Disclaimer: I own these people, up until J. notices that they're gone and contacts the police. I promise to dry-clean them before I get arrested and convicted of kidnapping fictional people. And I'll probably have to go to Azkaban. Which I do not own either.
A/N: Wow, I really am horrible at updating on time. I would like to publically apologize for the hiatus. My first attempt at writing this chapter was so mind-bendingly awful that not only did I delete it, I took a nail file a microscope, and a small amount of soap, and physically removed all traces from the hard drive.
Anyway, I would like to inform you that we have run out of popcorn, due to a certain Mr. Ronald Weasley making off with it all. We have found out his location and had him shot.
The Story So Far: Bellatrix gleefully makes enemies of possibly the entire Slytherin first year, as well as prefect Dolores Umbridge. She then discovers that that was not a good idea when Rita Skeeter sells her out to Umbridge and nobody lifts a finger to help her. Umbridge takes her deep into the dungeons for a private conversation. Bellatrix has no idea what is going on, and a vague sense that she doesn't want to find out.
In This Chapter: She finds out. She doesn't like it. The plot, assuming here that there actually IS one, thickens. Readers who hate Evelyn and Agatha (there have to be a few, right?) will be very angry with me.
Warnings: Implied child abuse. A Very Special Chapter that only partially explains why Bellatrix hates authority figures (except for Voldy). (The other part is because she's as Chaotic Evil as it gets.) Mild blood. Violent fantasies. The last part being lousy because Slytherite really wants to get away from all the angst and work on her Death Note fanfic.
"Please sit." Umbridge gestured to one of the marble benches, smiling widely. Defiantly, although possibly only she thought something so petty was worthwhile resistance, Bellatrix stayed where she was. Umbridge looked shocked for a fraction of a second, as if she couldn't possibly believe that anyone would disobey such a REASONABLE request, and then smiled again. "I'm sorry. I thought I asked you to sit"
Bellatrix kicked her. Not hard, and less out of anger than contrariness, but even that was enough. Umbridge's toad face looked like wax, the smile pathetically artificial. Her eyes narrowed. "Very well--" She didn't have time to finish the sentence before Bellatrix dumped herself abruptly onto the bench. On the bench opposite the one Umbridge had picked out for her, of course. It wasn't as if she was going to be reasonable, or as if she had any intention of listening to her superior. And Umbridge shouldn't think that, even for a second, it might trick the poor thing into thinking she had any real power, or that Bellatrix respected her enough not to play petty games. Which, of course, meant that she didn't know Bellatrix at all. She had no intention.
Bellatrix's condescending little mental monologue was cut off, right before things had gotten really interesting, as Umbridge smiled even more sweetly and sat on the first bench. Now that Bellatrix had the bench she had wanted, she had fought for, even, she was regretting it--it was a little closer to the fountain set into the wall, and the marble was regrettably slimy. She stood. So did Umbridge.
"Yes"
"Move," Bellatrix snarled, or something close to it but quieter, almost respectful, if she had been capable or willing, "I want that bench, the first one." Umbridge raised an eyebrow, but moved out of the way for Bellatrix to sit down. Umbridge the toad-face was being so accomodating. What DID she want?
When Umbridge had reseated herself, they were silent for a minute. Bellatrix didn't meet Umbridge's eyes. She didn't want to know what Umbridge was thinking, probably something dull and bureaucratic and mildly inconvenient. What would she think in such a situation? Pins under the sullen first year's fingernails? (It didn't work as well as all the puffed-up over-intellectual novelists who had never hurt a fly said. The one time Bellatrix had tried it, Andromeda had been able to pull away and the marks, when she showed their mother, had been incriminatingly obvious...) Hot ashes on the soft patch of skin under her eyes? Bellatrix's hand moved up, possibly of its own accord, to test the possibility. Her finger groped around the edge of her eye socket. Umbridge watched with polite interest. No, it wouldn't work on Bellatrix, her eyes were entirely the wrong shape and there wasn't enough space...Maybe it would work on Umbridge, though, if Bellatrix had had anything to burn or a spell to set it on fire. Neither of which she had, of course, didn't things always turn out that way if you turned your back on reality and didn't plan? So she would have to remember that and try to corner Umbridge alone in the common room one fine night before the fire burned down entirely...What did she want? What DID she want?
