"Hello" -Normal speech.
'Hello' -Thoughts
"Hello" -Parseltongue.
Rest In Peace...Never
I can't be sure of what happens in the following months.
Well, I assume it's a few months, based on the snippets of conversation I'm able to grasp between constant hunger pains and fitful rest.
("Sleeping like a baby" is a completely misused saying. The smallest noise is able to wrench myself wake, as easy as it is to fall back asleep once it's quite again. It's both fleeting and the longest thing ever, with the many interruptions yet not having the energy to do much else.)
My body felt like led, mind muddled, ears filled with water and vision as bad as the nearly blind.
Then comes the sharp, aching pain in my gums, and it's the most awful thing ever. I cried, a lot.
It was as if my mouth was on fire, a never ending hell that could only be temporarily soothed by the cold and the chewy.
Fortunately, as never-ending as it seemed during the time, it did eventually stop, and around that time I was able to stay awake longer.
By vision was still horrible -couldn't truly make out objects two feet away from my own face- but I had enough wits about me that I could recognize that adults surrounded me, filtered in and out with few constants.
I pieced together who exactly the blurry impressions and loud voices were based on the conversations, and, oh, when I did-
'I'm going to kill him,' I think to myself grimly.
'Not the Devil' and 'not unfair deal' my screwed behind!
I don't even care that He's Death Himself. That He's an immortal, peerless being and could quite possibly send me to Hell if there is one.
Because this -what He's done- is not cool, and He's a filthy, dirty liar!
"Is the wee darlin' hungry?" A voice so sickeningly sweet fills the previous silent room, the same time dread pools in my stomach.
'Oh, God, she's back,' I despair, actually, once again, weeping at the injustice of the world.
Is this Karma? If Death, Fate and the Devil are their own beings, is Karma too? Is this the price for my past sins, or just accepting a deal with Death in general?
The lady coos, gently picking me up while cradling the back of my neck and the bottom of my bum, lifting me out of my crib. I'm completely, utterly helpless as she tucks me close to her chest and nudges a bottle nipple against my mouth.
'Well, at least she no longer tries to breast feed me,' I console myself as I regretfully suck. Yes, at least there's not that, even if I still have to endure the humiliation of having my diaper changed multiple times a day. It's a cold comfort.
After I've downed the bottle she positions me to burb me, then squeezes my crutch as to check my diaper.
"How is she?" Another lady walks into the nursery, my supposedly new Aunt.
"Just finished feeding the little tyke," the first lady answers. "Where is everyone else?"
"The Dark Lord is discussing plans with Nott, Rodolphus, and Avery in the study, while some others along with Lucius went out."
"I see."
I feel my recently filled stomach roll, some milk rapidly raising in my throat over being suddenly moved, the lady -I refuse to call her Mum, no way, no how- having just stood up.
I force the milk back down as I'm re-positioned so that my head is resting in the crook of her bent elbow, her strong arm curled underneath and around my tiny body.
"I don't think it would be a good idea to bother them right now-"
"Don't be ridiculous! I am the mother of his child, it will be fine!"
'Oh, no,no, no, no-!' I started fussing, squirming in her tight hold the best I can. I stare up at her, and the blurry mess of her curly dark hair and the extremely faint details of her face, begging her not to.
Not again.
"Ssssh, be quite now, Hecate. We're going to visit your Father!" She tells me cheerfully.
'I know! That's what I'm afraid of, you absolute mad woman! Let go! Let go, you hear me?!'
Unfortunately she turns a deaf ear to my complaints, absentmindedly rocking me as she pays no more attention to the second lady's words of caution.
'I should have spat up when I had the chance,' I think bitterly. She wouldn't be trying to get me to 'bond' with the horrible man if I came smelling of baby vomit. (It has a special smell to it.) I know, because I once simultaneously crapped my pants and threw up my dinner the first time I realized who my new father is as he held me in his cold hands, in a horrible combination of being terrified witless, feeling sick to my stomach, and having been moved too fast.
I didn't see him again for another three weeks. (And it was the happiest three weeks of this cursed second life.)
The second lady stops following when we get too close to the study, and once arrived the first lady confidently knocks on double french doors twice.
"Who is it?" An icy voice demands from the other side, and I shiver, burrowing closer into the lady's embrace despite myself.
This close, I don't dare wail. I can still recall his terrifying glare as he stared down at me during my second visit. Visions and possibilities of what he could do to me haunt my sleep, and the last thing I want to find out is if he'd dare to act on them if I were to push him too far. Even if I only am a baby.
"Bella, my Lord," she answers proudly.
There's a pause. "Come in."
Bella opens the door with her free hand before waltzing in, without a lick of fear and shame, as she continues until she's at the horrible man's side.
He's tall, with sweeping dark hair, a strong jaw and probably very handsome indeed, but those bleeding eyes, eyes the colour of crimson and blood- they stare into my very soul, so cold and unfeeling despite the colour, shaking me to my core. It only lasts a second, only a fleeting glance really, before he turns back to his stacks of paper, but a glance too long all the same.
The other three men -Death Eaters- quickly excuse themselves, leaving just the three of us and the grand desk cluttered with maps and plans.
'For world domination, no doubt.'
