Chapter Thirty: Suffocating Under Words of Sorrow/The Devil in I
Chapter title taken from the Bullet for my Valentine song and the Slipknot song.
"You still think you deserved it, don't you?"
Trigger warning: This chapter portrays much of the trauma and violence that Rosalind has experienced and may be triggering (sexual assault/domestic violence/homicide).
An unfamiliar face was staring back at Rosalind in the mirror: a fuller set of lips, shorter, curlier hair, and a more rounded face, and a replica of the Dark Mark on her forearm.
"The younger you look the more they will underestimate you," Hermione said. "That's the hope, at least."
She smiled somberly as she returned a gentle smile. "We have faith in you. You can do this."
"Thanks Hermione." The Golden Girl left, Draco approaching her with a bleak look on his face.
"How are you feeling?"
"Nervous," she said truthfully. "It's been a while."
"I'd be telling you you're mad if you weren't." He sat in the stool next to her, letting out a sigh. "Did they tell you your alias yet?"
She nodded. "Rodolphus' wife."
"Don't look so grim," he couldn't help but laugh. "Dawlish will be there too." She rolled her eyes as he placed his hand on her lower back. "You'll be fine. You have the whole Ministry for backup." He stood, taking her hand and pulling her into an embrace.
"Thanks Draco," she replied as he hugged her. "I'll see you soon." She looked into his eyes, preparing herself to leave, taking one last look at him. His handsome face didn't even seem strained; he wasn't worried. It was strangely comforting, knowing that he believed in her. At least someone did. She closed her eyes, holding her breath, Apparating into a dark forest. Rodolphus Lestrange was standing next to a tall oak tree, wand twirling between his fingers.
His eyes lit up, chuckling at the sight in front of him. "Is that you, Morana? That Mudblood sure did a good job on you."
"Don't call her that," she snapped, immediately drawing her wand. Rodolphus held his hands up, his grin unfading.
"Calm down love, I was just testing you." He eyed her body, before suddenly jerking her close to his face. "Listen, we don't have much time. You know your alias. You know your storyline. But you have to sell it." He gripped her robes tightly as she tried to pull away, lowering his voice. "I know how you feel about me. But either you go along with it or you're going to watch one of those fuckers take advantage of you. Is that what you want? You want them to take advantage of you?"
"N-no I don't-" she stammered, a lump forming in her throat from the mere thought of that repulsive image.
"Then don't let them. Don't talk to anyone you don't need to and do not go anywhere alone. You go in there and act like you know what you're doing. If they find out you don't they will kill you."
Rosalind nodded furiously, swallowing the remainder of her pride. She was feeling like she did five years ago-vulnerable and weak. She inhaled sharply, throwing her shoulders back as Rodolphus led her down a dark, thickly wooded trail. After what felt like half an hour of ducking under branches and avoiding thorny bushes, they had arrived at a camp: several tents were sprinkled across the wooded ground, small fires blazing under the sparks of the moonlight. Groups of men, ranging from early teens to middle age, heavily tattooed, most with their heads shaved sat around. Boys as young as nine and ten years old were polishing their guns, sporting a few tattoos of their own, learning from their older peers. Most communicated nonverbally, nodding their heads, pursing their lips, using sign language to send messages with their own code. Some had wands drawn, some had machetes, rifles and other weapons. The pungent odor of drugs invaded her lungs; marijuana, heroin, cocaine and other Muggle drugs were in full use, along with potions and magical herbs that she had never seen before. The only women around were bound by ropes, blood crusted over their ankles and hands, their eyes hollow from the deeds they were forced to do.
"Are they-?"
"Yes," Rodolphus said in a low voice. "They're exactly what you think they are. Forced here against their own will to serve just one purpose. It's disgusting."
The grim tone in his voice surprised her. Rodolphus was a man who had committed countless horrendous acts, but the sight of these Muggles offended him. Her body tensed as they walked through the campground, dozens of pairs of eyes following her to their destination. Her heart beat rapidly; it was like being in El Salvador again. The bodies, the drugs, the guns, the weapons, the trafficking-it was almost overbearing. Rodolphus kept his hand behind the small of her back, showing whoever they walked by that she was with him. She was the only woman walking around freely. Finally, he stopped her before the largest tent in the campground. He nodded towards the guards in front, who sent a message inside, coming back out to escort them into the tent. As Rosalind expected, it was heavily guarded by magic and Muggle weaponry alike, one wizard for every Muggle. Bandanas hung over the lower half of their faces, their tattoos and rifles over their chests like medals of honor.
