Who: Megan Jones and OPEN What: an unfortunately timed arrival When: Sunday, very late at night. Where: The center of town. WARNINGS: mentions of violence and generally unhappy things. Also, language.
Megan knew that trouble was coming for her, she’d known it since she’d made her stand during Dark Arts that morning, when she refused to turn her wand and use an unforgivable that morning. She knew the Carrows were particular with their punishments, and so after dinner, she loaded up as much food in her bag as she could, and quietly tried to make her way to the seventh floor, where she’d heard that some students were hiding out.
She got caught along the way, cornered by larger students who did the Carrow’s bidding, Slytherin’s mostly, with sour faces. She’d fought, she’d fought as hard as she could. It how she got the cut on her cheek, and the tear in her shirt. She’d dropped her bag, and was hauled over a hulk of a student’s shoulder, banging her hands on his back as she went. She wouldn’t cry though. She wouldn’t yell. She wouldn’t humiliate herself for their satisfaction.
Once in the Dark Arts room, she was tied to a wall with heavy rope. She wasn’t the only one either, slowly the group that had grabbed her came and left adding more students to the wall next to her, each one of them with ropes tied tightly around their limbs. Megan tried to struggle, tried to pull herself free until the ropes chafed her skin and caused bruising. She dangled there for what felt like hours, just anticipating what would happen to her.
Finally, the Carrows themselves (and then later, their eager henchmen) began administering the punishment. Crucio. Over and over again until Megan thought she’d die from the pain, having emptied the contents of her stomach already, the pain seizing at all of her muscles. Sometimes, based on who was doing it, the spell was a weak, numb pain, but others were like daggers in her organs. Megan was certain that she was going to black out, and she’d already bit her lip open, trying (unsuccessfully) not to scream from the pain. Her mind was dizzing, she was on the verge of passing out.
It felt like a blink.
When Megan came to her senses, the first thing she felt was sore. All over. Her entire body ached like she’d been beaten all over multiple times, as if she’d been sleeping in her crumpled state for years. She licked her lips, they were dry but sore, she could feel the dried blood and bile on them and it made her sick all over. Her wrists, now that she could look at them were rubbed raw, a deep purple bruise with flecks of dried blood. She felt another wave of dizziness come over her.
It was then that she’d become aware of how cold it was, in her simple school shirt and skirt. It was absolutely freezing, and she was outside. Outside and not at all near the school. Above her stood a clock tower, but she could tell that she was not in England just by looking at her surrounds. And her wand still lay in the Carrows desk. And she didn’t know where she was, but she knew that the Carrows would not have put her here (they must have put her here) without reason. Perhaps it was to prove a point, to teach her a lesson. Maybe they were trying to get at her mother because of her disobedience (she’d heard other students talk about things like that, and now, very suddenly she was worried in ways she wasn’t before).
Megan was panicking, her heart was beating quickly and she was certain she was going to throw up again. She couldn’t breath. Everything hurt. She was dizzy and bloodied and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her throat was sore from screaming, and the cold air that she attempted to gasp in only made it worse. She had to get up. She had to get to her feet. It took her a while to get her body to cooperate and move from the heap she found herself in.
She was unstable on her feet, walking unevenly as if she’d never done so before the threat of her toppling over became very real with each step she took. She didn’t even know where she was going.