Chapter 13

Vae Victis

This was it.

Bellatrix Lestrange was no fool. She had failed her Lord and now her life was forfeit.

Yaxley forced himself on her throughout the night. It left her bleeding and feeling degraded. She had become filth. She let her mind wander, and the images of the night had arrived, flooding her with their fierceness. She tried to force them away, but they were like Dementors, forcing themselves underneath her eyelids; once again she was thrown into the nightmare of this particular night.

The Dark Lord had cast her away. And she finally felt it, the pang of pain; He had rejected her, He had abjured her.

When they dragged her to the cell, she fought like crazy, heels kicking, nails trying to claw at any surface they touched; and she screamed.

She had lost Him.

And that made her weep; when they threw her on the floor, Bellatrix Lestrange found herself weeping and screaming; she had found herself begging for the first time in her life. And then, when Yaxley arrived and tore away her skirt, she did not fight back.

She just swallowed a ball of bile that appeared in her throat and succumbed to Yaxley. She merely breathed and bled, waiting for the man to tire himself out. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her in pain. In between every session, he would crucio her and she would scream herself hoarse. He would beat her, cut her, heal her, insult her, and then, finally once again aroused, he would force himself into her and she would bleed and fight against whimpers of pain and shame that grew inside her throat.

And when he left, just hours before sunrise and her death, Bellatrix, still half-naked, crumpled on the stone floor and closed her eyes. She had failed and she deserved to die. But the memory of her Master's hateful gaze resurrected the pain and so she found herself choking with tears she did not want to shed.

They dressed her up. A very smug Mulciber smacked in the face for good measure.

'Oh bitch' he growled at her, rolling his eyes in pleasure (he had the nasty habit of doing so every now and then) 'you've had it coming.'

She never answered, feeling suddenly very limp.

'In my opinion, you should have been given to Greyback for the night.' he added and punched her once again. This time something cracked, blinded with pain, Bellatrix tried to inhale only to find out that Mulciber's blow had broken her nose. Blood flew freely, covering her face, pooling in he throat, slowly choking her, so she opened her mouth and spat at his feet, trying to clear her airways.

'What the hell?' she looked up groggily and saw Dolly racing down the stairs, wand at ready.

'The bitch had it coming.' Mulciber growled at him, still standing beside her 'None of your business, Antonin.'

'Fool' he spat and halted in front of her 'if she dies before the Dark Lord kills her, I'm sure you'll be next.' with that, Dolohov healed her with a lazy flick of the wand, his dark eyes looking at her scrutinizingly. And then he cleared her face and shifted his gaze, staring at Mulciber with a sour scowl.

'Already in my position, eh? Icky fluffy Dolly, always trying to fill in my shoes.' she snickered at him. The fool. Biding his time to replace her. As if anyone could, His most faithful, most powerful Death Eater was irreplaceable.

But he merely glanced at her and then his eyes returned to Mulciber, who faltered finally, giving in, stepping back from his new lieutenant. But then there was another shuffle of hurried steps and Snape arrived, robes billowing and face contorted with a very livid snarl.

'What are you doing?' he demanded and Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow.

'None of your business, Snivellus. Step down.' Dolohov turned around, his back to Mulciber, who was always the wolf to growl fist but soon after succumb to the new alpha.

'Already running for the first lieutenant, Dolohov? The Dark Lord hasn't yet appointed one, for all I know.' Snape drew his wand out.

The fools. She was not dead yet, but here they stood, in a murky dungeon of Malfoy Manor, squandering like children over what had been rightfully her position. Bellatrix would very much like to sigh and shake her head, already afraid for the success of her Master's mission with idiots like them serving him, but her throat and her nose - and her head, and actually, her entire body - felt rather tentative and she would rather hold her head high for the execution than face some unexpected bodily malfunction and, say, collapse for all the world to see.

'Would you like to resolve out little disagreement with a duel? Or would you rather run and hind behind your precious potions?' Dolohov stepped forward, wand raise and posture rigid.

And then they heard another shuffle and Yaxley appeared at the top the stairs, scowling like the two men.

'What are you doing? Take her and let's go!'

'Oh look, Snivellus, another would-be first lieutenant.' Dolly, the ass, chuckled and Bellatrix felt like puking on his shoes. Just for the kicks of it.

The three men drew wands and regarded each other carefully. Yaxley, the oldest and most dull of all, finally lowered his and arched a skinny eyebrow in what probably had been an attempt at making a disdainful face, sadly, he looked like a tetanus victim.

