Bellatrix chapter! Yes! Finally! I might be changing a couple of details (really small ones) in the previous chapter, cause I'm not super happy with how it turned out. But at least we got Bella back now, and she'll be much, much more prominent moving forward. This chapter is slightly shorter than the others, but it might be the most important one so far.
OstentatiousSulfurWaste: And it only gets juicier from here lol! And yes, Narcissa's mother is alive and living in Italy. That part was true. The thing about the children was the only thing Narcissa lied about to get Hermione's guard down and invade her mind. Also, forgot to say this. Yes, his classmates knew. Especially his closest "friends" (including Narcissa's father). However, he knew he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, which made them not hate him as much as the other half-bloods (though there was still some resentment, which we'll explore in later chapters). The rest of the world found out he was a half-blood after the second war, including all the other death eaters (with the exception of the people he'd met before he started going by Voldemort. Though when he did, he already had enough power to scare those who knew into not telling anyone else that he wasn't pure blooded). Good observation! Thanks for your reviews and support!
AncientUrn: Thank you for reading!
Reviews are love and love makes the world a better place!
Usual disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything associated to it.
Her boots clanked loudly against the ancient stone that made the prison's floor. The man behind her hurried to catch up with her as she quickened her pace, eager to arrive at their destination as soon as possible. They were to meet in a secluded room, far away from the wails of the suffering inhabitants and unwavering effects of the Dementors that had long ago guarded the fortress. Azkaban exactly as Sirius had described it: dark, narrow, cold, filthy, decrepit, maddening, inhuman. Hermione could almost feel bad for its inhabitants, and she could, for some. Those she knew were only victims of their unfair judicial system or those whose crimes didn't warrant living through these horrid conditions. For Death Eaters, on the other hand, no ounce of sympathy could be spared. They were exactly where they deserved to be. Now and forever.
"Miss Granger - Hermione. Wait," said Kingsley. They were standing in front of a heavy metal door, guarded by two people she recognized from the Ministry. Soldiers they'd placed in the prison out of distrust of the guards that reported the incidents in the first place. Despite what the guards knew, and the standing they had in the Ministry, Kingsley motioned for Hermione to come closer so their conversation wouldn't be heard. "You can still leave the mission. No questions asked. We can head back and bring Potter-"
"No," declared Hermione loudly. Her voice booming over Kingsley's whispers. Noticing his surprise, she lowered her tone. "There's no need to. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this."
"You'll be seeing her again," he held his hand up to stop her from talking back. She did so regardless.
"Minister, I'm not an idiot. I'm aware. I'm ready," she turned to nod at the guards, who dispelled the enchantments on the door to let them inside.
"I'm not lecturing you," said Kingsley, but didn't stop her from entering the room as he followed closely behind. "I'm just making sure. You cannot let your past...however it might affect you, interfere with the mission."
"I won't."
The room was sparsely decorated, and it seemed as though it had seldom been used before this interrogation. There was a wooden table in the middle, with two wooden chairs on one side and nothing on the other. There were no windows, and the four torches on the walls didn't provide much light. The room's two inhabitants sat down, noting how uncomfortable the chairs were, but didn't have time to get a word in before the doors opened once more.
"Easy, Miss Granger," warned Kingsley. Upon seeing the door opening, Hermione had jumped out of her seat and pointed her wand at the approaching figure, thinking it was their prisoner. To her immediate relief, inside walked a short, thin woman. Dressed in an impeccable, grey uniform without a single black hair out of her elegant bun. Her brown skin was mired with tiny scars, some old, some still red and looking like they could open and bleed out with the slightest movement. She didn't look a day over thirty, but her eyes spoke of experience far beyond her years. The woman regarded Hermione's raised wand with a chuckle and held out her hand for her to shake.
"Yolanda Escudero. Head Warden. It's a pleasure to meet you, Hemione Granger," she said courteously.
"Likewise," said Hermione, wand lowered but still held firmly in her hand, "where's our prisoner?"
