Paint It Black

Chapter 1

Lavinia, the daughter of Titus Andronicus, got off lightly. Yes, she might have been brutally raped and tortured, not to mention leaving the experience with no hands nor tongue. At least the perpetrators got their penance in the end. They were murdered by her wrathful father, and fed to their treacherous mother Tamora as penance. You can almost imagine the knowing, gleeful glint of vengeful triumph in her dying moments as her God put her out of her pitiful misery. At least she could look forward to death with the lupine grin spread over her face like a disease, ready to embrace sweet mercy. Especially with the knowledge that they had all got their just desserts, or rather pie.

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I don't have such a luxury. Yes, my tongue can still deliver its stinging barbs and wit laced with poisonous lemon. I should have been a Slytherin. I was not so lucky. I can't speak with the freedom that is usually allowed within my house, or rather the politically correct freedom. If I did, I would die, either strapped to a bed for the rest of my dying days in the Spell Damage Ward of St Mungo's, or in a worst cast scenario rotting in Azkaban prison, accused of blasphemy without the knowledge of at least knowing that the bastard hung. I would be classed clinically insane.

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day

The side of 'the Light' is not all it's cut up to be. It's false, too busy worshipping St. Potter to actually see the cracks beneath the façade. I'm ashamed to admit that I used to be one of the followers, the believers. Possessed with a dewy-eyed reverence for everything Potter, and devout faith in everything that my leader claimed. I was never a disciple though, like Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, not that it excuses me in any way. Everyone from Dumbledore downwards is bending over backwards for that distended piece of rectum who has the audacity to be known as 'the boy who lived'. Excluding the Slytherins and a few others like myself who've turned away and dissent from the religion after experiencing the cold, harsh slap of bitter betrayal and the harsh reality of truth. They're hypocrites, preaching to anyone easily brainwashed that their side stands for righteousness, truthfulness and above all good. They see Gryffindors as good, Slytherins as evil. Ravenclaws as clever, Hufflepuffs as stupid. Everything is either black or white; there are no in-betweens. That is their mantra to which they abide. Anyone not following or flat-out refusal to will be subjected to ridicule and out-casting, and don't even mention not believing in Potter. The fold will turn their backs on you, until you fall, then they will watch, surrounding you, vultures waiting for their moment to eat the remaining flesh in your hour of darkness as your life force drains. They will laugh as you're tortured, but not to your face. You're beneath them now.

My house has always been overlooked, actually. The amount of abuse we have received over the years has been provided in vast amounts of bile, which, unlike most of the members of Hufflepuff, I feel is a good thing. It means that we can hide in the shadows without fear of being seen, we're seen as the most unlikely people to spring an attack on the Light. It's one of their biggest mistakes. We would make excellent Death Eaters, if anyone ever bothered to realise it. Better, even, then any Slytherin could. The problem with the Slytherins is that they're ambitious. They'd join the Dark Lord, and once he had assured power, they'd happily sink their teeth in to his neck and smile while they did it. They would want to taste that kind of power, possess the hands of God for themselves. We Hufflepuffs don't have any of those needs. We're loyal, and have within our itinerary a knowing logic and wisdom of when to save our own hides. Resourceful, but not so much it's noticed. We couldn't have that, could we? Our cover would be blown. After so many years of fuelling the 'stupidity' rumour as well. Helga Hufflepuff would turn in her tomb.

I was loyal to the Potter religion. Even when most of the glaring light of stardom had dimmed from my house member's eyes when Cedric Diggory died. The members who had been blinded began to grow seedlings of doubt as to whether Potter was the shining example he had started off being within their trusting minds. Not me, though. I refused to. I still believed that my best course of action was to believe in him, as it was my chance for survival. To me, Cedric had died in vain. His life, which served as a warning of the danger to most Hufflepuffs, eluded me completely. I was selfish. It was easier to be ignorant for me though, I wasn't as close to Diggory as most were. He was nice enough, and he certainly didn't deserve to die, especially as Potter would probably die anyway. His death was in vain in that respect too. All he had done was having the misfortune of being in Potter's presence. Potter, for all his fame and glory, courage and bravery, couldn't save him could he?

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

The day Potter's mask slipped; when I observed his true nature, it was too late. I had already been taken in to his world of sugared candy that his followers created. I'd slipped into the sticky trap of fine, spindly thread, a fly awaiting the spider and imminent death. Except imminent death never came. That is a luxury presented to few. Dumbledore was once heard to quote 'There are worst things in life than death.' I am now inclined to agree with him. When I returned to Hogwarts after the summer to begin the Sixth Year, I knew something had changed, everyone did. Antelopes scenting blood on the wind. Potter was more depressed, yet had more determination than ever before to bring down Voldemort. Little did I know that when I began the year that my outlook would alter dramatically too. During my fifth year I had been a proud member of 'Dumbledore's Army' (the DA for short). It was an association exclusive to the Potterites to learn defence skills and useful spells which would hopefully provide us with a slight more chance of survival from our God himself. It was illegal during the first year as the ministry believed a conspiracy of some sort, but with them removed, we were allowed to continue free from prying eyes and suspicious minds. I would forever remember ten-fold, the moments that were brandished on my brain the night of the assault.