'We can resolve it later.' Yaxley, unaware of his absurdity, tried to speak as if he was well above the whole mess 'Right now, the Dark Lord awaits us. Bring the woman up. I shall join our master and inform him of your hiccup.'

'Asshole.' Dolohov hissed at Yaxely's retreating backside.

'Antonin?' Snape sauntered towards the man 'I will personally hold you responsible for the delay.'

Greasy-hair Snivellus always behaved as if a stick had been shoved up his ass a long time ago. If the three idiots tried to replace her, soon the Dark Lord would realize the horrendous size of his tragic error. The Death Eaters would become a laughing stock. Bellatrix, slightly happier than before, lifted her head.

'I suggest you move.' she commanded them royally 'Unless you want to find yourself on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse. Which I wouldn't mind.'

Dolohov almost twirled like a dumb ballerina he was, and towered above her with a very familiar expression of great fury and raised his wand. But then the pathetic happened and Snape punched him in the face.

She almost giggled. This was delightful. She would die irreplaceable.

'My Lord.' she tried to speak to Him when they finally managed to compose themselves and drag herself out of the dungeon 'My Lord.'

But he ignored her and she could not help but feel as if someone had punched her in the chest. Fighting back those treacherous tears that once again tried to emerge, her body suddenly hostile towards her will, Bellatrix lowered her had, allowing her hair to cover her face. All the air and the faint bubble of hope that arose in her chest when she saw the squandering idiots that bickered over filling in her shoes, was now gone.

Hope was always treacherous, she reasoned, trying to compose her face sufficiently. Yet she had dared to hope, silently and almost against her own reason, that the Dark Lord would somehow forgive her and become aware of her utmost importance; there was no one who could ever replace her, she knew that, because she had lived with those men for years and she knew them, better probably than they knew each other, and was painfully aware that none of them had been good enough; hiding behind a mask of insanity, comfortably dwelling within her Master's imposing shadow, Bellatrix Lestrange observed and evaluated each and every Death Eater in the Inner Circle. She had hoped her Master had done the same.

Apparently He had not.

And then she gave up, deciding simply that it would be better to resign to her fate. She never uttered a word, when they put a body-biding curse on her and levitated her up, her eyes merely sought her Master, trying to fill herself with image of Him, so that whatever fate awaited her on the other side, if there was an other side, she would take only His image with her - and nothing more.

Because there was nothing more beside Him.

They forced her on her knees and had her facing the crowd. She dropped her gaze, allowed her hair to obscure her face. She felt Him approach her, he stood by her side and addressed the faceless mob in his clear, cool voice.

'Watch this' he told the masses 'and learn. This filth is Bellatrix Black.'

Bellatrix Black? She almost shifted, surprised and slightly shaken.

But there was something more. She did not fight all these years for Him to not learn how read the signs. She could feel a battle brewing somewhere behind, a tension of something, like a collective drew of breath.

The three would-be lieutenants were ready to go at each others' throats. She tried to look at her Master and convey the warning. But he ignored the shift of her body, the mute appeal for attention, He merely carried on, His voice drilling into her mind and shattering to pieces what had been Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Once my first lieutenant, now a disgraced traitor. Before she dies, she will be stripped of what once had been hers. Her husband's last name.'

Another piece of Bellatrix shattered and almost collapsed, her treacherous body caving in like a discarded rug, but something yanked her up; His fingers pulled at her hair, forcing her head up, so that the crowds would see bear witness to her shame.

A set of eyes bore to her. Drawn at the intensity that made her body tingle uncomfortably, Bellatrix's gaze found its; what had been once utterly beautiful was now marred and utterly broken like a shattered masterpiece, the face damaged by rampant scars was turned in her direction, jet blue irises almost glued to her own, the intensity of the gaze almost familiar, yet unreadable, as if the entire intent was split between compassion and contempt. Staggered, Bellatrix felt compelled to maintain eye contact with the brunette, her thoughts a loose stream of consciousness, a mix of questions about the woman's identity and uncertainty of her intent.

'Of her wand' the shrill voice of her Master once again drilled into her mind, forcing her attention back to Him, and out of the corner of her eye, Bellatrix saw something fall, broken in two, her former instrument of destruction now destroyed itself, cast at His feet 'As no longer she is a witch, her wand had been broken.'

