Warning: Chapter contains scenes of child abuse
Love's Odyssey in Desth's Design
XIII
Life came with burdens. Some great, some small; some light, some gruelingly heavy. No matter what, it was unavoidable. So long as one drew breath, eventually there would come a time or many when they would be saddled with a proverbial cross they had no choice but to bear. As Bellatrix cut her eyes down at the girl who had crumpled in a bloody heap right at her feet the moment the pair had Apparated in front of the safe house, she was reminded that this was yet another burden. She had had many of those in her lifetime, but each and every one of them absolutely paled in comparison to being magically bound to a Mudblood. A Mudblood who just so happened to unknowingly be the deciding factor in whether she lived or died in a few months time. Unless the unthinkable happened and the two managed to fall in love. But it was so much deeper than that. She would bet every Galleon she owned that her Horcrux knew it too. Had somehow designed it this way. If it had the power, which she was still rather puzzled about. The bond they shared had not been one forged from love, but hatred. And hatred did not usually pave the way for the warm and nauseatingly fuzzy emotions that accompanied love. They were connected simply because they hated each other. The former Death Eater would need to spend a great deal of time scouring the library, intensively researching some sort of highly improbable counter-curse. For she was sure that once the Mudblood did find out the ramifications of the connection she had in no way signed up for, sparks might fly. Literally. Maybe even a few deadly bolts of green.
That would definitely take care of the problem, wouldn't it? It would create a few more too.
Bellatrix would have dearly loved in that moment to aim a sharp kick at the girl's ribs. It could have been justified in the form of a not quite apology which incorporated the assurance that she had been merely making sure her charge was still alive. Though why she was even thinking about needing a reason to kick a Mudblood was almost humorous in itself. She could not dredge up the urge to laugh however, as she realized on top of everything else, she was now tasked with having to get the severely intoxicated girl into the manor. And while the idea of leaving her outside with the threat of a downpour heavy in the air was a tempting one, having the whelp catch her death of a cold and then require nursing back to health or something equally as dreadful, made the dark witch want to vomit. Connection or no connection, demented Horcrux or none, she was not about to get her hands any dirtier than they already were. Breaking that filthy Muggle's nose before knocking him and his little friends unconscious with a series of spectacularly powerful Stunning spells had been more than enough. Even if it had come with a good deal of satisfaction.
Thinking back on it, Bellatrix figured she could have given the piece of shit a nice dose of the Cruciatus Curse on top of it. It had been far too long since she had last used it on anyone, too long since she had basked in the rush of power and pleasure that came over her as the poor soul would writhe and scream in the throes of an agony she had created. Still, the bartender's sweet screams may have roused unwanted attention, and in her blind fury and wanton revelry, she might not have thought to cast a proper Silencing charm.
The fact that she had been so upset about the Mudblood nearly getting herself assaulted in such a horrible way, made Bellatrix scowl. Would serve the little creature right, would it not have. What the bloody hell did she think would happen to her in a disgusting Muggle pub, by herself, getting shit faced? And they called her the brightest witch of her age. It was laughable. That title had been hers once upon a time; she had earned it, deserved it. What had old kitty whiskers McGonagall and wand up the arse Dumbledore been thinking when they bestowed the title on a girl who did not even possess the common sense to pay attention to her surroundings?
Perhaps she was procrastinating. Yes, she definitely was.
With a flick of the borrowed wand and a noise of ire that sounded suspiciously like a growl, Bellatrix levitated the Mudblood and entered the safe house. The wretched girl's long lashes did not even flutter, and the soft sighs coming from her slightly parted lips were the only audible indication that she was still breathing. Bellatrix unceremoniously dumped her on a dusty threadbare sofa and was met with no complaint, merely a harsh exhale that was almost a snore.
As she plopped down in an armchair, she found that she could not take her eyes off of the bushy haired brat. Something would have to be done about that. How could she ever fall for someone with a bird's nest for hair? She was convinced her Horcrux was about as deranged as the entire Wizarding World thought she was. Hermione Granger was the epitome of everything she was taught to hate. She was a sodding Mudblood for Salazar's sake, who directly opposed all that the Noble House of Black stood for. And she should have been just as hideous as the sludge that slicked her veins. But no, save for all that loathsome hair, she had the audacity to be beautiful.
A beautiful Mudblood. If that was not the textbook definition of an oxymoron, Bellatrix could not fathom what was.
Of course, she was not beautiful in the conventional sense, for no one actually possessed conventional beauty. Bellatrix thought of herself and her sisters; she was beautiful in the carnal sense of the word. Andromeda had been beautiful in the tragic sense. And Narcissa, Cissy was beautiful in the delicate, almost ethereal sense. The Mudbood was beautiful in the uncouth sense. It was utterly savage how her even complexion was like ripened peaches and smooth cream. How her brows gave way to almond shaped eyes that she knew were a light brown, shot through with faint traces of gold. Hazel, they were. How her nose was straight, turned up only slightly at the end. How her mouth was so uniquely crafted; petal pink lips, the top thinner than the fuller bottom. A light smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She had always considered freckles to be nothing short of unsightly blemishes, but on the Mudblood, they were not. Verily, the dark witch might have even considered them adorable if she trusted herself not to strangle the girl in her sleep for unconsciously evoking such a vile thought. It was entirely fiendish how well formed her features were. And Bellatrix had had the opportunity to witness those features fixed in more than one expression. Set determination and bone chilling terror. Now they were at rest, and had not at all wavered from their viciously alluring symmetry.
