Chapter Two: Banded
"Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh."
- Leonard Cohen
Bella did not open her eyes for a long passing moment, taking time to relish the silence; it was like the clam before the storm, the air charged with expectance, humming, alive with it. This close, Bella could feel the rapid pulse of the little Mudblood, a caged thing inside of her, waiting to burst open. Her tiny gasps of air was almost excited in Bellatrix's ears, like she too anticipated what was to come. Bellatrix savoured this, the few moments she had, of the soft lulling sensation that rolled over her like waves. It wouldn't last, for there was a darker need within her that needed to be sated.
It was like all the time in the world has passed when Bella could finally open her eyes; sigh coming back to her in sharp clarity. The flames of the fire burned brighter, the purple on the walls bleeding in their richness. The vivid colours flamed, jarring at Bella's senses, hypnotic. Transfixed, Bella watched as the shadows of flames danced against the walls, heated fingers stretching up, pleading for purchase, for mercy. It reminded Bellatrix like the hands of the dead, their slick hands would reach out, trying to grasp life as the void of death pulled them closer.
The Mudblood's breathing hand returned to some semblance of normality. Bella could almost hear her thought, small flares of hope. She wanted to believe Bellatrix would free her, would somehow conjure a shred of humanity, that a glimmer of compassion was light deep in the abyss of Bellatrix Lestrange. A smile bloomed across Bella's lips, though the Granger girl could not see it. But the girl could sense a change, the sudden stillness in Bella's body, the way her wand froze in the middle of Hermione's cheek, digging into soft, flushed skin, of a hand flexing around silky brown curls.
"Just you and I, Mudblood." Bella whispered at last, the hand in Hermione's hair slowly moving down, like a gentle caress, a butterfly's brush of wings, so soft. It made Bella wonder if she was truly touching the girl at all. Pale fingers came to rest at the lining of the Granger girl's jaw, cupping the delicate bone with pallid fingers, the pressure of the tips growing, a threat, a promise. Under her touch, Hermione shivered, a slow raking of the body, trembling against Bella's. It was a movement that made Bellatrix's eyes close once more, languishing against the feel, of how it seemed to pass through her own body.
Despite being tight-lipped, a low moan escaped from her, eyes clenched shut, small beads of tears seeping from the corners. "Any last words?" Bella said at last, tightening her hold of Hermione, pulling her closer, two slight frame melded together, the soft purr sounding in the young witch's ear. "Before you scream?" It was then tat Hermione began to struggle, her small body thrashing about, desperately, wildly. She struck out any way she could, hands and nails, kick and screaming, just endless, wordless noise that crawled out of Hermione's throat. It sound itself sang to Bellatrix, harmonious, rising like a crescendo, sounding out through the still house.
Hermione wrenched herself from Bella's grasp, chestnut stands slipping through buzzing fingertips, diffused warmth lingering, yet slowly ebbing away. Mildly surprised, Bella glanced at the backing away figure, brown eyes wide, darting around the room, distraughtly searching of an escape. Her frantic look fell on the closed doors, her expression transparent, conveying her thoughts clearly to Bellatrix. It was a game of cat and mouse, of the hunter and the hunted. The trill of the chase coursing through Bella, fingers closing over the forgotten stands of hair that lay within her grasp, an animalistic smile etching across her lips.
Bellatrix stalked Hermione, echoing the Mudblood cautious, tentative steps. It was lethal dance, macabre, the wand in Bella's hand humming ominously, eagerly, drawing a deep gaze towards it. Bella watched with growing glee as genuine fear flashed across the Granger girl's face. It was waving red at a charging bull, taunting, teasing, tempting. Dark hungry eyes stared out from a luminous pale face, tendrils of black coils cascading down, faming the sender, shapely cheekbones and a full, parted mouth. A small pink tongue ran out such fullness of a mouth, moistening the ripeness, tasting the air, of drawing in the sweet, innocent scent of the girl.
Hermione ran for the door, pulse beating frantically against the veins that trapped it, contained it. It was like every nerve within her was alive, a feeling that crashed over her, sharp and bitter. And yet, it was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted, the feeling of just being alive. It was a feeling she wished to keep. There was enough distance between her and Bellatrix, that Hermione was sure that she could make it, at least into the hallway. On habit alone, a hand sought out her wand, yet found that there was nothing to clasp. She could see dark eyes watching her, waiting, enjoying every movement, savouring it the way some savour the taste of fine wine. That powerful rich heady hit at the back of your throat, the way dormant nerve endings are brought back to life. The heated, yet callous look in those dark eyes made Hermione want to run, to be at the mercy of anyone else other than Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her hand made contact with the smooth, polished brass of the door handle, he pulse echoing against it, erratic. Under her touch, the cool metal began to heat rapidly, until the stench of burning flesh filled Hermione's senses, informing her, moments too late. The pain came next, throbbing, like her body had absorbed all heat from the brass, her hand consuming it, the searing pain radiating out. A small hiss escaped her lips, for Hermione didn't dare scream, she knew what would happen if she did. She would not sign her own death warrant; she would not play Bellatrix's games.
