CHAPTER TWO
19 September, 1996
(the present)
The dress looked even more stunning on her body than it had fresh out of the box. It was as if it had been designed specifically for her, hugging every contour of her form, highlighting curves she didn't even think she had yet. Not that it changed her shape – she was still the same Hermione, with slim hips, small bust, and a decent arse – but it made her look beautiful in a grownup way she'd never before seen herself, not even for the Yule Ball. She twirled in front of the full-length mirror, another birthday present, and examined herself from every angle. She was smiling demurely at her reflection over one shoulder when SHE made her presence known.
"Breathtaking."
Hermione froze. She wasn't sure it was a good thing, letting the woman see her preen like this, making it obvious that she liked the dress, making it seem that she liked her circumstances… but she also didn't mind being "breathtaking."
"To answer the question you didn't ask aloud, yes, I had it designed especially for you," the woman said. "I wish I had a Pensieve. I wish I could show you…"
She'd said this a million times if she'd said it once before. She wanted Hermione to see her as a young pregnant woman, to see her birthing a baby alone, to see her nursing her and loving her, but Hermione was secretly glad it wasn't possible to watch. Not yet. She wasn't ready.
"I know," whispered Hermione. For a few awkward moments, they looked at each other, neither sure what to say next. Hermione wondered if she would ever adjust to knowing this woman in this way, if it would ever stop feeling foreign, if she would ever again feel like herself.
"You will," said the woman. "You won't be a prisoner forever."
Hermione ducked her head. She hated that the woman could so easily read her thoughts, it was so painfully invasive, but she couldn't help being comforted by the notion that she might someday be free again.
"I'd like that," she said softly. "And I like - I love - this dress. I've never felt so beautiful."
The woman's face broke into a smile. She was pleased. More than pleased. Her mad eyes misted.
Hermione turned back to the mirror. She almost didn't recognize herself. She wasn't sure whether this was good or bad.
"Will I know anyone coming tonight? Aside from your sister and... You-Know-Who?"
"The Dark Lord," she corrected. "And yes. I told you Severus Snape would be in attendance, remember? He is bringing you a gift." The woman sneered when she said his name. Clearly there was no love lost there.
"What is it?" Hermione couldn't help hoping for something from Hogwarts, anything to remind her of who she really was, of her friends and Gryffindor House. But no, of course Snape wouldn't bring her something to remind her of Gryffindor, of Harry, or of Ron.
"Education. After dinner – and dancing, if there's dancing – he is going to grant you a one-hour potions lesson, and return twice per week in the late evenings from now on to help you continue your studies, with permission from the Dark Lord. At first, Snape will only teach you Potions and History of Magic, as the Dark Lord does not yet trust you with a wand." Her hand subconsciously went to her hip, where she kept hers in a leather sheath. Hermione's hand went just as subconsciously to the bun in her hair, where she'd often stuck hers for safe-keeping.
"Professor Snape is going to teach me? To tutor me?"
"He appealed to the Dark Lord on your behalf. He believes it a waste to let Hogwarts' current top pupil languish away in a dungeon, growing more stupid by the moment." Bellatrix bristled. "I assured him you are not a dunderhead - that's what he called you, a would-be dunderhead - and that I could educate you myself, but he insisted."
Hermione smiled. That certainly sounded like Snape. And she would embrace the tutelage. She already felt her mind was going somewhat since the start of her incarceration.
"You will be chaperoned. By me or by my sister, or, if he sees fit, by the Dark Lord himself. He wants to be kept informed, to know what you're learning, to gauge whether you've relinquished your silly little loyalties to Dumbledore and Potter." She stepped up to the bars, examining Hermione carefully. "You have, haven't you? You understand now that you were never meant to follow their lead, not when you are the daughter of ancient and noble blood. They were always the enemy. They were always beneath you."
"They were always the enemy," Hermione echoed obediently. "They were always beneath me."
The woman grinned and clapped her hands together. "Brilliant! Now, out of that gown. We have hours before our guests shall arrive and there's too much to do. You need a bath, a proper washing, for which Cissy and I will take you upstairs. She had a clawfoot tub you could practically swim in. Then we'll fix your hair, your nails, those eyebrows… I'm sorry that you have my eyebrows." She rubbed one of her own with the knuckle of her forefinger. "Cissy knows a spell to pluck and shape them, it's almost painless. We'll want to shave your underarms and legs, too. You have to be perfect."
