Author's Note:
Round 12: Pair Them Up!
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: You'll be writing about two characters in an enemies relationship.
Characters: Bellatrix Lestrange & Neville Longbottom
Prompts used:
5. (food) strawberry
8. (dialogue) "Move away from the door and let me at him!"
12. (phrase) A man is known by the company he keeps
Word Count: _2533_ excluding Author's Note
Some liberties have been taken with the nature of Horcruxes as there is little information in canon about them. Mainly in my head canon the Horcrux can possess a person and use their body through that, even altering their physical appearance as well as communicate with whoever touches them.
In addition Neville is a bit more bitter than maybe in canon, due to what happened during the Carrows' regime and the war as a whole.
Lastly I'd like to thank Story Please for the idea behind this story and Sekdaniels for the title suggestion as well as them both for betaing!
Enemy Mine
Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. She was finally dead. That was the only thought that swirled in Neville Longbottom's head as he twisted the knife in the woman's chest and watched the mad spark finally leave her eyes. Her lips quivered and parted as if she wanted to say something before life left her completely, but she didn't have the strength. She gasped and Neville leaned closer despite himself. He was just close enough to hear one last cackle.
Neville Longbottom looked around the room filled with stuff that had been confiscated when known Death Eater safe houses had been searched. It was the regular assortment of cursed objects and various nasty potions. There were also books on magic and pamphlets on blood purity so vile they made Neville's skin crawl.
He felt a strong desire to leave, but he'd promised Harry that he'd help sort through the mess. He wasn't an auror like Harry and Ron, but during the war and especially through the Carrows' regime at Hogwarts, he had come into contact with many Dark objects. He had also devoted a big part of his life to researching and reversing the effects of such objects and spells in hopes of offering St. Mungo's his help. The hospital was still overcrowded with injuries from the battles fought during the Second Wizarding War as the Death Eaters didn't only kill; sometimes they preferred to maim instead, inflicting pain and fear on their victims
None quite so much as Bellatrix Lestrange.
Neville shivered thinking about the woman. She was the first person he had ever hated. Truly hated. She'd robbed his parents of a life worth living and him of his parents' love.
Bellatrix was dead though. He'd seen her fall at the wrong end of Molly Weasley's wand. It had been a fitting end in Neville's opinion.
He pushed the thoughts away and his eyes fell on a rather strange-looking knife. It was short and made of silver. There were delicate markings on it and it had a distinctly Dark feel about it. Neville couldn't really explain why he lifted the knife up to examine it closer; it was as if he was compelled. As soon as he did, however, he felt a sudden electric jolt in his hand and nearly dropped the weapon. He lowered his hand and tried to put the knife back where he found it, turning instead to examine a large leather bound volume on the opposite table. He didn't notice his right hand slipping the knife past the table and into the pocket of his robe.
"Destroy me, please!" The voice was quiet — so quiet that Neville nearly missed it. His head jerked up and he looked around only to see that there was no one else in his office. He'd returned from Ministry of Magic quite late and fallen asleep at his desk. He was supposed to be alone.
"Who are you?" he asked in a shaky voice. For a moment there was silence.
"Destroy me!" demanded the voice again. Neville stared out into the darkness but nothing moved, not even a shadow.
Then he felt something burn through the fabric against his thigh. His hand slipped into his pocket and he lifted up the dagger that was now burning red.
"DESTROY ME!" ordered the metal for a third time and he nearly dropped it.
Very carefully he drew the knife from its sheath. The metal touched his skin and he was thrown into a memory.
He kneeled before the Dark Lord filled with glee. He raised his wand and cast the Cruciatus Curse. He was torn away from a body shaking at the floor and he heard himself yell at the man who placed himself between him and the door in a shrill, high-pitched voice: "Move away from the door and let me at him!" Through the half-open door Neville saw the figure on the floor move and saw his own face covered in tears and blood looking up at him. "Crucio!" Neville yelled and stumbled back. "Come play with me, Longbottom. Come play like your parents!"
The knife fell on the floor with a clang and Neville dropped to his knees, the memory all too familiar except never before through the eyes of his tormenter. "Bellatrix!"
For a moment there was silence. Then the knife spoke: "Did you miss me, Longbottom?"