It was wrong. Just so. Proclivity for the fairer sex aside. Images of a blonde Hufflepuff, an ebony haired Ravenclaw, a rosy cheeked Gryffindor, and a simpering silver eyed Slytherin from her Hogwarts years passed before her mind's eye. Back then, she could have any girl she had wanted. Any bloke for that matter. So long as their blood was pure. The Granger girl though, was untouchable. Untouchable, yet essential. As unavoidable as life's burdens, because of the bond.
"I hate you," she hissed, the words dripping with venom. Bellatrix rose from the armchair and strode out of the room, suddenly unable to control her breathing. She was toeing the line of hyperventilation when she sequestered herself in the library, slamming the double doors shut behind her. She needed to pull herself together so she could think. Perhaps more research would fix this. Perhaps she could reverse the connection somehow, someway.
Or perhaps it was all merely wishful thinking.
Heavy rain pelted the glass panes. Forks of lightning illuminated the night sky like flashes of fire as thunder rolled, rivaling the roar of a dragon. So loud, so unrestrained, this wildly raging summer storm and yet it did nothing to drown out the cries of her sister. Each sob, each plea, each resounding slap from Andromeda's room, Bellatrix could feel like a blow to the chest. Tears stung her eyelids but she did not let them fall. The blunt edges of her teeth cut into the flesh of her bottom lip as she strained against the ropes binding her to her bed. She was not strong enough to break free, not strong enough to get to Andromeda, to put herself in the path of their father's ire. Cygnus had known she would try. She was not like Narcissa who stayed in her place. He had taken to using Incarcerous whenever he decided to discipline his youngest or middle daughters. Because Bellatrix always got in the way. He could beat her to a bloody pulp, hex her with all he had, and yet she would not stand down. And he could not marry off a disfigured daughter. She was already headstrong, making her even more undesirable by permanently maiming her could have disastrous consequences.
The ropes were tight, her struggling made them tighter. The skin on her wrists was already rubbed raw, tiny drops of blood welling up as she ignored the stinging burn. Perspiration beaded on her forehead from the exertion, her thick curly tresses clung to her face and neck. The thirteen year old uttered a hoarse scream of rage. How could Andromeda have been so stupid. Allowing a Mudblood she had secretly befriended during her first year at Hogwarts to send her letters. How could she have thought their father would not find them?
And then the anger turned to herself. How could she, Bellatrix, whose very name meant 'warrior' be so weak? How could she not release herself from these bindings? She was already mastering spells on a fifth year level. Her professors considered her something of a prodigy. How could she lay there and allow her sister to be beaten to within an inch of her life, so close that she could practically smell the blood, bear the bruises. It should be her. She knew all along about Andy's little friend and had chosen to turn a blind eye to it. She was the oldest. She was the one who should be steering her sisters in the right direction. It was up to her.
Stilling her limbs, Bellatrix sucked in as much air as she could into her lungs. "CYGNUS! YOU FOUL BASTARD! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!" her voice was sharp and shrill, cracking around the edges, her throat burning, "I SPIT ON THE BLACK NAME. NOBLE? HA! YOU ARE THE BIGGEST COWARD I KNOW!"
She was shivering, and all the air in the room, even the sounds of the thunderstorm outside seemed to still. Through the throbbing of her heart in her ears, she could still hear Andromeda's plaintive whimpers and gasps, but the yelling and the slapping had stopped. A door slammed. And then, heavy footsteps were clapping against the corridor's hardwood floor, steadily coming closer and closer. Her breath came out in short pants and she tried to make herself numb. Tried to alleviate the rapidly growing fear that was flooding her body. The door to her room was violently wrenched open and the shadow of her father lengthened across the floor before his face was made visible in the dim firelight. Twisted. Deranged.
"What did you say, girl?" The words were as deadly soft as the hiss of a viper and Bellatrix detested the involuntary sob that burst from her throat the mere sound of his voice evoked. His wand was drawn, the implement aimed true. There was no time to even think of an answer to the obviously rhetorical question before a bolt of light burst from the tip and her screams filled the room.
At least Andy's punishment was now over. Hers, on the other hand, was only just beginning.
In Azkaban, Bellatrix had known well the feeling of insects crawling over her skin, their many legs scuttling, irritating nerve endings, alerting her to her presence despite the fact that there was nothing that could be done about them. It was almost identical to the feeling of a person being far too close. Close enough to touch, not quite touching, though the sensation of touch could still be perceived. The whisper of a caress. A tingling graze. In a way, this phantom contact grabbed at the attention more efficiently than the direct pressure from a hand. And it was this particular feeling that made Bellatrix start in her troubled sleep with a gasp so soft it was barely audible.
She was drenched in sweat and shaking, her heart throwing itself against her rib cage, the nightmarish memory from her past fresh in her mind as her snapped open. In the illumination of the fire lit library, they focused easily on the flash of a blade posed directly above her chest. The knife's hilt gripped tightly in the trembling hand of the Mudblood, who stared down at her, those hazel eyes wide and wild. For a fraction of a second, Bellatrix was almost afraid.
Almost.
"Do it, girl," she muttered, voice hoarse in the clutches of slumber, yet she managed to make the words come out like a challenge, a dare, "Do whatever it is you think you want to do with that."
Author's Note: Okay, so things are definitely getting real. And that may be a bit of an understatement, yeah? Guess domestic bliss between these two isn't going to be so easy, but c'mon, did we think it would be? So much more to come, so many questions to be answered, and of course the actual romance portion of this angst fest, so please stay tuned! As always thanks so much for the support, it makes penning these chapters so rewarding! Don't hesitate to drop a review, let me know your thoughts, I LIVE for them. Really. Until next time my lovelies - bellanoire, over and out!