The tension grew once again, her jagged consciousness registered that something was amiss, yet she could not place what nor why.

'Now she will be stripped of her life.'

She almost closed her eyes, not scared but yet not wanting to see Him as he killed her, suddenly very dizzy; but instead of the two words that would bring her finality, she heard a small yelp and the crowd murmured suddenly, so she force her eyelids back up and saw her Master turn around with a vicious hiss.

She turned as well and saw it them.

The three would-be first lieutenants had chosen this precise moment to take their quarrel to another level. She had turned just in time to see Dolohov punch Yaxley in the chin, dogging at the same time a stunner that sped from Snape's wand; the red jet struck Mulciber instead and the oaf staggered backwards, colliding with Rabastan, who dropped his wand with surprise.

'Stop!' the Dark Lord's voice was filled with fury, his gaze locked on the fighters, but neither paid heed; a reeling Yaxley spitting blood and cursing Snape only to be struck by Dolohov's sectumsempra, blood instantly gushing out of his chest, red specks covering everyone in vicinity.

And then something grabbed her, pulled her down and suddenly Bellatrix toppled over and fell off the platform, her fall stopped inches above the ground; the black haired woman had been the one who had cast an arresto momentum on her. Shocked and numb simultaneously, Bellatrix watched as the woman fired a fiendyfire at the Death Eaters, an impedimenta at the crowd and then the woman turned towards her once again, as her Master howled with fury, a green flash almost blinding her, but something collided with her before the spell had done so, a body grinding her to the ground; the black haired woman pushed herself upwards moments later, her legs still straddling Bellatrix's hips, turned towards the crowd and screamed 'Confringo!', her entire body tensing with the effort and then turned once more, this time the towards the platform 'Bombarda!'

There were shrieks now, they crowd first caught by surprise, then struck with Confringo, now regained its composure and charged at the two, but then with the brunette's spell, the platform exploded, splinters and debris striking their attackers like an avalanche; the woman was once again lying on top of her; her arms were covering Bellatrix's head and she - it was, after all, a reflex - covered the woman's head with her own arms in return; something hit her, a sharp, jagged edge of something struck her arm, but she never let go.

And then she was pulled up, the woman clinging to her hand, pulling her once more, and she hear her Lord's shriek of fury, another jet of green flying towards them, but before it struck, the magical vacuum sucked her in and moments later spat her out and she came crashing, unsteady on her feet, he forehead smashing into something very hard.

'C'mon!' the female's voice was familiar, but Bellatrix was to dulled up, too numb to dwell on these assumptions, she remained limp and allowed the woman to pull her somewhere; up a small flight of stairs and she felt the air change; she was indoors and levitated on a couch.

Then she heard voices, masculine and also familiar, a growl she knew and small chuckle that also was not of a stranger. But a gawping pit arouse within her, expanding with every breath she took and she teetered on its edge but its pull was too forceful and Bellatrix collapsed into the realm of unconsciousness.

Dull pain. Her temple was pulsating and her mouth felt like a desert. Suppressing a groan, Bellatrix opened her eyes, her lids oddly heavy, and blinked with surprise. White ceiling. She blinked again, the world was still swimming around her, edges of her vision blurred and almost wavelike; nausea steadily building inside her, Bellatrix forced her head to turn and she took in the environment.

She knew the place. Groggily, she observed every single piece of furniture before the jigsaw fell into a single piece: the Mudblood's lair. Unsure whether her disgrace had been just a wickedly insane dream, just worthy of Bellatrix Lestrange's twisted mind, a thing she priced above many other, or had it been real, she licked her lips only to find her tongue almost stiff with dehydration.

Footsteps, quite heavy. A man. He must have seen her, as he moved so that he would be withing her line of vision. Rugged features, black hair and unshaven face and bright brown eyes. Dolly.

'Am I in hell?' the jibe was lost in the hoarseness of her voice, it came out almost like whimper, like a plea.

'You wish.' his answer was cold but not sneering. He merely pushed his hair back and cocked an eyebrow at her, whether a threat or smirk, she could not tell 'She will be pleased to learn you returned from that fantasy world.'

Once again everything swam around as her mind tried to comprehend with his words.

'Don't kill yourself with the effort.' he said, probably seeing the pained effort that etched on her features and she momentarily cursed herself for the weakness. 'Just wait and you'll know it all.'

