Chapter 1: March 1998
Bellatrix tried not to throw up as she got on her hands and knees, clutching her torn garments to her chest. She stumbled back on her feet and leaned on a tree, weak from blood loss. The pureblood swept the dark forest for the sick bastard, but found no sign of him. The events that had just transpired flashed through her mind. She cursed herself for being so foolish. It should not have been able to happen.
She was practising a spell. One that would be able to lock the Voices away, keep them at bay. She had to sit and concentrate. Unfortunately that meant that the world around her had to fade away. It had started to work, she had felt the humane Bellatrix creeping through. But the spell was cut short when a stunning spell hit her from behind. Her concentration was broken and her body flew several metres. Bellatrix found herself lying on her back and incapable of movement. Soon a tall dark-clad man with blond hair and glowing green eyes was standing over her. She looked around for her wand, she couldn't see it, she couldn't see him either. He flashed the Death Eater a cocky smile, his mouth was lined with sharp teeth. She suppressed a shudder and only looked at him with a cold unyielding expression.
"Well, well, well... What do we have here?" He knelt down next to her head and touched her face, running his hand from her forehead to her cheek, chin and neck. Bellatrix's rage was mounting, the Voices in her head were screaming for this swine's death. "It's the mighty Bellatrix Lestrange." He cocked his head and squeezed her throat. "Or should I say the bitch from hell? Or even, the Dark Lord's whore? Which do you prefer?"
Bellatrix was only slightly surprised that this creature knew her; she had spent a lot of time in various forests around Europe. As he continued to circle her, looking at her, talking to her, she tried to identify his species, to pinpoint its weakness. Frustratingly, she failed, he did not match anything she had seen before.
Bellatrix wanted to scratch, bite and scream bloody murder. She wanted to put her thumbs in his eye sockets and press down. But she could do nothing as he topped her and did what several others had already done to her. He left soon after putting his seed in her, but not before beating her. Fists connected with her chest and face, feet connected with her stomach and legs. She managed to bite him and for that he bit both her breasts through her dress, drawing blood. She struggled to get rid of her paralysis, he only laughed. He pushed the fabric on her chest, intent on completely divesting her, and found her knife. He smiled coyly, picked up the knife and trailed it down one arm, then the other, cutting deeply. He cocked his head and pressed his lips together when the woman didn't flinch. He parted her legs and cut from her cheek to her ankles. He grew angry when no reaction was forthcoming.
Bellatrix couldn't help it, she scoffed. This was nothing compared to the Cruciatus Curse. Wrong move, growling, he buried the knife up to the hilt into her chest. She grunted and bared her teeth. The creature backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. Her eyes fluttered shut as she watched the bastard disappear in a thick wall of green.
The paralyzing spell wore off at dawn the next day.
Now, leaning against the tree, watching the sun come up, the Voices yelled at her; "Weakling!" "Aw... Poor baby... Will you cry?" "This was nothing!" "You should die!"
The mocking cries continued on and on, reminding her of past rapes, telling her she was weak, hurting like this. She let go of her clothes so she could put her hands over her ears and scream. She screamed loudly, trying to drown out the Voices who seemed to be getting louder. These voices had been controlling her, for as long as she could remember they had called her weak, taunting her, forcing her to do things, telling her she'd never be enough. Sometimes she contemplated killing herself just to silence them, to be herself, to be free. Yet she found the thought repulsive, weak, so she didn't act upon it.
The pain from her scream reminded her of the knife still in her chest. She grabbed it and realizing its position, didn't pull it out. It would do her no good to decide not to kill herself then let herself bleed to death. The Voices came through and she found herself on her knees, both fighting to keep the blade in and to pull it out.
Finally, the Voices were interrupted. Her dark mark was burning, her Lord wanted her. She quickly apparated to Lestrange Manor to heal herself and change her torn garments before hurrying to meet the Dark Lord.