Bellatrix Lestrange was the sort of woman no witch or wizard could hold to the proper standards of pure-blood aristocracy. She was not dressed like the wizarding elite, she did not carry her hair piled high upon her head nor adorn her neck with precious jewels and yet every eye remained steady upon her as she took to the staircase with a painfully confident air. Each step, slow and meticulous, seemed painfully loud in the thick silence that blanketed the ball room, but no one dared to break it-whether by cough or the clink of expensive glasses against metal rings. She held them all entranced, His favored Second, with only a twisted smile.
So wild, she was, so unrestrained and primal. From the wild curls that flowed like raging waters down her shoulders and back to the black dress-oddly plain and yet still appropriate for the occasion-that clung to her like a second skin. Nothing had changed in her demeanor, nothing had dampened the suffocating authority she wielded without effort, and time had only aged her flawlessly filling out a slender war-sleek body until it represented the weapon it had been meant to become. So feminine, and yet perfectly crafted.
She was so horrifyingly beautiful, and she had no right to be.
That was what terrified Hermione most. Not her bubbling laughter, which spilled from her lips like poisoned wine or the wicked tongue that was drawn across her perfectly fixed and functional teeth. Victory had only made her shine with renewed life and vigor, even six years later her eyes still twisted with the building tempest of a barely maintained sense of sanity.
How ? How could this woman still be alive? How could this woman still seem so painfully vibrant while she'd been dulled and emptied?
Did she remember?
Was that what kept her going? The sounds of those whom had fallen beneath her clawed fingertips, screaming and writhing? The memory was so powerful, still powerful, and haunting in its nature. Yet, over the years it had become something more, something she refused to acknowledge when she woke, screaming and covered in sweat.
Such a shame that all that wickedness was stalking down the stairs and toward her.
She was trapped, held still like some trophy by the Dark Lord whose cold fingertips remained wrapped possessively about her wrist. Slowly, He lowered her arm, while His chest rattled with a sound that barely registered beyond the buzz of Hermione's ears. His lips pressed thin as the dancing lanterns cast shadows across His face yet there was a defining lack of displeasure reflected in the glow of His crimson gaze.
He was curious, as curious as any other wizard or witch in the space, while Hermione only held one major all-consuming emotion in her being.
Was the flare of Bellatrix nostrils purposeful? Or could she smell the terror that oozed from her skin? Could she hear the thick flow of her blood as it pumped from her beating heart and into her veins? Adrenaline still clung to her like magically-enhanced cloth but she didn't dare rip her arm away from the Dark Lord's grip, no matter how loudly her natural instinct screamed at her to run or fight.
Run or fight.
Run.
"Bellatrix," He said, His chilling tone somehow soothing against the tempest of discomfort that twisted through her belly. She was His… Firstborn. Surely, if only due to that, she had little to fear?
Or maybe, everything to fear because of it.
"My Lord," She purred, her bow impossibly deep, her reverence sincerely humble. It was startling, to see such devotion expressed so easily in another's body language. Though Lucius had bowed so low his lips could have been metaphorically on the ground he hadn't seemed raw, real in his servitude. Yet, somehow Bellatrix was and it did nothing to lessen the impact of her authority.
She was dangerous, but tamable, if only due to His overwhelming presence.
"Rise," He answered simply and Bellatrix rose smoothly, standing tall with hip cocked and hand resting casually upon it.
For a moment silence reigned and no more bids echoed across the room. If anything, there was now a suspicious amount of space between her little party and the other guests. Now, among an ocean of eyes, they became the center of attention. Her, the Dark Lord, and the woman who often plagued her dreams. Only Narcissa and Draco seemed unafraid, or maybe unaware of the space the Dark Lord had quietly commandeered.
And Luna, who stood nearby with brows quirked so high she looked perpetually surprised.
"You wish to court my Firstborn?" He broke the silence, His voice a careful whisper saturated in curiosity.
"I do," Bellatrix answered plainly, her own tone steady as her gaze flickered toward the crowd, "I'd say I'm rather worthy."
Nonsense, none of the beasts that clawed and clamored for Voldemort's attention were worthy . Especially not… not-
"You are my greatest," He commented casually.
"That I am," She answered, somehow making the statement seem incredibly truthful without attached arrogance.
"And Rodolphus?"
