Word Count: 556
Challenge/Competition: Secret Battle Competition
Prompts: Bellatrix Lestrange, blood, reality, shock
Warnings: Depictions of anxiety, PTSD, just a warning for a generally dark tone.
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Harry Potter, it's all JKR's.
Note: Set immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts - AU where Voldemort died but Bellatrix did not.
'He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, it's okay, he shall return' she says to herself, still remembering to breathe.
Minutes of pacing become hours and her calm, comforting whispers become erratic shouting.
'He loves me he loves me he loves me it's okay he's coming back he's smarter than them smarter than everybody else,' she screams this to the open air - forgetting herself, her surroundings and her immediate danger.
Icy claws of panic crawl through her body and eventually grip her by the lungs. She gasps heavily and constantly, attempting to draw some air into her lungs. All she can think is that she just wants to hear his voice - his voice and his voice only, and she isn't going to be able to think straight or breathe properly until she does.
'Voldemort!' she gasps, strained through her uneven breathing.
She summoned him. Bellatrix does not summon - he comes to her or not at all. 'Oh Merlin. Fuck. Fuck.' she says to herself, begging for her breathing to return to normal as black dots start to swim across her vision.
Her knees go weak and she collapses to the floor, partly from lack of oxygen and partly from the paralysing fear of having summoned him.
'Bellatrix!'
Her head snaps up as she fights unconsciousness. Her Lord. He came for her. 'My… My Lord, you came.' She swallows, telling herself she needs to pull herself together for this. He's back. Her hysterical moment must be over or he will leave as quickly as he came. She draws in a deep breath. 'I am sorry for summoning you, I shouldn't have. Forgive me.' She bows her head.
Silence.
'We need to get you out of here… It's Pansy, Pansy Parkinson?'
The voice finally registers with Bellatrix. A husky, hesitant female voice, not her Lord. 'Leave me!' she screeches at the girl.
Pansy takes a step back, her face a picture of shock. 'I'm going to get Draco,' she replies, but Bellatrix does not hear. The reality of the situation has hit her full force, a brick to the face.
'Foolish foolish so foolish! Not coming back never coming back gone forever, stupid stupid stupid,' she spits, tears wetting her face. She tries to get up, to move, to think - she cannot. Panic once again grips her, clamping down on her lungs. Her head feels like it's about to explode - a ball of tension that keeps expanding. She scrapes her palms along the floor and slams her head against the brick wall behind her.
Darkness.
Draco walks around the corner, hesitantly, not particularly wanting to help but knowing that he should. Knowing that he always would, because that's just who he is. He can't help but stop dead in his tracks for a couple of seconds, taking her in. She is limp against the wall, unconscious. Her face is wet with tears, her hair wilder than he's ever seen, and blood drips from her hands.
He runs for her, suddenly struck with worry. This is not his aunt. He quickly heals her hands before scooping her up into his arms, having no choice but to apparate home with her to let his parents decide what to do. He has a deep sense that this - whatever it is, cannot be fixed.