Love's Odyssey in Death's Design

XIV

There was something intrinsically terrifying about waking up in an unfamiliar place and not remembering how you had gotten there. Head pounding, mouth cotton dry, Hermione stirred. The lighting was dim and yet bright enough for her to make out decaying, antique furnishings. A cloying, burnt smell hung heavy in the air, making her unsettled stomach churn dreadfully. Brows furrowed, she raised herself up into a sitting position, groaning softly at the throbbing ache behind her eyes. Her heart, once sluggish from sleep began to race as it became clearer that she had no clue where the hell she was. Sucking in a breath in an attempt to calm herself down, the brunette tried to focus, tried to remember exactly what had happened.

Flashes of blurry images from the night before lit up in her mind like an old Muggle television. A bar. A perverted bartender who would have surely had his way with her until an unlikely savior with wild black curls and a deranged cackle had interfered. Hermione wondered if the Muggles who had been in the bar were even still alive. It should have bothered her that she didn't give a damn if they weren't.

Her scar started to itch.

Bellatrix Lestrange was here. Or she was with her, rather. Under the same roof. For one horrific second she thought she was in a cell, locked in some dank dungeon never to be seen or heard from again. But no, there would be no furniture in a cell. No fireplace. No candles. Another glance around the strange room alerted her to her beaded bag laying haphazardly on an end table within arms reach. Relief flooded through her like rushing water and Hermione grabbed it, retrieving her wand from its depths. While searching, her fingers brushed the cool metal blade of a hunting knife that had been in her possession since she, Harry, and Ron had set off to hunt down Voldemort's Horcruxes. Back then, she thought it might come in handy, and as she pulled it from the bag, the security of both implements - the wand and the knife - made her feel slightly more at ease.

And then, someone started to scream. Raw, desperate screams and the scar on her arm flared to a stinging burn. Hermione gasped, clutching at her skin, trying to soothe the pain but she knew there was nothing that could be done. This was exactly what had happened at St. Mungo's. She could see the scar was an angry red, swollen just as it had been then, the screaming filling her ears and head, the combination evoking a metaphysical tug, a pull towards the ailing child. It was unbearable but she knew she had do something, go somewhere for it to stop. Last time, she had appeared in a cleaeing on the side of a road in the dead of night. But Hermione knew she would not have far to travel now to find the source of her agony.

She came to a set of double doors which she opened to be met with the interior of a rather large library. Shelves and shelves of books, floor to ceiling. Had this been any other time or place, Hermione was sure the bookworm in her would have been in raptures. But with Bellatrix Lestrange sprawled out on an armchair in the center of the room, it was difficult to notice anything but her.

Her footsteps were unsteady as she slowly approached the dark witch, gripping the knife as she did so. She could see the Death Eater was asleep but evidently in the throes of a nightmare. She knew well the tell tale signs. Her eyes were twitching behind the closed lids. A light sheen of perspiration had beaded above her brows and she was murmuring something. Something that sounded oddly like 'Father' and 'please'. The screaming had stopped and as Hermione edged closer, carefully as one would when approaching a venemous snake or a dragon, she realized that the burning sensation on her arm had dwindled down to a dull throb.

The realization of the fact that she had never seen Bellatrix Lestrange in such a vulnerable state hit Hermione like a blow to the chest. The Death Eater was smaller than she remembered. Petite. It was almost comical given how terrifying she was. She could just do it now. The knife was already in her hand. In one fell swoop, or a perfectly aimed stab, she could be the one to rid the Wizarding World of one of the most evil individuals known. She would be avenging the deaths and tortures of so many, including herself. Right there and then. End the madness. Spit in the faces of those who thought she deserved to be commited to the loony ward. Solve all of her problems. And afterward, afterward she just might take her parents up on the offer to move to Australia. She wanted her life back. The life she had before Voldemort and the war. And she could have that, by taking Bellatrix Lestrange's life. It was after all for the greater good. And she wholeheartedly believed in that, did she not?

There were many words that could be used to describe the color black. Jet. Pitch. Inky. Obsidian. Onyx. Sable. There were others too. But not one of them came close enough to exemplify the color of Bellatrix's eyes as they suddenly snapped open. There was a depth in the color, an almost tangible something in the dark irises that could not be defined. There was no word for it. They were transfixing to the point where Hermione's brain stalled, forgetting entirely that perhaps she should be frightened or at the very least worried that the notorious criminal was now awake and watching her with a shrewd, calculating expression.