To that question Bellatrix gave a careful tilt of her head, her gaze of brown no longer set to wander about the crowd but now leveled directly upon Hermione. She shivered as they raked down her form, so dark and deep among the flickering lanterns that she feared she'd fall and drown. "Separated, as you know, my Lord. We were partners, but that partnership has run it's course."
As if privy to some inside joke the Dark Lord chuckled, His raspy laugh enough to inspire a few other nervous titters throughout the crowd. "Then you would court her as…?"
"Black, my Lord. Bellatrix Black."
The light titters in the crowd transformed into babble, their screeching questions and cries of 'that's not terribly fair!' impossibly loud to Hermione, who found herself still trapped within the magnetic pull of Bellatrix gaze. The loud astonished roaring felt like sandpaper, dry and raw and set to rub the inside of her skull until she could barely formulate a coherent thought. It was all so terribly tedious, their sudden whining, especially when one considered it was not their life Bellatrix's unwanted attention impacted.
"My L-lord," Hermione stuttered, hoping her voice was heard over the crowd as her teeth clamped tight and her jaw began to ache, "This is… I do not deserve-"
"You are correct in that," Voldemort replied, though He spared her no gaze. She cringed at His tone, so dry and impossibly factual, as if she were still some child, in comparison to Him, who knew nothing about the affairs of adults or her betters, "You are not yet deserving."
Hermione parted her lips to speak, but Voldemort merely tightened His grip, crushing her words within her mouth as He playfully squeezed the flesh and bones that made up her wrist.
"Silence, my dear. You mean to say you do not deserve to be treated as meat, do you not? I find our opinions are slightly different. You are not deserving of much, perhaps not even my attention… and yet you shall receive all that I have to give, even if the manner in which I give it is… disagreeable."
His words were so loud to her, as if He were not merely speaking but had invaded her mind. He was a worm mingling in with her thoughts, picking and plucking out the pieces that caused Him displeasure and idly examining each with curious fancy.
And here she was, no great practitioner of Occlumency and not exactly sure if she was being merely paranoid and easily readable.
He gave nothing away, no hint as to whether He could hear her every thought but He did stop the complaining crowd with only a sigh and a raised palm.
"My my, such spirits tonight." He commented casually, but those that had once spoke abruptly now seemed incapable of speaking at all. Whether magic or fear held them back Hermione wasn't certain, "Do you hear their displeasure, Bellatrix?"
"I do," The woman answered, but her attention, her focus, those eyes , were all for Hermione. For all she knew the older woman might have believed there was no one else in that room and no need to bother caring about their so called displeasure. "I will not take back my petition. This one, this one is mine. "
Hermione hissed softly, with narrowed gaze and thumping heart, a sound that seemed just enough to make Bellatrix quirk a brow before something wild flickered in her gaze. It wasn't long before that smile, that haunting grin, split her lips once more and in that moment Hermione knew… she knew this woman was still incurably mad.
Yet, there was something else there too. Some new found twisted intellect that mixed incredibly well with the ferality that was His greatest warrior.
"Then who am I to prevent such a union? You will court her appropriately?"
"Ah yes yes, my Lord. I am extremely appropriate."
Somewhere behind her, she swore she heard Narcissa snort.
"I am very much the traditionalist." Voldemort stated, "Our old ways must be preserved."
"Of course, my Lord." Bellatrix replied, while Hermione practically ground her perfect teeth, hating the mystery behind phrases and pure-blood traditions she'd never bothered to study.
"Then I shall allow it, your petition." He stated plainly, and the crowd seemed to ripple with the finality of the words as Voldemort extended their joined hands-or rather Hermione's limp hand as it hung from her trapped wrist in His mighty grip-toward the older woman whose very breath seemed to rush from her in great pants of excitement over what was no doubt some magnificent honor given to her by the Dark Lord.
Then a screech of rage, one so sudden and raw that even the Dark Lord seemed taken aback by it's existence. It did not come from her, no matter how heavy the twisting heat in her chest made itself, nor had it come from Bellatrix, whose eyes were wide and focused beyond her shoulder.
No, it came from the horrendously dressed and now thoroughly wrinkled Umbridge as she shoved her way to the front, rudely knocking over a few patrons who cried out in indignation at her appalling behavior. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, twisting her neck in a manner that was nearly painful in her desperation to see what was going on behind her, while Bellatrix stood at her front with face twisted in outrage and teeth slick with spittle on full display-so perfect, they were, who did them?
