Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle/Voldemort
Title: Prisms of Darkness (First four chapters),
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Lord Voldemort, Hermione Granger
Prompt: 011. Red, 010. Years, 014. Green, 086. Choices
Word Count: N/A
Rating: R
Summary: She will surrender. There are no questions in his mind. It is only a matter of time. And he was never an impatient man. What Lord Voldemort wants, he will get. It will not be any different this time. Hermione Granger will belong to him.
Author's Notes: This one was written for another prompt challenge. However, the community hosting the prompt challenge died, so I figured why not use it for this prompt challenge since it says in the profile that old fics are allowed. Hopefully, I'm not breaking any rules. :) No betas for the first few chapters of this fic, so please excuse any grammatical errors.
Chapter 1
The war was over.
Everything seemed to stand still the moment the Killing Curse was cast from Lord Voldemort’s yew wand and hit Harry Potter square on the chest.
The Boy Who Lived, their savior, the only hope for the Muggle and Wizarding world was dead.
A few minutes later, a scream of glee came from Bellatrix Lestrange as the Death Eaters attacked all who had stood up against the Dark Lord. With the victory of Voldemort, the Death Eaters fought even more viciously. As much as the people on the Light side wanted to put up a battle, the death of Harry punctured their spirits as a needle would puncture a balloon.
For some reason, Voldemort had not used the Elder Wand in the last battle against Harry. Later, when Hermione was thrown into a dungeon at the Malfoy Manor, she heard rumors about the Elder Wand being stolen. That, however, was no longer the most important issue.
Despite of her grief for the deaths that had occurred, she knew she had to go on. The brightness in her eyes slightly dimmed as she thought about those who had perished in the final battle.
Harry, Ron, Seamus, Justin, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Tonks were among the ones she had seen die before her. The rest of them were captured and waiting for a verdict to come from Voldemort. Nobody knew what was going to happen to them.
McGonagall was taken from the dungeons a few days ago and had never returned. The rest of them knew better than to think that she was alive although they did hope for it. If at least one of them could get out of the prisons, they might have a chance to rally more people to fight against the Dark Lord.
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He had heard many things about her that reminded him of a younger version of himself.
He was curious about her until the first time he had seen her.
So naïve, so pure, so awfully good and brave, he thought in his head mockingly as he stared at the bushy-haired witch.
He wanted to break her. He wanted to taint her so that she was no longer as white as a piece of paper. He wanted Dumbledore and Potter to die in vain.
His followers had injured her quite badly that day, leaving her with gashes in all parts of her body. Her shirt was almost completely stained red from the blood that was pouring from her wounds. Yet, she still fought on.
When he had her brought in front of her, she looked at him with a look of defiance.
“Miss Granger,” he nodded in her direction as a gesture of greeting.
Hermione stood motionless in front of him.
He stood up from his chair and circled around her, looking at her contemplatively. He stopped behind her. “Pardon me. I had forgotten that you were a Gryffindor.”
She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.
Voldemort knew that she was afraid, but she was not frightened enough. He grabbed her by her waist, forcing her to tumble into his arms with her back towards him.
“And may I remind you that you are a Gryffindor in my hands,” he whispered to her, his lips nearly touching her earlobe. He smirked when he felt a slight shiver go through her body.
She still did not say anything.
He traced a finger down her cheek, momentarily astonished by how warm she was. Still keeping his lips right next to her ear, he hissed, “Mr. Malfoy informed me of your intelligence, Ms. Granger.” He could feel her body stiffen at the mention of her former classmate. “There are so many things I could teach you. Your thirst for knowledge could be quenched. All you have to do is swear your loyalty to me.”
________________________________________
He was trying to tempt her. As alluring as the deal seemed to her, Hermione was not going to give in. She already felt guilty for living while others perished. She was not going to let another issue haunt her conscious.
“You are as stubborn as Bella had told me,” he snarled as he threw her on to the floor.
Hermione grimaced when she hit the floor but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
“I could kill you as easily as I had killed the others. Don’t forget that you are a Mudblood. I’m only allowing you to live because I see the potential inside of you.”
