Finding the Magic (a Clexa hogwarts au)

Em

(Trigger warning for this chapter: blood and torture)

Clarke sat, frozen, as a trail of ruby red beads appeared on Lexa's skin. A gleam of silver caught the dim lighting, and Clarke glimpsed the reflection of blood on the slightly tarnished blade. Clarke gasped and shut her eyes, trying to banish the sight from her mind. It continued to replay. The glint of silver, reflection of red. The glint of silver, reflection of red.

When she opened her eyes, Clarke glanced at Lexa, whose green eyes surveyed her calmly. If it were not for the rapid rise and fall of Lexa's chest, Clarke wouldn't have known she was in pain.

"The strong silent type, eh?" Lunt scrunched his face into a horrific imitation of a smile, his yellowed teeth pointed nearly every direction in his crowded mouth. "Don't worry, the pain is far from over."

Lunt picked up the knife, allowing the shallow cut on Lexa's arm to leak blood over her skin and onto the floor. Clarke refused to see if similar stains marred the grimy hardwood. This time, he placed the knife at her neck. Under the glistening blade, Clarke could see the tiny rise and fall of her pulse.

He angled the knife downward so it pressed in the skin. Goosebumps stood stark against the smooth blade, and her jugular worked to force blood past the slight pressure. Clarke gasped, but Lexa's eyes pleaded for her to not say anything. Biting her lip, Clarke watched as the knife slipped under the skin, bringing only a small huff of air rushing out from between Lexa's gritted teeth.

"This one usually gets 'em talking," Lunt watched the trickle of blood run down Lexa's neck and bury itself in the collar of her filthy school robes. Clarke could only imagine the pain Lexa felt as the knife slid under her skin, but her face remained stoic as Lunt sliced through pieces of her skin like a piece of meat flayed for dinner.

After several attempts to get her to talk, Lunt started paying more attention to his words and fists than to his knives. "You think you can withstand us? Just wait until our Occlumens arrives and he'll crack you like an egg." "You are nothing. You can't stop the Phoenix." "You are dispensable. We'll just get more of you petty schoolgirls." A bout of punches and spray of blood followed every question.

Clarke couldn't bear it anymore. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door flew open in front of her and Cage entered the room, the cold air from the adjacent room rushing in and tickling the sweat at Clarke's neck.

"I'm disappointed in you, Lunt. You said one of them would crack by now. What's the hold up?" Cage's smirk was directed at someone else for once, Clarke noticed gratefully. "Could you really be bested by a couple of schoolgirls?"

Lunt bowed his head in front of him, wiping the blade of his knife on his robe. "I-"

Before he could speak, Cage flicked his hand and Lunt's stout body flew toward the wall. His hand smacked the dirty wallpaper and the knife clattered out of his hand. Clarke thought he looked taller than he had a moment ago, but she realized his feet were dangling several inches off the floor. His hands scrabbled at his neck, like an invisible rope had cut off his air supply.

"Stop," Lexa voice resounded throughout the room, like a command originating from a general, not a bloodied teenager.

Lunt slid toward the ground, but his piglike face continued its trek toward an ugly purple.

"I said, stop."

Lunt gasped for breath and folded toward the ground. He curled up into a ball and sucked in air between whimpers.

"This man just spent the last hour cutting you into pieces and you want me to spare him?" Cage hissed, his mottled face rounding on Lexa.

"Torture me, frighten me, I don't care. I've lived through worse and I'll continue to live through worse. When will you realize none of this will shake me? Clarke doesn't know the real story behind how I got the prophecy, so nothing she can say will help you. Your search is useless and your means are frankly barbaric."