Another sound of footsteps. A strange smell in the air, spicy and sharp, alerting her senses, forcing her back from the edge of consciousness. A blurry black movement, like a coil of smoke or - or a Dementor, and her mind panicked, but someone merely sat on their knees by her side, an arm pushed her upper body so that she found herself half-sitting; a liquid was forced down her throat, and she swallowed almost against her volition, but the effect was instant.

Potion. Magic. Not poison.

She blinked once again and saw the face of Severus Snape looming above her, a vertical line between his eyebrows.

'You've suffered quite a shock.' he informed her, eyes taking in every detail of her face, their scrutiny almost leaving her uncomfortable, but then Snape turned his head and spoke to someone else 'You can talk to her.'

She followed his gaze and saw the brunette, marred face and peculiar blue eyes; the woman was looking at her with an unreadable expression on her face and Bellatrix felt almost furious but was not overly sure whether this was because of the woman's gaze or her previous actions.

'Hello, Bellatrix.' the brunette's voice was familiar, sharp but not shrill, a soprano that could also be an alto. The woman walked towards her almost as if in slow motion, every movement of her body purposefully careful as if Bellatrix had been an animal that could easily scare.

The woman sat down at the edge of the sofa, just by Bellatrix left hip.

'How are you?'

'Where am I?' she decided to ignore both the painful throb of her head and the question, and stood her ground, trying to muster enough energy to glare at almost familiar stranger.

'You've been here before.' the woman merely looked around the room, as if trying to coerce Bellatrix to do the same and see for herself.

'I know. That's the Mudblood's lair. Where is she?' the last word was supposed to be laced with contempt but came out almost soft. Bellatrix, for the thousandth time these twenty four hours, cursed herself and the terrible weakness.

'Are you concerned with her well-being?' the woman, oh so annoyingly familiar yet absolutely a stranger, cocked an eyebrow and shot her a small smile, which maybe used to be pretty, but now was only deformed and almost feral.

'It would be a pity if someone else killed her in my stead.'

'Fair enough.' the woman nodded as if Bellatrix's statement meant nothing to her, her tone worthy of someone who had been discussing weather for the last hour.

And then it hit her. Snape. Dolohov. The woman. The Dark Lord.

Treason.

'Blood traitors!' the exclamation was almost a whine and Bellatrix chewed on her lower lip with such force she tasted blood on her teeth.

Someone - Dolly - snickered at that and she glared at him, trying to convey her loathing with a simple gaze, but he shrugged and looked at the woman, a mute question palpable in the air like an oncoming storm.

'No.' the woman spoke softly 'We merely saved his life. By saving yours.'

The absurdity of the statement drove her over the edge. Someone exclaimed 'Shit!' and it was the last thing she heard before darkness swallowed her senses.

Yellow light, a golden circle on the ceiling and a sensation of fever burning her body. Shivers and the harshness of a blanket, her body drenched with sweat and the vision swimming, great blurs marring the surface of reality.

She swallowed. Someone's presence, a cool liquid that burned her throat.

'Drink it, Bella.'

Snape's voice.

Blood traitors.

'How is she?' woman's voice.

'Fever. Shock. Trauma.'

Snape.

'Sleep, Bella. You'll be better in the morning, I promise.'

She wanted to tell them she was dying. 'Bullshit.' she wanted to say, but then she opened her mouth to speak, only a croak came out and she almost gagged on it and coughed - and once again plunged into unconsciousness.

Her body sore. Blinking, turning her head, her curls almost clammy against her forehead, she found herself in the presence of the woman. She was sitting in an armchair beside her couch, a book on her lap, legs crossed, ankle resting on a knee, black trousers, rather tight.

'What do you mean?' Bellatrix's voice betrayed her thoughts and the woman instantly shifted and lifted her head, blue eyes - no, dark eyes - locking with her own.

'Sorry?'

'About saving the Dark Lord?' she wanted to scowl and growl, but the question was hesitant and her voice unsteady, croaking, as if rusted with the lack of use.

'Oh.' the woman put the book on the armrest, balancing it with ease of someone who had done it many times over, and stood up. 'He's in mortal peril.'

'Why are you not protecting Him?' Bellatrix licked her lips and found them in a much better condition.

'He does not recognize the threat.' the woman sauntered towards her and came to halt when her leg brushed with the edge of the couch. She lowered herself into a kneeling position, close to Bellatrix's head, eyes never leaving hers 'He closes his eyes and blindly follows an agenda that will result in a catastrophe.'

'The Dark Lord is no fool.' she barked, her voice much stronger now.