“Then kill me,” she answered as she turned around and looked at him venomously. To her surprise, a high, cold laugh replied to her instead of the infamous green light.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly as he bent down towards her. “You are truly naïve. Why would I kill you when there are many, many more things to be done to you?” He stood up again and waved his wand at her, cleaning her up. “You are to follow beside me from now on.”
Hermione looked at him in disbelief.
He looked at her with his crimson eyes. “You shall see the magnificence of the Dark Arts with your own eyes.”
________________________________________
For seven years, Hermione had been following beside him. Every time he took her outside, she would look for a way to escape from him. Of course, she never succeeded and was treated with rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. To some extent, the torture made her felt at peace. She felt as if she was repaying the debt she owned Harry and Ron. Other than that, she would be tortured with the Curse when she rejected to the idea of learning the Arts.
She was tempted by the knowledge of the Dark Arts, but she still refused to touch them. She could not, however, deny the fact that watching Lord Voldemort perform them was mesmerizing. Besides the grace and expertise by which he performed the Arts, she could feel the passion behind every single one of his moves. She was almost positive that some of the curses and spells were creations of his own. Although she felt disgusted with herself, she had to admit that he was an admirable wizard.
Day after day, she saw innocent lives being taken and people who had resisted the Dark Lord tortured. At night, when she lied in the chamber that was connected to Lord Voldemort’s room, she sometimes wanted to laugh at Voldemort for believing that she would want to learn the Dark Arts if she saw these inhumane acts. Of course, sometimes, he would read intriguing passages from texts about the Dark Arts to her, but she continued to hold up her resistance.
She knew that she had no one else. The last of the people on the Light side to die was Neville. Hermione had formerly thought that he would have been one of the first ones to die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Nevertheless, the maniacal witch saw it fit to torture the last Longbottom to insanity before ending his life.
Despite knowing what Voldemort stood for, Hermione knew that he was slowly becoming part of her life. It was evident to her when he disappeared for three days straight. Perhaps it was because she knew that he was the only one who cared about her well-being, as ludicrous as that might sound. To some extent, he was even kind to her, compared to how he treated the other prisoners. The Death Eaters around her, on the other hand, were merely indifferent.
And for that reason, she hated them even more than she hated the Dark Lord.
________________________________________
“I shall be leaving for three days,” Voldemort announced one day as he sat at the dinner table.
She was allowed food but while she did not surrender to him, she was not allowed to eat on the table. Hermione looked at him from the floor with a frown.
He was looking at her, his eyes unreadable pits of red.
She wanted to ask him where he was going to or if he was taking her, but it felt wrong for her to do so.
“You will stay in my chambers while I am gone. The House-elf will bring you your meals. You should know better than to try to leave the chambers,” he continued.
Again? That was the first thought that came to Hermione’s mind when she heard his announcement. He was leaving her alone in the chambers again?
As if he had read her mind, or maybe he had, he smirked before standing up from his seat and Apparating at the spot.
She continued to stare at the spot he had occupied until one of the House-elf came and questioned her if she would like a bath.
She numbly replied to the House-elf but she could not explain the feeling of loss she felt inside of her. What was wrong with her?
________________________________________
Hearing the gentle click of the doorknob, Hermione jumped up from where she was sleeping and ran into Lord Voldemort’s room. To her dismay, it was only the House-elf bringing her lunch. She sank down to the floor.
Where was he? It had already been four days already.
Perhaps someone killed him, she thought, trying to smile at the idea but was terrified when she found that she could not.
Throughout the whole day, Hermione vaguely knew what was happening around her as she contemplated on her feelings and the reasons for them. The next day, those thoughts were thrown to the back of her head when Voldemort still had not returned.
She sat beside the chair he always sat in at the dining table, burying her head in her knees. She was lost and confused. She hated him. Then why was she feeling so lost when he was not around her?
When she heard the familiar crack beside the chair she was sitting next to, she immediately looked up. He was looking quietly at her with his red eyes.
