Thank you so much for the reviews... I appreciate them a great deal. I hope you all continue to enjoy the fic and like this chapter as much as the previous one!

I wish could tie you up in my shoes

Make you feel unpretty too

I was told I was beautiful

But what does that mean to you?

TLC, Unpretty

2.

Hermione was thrown into an underground basement (or dungeon, she wasn't sure what to call it) not long after. She was placed in a fairly small space with rusty metal bars that looked as though it were supposed to be a cell. The gap between each of the bars was far too small for Hermione to even consider escaping, she noted with disdain. To top things off, there was absolutely no furniture whatsoever within the cell meaning that she would be forced to sleep on the cold, hard, stony floor. There were cobwebs in the corners, holes in the wall, and there was a draft coming from the ventilation system high up above her head. These features of the cell alone were enough to make Hermione want to scream, but when she realised there was a bucket in the corner and what she would have to use it for, she felt herself welling up once more.

Now that the body binds had been removed, Hermione seated herself against the wall, her head in her hands. "This can't be happening," she whispered to herself.

"Accommodation not up to your usual standards? I'd have thought it'd receive an O grade from filth such as yourself," Bellatrix drawled.

"I wouldn't expect anyone to live somewhere like this. Even you and your friends when you were in Azkaban deserved more," Hermione retaliated. She genuinely meant what she said; no one should have to deal with living in squalor, no matter what they had done. Even though Bellatrix was evil. Even though she was a Death Eater. Hermione was nothing if not a Human Rights Advocate for Muggles and Wizards alike.

For a moment, Bellatrix looked surprised, before she said uncertainly, "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do," Hermione said courageously, even though her very bones were shaking. "I don't believe in treating any living creature in such an inhumane way. Everyone deserves better than this."

Raising her eyebrows, Bellatrix said wryly, "Well unfortunately for you, I don't share the same sentiments." She took a few steps backwards towards the door, and added, "If you behave like a good ickle Mudblood then you'll get to eat something once a day, and you'll have a constant supply of water. I suggest you don't drink too much though considering your bathroom facilities." She smirked.

Hermione stared, remaining silent and taking in the information Bellatrix provided. At least that put paid to any remaining hope she had that the bucket was for something other than going to the toilet. Now she would just have to learn to accept it and make the most of a terrible, humiliating situation.

Conjuring what looked like a dog bowl next to Hermione through the bars, Bellatrix pointed her wand at it. "Aguamenti!" It immediately filled with water. "It'll refill automatically all for you!" she announced mockingly.

"Thank you," Hermione said reluctantly. She supposed she ought to be grateful that under the circumstances, Bellatrix was at least taking care of her most basic needs. Barely. Still, one couldn't help but think that were she in the presence of Voldemort himself, she wouldn't even have been granted something as simple as a drink of water. And at least there was a certain amount of respite from the torture; Voldemort would have had her shrieking in agony from the moment she arrived until the present time had he been here.

It did surprise her, somewhat. After all, Bellatrix was said to be the most loyal to Voldemort of all the Death Eaters, she reminded herself. Previously, Hermione had always found this easy to believe; all evidence pointed to Bellatrix having gone out of her way to commit crime after crime in her desire for her Lord to reign over the wizarding world. It was something that Hermione had always accepted as the truth, but here, now, she was starting to see beyond that. There were subtle signs of an intelligent woman behind the craziness, (like any of the other Death Eaters would have been intelligent enough to realise that Muggle-borns needed to eat and drink regularly like the rest of wizards and witches...) and Hermione was beginning to think that had Bellatrix been brought up in a different environment where pure-blood mania wasn't a factor, that she probably wouldn't be the psychopath that stood before her today. Perhaps it was just an assumption, but that was the opinion she had rapidly formulated.

"Any questions, my little Mudbaby?" Bellatrix asked with a grin. Nope, take that back. Actually, she's the definition of insanity, Hermione thought bitterly.

"Why am I here?" she said intead, not wishing to provoke an argument.

