glared at him through eyes that seemed more than a bit mad, especially when he smiled. “Because I want your parents to suffer, boy. I want them to suffer forever.”
With that, he stepped back and pulled a camera from beneath his robes. Lysander tried to look defiant instead of terrified, but he would be willing to bet it wasn’t working. Blood dripped onto his chest and his head throbbed with pain.
After snapping several photos, the man turned and walked away, toward a door that Lysander had not seen before, and did not see again when the room was plunged back into blackness. Lysander let his head drop weakly and he fought back sobs.
“Lorcan, where are you?” he whispered.