Archive of Our Own ^beta

Damn that girl and her foolish quest to rid Wizarding Britain of evil-doers.

Natty had gone and gotten herself kidnapped by Rookwood’s people, and knowing how useless Officer Singer is, you decided to rescue her on your own. Now you find yourself in the Ashwinders’ Hideout under the Hog’s Head, completely at the mercy of said Ashwinders.

Of course you’d known you were walking into a trap, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice. You had taken a few Ashwinders out right away, but when it came time to petrify the Executioner he was just way too strong, immediately recovered from the attempt, and had disarmed and blasted you onto your back before you could gather your wits about you.

“Only a Hogwarts student would be arrogant enough to come in here alone,” the Executioner had mused, and as you stare at the ceiling, helpless and restrained by both magic and physical force, his gruff voice repeats this sentence in your head over and over again.

All the blood drained from your face when you realized what was happening. The Ashwinders had caught you, and you were now their plaything. You had fallen right into their clutches. Arrogant. Foolhardy. Stupid. Weak. You chastise yourself repeatedly in your head for possessing all these qualities, drowning out the laughter that surrounds you.

Surrounds you like dapper men with their creepy masks and gruff voices. Like the mockery of these men – and some women – who are pinning you down, touching you, or watching others do so - all seeming to enjoy it very much.

You don’t struggle and you don’t engage. You have given up and retreated into your mind – alone with your thoughts as men grope you, as one spits in your face. You don’t even flinch as one of them slaps you, then, fisting your hair, kisses you hard. You aren’t there – he is kissing your body, but he can’t get to you where you are. You can see him kissing you, you can feel it, but it’s not real – it’s like it’s not happening to you somehow.

An Assassin approaches, wanting in on the action. “Let’s see wha’ we ‘ave ‘ere,” she cackles, and rips your clothing to tatters. You should be humiliated as you watch yourself be stripped – you watch your body being exposed to a room full of leering predators – but still you feel that somehow it’s not you.

You are not there.

A man shifts on top of you – the Executioner. He took you down, so he has “won” the right to you first. He is going to rape me, you think, then remember, no, not me, my body.

He spits on his hand and smears it over the head of his cock. A small mercy - probably done for his own benefit and not yours. He is large, and as he presses forward, you suddenly find yourself back in your body – screaming.

Screaming in pain as the man takes your virginity - as he rapes you. A helpless young girl being held down by burly men. You imagine the faces behind their masks twisted into sneers, malicious grins, watching you be impaled over and over again as you sob.

Some of them are masturbating. One of them even has a woman, touching herself, on her knees before him as he watches you being raped. They are loving this – cheering and jeering, urging the Executioner to fuck you harder, to rough you up.

You squeeze your eyes closed, pretending this is not happening - willing everything and everyone to go away – your face screwed up in pain, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes. You pour all of your concentration into being anywhere but under the Executioner. 

“Avada Kedavra!” you hear out of nowhere, and suddenly – it all stops.

It is as if you could hear a pin drop in the cavernous room that was full of raucous laughter only moments before. You think for a moment that you must have died, and almost feel relieved.

Slowly, you open your eyes. The Executioner who was raping you is slumped backwards,  apparently dead, and above you stands a man with a scruffy beard and a tall top hat. Rookwood.

“Release her,” he commands the others, who fall away from you as quickly as they can manage. You can move your aching limbs now, but you don’t dare do so. You watch, chest heaving, as the older man gets on one knee before you and offers you his hand.

This is the second time, you think, that Victor Rookwood has tried to approach you. The first time, you hadn’t given him a chance to get a word in edgewise. This time, you don’t have a choice - you are totally at his mercy. You take the proffered hand, and allow Rookwood to pull you to your feet. He drapes his coat around you, and you realize that he would have seen you naked - a horrifying thought. You can’t manage to thank him for covering you up, instead stumbling into him, leaning heavily against his body as he leads you away from the main room.

Rookwood takes you into what appears to be his private chambers, and sits you down on his bed. Giving you a once over, he notices blood trickling down your leg, and retrieves a Wiggenweld potion. “Drink up,” he says, lifting the potion to your lips, and you obey, swallowing the familiar green liquid.

“I apologize for the behavior of my men,” he says sincerely, taking a good look at you – and with your tear-stained cheeks, swollen, red eyes - not to mention the blood running down your legs - you are sure you look a right mess.

He stands and takes a few steps around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Still,” he continues, “it was very foolish of you to come here, little one.”

