Chapter 17: The Mailroom
Bellatrix sat cross legged on top of a long narrow desk. Metal of her newly found rings pressed firmly to her stinging forehead. She should have ducked instead of trying to block the bloody hex she admitted irritably. Doing anything half-way complex without a wand was a hassle, and went sideways more often than not.
She looked around the room deciding on her next target. Hopefully something with a bit less of a punch. She was not in the mood to spend the rest of the evening brewing potions for the some damage that got through her pathetic defenses.
Never before had this particular room served as a source of entertainment. As it was, waiting to die was a surprisingly boring when all your affairs were already settled, people and causes you cared about were irrecoverably dead, and you were stuck on an island without a wand.
Several days after she came to her senses, on a whim, she peeked inside the place and was startled to find the space brimming with packages, letters, and howlers. So many howlers!
The wards in the Grotto House worked the same as at all other Black's properties. Owls with personal mail and with official mail were allowed to find the recipient. Everything else was banished to the mailroom. The estate wards determined what was personal and official, and were usually accurate. There was a way to include or exclude senders from direct access to a recipient as needed. And of course, elves could be commanded to clear the space from the malicious mail without too much danger to themselves.
Judging by the piles of mail, the mudblood was either unaware of the room, or was avoiding the hazardous missives.
Whatever the reason, it served Bellatrix just fine.
The place was an exercise in humiliation from the moment she stepped in it, but also brilliant for wandless magic practice, for occasional amusement, and for venting her anger.
And venting was important, else she'd try to kill the moody snappy teenage witch! And die prematurely for her trouble.
First, it was the I-do-I-don't marriage drama of young Weasley. If the mudblood so wanted to marry her filthy blood-traitor boyfriend surely she had opportunities. Bellatrix certainly didn't impose her unconscious self onto her. And if Narcissa did so, then the mudblood was welcome to go and pout at Cissa!
And now, a glimpse at the trashed Prophet this morning explained the latest reason behind the girl's sour mood. The Holy Potter celebrated his birthday the day before. Dinner With Friends was plastered all over the front page. As if that was Bellatrix's fault. If it was up to her, the boy wouldn't have reached the ripe age of 16. Unfortunately, her Lord wanted to play with his food. And look where that got him. Where it got all of them!
Truly, Bellatrix had many more reasons to be cross about the occasion!
She waved the two small red envelopes to fly up and sliced them open with a well aimed Diffindo .
Levitating, slicing and burning, she was getting very good with those three.
Vile screaming filled the space.
"...how do you live…"
'...filthy animal...'
"…letting the monster go…"
' ...find you Lestrange...'
"…the horde of centaurs-"
'A horde?.. This is just uncalled for.' Bellatrix's soft mutter drowned under all the screaming.
"…my husband-"
Bellatrix focused and channeled her magic. She hadn't practiced the spell on a moving target yet. Incendio . Corner of her lips twitched up. One of the envelopes ignited still spouting damnations and quickly turned to ashes.
' ...regret being alive...'
'...werewolves tear you apart! The end is-'
'A bloody beasts' sanctuary. What's next? Trolls and thestrals?..' she muttered as she set the second flapping envelope on fire. 'How about doing your own bloody maiming and torturing?'
She waved another four smaller squares up and sliced them open. The voices blended into one sharp and ugly screech, words meaningless with so many shouting at once.
The dark witch hummed in appreciation. No distractions.
Bellatrix rubbed her wrist. It still smarted from too much writing. The current Lord Applefield was several years ahead of her at Hogwarts. A very peculiar fellow, turned to be useless to the Dark Lord, but embarrassingly peculiar nevertheless. The peace-loving mudblood would find plenty to humiliate him with, if she so chose.
She had an elf take the scroll and the quickly scribbled excuse to the mudblood. Hopefully, the girl won't read too much into it.
Bellatrix waved another set of small red envelopes up, and after making sure they weren't about to hex her, she went back to her musings.
The girl's plan was complete rubbish. She could sabotage the current members and the new of the same ilk would come forth, whether by assignment or election or inheritance. The law that so incensed the girl was simply an irritation. Even for Bellatrix. She sure would have liked a better option, but a better option as Narcissa kept insisting was not available and might have landed her in a crypt sooner than the 30 days the young mudblood gave her.
So all in all she couldn't complain.
Much.