From the back of the tent came an average sized man, with a menacing, evil grin, blowing out a long puff of smoke from his Cuban cigar. He was slightly stout, his caramel skin contrasting sharply with his jet black hair and coal-like eyes. When he spotted Rosalind he smiled, as if greeting an old friend, his arms spread wide.
"Sal Amaya," Rodolphus said with a short, curt bow. "As promised. My wife, Esmeralda Lestrange."
Rosalind gave her brightest, most poisonous smile. "Encantada," she said in perfect Spanish.
The man took her hand, kissing it slowly, not breaking eye contact. It took all she had not to shiver and move away in disgust. "I've heard many good things about you," he said in rough English. "You were a Death Eater, no?"
"Of course." She lifted her robe, showing the black snake and skull tattoo on her left forearm. The snake slithered into the skull's mouth, its yellow eyes glowing.
"Excellent," Sal said eyeing the tattoo gleefully. "You're good with a wand, no? You like killing people?"
Only those who deserve it, she thought. "I love it," she said with a smile. "There's no other feeling in the world like it."
Sal Amaya chuckled, tapping the cigar ashes onto his boots. "What's your trademark?"
"I start with a Cruciatus Curse," she said simply, taking a seat in a rickety chair, crossing her legs and springing her chest forward. "I like to make them hurt for a while." She took a sip of tea that was offered to her, grinning at the seemingly normal conversation they were having. "Then I move onto a Fire Lasso Curse, hanging them from their necks. I like watching them squirm during their last breaths." She smiled, matching the same menacing look that Sal Amaya had.
"Ah, so you are a professional," he replied with another puff of cigar. "Makes things much easier." A trail of ashes burned tiny cinders into his jeans, as he straightened his coat. "Do you know why you're here? Do you know why I asked your Death Eater husband to get you?"
Rosalind shrugged innocently. "Not really."
"We need more people with experience like yours. Much of these kids here they don't know what they're doing yet. They're too young. But you, you've done this before." He grinned again, shaking his cigar at her. "I have high expectations for you. But you need to be initiated first."
Rosalind's eyes widened. Upon preparing her storyline she had forgotten about the brutal initiations. "And how do you suggest that happen?"
"Well normally we have new recruits get jumped in, or beat in, and women get sexed in. But I have another option that I've been eager to try out for quite some time." He snapped his fingers, a guard producing a vial the size of a flask, an emerald green potion glowing phosphorescently. "In order for this to work you need to show your commitment," Sal continued, holding it in front of her face before tucking it into his coat pocket.
"What does it do?" she asked trying to mask her nervousness.
Sal shrugged, giving a booming laugh. "All I know is that the greatest Dark Wizard of all time used it. We heard rumors about it and replicated it as close as we could while adding our own elements. Could be a fun experiment." He slammed the stub of his cigar on the arm of his chair, carefully examining Rosalind. "Which is it going to be?"
Rosalind opened her mouth, her words dangling. There was no way she was going to let anyone touch her-not without her hurting them back. She glanced at Rodolphus, whose jaw was unusually tense.
"Let's try that potion, shall we?" she said with her head cocked to the side, her legs still crossed.
Sal Amaya grinned, rubbing his hands together. "I was hoping you'd say that. Step outside. Let's get started."
Without another word, the guards grabbed her arms, throwing her out onto the cold, January snow, instantaneously forming lumps on her knees. She grit her teeth, digging her nails into the earth before standing up. She swore to herself she would never let a man lay his hands on her again-but she had to keep her cool.
"Keep walking," Sal said calmly, leading her into a darker corner of the forest. "No need to make a scene. We're almost there." He shoved a long, skeletal finger into her back, his gritty, animal-like nails digging crescent moons into her skin. They reached a secluded thicket, a brook dripping softly through the sheets of ice. Sal ordered Rosalind to turn around, as Rodolphus and what she assumed was Dawlish and other guards watched. Sal pulled out the potion, glowing brighter in the moonlight, tossing it at Rosalind.