You look away, knowing that he’s right. It was a pretty moonminded move to rush into ground zero of Ashwinder territory alone. A teenage girl against all those dark wizards? Had you been confunded or something?

Victor laughs and your eyes dart to his in a panic. “No matter,” he says with a smile, “we shall make the best of a bad situation.”

You don’t like how that sounds, but since you are being held captive by Victor Rookwood without your wand, without a soul in the world knowing anything about where you are, you don’t have much of a choice.

“What do you mean?” you say, speaking for the first time since you were caught – your voice cracking.

The handsome man looks down at you as if reading your face. “First, you are going to tell me why Ranrok is after you.”

You look away. You know you shouldn’t tell him anything. Rookwood doesn’t need to know about your powers. Like Ranrok, he will probably want them for himself. If he finds out about your powers, he may never let you go. You struggle to think of a lie.

“Does it have to do with this magic he’s looking for?” he presses.

The look on your face tells him all he needs to know before you even get a chance to open your mouth. He steps forward, a slight smirk gracing his chiseled features. “Oh, you are special, aren’t you, darling?” You flush in embarrassment, as one ruffled hand tilts your chin up to face him – coaxing you to look into those ice blue eyes.

“Tell me,” he purrs, leaning forward to brush his stubble against your face as he whispers in your ear. “Tell me, and I’ll make this easy on you, little one.”

You shiver. Easy on me?

Then again, you knew it unlikely that Victor Rookwood was going to let you just waltz out of there.

You look up at him defiantly and notice his eyes locked on yours intently, pupils wide. “Promise me you’ll let me go,” you say, your delivery a little weaker than you would have liked.

Rookwood chuckles, and seems to think for a moment. “Alright, sweetheart,” he acquiesces, and you are surprised at how easy it was to get him to agree. “If you tell me everything, I will let you walk out of here this very evening. Deal?”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Natty and Mr. Rabe too?”

Rookwood sighs. “Ah, yes, those two as well, I suppose.”

“Can I also get the book of poetry and love letter that Harlow stole?”

“Don’t push it, little witch,” Rookwood warns, nonetheless smiling.

“Alright then. Well," you don't know how to get out of this one, so you go with the truth. "I recently found out that I can see traces of Ancient Magic.”

“Ancient Magic. Curious,” Rookwood says more or less to himself. “And Ranrok is trying to get hold of said magic. Currently, by digging up half the country, including my family estate.”

You nod solemnly, watching Rookwood’s pensive expression. Before he gets any ideas, you feel the need to interject – “but I don’t know the first thing about finding it. I see whispers of it here and there but nothing that I think would help Ranrok.”

Rookwood lets out a deep chuckle. “I have a feeling you’re not telling me the whole story,” he says in a low voice. “However, as a man of my word, I will still let you leave this place.”

You go to stand. “My.. my clothes,” you say sheepishly, looking around for any spare chests that might be full of school uniforms you can loot. Rookwood comes to stand right before you, towering over your barefoot form.

“Ah, ah, poppet,” he teases, waving a finger as if you've been caught being naughty, and panic envelopes you as he reaches out a hand to cup your face.

“I said I would let you leave tonight. I didn’t say you could leave now.”

“What else do you want from me?” you stammer in fear, immediately regretting your question as you take a step backwards and fall unceremoniously onto Rookwood’s bed.  "I've told you what I know.  Please.. don't hurt me." 

The man crawls over you, pinning you to the luxurious silk duvet. Even without his signature purple coat on, Victor Rookwood looks powerful and intimidating as he cages you in with his strong arms and broad chest.

He's not large like the Executioner but he can still easily overpower you. 

He ignores your question, and you notice his pupils blown wide as he assesses your terrified expression. “I've been waiting for this a long time - wanting a taste of that sweet little cunt of yours.  But not to worry, darling,” he whispers, pressing his pelvis forward to come into contact with yours, “I'm not going to hurt you. I will make this good for you too.”

Victor Rookwood has you essentially naked, pinned underneath him in his bed, and you can no longer escape the truth you are about to raped for the second time that evening.

“Please, don’t,” you whimper, just before the older man lowers his lips to yours, and kisses you deeply. You can’t help but moan as he gently pries your lips apart, commandeering your mouth expertly. You aren’t kissing him back, but you’re not resisting him either, and you can feel his hardness pressing against the outside of your pussy.