Bellatrix cackled, "Isn't it obvious? Because I want you to be! Because the Dark Lord wishes you to be! He believes that Potter will come looking for you... and when he does, we will be ready!"

She didn't believe Bellatrix entirely; there had to be some reason that she wasn't revealing. For the moment, Hermione ignored it, and took her word to be true. "Harry wouldn't be so stupid," she said defiantly.

"We'll see," Bellatrix said, and her lips quirked up into a smile. "The Dark Lord is always right."

What unnerved Hermione most was the idea that Voldemort may want to question her himself as to the whereabouts of Harry. Bellatrix was hell all on her own, but coupled with her Master there was no greater fear for Hermione. Oh, she could pretend to be brave, pretend like none of this affected her, but it was real. This was real. Her only saving grace would be to make sure that Bellatrix didn't know how scared she really was, and so arrogantly, uncaringly, she said, "I suppose that means he'll want to ask me himself. Throw a couple of curses at me whilst he is at it."

That earned her a slap for her insolence, but she tried not to wince too hard. "I doubt he'll want to waste his time with filth like you," Bellatrix spat, dark eyes flashing. "The Dark Lord has faith in me... he knows that should I discover anything of use to him, I will pass it on. I am more than capable, after all."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the insanity that exuberated from Bellatrix. Instead, she focused on herself, and with this focus, a concern was brought about for Hermione. Hygiene. "Do I get to change my clothes? Have a bath?"

"Hmm. I didn't even consider that. My immediate reply is no. It's not as if you can clean your blood, is it?" Bellatrix said jeeringly. "If you start making me want to vomit then I suppose I'll deal with the matter, but I'll most likely just brew a potion that temporarily removes my sense of smell. You'll be as dirty on the outside as your blood inside."

Hermione's heart sank. She supposed she should have expected it; this wasn't a hotel she was going to be staying in after all, though she had hoped that Bellatrix would at least care for her basic needs in between the torture she inflicted upon her. Moreover, despite it being ridiculous, the dark witch's words hurt. She genuinely detested Hermione for her heritage, for the fact that she had been born to Muggle's instead of magical parents. There was such a venomous look in Bellatrix's eyes that Hermione could hardly believe it possible that someone could hold so much hatred within.

"Not everyone thinks the way you do, Bellatrix," Hermione said quietly. Like her parents. Her parents had always loved her for who she was from the way she looked to the way she acted. They called it unconditional love.

Bellatrix squinted at her, looking aghast. "How dare you address me by my name, you unworthy little bitch!" Another slap, harder this time. Ouch.

Inwardly, Hermione sighed. It seemed that no matter what she said, Bellatrix could not even talk to her civilly. She knew that were Harry and Ron here they would tell her she was an idiot for expecting anything more, but she had hoped that at the very least Bellatrix wouldn't feel the need to make petty jibes at her. "Then what should I call you?" she asked defiantly.

Vigorously Bellatrix shook her head, apparently disbelieving at Hermione's attitude. Thankfully though, she didn't make a move to her attack her. "You could call me Mistress Bellatrix like my house-elf does. But then, I don't think I want your mouth besmirching my name at all. Perhaps it would be best for you to just call me Mistress, or not to call me anything at all."

Hermione considered this order. Like hell was she calling her Mistress anything. Bitch. "You know, eventually there will be nothing left for you to do," She did her best to keep all emotion from her voice. "You'll break me entirely, and it'll just get boring for you."

"Well," Bellatrix said with a grin. "When the enjoyment stops, I may consider killing you. But that's a long time coming... I have a very active imagination and a wide, vast knowledge of spells to acquaint you with."

"Fine," Hermione shrugged, feigning indifference.

"Fine," Bellatrix repeated, still with a wide smile on her face that made it clear she knew Hermione was bluffing, and that in actual fact she was absolutely terrified by what she was going to have to face. "Let the fun begin!"

Hermione watched as Bellatrix exited the room, still cackling with an insane laugh that made Hermione want to scream and scream purely to drown it out. She supposed that really, it was better this way; at least she would have a break from being tortured and ridiculed for the pleasure of the older witch. There was no telling when Bellatrix would arrive back, and so she would make the most of the time she had free of pain and try to get some rest. There was no escaping this hellhole, and so it would be pointless to even try.