"Drink it."
Rosalind uncorked the bottle, inhaling it hoping to recognize the scent but it was odorless. That could mean anything. She held her breath, drinking more than half in one gulp.
For a long moment she thought they were pulling her leg. Nothing happened. Then it started slowly, a bubbling acid in her stomach, gurgling up her throat. She clasped her throat, barely able to breathe as the entity of her stomach lurched out. Sal and his men laughed as Rosalind doubled over into the snow, retching her food and coughing up blood. A second passed and she thought it was over but it had just begun: her legs went dead, her arms felt too heavy to move. She dropped to the ground, feeling disoriented, covering her ears from all the laughter. It sounded like she was in the center of a circle, and they were running laps around her, pointing at her, laughing at how weak she was. Her insides began to burn, a burn so excruciating it caused her back to convulse, making her scream in pain. This was much worse than a Cruciatus Curse-as much pain as she was in she could still see everything clearly, how Sal was enjoying himself, how his men giggled in excitement, how Dawlish's knuckled blazed white in anger.
"AAHH!" she screamed as her limbs convulsed involuntarily, her breath ragged.
"Is is starting to hurt?" she could hear Sal laughing, lighting another cigar. "Is it too much for you already?"
Rosalind glared at him, her eyes stinging with tears. "No." Her teeth were crunching from the weight of her jaw.
Sal smirked, dropping cinders onto her face. "Good. This is just the beginning."
Her breathing slowed as she tried to hold her tears in, glaring into Sal's eyes. His mouth was moving, but she could no longer hear him; her hearing was muted then her eyesight, forcing a flood of memories to play instantaneously, like a motion picture in real time. She was standing in front of a park, watching her younger self. A sinister voice slithered into her head, narrating her own story:
You were fifteen when you met him. So young, still innocent. Look at you, sitting at the swing set by yourself watching him. You wanted him to notice you.
A football landed at younger Rosalind's feet, a young man bending over to pick it up. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like she remembered. It was bizarre seeing herself, and the crystal clear image of him was enough to cause her to throw up again, but the images remained whether her eyes were opened or closed.
"Hey beautiful, I've never seen you here before." He picked up the football, spinning it in his hands. "You live around here?"
Rosalind nodded her head to the nearby houses. "Yeah, just over there. I go to a private school, I only come home during the weekends."
He licked his lips, as he often did. "Oh so you're one of those smart girls, huh? I like those." He looked hungry, turning for a second to throw the football back to his friends. "You are too cute. I'll see you around."
Younger Rosalind smiled shyly, blushing that someone had paid attention to her. She watched as he ran back to his friends, taking one last glance back at her. The scene turned black, focusing on their first fight. The yelling, the shoving, the way he grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him while he was talking-she had never realized how tiny and fearful she looked next to him, or how hesitant she was at the wand in her pocket. As the scene was playing out before her she could feel the punches physically hitting her again. She was trapped, able to hear snickers from Sal and his men.
You always knew that you could have used magic against him when he hurt you. But you didn't, the cruel voice chuckled. Did you really think he loved you? After all the things he forced you to do? One beating wasn't enough was it? You let him go on.
"Stop it," Rosalind sobbed, knowing what would be coming next. "Stop it. I don't want to relive this..."
She continued to sob as she watched her younger self in her room, arguing with him, telling him she didn't want to do anything with him, pleading with him to stop, begging him to leave her alone as he forced himself on top of her.
Her younger almost lifeless body was on her bed, head turned to the right, making direct eye contact with her present self, a single tear streaming down her cheek, lips trembling in pain.
You still think you deserved it, don't you?
"STOP IT!" Rosalind screamed, snapping her eyes shut, unable to escape the scene. "STOP IT! PLEASE!" She was on her knees, begging for the images of her past to cease. She could hear the men laughing at how pathetic she looked, crawling all over the floor blindly. Snot drained out her nose as she plunged forward into the snow, her chest heaving.