"Bellatrix, I did not want to have this conversation," Umbridge said, calmly, maybe a little coolly, but politely enough.
Bellatrix didn't answer. Her mind was already racing with thoughts, and at the moment she wasn't sure she could have pulled herself out of it and back into the reality of Umbridge and the little stone fountain and the unspoken threat of punishment. Funny how Umbridge said what she did. Almost as if she wanted it very much, but one must remember to observe the formalities, mustn't we? Sounds like a teacher. Sounds like Mother dear. Bellatrix, what is wrong with you, Bellatrix, you're a shame to the family, Bellatrix, and how I wish it hadn't come to this, Bellatrix, but I really can't help hating you... Umbridge wasn't anything like Mother, that was obvious enough, different as night and day, blah blah blah blah, and yet they talked the same way, they talked to her the same way, as if she was already on the path to disgrace and ignoble death...And you could never, ever get them to be quiet, always carping at you, always trying to make up for their own powerlessness, their weakness, and yet we're all afraid of them and we want to see them dead. Isn't life stupid?
Bellatrix's fingernails were three centimeters deep in the flesh of her hands, and there was warm red blood oozing from at least one of the cuts she didn't realize were there until Umbridge's gaze floated down to Bellatrix's clenched hands and then back up to her face contorted with hatred for Umbridge or her mother, who cared which? "Oh, dear me, do you need a handkerchief?" Bellatrix didn't answer, wiping her hand across the white surface of the marble and letting the blood soak into the porous stone, destroying the beautiful virgin white. Umbridge watched her for a moment, and then resumed speaking. "As I was saying, Bellatrix, before you distracted my attention, I did not want to have to say this. The Blacks are, let me say, a well-respected family, and I thought they might have raised you better than this..."
"Oh, how insulting," Bellatrix muttered, sitting up straighter and glaring into Umbridge's eyes. Umbridge was a short girl; her eyes were very nearly level with six-years-younger Bellatrix's, and she was only taller because of a stray brown curl that stood almost straight up. If Bellatrix had done anything elaborate with her thick black hair, she would have been taller by almost an inch. She shifted position slightly to hold her head higher, mentally claiming victory when Umbridge didn't do the same.
"Your family is not at fault. The blame rests entirely on your shoulders."
"There we go, Umbridge, it is entirely my fault. Which part? The bloody death of your beloved mum? Want to hear how she screamed?" Bellatrix threw her head back and shrieked for a few seconds. Umbridge scowled. Bellatrix smiled at her sweetly, or something that could have been mistaken for sweet by an infant, assuming that the infant didn't see her smile and burst into hysterical tears, traumatized for life... Umbridge returned the smile, but it looked forced.
"Be serious, Bellatrix. This is not a game, and I can and will punish any other tasteless...was that supposed to be a joke?" She paused. Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Is it true, as Rita Skeeter claims, that you stormed out of the dormitory on Sunday night in a fit of pique, after insulting Evelyn Burke's family"
"Care to hear what I said about them?"
"Bellatrix, I am warning you for the last time." Umbridge's patience was obviously draining away to nothing. Bellatrix opened her mouth to say the final thing that might push her over the edge, but some little fragment of her mind screamed "Don't do it, don't do it, do you want another detention?", and she closed her mouth again, struggling to remain vaguely civil, nasty little comments floating through her mind. Umbridge nodded. "Good. Now, is it also true that you called Evan Rosier a 'stupid pansy?"