Hermione didn't see Bellatrix approach, not until it was too late. But she felt it, felt it like a looming shadow, like the cold spill of death that hung over of those who lay suspended in two worlds, ready to depart one of them. She spun, loose hair flying wildly, her burnt hand aching as she flexed both into fists, as if physical combat could ward off magic. Under a dark veil of lashes, Bella's eyes looked amused, watching as the little girl clenched and unclenched her petite hands, chin unconsciously jutting out, expecting a blow, asking for it really. The defiance in such brown eyes suggested the little piece of filth could goad Bella into offering an easy, painless death. But no. There was a reason for Bella's games, always a reason. The sword had been stolen and the girl must suffer. After she told Bella just how she got those unworthy hands on the bejewelled weaponry.
"You think you can fight me?" Bella asked, her dark eyes boring into Hermione. Tsking, Bella shook her head. "You're a smart girl," she jeered, watching with mirth as brown depths filled with fire. "Surely you know when to give in?" Bella watched as soft, delectable lips curled back, a fierce, challenging look on the young girl's face. "I wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction," she spat, eyes flaming with hatred. A laugh bubbled out of Bellatrix's throat, a deep chuckle that shivered across Hermione's skin like a crisp, autumn breeze. Goosebumps erupted across her flesh, hardening. "By all means," Bella drawled. "Fight me." Her eyes willed Hermione to, the onyx abyss showing what lay within, of the darkness that lay in wait to be unleashed. "What I wouldn't give," Bella whispered, drawing closer, cornering her prey. "To feel you wither underneath me while I make you scream."
The moment the words left Bella's mouth, she could see it, feel it, taste it. The image came, unbidden and insistent, pressing against her. Coils of tension knotted deep, down to her core, her breath coming out sharp, eyes bleeding with a dark heat. While the image stayed with her, the purpose of the sword, of the Dark Lord, left Bella. The rest of the world seemed like white noise and yet somehow, everything was heightened, vivid. What stayed constant, immutable, was the girl. She stood by the door, inches away from Bella, her eyes flashing, yet an underlay of acknowledgement resided. She could tell that there was no hope, yet she would fight Bella, regardless. It made parts of Bellatrix flare to life, like a snake rearing its head after a slumber. A surge of need so sudden, so strong, that even magic could not get the girl close enough, fast enough.
Sharp nails dung into the tender flesh of Hermione's upper arm, the sting blazing to life as she struggled against the surprisingly strong grasp of such a small, almost delicate looking woman. Her skin broke; the razor nails popping the skin like film, a yielding substance against the force of Bellatrix. In a sudden movement, Hermione felt the drawing room spin, objects blurring into one as Bellatrix spun her sharply, then shoving her to the floor. The carpet burned against her back as momentum propelled the girl skid against thick woven material, eyes closed tight in a grimace of pain. Her hands automatically reached out, in an attempt to stop, her charred palm scraping across the unforgiving surface, a strangled cry leaving her.
The sensual swirl of dark robes was all Hermione saw before Bellatrix's body covered hers, her thighs clenched tight around Hermione's hips, one hand fisting in thick falls of hair, roughly pulling it to expose a unmarred throat, pristine while, perfect. Bella licked her lips again, dark eyes almost seeing the rapid temp of the girl's pulse, thick and fast, wet and throbbing. The thought made her hips arch, the feel of material grating against her swelling heat sending a shudder through her slim frame. Dark eyes travelled, roamed the large expanse that lay before her, of two pert swells of white flesh that peaked out from the hem of a non-descript shirt, a few stray curls coiling around the filled skin, as if to draw all eyes there.
Brown eyes looked up at Bella, wild and fearful, lips parted, chest constricting, as if to scream. The memory of such a sound made Bella's heat pool between her, hot and thick, a tangible, heady substance that she could taste on her tongue. It made Bella want to taste Hermione's fear, to have roll against her tongue, to dance within her mouth, to feast upon it. Her body ached, want to arch again the girls, to throw her head back, eyes closed, rapture ready to leave her body in one pure sound. But Bella willed herself not to. Instead, she leaned closer, lips a sliver away for the girls, the cloying tang of the girl within each sudden breath. Through parted lips, Bella drew her in, the aromatic sweetness of her. It was only mingled air, but it felt far too intimate, far too erotic.
