A/N – Thank you so much to all my readers and reviewers! I'm so sorry I haven't replied personally to you guys, but the past week has been insane. Pure madness. But I appreciate every one of you! Oh, and don't worry if you're a little confused by this chapter... you'll find out what happened in the next chapter.
ON TO
Chapter Four:
City lights overpowered all but the brightest stars and the pale moon. None of the buildings she saw were familiar to her, but that was no obstacle. Her Lord frequently sent her to unknown parts of the world to fulfil His orders. She had Apparated into a vast park with a black iron fence running around its edge. Reflected light danced the waters of a fountain, now still except for tiny ripples stirred by the wind. She laughed. Muggles were so concerned about wasting their precious energy, counting their metres like grubbing little misers.
I know this place, I do. What is happening? I've been here before, I've…
Her Master had given her detailed instructions, and she set off now to follow them. Her destination lay a short way away, a dignified establishment overlooking an avenue spotted with occasional passengers even at this hour. Most of them ignored her with the disinterest of city-dwellers focused on their own tasks, and the few who did look at her hastily glanced away. Her Lord had commanded her to dress like these Muggles, but her skeletal frame and wide, manic eyes would never blend in, no matter what she wore.
Luckily for those few, she did not see them at all but concentrated wholly on her goal. It was a face she knew well, angular and aristocratic and above all, proud. For years, she had relished the idea of reducing that well-bred and well-fed arrogance to snivelling tatters, and finally, soon, she would have that chance.
Orders from whom? What orders? These aren't my thoughts. I don't want to do this. I don't want to be here!
Not tonight, but as soon as the sun rose, she would seek him out. As with many of her Lord's instructions, she could not fathom the reasons behind some of the orders, but it did not matter.
She grinned into the warm night air. His time was coming, at long last, she thought, and did not know or care whether she meant her Lord's or her intended victim's. Her amusement was a grotesque sight to behold, black stumps of teeth in a gaping maw catching the occasional reflection of a nearby streetlight. She swept inside the hotel and barrelled down on the night clerk, who winced and tried to sink behind the desk when she saw her.
What is she seeing? What is going on? Why does she look like she's seeing the devil?
"Bonsoir, Madame," the young woman began in a quavering voice, but Bellatrix cut her off.
"Room 542," she croaked.
The clerk's dark eyes widened, and nascent tears gleamed under fluorescent lights. Bellatrix's grin broadened. So one of her Lord's other servants had stopped here earlier to leave instructions for this chit.
"Prenez-le," the girl whispered, holding out a flat rectangle as far from her body as possible. "Allez-vous en. Foutez-moi la paix." Bellatrix snatched the card and left for the lift. It was a familiar-enough contraption. Behind her, she heard a burst of murmured French in what sounded like a prayer.
In a few minutes, she stood outside the room next to hers, staring at it with a fixed grin, as if she could see her victim through the door. Scenes of past interrogations and punishments flashed through her brain, each image more exciting, more savoury than the last. The screams of pain, the blood, even the ultimate killings were just ornamentation for the most beautiful moment of all – the moment when a human spirit broke. The stronger the will, the more violent the blow, although it often manifested as a whimper of a single whispered word. In the rare cases when the victim did not break, the slow prolonging of torture held its own joy.
These thoughts, they're inhuman. I'm in the mind of a heartless, soulless creature, a slave to a greater evil. Please, oh God, I have to get out, I can't…
She hardly saw her own room at all, only imagined the unknowing victim on the other side of the wall. Let him sleep soundly tonight. He would be that much stronger in the morning to endure her offering. Bellatrix did not bother to undress or wash or pull back the duvet before falling asleep; she only did this so her Master could communicate with her through her dreams. He told her of Malfoy's transgressions and how she was to punish him. This time there would be no escape, no bargain he could make to erase his sins.
Please, I cannot bear to wake up like this. I don't know what's happening to me, but I'd rather die than spend another moment in this lunatic's head.
Her eyes opened to the grey light which precedes the dawn filtering through her wide, east-facing windows. Any moment now. She stood at the window and fixed her eyes on the horizon, waiting motionless until a sliver of gold appeared between city buildings. There. She left her room and went to knock on the door of 543.
Lucius Malfoy, already dressed and alert, answered and hissed at her to come inside before someone saw her.
"Have you come here to return my wand?"
After the girl had tossed it into the river, he had retrieved it only to have her Master confiscate it as chastisement. He could have ordered a new wand but had undergone her Master's punishment. A touching gesture, but it was not enough.
Me, that girl is ME. This is impossible. Oh, Lucius, be careful, she means to kill you. I can't stop her. I'm in her head, but I can't control her.
Bellatrix brandished her own wand and pointed it at him. The first trace of fear flickered across his face as he backed a few steps farther into the room.
