AN: Sorry its been so long guys, spent two weeks in the hospital in and out of surgeries, good news, I'm okay and updates should resume sorta regularly, bad news, I'm no longer able to work so, I don't have that dedicated time like before, though I do have more freetime, I don't have internet at home and have to make it to somewhere I do have it.
Also, I *hate* with a passion to switch character POV, but I think, for this chapter it will be necessary, my muse seems to be set on a flashback type one to clarify what's going on with Hermione.
Also, also to the review I received, I just want to clarify some things. It was pointed out that there is no motivation for Hermione to act the way she does or to switch her behaviors. My reasoning for there not being any real motivation shown is that Fleur would not have this knowledge and though I hate first person, I am writing it similarly. The reader up until this chapter would not know what happened to Hermione as Fleur would not know. And regarding Fleur seeming one dimensional and flat or weak, well, the bond as I am attempting to write it, would prevent her from disobeying. She is at the whim of her "captor" in a sense and cannot break free for now. It is something both of them have to work through, she is essentially being forced to obsess over Hermione until the bond can be sealed and Hermione refuses to move forward in that. So... hopefully that clears some things up, as they "heal" they will become more complete, remember they are both 'broken' and I have chosen to depict that in how I write them. If it's not your cup of tea, well, you don't have to keep reading.
The pair had returned home, Hermione still a broken, crying, abandoned mess. Fleur, refusing to let go of the brunette, guided her home, the train of her wedding dress trailing along behind them. They walked, despite faster means of travel, neither felt that apparition was safe. Fleur unlocked the front door and gently pushed Hermione inside before she followed along, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. The younger witch stood there, in the entryway, her shoulders shaking, head hung low, a shell of her former self, and it pained Fleur to see her mate in such distress.
She knew that despite her strong feelings for the other, that they wouldn't be returned in the same, not so soon, not when Hermione had had Ron for so long, had believed her future to be with him, had planned her life for that path. Her world was shaken, turned upside down and destroyed on her wedding day. Though she should have seen it coming, he hadn't been too subtle in his hints, and in his concern for others. But she'd never considered that he'd take such drastic actions.
Fleur pulled Hermione into her room and the other woman fell onto her bed in a trembling, sobbing mess. The French woman shut the door and left the brunette to her self, unsure of what else to do to comfort her, she couldn't stand to see her love hurt, not like that, not when there was nothing she could do.
Hermione fell into a rough sleep, nightmares plaguing her dreams as they did every night. Though this night, this night they felt worse, more real than they had before. She was there again, inside Malfoy Manor, at least that's what her mind told her, but her instincts, they told her something else, something different. There was something wrong here, she just couldn't tell.
An insane cackle of a laugh echoed off the walls, bouncing off the stone floor she laid upon, reverberating in the shadows. Pierced only by the dripping of water, a hollow plopping sound, shrieks filled her ears, settling in her mind, eating it from the inside out, that laugh continued on, continued forward. She didn't have the energy to look up, to look around. The clicking of boots on stone, 'tap, tap, tap,' a grinding of a heel and grit.
She tried to squeeze her eyes tighter, they were already shut, blocking out the cold surroundings, but it didn't help, everything was all too familiar. A long, bony finger reaching out, stroking her cheek.
A soft, gravelly voice, barely above a whisper spoke, "Now, now, muddy". She winced as the hand gripped her cheek, keeping her from turning away, "I'm not here to hurt you," she continued on, now speaking in a whisper, a soft, silky tongue, trailing a path down her cheek.
Hermione tried to pull away but instead was pulled into the wiry form of Bellatrix Lestrange, her captor. She knew what was coming next, she knew what today was, the insane woman alternated between types of torture, showing the brunette her twisted form of 'love' when she wasn't busy demeaning her, treating her as less than dirt. She'd been stripped of her dignity when they took her clothes, they'd made sure of that, torturing her until she'd passed out, unable to withstand any more. She'd awoken naked and shivering in the dark dungeon of a basement. Her peace hadn't lasted long as pain began radiating out, spreading across her body. Scars adorned her pale skin, rips and tears in her flesh seeped blood and oozed pus.
She'd bled then, when they took her innocence. But she didn't any more. They'd done so much, Bellatrix had done it. They'd ordered it, but she'd been the one to do it all. Now, it was nothing new, she simply forced her eyes shut as the other woman worked her way down her body, taking what wasn't hers to take. She'd try to think of happier times, back when she was in school, when things were safe, when it was all just a game, stories of the past meant to keep kids behaving. They were just kids, running around with their wands, just sticks really, and magic, like muggle kids did with their wooden swords and imagination, ready to save the world but not really expecting the world to need saving.
If only someone would save her. Tears ran down her face as her body reacted unbidden, she'd tried to fight it, tried not to get off, but she couldn't stop it for long. She'd refused to give into that pleasure, to give that pleasure to her captor, but she didn't stop, she wouldn't stop until she'd gotten what she came for.