Hermione knew, without looking at the mirror, that her eyes were sparkling at the sight of him.
________________________________________
The night he took her, she did not resist him. While they were in bed, all she could remember, all she could see, all she could feel was him. As she lied beside him, afterwards, she wondered if she had been placed under the Imperius Curse.
Her face turned a few shades paler when she could not convince herself any longer that she was placed under a spell. She had been willing.
Hermione turned her head and looked at the wizard lying beside her. Voldemort was looking at her with an expressionless face.
She wanted to cry but she could not. The tears did not come even when she willed them to come.
Hermione felt dizzy as the realization hit her.
She had fallen in love with him. Although she hated him, at the same time, she loved him.
He sat up on the bed and ran a finger down her arm. Hermione looked at him but he did not say a word. He got out of bed and robed himself.
“I shall return by nightfall,” Voldemort said before he Apparated away. Hermione stared at where he was just standing before again.
I’m in love with him. I hate him. Yet I’m in love with him.
Hermione almost wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it.
Instead, she screamed.
________________________________________
He knew that she would stop struggling against him one of these days. However, he still grimaced at the irony of how it would be love that conquered the stubborn little witch for him.
When he returned to his chambers that night, he was surprised that he did not see Hermione. He called on the House-elf and it informed him that the witch was taking a bath.
He made his way to the bathroom, a smirk lingering at his lips for his ultimate victory over Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived To Annoy.
When he pushed open the door to the bathroom, all things around him seemed to freeze.
A scream of fury erupted from his throat as he threw a spell at the already broken mirror. The shattered pieces fell to the floor, joining the other pieces that were there when the mirror was first broken.
Just like the first time he had seen her at the battlefield, she was still as white as a piece of paper.
All the wounds on her body had healed already except for the new one in her chest.
And all he saw was red.
Chapter 2
She should have known earlier.
Or perhaps she had known but had not wanted to believe it.
“My Lord, why keep the girl? She is of no use to us any longer,” she had asked.
“Bella, if you were Dumbledore or Potter, would you not turn in your grave if one of your best accomplices broke down to your greatest enemy?” her Lord had answered with a vile smirk.
She always believed in what he told her. Therefore, when he said that to her, she believed in him. She believed that he merely wanted the pleasure of killing the girl for himself.
Bellatrix Lestrange had been wrong.
She had waited. She'd panicked when she'd heard about the Dark Lord bringing along the Mudblood Granger wherever he went. She'd told herself that it was a matter of days before the Dark Lord would become bored from torturing the girl. It was not that hard to break down a filthy little Mudblood. After she broke down, the Dark Lord would kill her. The place at his arms would be rightfully Bellatrix's again within days.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years.
For seven years, the Mudblood followed the Dark Lord while Bellatrix stood at the sidelines, becoming increasingly vindictive. For the first four years, still could still tell herself that there was nothing between the Dark Lord and Granger. The day when the girl appeared at the Quidditch World Cup (something which the Dark Lord had kept despite his disinterest of the sport), Bellatrix finally felt the danger of her position.
Although Granger still walked around with a look of defiance on her face, there was something else in her eyes.
Bellatrix understood that emotion. It was the same emotion she garnered for her Lord. She felt disgusted when she realized that she shared something with someone with impure blood. However, that feeling was quickly overcome by the threat she was faced with.
The Dark Lord watched the match between Bulgaria and Luxemburg nonchalantly, but she caught the occasional glances he had thrown at Granger.
No. Bellatrix finally found out that her place in the Dark Lord’s heart had been moved.
She, nevertheless, was not a witch to go down without a fight.
________________________________________
She waited. People often said that she was rash but they had forgotten that she had spent fourteen years in Azkaban. She could be patient when she needed to be.
And patience she had.
She had to go through days in which she saw that filthy little thing standing beside her master, the greatest wizard in the world. It sickened her to see the Dark Lord care about Granger. The girl and even the Dark Lord might have been oblivious to that fact, but she saw it. She saw the concern in his eyes when something about Granger happened. It made her wanted to grab the girl by the hair and throw her against the wall.