"Perfect?" whispered Hermione anxiously. She'd always strived for perfection when it came to her studies, both at Hogwarts and when she was smaller, in Muggle school, where she aimed for top marks in every class. But when it came to her looks, she'd never come anywhere close to perfection.
The woman put on a slight pout. Both of her hands went to the bars, gripping them tightly. "You can do it, can't you? You'll be perfect for Mummy tonight, won't you?"
"I'll be perfect," said Hermione, this time nodding with conviction. Knowing it was what the woman so desperately wanted, and feeling she owed her a gift in exchange for the dress and the small freedoms, plus the upcoming return to education and having been saved in the first place, she added, "I'll be perfect for you, Mummy."
-0-0-0-
18 June, 1996
(three months ago)
They didn't get the Prophecy.
They didn't get the Prophecy.
After all that work, they didn't get the Prophecy.
That nasty toady-eyed boy hadn't come to the Ministry alone. He'd brought friends, a hodgepodge of children of varying talents, and for some reason – perhaps because those Death Eaters who'd spent over a decade in Azkaban were summarily out of practice – they'd therefore found themselves met with a greater challenge than expected.
They didn't get the fucking Prophecy.
They damn near did, as Potter moved to hand it over to Malfoy to save his friends, but then the Order of the Phoenix came to aid. The Death Eaters were now nearly evenly matched – twelve to eleven, though Bella wasn't sure each child should count as one whole. The Dark Lord's best versus two ginger Weasleys, a flighty Lovegood, that doughy Longbottom boy, fucking Potter, Potter's godfather, Mad-Eye Moody and Shacklebolt (Shacklebolt, a pureblood blood traitor), the werewolf Lupin, and her filthy ex-sister's unfortunately progeny, the Metamorph.
And then, of course, there was the Mudblood.
Bellatrix killed her cousin, Sirius Black, with a cackle and a bit of quick wandwork. He was arrogant and that arrogance was what sent him through the veil more than anything she'd actually shot at him, but it amused her to have pruned her family tree in a way that would have made Mother and Father proud. She only regretted she wasn't able to knock off the niece at the same time.
And then they were retreated, because what was there to stay and fight for? The Prophecy had been smashed. The Dark Lord would be furious. And they weren't permitted to kill Potter, not tonight.
Oh, and Dumbledore had arrived.
He attempted to subdue her with a stunner she easily deflected. Then she fled, they all fled, because while they were brave, they were not stupid.
She darted into a room, a room that locked behind her, and the door disappeared. But it was not the room surrounded by doors. This one had none, just flat expanses of wall.
"Fuck."
There was a groan behind her. She turned to see her husband, Rodolphus, bent over a table, with something between him and the wood. The 'something' whimpered.
"What are you doing?" she snarled. "We have to find the way out of here!"
"When the Dark Lord finds we failed, he's going to kill us!" Rodolphus shifted and now, even in the dim light, she could see he was thrust against a girl. The Mudblood. She was wearing those denim Muggle trousers Bellatrix never fancied (jeans?) and he was trying to unbutton the fly. His trousers were already unfastened, his belt on the floor, his robe parted, his mask discarded.
"You're a pig," she said.
"I haven't shagged a bint since 1981 and I won't die without-"
"Glad you've got your priorities straight, then." She went to work trying to figure a way free from the room. There were markings on the wall, ones that moved, oddly shaped. It was a puzzle, she realized. A literal puzzle, and she whipped her wand around trying to fit the pieces together. Behind her, Rodolphus grunted.
"Come on, little swot," he groaned. "Stop fighting…"
"Please, help me!" cried the Mudblood. She was wheezing, no doubt the result of Dolohov's curse.
Bellatrix, figuring all but the last two pieces of the puzzle, turned to tell Rodolphus to hurry up. What she saw, though, stole her ability to breathe, to formulate cohesive thought, to remain standing upright… She staggered back, hitting another table, and pointed her wand at her husband.
"Back away from her."
"I'll be quick!" He'd already managed to shimmy her jeans down to her knees and was attempting to shove aside her knickers, tilting her arse back so he could get at her pussy from behind, but she was trying to fight back, despite the pain of the curse, despite the way her wrists were bound behind her back.