"Yes. He deserved--"
"No," said Umbridge, "he did not. And did you also, on a separate occasion, ask him if he 'was sure his mother hadn't really wanted a daughter and raised him in a dress'?"
"Yes."
And so it went, for close to half an hour. That was the pattern, more or less, Umbridge reciting a litany of complaints that Rita Skeeter had scrounged from who-knew-where, Bellatrix admitting to each and every crime with her head held high and a smile on her pretty face. Sometimes Bellatrix volunteered more information, often disturbing little snippets that made Umbridge flinch: that, as well as some sort of strange pride, was the point. More often she just mocked the victim, Umbridge, or the question. Oh, of course she knew that there would likely be a punishment at the end of the cheerful confessions, but who cared about that? She was having so much fun. Not quite the same as actually doing the things, of course, but there was so much perverse pleasure in watching Umbridge mentally revise her estimate of Bellatrix's moral failures, blanching when she said something horrific and grimacing when she said something petty. She had heard about the Inquisition, her parents had mentioned it to her when they were explaining about Muggles, and the old windbag Binns might have mentioned it once or twice, and she had read accounts of some of the confessions, extracted under heinous torture. Why bother with the torture, really? Even when you knew you were going to be fed to the flames...
It was almost a shame when it ended. Who knew Bellatrix had done so many horrible things her first week? What sort of person would dare? Oh, they were mostly just insults, a physical fight with Avery (McGonagall had broken it up) on Wednesday, and splattering Juliet's bed with ink on Friday, nothing heinous at all, but still more than enough to earn her a week of detentions. Umbridge didn't know that she had threatened to kill Lestrange two hours ago, he had been loyal and hadn't said anything, if he had even understood what she meant, he lived in cloud-cuckoo land most of the time, and he got on her nerves so he had more than deserved it. The worst thing she had done, by far. A loyal young man, a little slow, but kind and loving nonetheless, and she had threatened to kill him, and she had hurt him physically, and he had stood there and taken it up until he didn't take it anymore and he lashed out at her and hurt her and his hands were around her throat...Merlin, his hands had been around her THROAT...and her heartbeat had slowed and her mind had gone foggy and she had known, she had been SURE that he was going to choke her or snap her neck, and then he had had mercy on her and let her go. Punishment for the cruel girl who had teased him and hurt him and taken him for granted. What an awful person she was. Immoral, sadistic, she should be locked away where she could never hurt poor delicate Lestrange again.
And Umbridge didn't know what an awful, awful person she was, she was punishing her for nothing, really, how funny. She didn't realize that she was really laughing, on the outside as well as in her head where no one could hear her, until Umbridge reached across the fountain and slapped her in the face. Hard enough to sting, the girl wasn't strong but Bellatrix hadn't been prepared for the blow and it felt like there were red-hot needles in her blood and they were all rushing to the surface of her skin and burning a million tiny holes as the blood pushed them out. And she was angry. No, furious. Umbridge had no right to hit her, prefects had no authority to punish you physically, she hadn't read the rule-book but she knew, she just KNEW that dear sweet old codger Albus whatshisname Dumbledore would never allow this if he had heard a word about it. Bellatrix raised her hand to the place on her cheekbone where Umbridge's hand had made contact, running her fingers over the spot as if she couldn't believe it was there and was a little worried it might fall off.
Umbridge had HURT her. Like Mother had hurt her. Over and over again, try to get away but she's stronger and faster and Narcissa doesn't want to see so she runs from the room and hides her eyes and you hide the burns and hate Mother and hope she dies and sometimes, in the dead of night, you make plans to kill her... Bellatrix hadn't cried for a long, long time. Umbridge was an amateur at pain...Seventeen, eighteen years old and she knew nothing about how to find the places that you never show anyone, the places where your mind is soft and unprotected, the wounds that haven't had a chance to scar and maybe never will. You found those places, and if you were really good, the way Bellatrix was good, you could open new ones...Physical. Mental. Emotional. They were all tools...And if you knew how to use them right, you could crush someone into a little smear of blood. And Umbridge DIDN'T know, she didn't understand that whatever she had brought up out of the dark places in Bellatrix's mind had scarred over a million times until nothing could ever hurt her anymore.