"My prisoner, you mean," retorted the woman drily. "She's being prepared as we speak, I simply wanted to speak to you first. Give you some advice seeing as I've been told I'm not to interfere with the investigation." She shot a dirty look at Kingsley at that, to which he didn't react. Hermione already knew this, of course. There was no telling how corrupt the Head Warden was, seeing as how many transformations Bellatrix had gone through under her command. After a brief second of silence, the woman continued, more annoyed than before. "It's simple. She talks out of place, says something you don't like, or tries anything funny. You call me immediately. Don't move her bindings, no matter how much she complains or promises she'll speak if you loosen them. She'll be able to move a bit, but not enough to cause any alarm. The least you disclose about the outside world, the better. Especially if it involves her friends or relatives. She starts hallucinating, throwing up, or shaking, you call me. I don't care if it looks like she's dying, you don't touch her if I'm not here. Any questions."
They both shook their head "no", rather eager to get through the whole ordeal. Shrugging, the Head Warden gave one of the men at the door a sign, and they moved to allow Bellatrix in.
It was as though time itself had stopped in its tracks to watch the Hades herself exit the underground. The stained walls and stone floors melted in Hermione's vision. Allowing the harrowing image to take center stage. Every fragment of her body ordered her to run, but there were invisible hands grasping onto her legs and feet, impeding her desperate escape. The slowly approaching figure did away with what little breath she had, and greedily left the young girl's throat as dry as the Sahara. What little perspiration her body could muster formed in the girl's forehead and palms, making her grasp on the wand - Bellatrix's wand - falter.
"Molly should have killed you that night," Hermione thought. Lamenting that she'd learned how to block people from her mind, just so Bellatrix would be able to read her thoughts. "Merlin, I should have killed you that night."
Much like her trial, the witch didn't walk in. Her feet were bound together by spiked vine-like ropes that ran through her entire body. Her hands, shaking with bloody fingers and scars, rested firmly on the wooden armrests they were tied to. Around her neck and abdomen laid the most abundant number of ropes, so firm and close to her skin Hermione wondered if the witch could even breathe, let alone speak. Her pale face, despite being covered in dirt and blood, still gave away her unwavering beauty. With her plump, broken lips, heavily lidded eyes, and high cheekbones that were more prominent than ever, thanks to the woman's skeletal physique - courtesy of the Azkaban diet. Despite what they'd said about her unnaturally youthful appearance, her dark hair was littered with small, white streaks. From the stress, perhaps. Or simply from the fact that her de-aging had been greatly exaggerated. Though her lack of wrinkles said otherwise.
"You try anything funny and you'll be joining your Master in Hell, Lestrange" Yolanda warned. Hermione watched, paralyzed, as Bellatrix reacted for the first time. Her eyes, which had been completely unfocused, moved to the side to stare at the woman. And her lips opened into a small smile, unveiling her rotten teeth to the world (Hermione, the daughter of two dentists, gagged a bit).
"Is that a promise?" Bellatrix taunted with a raspy and worn tone. With a threatening glare, the warden left the room and shut the door behind her. Leaving the criminal alone with the two other occupants of the room. An unbearable silence dominated the room whilst Bellatrix ran her eyes over Hermione and the Minister, focusing more on the younger girl than the latter. "Granger? Who'd you piss off to end up with this job?"
It was far from the explosive charge of curses and insults she'd expected from the madwoman, but she didn't let her guard down. "No one. I chose this myself. Disappointed?" Her voice shook as she addressed the older witch, and she had to dig her fingernails into the skin of her palms to calm herself.
Bellatrix, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle, giggled. "And they call me a masochist. Did your scars heal too? Do you want some new ones? Is that it?"
"That's enough questions, Lestrange," said Kingsley sternly. Hermione, realizing that she hadn't taken her seat since Yolanda's entrance, sat back down. Mulling over Bellatrix's strange choice of words.
"What?" Bellatrix replied with overly exaggerated confusion. "I thought you were here for a chat! Would you rather I talk about the weather instead?"
