Title – The Price We Pay: R Version 1/13
Rating – R
Disclaimer – I own none of this, it all unfortunately belongs to Rowling. I just have the honor of using her creations in my story.
Summary – After the end of the war Dumbledore rescues a captured Snape from the dungeons of Lord Voldemort and the long road to recovery begins.
Pairings – SS/LV, SS/LM, SS/Death Eaters and some HP/DM.
Warnings – Violence, torture, non-graphic rape and m/m slash.
Author's Note – Well call me twisted but a few weeks ago I decided to write an R rated version of this fic. Everything is fair game here – slash, profanity, violence, etc. Please, please take note of the warnings for this version, it won't be too terribly graphic, but it will be more serious and deal with darker issues. If you don't like it please don't read it and stick with the cleaner version!! All reviews, questions, suggestions and corrections are welcome!! Read and enjoy!
The Price We Pay
Pain. His body ached with unnatural pain; the likes of which he had never felt before or would ever feel again. He thought he knew what pain was, after all he was no stranger to pain beginning from his early childhood, but his tormentors invented creative ways to torture his beaten body and send him to new levels of agony. When the cruciatus curse ceased to have the desired effect they turned to other implements of torture. When he passed out after the repeated rapes, they used spells to make him service them for longer sessions. The Dark Lord found continual pleasure in discovering new ways to use his favorite toy and was a frequent visitor to the dungeon cell that was now his home. They always laughed at his attempts to scream with his useless throat; it had been silenced long ago with the wave of a wand.
Darkness. His soul was drowning in never-ending darkness and it seemed he would never find his way back to the warm light. The shadows closed in around him and held him at the mercy of his evil captors. They used darkness and ropes to break his spirit. He vaguely remembered being rescued once before from those hands of evil, and set on the path of redemption by the one person who was the embodiment of light and good. But it was so hard to see past the cold darkness most of the time and he could not trust his own memories, as fractured as they were. The darkness threatened to overwhelm him again and with the last remnants of his will he held it at bay.
Loneliness. His mind cried out for company and coherent thought. As a man who treasured knowledge and intelligence above all else he wept silently as his precious mind was torn apart and the pieces thrown to the metaphorical winds. They forced their way into his mind as they did his body. His once strictly ordered mind was reduced to a mere shadow of what it was through magic, pain and lies. All he was left with was a crushing loneliness. He recalled that he must have been a solitary person by nature because the loneliness did not truly bother him in the beginning. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months he desperately wished for the company of someone who was not there to use him or cause him pain or laugh at his wretchedness. He no longer tried to keep his shattered mind sane and occupied and passed most of the time in a hazy stupor, oblivious to reality.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
With a small sigh the pathetic prisoner shifted and moaned mutely as the chains around his wrists and ankles rubbed against the raw, bloody flesh underneath. He froze as pain shot up his spine from his abused and torn arse. Maybe someday the blond wizard would finally stop raping him with such cold ruthlessness. Giving up on finding a more comfortable position he curled into a ball in the corner of the dark cell and rested his weary head on the icy stone floor. The cold seeped through his naked skin, into his bones and racked his painfully thin body with weak tremors.
Another prisoner in another part of the dungeons began moaning and screaming for release, promising to answer questions and reveal classified information. With a sudden jerk he became aware of the loud voice and summoned enough alertness to make sure he was not the one being yelled at. The one with the red eyes sometimes hated it when he did not pay enough attention to the orders and taunts. Some of the words managed to make sense to him and with a flash of memory he saw himself giving an important report to a group of people in an old, dirty house. The memory was gone as fast as it came and he did not have the energy to try and recall the moment.
Time passed slowly and he finally cracked open his obsidian eyes and wondered why someone had not come to stop the poor man who was screaming his throat out. At least the moans broke up the monotonous silence of captivity. This question sustained him for a minute before he closed his sensitive eyes and sank back into the enveloping blackness.
He drifted along, finding childish pleasure in listening to the various vermin scurry around his cell and in counting the drops of water dripping in a corner. When the dungeons suddenly fell silent he frowned and turned his head slightly, listening for any sign of his captors coming to play. He waited with weary resignation for the door to open, but instead an ominous feeling squeezed his heart and descended upon the gloomy dungeon.
The captive wizards and witches all stirred as they felt the tell tale signs of powerful, ancient magic being summoned and used. The feeling of immense power intensified and they all shuddered as the currents of magic that surrounded the entire mansion faltered and abruptly vanished. A ripple of dark power passed through the silent dungeon before it was overwhelmed and finally destroyed by a burst of light magic.
Following this strange magical event, a sharp burning pain blossomed in his left forearm. He gripped his burning arm as best he could using his chained wrists and curled into a tighter ball against the incredible, sudden pain. The burning in the Dark Mark on his forearm reached its peak in a white-hot explosion of pain before suddenly coming to a stop. The prisoner remained curled in a tight ball for some time, panting and shaking harder than ever. When enough of the pain and shock wore off he was able to move and touched the skin of his left arm with trembling hands.
He ran his twisted fingers across the place where the horrid Dark Mark should have been and was met with unexpectedly smooth skin. There was no evidence of the Mark on his grimy skin, not even a blemish or a scar. He knew there was something very important behind this abrupt and painful removal of the Mark but could not come up with the reason. Too tired to care or think anymore the miserable man rested his head back on the ground and fell into an oddly peaceful sleep.
*To Be Continued*
Well I hope you liked this version enough to leave a review!! I will try to update every week as I am only editing the original version and not writing from scratch. The next part should be up soon.