"Back away!" Bellatrix flicked her wand and a rope came out, which grabbed Rodolphus around the neck, lifted him, and slammed him face first onto the hard floor, as his wand flew across the room. There was a sickening crack upon his landing; his nose was broken. Bellatrix, ignoring his yelp of pain and the swearing that followed, rushing to the Mudblood.
"What is this?" She grabbed the girl's thigh, digging her nails in slightly. "What is this, here?"
"My… my birthmark!" the girl sobbed. "Just a birthmark!"
"You were born with it?"
"Yes!"
"Your mother says you were born with it?"
"My… my mother… my…"
"Tell me about the mark, girl." Bellatrix held the tip of her wand under the Mudblood's chin. Her heart was racing and pounding and threatening to beat its way free from her chest. The color, the shape, the feel against her skin… she would never forget that marking.
"Your mother saw it when you were born? Straight away?"
"I'm... I'm adopted," sobbed Hermione. "My m-mother said I had it when they g-got me! It's just a b-birthmark!"
"Adopted?"
Hermione nodded. Bellatrix dropped to her knees to more closely examine the birthmark, which spread from her upper thigh all the way down to her ankle.
"Bitch!" sputtered Rodolphus, finally pulling himself into a standing position, blood flowing freely from his nose. Bellatrix flicked her wand, knocking him down again, this time, unconscious. Stunned.
"Who bore you, girl?"
"My… my b-birth mother… She d-died in… in p-prison… and…"
Bellatrix rose, pulled the girls jeans back up, gently zipped and buttoned them, then freed her wrists. The girl was trembling, freezing, still wheezing. Between fighting the effects of Dolohov's curse and the terror over having nearly been assaulted by Rodolphus, shock was setting in.
"Come." Bellatrix gripped her wrist firmly, then swiveled her so the Mudblood's back was against her chest, like a Muggle hostage. She quickly completed the puzzle and hurried the girl down the corridor. They were almost to the main atrium when Potter caught up with them, hitting Bellatrix from behind.
"Crucio!"
His weak but well-aimed Unforgivable Curse caught her by surprise and made her drop the girl. She stumbled, nearly ending up on the floor herself, but she quickly recovered, swiveling around with wand drawn.
"Did you hurt her?" he shouted, nodding at Hermione, who lay lifelessly at her feet. "Did you kill her like you did my godfather?"
"Would that make you sad, ickle bitty Potter?" she taunted, though she stepped protectively in front of the girl's crumpled form. In a baby-talk voice, she added, "Would that make you cry, ickly bitty baby Potter? Would-"
"CRUCIO!"
This time, it hurt, like stubbing one's toe against the foot of a table or slicing one's finger open on fresh parchment. It hit her with force, too, knocking her back onto her arse. A third "Crucio!" stole her breath, but only for a second, and after a moment's exaggerated pout, she was laughing, scrambling to her feet, again positioning herself between him and the girl. She couldn't let him get the girl.
"Is that all?" She cackled. "You have to really mean them, Potter! You have to really want to cause pain! Let me teach you." She raised her wand. "Cruc-"
But there was a scuffle behind them, a noise, a scream, and she twisted to see HE had arrived, her love, her master, her Dark Lord.
In the moment Potter was distracted, she reached down, grabbed the girl around the waist, and flung them both into the atrium, where the Dark Lord was now staring down Dumbledore. Potter burst in behind them, furiously rushing right past where Bellatrix and the girl were partially hidden by a statue.
Dumbledore was calling the Dark Lord "Tom," the ultimate sign of disrespect. The Dark Lord was taunting the old man. Both had their wands at the ready, but both seemed eerily calm.
"Aurors are on their way, Tom."
"By the time they arrive, I'll be gone and you'll be dead!"
The Dark Lord sent the Killing Curse at Potter, but the boy was protected by the old man. Still holding tightly to the girl, Bellatrix rushed forward, wand drawn, and tried to send a Cruciatus at the Muggle-lover's back, but she tripped over the girl – or, perhaps, the girl tripped her – and they both stumbled. The curse hit a statue, which snapped at the base and fell, trapping them between the marble and the floor, immobilizing her. She closed her eyes and tried to apparate, but it was futile. The blow seemed to wake the girl, who whimpered. Bellatrix tried again to apprate, then to blast the statue off them, but when neither worked she cried out with fury. Still, she refused to relinquish her grip on the scared, struggling girl beneath her.
