Rated M for violence and some language.

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Feburary 16th
12:00 am
Knockturn Alley

Despite it being two days later, there were still some vestiges of Valentines Day lingering in Diagon Alley. Bits of rose colored banners, sprinkled with glittery color changing hearts and sappy colloquialisms, littered the snow covered grounds and darkened windows of the stores. At this time of night, with only a few lights glinting in the lofts above the stores, the street looked abandoned and dilapidated, as though someone hit it with a Valentines Day nuclear bomb. Devlin understood how it felt. He felt like he had been hit by the same thing, coupled with a shock wave of melancholy.

Maybe it was because of the painful throbbing in his right hand, where his broken digits curled into fetal positions in an attempt to quell the pain shooting through his arm. He left it broken to remind himself that punching inanimate objects was not the way to release anger, especially punching ones made of bricks. Or, if not the pain in his hand, perhaps the reason for his melancholy was the heaviness of his pocket where the watch Fauna gave him lay like a heavy lump of painful reminders. He wondered if she gave him that with the intention of it replacing the heart she tore out of his chest, like he was some wizarding version of the Tin Man and she was the bitch version of the Wizard of Oz. He could hear it ticking in time with the crunches of his footfalls in the snow and his chest twinged painfully.

The best bet, however, was neither the hand nor the watch, but the reason he was in Diagon Alley at midnight in the first place. It sat in the back of his mind, clear and crisp as day, reminding him of how much of a fool and a loser he was. It consisted of a few things, mainly the look on Fauna's face as she broke up with him coupled with Greyfriar's nagging words of wisdom "Whatever the f-Whatever you did, you've threatened everything good in your life'' and Kingstreets not too subtle hints of pain upon failure. It reminded him constantly of what he had thrown away for the sake of money and infamy.

He had thought being a professional swindler would be interesting and prosperous while also giving him a chance to get the girl of his dreams. But it had done none of that. He had only gotten a criminal record, pending jail time and he had lost the one girl he had really loved. It was a perfect shitstorm. But he was determined to set things right. That was why he was in Diagon Alley, skulking towards the crossroads of Diagon and Knockturn, at midnight. He had sent Theodora a letter requesting a meeting with her, presumably to beg her forgiveness for screwing up their well laid plans, but in reality he had no intention of begging for anything but a way out. He realized the error of his ways and wanted nothing more then to be free and start over right. Maybe he could get out of jail early for good behavior and get a real job, just so he could prove to Fauna that he was worth her time. It would suck, but he would do whatever it took to get her back, even back breaking labor.

The idea of making things right again made him feel a tad better and Devlin entered into the small abandoned store front near the front of Knockturn with his shoulders straight and his head held high. Theodora Kingstreet didn't scare him. Not anymore anyways. Well, okay, not much more anyways. She was all protocol and paperwork after all. At best she might issue him a pinkslip and two weeks unpaid leave. Or she would find a way to slit his throat with a bit of blotting paper, but he tried to think positively as the door shut behind him and encased him in darkness. Licking his lips as his courage begin to falter, Devlin took a deep breath and called into the emptiness "Miss Kingstreet...Boss... Are you here?"

Usually, fashion was of paramount importance to a socialite such as Melanthe Grumman. Wearing the right outfit could drastically impact her life in the public eye and thus, she spent a great deal of time fussing about it. But this care was no less important for what she did when the public was not around. In fact, she had thought long and hard about her outfit of choice for tonight's social endeavor. She wanted the ensemble to be comfortable and allow her a full range of motion, seeing as she was going to hands-on in her anticipated agenda.

The clothing fit her well but the minimalist black pants and top would never grace the pages of the gossip rags that Melanthe was so often found in. Shoes were often statement pieces to her overall look, but tonight even footwear was to be understated and practical. She wore no jewelry or other means of embellishing her appearance, including make up. She would need none of that where she was going and what she would be doing. Her hair was held in a simple pony tail, but this too was downplayed, as it covered by the hood of a black cloak that she wore.

She had arrived to the abandoned store well before the time indicated by Kingstreet in the package of information that she had been sent detailing the planned assault on Devlin Matthews. Apparently the boy had wanted to meet up with Theodora to discuss their working relationship. But clearly Kingstreet had no intentions of talking with the young man. Words were not going to be good enough now.

Melanthe remained motionless in the shadows of the empty store, with her only company being the leftover unsold goods or display pieces from the former establishment and her father's wand held loosely in her hand. Briefly, the dark witch thought about the previous crimes she had committed with the said wand and she also wondered how many, in total, the wand had seen through the years, considering her father's own darkness.