Bellatrix worried the skin over her dark mark. If she could get over her distaste for the mudbloods, and persuade the girl to go along… she might possibly extend her life even longer. She wasn't counting on it, but wouldn't that just bug all those good guys …
And the mudblood was not unfortunate looking.
The Muggle clothing she insisted on wearing emphasized the lithe, compact form in the most outrageous of ways. Some cleavage was expected, but in what society was it acceptable to practically glue the pants to one's butt?! And then let them slide that low while one was sitting, or bending… It was like Molly bloody Prewett's approaching curse. She could do nothing but stare.
Then there were freckles. What witch left blemishes on her face? No proper family allowed for such things to manifest in their offspring in the first place... unless they were Weasleys… or poor… or Muggles… Somehow, the ugly things suited the girl, made her look more alive.
She sighed.
Then of course there was the unruly hair, chestnut with the streaks of muted reds and dark golds, more wavy than curly in contrast to the more curly than wavy Bellatrix herself had.
The girl reminded her of warmth and of freedom.
And Bellatrix so wanted to be closer to both.
Her thoughts went back to musing what it would feel like to run her hands through that hair, and over that body, and not while the girl screamed bloody murder and writhed in agony.
Black eyes widened at the path her thoughts took and the witch groaned in distress.
'I am going mad to think this way about a mudblood,' she pulled at her own hair.
She summoned a larger envelope, opened it automatically and promptly toppled to the side as the missive turned into a flashing spear of light and crashed into the wall behind where her head was just a moment ago.
'Bloody sick! Was this going after me or the girl?!'
Bellatrix was surprised to discover the nasty and often cursed missives were just as likely to be addressed to the mudblood as they were to her. People really didn't like the Golden Girl's decision not to kill her promptly.
She looked at the chip in the wall and wondered how the spell worked. The missile appeared corporeal until it hit the wall. Would it have stayed corporeal while slicing through her head, or would it have dissipated after hitting the skull?..
Better to stick to the smaller, less hazardous missives, since her mind wasn't fully in it. Soon the place filled with noise once more and her thoughts went back to her main topic of concern.
Their brief fun on the drawing room floor proved that touching the girl was not that revolting…
Bellatrix didn't remember the encounter that well, torturing someone was not that unique. But she did not remember feeling disgusted. She remembered the terror at the thought that her Lord's item was stolen; she remembered the fury at the girl's denials; she remembered the surprised outrage at the girl's fortitude. She did not remember disgust.
Why, dearly departed Roddy stirred much more bile by simply breathing in her presence.
The girl's memories of that exchange had to be quite different from hers… If the little episode in the ballroom was any indication.
Not that that was Bellatrix's problem…
Or was it?..
Sometimes, it almost seemed as if the younger witch was willing to extend the so-called marriage beyond the consummation deadline. And sometimes, Bellatrix almost entertained the option. Sometimes she thought not of what was gone but of what still was. Her sister was stubbornly still there. Her freedom was still a possibility. She had no doubt that the Ministry would try hard to come up with something to undermine it. But by their own law she was to go free in 7 years. That was half the time she spent in Azkaban, and this time she was staying in a much more agreeable environment.
Several hours later, Bellatrix still had all her limbs injury-free and most of her dignity intact. Her control of the magic was getting better. Her duck or duel instinct improved noticeably.
All good things eventually ended. For Bellatrix's day, the end was in the form of muggle-dressed Hermione Granger in the mailroom doorway, with her wand drawn.
Two howlers writhed in the air doing what they were created to do, spouting a garbled string of condemnation and vitriol.
'What is-'
Yes, the little mudblood didn't know about the room, wide eyes blinked at the space in surprise and confusion.
Bellatrix couldn't maintain Silencio and levitate packages and raise shield and practice occasional counters, which so far were very ineffective, all at the same time without a wand. So she didn't bother with the silencing charms at all. She relied on the other witch being otherwise occupied, and clearly this day she was not.
Bellatrix waved for another, bigger, red envelope to fly up and opened it.
She saw the moment it exploded, and steeled herself. She was briefly distracted sneaking a look at the mudblood's face and failed to raise her pitiful shield in advance. Though, her shield wouldn't have stopped something of this strength anyway. Without a wand it was nowhere close to her usual standards.
But a loud Protego rang and she was still sitting on top of the long mail sorting counter, instead of sliding down the wall behind her. That would have hurt.
'Are you mad?!'
Bellatrix rubbed her ears and shook her head. That was loud. Expulso or Bombarda? Very potent for the envelope that size. And it was directional. The stacked mail on the opposite wall was undisturbed. Only the space around Bellatrix was wrecked. How curious! How did they manage that?