They dueled. She was powerless to aid him as they dueled. He even possessed Potter briefly, goading the man to kill them both, but the Dark Lord screamed and retreated. She felt it, rather than saw it, when the Dark Lord blasted off the statue, grabbed her around the waist, and disapparated.
She was still holding tightly to the girl.
When she opened her eyes again, they were in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was standing between two picture windows, looking sick, with shaking hands.
"Bella, where is Lucius?"
"Lucius was left behind," said the Dark Lord coldly. He threw Bellatrix and the girl to the floor. "Lucius failed me." He raised his wand, pointing it at Bella. "You all failed me. Crucio!"
The pain was more intense than any she'd ever felt, more than a thousand times worse than Potter's earlier attempts at the same. When it was over, he turned his wand on the girl.
"But this," he hissed. "Bringing Potter's Mudblood back to be questioned and killed? Ingenious. It is the reason I'll not punish you too harshly, Bella."
"My… my Lord…" Bellatrix struggled to speak, to breathe. "Please, I…"
"To the cellar with her for now. She's of no use to us in this condition."
It was then Bellatrix realized the girl had again gone unconscious. She was bleeding from her lip, and more blood stained the front of her pale pink shirt. Her breathing was shallow. Narcissa took the initiative, using a hovering charm to lift her. Bellatrix, though it hurt, managed to pull herself into a standing position and follow them downstairs, down to the cellar.
At least, with the girl unconscious, she could buy herself time. She needed to know, needed to be sure. It seemed impossible…
But the girl's mother had died in prison. And Bella's baby had died in prison.
Or so they'd been told.
Seemed too close to be coincidental, considering the unique marking. And the wild hair. And the brilliant wand work.
Could it be possible?
"I need you to stay with her, Cissy. I need you to heal her as best you can, and watch over her, and keep her safe." Bellatrix held her own side, already bruised from the fallen statue. She pictured the face of that Azkaban guard, the one she'd spent the last seventeen years loathing. She knew his name. She knew where he lived. She'd tracked him down upon her release, biding her time until it was right, until she could confront him.
Now, the time was right.
"Where are you going?" Narcissa asked nervously, wringing her hands as Bella placed a series of charms and wards around a section of the cellar, shutting it off from the rest of the space with bars. She then rolled the girl gently onto her back, transfigured a small footstool into a soft mattress, and placed the girl atop it. Gently she brushed back her hair, studying her face, lifting her eyelids, looking for any resemblance. The frazzled hair that could be hers, the perfect nose that could be his, the lips, the brows, her cheekbones, her eye color…
"Bella?"
Bellatrix stood and steeled herself.
"Stay with her, Cissy. Heal her. Keep her safe. I'll be back shortly." She pushed back her shoulders and slipped her wand into its sheath. "I have to visit an old friend."
A/N:
Sorry, I know I said Tuesdays and Thursdays and that IS still the plan, but last night a family friend from Australia unexpectedly stopped in after dinner and everything went by the wayside. The next update will be posted late tomorrow night (Thurs). Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter! I'm glad so many of you are fans of slow-burn fics and that there's some empathy for Bella because I love both slow-burn and my darling Bellatrix. (lol)
As you can see, I took some liberties with the Department of Mysteries scenes in order to set up this fic. Please forgive me! I love keeping canon but it's not always possible.
Today, as you probably know, is the 20-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, which means Bellatrix and Voldemort were killed on this date in 1998. /sob/ Today JKR apologized for killing Dobby, but still nothing for any of my favorite Death Eaters. What's up with that?! (Note: not counting Snape there. She apologized for him last year, but he was a defected Death Eater, so...)
Anyway, thanks again for reading! Please let me know what you think!
-AL
PS: If you're bored and looking for a one-shot with a pairing literally nobody's ever asked for, check out my new one-shot Come to Dust, in which Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey commiserate and comfort each other the night Cedric Diggory died. It was a Quills & Parchment Healers & Mediwizards contest entry that won Best Drama and was runner-up for Best Angst, Best Workplace Smut, and Best Pairing I Didn't Know I Needed. I've never won an award for a fic before, so I was pretty excited about it! Thx!