"What brings you here, Bella?" There is no warmth in his voice, yet she beams as if he told her that she was his most precious treasure.
"Hecate just woke up from her afternoon nap, my Lord, and she and I missed you most terribly."
'No, no I did not!'
He sits down gracefully on his cushioned chair, considering Bella with an unreadable expression.
We both hold our breath.
"The blood traitors have missed you on the battlefield," he finally comments neutrally.
I can feel Bella's barely restrained, bubbling excitement in the way she squeezes me tighter. "Of course, my Lord. It would be an honour to serve you on the battlefield once again," she says breathlessly.
The Dark Lord -Voldemort himself- smiles cruelly, in dark satisfaction, and holds out his arms.
Bella is all too happy to give me up.
'Definitely killing Death next time I see him!'
I hate Narcissa. I hate her so much.
"Don't eat her," Voldemort tells Nagini, not even bothering to look up from his desk.
I eye the large snake warily, so close that I could touch it if I stretch out my foot or hand. I don't dare move from even an inch from the tiny corner I've been blocked in.
"Of course, master. I will not harm master's hatchling," she hisses, coiling herself closer around me.
I flinch, bringing my short stubby legs closer to my person. 'How did I end up here again?'
Right. The insane Bellatrix, and the spineless Narcissa that's who. Bella being officially off 'maternity leave,' and Narcissa playing 'sick;' there isn't anyone else to watch me while raids and attacks are being run.
Well, a few other Death Eater wives offered to babysit me of course, but Bella's trust issues aside, she's dead-set on forcing Voldemort and I to bond. Which is why Narcissa is 'sick.'
With nothing better to do, I once again take note of the study. Bookshelves towering over on two of the four walls, a large arching window overlooks the Lestrange Manor's back garden. The dark wooden desk is more or less in the middle of the room, closest to the window, and with the back facing it. An ancient-woven -though still in pristine condition- covers most of the wooden floor, and other such kick-knacks are scattered about the room.
I twitch, feeling a pair of eyes burning holes on my person. They've been doing that for a while now. Despite knowing who they belong to, I find myself locking gazes with Voldemort.
He's frowning, right hand supporting his cheek as he stares at me from across the room. "You are very quiet for a child," he muses.
My mouth is awfully dry, and I can feel my wildly beating heart like a desperate, trapped humming bird. I don't know how I should react to that. If it's a good thing or not.
"I thought children were supposed to be loud," he continues to himself, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Certainly, the brats in Wool's were irritating and constantly cried."
'Does he want me to cry?' I wonder to myself, with a touch hysteria. No, no, I can still see the disgust on his face, the way his striking, crimson eyes had flashed with irritation when I cried the time I realized who exactly he was. Having been raised with children of all ages in the orphanage as he was, it's only natural that he would remember and find my controlled behaviour strange.
This body may only be five months old, but even a five months old baby wouldn't stay still nor quiet for prolonged hours like I have been. Especially not with such a terrifying, man eating snake only a few inches away from them.
(Not that I'm not scared witless, mind you. I'm simply too scared to act out.)
The question still remains, then, whether or not my abnormal behaviour is a positive. I've long since decided to stay on my absolute best behaviour around Voldemort -freaking Voldemort!- as to not draw his ire, and to hopefully be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind type of thing.
But maybe...'No, no, I can't. I shouldn't. It wouldn't work -he's a psychopath!'
Well, I can't actually remember if he's a psychopath or a high-functioning sociopath. I'm by no far an expert in anti-social disorders, but from what I do know about them, I would rather he be a high-functioning sociopath than a straight up psychopath.
Both disorders differs from neurotypical folks in the way their brains are wired, and both have extremely limited empathy and remorse -if any at all. They can both be charming and wicked smart, calculative and blend in with the neurotypical. Yet despite what they'll show others, no matter how brilliant of an actor they are, in the end of the day the only one that truly matters is themselves. Everyone else are either tools or obstacles in their life.
But psychopaths are born while sociopaths are made, and because of that key difference, it is possible for a sociopath to genuinely bond with another person. It may be a once in a blue moon type of thing, and whether that relationship is healthy or not is a different point altogether, but it is still possible.
'If I want to survive in this life, I need Voldemort to value me.' The thought puts a sour taste in my mouth, but it's unfortunately true. I can't stay replaceable in his eyes. And to do that...
Whether he's a psychopath or sociopath is up to debate, but either way, he has a few narcissist characteristics.
Like having an inflated sense of his own importance, and possessing a deep need for attention and admiration.
If I want to stay safe in this hellhole, even from the top mad dog himself, I need to do some major bootlicking.
(I can only hope that I don't end up getting myself killed in the attempt.)
My mind being made up, I do my best to ignore the anxiety twisting my insides into knots as I slowly, hesitantly begin to climb over Nagini.
'Please don't eat me, please don't eat me...'
Miraculously, I manage to bypass the giant snake unscathed, and crawl myself to the in front of his desk while Voldemort watches curiously all the while. I don't dare get closer, forcing myself once again to meet his intimidating gaze.
"Dada!" I babble, offering him a wobbly smile. I inwardly cringe.
He arches a brow at me as he leans back in his seat, and I can already tell that it's going to be an uphill battle.
Ah, frick me.
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