Bellatrix, however, held it all in.
Years passed again, but she was no longer worried. She had a plan. The Dark Lord did not give her his trust for no reason. Although she might be insane, as many people claimed, she was intelligent.
The night her master took the girl, she knew that he had some business to attend to at midnight and would not return till the next day. She knew her chance had finally come.
She waited outside his chambers, as much as it tortured her. Each gasp and each moan that came from the filthy Mudblood’s mouth was like a sword being plunged into her heart. She felt excruciating pain when she heard the Dark Lord’s groans and whispers.
She did not need to deny it. She was a jealous woman and hearing those sounds made her want to inflict the same amount of pain she was going through on the woman on her Lord’s bed. She, however, could wait. She had waited for three years since the Quidditch World Cup. She could wait until midnight.
When she heard the familiar crack from inside of the room, her eyes shimmered with glee. Oh yes. She was going to get her revenge.
________________________________________
She walked into the chambers after Hermione screamed. No tears were running down the Mudblood's face, but she had a traumatized look on her face. However, that look went away when she noticed that there was another person in the room.
“Bellatrix,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket closer to her body.
“Don’t you dare mutter my name with your filthy mouth,” she hissed as she pulled out her wand. “How dare you share the bed of the Dark Lord?”
“I...I...” Hermione stuttered. Apparently, she was more caught up with the fact that she had slept with the Dark Lord than the wand that was in Bellatrix’s hand.
“You love him, don’t you?” Bellatrix said, tapping the wand on her hand as she kept note of the time. All of the things she had planned must be done at the right time or else she might be caught. Or even worse, Hermione might be saved.
“I...I...” the girl continued to stammer. A maniacal laugh escaped from Bellatrix.
“You didn’t know? Or did you just find out tonight?” she giggled.
The girl stared at the wall with a blank look on her face but Bellatrix knew she was thinking.
She stopped her laughing and a menacing look appeared on her face. “It doesn’t matter any longer, Mudblood. It’s going to end tonight.”
Hermione looked at her alarmed.
“What are you going to do?” she questioned. Delicious fear was written on every feature of her face.
“Do you actually think that I’m going to allow you to stay beside him?” Bellatrix asked ferociously. “I am his most loyal Death Eater. I am the one who should be by his side. How dare someone as filthy as you have a place by his side and earn his care?”
“His care...” she repeated softly. Bellatrix laughed again.
“You didn’t know? You didn’t know? And my dear nephew always complained about your intelligence,” Bellatrix jeered as she pointed the wand at Hermione.
“You’re going to kill me?” Hermione inquired. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the girl on the bed.
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Bellatrix smiled as she stood outside of her master’s chambers yet again.
“Bella!” she heard him call her name. She immediately entered the room and knelt down in front of him.
“Yes, my Lord,” her eyes glowing with happiness.
He was all hers again.
He remained silent for a while and Bellatrix daringly glanced at him quickly before lowering her head again.
She bit hard into the inside of her lower lip.
“You’re going to kill me?”
Oh no, filthy little Mudblood. You’re going to have many more years of torture for the grief in my Lord’s eyes when he believed you to be dead. Many more years.
“Give her a proper burial,” he finally commanded. “You know what to do with those who dare to taint her name.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix answered with hatred burning in her heart.
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he sat down on the bed and looked out the window with a contemplative look on his face.
She walked into the bathroom and collected the body. When she Apparated back to her house, Rodolphus looked up at her with an anxious look.
“Bella,” he called out.
She looked at him, waiting for him to talk.
He shook his head. “This is not a good idea. If the Dark Lord finds out about this…”
“He will not find out unless you decide to tell him,” Bellatrix cut in.
He let out a sound a sound of frustration but she had already decided to ignore him.
She walked upstairs to her room and threw the body on the floor. A smirk appeared on her face as she remembered that she would have to thank the Crouches for giving her the idea. Although the dementors could not see or hear the prisoners, she knew quite well that Mrs. Crouch had taken Barty Crouch’s place at Azkaban.