"Do it, girl. Do whatever it is you think you want to do with that."

Everything went still. So still that Hermione could only hear the pounding of her heart, the rush of her blood, and her short, shuddering exhales being torn from her parted lips. The knife was shaking, no not the knife. Her hand, it was trembling, fingers clutching the hilt of the blade so tightly the whites of her knuckles were stark against the mottled flesh. Her chest was heaving, she was aware of that as well. She could not move and she wondered if Bellatrix might have cast a silent Full Body Bind on her. But no, she would have collapsed if that were the case.

A slender, surprisingly warm alabaster hand wrapped around her wrist then and Hermione watched as if she were outside of her own body as the dark witch's fingers tensed, squeezed. But it was an almost gentle pressure. Not enough to hurt, but to grab her attention. It coaxed her arm to slowly lower, eliminating the blade's threat with each centimeter of descent, until her hand was now by her side and the weapon went clattering to the library's floor.

In an instant, the room went on tilt as she was knocked down by a stinging blow to the face. Her back hit the floor with a thud and she involuntarily bit down on her tongue, immediately tasting blood. But the pain hardly registered because Bellatrix was now on her, straddling her, the same hand that had been wrapped around her wrist was know gripping her throat.

"Have you lost your mind," the Death Eater purred, her voice low and lethal, as her grip tightened, "Because I really think you have, dearie."

And just like that, she was back at Malfoy Manor. In that icy drawing room. Same position. Only then she had been begging, pleading, crying, shaking. Back then the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse had been buzzing through her blood. Back then, a knife had been in the hands of the dark witch who had used it to carve 'Mudblood' into her skin. Back then, she had been helpless. Weak. A pitiful, sobbing wreck who had not possessed the sense or courage to fight back.

Then, she had not yet seen the horrors of war. She had not yet watched her best friend burn to death in a fiery inferno. She had not yet been betrayed by her closest friends, by her own parents. Back then, her greatest fears had merely been failing her classes or not getting to sit her NEWTs on time. That day was not this day however, and now, she was a very different Hermione Granger with a point to prove.

With a strangled yell, she grabbed a handful of thick dark curls and yanked as hard as she could. Startled, Bellatrix's grip loosened just enough for Hermione to draw a much needed gulp of air to prepare to fight for her life. She thrashed wildly beneath the dark witch, punching, kicking, scratching at whatever skin she could reach. Adrenaline pulsed madly through her, her headache and malaise all but forgotten. It took Bellatrix a moment to realize what was happening apparently for she did not immediately duck or dodge any blows and the Gryffindor lioness within Hermione roared in triumph as she felt her nails break skin.

Bellatrix began to laugh, raucous, gleeful cackles that were as disarming as it was grotesque given the situation and it gave Hermione pause. She watched in awestruck disgust as the Death Eater thumbed away the drops of bright red blood that had welled up from the scratch on her cheek and lick the digit clean.

"The kitten wants to play, hmm?" she mused with a dulcet simper, "Let's play then."

Every single shred of logic in the brunette's brain knew that it was highly unlikely that she could best Bellatrix one on one. In a fight or a duel. But this was not about logic. It was about survival. Kill or be killed. It was a tangled mess of limbs and violent blows, nails, and teeth. At one point Hermione attempted to roll over and reach blindly for the knife that had fallen but Bellatrix stopped her with backhand slap that made the brunette see stars. The dark witch was ruthless and frighteningly strong despite her size. But Hermione was running on adrenaline, desperation, and rage and her own fists were hitting their target, albeit with far less precision than her foe. They were both bleeding, panting, growling obsecenities in between blows. It was carnal, raw, and had Hermione been watching this frenzied tussling, this fight for dominance from a distance, she might have found it almost erotic.

Pinned beneath Bellatrix for the third time, however, with a knee compressing her sternum and her forearm pressed against her windpipe, her lungs burning with the need to breathe, the only thing Hermione could feel was surety that the Death Eater was actually going to strangle her to death. Her movements were sluggish now, her strength depleting rapidly as oxygen depravation made her vision blur and the blood vessels behind her eyes throb in earnest.

"Had enough?" Bellatrix drawled, her voice rough, tight with exertion, her tone taunting, condescending.