And then she realised. The dread that was setting in, the horrific anticipation for what was to come... that was the worst part.

The torture had already begun.

March 1957

At the age of six years old, Bellatrix had a head of thick curls already. Coupled with her big, brown, eyes, she attracted the attention of pretty much anyone who saw her. She had a lovely face, a beautiful, pure smile, her mother said. Her father had sometimes heard her say this, but he had never agreed. Bellatrix was sure what it was because he secretly preferred her baby sister, Narcissa. Cissy had a head of baby soft, white-blonde hair, and a smile that melted even her father's stony heart. Bellatrix had never been able to achieve the same reaction from him, even when she smiled her sweetest smile.

Her mother on the other hand loved all her daughters an equal amount. Each was special in their own way, she said, and Bellatrix believed her. She appreciated the fact that Narcissa was charming, Andromeda was kind and Bellatrix was brave. All had their differences, but all were united by the purest of blood running through their veins.

As a six year old, Bellatrix had no real concept of status and purity. She just heard the words that her father spouted off when talking to her mother, and then forgot about them as soon as the conversation had moved on. And so that was why when the golden haired boy opposite her in Flourish and Blotts on a family trip to Diagon Alley approached her to speak to her, she didn't think anything of it.

"You got'ta pretty smile," he announced when he noticed Bellatrix looking over at him.

"Thanks," Bellatrix smile grew larger, dimples forming in her cheeks. "What's your name?"

"Tommy Larson," he said, returning the smile. "What's yours?"

"Bella..." Bellatrix began, before she felt herself being dragged away. Huh? Why couldn't they stay and talk some more together?

"What do you think you're doing?" Her father hissed in her ear. "We do not associate with filth like him!"

"Why though daddy?" Bellatrix asked, confused and upset because not only had she been dragged away from a boy who seemed like he could be her friend, but also because her daddy was gripping her arm, and it hurt. Lots.

"Because he has bad, nasty blood in him, and we are better than him, Bellatrix," Cygnus informed her. "And that's all you need to know."

A short time later (though Hermione couldn't say whether it was minutes or hours) and Hermione's calm demeanour had vanished entirely, as she was throwing all of her body weight against the bars in a futile attempt to dislodge them. To the best of her knowledge the only way out was through the bars; the ventilation system was too high up to be reached, and there was no sign of any exit through the floor. With a back wall and two side walls, Hermione's only other option was to somehow break the metal rods. The rational part of her was well aware that she was never going to be strong enough to get out of her cell, but the frustration and fear within prevented her from giving up just yet. Fight to the death, she told herself.

The only other option would be to see if she became skinny enough through lack of nourishment to slip through the bars, but there was always the chance that Bellatrix would be smart enough to see this coming and modify the cell accordingly, or Hermione still wouldn't fit through the bars even after losing as much weight as humanely possible. She supposed that if she lost enough she'd most likely die and therefore wouldn't have to suffer anymore, but Bellatrix would probably intervene before this happened, if only to keep her plaything alive for future entertainment.

Even if she did breakout of the cell, where was there to go? There was a tiny, high window in the corner, but there was no way she would be able to fit through, even if by some miracle she was able to get up there. The lack of options made her want to scream until her throat was raw, despite the fact that nobody would be able to hear her. She stopped herself because should Bellatrix hear then she would be extremely angry and punish her for it, but that didn't prevent her from having such a strong desire to make as much noise as possible regardless, if only to vent out her frustrations.

"Well, well, well," Hermione cringed inwardly as she heard Bellatrix's voice. She turned to face the entrance to the dungeon and was met with the sight of the Death Eater with one hand leaning against the wall next to her. "Someone's not behaving themselves, are they?"

