A/N: Warnings: violence, mindf*ck, noncon breath'play'.
Chapter 16: Revenge Is A Dish Best Served
It was not long after Madam Pomfrey shut the nursery door behind her and Hagrid that the soft sounds of Harry's snoring were heard. That was when the jarvey-sized lump beside him grew, pulling the covers off of the boy as it did.
Bellatrix Lestrange drew the duvet off of her head and tucked it around her torso. She studied her sleeping enemy with a mixture of contempt and anticipation. If only she could get him off of Hogwarts' grounds… Her mind reeled at the thought of this boy, the bane of her life, chained and at her mercy in the Lestrange family dungeons. There must be a way, she thought, as she traced the outline of the oddly shaped scab on Harry's forehead. It was so much larger than the beautiful little lightening bolt that used to reside there. Potter – the blasphemous, ungrateful little horror – had destroyed that which her Master had created. In doing so, the boy had apparently destroyed his own mind as well. But to Bellatrix this was nowhere near punishment enough. She wanted him to suffer. She glared at the boy, seething with hate and a desire for revenge. And then, Bellarix knew exactly what she wanted to do, for she felt it would be quite fitting for the scar that The Dark Lord had gifted to this 'Chosen Brat' was instrumental in the boy's final undoing.
Harry twitched slightly at a feather-light touch on his skin, but did not wake. Bellatrix laughed softly at his reaction and brushed her finger over Harry's scab again. "Mmmm. I think you will be my very most favorite toy," she whispered lovingly as she pressed her hand over his mouth and tapped sharply on the scabbed-over scar. Harry made a soft grunt of annoyance and Bellatrix tapped him again, harder this time, and then more lightly. Eyes still closed, Harry waved a hand – a half-hearted swat in the direction of the disturbance. At this, Bella leaned forward and bit Harry's finger sharply. Harry started, his eyes flew open as he yanked his hand back.
"Mmph!" He took a moment to try to orient himself. "Mmm – hmm?" He looked in confusion at the woman leaning over him.
"Shhh," whispered Bellatrix, squeezing Harry's jaw tightly and leaned in further. "I am going to remove my hand, Harry," she whispered directly into his ear, "and you will be very quiet, won't you? We don't want to disturb your Madam Pomfrey. She works so hard and is so very tired. Understood?"
Harry nodded slowly and Bellatrix released him. Harry immediately scowled and whispered indignantly, "Ow! Dat hurt!" He brought the injured finger to his mouth and sucked on it, frowning.
"Yes, well, sorry. I had to wake you up somehow," said Bellatrix, in poorly feigned remorse.
Still, Harry's scowl faded. He remembered this woman now, as his wits were returning to him; She had given him sugar cubes in Hagrid's hut. "Y-you don div me more sewgers, Yiwee?" he whispered in an uncertain tone.
"Oh my, what a good ickle memory you have, Hawwy." Bellatrix chuckled at the indecision she detected in his voice. That he sounded rather mixed about whether or not he wanted her 'help', bade well for the games she had planned for later. "Perhaps another time," she purred and smiled down at him, though her hooded eyes did not. "But I am going to help you fix something very bad, Harry." Bellatrix couldn't suppress a smirk when Harry's eyes widened at that.
"Wh-what you don fitz?"
"That," Bella roughly jabbed at Harry's scab.
"Ow!" Harry shrank back from the too-hard poke.
"Shh!" Bella hissed. "That 'thing' needs fixing, Harry. And the sooner the better."
"M-my boo-boo?" he asked incredulously, lowering his voice again.
"Yes," Bella rolled her eyes and took a calming breath. "Your disgusting 'owie' needs fixing, my ickle dear, before it gets worse."
"But…Pomfee say dat not can be fitzed," countered Harry, absently rubbing his fingers over the familiar rough patch on his forehead. Madam Pomfrey had told him that she didn't have a potion or spell to help make it go away.
"Well, she was wrong," said Bella firmly, but seeing the skeptical look from Harry that met this pronouncement, she hastily amended this. "Madam Pomfrey just doesn't know how to fix it." Harry still did not look convinced, so Bellatrix continued, "Of course, you must know how much she hates that ugly thing?"
Harry blinked for a moment, not quite sure that he was understanding. "Pomfee…no yike my booboo?"
"Of course not, Harry! No one likes it. They are all afraid of it. It's grotesque… and… it's full of filthy, bad blood that is turning you into a bad boy." She paused and pierced him with an accusatory look. "Didn't you know?" The resulting look of distress on her prey's face was like a tonic to Bella.