"I think you know what we're here for," that was Hermione, opening the file and placing a photograph from Bellatrix's second trial, followed by one that had been taken recently. "Does this look like a fifty-five-year-old woman to you?"
"A muggle woman? No. A witch? Yes. I know this might be news to your mudblood ears, but we happen to age remarkably well," Bellatrix smiled proudly, waiting for the others to say something. Neither did, so she went on. "Ugh, you're so boring. To answer your question, no. That does not look like a fifty-five-year-old woman to me. What other compliments do you have?" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously, and Hermione found herself fighting the urge to vomit the second time in less than an hour.
"Then you can explain to us why exactly is it that you, out of all people, started de-aging to out of nowhere," continued Kingsley, pointing at a picture from her wedding they'd found in the Prophet's archives. From the date in the back, Hermione knew Bellatrix would have been around eighteen at the time. Slightly younger than she looked now, but closer in age than she was in her trial pictures.
"Oh I haven't got the slightest idea," she commented. Chucking when Hermione immediately cried out. "Language, Granger. It's true! I only discovered this myself when the guards were playing with me and discovered that I'd changed. You should have seen their faces! They falling over themselves claiming that I had a wand hidden somewhere, or that my Master had returned."
"Shut up, shut up!" Exclaimed Hermione, landing her fist on the table and making Kingsley jump in the process. "You truly expect us to believe that? That it was just a coincidence? That the fates chose you out of all people to magically heal?" Kingsley subtly placed a hand on her back to help her calm down, but Hermione was too far gone to notice how red her face was or how dramatically her body was shaking. "It's too good, not even you are insane to think you deserve it."
"I think you spit on me," said Bellatrix calmly, Hermione pointed her wand at her.
"HOW. ARE. YOU. DOING. THIS?"
"I'm not-"
"BULLSHIT!"
"Miss Granger, that's enough!"
"Shh, Shackebolt, don't spoil this. This is the most fun I've had in years!"
Hermione sent a curse in Bellatrix's direction, almost sending the chair back and hitting the witch with a loud, thumping sound. Bellatrix grunted at the contact, but the pain did little to kill her smile.
"Oh, Minister, you really picked a good one," the dark witch muttered, and Hermione noticed her lip had started to bleed. "I'll admit, Granger. I thought you didn't have it in you."
"How are you doing this?" Hermione questioned again, ignoring Bellatrix's compliments.
"I'm not."
"Who are you working with?"
"Nobody."
"Don't make me curse you again!"
"Then don't! I'm telling the truth, damn it!"
Hermione prepared to send another spell, but Kingsley interfere before she could do so. "Miss Granger, she won't be any use to us unconscious, or dead. I brought veritaserum for a reason."
"Oh, that's no use. My Master taught me how to be resistant to it," interjected Bellatrix. Kingsley stared back in awe, likely wondering why Bellatrix would admit to such a thing if the potion could prove her innocence.
"Please, you're just saying that so we won't use it on you," said the man once more, retrieving the small vial from his robes. Hermione remained with her wand pointed at Bellatrix, sickened by the fact that, at least when it came to the potion, Bellatrix was most likely right. Occumelns were known for being able to resist the liquid's effects, and she wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort had taken it upon himself to teach his most valued supporter how to hide her secrets even under its control.
"Please, try all you want, I don't care. It's all the same to me. I'm only saying it now so she won't say it after I've taken the potion and she still doesn't believe me," Bellatrix rolled her eyes, missing Kingsley's seething look as he placed the vial back in his pocket. "You two came to hear me speak, yes? Well. Sit down, and listen for more than a second before you start trying to kill me for a second bloody time!"
Kingsley shook his head, ready to deny her request. But Hermione surprised them both by sitting back down on her chair, wand still pointed at Bellatrix. "Fine. Speak."
"Hermione, you know-"
"Yes, I know she'll lie," Hermione said with seemingly no regard that she was interrupting her superior. "I still want to listen to her," more importantly, she wanted to see what holes she could find in her story. Those she could use to force the answer out of her. But she wouldn't say this with Bellatrix there listening to them. Reluctantly, the Minister sat back down, nodding at the madwoman so she could begin.