Had she not been struggling to stay conscious, Hermione would have initiated round two by smacking that smug smirk off of Bellatrix's swelling mouth. As it was, logic won out at last and the brunette nodded once. The gesture was far from submissive, she glared defiantly up at older witch, hazel eyes ablaze. Perhaps she was imagining it but, strangely, this seemed to impress the Death Eater.

Once she was released, Hermione inhaled so deeply and greedily, she began to choke. But coughing was okay, hiccups were all right. It meant she was breathing. Bellatrix was snickering as if this were the most amusing thing in the world, and in between gasps, Hermione could see the older witch tucking the hunting knife blade first into her corset. Her lip was split and there was a bruise forming on her pale cheek. But besides that, Voldemort's former lieutenant appeared as if she had merely gone for a brisk walk and not at all like she had been in a brawl.

"Where am I?" Hermione managed to ask, slowing down her breaths to prevent hyperventilation, "What am I doing here?"

"Seems to me like you need a lesson in manners, dearie. I did save you, didn't I? Perhaps I should have let that filthy Muggle have his wicked way with you instead."

Hermione huffed in irritation, unable to argue the fact, but not at all liking the dark witch's use of deflection. "I want to leave now."

Bellatrix tapped her chin thoughtfully, gaze rolling upward as if pondering the idea. "Hmm, no, I don't think so," she said at last, "I should like you to remain here a little longer."

Dread filled the pit of Hermione's stomach cold as ice. Was she being held prisoner then? Could she even escape if she tried? Would Bellatrix lock her up? And how, Merlin how would anyone even know where to look for her? Or if to look for her.

"My friends, the Order, they will notice if I just disappeared," the brunette bluffed, ashamed at the almost pleading tone that edged the words. Bellatrix would not risk being captured by the Order. She could not risk it. She would be sent straight to Azkaban or given the Kiss. And even though Hermione would love to see her punished for her crimes, to be in the very prison cell, witnessing a Dementor suck the soul out of the vile witch, her first priority was to get out. Make her see she had no choice but to let her go.

"Is that right?" Bellatrix whispered, slowly approaching Hermione until there was less than an inch of distance between them. She was so close that the younger witch could at last decide what color her eyes were. They were like the ocean at midnight. Swirling, choppy waves of darkness and unfathomable depth. "No one has known where you've been for over a month, girl."

The fact that Hermione was momentarily distracted by Bellatrix's eyes was more startling than the words she had just uttered. It was true. She had not seen or spoken to anyone she knew in the Wizarding World since the day she had left the Burrow. And even now, she had no desire to.

"Best make yourself comfortable. The wards on this manor are rather nasty should you try to leave."

Her anger blessedly bubbled to the surface once more and Hermione was grateful for it. Anger was a much safer emotion than fear. Anger helped to cloud the truth. The truth being that not only would no one attempt to find her but honestly, she did not want them to. Anger helped dull the confusion as to why it felt...right to be here, to be in the vicinty of Bellatrix Lestrange. Anger was good and she clutched at it before it could fade into acceptance. "I would rather be cursed than to stay here with you."

Bellatrix smiled, a wry, almost eerie quirk of her lips, as she resumed her position in the armchair. Her expression was one of detatched arrogance as she wiped the drying blood from her mouth. It was like the fight had never even happened. She was much too at ease. Almost triumphant. "Careful what you wish for, Mudblood."

There was an ominous undertone to the statement that made Hermione's heart stutter in her chest. That melted her residual anger into puddles of fear for it gave the impression that somehow her wish had already come true.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, October is such a busy month for me giving the fact that its my birthday month. Granted my birthday is the day before Halloween but lots to prepare for nonetheless. Anywho, next chapter should be up in a more timely fashion.

So, here it is. Hermione has agreed to stay in the safe house with Bellatrix. Sort of. Fun times ahead. Yep, fun times. I wanted to make a point with the fight scene. In some Bellamione stories, Bellatrix basically beats Hermione's ass every chance she gets, locks her in a dungeon, abuses her some more and somehow they fall in love. Though stories like that are a bit of guilty pleasure for me and I definitely may take a page out of that particular book someday, this won't be like that, sorry to disappoint. Hermione is in a dark and tumultuous place in her life and while a lot of her actions thus far have been very self destructive, I think she has a point to prove, especially to Bellatrix. The point being that she isn't the same girl she tortured in Malfoy Manor. She isn't weak, she isn't helpless. She's hurt and angry.

Let me know your thoughts of course! Thanks so much for support, as always. Really, it means so much. Until next time loves - bellanoire, over and out!