Her thoughts gently grazed over memories of stalking her prey before pouncing on them in the past with several requiring weeks or even months of surveillance before she had set her carefully constructed plans for retribution in motion. In this case, most of that legwork had been done for her, thanks to the proficient witch who had hired her.

The Matthews boy was going to be in for a rude awakening when he arrived for an encounter not with the crafty Ms. Kingstreet, but with a dark witch skilled in the art of killing. Luckily for Matthews, she had no plans on this night to bring anyone's life to an end. No, Melanthe Grumman needed a higher cause for that. And usually it took personal vindication to be her primary motivating factor.

This was Kingstreet's personal vindication but for Melanthe it was simply for fun. To prove that she still had it all left in her. A warm up for what was to come, even if she hadn't a clue as to what that was.

From the shadows, Melanthe watched carefully as someone entered the shop and closed the door. She slowly moved from where she was as she heard his voice disrupt the eerie silence that had been hiding there with her all along.

She emerged into the main portion of the shop, shadows still accompanying her and likely exposing her presence to the former Hogwart's student, but before he had time to react or even prepare for the ambush, she raised her wand and with a flick of her wrist in his direction, she commanded, "Concusso!"

The shockwave ensued was instantaneous and it had the force to knock Matthews from his feet, as well as shatter every pane of glass or causing any other furniture or large objects in the vicinity to explode or crumble into a feeble existence.

It was as if a natural disaster had struck that one area of the store, demolishing all that was in its path. When the dust had settled, Melanthe immediately moved forward to inspect the damage done to the boy. At first glance, she could not determine whether he was seriously injured internally, but clearly he had been rendered unconscious.

Knowing that the blast would possibly attract the attention of any curious neighbors, Melanthe had prepared to leave with Matthews not long after his arrival. Reaching out, Melanthe firmly took hold of Devlin's wrist and proceeded with side-along apparition.

When the boy regained consciousness, she was certain that in every sense of the word, he would have no idea what had hit him. And taking him to a place unknown to him in order to continue with the assault was likely  going to make him even more vulnerable to what was to come...

It was too dark and far too quiet. The shadows closed on him like a shroud, suffocating him with their closeness yet making him feel naked and vulnerable at the same time. Fear crept over him, leaving goosebumps trailing up his arms in its wake. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dev considered his options. If he turned tail and ran like a frightened child, Kingstreet would surely send someone to kill him for his display of weakness. But if he stayed... well... he wasn't sure what she would do. A pitch black and empty storefront was not what he expected for their meeting place, which meant she was being spontaneous. For those who knew her, Kingstreet and spontaneity was a terrifying combination. One that would send most men running for their lives.

However, he chose to stay. He was already on her shitlist and if he ran now, the next encounter would surely be worse. Besides, he had gotten turned around in the dark and didn't even know where the door out was. Breathing in deep calming breaths, Devlin slid his hand into his pocket and closed his shaking fingers around the handle of his wand, the feeling of the cool smooth wood gave him some semblance of peace. Sliding it soundlessly from his pocket, he licked his lips and was about to summon some light when a noise behind him caused him to pause and turn towards it slowly. "Wh... Who's there?" He said shakily, trying desperately not to let his fear show.

"Concusso!"

"Stu--" Devlin started to respond, whipping his own wand up in retaliation. The spell never fully left his mouth before it was torn away by the force of the spell. The shock wave lifted his entire body into the air and slammed him into the brick wall behind him, the force crushing his ribs and squeezing the breath out of his lungs. The sound of shattering glass and the blood rushing to his head deafened him and he fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Laying there, his head ringing and his body aching, he stared at the ceiling until it melted and swirled into darkness. A warm cloak of nothingness surrounded and cradled him like a baby as he fell into a deep sleep.

It would be hours before he regained consciousness, his head pounding with a splitting migraine that left his vision blurry. Aside from the stabbing pain in his ribs, the rest of his body felt heavy and tight as though he were bound by wrought iron chains. Blinking slowly until his vision cleared, he realized that he was indeed bound, but by invisible ropes to a bottomless chair. He tried to tug against them, but found that they were too tight or perhaps that he was too weak to pull free. Moaning in defeat, he finally looked around at his new surroundings. He couldn't see much outside of the ring of light emanating from the single lightbulb swinging above his head. Moaning loudly, despite the amount of pain just the sound of his voice bouncing around his head gave him, Devlin sagged in the bottomless chair in defeat. "Just kill me already..." He rasped out from behind the lump in his throat.

