Succumb to the Rapture
Chapter Three- Punishment
-))*((-
How long does she plan to keep me in this damn cellar? Silly me, I was under the impression she wanted to 'teach me a lesson'. I may as well have stayed in Azkaban for this.
Once a week she ventures down here to 'feed' me, as she calls it, and makes me beg to be fed such filth each time. Beyond the incessant scald of my throat that insists I comply with her wish, the amount I'm allowed to drink is never enough. She only gives me four sips, maybe five if she's feeling generous that day. Only enough to keep me tethered until her next visit, to 'keep me subservient to her'. To 'remind me she's in charge', blah blah. Same boring chorus, same boring song.
As if that wasn't enough, I begrudgingly find myself in anticipation whenever I hear the telltale echo of heels click down the stone pathway, or whenever I catch the unmistakable whiff of blood that truly makes my mouth water.
In between the dabble of passing out from being depraved for so long, and regaining my senses and plotting different spine tingling satisfactory ways to rip apart her flesh at my disclosure, I've grown restless, irritable. More so than usual. I have an urge to live, to prove my continued existence is not held in vain behind these bars. To maim, to maul, to slice, to kill. Who knows?
How I do love to cater to my more.. Whimsical.. Of moods.
Part of me has changed, or developed, I should say, since I've been 'feeding' on the mudblood chit. I've become acutely aware of each and every movement as it happens. I can sense the depths of this castle, and I can sense her repulsive magic thickly imbued to each and every wall. The place is crawling with insignificant Muggle vermin. They call themselves her 'children'. Disgusting sentimental creatures they are.
Oh, well. More for me to toy with, all the same. I can't wait to take my first victim.
Oh? She's early this time, by a whole day. In a hurry, too, from the sounds of her frenzied walk. Wonder what I've done, wonder what she'll do. I've been a good kitty, after all, I've played by all her little house rules so far. Maybe she'll finally release me from these cuffs so I can return the favor. It'd be rude of me not to. I'm always the perfect guest.
"Well well, aren't you a sight." Her flattering sarcasm is boundless.
I offer no reply and watch as she does her routine check up; lifts my head to look into each eye, commands me to open my mouth to check my teeth, prods my chest down to my waist. Quite the doctor, this one is. So carefully intrusive to someone she considers a slave.
"I've decided to move you," she says with a sense of proud selflessness. Yes, yes, Granger. Extra pats on the back for you. "Aren't you tired of being shackled like a prisoner?"
Is she mocking me?
"I am your 'prisoner' whether or not I am shackled, you damn filth-"
She yanks the chain that bounds my throat and I abhorrently hiss. I loathe that I am not familiar with the sensation by now. It's been months and it's still so raw. I'll need to misbehave extra hard to get used to it. Shouldn't be a problem, not for me. I like trouble, I like it almost as much as I like the angry look in her red eyes. They remind me of my last master.
"Spare me your slurs," she tugs harder and releases the shackles around my legs and arms. I fall to the ground wheezing and cursing her for all she's worth. "Wouldn't want to go back to begging for your meals, would you?"
I make a show of slowly raising my head so she can fully appreciate the seething look of pure hatred I give her. She laughs.
"Come along, pet," the chain tightens and through the burn I barely manage to stumble to my feet before she's dragging me along like a dog on a leash. "Time for a new set of rules."
I am met with my first taste of sufficient light, though now that doesn't seem to matter anymore. My eyes have adapted and now prefer darkness. As she drags me out into the halls all I can gather from the sudden blur are candles. Candles, and books. Loads and loads of books. And her nasty little Muggle urchins scattered about in all directions tending to them. The foul stench of their blood soaks every corner as we go up and up. My feet dangle across the edge of each staircase step while I'm between resisting and gasping to keep up, until we reach the top flight and travel down a long narrow hallway to a single room. It's big and spacious and very comfortable, complete with a fireplace, a lounge area, inner bedroom and bath. She lives in such luxury for such a whiny little mudblood runt.
There are two Muggle scums waiting patiently for her return in the lounge where we've entered. 'Welcome back, Mum,' they say with bright sparkling eyes at her every move. 'Did you have a good trip?' Both boys look so young, very close to her age and very ripe for the picking. Even their deplorable smelling blood will do to clear the cobwebs of boredom from my mind.
"Sit, pet." She commands me to a lone chair she's spelled to the center of the room and only in call to the answering tightness of my harness do I obey. She immediately starts droning on and on with her charitable rules and regulations, as if I care or something.
I'm amused that she thinks I do.
"While you are here, you are to call me 'Mother'," she paces in front of me and I smirk while getting a great view of her ass as she passes.
"Bit of a kink, Granger?"
The leash tightens around my neck. I smile despite the excruciating pain.
She sits at her vanity, which is situated in front of me so now I am forced to watch as her eager lovey dovey boy toys come to her side. They mess with her hair while she addresses me. The sight makes me ill with rage, with jealousy, at how familiar they touch her.
"You will treat everyone here as family," she continues her mongering while the younger of the two pulls back succulent strands of red to reveal pale flesh baring permanent marks of teeth having bore the skin. As he prepares to further defile the blood of superiority, I lunge at him in one swift motion.
"How dare you, disgusting Muggle filth-" I fail to fully sink my fangs and seal his fate before Mother Magdalene reels me back by the throat, but I still celebrate. I've sliced a decent chunk of the rat's arm and its so satisfying to run my tongue across the first taste of unworthy blood spilled by my hands in years.
"Bellatrix!" she shouts and I hiss, I hiss because suddenly I'm suffocating in such a way that burns worse than thirsting for her blood. Goody, goody; such a rush for me to see such an angry expression on those adorable disgusting little lips. Next time it'll be your blood, Granger. Just you wait.