"Please, just let me out," Hermione tried to reason with her captor. "I'll... I'll stop fighting against you and just... go back to my normal Muggle life, even before the wizarding world. I promise, I won't interfere anymore. Promise," Hermione babbled. She meant what she said too. This horrible situation was caused by fighting and wars, and she just wasn't strong enough. She missed her parents, missed going to bed at night and feeling safe. Already she'd done so much to help the Order in their fight against Voldemort, and taking a step back now and going back to being a happy, normal, teenage Muggle wouldn't be so bad, would it? Harry and Ron would most probably try and persuade her otherwise, say they could protect her, but she could refuse and run, couldn't she?

Bellatrix laughed. "Oh, really?"

"Yes. Yes, just please let me out," Hermione begged. "I can't take this anymore."

"But it's not even been a day yet!" Bellatrix announced in mock-surprise. "We still have soooo much to experience together."

Hermione shook her head violently.

"No? Well now, that's just plain rude of you," Bellatrix sighed. "And here's me going out of my way to spend time with you to make sure you're not lonely."

"And why would I want your company?" Hermione said, before she could stop herself, anger swelling up from the pit of her empty stomach and replacing the fear at the fact Bellatrix was mocking her pleas. "It's not as if you've treated me well so far. You hate my origins, you hate my beliefs and you hate the choices I have made in life. I think we both know that the only thing you're doing right now is taking pleasure in the fact that you're making this experience as hellish as possible for me. "You're like the Wizarding version of Elizabeth Bathory."

"Who is that?" Bellatrix spat. "A Muggle, I assume."

"An insane Muggle," Hermione clarified, and the way she was suddenly dishing out information reminded her of being back at Hogwarts in her classes, the only one who always knew the answer. "She liked to torture people too."

Bellatrix smirked. "I bet she didn't do it with as much style as me, though."

Hermione bit her tongue, not wanting to say anything that may give Bellatrix ideas for the future. She had read extensively about Elizabeth Bathory when surfing the internet on her parent's computer at home, and learned of all the hideous methods she employed when hurting her victims. Bellatrix was bad enough on her own, she didn't need further encouragement. Beatings... burning... biting... and they weren't the worst of the torture methods. At the moment though, they were the only torture choices that Hermione would allow herself to think about. Of course, there was no guarantee that Bellatrix would deign to copy a Muggle, but that was a chance Hermione wasn't prepared to take. Instead, she remained silent, waiting for Bellatrix to speak first.

The Death Eater's expression hardened at the lack of response from Hermione, and there was no longer a trace of any amusement on her face. Once more, her mood had darkened rapidly. "You think things can't get any worse? You have no idea of the things I am capable of doing."

"I think I do," Hermione disagreed. "And we both know the only reason you're not constantly torturing me is that you want me sane enough to be aware of what is going on. Torture every waking moment would only put me into some sort of catatonic state or destroy my mind so completely that you no longer have fun torturing the smart Muggle girl and are instead left with a babbling fool."

"You mean rather like the Longbottoms'?" Bellatrix enquired innocently, twirling her wand around in her hands. She looked at Hermione as if to say, come on, say what you want to me and be ready to face the consequences.

Hermione did not disappoint.

"You're evil," she said ferociously, rage rising up within her. "You're an evil, foul, repulsive creature who..."

"Silencio!" Bellatrix screamed.

At once, Hermione found herself unable to continue insulting Bellatrix. Angry at the fact she was unable to continue her tirade or abuse, Hermione shot her middle finger up in the air, directed at Bellatrix and making her feelings perfectly clear without the use of speech. Childish, but at least she got her point across.

"Tut tut," Bellatrix said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I think someone needs to be taught some manners."

Bracing herself for the Cruciatus curse, Hermione shut her eyes, waiting. At least Bellatrix wouldn't be able to hear her screams for as long as the Silencing Charm worked. She waited. And waited. When the pain still hadn't come after a few seconds, Hermione released a breath, almost relieved. Maybe Bellatrix was just going to rant again about how hideous the blood within her was.

It wasn't long until she realised that she couldn't breathe, to the extent that she couldn't even so much as gasp for oxygen. Panicking, she wrenched her eyes open and clutched at her throat, desperately trying to force speech out of her mouth.

"Incarcerous is such a useful spell, don't you think? Especially when used around ones' throat," Bellatrix drawled casually.

