Silence
Eerie, cold, unforgiving silence.
Broken.
A calculative sigh resounded throughout the room. All that kneeled before the makeshift throne waited with bated breath, fear coloring pale faces.
They blamed it on the way they were raised. To seek power, to treasure it, to bend before it, to worship it. Then he came, a beacon of darkness in the suffocating era of light. A man who swore that he would fight to make it that all powerful witches and wizards would get the recognition that they so justly deserved. That all Dark Magicks would be deemed equal to all Light Practices and those with an inclination towards the 'forbidden' arts would be accepted as they once were so long ago. The train wreck dubbed the Ministry of Magic would be reformed beyond recognition. A man who swore to restore order to all magical havens throughout the world.
Of course they doubted his words and promises, until he showed them his power.
His words so sweet, like honey topped with powdered sugar. His face so pale and defined, it was as though he was the true incarnation of Adonis. The fell before him, laying down their lives on behalf of a goal that was beyond the confines outrageous and ambitious. A whisper before an ear and they were ready to trade their soul for the promise of being by his side for eternity, to have a sliver of the power he possessed. Empty words spoken so smoothly, like a divine form of liquid velvet, he promised.
And then he marked them.
And then he led.
And then they followed.
And then she realized.
And then she was free.
No she had not escaped the servitude she had damned herself to, but she had regained the most precious thing. Free will. Her sanity torn and battered, mind like porcelain, she remembered. Raids against the innocent, no mercy shown to the sick or hungry. Children, beaten and lashed, and she had caused it. Because of her, mothers and fathers alike could no longer tuck their children into bed. Countless toddlers would scream and cry for parents that would never wake up again, would wonder why they were bathed in a sickly, sticky red liquid. Teens were damned to a life half mad, panic attacks and unbearable maladies.
And then she realized.
Her little sister suffering, all because of her husbands unwillingness, and his desire to become a good man, to restore the tarnished reputation of House Malfoy. Her nephew stuck in his own personal hell, all because of a mad man that ripped their lives from beneath their richly clothed knees. So willing to sacrifice everything for power and status. To be faster, stronger, better.
And then she realized.
She shrieked, and raged, and cried, and sobbed. Falling with impossible grace she collided with the blood soaked carpet, clutching at her right forearm. Barely registering the fact that she was no longer in her rooms in that godforsaken Manor, and that the carpet was soaked with her own blood, she cried out, repeating the same sentence for what seemed to be the millionth time,
"Forgive me Cissa, please!"
She paid no mind to the numbing coldness creeping about her veins, nor the cries of "Hey, who the hell are you!?".
Silence.
Peaceful, comforting, forgiving silence.
M"Tony, who is she?" Steve looked at a very pale Tony Stark sitting on a black leather sofa in Draco's adjoined sitting room. The man in question rested peacefully in the bedroom beyond.
"Bellatrix Lestrange, Death Eater extraordinaire." the man in question answered quietly, eyes trained on the still red carpet, two distinct emotions flickering through the muddy brown orbs, they were near impossible to decipher. Surprise being one that triumphed above the other. No, not because he had not expected here to appear (which he supposed he had some sense of foreboding earlier that at some point, someone unwelcome was going to pop their head in) but because he had not expected to feel a disturbing lack of emotion. He felt only surprise and...
"What do you suppose we do with her?" Loki asked entering the large room. Hands in pockets, he looked perfectly at ease, which was in itself disconcerting. He shifted slightly, black jeans rustling slightly, green T-shirt rustling ever so slightly. His intricate mind racing ever so quickly. He stole a glance t the Man of Iron a short distance before him, and noticed the lingering remnants of surprise and, worry was it? He couldn't be too sure as he knew how that mortals mind had no logical thought process. Truly, it intrigued him far more than any book or place, he could not for the life of him understand why the man's mind worked the way it did, but he did understand the odd thought process now and then. For instance, he understood why the man would hide his true parentage. A man born to a cruel, inhuman monster, a monster that was responsible for more deaths than himself. But the reason behind Stark's decision to keep his age a well kept secret, eluded him still. Maybe it was the fear of people looking down upon him for his age, or people asking too many questions. But even that sounded...wrong. Wouldn't people ask questions why he was born before his parents even got together unless... And the matter of the Lestrange woman's mind well that was...