Swarms of dust and the shadows dropped.

The new location was no less grim than the previous one, only it was clear that this was no abandoned store in Diagon Alley. It left little in the way of creature comforts, but then comfort was the last thing that would be offered in a place like this. Melanthe had banked on the unfamiliar territory being key in leaving Devlin open to the pain - physical or otherwise - that she would be inflicting upon him. Though Kingstreet wanted her to use Crucio, Melanthe planned on it being the climax of the evening's festivities.

There needed to be a proper build up to the use of such a powerful spell. The dance of evil needed to be choreographed just so with both the victim and the victor in their right places and in the right mindset. The dark witch needed to get to the point where using the unforgivable curse would be satisfying - tickling to her fingertips, begging her to use it and giving her the means to make her victim beg for mercy.

She had been sitting, anxiously waiting for the boy to wake from the concussion. She had latched her dark gaze on him, prepared to pounce at his first stirring.

When he finally spoke, she was surprised by how he was willing to give up already. Victims, especially males, usually had some fight in them that she had to snuff out. Perhaps this was going to be an easy conquest of his mind and spirit.

That was disappointing.

Standing, she stealthfully made her way closer to where he sat, bound upright. Her cloak still veiled most of her face, but it could not hide the menacing sneer in her voice as she mocked his defeated plea. "Death can be easily arranged Mr. Matthews. But perhaps we shall save that fate for another day." As she walked behind him, she leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "I think...you will enjoy a fate worse than death better..."

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Melanthe moved a short distance from him and wielded her wand again. Pointing it at his neck, she hissed, "Strangulo."

Devlin regretted the plea of death the moment it slid past his parched lips. Despite the fact that he indeed felt like dying, sitting there in massive pain with pretty much no reason to live, he didn't want to die like this. It was humiliating. It didn't matter that it was a woman who was doing the torturing,  it was the fact that Kingstreet hadn't even given him a chance to fight back. She could have let him show his worth by sending her best dualist to take him on in one on one combat. At least then he could have died with honor. Instead she sent this sadistic bitch to knock him out and torture him before, probably, leaving him to live with the shame it brought. At least, thats what her intentions seemed to be considering the sneer she was currently whispering against his ear.

"Death can be easily arranged Mr. Matthews. But perhaps we shall save that fate for another day. I think...you will enjoy a fate worse than death better..."

He winced slightly, not at her words but the sound. Though she spoke in a light whisper, the concussion left her voice booming in his ears. With difficulty, he turned his head away, his skull singing with her words. As she stepped in front of him, Devlin managed to open his eyes and glared at her out of one weary corner. "Fuck yo--" He started to spit back at her, the anger he felt at the situation replenishing his faltering will to live.

"Strangulo."

The words were cut off when the spell smashed into his throat. It immediately tightened around him and crushed against his windpipe, his words and breath pushed out of his gaping mouth in a shuddering gasp. For a second, he tried to sit still and not give her the benefit of seeing him struggle, but when the spell didn't loosen its grip and his lungs begin to burn, Devlin couldn't hold back. His hands curled into claws, digging into the wood of the chair as he pulled against his bonds. His eyes bulged and rolled as his cheeks begin to turn a light shade of purple. This is it... I'm going to die... the words bounced around his mind, bringing with them a strange calm that he had never thought he would feel right before death. Like it was going to be okay. Sure he would be dead, but at least the pain would be over.

And just like that, it was done. The crushing abruptly loosened and the air he was struggling so hard to gasp for came rushing back into his lungs. Sucking up the blessed breath with a greed that the most stalwart miser would have admired, Devlin gasped like he was a fish flopping on land for a few moments. As the color came back to his face and his vision cleared from the crimson haze clouding it, Devlin felt a surge of what could only be confidence. He had survived! As painful as it was, it was over now and he was alive. He almost managed a chuckle, though it came out more like a dry heave, before turning a watery hazel eye towards his captor. Dev knew better then to taunt the person inflicting pain on him, but his nature could not be denied "... Is.. Is that all?"

Was that all?

That question alone caused Melanthe's gaze, which was still hidden by her dark cloak, to harden. Her fingertips itched as she tightened her hold on her wand. He was Kingstreet's transgressor and not her own. That had left the possibility that she would have a small amount of compassion for him when carrying out her task. But this reminded her that she didn't know him. She didn't have to feel anything for him. In fact, it was better than she didn't.

Her chocolate orbs glinted as she watched him continue to suck in the breath she had denied him for the few precious moments of Strangulo. She was prepared to use something more sinister now. But she needed him to feel the full breadth of her power against him -- with or without restriction.