'I never said so.' the woman shrugged and cocked her head to the side, almost as if she was asking herself some question about Bellatrix and pondering at the answer 'I merely said that he chooses not to recognize it.'

'You're rambling.' the accusation came out shrilly, like a fork scratching against the plate.

'No. I am not. Despite you'd rather have me ramble.'

'Nonsense.' she refused to take the words in, their meaning immaterial. 'If there was some threat to the Dark Lord's life, it would -' but she never managed to finish the sentence, because her own mind betrayed her, blanking out in a most unsettling manner, and so she blinked with confusion at the dark eyes woman, who held her gaze with steady reassurance 'What are you talking about?'

'He's as powerful as arrogant.' the woman answered after a short pause, her gaze almost glazed over 'And do not consider this an insult, it's merely a statement.' she almost smiled at Bellatrix, almost apologetically 'You and I, we never started on the right foot. I've just realized it.'

'Do I know you?' the answer was just inches beside her reach; Bellatrix knew she knew the woman; yet her identity was oddly outside her grasp, a sensation as annoying, as is forgiving a word during a conversation, like an orgasm that is still inches away.

'Yes.' the woman nodded.

'Mudblood?' the surprise was almost overwhelming, a sickening feeling arising within her throat, something that resembled fury, disgust, and shame.

'Yes.' she repeated.

Bellatrix swallowed and opened her mouth to say something but her voice failed her, like her body had, and she swallowed again, still unsure whether the whole situation was real or merely a confusing nightmare.

To be rescued by the Mudblood twice was like an insult to everything Bellatrix was molded into.

To be captive of the Mudblood without any way out, hunted by both her Master and his enemies, was like the very definition of humiliation and terror.

Her Master had only stripped her; if this woman had been truly the Mudblood, the situation was the very undoing of Bellatrix.

The last straw of total disintegration.

The woman never flinched, never took her statement back, her gaze still probing Bellatrix - and then suddenly her eyes widened and she saw that the woman's (the creature's) question had just been answered. She stood up from the couch and quietly stepped back.

'You will never come to terms with that, will you.' it was not a question, the Mudblood might as well been talking to herself. 'I don't ask you to. I'm asking if you decide to quit moping and get over it and prove that you're truly worthy of your mark.'

'What?' the word slipped her mouth, mind spinning in most confusing patterns.

'Are you or are you not his best lieutenant?' almost accusatory question, something coiling within the Mudblood's eyes, cold fury or a sneer of contempt, and Bellatrix swallowed once again.

'I am.' she mastered her voice regal.

'Then quit acting like a schoolgirl and prove it.'

It came like a slap; an insult so profound, Bellatrix gaped at her, mouth agape and eyes wide.

What? What? What?

'How dare you?' the growl scratched the back of her throat.

But she had been ignored.

'Are you willing to go against him - to save him? Disobey every order and the death sentence you've earned with your incompetence - and yes, I mean, incompetence, the incompetence of following wrong orders - and prove your worth? Or are you just another sniveling creature that follows even the dumbest of wishes in order to please her master?'

'What?' the repeated, fighting against the slow understanding - and the sinking feeling that came with it - of the woman's words.

'Somebody once told me, Bellatrix Black, that there is no greater courage, than to stand against your friends. Are you willing to stand against your master - to save him from his own mistakes?'

'I would do anything -' she whispered to the woman, her voice almost gone with extortion of coping.

'Will you stand with us? Or do you choose to crawl and follow the man you adore into the abyss his own follies had opened?'

'What do you mean?' she finally found the semblances of her voice and croaked.

'Bellatrix. Your master is not infallible. His errors are grievous. Their consequences will be enormous. The slaughter to come is beyond anyone's imaging. Would you rather follow erroneous orders and watch your master die because of their consequences or defy him and save him?'

'I would.' she spoke out, but she felt sick, splintered, torn and in deep pain, pain she could neither name nor locate.

'There is no greater courage than that. I was told you feared nothing. Now I know that you truly don't.'

'Tell me, Mudblood.' she was oddly moved by the creature's praise; it blazed in a fierce roar within her chest, never hearing such words from anyone, she was almost overwhelmed 'Who taught you to speak like that?' the taunt was supposed to dissipate the tension, make a little ridiculous in its pathos, so that it would become less fierce, less profound.

'Believe it or not, Bellatrix, I've led armies to battles that were long lost before they even commenced.'