"There, there muddy, that wasn't so bad now was it?" she asked, a false tenderness behind her words as she held her fingers to Hermione's mouth, the teenage witch having learned what she wanted, knowing that it would be her only nourishment for the day, licked the juices off the older woman's hand. Bellatrix laughed her cackle of a laugh, "Good girl," she chided before taking her leave.
Heels clicking faded into knives piercing, cold metal melding with warm blood, running along her skin, ripping, tearing, slicing it open, she screamed, unable to pull away, held in place by chains. She still refused to talk, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. Bellatrix, standing over her, wielding a knife, she carved the word 'mudblood' into her skin, drawing fresh tears from tired brown eyes. Dark shadows danced against the walls, demons reminding her of what the woman was capable of, glowing red eyes darting forward, reminding her she was caught.
They haunted her, plaguing her dreams, her thoughts, always present, always there watching, laughing at her, her pitiful form, laying there, wishing for more, begging for an end to it all. But she'd refused to give in, refused to break, she'd rather die, or so she thought.
Then she'd been held by those same chains, tighter this time, they'd stood her up against the wall, her shaky legs weak under her, trying to support but having a hard time finding purchase. She was just a skeleton, covered in dirt and grime, forced to lay in her own filth, under nourished for so long, her joints poked through, sharp against her skin, threatening to emerge, stretching sallow skin.
Her head hung low, dirty brown curls, knotted and tangled covering her eyes, she didn't have the strength, the energy to care about meeting their gaze, she'd long ago lost that strength, the desire, the defiance. It had left her weak and covered in more scars than she could count. Defiance, she had decided, was better left for those with a plan, and that was not her.
Whips cracked at her skin, stinging as they sliced through, drops of blood trailing a river down her legs. They pulled the chains tighter, stretching her further, until she could take no more.
She screamed once more in pain, and it stopped. It was over.
The chains vanished, releasing her from their hold, Bellatrix moved to her side, a goblet of cool water in hand as she soothed the broken woman in front of her, showing her kindness, real kindness. Hermione was instructed to drink slowly, it had been so long, one of the other figures was sent to get her some bread crusts. She needed to start slow, too much would shock her system.
A cloak was wrapped around her shoulders. And Hermione finally began to question what it was she had said, the pain had been blinding, but she didn't remember saying anything of real importance. Nothing worth this, surely.
She'd been comforted Bellatrix, shown how to live again, how to love, before she'd been rescued, but she wasn't sure it was what she wanted. She didn't know how to live without her at first. It had been rough, but Ron had been there and she'd began to picture a future with him, his rough sort of comfort slightly reminiscent of Bella. He'd tried to be gentle, really, but it wasn't his fault that his rough calloused hands were often firmer than needed, he'd thought it reassuring, a way of keeping her grounded, which she'd needed at first.
Bella had been her first relationship though, she wasn't sure how to actually act, she knew, deep down, it wasn't right, that it wasn't how to behave, but it was all she knew. She had felt the older woman's rage too many times as things went wrong, and her love and adoration when things went right. She wasn't sure how it really began, but she did know how it ended.
Hermione had been changed, molded, shaped and consumed by the darkness in more ways than she knew. It was reaching out, taking control as she began to conform, her will to survive winning. She couldn't push it back as she had before.
Without realizing it, she had been beaten, trained by a madwoman, and she believed she enjoyed it, she believed it was real, it was loving and safe, she knew the only one to show her affection was Bella, her sweet, gentle, loving Bella.
A pang of sadness, of guilt, crossed as she remembered the other woman, longing stretching out, grasping, reaching for the woman that wasn't there, that would never be there again, and she curled up into herself further, a shiver running down her spine.
Her nightmares had become reality, her fears became her desires and she was left wondering what was true. She had thought she was fine, she had thought she could handle it on her own, that she was strong enough now, Bella was gone, she'd been killed in the war.
Hermione had survived however, it proved she was stronger, she wasn't being forced anymore, the darkness wasn't surrounding her and she'd moved on. She'd never act like that, or so she'd thought, until she was presented with an opportunity, until she was given absolute power over her much as Bella had had. It wasn't until then, when she began to act as her captor had, that she realized it was still there. It had never disappeared, just tucked itself away, but it had been there all along. The darkness had been there, her only friend when everyone else abandoned her, she couldn't live without it, there was no way.
She needed it now, she craved it, secretly enjoying the power she held over another, it was calming, familiar, reminiscent of her past and she had trained Fleur in much the same ways, though with less blood, less pain, it was easier though. The blonde followed her every command. She'd told herself Fleur enjoyed it, why wouldn't she? Hermione had after all come to enjoy it with time and she'd had much worse.
She'd do better though, she resolved, realizing that something was wrong, some demons she'd never faced. They still followed her, winding silently through her life, slipping between shadows, reaching out at her darkest moments. They'd pull her in and hold her tight. Maybe it was time to get some help after all.