Disclaimer: These characters are not mine; they are J. K. Rowling's.
WARNINGS: THIS FIC CONTAINS TORTURE, BLOOD, VIOLENCE AND FEM-SLASH! IF YOU DO NOT LIKE, DO NOT READ. NO FLAMES PLEASE!
Please review; I am a review addict. This is my first slash piece of writing. All constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading.
Naivety
All stories should start at the beginning. But there is no beginning to mine. Only vague recollections of what was before. I no longer recognise the young girl I used to be. My beginning has faded into the recesses of my mind, buried too deep for the hope of salvaging. The fact that the first eighteen years of my life were the beginning, and the rest has been a mere eighteen months makes no difference. Time is irrelevant in pain. There is no formula to link time and pain; which is why I shall not start at the beginning, it would only bring false joy and happiness to those who do not deserve it. Instead I shall start in the middle, where there can be no doubt about the darkness that lies in every one of us, one just has to release it, let it fill you until you succumb to its every wish.
It was the first touch that had been the catalyst of it all. She had never touched me before. Eighteen months of dark, cold, pain filled nights in the chamber, my chamber, and she had never laid a finger on me. I was dirty to her. Even underneath the mud, sweat, dirt and dried, stale blood I was dirty. I was a muggle lover. I had dated a half-blood, the mortal enemy of her Lord no less. Then I had fallen love with a mud-blood. A female mud-blood. I was contaminated with filth of every kind.
The details of that night, a year and a half ago are blurred. I know I was happy. Although I cannot remember the exact feeling of joy in my heart, I can picture the smile reflected in Hermione's eyes. When I smiled, she smiled. She lived, and died, for me. Not that it mattered. They still captured me. We had made the one mistake that has been made throughout generations; we relaxed. Without Riddle, it seemed as if all the evil in the world had disappeared. It is strange how after one month in the loving care of Death Eaters, all you naïve thoughts about good and evil can be completely washed away, odd how much innocence you lose, intriguing to find out just how many different ways there are to bend people to your power.
I had blearily opened by eyes to see Avery looming above me. Inside I cringed. He had been the first to take the torture to the next step. It stuck out most vividly in my mind; the restraints around my wrists and ankles, the soft rasp of his heavy breathing, the feel of his cold, soft hands against my body.
I wearily struggled to my feet. This was easier that it had been in the past. They had tired of me. I was no longer their favourite toy. They had done every single thing that their contorted minds had come up with, and I had resisted. I had not been broken. My wounds were healing faster than they could force open new ones.
As I was thrown unceremoniously to the floor, I stole a fleeting glance around the room. I was lucky today; the strip of scratchy cloth covering my eyes was absent, so I could prepare myself for today's worthless attempt to torment and humiliate me. I braced myself. I recognised the set up of the chamber. Haunted memories pushed their way into my thoughts. We were playing one of Snape's favourite games. Cho had hated it. Not that she played it often. She didn't last long, nor did Harry, Fred, Arabella or Dennis. Remus had only lasted a few short weeks; the pale glow of the moon had signified his demise, and Ron's. To my surprise Neville had held on the longest. Not that it mattered. Death had come for all of them, as I knew it would come for me. Even sweet Hermione had been taken in the end. The aftermath of the following torture session had been the worst for me. My cell was empty. There was nobody to love me, to comfort me. Never again would I feel her fingers run through my hair, comforting me when I thought there was no comfort possible.
The familiar line up of weapons send a shiver down my spine. A wand, mace, axe, knife lay in my range of vision. I knew there were many more… I did not turn my head to survey them. It was not my life that would be put in danger. It had taken Malfoy just two weeks to realise that the easiest way to break us was via others. I remember sobbing into my hands whist the six year old squib struggled relentlessly, Cho screaming hysterically by my side as the child's movements slowed, her tiny hands fumbling at the thick rope coiled around her neck.
A harsh grip I recognised as Macnair's took a hold of my head and jerked it roughly to the right. I resisted the urge to wince. My head and face had been the target of the Death Eater's animosity yesterday.
My sharp intake of breath alerted Macnair to the fact that I had sent the tiny body of a baby struggling a few yards away.
"Having fun?" He growled in my ear, tightening his strong grip on my head. "You're in for a special show today." I could hear the excitement in his voice. "Do you remember what I did last summer?"
"Of course I know what you did last summer, bastard!" My insides squirmed with the memory of that night, my body tensing slightly.
"You're not the only one who didn't enjoy my… services." I gulped. It wasn't hard to work it out. But I brought my mask back up again, staring fixedly at the wall behind the screaming infant. I was still focussing on the exact same spot as the heavy lead pipe was swiftly brought down, and the echoes of her screams rang sinisterly though the chamber.