"Finally," the older woman breathed out. "I didn't believe it at first either. Frankly, I thought I'd gone mad. Or that I was starting to hallucinate. But then my scars started healing, some overnight, others took longer. There were scars that I'd had since I was a child that just...they're gone. For good, probably. And I know it couldn't have been a guard or another inmate. It was just...like that. Magic."
"That's not how healing magic works, you know that," countered Hermione.
"Not the one you're taught at Hogwarts, or the one they practice at Saint Mungo's, no. This is dark magic. Possibly from a ritual, the likes of which I only knew my Master to be capable of." Bellatrix's words came out as nothing more than mutterings as she delved deep into her thoughts, with her mouth in a frown and eyebrows furrowed.
"So you think your Master is coming back and that this is all a sign that he's here to help you escape once more. That healing you and restoring your youth is a reward for everything you went through for him." Truth be told, despite Hermione's doubtful tone, it was a theory that she couldn't shake away from. His body had been destroyed before, and he'd come back. They could be facing the same situation, if only with a slightly different strategy. Still, this was not something she wanted Bellatrix to be aware of.
"My master would never do this to me!" Bellatrix exclaimed, sounding like Hermione had accused him of abusing her rather than healing her injuries. The only time she'd ever seen the older witch so offended and defensive had been when she'd said Voldemort's name out loud. "He was brilliant, he knew better! He never… this is the last thing he would ever do!"
"You mean help his followers?" Asked Kingsley, adding an "I don't doubt that," under his breath. A comment that Bellatrix didn't seem to hear.
"HELPING?! This… this is torture!" Screamed Bellatrix. "All of the scars that I've lost, each and every single one of them, were his doing. His marks. Memories of my past failures and reminders to never let them happen again. That was part of his teachings. We all knew none of us were to heal them. Their pain was there to guide us, to lead us into victory," Bellatrix muttered incoherently to herself, mourning the loss of her scars. Hermione took the time to peruse the images of her body, those that had been taken when she was sent to prison the second time, and those that were taken once the investigation had begun. It was true. She still had some scars that hadn't changed - mainly the smaller ones, those that were likely from small incidents. But the more gruesome ones, those that badly disfigured her flesh with angry, vivid lines, often one over the other giving her flesh a grotesque raised look. They had vanished completely. Leaving behind nothing but smooth, unmarred skin. The only notable mark that remained were the lines around her wrists and ankles where her ankles had rested for so many years and, of course, her Dark Mark. Looking as healthy as the day she'd been caught.
"To erase his memory from my body would be a betrayal. I would rather die," she declared with pride and, as much as Hermione hated to admit it, honestly. "Whoever is doing this, they are as much of an enemy to me as you and your friends are."
"Yes, well, they're an enemy to us too. So what side would you place them in?" Hermione countered, trying her hardest to push Dumbledore's wisdom about not everything being completely black or white out of her mind. Anything to hurt Bellatrix's argument. "How do you explain the dead inmates? Or the Dark Marks in muggle villages?"
"Dead inmates? Who died?" Asked Bellatrix, genuinely taken back. "Was it my husband?"
"That's classified," pronounced Kingsley as Hermione went over the aforementioned murders. All of them Death Eaters that had deserted the final battle and had hidden before being discovered by Aurors.
"Well then, I don't know about that. Nor the Dark Marks in the villages. Though I could tell you that, unless there was an attack in said villages or someone of particular importance in them, the marks were likely just there to distract you. We did it all the time to confuse the Ministry, back during the first war."
"Why should we believe you?" Asked Kingsley, "You've never been this cooperative before."
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, remember?"
"What about this?" Hermione slid a photograph towards Bellatrix as she spoke. One of Draco's mark after the scar had transformed. The dark witch stared at it, mesmerized, as Hermione droned on. "I've only seen that skull once in my life, and it was around your neck. You're telling me your enemy is the one that revived the Dark Mark you love, to look like your necklace, in your nephew's arm?"