Behind Umbridge, left alone in the cleared path of her destruction, stood Thicknesse with a face so red and flustered it seemed swollen and bright in the darkness. Yet, he was slow to follow her-and even slower to mumble apologies to those she had knocked aside.
Voldemort, for the most part, remained an unimpressed statue at her side. Maybe He was curious about her antics, maybe He was livid. Hermione found herself a bit of both, unsure as to why she was so unhappy with the disruption but knowing that this woman would do all she could and more to humiliate her, even if it meant disrupting the Dark Lord's unnecessary ceremony.
With a grotesque sneer Dolores raised her wand and without any preamble or hesitation she pointed it in Hermione's general direction.
" Avada Kedavra! "
Hermione wasn't sure she had ever heard something yelled so fervently. No, that wasn't correct. Bellatrix had no doubt screeched at her with just as much passion, so many years ago, in the very same manor. This time, however, it was not some simple torture spell that was being flung in her direction. It was bolt of green energy, all fire and focused potential, meant to collide with her person and snuff out her existence. Yet, the impact was redirected. It streamed forward, aimed sloppily and yet controlled enough for its intended purpose but she was moving, being yanked away from the Lord with such force and power that she felt her feet lift off the ground. There's no scream from Hermione, no startled gasp or sound of shock, only a grunt as she felt her back smack into soft flesh. The wild green energy streamed past her, just barely missing a strand of hair as it spiraled toward the crowd. There had been sound-screams, yells, the scraping of wood against no longer perfect floors-and the green light splattered harmlessly against the overturned wood of what had once been a full banquet table.
People were moving, shouting, but Hermione's vision was blurry and her mind slow. The Dark Lord stood impassively, watching the commotion with an expression that might have been fury mixed delight while Bellatrix stood behind her. No, stood wasn't the right word. She wasn't simply standing. She was pressed against her, holding her impossibly tight with arms wrapped possessively around her center and her head rested against her shoulder while the heat of her breath lightly tickled her ear. She felt flushed, angry, and terrified yet beneath that swelled a sensation of unwanted warmth. She found it hard to describe, she couldn't tell apart this sudden adrenaline rushing need. She wanted to run-no, to fight, she was tired of running-but the other part of her body wanted to melt. The embrace was so terribly familiar, and her skin practically ached with remembrance. She swore she felt the scar of her arm throb, but other parts of her were waking up in the same manner.
But why? Why?
She clutched her wand in her hand as chaos continued to reign about them and found it difficult to suppress a shiver when Bellatrix turned her smirking lips ever so slightly against the side of her neck. "I've got you, pet."
"There's no need," Hermione replied, but her voice was barely more than a throaty whisper. "I can handle myself."
"I suppose there is a great deal to handle," Bellatrix replied, her tone light and airy despite the mess that continued around them, "But I'm reluctant to let you go. You were, after all, nearly assassinated by-"
Here Bellatrix paused, if only to direct her gaze to the chaos before them. Umbridge had been jumped, almost literally, by several wizards-one of which was Draco and… was that Greyback?-and while she squirmed and drooled beneath them a huffing Thicknesse was dabbing sweat from his brow.
"-...That. That. What is that? Who is that?"
Hermione took a slow breath and tried to ignore the tickle of Bellatrix breath as it rushed past her ear, soft and conspiratory as if the pair of them had always been familiar school gals and not, at some point, mortal enemies. In a way the comparison wasn't entirely wrong. They were a familiar pair and other than age and perhaps, also height for Hermione felt half a head taller than the older witch, nothing had changed. Not the chaos anyway, only the people involved.
"That would be Dolores Umbridge," Hermione answered, thrown off by a combination of confusion, anger, indignation, fear and… and… something hot, something liquid and to real. "I didn't expect her hatred of muggle-borns to run so deeply."
"Firstborns," Bellatrix chirped, friendly as she nuzzled Hermione's bare shoulder, " It would be otherwise if you weren't True, so says our Lord, and He has claimed your blood runs thicker than we originally expected. A poor mistake, but the drivel of the past will not impact the Dark Lord's future."
"You believe that? Him?" With a nervous lick of lips Hermione watched Narcissa step gracefully around the tumbling cluster of well-dressed wizards and one struggling Dolores. Though her expression was rather composed there was something akin to wild fire dancing in the depths of her normally chilling gaze.