You are so lost in the sensation of him kissing you that you don’t even notice the man coaxing your legs apart to settle in between them, his pulsing manhood at the apex of your thighs. He rests his weight there, moving back and forth against your most private place, which forces a moan from your lips that you cannot contain. It feels good, and part of you wants more as the teasing and thrusting continues, coupled by the thorough exploration of your mouth by Victor Rookwood, of all people.

"No, please.. I.."

Rookwood shushes you.  "I don't think you're in any position to bargain, little one."

When Victor’s rough hand comes up to grip your breast, you can feel how hard your nipples have become, and when he pinches one, your pussy pulses with pleasure. You keen as he takes the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with his tongue, as a treacherous hand snakes down over your stomach and between your legs where a hot wetness has gathered. Having never even really touched yourself there before, you don’t know what to expect as Rookwood slides his fingers into your slit, groaning at the wetness his finds there before swirling his fingers around the sensitive little nub at the top.

You cry out and buck into his hand as he applies a firm and even pressure in circles around your swollen clit. It feels so, so good, you don’t want it to ever stop, even if it is Victor Rookwood doing this to you.

“Oh, please! Please, don’t stop!” you whine against your conscience, and Rookwood answers you with a sly grin.

“That’s my good, sweet girl,” he groans, fingers circling faster. “So wet and needy for me.”

You don’t even care anymore what is happening or who is doing it to you, you just want the release that is being promised. Your whole body tenses as you feel your climax approaching.

Just then, Victor withdraws his hand. “No! I was so close!” you cry, arching your back to try to get some kind of contact – any kind – with your pussy.

Victor’s grin broadens, and he sets his top hat aside before reaching down to release himself from his trousers.

“Don’t worry, little witch,” he hisses, running the head of his weeping cock up and down your slit. “I’m going to make you come..”

“Please,” you plead, lifting your hips up to try to get him inside of you. “Please!”

“Please what?” Victor purrs, teasing around your clit with the blunt head of his dick.

“Ah!” you gasp, feeling as if you are absolutely going to lose your mind from lust.

“Please, mister Rookwood.. Sir.. Please, fuck me!”

“That’s more like it,” Rookwood growls, pressing forward slowly into your tight body.

You both gasp and groan as his thick cock sinks into you, millimeter by millimeter.

“Merlin’s beard,” he exclaims, buried to the hilt inside of you. “You are so tight.. Wet.. Your pussy feels so good.”

You can’t do anything but moan, and try to use your legs, wrapped around him, to pull him deeper into you. “Please,” you whimper, and Rookwood obliges, beginning to thrust in and out of you in earnest. The lewd sounds of your skin slapping together permeate the room along with his heavy breathing and your breathy little moans. This feels so good.

“Victor.. Please!” you beg, not sure what you are begging for, but the man on top of you fucks you harder, pounding into you at a punishing pace. With every thrust, his pelvic bone presses into your clit – a sensation that you cannot get enough of.

Your body tenses and you tighten yourself around Victor’s cock as you reach for your orgasm. “Victor!”

The man on top of you is lost in a sea of pleasure, thrusting into your spasming pussy as you come around his cock. “Yes, that’s it,” he snarls, pulling back and thrusting extra deep into you. “That’s my good little harlot.”

You feel as if you are floating in pure bliss as Rookwood snaps his hips into your sensitive pussy over and over again. “Oh, gods” you gasp, pulling him tighter towards you. “Victor, please! Please come inside of me!”

The handsome older man on top of you groans. “With pleasure,” he grunts, and begins fucking into you as hard and fast as he can muster, blatantly chasing his orgasm.

“So close. Tell me you want it.”

“Merlin, yes! Fuck me, Victor!”

“Going to come inside of you.. Make you mine,” the man on top of you says in a low, gravelly voice. He fists your hair, pulling your head back, and kisses you forcefully as his thrusts become erratic.  Finally, his hips stutter and still, his release flooding your womb.

The look in Rookwood’s eyes is unlike anything you’ve seen before as he stares at you, eyes half-lidded with sated lust, as he slowly pulls himself from your abused pussy with a sickening pop.

His cum and a little blood leak out of you and onto his coat and bed. You lay there dazed, panting as Victor puts his softening organ back into his trousers. You know you must look completely debauched, and you want nothing more than a long soak in the Prefect’s Bathroom.

You are startled out of your reverie when something soft lands on your belly.

“Some clothing,” Rookwood explains. You feel now a little like you’re being kicked out. Then again, you guess he’s had what he wanted from you all around.

Rookwood personally escorts you to the cells holding Natty and Isko Rabe and opens them.

“Playtime is over,” he says. “I trust you can see yourselves out.”