Did the mudblood just shield her? Was she really asking her about being mad? Rude. Should be asking that of the idiot who packaged that much of the hex into the blasted howler.
'Lestrange, are you mad?!' The girl was screaming even louder than the ring in Bellatrix's ears. 'What is going on here? What is this place?!'
Bellatrix ignored the more ridiculous of the questions.
'It is a mailroom. Mail comes here.'
'But- I get mail- I never saw this room!'
As if that was Bellatrix's problem.
She waved several smaller howlers to the air and sliced them open, fairly certain that smaller ones were hex-free, or at least harmless enough. She didn't feel like listening to the mudblood. She could take her brooding snappy self somewhere else.
The space filled with a racket of profanities and threats.
That shut up the mudblood quite effectively. However she was now staring at Bellatrix with an unreadable expression. A new for Bellatrix, since the younger witch was very easy to read.
What was it?!
The howlers fell silent and disintegrated.
'You- You can perform magic? wandless magic? wandless wordless magic?'
Hermione stared at the witch, completely lost for words or actions. She wanted to pull at her hair. She should have known, should have at least thought of the possibility.
'I am a witch.'
Hermione hated that flat tone, and that sentiment. As if that explained everything! As if she was not a witch if she didn't anticipate this!
Long silence stretched until Bellatrix jumped down from the desk, glanced at the doorway still occupied by Hermione, and stormed to the farthest from Hermione point in the room. Something dark and dangerous flickered in the black eyes.
'Going to bind my magic?' The witch's tone was odd, low, just above a whisper. The look in those black eyes was just as odd. 'What is your tether of choice, then? Potions, charms, shackles? I want chains. I want to see what's been done to me!'
Hermione didn't think about what was done about prisoners' magical abilities in Azkaban. She assumed the combination of the prison location, the cells' materials, the lack of wands, and the threat of attracting the Dementors made the magic impossible for prisoners… Not the actual personal measures. She remembered Bellatrix's Azkaban picture. The witch was in chains. Hermione didn't realize there was more to them than the obvious.
'I may not be able to stop a charm, but I'll never submit to potions.'
Hermione slowly stepped into the room, curiously observing piles of ash all over the place, and visible dents in the walls from something other than the explosion she just witnessed. How many howlers did the witch go through? She stopped a fair distance from the angry witch, her wand was still held loosely in her hand from casting Protego.
Black eyes darted towards hers, flitted over her face, stared longingly at her wand, until finally settling on the dent in the wall.
'Would you let me feel my magic? Some time. Before they kill me…I won't do anything. I haven't done anything.'
Hermione was confused, who were the they that Bellatrix expected to kill her?
And why did everyone around her think the worst of her all of a sudden?!
Mrs. Weasley in her letters expressed regret for not finishing the dark witch off, but also the confidence in Hermione being able to do the right thing. Ginny was planning a party to celebrate Hermione's freedom. Minister Shacklebolt sent a note informing her that a team of aurors was on standby for when the time came.
And now Bellatrix…
Hermione wanted to scream.
'Should I also blind you so you can't read spell books, or break your wrists so you can't use a wand? Maybe I should break your legs along with it so you wont run away when they come for you?' she snapped.
She felt bad when instead of a caustic retort the older witch went white, paler than she ever saw her; and that was saying a lot, given Bellatrix's sick motionless form of several weeks before.
'You wouldn't…' Bellatrix stopped, and seemingly reconsidered. 'Surely, if you do all that you won't need to take my magic away too?'
Hermione blinked.
Was the witch actually bargaining with her?!
'You'd rather keep your magic than your vision?'
Bellatrix's stormy eyes fixed on her.
Brown eyes rolled in exasperation.
'Merlin! Lestrange, I am not planning to harm you, or put shackles on you, or doze you with potions, or whatever else you suspect me off! That's barbaric! That's what I meant with my questions. Rhetorical questions! Unlike some people, I don't relish torture! I can't believe you… Actually no, you, I can believe! It is everyone else I cannot believe!' Bellatrix's expression didn't change much, except she did look more confused than before. 'Ugh… I'm not talking about this!'
With that Hermione stormed out the room and slammed the door after herself with a lot more force than required.
Then the door reopened.
'And stop trying to kill yourself. First the potions lab. Now this! So far the only they here are you!'
With that the door slammed closed again.
End of Chapter 17