"With every fiber of my being," Bellatrix answered, though her tone was husky, ominous in presence and timber. "And so shall you, whenever… this is done."
Narcissa moved to the Dark Lord's side, her voice casual-as if the revel wasn't devolving into a strange disaster-while she wordlessly commanded the overturned banquet table to right itself with a delicate swish of a wand holding hand. "My Lord."
"Yes, Narcissa?" He spoke, His tone only betraying a hint of amusement but not much else.
"I apologize for this… this-"
"Fiasco?"
"Yes, my Lord." Narcissa's face wrinkled in disgust as the cluster of wizards hauled Dolores to her feet. She was panting, face red and blotchy with clothing askew, but her gaze was fierce.
"Do not. It was anything but. This event has been very fruitful and the night is still young." With a soft whisper and a flourished bow of robes and back He leaned over to gently grasp Narcissa's hand. Hermione stared at the pair with wonder while Bellatrix seemed to hum with an infectious energy, but it was Voldemort's actions that captured Hermione's attention. He delivered a kiss to the back of Narcissa's hand and the woman seemed to stand straighter for it. Gone was the obvious displeasure instead replaced by the normal cold mask, but something had softened in her eyes, some reluctant spark of admiration and surprised.
"You are forever the most gracious host and your work continues to move us forward. Please, rest assured that I am… only mildly irritated. You will not suffer for the lack of discipline in others."
"M-my Lord," Her voice stuttered but Hermione could see her relief.
He let go of her hand then, if only to extend his own toward Bellatrix and herself. "Bring me my Golden Girl."
"Oh…" Hermione gasped, startled, when Bellatrix cackled against her ear and nipped it none-to-gently between sharp teeth.
"He means you, pet."
Then they were moving, pushing past the debris of the broken chandelier so that Hermione could be carefully placed beside the Dark Lord. She did not resist when Bellatrix took her hand, as if she were some lost broken thing, nor did she complain when she stood at her side sandwiching her between the Dark Lord and herself.
So surreal, all of it. This moment, this position… entirely to surreal.
"My Lord?" Hermione questioned, proud at the steadiness of her voice and her ability to ignore the warmth of Bellatrix hand which fit so perfectly in her own. A part of her wanted to take it from her grip, to hiss in her direction, to tantrum and scream about not being prepared enough to endure this moment and how they had no right to thrust upon her such ridiculous frivolous pure-blood notions. Yet, the other part of her, the one that thudded as heavily as her heart, stretched in her being with all the suppressed intentions she had yearned to let free for so many years.
It should not have felt so good to stand among some of the most powerful and elite. It should not have filled her with elation to be saved by Bellatrix . It should not have made her want to smirk to know that Draco, of all people, had leapt to tackle that wild hate spewing woman or that even now, while Hermione stared at the Dark Lord with wide eyes, Narcissa fussed with her clothing to make her look presentable in the face of madness.
She was beginning to love said madness.
"I hope you were properly soothed."
Hermione would not have called Bellatrix possessive hold very soothing, but she had certainly felt… secure. Extremely secure. Secured even. Unwillingly secured.
"I feel disturbed, my Lord." Hermione dropped her gaze to Dolores, who now stood trapped in the grip of invisible bonds and held wands.
"Ah, yes. This was meant to be a night of discovery and brotherhood. Instead, it shall turn into something more. Educational, mayhaps?"
He peered down at her with an emotion that was difficult for her to describe. She searched His eyes, His partially hidden face, but there was nothing but chilling depth to the red that peered at her. She felt vulnerable, exposed, naked, and powerless beneath His scrutiny and instinctively, like shaken prey, she found herself clutching Bellatrix hand within her own.
The older woman made a hissing sound of pleasure at that.
Draco broke from the crowd with a huff, his teeth on display as he sneered, "My Lord! Please, allow me to teach this woman a lesson. She attacked you!"
Narcissa didn't bother adjusting Draco's robes, but as she moved away from Hermione she did give a flick of her wand to mend his tattered tie.
"It was not me she was after," Voldemort answered, curious. "Lucius."
With his wand held at the throat of Dolores the man tilted his head, indicating that he was listening.
"I think it is time for a lesson. Please, the center floor. Draco, at my side now."
Like an eager puppy Draco scurried to the Dark Lord's side, his expression seemed strained, a mixture between excitement and nervous anticipation. Hermione knew how that felt, she was sure her own face reflected such things.