Melanthe released the spell that held Devlin captive and watched as he pitched forward onto the ground, looking quite helpless and still seeming to be catching his breath. A soft laugh danced in her throat as she circled around behind him. "So you want more? Why would I deny such a request as that?" She pointed her African Blackwood wand towards him and barked out her next command.

"Incendia verbero!!"

A blazing, reddish-orange light burst from the tip of the wand and crossed the distance between them, striking his exposed back with a firey whip action. Having seen the effects of this homemade hex before, Melanthe knew that this would have the power to send him sprawling on the floor again. She knew that it would be painful, with its stinging whip lashing capable of scorching away the clothing that he wore as well as the tender skin beneath it. And it wasn't just one tiny lashing that seared into that flesh. No, over the span of just a few moments -- which must have felt like eternity -- the fire whip hex was capable of scattering successive burn lashings on the skin spanning from shoulders all the way down to the small of his back.

((Warning, a good bulk of bad language here... Can't blame him really >>))

"So you want more? Why would I deny such a request as that?"

Judging by the sudden chill that blanketed the room, emenating from her, and the icy undercurrent in her dark eyes, his words had hit their mark. He felt a small spark of satisfaction knowing that he managed to get under her skin even just a little, but that satisfaction was fleeting and fading fast. He expected her to strike back with more ferocity now, but he wasn't prepared how she would do it.

"Incendia verbero!!"

This was a new spell he hadn't heard before, likely a homemade one, and he was not prepared for the results. Not one but what seemed like a multitude of searing lashes danced down his spine arrythmically, the tongues of flame tearing through his shirt and ripping into his skin, cauterizing the wounds in the process of making them. It literally felt as though he were being dragged across red-hot spikes while being lit on fire and in agony, Devlin started to scream. Before his cries had been muffled by lack of air, but now he could howl to his hearts content and howl he did.

"Jesus Christ... You fucking bitch! I hope you fucking burn in hell!" He screamed at her, peppering his rant with cries of pain. His eyes, bulging with pain, begin to blurr as tears welled up against his will. He tried desperately to keep them from falling lest he give her the satisfaction of knowing how deep the pain she was inflicting on him was. Gritting his teeth until he felt them nearly crack from the pressure, Devlin sturggled against his bonds for a moment, the invisible ropes cutting into his wrists. Just the lashing stopped, he lost the will to fight and sagged in his chair, a sob rising to his throat. Don't cry... Don't you fucking cry... he chanted to himself as he tried to regain some sort of composure.

It didn't take long for the smell of singed skin to waft up to meet Melanthe's nostrils. This would have repulsed anyone else, but Melanthe had experienced the repugnant smell enough before where she had become desensitized to how unsettling it could be. It signaled success. The burning flesh was a requirement for knowing if the encounter was heading in the right direction.

The smell and the sight of the wounds she had inflicted were joined by a verbal confirmation in Matthews' screams of agony. She felt pride swell within her and she briefly closed her eyes to savor the sound.

Her lips curled into a slow smile as he cursed her out and her eyes snapped open. Her next movements were swift, as she knelt down so that she could watch him react more closely. She could see--and almost feel--his physical pain from where she was, even if he was trying to keep her from knowing the full extent of it.

Laughing softly, Melanthe reached out and grazed her fingertips across his brow. In that moment, he could have easily passed for a child who was ready to cry out for his mum to kiss his boo-boo and make him better. Melanthe had no way of knowing if this....boy....was at all close to his mother. But she imagined that he was close to someone in his life; He was too young to have given up on loved ones already.

"Hell is all relative, dah-ling," she told him in a mocking tone. She leaned in closer and whispered, "How cruel of me to tease you so in previewing yours...."

Melanthe drew back again and wielded her wand again, this time hissing, "Quiritatio Nex..."

Of all the hexes she planned on using that night, this one was bound to be the most unpredictable and enjoyable for her to observe, since what was capable of wounding a person emotionally was always going to be different for each victim.

Melanthe tried to be patient as she waited to see how it would touch this one...

---

Click here and scroll down to Ignan's journal entries to learn more about this spell....

The agonizing, searing pain begin to fade as shock kicked in. The massive wounds were so numerous that he stopped feeling each individual cut and instead felt a blanket of dull, burning pain. Trying to keep the tears from falling, he chewed on the inside of his mouth until it bled, leaving a thick metallic taste in his mouth. Revulsion, at both her and himself, reared up as the woman walked over to him and stroked his forehead in a motherly way. It almost felt good, even though he knew that she was just taunting him, and he cringed away from her hand when she leaned down to whisper to him.