Once again the scene changed, but she was in El Salvador. The house was on fire, the one Rosalind resided in with the rest of her companions. She spotted Jorge, who was fighting off two people before she found herself, alongside Katerina. She was more beautiful than she remembered, her tiny frame almost engulfed by her large smile. Rosalind was fighting a wizard who had attacked Katerina first. She didn't even bother focusing on her younger self, she knew what was coming.
Remember when you realized just how good of a killer you are? How great it felt? the voice whispered as the flames spread on. She had no idea how gleeful she looked when fighting, she made it look so easy. She watched as her own eyes lit up as soon as she hung the attacker from the banister in a noose of fire.
"Rosie Linda-!"
Katerina's last words as her throat was sliced open right in front of Rosalind, her screams clouded by the blaze.
"NO!" she cried, her body still burning from the potion, the laughter growing louder. "I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS! I can't see this again-"
The scene flickered, this time at Rosalind and Emma's home. Her parents' dead bodies on the living room floor, Rosalind punching the Muggle on the ground, present day Rosalind feeling every blow and curse. One was already dead, hanging from the ceiling. She looked angry and dangerous, breaking the man's nose in a swift punch before hanging his body as well. She stepped back to examine her work, almost smiling. Again, she looked happy to have killed. Because they deserved it. But at the edge of the bathroom doorway sat a little girl, too afraid to speak. Emma's face was enough to knock Rosalind into shock for how terrified she looked. She had just witnessed her sister commit a double murder.
"Please..." Rosalind begged, her throat burning with thirst. "Please stop I don't want to see this anymore..."
It was all your fault. You can't help but to kill sometimes.
"That's not true..." she said quietly, feeling around the snow for the water. "That's not true..."
It's your fault. The voice was now smaller, more faint. You did this.
"I'm sorry," she cried, "I'm so sorry-"
A small child was in the distance, walking towards her, her large eyes filled with tears. It was Emma, in the same clothes as the night their parents died.
"How could you do this to me?" her heartbroken voice whispered. "How could you manipulate my memory like that?" The bags under her eyes were crimson from crying. "Why, sissy? I thought you loved me."
"I do love you," she said wiping her face. "I love you more than anything-"
Emma did not appear to be listening, instead taking another meticulous step towards her, the whites of her eyes turning black, her voice demonic. "IT'S YOUR FAULT THEY DIED!"
"I'm sorry," she cried. "I had to-I had to kill them-or else-"
Emma's little body faded into the darkness, two new ones appearing in the mist. A middle aged couple, a man with handsome bronze skin and jet black hair, and a woman with a soft round face and almond shaped eyes. Rosalind choked back more tears as she watched her parents cry silently.
"How did you become like this?" her mother wept. "This is not how we raised you."
"A murderer, Rosalind?" her father cut in. "Please tell me this isn't who you are."
"I had to!" she squeaked. "H-he hurt me-other people hurt me-"
"That doesn't make you better than them."
"I'm not a mur-I'm not-I changed-"
"Have you?" her mother inquired. "Or have Cruciatus Curses always been easy for you?"
"No-I'm sorry-" she stepped forward in attempt to touch the figures of her parents, only for them to evaporate. She looked around in a circle, her surroundings now pitch black. Faint footsteps approached her, a narrow beam of light following what appeared to be a teenager with familiar features. The figure stopped several paces ahead of her, fog circling their legs. Longer hair, no physical or psychological scars, no premature wrinkles lining her forehead: it was fifteen-year-old Rosalind, eyes stained red.
"You weren't supposed to end up like this," she said, voice strained. "You come from a loving family who did nothing but give you everything they didn't have. But look at you," a tear ran down her face. "Angry, violent, manipulative. A disgrace."
"I didn't mean to," she sobbed, hearing more footsteps approaching. "I've been angry for so long-"
"And that's the problem isn't it? You hate yourself from what happened with him and used it as justification for all the terrible things that you did. You're a victim of your own anger. All the bad choices you've made are a result of the pain you refuse to process." Her younger self cocked her head to the side, several bodies surrounding her including her parents, her sister, everyone who had been a victim of hers, all yelling expletives at her. "Stop using that as an excuse for everything. You were meant to be so much better."