There was something in the girl's eyes that made Bella pause, a look that unnerved her. She wanted, needed, fear. The rush, the expelling heated pleasure that rolled off her in waves, she craved it. But somewhere, down in a dark part of the girl, there was anticipation, Bella could feel it, feel it in the way that she laid motionless, yet breathed as though he too was building, rising also for the pinnacle. Bella bent her head, teeth scarping against the buttering skin, tongue flicking out to glide against her pulse, tasting a salty tang of sweat, under thick rivets of lemon. Eagerly, Bella looked up, hoping to see fear once more, but the dark glow within the girl's eyes was growing. Something within Bella stilled as she struggled to comprehend, but there was no time, her desire fading under her confusion.
Desperately, Bella clawed for her wand, her body brushing languishingly against the girls as she moved, thighs tightening involuntarily around her. Beneath her, Bella could feel the girl tremble. Gritting her teeth, Bellatrix struggled to hold on to her sanity, or lack of thereof, eyes clasping on the exposed, bare skin of Hermione's arm. Glancing back at the girl, Bella bore into those brown eyes, willing to fear to fill them, one last chance. But the dark eyes remained wide, aroused. She also looked confused, like Bella, she could not understand this. It wasn't how things were meant to be. For once, those mud eyes unable to flare with knowledge, just as clueless as the rest.
Mud eyes. Bella forced herself to look back at the virginal arm, unmarked, untouched. Mud eyes. Mud eyes. Mudblood. She was filth, unworthy, an abomination. She needed to remember that. Bella needed to remember it. And Bellatrix would, for she would have a constant reminder etched into the soft, pliable skin of the girl. Slowly, deliberately, Bella flicked her wrist, her mind willing for the curse to come to the surface of her thoughts. Bella heard the hiss of skin singeing first, before the screams started. It was like a lullaby, the sound. A safe, comforting hymn. Carefully, Bella began to spell out the word, all the while feeling the body underneath thrashing, and no longer aroused, no longer searing with untapped desire.
Blood seeped through the marked lettering, running down white flesh, begging for Bella to draw it into her mouth, to savour the taste. The screams were more ragged now, mingled with sobs, like the girl could no longer contain them. Just big raking masses of despair, the soft wails, moans that allowed Bella to do what she did next. The jagged spelling of Mudblood gleamed scarlet, flaring crimson riveting down like fallen tears. With half-closed eyes, Bella bent down, her lips meeting the rip of skin, tongue running over the charred flesh, lapping up warm blood before slowly, like entering a lover, her tongue slid into the parted skin, the feel of chaste muscle brushing against the corrupt wickedness of Bella's tongue made her moan, liquid sex pooling thick and fast once more between her thighs, her body slowly moving itself against Hermione's hipbone.
Bella moved away, her eyes glaze a heated glow, lips stained red with Hermione's blood as she looked down at the girl, small white teeth scraping the traces of the girl from her lips, drawing her in while she gazed up, watching. Bella leaned close once more, hungry for that touching of tongues, but the sound of the doors opening made her sill, an almost guilty look on her face. "Bella?" Narcissa glazed uncertainly into the room, eyes widening when she saw her sister straddling the prisoner, a trickle of blood smeared at the corner of her lips. "I thought you killed her," she said at last, expression carefully controlled. Bella blinked, looking from her sister to the girl. "Not quite," She muttered, looking away from both pairs of eyes, unable to meet them.
With less grace than what she would have liked, Bella rose, noting how the Granger girl did not, but just lay there, against the carpet, looking dazed, torn, uncertain. "Fix her up," Bella snapped, turning to her sister in a sudden moment to anger. "She still must be questioned. Have her ready and well," Bella obsidian glare turned to Hermione, "Tomorrow she will tell me just how she got her hands on that sword." Bella's heels echoed as she walked, leaving the two, only Narcissa's voice making her pause. "Do I take her back to the dungeons?" she asked, watching her sister with cautious eyes. Bella thought, her tongue running along the length of her lips in consideration. "No," she said finally. "Put her in the room next to mine. If I am unsatisfied with her story, then I will ask the Weasel boy. I do not want them fabricating some elaborate fantasy in an attempt to fool me. No, keep her apart from the others."
Bella glance over her shoulder at the motionless girl, who gazed up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers in the world. With a sneer, Bellatrix taunted. "Pleasant dreams, witchling," Her dark eyes roamed the still body, disdain within their depths. "We'll see if you can last until the morning, shall we?"
Note:
(Okay-then. So, what do you think? I'll admit, I had a wee bit of inspiration for this chapter: .com/watch?v=7WXDm5Ld3F4
Check it out if you have the time XD
Anyways, I would LOVE your thoughts, questions, any advice or whatever)
Much love mi ninas
xxxxx