The exact nature of how Horcruxes work was not information widely known to everyone. Bellatrix Lestrange had certainly never concerned herself with the finer details. When her Lord told her that he needed a volunteer for an experiment, she had gladly agreed. He hadn't told her what he was doing. He just put her and her trusted dagger through a complicated ritual and that was that.
Until the pretty light struck her right in her chest during the Battle of Hogwarts and Bellatrix Lestrange perished at the hands of Molly Weasley. Her first thought was that this was it. She was dead. Her second thought was, that if she was dead, how come she could think. Her third thought was why the bloody hell could she not have gotten something more sentient than a knife as her Horcrux?
The weapon was indeed a horcrux. At least that was where Neville's extensive research had led him. He'd asked for the literature from Hermione and stolen some from the depository of Dark objects and he'd concluded that Bellatrix Lestrange had followed her master in his bid for immortality.
Once he was sure of what he was dealing with, he took the knife out of the drawer where he had hidden it and made a mistake. He should have just destroyed it. Instead, his curiosity won out. Neville hesitated only for a moment before he placed it on the table in front of him. Very slowly, he touched it with the tip of his finger and took a breath, then allowed his shields to slowly fall.
"Hello, Longbottom. Missed me, did you?" asked the familiar voice.
Neville took a breath and forced himself not to pull away. "You're Bellatrix Lestrange, aren't you?"
"Clever boy!" The woman cackled in his head.
Neville ignored the insult. What could a knife do after all? "You told me to destroy you. Why?"
"Don't you want to destroy me?" asked the voice after a second. "Isn't it unfair that I still exist?"
"Yes!" Neville replied earnestly. It was unfair that any part of Bellatrix Lestrange had survived the war when so many others had not.
Bellatrix laughed. "Then go ahead. Do it! Take your revenge!"
The downside of living in a knife is the quite obvious lack of a corporeal form as Bellatrix was rapidly finding out. Sure, she was alive, but she couldn't exactly do anything. Which is why she was almost glad when Neville Longbottom, of all people, picked her vessel up. Existence without being able to act was painful for her and he of all people could make it end and would be more than willing to after all she'd done. Then she could reunite with her master at last.
The year he'd led a rebellion in Hogwarts had been hard on Neville. Hardest of all the moment he came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange and had the opportunity to enjoy her favorite curse. Snape had pulled the woman away at the moment the pain felt unbearable but it had left a mark. He'd never told anyone. He'd never showed anyone the memory.
That was the memory that flooded his mind again as Bellatrix cackled again.
"Doesn't poor itsy-bitsy Longbottom want to hurt me for that? Go on, it's easy. Just lift your wand and destroy the knife. You know the spell!" At least she was fairly sure Avada Kedavra would do the trick. After all, if she was alive, she could be killed, couldn't she?
Neville shuddered as he imagined himself casting the spell for a brief second, then pushed the thought away. He withdrew his hand and felt a shiver go through him as Bellatrix's mind left his. With a groan he threw the dagger in the drawer and shut it.
"Why do you want to die?"
Bellatrix folded her non-corporeal hands and shook her head so her non-existent curls flailed about. "Because. Why don't you want to kill me?"
Neville shrugged.
Bellatrix grinned. "Oh, you have an answer, you just don't want to give it!" she declared.
Neville wanted to answer but was plunged into another memory.
Hannah Abbott on the floor. His beautiful wife crying, tears streaming down her face and yet the pain never ending. Even then Bellatrix had sensed the sympathy between them and she had taken great pleasure in using it against him. Hannah had forgiven him but the memory brought it all back as he raised the wand and cursed his love. Again and again. Unable to fight off the Imperius curse.
"How's your half-blood whore by the way?"
Neville threw the knife under the bookshelf.
"Why won't you kill me?" she asked again.
Neville said nothing.
He should have said: "Because I don't want to do anything to make you happy!"
"If you don't destroy me, I'll destroy you!" warned Bellatrix.
"I'm not a murderer. Not even to rid the world of someone like you!"
"Maybe not yet, but a man is known by the company he keeps. How many hours have you spent lately in my company?"
"I won't give you the satisfaction!"
Even through the briefest contact with his skin, Bellatrix could feel his anger rise. There was hatred there, so why wasn't this working?
"Why won't you just destroy me?"