"We do not threaten nor do we attack anyone in this household! Much less one of our own kind!" She scolds me like a misbehaved pig, only difference is I don't turn tail and run, missy. Try a little harder, yeah?
"You dare lump me with such vile-"
Once again I am choked with a singe of fire deep in my throat. She looks both pleased and horrified at the same time as I clutch the imaginary chain that binds me. She sends the boys on their way to the infirmary with promises to join them shortly before she turns her attention back to me.
"We are all equals here," she says in her 'holier than thou' mudblood conviction as we are now face to face. "There is nothing that separates us. We are one, and it's my blood that keeps us alive. You are not to speak ill towards your brothers and sisters, am I understood?"
I glare unrelenting to her stare and the standoff excites me. Granger thinks she can change me, does she? I'd laugh if I could manage. The reigns around me tighten to unbearable levels and I clamp down to keep from giving her the satisfaction.
"I asked you a question."
"Go to Hell."
I don't have time to say anything else, like how ridiculously stupid the notion is, nor how the thought of Muggles and witches being 'equals' in anything makes me want to purge until my eyeballs fall out and I'm stricken deaf. I don't have time to insult her foolishly worthless ideology that means nothing to me, because she has lifted me by the collar and is now dragging me back into the hall.
She takes me down two flights and again we wind through a long hallway. Nothing down here but scores of rooms with Muggle pawns standing guard like noblemen. She walks up to one and presses her palm to the door. It opens to her touch.
There are no windows. No candles. No decor. Just darkness and a single chair in the middle. The walls are laced with heavy fields of silencing charms and I sense more of them lining this hall along with the poor souls trapped within them. I can't hear their screams of despair emptied in the void, but I can feel them.
And oh, how they writhe in such sweet, sweet agony.
How unexpected, for the noble Gryffindor golden girl to harbor such secrets within her castle. I wonder what kinds of torture await me as I am fully at her disposal. I smile as she binds me to the chair in a familiar fashion. Maybe she'll give me another show this time, one where I can actually watch her voyeurism play out and not just hear it? Mmm, the thought is arousing.
"Torture chambers?" I purr like fresh silk and watch her walk in and out of my field of vision as she works her magic. "Make it good, Granger. Make it better than your last 'lesson'."
"Don't worry," she pulls my hair from behind and I'm beginning to think it's her favorite way to control me. "It is."
"Solis Ardenum," she directs her wand to the ceiling. A small flame flickers to existence and I watch it slowly take shape.
I laugh. It's pitiful, and my fun has been spoiled. My torture is to come from entertaining the stupid cunt and feigning indignation at a ball of fire?
But as it grows larger and larger still, now covering the entire room in a blinding light, my body reacts and somehow I am subjected to some source of discomfort. It burns, it blisters, and it hurts. Far worse than any lash from a wand. I can't move to shield myself and it's visibly harming my skin, I can see it steam and boil beneath the surface.
"You may be accustomed to normal physical torture," she mocks in her wretched mudblood know- it- all voice, "But now, you're a vampire. You play by different rules; my rules. And if you don't want to play along, this is what you'll get."
"Welcome to the Sun Room, your new worst nightmare," Her disgustingly soft lips dance up and down my neck in what sounds like morally sickening approval. "Hope it's good enough for you, pet."
She releases me and turns to leave. 'This door is not to budge for an hour,' I hear her say to the guards behind me as the doors draw to a close and I am left to suffer alone in this new found Hell.
I will fucking slaughter that bitch.
-))*((-
She returns an hour later and I've resolved myself to piss in her face when she slumbers. Bonus points if I can shove it down her throat and drown her on it.
I'll be damned if she's going to control me in such degrading ways.
"Had enough?" She bends her pretty little neck out towards me and I smile. Despite the smell of singed flesh, I smile big a wide and with all I have left in me I spit right in those pretty little ruby gems.
Outraged, she leaves me to suffer a little longer.
She doesn't return for a good, long while. I've lost track of how long it's been, but I am numb. I can't feel when she lifts me from my restraints by magic and levitates me up and out of the room. My eyes are open but I can't see where we are going. I can't speak, I can't even think. She leads us up, back up to her room, and dumps me none too gently in a tub of ice cold water.
I scream.
"Just so you know," she leans in and whispers, "I could cool you in a matter of seconds from my wand." A small wave and another splash of ice cold water covers my boiling scars. I am almost lost of consciousness as the pain finally tips the scale and I've succumbed to my limit. My eyes roll back and I catch the unapologetic expression she's thrown at me just before I slip away.
"But I think this way is much more fitting, don't you?"
-))*((-
Soft, benevolent touches call me back to a slim slither of awareness later in the night. My eyes can barely open but I can tell this touch belongs to her, can smell the delectable hint of her blood from miles away. She lifts me from the tub by her own will, not with magic, to a towel that feels like sandpaper when brushed along my aching skin.
I am confused by her intent, but too disoriented to ask. I am heavy, much too heavy to move on my own accord. She lays me down and I feel soothing salves being rubbed in much too gentle massages onto every inch of me; from my face and arms, down to my waist and thighs, and to my ankles and toes. My head lulls in protest. I am her enemy, I am her prisoner. Stupid, stupid girl; you do not heal a slave.
Once I am lathered, she clothes me in something that feels angelic compared to the roughness mere seconds ago, and pulls me upright into her embrace.
"Feast," she mutters to me and I barely register her filthy fingers, her tender, compassionate grip that holds me to her flesh. Me. Her slave, her pet. Having just been tortured and alternatively washed, healed, and clothed by her hand and now sharing her bed.
She truly makes me sick.
"Feast," she commands with the same urgency from before.
And once again, I obey.
