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Jack of Spades	By : SataiDelenn Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > General Views: 3486 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter & its characters belong to JKR. I own nothing, & I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Warnings: AFFO, H/C, O/C, Rape, Torture, Violence, WIP

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Mari was groggy as she opened her eyes. She tried to clear her unfocused mind, but had difficulty and decided to try to sit up and gain her bearings instead. When she attempted this, she was horrified to discover her wrists and body were bound to some sort of slab table. Mari looked around in despair, unable to see anything. The room was encased in blackness. Fear welled up within her, and she began to struggle against her bonds.

She became still as a mouse again, however, nearly ceasing breathing as well when she heard the sound of shoes click on the floor, echoing noisily around the room. Her heart pounded hard, and she was convinced it would burst out of her chest. She twisted her head toward the sound, but she was unable identify the source. Suddenly, the room was illuminated in bright light, forcing Mari to shut her eyes so as not to not be blinded. When the light dimmed a bit, she opened her eyes again, and shrieked in terror to see Lucius Malfoy standing over her, his eyes icy and hateful. He ran a leather-gloved finger down one side of her face, and smiled coldly at her. She shivered at his touch.

“Well, my little Mudblood bitch, let’s play shall we?” said Lucius in a frighteningly seductive manner.

He turned from her, removed his cloak from his shoulders, and set it gracefully upon a chair that appeared out of nowhere. He then made a nearly imperceptible gesture with his hand, and a small metal tray table appeared. Upon it, were some very malicious-looking instruments, cold and gleaming in the now low light.

Mari’s eyes grew wide as she looked upon the instruments. Her mouth opened a crack, and her breath became shallow and rapid. Lucius smirked to himself at hearing the girl’s breathing increase in speed. He knew she was terrified, and he got off on it. This was one of his favourite pastimes.

“These particular tools once belonged to my Great-Grandfather Fordon Malfoy. He despised Muggles almost as much as I despise Mudblood filth,” Lucius said casually to Mari, as she continued to breathe shallowly, trembling in fear.

Lucius had adored hearing the tales his Grandfather Bartholomew had told him throughout the years of Lucius’s youth. Whenever Old Bartholomew had come to the Manor for a visit, they would sit by the fire for hours, Lucius at Bartholomew’s feet, as each tale was told of Fordon’s adventures with meticulous detail, starting with how Fordon had purchased the instruments discretely at Borgin & Burkes, to how he’d come upon his first victim in Whitechapel. Bartholomew told young Lucius how Fordon came to choose his victims.

Like all members of the Malfoy family throughout the ages, Fordon had hated Muggles, but he’d despised Muggle whores most of all. They were nothing more than filthy Muggle-breeding units, and Fordon had decided that it was up to him to try and put an end to it, since the Ministry and Muggle authorities did nothing. He’d begun the murders in early 1884, and ended them on November 8, 1888 (though the body wasn’t discovered until the following day). He’d not only killed his victims, but he’d mutilated their bodies as well, sometimes removing their organs and keeping them as trophies, and sometimes just mutilating their genitalia, as a warning to other Muggle whores.

Coming out of his deep reverie, Lucius continued explaining things to Mari.

“The Muggles never knew my great-grandfather’s name. They simply called him, ‘Jack the Ripper.’”

Lucius glanced out of the corner of his eye to gauge Mari’s reaction to this morsel of information, and smiled to himself when her eyes widened, in stunned recognition at hearing the most feared name in all of Muggle England.

Lucius fell back into his memories, sadly noting his grandfather mentioning how Fordon had only stopped because he’d been arrested by Aurors, and sent to Azkaban for life. Bartholomew, however, had done some research on his father’s murders, and had decided to pick up where his father had left off, both for his own pleasure, and also to point the blame in a new direction, so that Fordon would be proved innocent. Additionally, Bartholomew had managed to pick up a new name for himself amongst the despised Muggles. They’d named him, ‘The Torso Killer’ because his preferred method of mutilation was to cut off various body parts from his victims, sometimes leaving them at the scene, and sometimes leaving them to be found elsewhere. The result, was that Bartholomew managed to prove that it had to have been Muggles killing their own, since the murders had continued after the Ministry had arrested his father. Fordon was therefore freed from Azkaban, (and had he not feared getting caught again, he would have retaken up his calling).

When he’d grown up, Lucius remembered the tales fondly, and had picked up where his great-grandfather had left off, but he decided to change the rules a bit. While he despised Muggles as well, he had grown up despising Muggleborn witches most, convinced that they were inferior to Purebloods. So he had decided to use his Great-Grandfather’s tools in order to dispatch Mudblood filth. Like his predecessors, he chose Mudblood whores, since they were rarely, if ever, missed. No one of any worth noticeably went to Knockturn Alley to use the whores, he believed, so it was easy enough to find new toys ripe for the picking.

“Naturally, I cannot allow your kind to continue to pollute the lines of Purebloods. My great-grandfather, and my grandfather may have hatched the brilliant idea of dispatching Muggle whores, but it was my genius that came up with the idea of removing Mudblood whores. Your kind does nothing but taint the wizarding world, and I won’t rest until I’ve eradicated as many of your disgusting breed as I can,” Lucius said, in thorough contempt, his lip curling in a vicious sneer.

He picked up an instrument, held it high, and admired its cold beauty, allowing the girl’s eyes to focus on it in the dim light, before he clucked softly and put it down. He then picked up another one, held it for a few moments, then decided against it, and set it down as well.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I don’t just maim you with my wand, or simply kill you outright with it,” Lucius said, idly.