"Hell is all relative, dah-ling, How cruel of me to tease you so in previewing yours...."

"Quiritatio Nex..."

At first there was nothing. Just... emptiness. The silence left his head ringing and for a moment, Devlin thought that perhaps this was the torture. Though it seemed bland and pointless next to the whips and the choking, which made him tense up in apprehension of what could come next. When it did, he didn't expect it.

It started as a whisper, a hushed wail, simply soaked in agony. He recognized the voice as Faunas, the tone similar to the one she had when they broke up, multiplied a dozen or so times. He couldn't see her, but he didn't need to see her face to know it was twisted in severe pain.

...Make it stop... Make the pain stop... Why did you do this to me Devlin? Why did you betray me?... Why did you let them do this to me?.... Why?....

It cut off into sobs and wails of pain,  leaving Devlin wracked with guilt and the image of Fauna being tortured dancing through his head. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Devlin whispered, the tears threatening to well up again "... Please stop hurting her..." It was a silly request considering that Fauna wasn't in the room at all. She was safe in her bed back at Hogwarts, but the image of her bloody, brutalized body was so real in his mind. It got worse though, as a new voice grew out of the background and covered Faunas sobs. It was Lucy.

.... Dev... Where are you.... Dev I am so hungry... I haven't eaten in weeks... Where are you? Why did you abandon me? Why do you hate me so much?... I feel so sick...

Like Fauna, she begin to sob but her cries were not ones of torture but of fear and acceptance. She was slowly and painfully dying of starvation, no more then a tiny, fragile skeleton in his minds eye. Her deep set eyes stared back at him, their spark gone and replaced by weak tears as she used the last of her strength to cry out for him. The tears he had been holding back tipped over and trailed down his cheeks, leaving small dark stains where they landed on his pants. "No... No no no... Not Lucy... Not Lucy...." He started to beg, his murmurs a bit stronger and more urgent "... You bitch... She's just a little girl..." He would have thought that leaving him a sobbing, guilt-ridden mess would have done it, but then another voice filtered in over his sister and Fauna. The tears doubled the moment he heard her.

...You are killing me, Devlin... the shame of your birth will torture me in this life and the next... why did I have to have you?.... You're a demon... a child of Satan.... You killed me... YOU KILLED ME....

"MAKE IT STOP! MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP!... Please... Oh god... Please make them stop..." Devlins barely controlled composure snapped and he fought against the bonds with more strength then he thought he had in him. His skin blistered and cracked against the invisible ropes and the blood dripping from the wounds across his back increased into a crimson river as his heart hammered against his chest in terror. His sobs turned to dry heaves and he gagged on the bile that rose to his throat. Tears streamed freely down his swollen cheeks, mixing with snot and sweat, dripping into his gasping mouth. The mix of salt and bile made him retch and he vomited the remnants of his lunch across his knees.

Sagging in defeat, he swallowed hard and gasped for air before murmuring "... I give up... You win... Just make it stop...Just... make it...stop..." He trailed off as exhaustion and blood loss sapped him clean, leaving him a fragile shell. Darkness washed over him and a pleasant, and more importantly, painless warmth surrounded him as he faded into unconsciousness.

There he was, sprawled on the ground and writhing in pain more vivid now than was possible by using just the firewhip curse. She had no idea what he was conjuring as a result of Quiritatio Nex as it was sure to be different for everyone. But from what she could tell, it was working perfectly. This was everything she had wanted and more.

There was something extremely satisfying about torturing Devlin Matthews. It made something inside of her swell. Perhaps it was in knowing that another person was completely at her mercy. She was capable of bringing them to their knees, just as she was now.  They were powerless whilst she seemed to float with the power of a deity.

Hearing Matthews' cry for mercy and to make the pain stop, Melanthe realized that now was the time to strike with Crucio. He was clearly at his weakest point.

But as the dark witch extended her wand, she looked over his feeble, helpless frame. It occurred to her that inflicting crucio upon him might not be anymore damaging than this.

She had an agreement with Kingstreet. But her chocolate orbs burned with the realization that as long as Matthews was sufficiently tortured, she had done her job. What did it matter if she used Crucio or not? What more did Kingstreet possibly want than Matthews passed out and lifeless?

Melanthe lowered her wand and slowly backed away from her victim. A slow smile formed on her lips as she thought, This is my forte. Why I ever let myself go so long without feeling the glory of it, I'll never know....

And with a pop, she apparated away from the scene of her crime.