"But… but Pomfee no say dat a'me." Harry's voice wavered as he thought of how Madam Pomfrey always commented when he rubbed his forehead. And then he thought of how he had gotten Dobby to help him make pudding before dinner. He had known full well that that was wrong, yet he had done it anyways. And Dobby had even gotten in trouble for it.
"Humph! Well… I suppose she didn't want you to be afraid," Bella's thoughts raced to supply an explanation. "But Harry," she continued in a conspiratorial tone as she leaned in closely, "you should be afraid. That bad blood in your head will only get worse if it's not fixed soon. And it will make you do terrible things. Things that will hurt 'Pomfee' and 'Ahgi' and all your other ickle friends."
Harry swallowed hard and his eyes widened impossibly farther.
"Ah," said Bellatrix knowingly. "You don't want that, I see." And Harry shook his head emphatically at this. "Then you would like me to help you with this?" she asked slowly, deeply relishing Harry's obvious distress. She could see he was trying desperately not to cry as he nodded frantically in reply. A malevolent smile bloomed across Bella's face. "Alright then, Harry. I will help you," she said, gracing him with her most benevolent look.
"F-f-fank you, Yiwee," Harry sniffled.
His polite response caught Bellatrix Lestrange completely off guard. She certainly hadn't expected him to thank her, and for some reason it made her angry. She took a moment to compose herself and continued in as kindly a voice as she could stomach. "We must use a most potent magic, Harry: 'Secret Magic'. Of course, I'm sure a big boy like you knows what that means?" She graced him with an innocent look of expectation.
Harry bit his lower lip and shook his head in shame.
Bellatrix feigned a sympathetic sigh. She reached down to take Harry's finger – the one she had bitten before – and guided it in slow circles over his scab as she spoke. "We've got to pull off that ugly scab and get all the bad blood out."
Harry gave an involuntary shudder and started to pull his hand away, but the woman held fast. He knew from picking at his scabbed knee that it would hurt. He remembered that Madam Pomfrey had admonished him, but had given him a potion that took away the hurt. "Can – can't Pomfee help me wif –?" began Harry, voice trembling.
Furious, Bellatrix bent Harry's finger back mercilessly, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from the boy. She clamped a hand over his mouth again, hissing fiercely, "I told you to be quiet!" She was quite displeased to note that suddenly there was a hint of defiance warring with the fear in those ridiculously green eyes. Still, Bella forced her expression to soften. "Oh, I am soooo sorry, ickle Hawwy," she said, bringing his finger to her mouth and giving it a noisy kiss. She added in mock sincerity, which she knew the boy would miss, "I certainly didn't mean to hurt you, ickle baby." She released him and gently patted his finger with a pout of remorse. "It's just that you can not tell anyone about Secret Magic. Especially not Madam Pomfrey."
Harry's expression faded slightly. He worried his lower lip, reflecting on this new information for a few moments. Then he said, his confusion evident, "But… I 'pose tell Pomfee 'bout if my boo-boo bohver me."
Bellatrix pouted further and shook her head sadly. "Oh dear, Harry. That would be a most terrible mistake. If you tell anyone about Secret Magic, bad things will happen to them. Very. Bad. Things."
"Wh –"
"Listen to me, Harry. If you breath one word of this to Madam Pomfrey she will have to go away to a bad, scary place and she will never come back. Is that what you want?" she asked ominously. Then she softened her tone once more and cooed, "I'm sure you don't want that, ickle Hawwy, do you?"
"No!" he said at once. Her glare told him he had spoken too loudly and he pressed his fingers to his lips in a show of atonement, whispering, "No. My no…"
"Ah, then it's all settled," said Bella with a smirk of satisfaction. "Let us begin."
Harry gulped. "N-now?"
"Yes, now," replied Bellatrix, somewhat impatiently. "I though you were a 'brave ickle Gryffindork'?" and as Harry gave a slow nod in answer, she continued. "Now, you mustn't make a sound – no matter how much it hurts. Because Harry," she nodded sagely, "If Madam Pomfrey hears you, she will come and try to stop you. And if you tell her that we are doing Secret Magic," and here, Bellatrix shuddered dramatically, "you'll never see her again."
Harry nodded solemnly, blinking back tears, and he pressed his lips together in determination.
"No, you foolish boy. That won't do." She looked about and spied Draco's old robe sleeve by Harry's pillow. "Open your mouth," she said, taking up the dark cloth. Harry hesitated and parted his lips slightly. "Wider!" she hissed impatiently and as he obeyed, Bella began slowly stuffing a corner of the black sleeve in. The sight of it was almost too much for Bellatrix and she had to stop herself from the very strong urge to suffocate him right then and there.