"Don't hurt her. Just...did you heal her?" Tony asked finally, brown eyes meeting a brilliant emerald. Loki swore the mortal was looking deep within his scarred mind 'don't be foolish, he is but a mortal!' the mage berated himself. 'Oh just a mortal with magicks at his reach that even you know not.' Quickly, he gathered his bearing as he realized he had taken far too long to answer the simple (or not so simple in this case) question.
"Yes she is stable, as expected her mind is somewhat...shattered, but her magical core...it...part of it...has vanished. It's just...gone. Truly, I have never seen such a peculiar case." Loki took quite some time formulating his sentence, which was not good. Thor sat forward from his spot next to Tony. He along with the rest of the team looked particularly troubled, not only did the silvertounge trip over his words, he has never seen something like Bellatrix in all his years. Thor knew very well that his brother had seen wounds and maladies that even the most talented healers had never been granted a chance (not that many would want to) to feast eyes upon. He was, despite his tarnished reputation, the best healer. Although they regarded him as liar, cheater and over all tik, they never forgot that he was indeed the god of the hearth. 'Yes, many did not forgot and trusted him to heal their families and friends, even themselves. But not the one who mattered most to him never did.' Without preamble, the blond Aseir's thought were interrupted by a quite unexpected person.
"Why is my aunt in a cot next to bed?" All heads snapped to look at the pale blond boy standing in the doorway.
Sweat soiled the once pristine sheets beneath him. Platinum blond hair clung to his flushed forehead. Then the nausea hit. With some difficulty, he turned over to his side and leaned his top half over the king size bed. The sound of a putrid rain rang throughout the room. He heaved and heaved, but was rewarded no relief temporary or otherwise. How much he wished for it to stop, just to let him catch his breath, to collect his racing thoughts. Still heaving, he swung himself off of the damp bed, and the sight before him made him wish he was still haphazardly angled of the bed heaving.
"I've gone mad, I must be hallucinating." he breathed shakily, hands clenching and unclenching.
Before him lay his insane Aunt. Hair matted with grime and blood, her black corseted dress lay in tattered ruin, along with her once pristine dragon hide impossibly high heeled boots. Not pausing to think, or sort register his subconscious feelings he stumbled and ran for the door adjacent to his bedside. Tripping over the sheets that he had somehow managed to knot himself in and running into the mahogany bedpost more than once thanks to his slightly blurred vision, he opened the ebony door like a madman.
"Why is my aunt in a cot next to my bed?" Like some sort of unspoken command rang true, all heads snapped to look at him. Suddenly very self-conscious of the fact that he was clad in nothing but sweaty white cotton boxers, he moved himself so his lower body was safely shielded by the obscurity of the wall to the right of the door.
"She appeared mortally wounded, and if I must add screaming and sobbing." Loki spoke first recovering from his shock at the sight of Draco's beyond haggard appearance. "Something along the lines of I'm sorry sissy, I messed up. No clue what she was on about." It was slightly uncharacteristic of Loki to use such midgardian vernacular, but you see Draco was a bit beyond the point of examining odd behaviors. Phantom pain setting deeply within him, bones and all, he clung to the wooden door frame overcome not only by the discomfort but the suddenness.
"Oh...so she didn't...uh try to kill you?" Draco replied, overcome by a equally puzzling phantom wave of tiredness. He slumped slightly against the doorway, bracing the doorframe even tighter in search of support for weight he could not carry.
"Hmmmmmgg..."
"Was that...?" Natasha asked warily, although she knew the answer. Bruce met her blue eyes and nodded gravely, thought just as grim.
"I suggest we go check her out." The doctor spoke meeting Draco's eyes as if silently asking for permission. The blond boy gave an almost imperceptible nod that the whole team caught.
She could move her hand. Slowly, she wiggled her long, delicate fingers, testing if it was more than just a trick of her mind. He fears never gave way to affirmation as they continued to twirl and flex. With a great amount of uncertainty she began to rotate her shoulder and to her extreme surprise she was met with the bare minimum of pain.
And then she realized.
No longer was she in her decrepit room of residence in Riddle Manor, but in a quite comfortable bed...in Malfoy Manor.
And then she realized.