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue

I could not foresee this thing happening to you

If I look hard enough into the setting sun

My love will laugh with me until the morning comes

The night that I realised that Cedric Diggory's warning went particularly unheeded by myself was just after I had completed a very rigorous DA meeting. I had hung behind at the end to catch my breath and ask Potter a question about the technique of one of the spells we had been practising. I regret not taking up Zacharias Smith's offer to assist me now. When I was the only one remaining, excluding the Holy Trinity themselves, I gathered up the courage to go up to them and ask. As I did so, Granger and Weasley looked at me blankly, and then the kindling of irritation began to stir at the back of their eyes for the untimely interruption. Potter, however, looked at me with an odd expression, as though he was working out something. It was an expression I didn't much like the look of. Granger was about to open her mouth, to brusquely explain in her unique AND versatile manner how to achieve the desired affect of the curse and then to piss off as I shouldn't be addressing Potter in all his glory, when Potter himself interrupted. It would have been funny if not for the circumstances. He explained that Granger and Weasley should leave and he'd stay to show me properly the way to inflict the curse and its effects. The disciples seemed happy with the decree, and left us to it. When they closed the door, I reached for my wand.

"Oh, you won't be needing that," demanded Potter. "Why?" I asked. I always believe in understanding the reasoning and logic behind every decision. To the Hufflepuff in me, it's essential.

"For you to understand the effects of the curse, you have to experience it for yourself." The curt reply came. This seemed logical enough for me, so I removed my hand from my pocket. Starting to circle me, he reminded me of a wolf about to go in for the kill. He was smiling eerily and I shivered. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I could bet that it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Suddenly he fired a spell at me, 'Petrificus Totalus', and I fell to the ground my arms clasped to by sides, my legs bound together, all movement impossible. I tried to speak, but found my jaw was locked. I wondered what the hell Potter was playing at. He dropped down to his knees and leaned too far into my personal space.

"Best element of attack is surprise," he smirked and that's when his mask slipped to reveal the reptilian smile gleaming, the protruding fangs assisting the nightmarish image. The God had become the Devil. I tried to scream. He laughed a cruel laugh that didn't suit him as he traced a long, cold, lily-white finger down the side of my cheek. It trailed snake-like down my neck and arrived between my cleavage. His eyes gleamed with a predatory yearning mixed with a sickening triumph.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he replied as he tore down the middle of the lilac shirt I had been wearing. Tears began to leak out of the tear ducts. I blinked the lens of tears building up in my eyes away and watched in horror as he stripped me of my clothes and all the dignity that I had managed to acquire. The only thought that calmed me at that moment was that as he couldn't rape me - my legs were locked so tightly it would take nothing short of steel to snap them apart and penetrate. Only I didn't think to the lengths that he would go to achieve his goal.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Potter chanted as he pointed his wand at me. He raised me above his head as he walked around me, inspecting my body as though examining it for imperfections.

"Nice, very nice," was all he had to say as he twisted my body around in every direction to get the best possible view. It shocked me when he let me fall to the ground with no remorse. I could feel stabbing pains in my back and the beginnings of a throbbing headache. There'd be bruises in the morning. As I felt the curse being lifted from my body, my natural instinct was to make a run for it. I didn't even get on to my knees before he hit me with the next spell in his list. An Unforgivable. By the name of 'Imperius'. While I waited to accept his every command, he conjured two chairs. One a leather recliner, the other a hard-backed black chair. He settled himself on the recliner and made me perform sexually provocative poses, much to his delight. When he finally got bored of such amusing torture, he removed the curse and watched repulsively while I fell in to a wretched heap on the floor, cracking my head against the chair as I fell. Potter pushed me back so roughly that I lost my breath momentarily. I tried to scratch him, bite him, anything to save a scrap of dignity.

Slapping my face hard, he exclaimed, "Stop crying, you snivelling bitch!"

It did the trick I can tell you. I was so surprised at the throbbing on the side of my face that I stopped immediately. Then it happened. Element of surprise and all. What was it Moody taught us? Constant vigilance. I wasn't expecting it, I admit. Exercising some of my Hufflepuff stupidity I guess. He pushed my legs out with his muscular thighs and penetrated me hard. I can't remember anytime in my life where I've screamed as loud as I did. It was the most painful thing I had ever experienced in my sheltered life. No man had never touched me like that in my life. Ever. No foreplay, nothing. He clasped his sweaty hand over my mouth to prevent me from crying out again. My tears streamed out of my eyes in a constant flow and he rode me fast and hard. His groans began stifled, afraid that he might be heard, let alone no one could. They grew gradually louder and more primitive however, until he cried out in ecstasy when he achieved orgasmic release. He removed himself from my abused body.

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

He stood up and laughed. Just laughed. Then kicked me in my stomach and face. I could feel myself losing consciousness from the blow to my head. He kicked me harshly again, but said nothing. He didn't need to. I looked in to his knowing eyes. He knew that I knew it too. He was Harry Potter. Saviour of the Wizarding World, and needless to say, if any of his faithful supporters even got a whisper of the act he just committed they'd report me to Dumbledore without a second thought, to which I'd probably get expelled. Even the Slytherins would be dubious. I'm a Hufflepuff. Everyone would think I wanted the fame that St. Potter had.

I was extremely tired, and my head was hurting so badly that I thought it would explode. I wanted it to. At least then I wouldn't remember. I hardly noticed that he picked me up roughly and strode purposefully towards the door. He draped his famed invisibility cloak over the pair of us and walked out of the Room of Requirement, moving towards the deserted classroom. Shoving me roughly inside he removed the cloak and looked down on me once more, smirking.

I want to see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I want to see the sun blotted out from the sky
I want to see it painted, painted, painted, painted black

"Why?" I breathed hoarsely. Even the most simple of utterances was difficult. He thought for a moment. "God moves in mysterious ways," he laughed cruelly, and walked out.