Hermione tried to reply, to beg Bellatrix to let her breathe once more, but her efforts, although noticed were in vain.

"I'm sorry, can't quite hear you," Bellatrix said loudly, making a big show of placing a hand to her ear, gesturing for Hermione to speak up.

Feeling dizzy, Hermione gave up trying to talk, and instead fell to her knees, resting her head against the bars. The torture was already getting to her and it was only a few hours since she had been captured. How would she survive this, day after day? Her mind was hazy, and she felt all the warmth within her begin to fade, chills running up and down her body as each second without oxygen passed. Hermione had no idea how long Bellatrix was going to keep this going on for, but she guessed that even if it was over soon, something else that caused her pain and suffering would soon replace it.

"Do you want me to stop?" Bellatrix asked, grinning madly.

Unable to focus on Bellatrix's face, Hermione nodded her head up and down furiously in the hope that Bellatrix would understand the meaning she was trying to convey. Taking in oxygen was something so natural to humans that she didn't normally think about the breathing process, but now that it had been cruelly taken away from her, she was beginning to understand just how vital to her survival it was. What was worse was that Bellatrix knew that by depriving her of this she would panic; a justified, rational reaction in such a cruel circumstance.

When Hermione continued to gesture to Bellatrix that she really, seriously, absolutely needed to breathe, Bellatrix sighed. "Well, who am I to refuse such an insistent request..." and at once, all restraints on Hermione were lifted.

Sucking in a breath, Hermione collapsed, bashing her forehead on the concrete floor, but barely registering the pain through the waves of nausea that overwhelmed her. She gagged, but as she had already thrown up the contents of her stomach and as of yet hadn't drank for fear of needing to use the bucket in the corner, nothing exited her body, and she just lay there, heaving, almost as though she were still choking.

"Aww, poor baby," Bellatrix cooed. "I'll just come and check if you're ok."

Seconds later and Hermione had stopped gagging. She was now frozen to the spot, finding that she couldn't move as Bellatrix entered her cage, all the while staring at her with those dark, soulless eyes. Her darkened lips were set together, and there was no emotion on her face as she knelt down next to Hermione, lowering herself to come so close to her captive. "You know, if you hadn't been so rude to me then I might not have had to teach you a lesson. I only came down so we could have a girly chat!" Bellatrix exclaimed, chiding Hermione in a psycho-friendly sort of way.

"Why... why..." Hermione still struggled to talk despite being free (in a manner of speaking) to speak and move as she pleased. "...did you want to talk to me?" Distract her. Don't give her a chance to get bored and torture you again, she thought.

"Well, I thought we could get to know each other," Bellatrix replied, and if it wasn't for the fact that Hermione knew the Death Eater was a stark raving lunatic, she may have believed her, so serious was Bellatrix's reply. Thinking logically, Hermione surmised that maybe the Death Eater did intend to talk to her properly, if only to see if she could gain any useful information about the Order of the Phoenix or Hermione's friends and associates that were working together against Voldemort.

"Why are you... doing this?" Hermione asked, hoping that her attempt to detract Bellatrix with such a question didn't earn her another curse.

Bellatrix looked at her, nonchalant. "Because I can."

"There must... must be a reason," Hermione said, starting to feel a little more together. "You know that even now... if the situations were reversed, I... I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." She meant it. For all that Bellatrix had already put her through, for all the terrible, hateful crimes she had committed in the name of her Master, Hermione still couldn't bring herself to afford Bellatrix the same treatment. Like Dumbledore she tried to see the good in anyone and everyone, and bar Voldemort himself (but he was less than human and so in her eyes, didn't count) she was sure that there was something in everyone to be desired and admired.

"No, you probably wouldn't," Bella conceded, bowing her head downwards. "But then, you are the weak, pathetic one here."

"So you're implying that because I care for people, it makes me weak?" Hermione asked rhetorically. "I would much rather be me than you, even now. I'm capable of feeling one thing Voldemort will never be able to feel; love."