Rosalind took a step back, stumbling on what felt like a log. She fell to her knees, the words of her younger self echoing in her ears, her chest heaving, as all the bodies faded into the distance, Sal, Rodolphus, and the rest of the group appearing before her eyes. Her head rolled onto the ground, her body sinking into the brook. A hand jerked her arm upwards, pulling her body onto the cold, hard land. Voices were murmuring around her when she realized that the potion had worn off, the full effects of the freezing temperatures making her teeth chatter.
"Interesting," Sal's voice said, hushing the others in an instant. He snapped his fingers, motioning one of his cronies to fetch a blanket, draping it over her shoulders. "Describe it to me."
Rosalind was still shaking, her eyelashes frosting over. "It was the worst pain of my life," she said quietly.
"What did you see?" Sal pressed, lowering himself to Rosalind's height. He sounded eager. "Things you've seen before?"
She nodded slowly, pushing fogs of clouds out of her mouth. "Things I've done. My worst memories...all played out in front of me as I watched myself do them. Dead family members talking to me."
"Ah, so it worked even better than I had anticipated." He sounded pleased, standing to his full height and leaving Rosalind sitting in the snow. "Excellent. That'll be all for now. You can find your way to camp for bed." He inhaled a puff of cigar, his guards walking in unison with him back to camp, their footsteps crunching beneath the snow.
A silent body helped Rosalind back up, wrapping the blanket tightly around her. Rodolphus Lestrange was staring down at her, his lips pursed. "Don't say a word." Once again he led her back to the camp, his arm around her shoulders.
"Don't move," he growled under his breath, as they passed by several men who were gawking at her lustfully. Her eyes felt glazed and she did as told, walking mindlessly until they arrived at a small tent. Inside it was quaint, with one full sized cot and a fire crackling in the corner, the grey walls looking black in the night.
"That," Rodolphus continued as he began throwing his soaked clothes onto the floor, "was bloody terrible." He grabbed a tin of hot chocolate, curling her fingers around the mug. "You saw everything you've done, didn't you? All the bad deeds?"
Rosalind nodded, attempting to take a sip of the hot chocolate. "I saw myself get r-get assaulted again. I was reliving it." She swallowed the knot in her throat, letting the can warm her hands. "But I also saw my sister. The night our parents died. She saw the whole thing…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes adjusted to the low light. "I saw my parents too. Telling me I wasn't supposed to end up like this. I was supposed to be g-good."
"But somewhere down the line you made the wrong choices."
She nodded once, the hot chocolate sloshing over. "It's one thing experiencing it once. But to see it played out like that-I felt like it showed me who I really am."
Rodolphus frowned, resting his elbows on his knees, facing her. "You're wrong."
She lifted her head, her frown meeting his. "What?"
"I said you're wrong. That's who you were." Her brow remained unwavered as the Death Eater sighed. "Look. Something terrible happened to you and you used that to justify your anger instead of dealing with it. So you did your own terrible things. Then more tragedy struck and you knew you had to change your ways. You haven't killed anyone since the night your parents died."
"How do you know-"
"You're a lousy Occlumens, love."
"Oh," she said staring down at her tin of hot chocolate. "That's true."
He ran his hands through his long hair, fixing his own mug. "So keep going. Face whatever these demons are." He raised his mug to her. "Salud, as your people say."
She managed a small smile. "Salud." They sipped their drinks, Rosalind eyeing him, surprised again by his demeanor. "Why'd you do it?" she finally asked. "Why'd you turn yourself in knowing you'll go back to Azkaban?"
"Because," he said setting his mug down. "What kind of father would I be if I spent the rest of my days in prison?" He leaned back, his Dark Mark peeking through his sleeves. "I'd rather go in for a reduced amount of time now that he's young than spend his entire life on the run." He broke their gaze, lost in a memory. "I can't fix what I did when I was with Bellatrix. But I can decide to be a good father for him."
"You're full of surprises, Rodolphus Lestrange."
He grinned. "And our marriage has only just begun."
This was an intense chapter to write. Being a sexual assault survivor myself, I tried to balance the line of not being too graphic. Thank you so much to those that have been reading, these next few chapters will have much more action in them.
Next chapter: House of Wolves.