"It's gone." a soft terrified whisper in the still air. "It's gone! IT'S GONE IT'SGONEIT'SGONEIT'SGONEIT'SGONE." Frantic shrieks filled the sizable room. The ebony door across the room from her burst open and a ragtag group burst forth. Paying no mind to the intrusion, she fell face first off of the menial cot and smashed ungracefully into the richly carpeted floor. Ratty, matted black hair meshing wonderfully with the rich crème. "OH GOD IT'S GONE!" Pitiful cries assaulted the ears of the others in the room.
And then she realized.
She turned her head towards the others and drank in the sight of her nephew. A man borne from the era of darkness that plagued his family. Nothing like his father, he stood with an air of courage, and it broke her blackened heart. He needed courage to come face to face with her. She noticed the slight twitches and quivers that wracked his muscular frame. Pale face beyond sickly and pasty legs replaced a healthy tan.
"Draconis, you...please listen." Her mind and mouth working two separate agendas she barely registered her lips formulating a sentence that fell just short of tactful.
"I cannot remember..." She began drawing herself up to full height, "why I joined him, but I remember a promise I made to my sister." Her mind now in synch with her mouth she now stood in front of the team. Taking in their appearances she noticed the regality of pair. The one with the crow's hair had an air of regality that the blond one lacked. Although it confused her greatly that the blond one felt like a king, but the raven haired radiated hidden power, a aura of chaos that she had only felt once before. Without warning, brilliant green eyes locked on to her own onyx and she visibly recoiled as she saw the flicker of malice and distrust. Hurriedly she looked at the short brunette next to the mysterious man (not man something more) and saw expensive material spun into some ghastly muggle style. Eyes reaching his face, her heart jolted and seemed to stutter to a halt. Her thoughts straying to the best friend of her little sister, to the unwilling lover of the Dark Lord, to one whom had bared him an heir, and with her sisters aid had taken him away. Maria.
Tony watched with rapt attention as the mad woman stood up slowly, looking as if she was readying to strike (or in this case, Tony's over active imagination was working at it's absolute finest). Her obsidian eyes first moved to Loki and roved about every inch of his lithe figure. The brown haired genius was positive that it was purely non-sexual as Loki would have sensed it, smirked and barked out a soul shattering retort (now the imagination was making him think poetic, fanfuckingtastic! He already had a Nobel Prize, he didn't need a Laurel!) It was quite odd to see the maddest of the mad stare down the king of broken psyches in an epic meeting of the eyes, (damn poetic shit clouding the brain) and have the (debatably) saner one recoil in some sinister shock, because if anything manages to make Bellatrix jump, it has got to be sinister.
Then she looked at Tony.
And shit got real.
The black haired witch gasped audibly and her eyes widened almost comically ('cause lets face it, nothing is comical about being the object observation for a woman that's mad as a hatter) and fell backwards, steadying herself against the off-white wall behind her with a trembling hand.
"Maria."
The armored avenger stiffened and met the crazed woman's impossibly dark eyes. His genius mind noticing little things, like the way her nose twitched a bit and the way her eyes weren't black, no, they were a very deep shade of brown, and even the lightest dust of pale blond and brown coloring the odd strand of hair. All the while the more rational part of his mind (the one that was a bit to small for him to be considered sane...who am I kidding it was a teensy bit short off the insane mark) stuttered to spectacular halt in which the earth seemed to slow to a halt, fall of its axis, roll out of the Milky Way, land in Asgard, and frolic off into the sunset with Pluto. So the rather irrational spot in his mind decided it would show its hide (which is actually a very common occurance because nobody likes predictable genius, babes were just into the mad scientist thing he had goin' on...not that he really cared for babes much anymore).
"Umm, no I'm Tony, nice to meet you to. You wanna' give us a legit reason why you're here and not the half-assed piece of fuckery that you managed to spew in less than a minute. 'Cos I gotta' tell you, nobody here is really big fan of the whole 'torture the innocents' gig ya' got goin' for you..." The doe eyed man trailed shifting his weight and tucking his hands into his pockets (oh, how he wished he had a nice glass of scotch in his hand, but alas, fate seemed rather un-inclined to grant him small mercies).
