Author's Notes: Warning for dubious consent and Stockholm Syndrome. (Why yes, I am using fanfiction to work through my own Stockholm problems, how did you notice.) Inspired by Kelly Clarkson's "Addicted."
I'm supposed to be fixed now. Healed. Harry and Ron think I am. It's been almost a year, after all, since Bellatrix Lestrange broke into my home during summer break and kidnapped me for almost a month. The Order only found me because Bellatrix slipped up. Left a ward open, and that was their cue. I couldn't talk for a week, or so much as lift a quill. By that time, Bellatrix's tracks were long cold, and there wasn't a chance in hell anyone could have found her.
I didn't mind, though. Am I supposed to? I think I am. I should rail at the injustice. I should storm out there and track her down myself, wand at the ready and fire snapping in my eyes.
But I can't.
Every time I close my eyes, I can see her. When I go to bed, I dream of her. I can hear her whispering in my head, no matter what I do. The glint in those dark eyes, the feel of her straggly dark hair against my shoulders. Her mouth against mine, her habit of biting my bottom lip until it nearly draws blood. I've taken to doing it to myself when I'm alone, how pathetic is that? The tiny sting of pain is just enough to make me remember.
It's so hard to remember otherwise. Just a fog of green and purple, and everywhere she's watching me. Her hands brand my body, her voice claims my soul for herself. I can't breathe without the ghostly traces of her fingers clasped around my throat.
Madam Pomfrey made me go to therapy. With a Healer from St. Mungo's. She was dreadfully snooty. Kept sniffing and looking at me like I was scum on the bottom of her shoe because I'm Muggleborn. I only went to two sessions before I had enough. Bloody cow's lucky I didn't curse her office to pieces.
At least I've had school to distract me. I don't know what to do now, though. School's over. Voldemort's dead. No one's found Bellatrix, though. It doesn't surprise me. She was there, during the Final Battle, but she just...vanished.
I expected nothing less.
"What a pretty little pet you are," she tells her half-unconscious captive, a slight smirk tilting her lips. "Mudblood or not. You do clean up nicely, don't you?"
"Go to hell," Hermione slurs in defiance. Bellatrix just laughs, the tip of her wand snapping out and drawing a sizzling line of pain down the center of Hermione's chest.
"That wasn't very nice, pet," Bellatrix admonishes, her eyes sparkling. "Come now, we mustn't be impolite."
"Fuck you," Hermione whispers, but defeat slumps her posture. The chains clank against the wall.
"Oh, you will be, pet," Bellatrix smirks. "Not...yet, though."
The Death Eater twirls her wand in a complicated spiral, and suddenly, eddies of purple smoke fill the room. They feel like they should be making Hermione cough her lungs out, but strangely, she feels like she can breathe just fine.
"Listen to my voice, pet," Bellatrix whispers, and it sounds like she's right next to Hermione's ear, even though the girl is fairly sure the older woman is still several feet in front of her. "Listen to your Mistress."
Hermione shakes her head, but she can't stop, either. Bellatrix's voice insinuates itself into her brain. Listen. Obey. Listen. Obey. She doesn't want to, but she can't help herself as her hips buck forward, against the pull of the restraints.
"Good pet," Bellatrix murmurs and waves of alternating shame and pleasure wash through Hermione. She doesn't want this. But she does. All of her books never prepared her for this. Nothing could have.
Moments pass, or hours. She can't tell which anymore. She hangs in her bindings, head bowed, her body slack and useless. She has no more purpose. Nothing but what her Mistress wants.
"Now forget, pet," Bellatrix whispers. "You will forget until you are needed once more."
"Yes, Mistress," Hermione says, her eyes glazed. Pinpoints of green and purple blink to life in the brown irises.
I don't know what I'm doing, that last day at Hogwarts. Packing up, saying goodbye. It feels like I'm on autopilot. I'm in a hurry, but I don't know what for. The train doesn't leave for another three hours and I'm already completely packed. Which is more than I can say for Harry and Ron. Particularly Ron, as he hasn't even started yet.
"Pack," I scold him. He only laughs, stuffing the rest of his Sugar Quill into his mouth. Fondness brushes me, and I can't help but smile. I'll miss him when I'm gone.
Wait, what? My brow furrows in confusion. I don't plan on leaving him or Harry for a very long time. They're my best friends.
"Must be end of year blues," I mumble to myself. Perhaps I just need a quick walk around the lake.
"See you in a bit," I tell the both of them, offering brief hugs that I can't quite understand. Nor the way I mouth "goodbye" into Harry's hair. His eyes sparkle up at me, vivid emerald, and I shudder for a second.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ron asks me, suddenly serious, but I nod, still on autopilot.
"I just need some fresh air," I recite. It's not what I intended to say, but it works just as well, doesn't it? I can't reveal my panic anymore as I smile and calmly make my way out of the portrait hole and down to the grounds. My wand sits useless in its sleeve.
I intend to stop at the lake, but I keep going anyway, my footsteps continuing, slow and measured, to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
I blink and she's there. Leaning against a tree, her wand twirled between her fingers.
"Hello, pet," Bellatrix says. "It's been a while."
"Yes, Mistress," I whisper, and realise this is what was meant to be all along.
Her fingers close around my wrist and with a blink, I follow her to my destiny.