Harry whimpered softly as he felt his mouth fill. It was hard to swallow and he clenched his fists tightly to stop himself from pulling the cloth out. He knew he had to be brave. He had to be a big boy. He could not let anything bad happen to his beloved caregiver.
"Good boy," she sneered. "Now bite down on that as hard as you can." Bella could not suppress a shiver of delight in counter to Harry's shudder of fear. "Arms by your sides, Harry," she instructed and climbed onto the bed to straddle him. Bellatrix took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing her lips almost reverently to Harry's scar. Harry made a plaintive sound in the back of his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. Just as well, thought Bella, you don't deserve to see this.
Bellatrix placed a pointed fingernail at the top of her Master's mangled creation and began to peel the scab up slowly, watching lustfully as blood seeped out at the edges of the wound. When Harry hunched his shoulders up and whimpered through the gag it was simply too much for Bella. She moved her other hand to cover Harry's nose and mouth, cutting off his airflow, delighting at how his eyes popped open and he bucked, his legs kicking uselessly behind her. Bella did not waiver; she pressed her thighs more tightly around him and leaned down to tear the rest of the scab completely off with her teeth. In honour of you, Fenrir.
Blood welled up and trickled down, mingling with Harry's tears. He twisted under Bellatrix and his feet kicked out harder in his desperation to get oxygen. Bellatrix was nearly dislodged and she swatted his thigh hissing sharply, "Be still!"
Harry heard nothing over the roaring in his ears. As his vision bean to close in, he was suddenly released. Harry struggled to draw in breath through the mucus clogging his nasal passages. Tears were streaming through his closed eyes and his sobs were muffled by the wad of cloth in his mouth.
"There, there," Bella crooned and placed a hand on his chest, giving it an awkward pat. "Shh. Shhh. What a good ickle baby you are." She began to slowly draw out the now-damp cloth from Harry's mouth. Once he was freed of it, Harry gasped, coughing and gulping in great lungfuls of air. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Bella asked sweetly as she relished the sight of blood, tears and mucus oozing slowly down Harry's face.
Harry could say nothing as he continued to take in ragged breaths. He was trying so hard to be quiet and not cry, but he was frightened and his forehead throbbed.
"Ooh, you are a brave ickle Gryffindork, aren't you dear Harrykins?" cooed Bella mockingly, "and you won't cry out when I leave, will you?"
Harry made to shake his head, but winced at the resulting pain and stilled. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and then he froze, horrorstruck, as he saw his crimson-covered knuckles. He looked up at Bellatrix and whispered hoarsely, "D-dat da…bad bud, Yiwee?"
"Yes, Harry," said Bellatrix sagely. She took his hand, bringing it to her face for a deep whiff. "Tsk, tsk. What. A. Shame," she sighed, her face in an exaggerated moue. "Dear, dear. It's much worse than I realized. There is so much bad blood in there, I don't know if it can all come out in one go." Harry just blinked, not understanding and Bella leaned in closer and looked again. "Yes, I'm certain that it can't. Poor Harry. I am so sorry."
"Da Secet Magic not work?" Harry whispered plaintively, his rising panic evident on his face.
"I'm so sorry dear. I know you don't want to turn bad."
"No! No – my no wanna hurt my fends, Yiwee," pleaded Harry softly, tears falling anew.
Bella shook her head slowly. "I was so certain it would work. If only we could try again."
Harry looked up at her hopefully.
"…But it would be very dangerous if Madam Pomfrey or Hagrid found out about this."
And there was that hopeful look again. Pathetic Gryffindors. Bella looked at him with a smug smile of satisfaction and tried to contain herself. "Rest now, Harry. I'm sure we'll think of something. Try not to worry," she cooed, continuing to whisper insincere reassurances.
Harry's breathing – though still ragged – slowed and his eyes began to droop.
"Good boy. Close your eyes."
Harry did so with relief. He felt so tired, so overwhelmed. All he wanted to do was succumb to sleep, and this he did, drifting into a restless slumber.
This ought to earn you a one-way ticket to St. Mungo's, thought Bellatrix with glee as she unwrapped herself and covered Harry with the duvet. She looked down at the boy again and straightened out his covers almost lovingly. And from there, we shall be well on our way, ickle Potty. She transfigured into her Animagus form and said lowly, "Gullible little twerp," before settling down on the bed for what she felt to be a most well-earned rest.