Hermione felt a sharp sting across her left cheek as Bellatrix slapped her. "You dare to speak The Dark Lord's name?" she whispered, sounding furiously. "You dirty little slut, what makes you think that you have any right to..."

"Then what should I call him?" Hermione interjected. "If I call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who you'll mock me for being too scared to use his name, and only people like you call him the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, her eyes still fiery but the fury no longer as pronounced. "And what is your problem with the latter?" The look she gave Hermione was clear; say the wrong thing now and I will torture you into insanity, Mudblood. Hermione could almost hear the words in her own head.

"I don't worship him," Hermione stated, making sure that she didn't sound rude, knowing that she was discussing a very touchy subject with Bellatrix. "If I did worship him then I wouldn't be in here locked up; would I? Besides, why would he want somebody as filthy as myself devoting themselves to him?"

Bellatrix remained silent, not retaliating with a comeback. For once, she was speechless, and it made her look the most human Hermione had ever witnessed. No longer was there an animalistic look in her dark brown eyes, but an expression of utmost thought, as though she was actually taking in what Hermione told her and thinking things over in her head before responding. There wasn't a hope in hell of her agreeing with anything Hermione spouted out or thought regarding Voldemort, but she just might listen to reason and understand the point that Hermione was trying to get across. She'd probably hurt her then for fun anyway, but that was just Bellatrix all over, Hermione was beginning to learn.

"You could have everything you've ever wanted," Hermione continued, not sure where she was getting the words from or why she was putting herself in such a dangerous position. The moment she so much as used one teeny, little word that Bellatrix disliked was the moment she'd regret it, for certain. "You could have power, wealth, success, and if you stopped looking so insane all the time then you'd have your beauty once more. You don't have to turn into an angel, you just need to do the right thing. If you did... you could have your life back."

"And what makes you think that I want any of what you have just listed, silly girl?" Bellatrix snapped.

"I may not be able to practice Occlumency on you, but I can still hazard a guess as to why you have made the choices you've made regarding... regarding Him," Hermione said, softer now. "You're living through fantasies and obsessions that will never come true, and maybe one day... maybe then you will change."

"I will never waver in my faithfulness to The Dark Lord!" Bellatrix declared passionately.

"Probably not," Hermione conceded. "But there's always a chance. I'll keep hoping for you."

Standing, Bellatrix did not offer a reply to this. She merely turned around and exited the cage, magically sealing it behind her once more.

"You're not... Him, Bellatrix," Hermione said, determined." She believed there was so much more to the raven haired witch, and even though she had no idea why she would think such a thing, she chose to try and convince Bellatrix anyway. She had nothing to lose, after all.

Hermione had figured it out long ago that Bellatrix cared for Voldemort in an unnatural way. She was reluctant to call it love, because love didn't necessarily cause one to make the sort of choices that Bellatrix had made, at least not without something in return. And as far as Hermione was aware, Bellatrix had not gained anything from her devotion to Voldemort other than more than fourteen years in Azkaban. It was like she had been brainwashed by Voldemort's ideals and beliefs, and those around her had only encouraged her to think this way, maybe even since she was a little girl.

Nevertheless, Hermione was not optimistic that Bellatrix would understand the possibilities that were available to her should she so choose to reach for them. It had been so long since Bellatrix had begun committing evil acts that Hermione wasn't sure she could comprehend what it meant to be an average, normal person, let alone a good, kind-hearted one. Besides which, the mere fact that Bellatrix was every inch a Slytherin pretty much ensured that she would also make selfish choices in life with no regard for others. As much as Hermione wished she could change this, she was smart enough to realise that there might perhaps be nothing in the world, not one person, object, spell or otherwise that would be capable of turning around Bellatrix's point of view.

Ignoring Hermione's last words, Bellatrix left the room in silence. So quiet was she that Hermione didn't even hear her footsteps as she walked up the stairs, and for a split second, Hermione imagined that she may have unnerved Bellatrix, confused her with the fact that her Muggle-born self had spoken to her so kindly, had expressed hope that she would change.

For the first time since she had been abducted, Hermione allowed herself to smile.