Neville saw their faces. His mother, his father. All his friends. Their screams. "Because you don't deserve it!" It was evident she wanted to die so why would he bloody his hands to help.
"I hate you!"
Neville replied with a bitter laugh and Bellatrix's mind retreated.
Bellatrix had never considered Neville her enemy. He was more like a bit of gum stuck to her shoe that she couldn't scrape off. Or perhaps a gnat. Something that flies around one's house and falls in your tea. Annoying, but not significant. And Bellatrix did so enjoy trapping pests and tearing off their legs and wings one by one — watching them suffer and die. But in actuality, Bellatrix had never really hated anyone. She'd done all those terrible things not because she hated her victims, but because she loved the act; the individuals in question meant nothing to her. Not even hatred or disgust.
But every contact with Neville's mind had taught her to hate the boy. All his memories made her rage because after he admitted he'd never destroy her, he'd still come to talk. And despite hating herself for it, Bellatrix began to yearn for that human contact, that small touch. Just a sliver of getting to torment the boy broke up her mundane existence and made it brighter.
Until she realized her taunts could cut no deeper. Until she realized that Neville's memory of walking on freshly cut grass filled her with a terrible ache for being able to feel the same. One day, Neville dreamt of how he brought Hannah strawberries. They were so ripe and sweet and filled with summer. She could almost feel them against her lips. Almost.
In a fit of rage, she showered his mind with images of the youngest she'd ever killed. Of Muggles lying lifeless after being attacked.
Neville only sighed and thought about the ocean. Death by a thousand cuts of unreachable pleasures. Only Bellatrix could never die. So she learned to hate.
"If you don't destroy me, I'll destroy you." That had been her promise. If Neville didn't want to be a murderer for her, she'd have to force his hand. She'd find a way. Even if Neville didn't want to kill her, he'd still come back. He had to. Dark magic did that to a person. She knew it, and she knew how to use it.
She'd grow her hatred as the boy continued to torment her. She'd plant seeds to get him to return. But most of all she'd fuel his hatred until he could not control it.
It ate away at his brain. Neville knew he should destroy the knife but his hand would always falter at the last moment. The Dark magic called out to him and he'd be filled with anger and resentment. She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve an easy end. That was always the thought that stopped him.
He shouldn't have listened. He should have thrown it away. Even when he felt Bellatrix intrude further and further into his mind. She goaded and coaxed. She pleaded and tormented. She showed him their deaths from beginning to end so even the thought of his wife's beautiful smile or the smell of freshly baked brownies couldn't snuff it out.
He tried to throw the knife away once and went out and got drunk to forget.
She was in his bedroom, a wand in her hand, approaching the crib with the child. Their child. Neville blinked as he tried to shake himself free from the alcohol's embrace. Her black hair flowed in the wind and she turned slowly. There was blood on her face and she grinned.
"Come to play with us, did you? Come to play with us, Longbottom?"
He didn't think anymore. The knife was on the bed. He stormed forward and buried it in her chest up to its hilt. The witch laughed. "Wrong heart!" she hissed and fell into his arms.
Longbottom's mind was hard to break into. He'd been toughened up too much by the Carrows. He was harder to subjugate than Bellatrix had thought. She'd come close though. She'd kept pushing and pushing and pushing and she was almost there-
But a human mind is fragile and it knows it. When it can't handle something, it tries to shut down instead of breaking. She felt the connection shatter as the knife went flying and fell with a small clang in the waste paper basket.
For a while the office was silent and Bellatrix was alone. Then she felt the presence and called out to her. Smooth hands lifted her gently and with ease the mind opened itself, untrained and accepting.
Bellatrix Lestrange's lips parted and she cackled again, her voice breaking. Neville blinked and stared down at the body. The woman's feature morphed before her eyes and a cold creeped over him. Suddenly the black hair was turning back to blonde. The mad twinkle in her eyes fused into pain and confusion. Her features softened into oh so familiar ones and Neville felt dread grow in his chest as understanding hit him.
"Why…" whispered the cold lips and Neville stared in horror as life seeped out of his wife's wound. In a mad desperate act he tore the knife out of her wound and blood gushed down her robe. It was no use. Destroy me or I'll destroy you, she'd said. His time had ran out and somewhere out there, the shard of Bellatrix's soul slipped into the night, cackling wildly.