The Cabin | D.M 18+

F I F T Y - T H R E E

I've had a hot shower. I had my redbull. I am calm. I might even order myself a pizza tbh.

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TW: This chapter is very dark. I do not condone nor support these actions. This is the only time where such events will occur, the physical action has NOT been written, for it is too uncomfortable for me to write. This chapter includes themes of sexual assault and rape. Viewer discretion is advised.

- BELLE -

Devil notes play in my head, hard ones that not even steel or tungsten could slice through.

They torture me, and it causes me to wince as I try to set aside the pain from the key areas of my body. But I fail to oblige.

Looking out the tall window into the sunless sky, a wall of what appeared to be volcanic ash hides the light. It suffocates one's lungs. Although not toxic, it is a mixture of rock, glass and other minerals which is enough to make one weep and cough out blood.

Never would you have assumed that smog could possibly kill.

And as I continue to stare out into the soulless barren of nothing. Plain fields that accompanied no trees or flowers - I think.

And think and think and think.

Of that night before I was taken.

—

"Belle McGarrishen. What a genuine surprise." His voice whispers behind me and as I turn, I see the green flickers shade his skeletal figure ominously.

His face is meaningless, it holds no emotion yet I can see the mechanics inside his mind ticking. Both plotting, it worried me to think that if his wonders were so easily visible, were mine too?

I match his frown, clutch the wand in my fist tightly and let the breeze tickle the hairs on my neck, "Tom Riddle, we meet again."

Voldemort scoffs and I try to withhold my grin. Knowing that he hated his muggle name, I was hoping to catch him off guard.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He waltzes over, delicately feathering his wand with both hands. "You've taken everything you want from me, have you not?"

Swallowing my pride, I lift my chin and say, "I'm here to make a bargain."

Voldemort snarls, the edges of his lips twitching upwards. As though he had expected my reasoning to come forth and beg for mercy.

"Young Draco has never ceased to appeal to love coherently." He sighs, edging closer, "I can smell the heartbreak in the salt of your tears. You are irrefutable - weak."

Each ferociousness of the wrenching words punch me in the gut. It is an iron anvil that has plunged down my throat and into the beer of my belly. Rumbling and tugging me down into the grave of sadness. Yet I do not let it wobble my lips.

My stance of confidence remains.

As Draco has said before, your chin must always be up and you must not show any fear.

"For Draco's immunity, I will come with you. I will heal your soldiers. I will heal you."

The Dark Lord himself takes a moment to think, as though taking the consideration. "No." Is all he says, however, causing my shoulders to gain weight.

"My army is already four times the size, McGarrishen, you think it would pain me to lose a couple of thousand?"

I try to swallow the information, if he had no worry to lose so many, that meant that his army was already in the sixtuple digits.