As I was dragged towards the bloody mass, I forced myself not to feel. I found it surprisingly easy. Being cold and heartless was a survival mechanism here. I had learnt it long ago. But now I was not pretending.
"Poor child," Snape stepped into my view. He sneered down at the child, before gentle kicking it towards me, sending flecks of blood into my face. I forced myself not to react. I told myself that the warm blood soaking my knees did not matter. The blood oozing through the pale skin of the child was no different to the blood of Death Eaters. It was a Death Eater's spawn. It had bad blood.
"Are we finished yet?" I asked, levelling out my voice. "The proceedings are getting rather dreary today. Perhaps I may be more responsive to your torture if you had some originality." My voice had lost the quiver it had in the past. My eyes locked with Bellatrix's, I saw the twinkle in her eyes, the cold gaze lingering on me, before temptation overcome her and she gazed upon the growing puddle of blood, steadily trailing past me towards the dark recesses at the back of the chamber. She face lit up as another droplet of crimson fell to the floor.
"You little bitch!" A hard slap around my face opened up the month old gash. I barely flinched at all. "You're just prolonging you death, you stupid cow!" I almost smiled. Insults from Pettigrew were the nearest you could get to a civilised conversation over here. "If I didn't want you to suffer, I'd kill you right now!" This time it was a fist that came speeding towards my face, the silver glistening in the dim light of the torches. My eyes watered as my cheek throbbed. I hurriedly blinked them away. I was emotionless. I was not meant to cry. Crying did nothing to ease the situation.
"We're all going to die." My voice was like steel; I could feel the intense gaze Bellatrix gave me. "It is inevitable. It will catch up with you, Ratty." A thrill of pleasure went through me as fear flickered through Pettigrew. "And there's nothing you can do about it. You are going to meet them there you know." My heart thumped with exhilaration, I could see the pain in his eyes. I knew he regretted it. He had been responsible for all of his friends' de aths because of one ill decision. "I don't think they'll be very happy with you." I couldn't stop the smile that was brought to my lips at his fearful face. "You killed them, Pettigrew, and-"
"Crucio!"
I gave a small shriek before I shrugged it off.
"You know I'm right, Ratty, you know-"
"Stop it!" Peter trilled, his voice several octaves higher that the average man's. "I-I-I…" A malicious smirk crossed my face.
"But what can you do about it, Peter, how can you live with the knowledge that you are responsible for you best friend's deaths… and Harry's of course. Your flesh worked perfectly for reviving the Dark Lord, didn't it?" My heart raced with adrenaline. I had found his weak spot. Exploiting it and manipulating it would be easy. I had seen him and countless other Death Eaters do exactly the same to everybody I knew…
"It's all blood on your hands, Peter. How many innocent people have died since the Dark Lord returned? I, myself have seen hundreds, maybe even thousands." A brief flicker of regret passed across my face, but I squashed it. I couldn't show weakness, not now. I was so close. I could sense his growing despair and it fed my lust for revenge. "And I'm sure you have slaughtered your fair share, Peter. Was Diggory the first? Oh, wait, there was Bertha wasn't there? And, of course those thirteen innocent muggles." Pettigrew was breaking, I could see it, my eyes met briefly with Bellatrix's; I could see the ecstasy in her eyes. I could feel an odd sensation rise in my stomach. Was this happiness? Was this what I had felt when I was with Hermione? I told myself it must be; the sensation gave me energy. It was powerful. I was powerful! I craved more. "But what is done, is done, Peter. Wouldn't you agree? Thousands are dead and their blood is on your hands." My icy stare rose into his panicky eyes, which stopped darting around feverishly as he saw the expression on my face.
I could pin point the precise moment he broke. It was a magnificent sensation. A small smile flickered across my face as he drew his dagger, the dagger that had cut into my skin an infinite number of times. My smirk grew as I watched the point sink into his wrist. I was mesmerised by the blood pouring from his arm. The desperate sobs that rang through the chamber were almost melodic. With a sick surge I realised I was enjoying this. I was enjoying the mutilation. And I had caused it. I should have felt remorse, pity at the least. But instead I felt a yearning for more mutilation; a hunger for more pain.
I shakily rose to my feet and stumbled towards Pettigrew. He was staring at the dagger in his hand, enraptured by the strong flow of blood washing over his arm. I found myself staring at the glistening reflections of the torches.