Umbridge spoke to her in a softer voice than before, almost a whisper, silky and dangerous and trembling with barely suppressed anger. "And you have been tormenting Abby Paternoster for a week. Emotionally, intellectually, and, I believe, although I admit that I currently have no proof, physically"
"Do you want proof?" Bellatrix snapped. She had been angry with Umbridge before, almost once, twice a day, like clockwork, but she had never been furious. Acrimonious. How DARE Umbridge make her hurt in those little ways she had tried so hard to forget? The humiliation? The shame? The burning, impotent rage, knowing that you can never strike back and you will never be strong enough to hurt her the way she hurts you? And the smothering feeling as she crushes all your basest instincts with her stupidity and empty cynicism? And Umbridge is just like Mother...She had been laughing, she had thought it was funny at first, but she hadn't seen the parallels then. Both of them. Such a useless waste of space. Did they live to hurt her? And then they went on with their stupid, empty, meaningless lives. And she could kill them both.
Realization. Epiphany. Kill them and you'll be free of everything they ever did to hurt you. And she would do it, she could do it. The way she killed the pigeons. They didn't call that murder, but it was the same, really. Imagine taking Umbridge into one of the empty classrooms, "for a little privacy", and picking up your wand and...what? A mental blank. There had to be some spell, didn't there? Something that would work on a human? But she didn't know. Merlin, she had made the plan, she had the time to carry it out, and she didn't even KNOW! Another thing to learn at Hogwarts...wasn't school wonderful?
Her anger was gone. There was no need to hate anymore. She smiled sweetly at Umbridge, a real smile, happy and childlike and carefree. Because nothing Umbridge could do to her could warrant revenge anymore. It had been such an easy decision to make, really, who knew that this was the way to happiness? Really, she had already made the same decision a million times. The pain Paternoster felt, the way she feared her, wasn't that all a lead-up to the final decision about her fate? Nothing new, nothing new. The fantasies she had had...well, they were the same thing, weren't they? It was hard to hate Umbridge when, in her mind's eye, Bellatrix was watching blood trickle from her mouth.
She spoke more quietly, matching Umbridge's tones, but with an irrepressible happy tinge that might well have told Umbridge everything.
"No, not physically, I haven't laid a wand on Paternoster. Not yet, anyway, why do you ask?" Umbridge frowned.
"I'm afraid you never will. I have made the decision, and," she tapped her wand on the fountain for emphasis, "we prefects do have the authority to do this, whatever you might think"
Bellatrix couldn't stop herself.
"What decision? Why aren't you telling me? What are you trying to hide from me?" Umbridge's frown deepened, and Bellatrix could have sworn that she caught a quickly suppressed eye-roll.
"Please let me finish. While we were discussing your misbehavior, I decided that you should not be allowed around the school alone"
"Merlin," Bellatrix muttered, a vague sense of dread running up her spine and into the place behind her eyes where her darkest thoughts lived. If her parents had let her hear anything of the sort, she would have sworn. From cheerful to grim in five seconds, give or take.
"Yes, it is unfortunate, is it not?"
"Shut up."
"Happily, Agatha Jugson has agreed, without reservation, to accompany you everywhere you go." Umbridge smiled widely. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"
I really like Agatha. No, really, right?
Review Answer Thingy, Blah Blah Blah:
tarak795: Bellatrix may very well contemplate murdering Umbridge again in the future. She may also become a prefect. I dunno. (Can you tell I'm not plotting this very far ahead?)
Unfortunately, I have no idea how to get the popcorn back from dead!Ron. Reviews will instead be rewarded with...a dead fish!
Hey, where'd everybody go?