He picked up a third utensil, this one more wicked-looking then the previous two, with its long, jagged edges and curved blade; he glanced at her imperceptibly, his eyes crinkling with delight as he took note of the fear creeping into her tear-blurred eyes at the thought of him using that horrid thing on her body. He could almost smell her fear, and his cock began to throb in anticipation of the night’s events.

“Frankly,” Lucius continued, “while a wand is highly effective in dispatching filthy Mudblood whores such as yourself, I find that using these particular tools lends a certain air of… hmmm… what’s the word I’m looking for?”

Lucius stood for a moment, concentrating on the word to express himself, still wielding the frightening-looking instrument of torture in his hand, when his mind seized upon it.

“Ah, yes,” he said, a wicked smile gracing his cold features. “Artistry, that, a wand simply cannot yield.”

Mari’s only response, was to whimper in fear, and struggle uselessly against the bonds holding her tightly to the cold, metal table.

Lucius inhaled the scent of her fear deeply, and closed his eyes, staving off a moan of pleasure.

‘Oh how I long to hear this girl scream. I want to feel her writhing, and twisting, in pain and fear. I want to taste her blood. And at the end of it all, when her body will sag in exhaustion and shock, I am going to bury my cock within her, and fuck her.’ He knew that taking her after mutilating her would leave her brilliantly confused. After all, if he found her inferior bloodlines disgusting, why would he take his pleasure in that way from her already abused body? He would do it because it would be the ultimate humiliation for her.

He kept his eyes closed, licking his lips in delight as his hand gripped the utensil tightly. He focused his mind on the tasks ahead in order to regain control of himself. This was going to be a long night, and he intended to enjoy every moment of it.

‘I only hope she lasts long enough. She looks too thin, and a bit on the frail side,’ he thought.

He momentarily wondered if she would survive his ministrations, but then shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.

‘Who cares?’ he thought. ‘IF she survives the night, I’ll give her a bit of food in order to keep up what little strength she has. Of course, I’d like to keep this plaything around for a bit, but if she doesn’t survive, it is no real matter. I’ll just go out and obtain a new plaything. She’s only a damned, filthy Mudblood bitch anyway.’

Pulling himself from his musings, he glanced once more at the young woman stretched out and bound upon the table. Her eyes were huge now, the tears were spilling over, and he could hear her beginning to sob. He set the instrument in his hand down, and moved his fingers delicately over the tray, before finally deciding upon which tool he would wield tonight upon her young body.

He finally selected a truly sadistic-looking object, and held it high, admiring its cold, metallic, perfect beauty. He then set it down again, but, this time, apart from the other objects on the tray, and began slowly pulling his gloves from his beautifully-sculpted hands, hands that could have been considered an artist’s hands. He set them upon the chair, and then began unbuttoning his fine linen shirt, setting that aside as well. Now that he felt more comfortable, he picked up the tool he’d selected, and moved very close to the shaking, naked, whimpering form of the terrified girl on the table.

“Perfection,” he murmured, running an elegant hand from the side of her face, down her throat - where he paused momentarily, and contemplated strangling that sweet, alabaster skin, imagining crushing the delicate larynx that lay beneath it – but decided against it, since that would defeat the purpose of being able to hear her scream. He then trailed his hand down to her full, round breasts, running his fingers over one and smirking as the nipple furled tight, a natural bodily reaction, before moving to the other, cupping it and testing it’s size and resiliency in his hand.

‘Perfection that will soon be marred,’ he thought as he squeezed her breast firmly, causing her to sob again, and struggle hard against her restraints.

She whined loudly in fear, once more, as he ran his hand down her body, and pressed his fingers into the folds of skin between her thighs, rubbing them persistently against her soft, dry flesh. She writhed in fear, trying to move her body away from his touch. With experienced precision, he pushed two fingers into her sharply, causing her to cry out in pain as she tried to clench her legs together.

He smiled to himself at the lack of wetness he found. 'No matter; a lubrication charm, or perhaps her own blood, will make her wet enough when I'm finally ready to fuck her.'

Lucius pumped his fingers roughly into her a few times, then pulled them from her and looked deep into her eyes.

"Shall we get started?" he mockingly asked her, his lips twisting upwards, into a cruel parody of a smile.

Her screams reverberated off the cold stone walls of the dungeon as Lucius cut into her again and again, creating intricate bloody patterns in her creamy white flesh. Had silencing spells not been previously erected to contain her sounds of pain, her cries would have been heard for miles. Lucius took immense pleasure in every shriek, whimper and scream that erupted from her lovely alabaster throat.

Hours later, as she lay bleeding and crying from the pain and despair, Lucius could take it no longer. He quickly removed his trousers, now covered in her blood, and then took off his under shorts. He then rapidly climbed over her upon the table, and this time pierced her flesh with his stiff and throbbing cock, taking his secondary pleasure from her body. His cries of pleasure soon overrode her screams of pain, and he grunted loudly as he came deep within her, collapsing on top of her when he was done. He was immensely pleased at her performance that night, and was just about to comment on it when she finally passed out from shock, pain, and loss of blood. He smiled viciously, used his wand to cleanse his body of her polluted blood, dressed, and exited the dungeons.

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A/N: I spent a lot of time and effort researching Jack the Ripper, and the Torso Killer. In spite of a recent documentary that believes to have uncovered the identity of Jack the Ripper, I decided not to change this chapter, as I wrote it two years ago and I am still deeply proud of my idea. If anyone wishes to know the websites I used to collect my information, I will be happy to provide them. However, as it has been a while since I was last at any of the sites, I cannot guarantee they're still working.

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Jack of Spades