Ron felt positively nauseous.

He had been sitting at Hermione's bedside for close to an hour now, so focused on her that he was almost entirely unaware of the people around him. He didn't notice Fleur's frequent visits to dab at Hermione's forehead with a cool washcloth; he didn't notice Harry pacing around the room or discussing the situation with Bill; and he didn't notice his brother poring over every book he could find on dark magic and the Unforgivable Curses.

Ron was staring so intently at Hermione's pallid face that he couldn't be sure he was even blinking. Her skin was glistening with sweat and fiery to the touch, as if there were a fever raging inside of her. Her breathing was still shallow and her pulse was still racing, but none of that worried him as much as her arm did.

Those eight marks, that despicable word…the root of it all. Blood hadn't stopped seeping from the cuts, and Ron knew he would have to change her bandages again soon; the ruby liquid was already starting to soak through again.

"Ron."

Harry's voice beside him yanked him from his thoughts. He studied his friend's blazing blue eyes, looking for some kind of sign that he had good news.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, tearing his gaze away from Hermione only after slipping his hand over hers.

"Not yet. There's not much information to find. Nobody knows for sure about the after-effects of the curse because its victims are too traumatized to talk about it, or have gone bonkers from it…or they're dead." Harry sighed and glanced at Hermione. "How's she doing?"

Ron swallowed and turned back to her. "Same as before." He leaned over and gently brushed his hand along Hermione's cheek.

Come on, Hermione. I need you.


It was happening all over again. How was this possible? Hermione whimpered as Bellatrix Lestrange stood over her, a foot planted beside each hip, smirking coldly as she pointed her wand directly between her eyes.

Two of the fingers on her right hand were broken, she knew that much. Bellatrix hadn't appreciated her temporary refusal to scream and had stomped on her hand until Hermione cried out in pain.

"How did you get into my vault?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I didn't…get into your vault," she said between ragged breaths.

Bellatrix's smirk shrank into a nasty pout. "Don't test me, mudblood. Crucio!"

The wand, aimed specifically at Hermione's head, sent the curse screaming through her skull. Her hands flew up and covered her temples as if she were suddenly suffering from a massive headache. She shrieked, unable to control her vocal chords, grinding her teeth as tears streamed from her eyes. She tried to reassure herself that the curse was purely magical, that it was not affecting her physically, but the pain overpowered her attempted logic; surely her brain was dissolving in some sort of fiery acid.

Bellatrix lifted the curse and watched as Hermione coughed and gasped for air and tried to stifle her sobs, but with little success. The witch rolled her eyes and gave her wand a quick flick, and Hermione felt a sharp burst of pain in her nose. Blood began trickling down her cheek.

"Quiet!" Bellatrix spat, a foot stepping over Hermione and purposely landing on her injured fingers. She heard a faint crunch and bit her tongue so she wouldn't scream again; she managed to contain it to a whimper. "I'm sick of your sniveling nonsense." She crouched down and stuck her head right next to Hermione's ear. "Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione nodded, wincing as she did; her head was still pounding.

"Now," Bellatrix continued, rising and wandering around the room. "How did you get that sword?"

"I didn't take it." She was surprised with how firm she sounded. The emotion was forgotten, however, when she was suddenly flipped onto her stomach by a hex. Her already aching nose smashed against the hard wood floor before she could turn her head and she let out a sharp groan. Her cheek laid against the cold boards, and the sensation was almost soothing.

"This will only get worse, mudblood. Tell me where you got the sword!"

She moved her arms up so they were bent at the elbows on either side of her head and tried to push herself up, she couldn't budge. "I didn't take it!" she shouted. Then, beneath her sweater, she felt it.

A point of white-hot burning began on her back, just below her left shoulder blade. She screamed as it slowly moved down in a straight line, and she wondered if it was cutting her skin as well, but the pain was too fierce for her to tell.

For a moment, it stopped. I.

Her lungs heaved against the wooden planks beneath her. Bellatrix asked about the sword again and still Hermione's answer did not satisfy her. The burning returned, starting at the same point as the last time, and her cries ripped through her throat as it moved in a sideways arc. P.

"Tell me how you did it!" Bellatrix shrieked, and even after everything she had done to the girl, Hermione still flinched.

"Please," she said, her voice weak and desperate, "I didn't do anything…"

"Liar!" the older witch shouted, and the burning was back once more. It began midway down her back this time and repeated the same motion as before, and a wave of horror reached every one of her nerve endings when Hermione realized what Bellatrix was doing.

The fiery pain stopped.

B.


A/N: Writing Bellatrix/Hermione torture is way too much fun.