She sat on the bed as the face of “Hermione Granger” turned into someone else.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Oh no. I’m not going to kill you,” Bellatrix replied as she walked across the room and sat on the armchair her master always sat in. She lovingly touched the part of the armrest where the Dark Lord always placed his hand on. “I’m not going to let you have the easy way out. Not after the torture you’ve placed me through for the past seven years.” She looked back at Hermione. “Not to mention that it would be suspicious if you died by a hex. You don’t possess a wand. No. You’re going to live but not next to him.” She flicked the wand towards the bushy-haired witch. “Stupefy.”
She started to giggle before she stood up from the bed and walked out of the bedroom. She crossed the hallway and opened the door at the end.
She was going to enjoy the next few years much more than the previous ones.
“Hello again, Mudblood.”
Chapter 3
The darkness in the room wrapped around her eyes as if she was blindfolded. She felt like a wounded lioness, lying on the ground, wearing pieces of rags on her body.
“Fit for a filthy little Mudblood like you,” Bellatrix Lestrange had spat out the first day Hermione Granger had been thrown into this cage.
The vindictive woman’s words dripped of hatred, her scent of envy. Bellatrix was wrapped completely in the color of the House of Slytherin. She was surrounded by a green world of jealousy and left with nothing but spite and vengefulness.
For a whole month, Hermione had been tortured by one of Lord Voldemort’s favorite Death Eaters. It was a game Bellatrix relentlessly played. As long as Hermione still held on to her sanity, Bellatrix was not going to stop inflicting pain on the bane of her existence.
“He never notices me because of you. You’re nothing but a filthy Mudblood, but all he thinks about is you,” Bellatrix snarled as she kept the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione.
Was he really thinking about her?
A sardonic smile appeared on her face as she looked in the Bellatrix's direction, even though every single cell in her body felt as if it was being ripped apart.
She was the luckier one of the two then. Although Bellatrix was free, the Dark Lord’s thoughts were still not on her.
________________________________________
Sometimes, she wished that Bellatrix would just kill her already. In some of her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, she would dream about the infamous flash of green light and she would wake up with a smile on her face, only to find that she was still alive for another day.
She could feel the impatience from Bellatrix’s words, annoyed by the fact that Hermione was not insane yet.
“It just goes to prove that Mudbloods are like cockroaches. You try to kill them but they just don’t bend.”
Hermione could hear the irritation behind those mocking words. A smile appeared on her lips as she acknowledged that Bellatrix was probably having an even harder time than she was. It was ironic how the one who wanted to torture someone ended up being the one persecuted.
It also surprised her that Bellatrix never bothered to illuminate the room.
Wouldn’t it give her more satisfaction to see me in pain? Hermione had initially thought.
Nevertheless, only darkness surrounded her as her screams ripped through the vacancy of the room.
________________________________________
Rodolphus Lestrange was never a kind man. It was a fact that was known by everyone. Similar to how humans needed water to survive, Rodolphus needed to inflict pain on others to live. Oh yes. He and Bellatrix were known for their abilities to administer the Cruciatus Curse, second only to Lord Voldemort himself.
That was precisely the reason why Hermione was surprised the first time he appeared in the room, cast a Scouring Charm on her, and healed her wounds. She had no idea why he was expressing motions of kindness towards her when she was, in the eyes of the Death Eaters, worse than filth on the ground.
Nevertheless, she thanked him gently whenever he appeared and he always answered with his usual unreadable expression. He never said anything while he was in the room, although Hermione would have been more than happy to hear someone else talk to her. It had been a while since she had had a proper conversation with someone, since the only tone of voice Bellatrix used on her were screams and snarls.
She tried to ask him questions, but they were never answered. Rodolphus only stared at her quietly as she swallowed the small portions of food he would bring her on his visits.
Despite her frustration, for once in her life, Hermione viewed a Death Eater as a beacon of bright light in a suffocating forest of green.