Bellatrix released her hand and instead took point behind her. Again she could feel the heat of her body, the way her fingertips danced across her exposed shoulders, and she shivered despite the angry heat that rolled-awakened and ready-through her body. What was going on with her? With this aggressive confusing… need.
The wizards half dragged half floated Umbridge forward until she was upon her scuffed boots right in front of Hermione. If Bellatrix hadn't been at her back she might have tried to put more space between them. As it was, if she wanted to, she could have reached out and touched her. How disgusting. She was sure that if it weren't for the silencing spell on Dolores tongue she might have flung spittle at her during her soundless screeching.
"She's very upset." Luna's dreamy voice swept over her and she wasn't the only one to turn and quirk a brow at her friend.
"Yes, we can see that." Bellatrix snorted, her gaze narrowed but her tone a tad… what was it? Familiar? Friendly? Tolerant?
Either way, Luna seemed focused only on her. "The pixies are back, you know."
"Luna, is now really the-"
"They're a bit eager, but you'll give them something soon I think."
Draco lifted his wand, at the ready, but Voldemort's hand stopped him from any spell flinging. It was just the fingertips and yet Draco made it look like the Dark Lord was resting His entire weight on the length of his arm.
"This is a lesson you've already learned." He said, but his gaze was all for Hermione.
She swallowed nervously and refrained from answering while Luna rocked on her heels and Bellatrix toyed with the loose strands of her hair.
"Listen well, my friends." Voldemort began, His voice loud and amplified throughout their space as a few weary witches and wizards moved closer. "Tonight we have a strand of poison. A witch without discipline, an disloyal dirtied traitor."
The crowd held their collective breath and from them Hermione could sense a strange hunger, one that rubbed against her skin and made her twitch. She could feel that very same intensity at her back from Bellatrix, who panted lightly against her neck like a barely restrained beast.
"This woman claims to be an advocate for pure-blood progression. Yet, here, before you all, she has attempted to slay the gift I've given to you."
With a dramatic sweep of His arm He motioned to Hermione, but she was frozen in place, held captive by the crowd's attention and His own.
"Lucius, was that spell meant to kill?"
It was a rhetorical question, they'd all her heard scream the incantation but he answered anyway- "Yes, my Lord."
"I did not expect such blatant disrespect this evening but that is not to say I am not prepared for it."
Thicknesse stumbled forward, but didn't dare approach the center circle where his associate remained trapped and surrounded. "My Lord, I am deeply sorry for this offense."
"As you should be." He answered, bored. "However, I am merciful, aren't I, Pius?"
"I…" He stuttered, swallowed thickly, and bowed his head, "Yes, yes of course, my Lord."
"Then, I shall not spill this witches blood tonight. We must remain united in our cause, after all, and I believe some mistakes can be paid for with discipline."
"Oh," Luna said, "He means to teach you."
Hermione might have asked her what she'd meant by that but all too soon Voldemort was motioning toward her.
"Ms. Granger."
Hermione considered taking a step forward but thought better of it. She didn't want to be any closer to Dolores than necessary even if that meant she remained under Bellatrix idle caress. "My Lord?"
"This woman has done you a great offense."
"Yes, she tried to kill me." Hermione replied, bitterly. "I'd say it's a little more than great."
From the crowd came a few deep chuckles.
"Ah, that she did, my dear." Voldemort replied, "And for that she must be punished. Her attack against your name is much like an attack against my own."
Hermione's mouth felt dry and she found it difficult to respond. Luna did so for her-
"The mighty House of Granger will not stand for this offense."
Hermione whipped her head to the side to stare at her friend with wide confused eyes.
Voldemort smiled, something entirely to pleased, "Then she must be punished by the Head of House."
With a soft squeak Hermione pointed to herself. "M-me, then? I… me?"
Events were moving to fast. She had questions, concerns-
"Yes. Swift discipline will lead to forgiveness. Pain will cleanse the blood that connects us all and erase our faults."
The crowd stirred, awakened by what was clearly a spoken mantra by the Dark Lord. It wasn't a phrase Hermione had ever heard before and it filled her with an impending dread. Pain would cleanse the blood? Would it really erase Dolores faults? Clear her name in the eyes of the Dark Lord?
"There is no salvation without pain, no forgiveness without paying us what is due. You will give her pain. That would please me and avenge our connected houses."