"My Lord is disappointed. He has perceived your infatuation with the Mudblood girl. He sees into your soiled mind. He knows that you have betrayed Him in your heart."
She glanced at his clothing and grimaced. "You look enough like a Muggle already, primping for a visit with your Mudblood lover. How appropriate." She grinned.
"Surely you can still recall your moments of glory under my Lord's command, all those Muggles you tortured and killed for the amusement. Now that you look like one, prepare to die like one."
"I am loyal," he insisted, voice still admirably controlled. "I believe that our Lord has severely underestimated the girl's potential service to us. She has been cast into exile here, isolated from her dear Order. It will take time to persuade her, but it is an indication of how loyally she will serve our Lord when I succeed. If you kill her precipitously-"
"Silence! My Lord has heard your excuses, and He tires of them. He commanded you to ring her to Him or to kill her, and you have failed to do either. He will not allow you to deny him again, as you did for over a decade. You have outlived your usefulness, Lucius, and your son has not lived up to your promises."
To her delight, his eyes slitted, and his voice lost some its icy calm. "My son is loyal, as am I! You are making a mistake, sister. I will deliver the girl as promised. I will…"
She ignored his pleas and cast a silencing charm around the room. His already-fair skin paled further, and she could see panic steal through him. His nostrils flared, and sweat broke out across his forehead and above his upper lip. He could sense his own death in the air.
"Narcissa sends her love," she said before raising her wand. "Crucio!"
Not this, please not this. No one deserves this, not even Lucius Malfoy. Stop it… I can't stop it. I'm sorry.
He fell to his knees and doubled over, as if suffering from stomach cramps. He shuddered but did not let a sound cross his clamped lips. Bellatrix decided to draw this out as long as she could – it was not an interrogation but a death sentence she was to mete out.
"My Lord was kind to send me to you," she said as she let the curse fade.
He looked up at her, hatred written clear on his face, lip curled and every muscle straining. "You're insane."
God, I don't want to kill him. I never wanted to kill him. I never wanted this! Please, let me go, let me die, let me…
She cast the cruciatus curse again until he lay curled on the floor, convulsing and gasping. For a change, she cast a levitating spell and slammed him into the decorated walls, relishing the solid thump of his limp body against the unyielding wood. She took care not to damage to room badly, as her Lord would expect her to clean up and leave no shred of her passing. Lucius was nowhere near broken, but cracks ran through his tight hold he kept on himself.
She rejoiced to see it. So long had she watched the tight-lipped smirk as he sat at her Master's right hand, so long had she heard tales of his worldly success as she rotted in Azkaban. He was much too fond of the world, was Lucius Malfoy, much too impressed with his own wealth and intellect. He had never feared and loved her Lord properly. Now he would learn, now that his death drew ever closer.
But even bruised and bleeding, he refused to scream, to beg for mercy. He grovelled to her Lord but no one else. That would change.
"I must say, you behave better under such difficult circumstances than your son. He's proven such a disappointment to all of us, even his doting mother. He inherited your pride but none of your strength."
Incredibly, he pulled himself, shaking, to his knees and then to his feet. "My son… is loyal. He is… a Malfoy." He forced out the words from unwilling, agonized lungs, but force them he did. "He will survive… he will see your broken corpse… at his feet. He will… avenge."
No, not again, please! Please get it over with! Kill him or kill me, I don't care! Just let me out of here!
She answered the pathetic threat with another crucio. And finally, he began to scream. She could not have said how long she stood over him, alternating the torture curse with violent slams against the wall or ceiling. Once she threw him right into a desk and believed him dead, so still did he lay after his head cracked a corner. But no, he still lived, protected by his ludicrous crop of white-blond hair. She was glad. No inanimate object would rob her of this sweet kill.
The sun had risen to its zenith when something went wrong. One moment she was towering over him, ready to beat him to a scarlet mess with his cane, and the next, a great weight had dropped on her back, forcing her to the ground. Bellatrix lost her wand. She struggled to free herself until the intruder almost pulled her arm out of its socket. Very well, she would bide her time. Reinforcement would be coming soon to monitor her progress.
Me, that's me, I remember, I stopped her. I – oh God, he's going to kill her. He doesn't know that I'm in here, oh no, not now…
A little ways away, she heard Lucius stand up and walk slowly across the carpet. Her wand. He was going to retrieve her wand. He must have known that she had woven a protection spell on her wand to deliver a searing jolt of pain to anyone besides her or someone she trusted – a very short list – who tried to use it.
The last words she heard were Avada Kedavra. The intruder jumped away, but Bellatrix knew it was too late for her. Her last thought before she died was a prayer of love and gratitude to her Lord and Master.
Hermione woke up with tears streaming down her face and did not know why. Nothing remained of her dream upon waking besides a nauseating sensation of infection from a pathogen she could not see.
- Take it. Go away. Leave me alone/in peace.