The rational part of his mind was forced to take the back seat (like always) and decided to work on some schematics for the Mark 54 while his irrational mind observed the sight before him with an unusual amount of awareness. Not at all comfortable with the sudden change in his irrational mind, Tony decided it was best to just get this whole repentant Bellatrix matter squared away. With a slight smirk h saw Steve shiver slightly and lean unconsciously into a certain blond god of thunder. Then she opened her dastardly mouth.
"When...in the beginning...we had no idea..." Lestrange (or Black, whatever he had no time for an insane woman's identity crisis) paused as she was gathering her words. After a few moments, she looked up and sat down on the cot slowly as if she was afraid it was just go 'poof' and erase itself from existence. She observed the impatient Avengers and her nephew for a moment with a rather pained expression before continuing.
"He was our savior. So handsome and...powerful. His words were smooth, velvety, everything every man and every woman wanted to hear. Promises of liberty and equality for all not just light witches and wizards. He said he would liberate the magical creatures, and make it so darker witches wizards could practice 'dark' and 'black' arts without fear of persecution. We had finally gotten the man that we'd all been wishing for, a man to lead us to a new era, not light or dark, but an era of magic." She was sobbing now, tears rolling out of her eyes in a steady stream of sorrow for a ruined life, and a world on its way to war. "But it was all lies. Every word." Her words now adapting a venomous lilt, "he took it..." the moment they'd all been waiting for, "my body, my soul, my heart, my mind." The intake of breath was enough to deafen a crowd (hyperbole, whatever, but it was loud!) and it all came from Loki. His viridian eyes flickering with emotion. Anguish, empathy, pain, distress, and understanding. Complete understanding, and it made Tony's blood run cold. Maybe he wasn't as together as everyone thought...
"He 'believed' in me. He told me I was beautiful, and he was the first one I believed. I let him...h-have me. And that's all it took." She looked at Loki with broken eyes, so full of pain and disgust, "he had invoked one of the more barbaric Pureblood Rites. By dousing himself in the blood of the virgin, no matter how small of an amount, he owned her. He owned me, he owns me. Why do you think your mother was in such a rush to marry Howard Stark. She needed him, to save much more than her life. She would have been like me had Howard not taken her first." Bellatrix looked at Tony, no longer sobbing. Relief (and...was that longing?) tinting her heavily lidded eyes.
"You knew her?"
"Yes, as did Cissa and Lucius. But you know that." her calm reply mad the team antsy, it was if someone just flipped a switch and the waterworks had no effect on her voice besides the obvious pain and distress, but no hics or breaks.
Tony had had enough. A mad woman turned mad by a mad man hell-bent on achieving genocide on a mass scale. Too damn much in one day. But as you have read earlier, his rational mind had deserted him and his irrational mind told him 'full speed ahead'. You see what I mean by a teensy bit short off the insane mark?
"So how are you here? He owns you did he send you?"
Lestrange actually looked pleased as though this were the first intelligent question Tony had asked (which he supposed it was but again, irrational mind, whatever). "I had help."
"And who in their damn mind would help you off all people." Tony asked knowing damn well that he should not be talking about doing questionable, borderline treasonous things for supposed insane villains that had acended to the top of the very lengthy list of SHIELD's most wanted.
"Lucius Malfoy."
Dun dun dun. I know, no update in forever. No excuses will be thrown in your face. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. The beginning just found it's way onto the document, but don't dispel it as unimportant, as it actually gives hints at a bit off Bella's psychiatric state. My whole goal is to have each pov in a diff writing style based on the characters personalities. Tony being more scatterbrained and filled with bad language, showing how he his brain works in my imagination. I wanted to put emphasis on the fact that it is very much like Dislocative Personallity Disorder, but not quite, as he has a conscious that is always aware and registering the ongoing changes in his psyche; Bella's is very detached, more third person, serious; Draco's is a bit detached, also a little more simpler and childish; Steve is simple, hand on, thoughts are interpreted instead of left hanging and it is very genuine and straightforward. I have gave a small barely there inkling on how I will write Loki and Thor's pov, but as for the rest of Clint, Natasha, and Bruce, you shall have to guess :)
BIG THANK YOU TO ALL THAT HAVE FAVE'D AND ALERTED! MY UNDYING LOVE...let me not get poetic, there has been far too much of that.