Hermione licked her dry lips and tried to control her hands as they shook, moist with sweat. She felt confused, her mind somewhat clouded by the implied actions she was meant to take. She knew what he wanted, she hadn't been called brilliant for a lack of obvious intellect. Yet, the conviction, the power, the true want to harm another… that had never been an aspect of her person. Survival, success, praise … those were the things that had driven her. This, this thirst for madness, this new wicked sense of Iiving and structure, was not it.
And yet she'd never felt so… so on edge, so precariously balanced between power and uselessness. She stood before a moral conundrum. Harm this woman who had harmed her or forgive her without so much of a flick on the wrist. Would that make her weaker?
She had no desire to change places with Umbridge and if it boiled down to her… torture or Hermione's survival well the answer was obvious. Dolores had brought this on herself after all, this building tension and cloud of hatred. Even before the end of the war she'd been twisted, constantly pushing for more control and power when she could barely fire off the simplest defensive spell.
She'd been such a piss-poor teacher, Umbridge. She'd been a piss-poor everything. Meanwhile, Hermione had had to struggle and scrap and fight with all her might while this woman had sat cozy and comfortable among her pure-blood brethren.
That didn't matter now though, now that Hermione was… Firstborn.
Oh Merlin, she was starting to believe it too.
"Show time," Luna whispered, her eyes alight with expectation, her smile oddly encouraging.
She wanted to tell her she couldn't do this, and certainly she shouldn't, but a part of her, that warm aggressive angry part of her was so very ready.
"You want to, don't you?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice a playful lure against her ear, "And you know what He wants, don't you? For you to learn? It's the Cruciatus Curse He wants, girl. He needs to see it, your affinity for the Dark Arts."
"This is a test?" Hermione whispered back, sure that the Dark Lord was distracted by Dolores ungraceful jerking in her invisible binds and the eager ripple of the crowd as they began to press forward. "I can't. This isn't… I'm not you."
Bellatrix resulting laugh was anything but amusing but Hermione couldn't fight off the soft sound she made when those lightly touching fingertips roughly grabbed her hips. "Silly girl, I think you are. Like me, that is. Yes, we're all a little alike. Hungry, yearning. I can ease that, you know. Yes, pet, I know what it's like. Like you're awake and still asleep. This is the turning point, it's time to wake up. You want this, His purpose, more than you realize. Do it, girl. The Cruciatus Curse, and you best mean it too."
Her breath came in huge pants, her fear perhaps apparent. How this woman could whisper such truths in her ear in the most sensual tone was unreal, but it was more frightening how easily she'd known.
"I don't need to read your mind to understand your… neglected needs, pet."
"Stop it."
"And this Dolores, is it? She's caused you such pain. Even tried to bloody kill you, so sad that you won't cleanse her of this silly idea you aren't enough."
Hermione sucked in a deep breath. It wasn't like Bellatrix hadn't tried the same thing, so long ago, and yet here they were to comfortable with one another, so comfortable.
"That's what she thinks. That's what they think. Even now, maybe even I.. haha, yes, my little Firstborn. I truly want to court you, we have such rich history after all, but there's so much more you need to do before you truly earn your status among us."
For a moment Bellatrix paused and Hermione held her breath, felt the ball of tight aggression in her chest flex experimentally as energy hummed in her veins and her mind instinctively began to go through the proper wand movements for the spell. She wouldn't use it, no, she couldn't but… it would help to remember.
"Bellatrix…" Hermione hissed, her skin to tight as the magic came to her subconscious call begging to be used.
"Hmm? You must mean it, pet. If you use it, you must mean it. I saw you earlier during your little duel, you know. So wild, I like that. It drew me in. You were alive then, weren't you?"
Hermione couldn't resist, she answered without thought. "Yes. Yes…."
"Better you than her. You have potential, girl. She just tried to snuff it. Hah, the jealous little toad."
With a snarl Hermione whipped her arm forward, her body going through the motions before her mind could catch up. " Crucio!"
She didn't yell it, not really, but she said it with such impact and passion that it seemed like an impossibly loud scream to her. She hadn't expected to mean it. How does one purposely hurt another? But Bellatrix had spurred her forward, poking and prodding at something in her being until the metaphorical leash had snapped and the magic had flown from her like a wild raging river. It slammed into her victim with enough force to knock her off her feet and she fell to the ground jerking and bucking about like a spear-run pig.