Bellatrix could only stare at the pictures in shock. "I'm being framed."
Hermione scoffed. "Why would anyone bother framing someone who's already serving a life sentence?"
"Distract you, maybe. Just as with the dark marks in the villages. I would never do this!"
"Right," said Kingsley, pushing his chair back so he could stand. "Next you'll say that you didn't torture the Longbottoms either. Let's go, Hermione. We can come back with more veritaserum, or a different potion, but we're not getting anything out of her today."
Hermione started following Kingsley towards the door but stopped when Bellatrix began speaking once more. "Wait!" She shouted, and Hermione turned to face the agitated woman. Bellatrix's arm started moving, much to the concern of the other occupants in the room. The wires keeping her lied to the chair began moving frantically, wrapping around her arm and digging their thorns into her skin to stop her from moving. However, predictably, it did little to deter the woman's motions. Even as her skin tore from the friction and blood cascaded down her boney arm, she continued, until she was able to grasp the thin fabric covering her right arm with her left hand.
Kingsley swore, opening the door for the guards to come and apprehend Bellatrix before she could do something dangerous. Whilst Hermione could only stare in awe and horror, waiting to see what the woman had in mind. It was only a fraction of a second before Yolanda ran inside, pointing her wand at Bellatrix to make her bindings even tighter and restricting her movement altogether. From what little skin Bellatrix had managed to expose, and beneath the dirt and fresh blood, laid her relatively undamaged skin.
Completely free of the Dark Mark, and with no scars to show it was ever there to begin with.
"How did you-" Hermione started, but Bellatrix beat her to it.
"I didn't," the woman said, panting from the pain and physical effort. Staring ahead with pure hatred. For the first time, not directed at Hermione, but at the unknown entity that had stolen what she loved most from her body. This was a woman who would give up her life before willingly parting with the symbol that linked her to her deceased Master, Hermione knew this well.
"Granger, when you find the fucker who did this, you make them suffer."
"That's enough, Lestrange!" Said both Kingsley and Yolanda at the same time. The Head Warden twisted her wand, forcing a pained grunt from Bellatrix.
"PROMISE ME!" The witch screamed, "PROMISE ME YOU'LL MAKE THEM PAY! PROMISE -" her speech was cut short by Kingsley's spell, which had finally managed to render her unconscious. The man hurried to Hermione's side, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he said, his hand tensing on her shoulder as he tried to assess her mental state. It was only then that Hermione noticed she had been holding her breath.
"Yes, yes, I'm - I'm fine," she lied. "Do you think she's telling the truth?"
"No," he answered firmly. The pair stared as Yolanda, along with another guard, levitated the unconscious Bellatrix away - presumably back to her cell. "She can't be. But I don't think she's doing this herself, either. There must be someone else. Someone close enough to know how to frame this in a way that would allow her to present as an innocent."
Hermione nodded, though not entirely convinced. She knew Bellatrix to be capable of things she couldn't even fathom, but she never would have expected she would go as far as to remove the mark her Lord had left her with. The one she had so proudly displayed during her trial to an astonished public as she boasted about her everlasting connection to the dead man.
"I will forever be his most faithful!" she'd said, all those years ago. "His power will forever be with me! There! In my skin! Unwavering! As is he in the world! You'll see! You'll see!"
"To think I ever considered her family" Andromeda, watching her sister and the murderer of her daughter being dragged away in chains, had remarked. The older woman spat on the ground in an incredibly unladylike manner the likes of which she'd only seen from Tonks. "She's pathetic." Hermione, sitting next to her, couldn't agree more.
No, Hermione decided, it simply wasn't a symbol that she would ever willingly remove from her body. Nor was it one she would allow anyone to meddle with, not voluntarily, at least.
"I want to look into her claim," Hermione stated much to Kingsley's shock and displeasure. "Just in case, I want to explore every possible lead. No matter how insane."
"I don't think that's wise," sighed Kingsley. "But if you think it's necessary, know I'll be there to help. No matter what."