I stood in awe as he drew the dagger up his arm. A small gasp of pleasure escaped my lips as it reached his heart. I didn't notice him look up at me, staring at my face. The crimson liquid soaking into his robes mesmerized me. Without thinking my arm reached out in front of me, pale and thin from lack of nourishment, purple bruises speckled up my arm. My fingers brushed against the cold hilt of the dagger. As my grip tightened Pettigrew's arms fell limp by his side.
I had control.
Pettigrew gave a whimper as the point drove a further inch into his pasty sin. My grip weakened, what had I become? Had I nearly taken his life?
I took a shaky step away, but was stopped by a firm grasp on my shoulder. Bellatrix. My eyes slowly met hers. Disappointment shone in them. I had failed.
Pettigrew sighed in relief.
With a sudden scream of fury I drove my fist forwards, plunging the dagger into Pettigrew's heart. He collapsed to the floor, me following closely behind.
I wrenched the knife from his chest. He gave a deep shuddering breath. I had missed the heart. Without thinking I plunged the dagger into his chest. And again. And again. Before I knew it I was slashing at him with the blade, each time a wound opened I felt an inexplicable delight. I could hear a hysterical laughter ringing through the chamber. Mine.
I could not tell how long it was before I was pulled from Pettigrew. I clutched the dagger close to me, as if I were a child and this was my new toy.
I let my fingers run down the blunt side of the blade. I enjoyed the silky texture of the blood through my fingers. It was magical. I had never felt this alive. I gazed upon my arms. No longer were they starkly pale, but a deep scarlet. They were beautiful. I brought my fingers to my lips. I savoured the metallic taste of the blood. My gaze rose to Pettigrew's mangled body. I longed to delve my fingers into the flesh….
A small chuckle sounded above me. My head snapped up to see Bellatrix. Snape, Avery and Macnair were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Pettigrew.
I dropped the dagger, the harsh clatter echoed sinisterly. Rising to my feet, I almost slipped in the pool of blood that surrounded me, but regained my balance at the last minute.
We regarded each other. Bella was an inch shorter than me now. Despite the ruthless conditions I had lived in for eighteen months, I had grown. I was no longer the naïve child I had been. I was a woman. So was she. So was Hermione. All of a sudden the desperate surge for human contact washed over me. The emptiness that had been left after Hermione had been ripped open. I tensed; my heartbeat grew faster. A tingling sensation swept over me. Both Bellatrix and I shuddered. A small gasp escaped my lips.
I was frozen to the spot, caught in those dark, glistening eyes. My breathing became heavier, occasionally hitching in my throat.
A pale, spidery hand caressed my cheek. Unable to stop myself I leaned into he touch, desperate for the human contact.
The next thing I knew, I was in her gentle embrace, running my hands down her back, hungrily absorbing the human contact that told me I was real. It was so exhilarating. Tears were pouring down my face, mixing with the blood and stinging my many wounds. I choked back a sob. It was beautiful, breathtaking, and majestic. All thoughts of Hermione were driven from my head. Hours passed in the blink of an eye; each of us desperately kissing as if all life depended on it. Clinging to each other in a sea of hurt and anguish. Unable to break from our passionate embrace.
Caught in the passion, my hand slipped up Bella's robes, gently caressing her stomach, slowly rising higher and higher… A soft moan escaped my lips as I felt a cold hand worm its way down my trousers, slowly snaking its way downward.
How long we stood there, gently caressing each other I do not know. How I found myself naked in Bella's arms I cannot say. However I stripped Bella of her precious Death Eaters robes is something I cannot remember.
I pulled myself closer into Bella, savouring her warmth in the cold chamber, lapping up the tender kissed she planted all over my body, returning my own, just as passionate, possibly more so. The trembles that ran through my body were no longer through the cold or pain. I marvelled at he smooth, velvety texture of Bella's skin, the shapeliness of her curves, the sound she made as I stroked her. And she returned what I gave with even more fervour. I became lost in her pale milky skin, unable to control the movement of my hands, unable to conceal my wonder as her hands explored my body and mine gently massaged hers. I could not get enough, I wanted more, and I needed more. And she obliged.
I had barely felt the knife penetrate my skin when Bella pulled away from me. My tears of joy turned to tears of loss and need as she retreated from the chamber, laughing softly, a trace of disgust laced with the mirth. My desperate calls, begging her to return went unanswered.
It was only after Bella was engulfed in darkness that the gut-wrenching pain materialised. My throat was throbbing, my lungs in deepest anguish. But the deep ache was nothing compared to the screaming agony in my heart. I no longer cared that Bella had used me, tricked me and deceived me. I could not bring myself to be ashamed for abandoning Hermione.
All I knew was that Bellatrix Lestrange had been the one to rip away my innocence. Bellatrix Lestrange had successfully robbed me, Ginny Weasley, of my last shred of naivety.