Such power, once forbidden, now felt liberating to use. It wasn't perfect, if Dolores odd convulsions and drool were anything to go by, but it was… it was there, it was real .
"Enough," Bellatrix whispered softly, her voice an anchor among the storm of suddenly unleashed emotion.
"No. No." Hermione mumbled, holding the curse-untrained and fluctuating in strength, she knew, but she just couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
Then a hand, one much stronger than her own, reached out and squeezed her wrist with enough force and intention that her hand was forced to pop open. Her wand clattered to the ground as she stood there, wheezing, watching as Dolores continued to jerk from the aftershocks and a lack of air from her silent screaming. Bellatrix held tight to her wrist, her cackle loud and vicious among the harsh silence around them but all too soon the rest of the crowd also began to whoop and holler, bloodthirsty and impassioned by Dolores torture.
"Good show!" Draco yelled as he pumped his fist in a childish manner.
Luna only gave a slight shake of her head as she bent over to retrieve Hermione's wand from the floor but she could see a solemn smile on her face.
"And you thought she'd be to weak," Voldemort commented casually.
"No, my Lord. That was Severus," Lucius responded.
Brow slick with sweat Hermione took some time to look around the blurred and warped faces of the crowd. She spotted Thicknesse, who looked only mildly put-out by the entire affair, Pansy who smiled lopsidedly, as if she had been the one to gain the Dark Lord's favor, and several other faces of amusement dotted about the crowd.
Yet, it was the Death Eaters, Voldemort's personal elite, that seemed subdued by the affair. Or rather, introspective. They watched her with various expressions of curious interest as they whispered softly to one another. Even Greyback appeared thoughtful, with his lips turned in a hard frown and his gaze upon the still twitching Dolores. They weren't congratulating her successful use of the Dark Arts on someone 'deserving'. Hell, they weren't even judging her performance. They were… staring, some at her but most at the woman she had tortured.
They truly weren't thinking about Hermione, oh no. They were thinking about how to take care of this… body, this thing she'd created, this broken woman-
"She's still in there," Bellatrix sung happily into her ear, "You're a bit to uncontrolled to be breaking minds, don't you think?"
Yet, Bellatrix didn't appear the least bit disappointed. Quite the opposite, in fact. "You couldn't do it. Not all the way. You don't know how, but I will teach you. Soon, you'll understand."
"I don't want to have to do this again," Hermione said solemnly, but her heart was still pounding and her fingers twitched as she missed the familiar weight of her wand-still held casually between Luna's stroking fingertips.
"But you will, you don't have a choice."
"I can't," Hermione swallowed harshly, trying to beat back the raging emotion that screamed she could, "I'm not the sort to go about cursing innocent-"
A hiss went off in her ear and she shivered from the intensity of it, "That one, that one there is far from innocent."
But did she deserve to be cursed so viciously?
"You did well, Ms. Granger," Voldemort said, "But there is room for improvement."
Hermione gave a shake of her head, reaching for the familiar numbness that normally kept her company but she couldn't find it. It had been replaced, overwhelmed by heart thumping excitement and a sickening sense of vengeance.
"Now you must say it," Bellatrix said as her tone quivered with something left unspoken, "Do it! Forgive her! You must complete this cycle."
She didn't understand it, Bellatrix's hastily hissed words, and yet some part of her truly did.
"I forgive her," Then after a pause Hermione hastily added, "My Lord."
"Very good," He murmured, "Remove her from the revel."
Several wizards were quick to leap forward and do just that, eager to be seen as useful.
"As for you, Ms. Granger. One can tell that you have a way with the Dark Arts."
"I wouldn't, ah, describe it as such."
"Oh?" Voldemort asked, and if He had held any hair upon his person He might have quirked a brow in her direction.
"I'm just a… fast learner."
"Adaptive."
"Very," Hermione sighed.
"Then you must be taught, but every lesson begins with a base and it is that base you are lacking."
"My Lord?" Hermione asked, though she felt cautious as if she were stepping into yet another carefully prepared trap.
Luna leaned over to whisper, almost conspiratorially. "He means to say you need a professor."
"I haven't needed, truly needed, a professor since my fifth year, and even then-"
Her hiss was interrupted by a curious click of tongue against the back of teeth. She'd nearly forgotten the Dark Lord's presence.
"T-that is to say, my Lord, that I feel there is very little I could learn from a professor at this time."
She was no longer a child at Hogwarts and couldn't see herself settled among the pure-blooded elite children there, pouring over newly published texts detailing the Dark Arts and other such advanced methods.
"It is not a traditional education I am offering." He stepped forward and Bellatrix stepped back, moving to Hermione's side in order to grip her arm none-to-gently and pull it toward the side, toward the approaching Voldemort.
"You must understand that some part of you, a very large part of you, is still very… filthy. Muddy, if you will."
Hermione cringed as she twisted her lips into a scowl of indignation, "You said-"
"I know what I said, and it is all very true. However, you are still… imperfect. You must learn and understand the meaning of pure-blood tradition."
His red gaze settled upon Luna, who gave a tilt of her head. "Ms. Lovegood will assist with that, as is her right."
Luna gave a bob of her head, leaving little room for Hermione to answer her much needed questions, "Of course, of course."
"As for the other half of your education, your purpose as the first of our new order, I will see to that. But, to understand it properly, to truly embrace this knowledge, you must learn obedience. Humility is very important, Ms. Granger and with it comes clarity. Great Britain, it crumbled beneath my authority and threatened to spring into chaos. The rabble beyond our walls, those who do not understand the peace I have brought, fight to plunge our state back into terror and mismanagement. Yet, I still reign. Do you know how I mastered control of the entire pure-blood elite?"
Distress clogged her throat and words refused to slip past her lips. Instead, the most Hermione could do was shake her head as Bellatrix lifted her arm a bit higher and ripped asunder the thin cloth that had hidden her hideous scarring, exposing the undamaged forearm above it.
"Through pain, my dear. It's a powerful motivator. They broke, each and every one, driven by fear or power but it was through pain that I cleansed them, controlled them, and once they were in pieces understanding dawned."
With a sharp laugh He drove His hand forward, slapping it down upon Hermione's forearm with a meaty startling sound. There was pain in the smack, though it was fleeting and immediately overrun by the bone chilling cold of Voldemort's skin. He clutched her, squeezed her forearm as her eyes grew wide and her breath quickened and she swore the crowd could hear her strangled chirp. Yet, they didn't look their way. They were ignored in favor of Thicknesse loud voice trying to apologize for Dolores behavior and Narcissa's chilling tone as she began to direct the house-elves to clean the broken chandelier. They were in their own little island, somewhat hidden from prying eyes by the wall of Lucius turned back and Draco's nervous shuffling. In fact, several of the Death Eaters had positioned themselves suspiciously around them.
Even Luna seemed to be perfectly placed, blocking the closest eyes from watching the Dark Lord squeeze her flesh.
"You too, must learn that though I am generous I must demand my pound of blood and flesh."
She jerked back, startled by the sudden heat that seeped into her arm from Voldemort's palm. Hotter and hotter His flesh felt until the heat turned from idle warmth to a sizzling burn. She refused to scream, couldn't scream, as His voice combed across her mind like possessive exploring fingertips and her skin felt as if it were trying to rip off her body. Still, she couldn't escape. Bellatrix was pressed close into her side, holding her still with an expression that seemed focused but calm. Out of the pair, Hermione hadn't expected her to be so controlled.
While she was losing her mind.
The scream in her throat died there, swallowed as she sucked in a great gasp as Voldemort's voice thundered across her mental landscape.
You will learn what it is to be cleansed. You will shed your Muggle-born ways and become nothing before you become something. It will be difficult, I presume, but the pain will break you of any filthy habits. You will take your suffering and know there is no relief without it. You will learn this aspect of your current curriculum among the many other tasks that I give you and when I ask for the curse again you will please me with your mastery.
Then He was gone, leaving her mind that was once so full so painfully empty that she stumbled backwards. She wasn't sure where she was, her sense of self felt fractured, wrapped around His words until all that she knew was that she must learn what she could barely understand. Arms held her up, kept her from falling onto the floor, but she wasn't sure who they belonged to. All that she knew was that the body at her back smelled good-like incense and parchment-and wasn't currently hurting her.
Not like her arm did as it throbbed and pulsed with the lingering effects of fresh magic and a twisting serpentine shape.
"Bellatrix," He spoke, His voice impossibly loud to Hermione, who still felt disorientated. "I want her taught properly. Starting immediately. I assume this won't be difficult for you? Since you will be courting her? I will send for what you need."
Then, after a pause, as Hermione struggled against the darkness that threatened to consume her she heard Him whisper-
" Break her. "