________________________________________
She no longer counted the number of days. It was impossible to know when it was morning or when it was night unless someone opened the door to her cage.
Sometimes, she found herself screaming into the darkness. Perhaps Bellatrix was getting her wish soon. Just maybe, Hermione Granger was about to go insane.
It was right when she was at the brink of breaking down. It was absurd since she never believed in the sixth sense or fortune-telling rubbish. Nevertheless, she knew. She knew he was coming.
An ominous black aura disrupted the never-ending ocean of green that surrounded her and Bellatrix.
And she knew she was correct when Bellatrix became increasingly frantic. She was not as composed as she usually was as she cast different spells around the room to conceal noises made within it.
“You’re not going back to his side. You’re not going back to him,” she chanted nervously as she continued to put up every single ward she knew.
Hermione approximated where Bellatrix was and watched her, imagining her anxious moves. It might have been funny in other cases but all Hermione felt was sadness towards the Death Eater.
________________________________________
She knew it was him before the door opened. His presence was too dominating to be missed, even if she couldn't see him.
He walked over to her and picked her up gently before Apparating back to the mansion they were living in before.
He did not ask her what happened while he healed her injuries.
“Bellatrix?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
He looked at her quietly, taking in her features which had taken on a ghostly touch to it due to lack of proper meals.
“She is no longer your concern,” he answered after he scrutinized her for a while.
As he watched her drink the bowl of soup the House-elf had brought to her, Hermione wondered if the sudden scream she just heard was simply her imagination.
Or was she really hearing the cries of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was plunging even deeper into the sea of jealousy?
Chapter 4
Another scream ripped through the air, disturbing the silence, similar to how the rumbling thunder outside interfered with the rhythm of the steadily falling rain.
He was accustomed to screams. Torture was part of his life. Without it, he was like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen, but never receiving it.
For the first time in his life, however, the shrieks did not bring him any pleasure.
“You filthy little Mudblood!” he heard the shrill voice of his wife shriek, followed by another groan of pain.
No, it did not bring him the elation he usually got from hearing the waning breaths of prisoners. In fact, all he felt was angst.
He was scared.
It was perhaps strange to think of Rodolphus Lestrange being afraid. However, no one could possibly blame him. Everyone in the Wizarding World feared the Dark Lord.
He leaned back into the chair and looked out the window. It was difficult to see the rain through the curtains, but he could still hear it spattering loudly against the glass and on the grounds. The heavy cloud cover that blocked out the sun seemed to be untouched by the winds that whistled through the unseen cracks of the house.
Sometimes, he wondered if the clouds were an omen of what was going to happen. It had not stopped raining since his wife captured the prisoner of their master.
His eyes flickered towards the prison on the second floor. It was as if he could see what his wife currently was doing to the cherished Mudblood, the woman that caused whispers amongst those who were loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
The only thing he could do was watch from the sidelines while his wife did as her heart desired.
And the uneasy feeling never subsided.
________________________________________
He was surprised when the Dark Lord requested for his presence alone. Usually, when he was called for, his wife would be summoned, too.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to run down his face. Yet, he did not dare to move before he was allowed to do so. For almost an hour, he had been kneeling in front of, and being scrutinized by, the most feared wizard in the world.
Contrary to popular belief, the Dark Lord did not live in a place filled with cobwebs and bats. Rodolphus had heard the most ridiculous rumors while he was traveling around the world, running errands for his master. People seemed to believe that the Dark Lord must live in a place that looked like a cheap Muggle imitation of a haunted house.
He had never seen the whole house before since the Dark Lord would never allow that. However, he had a general idea of what it looked like. The decorations and furniture of the mansion were simple, yet elegant. It was not nearly as cold as the Lestranges’ house or as extravagant as Malfoy Manor, but it was certainly more welcoming than both of them.
There was one thing that was similar between the three houses, nevertheless. Each of them contained, within them, dungeons to keep prisoners. Rodolphus knew too well what they looked like. Each cellar was like a second bedroom to him, having spent many moments in them.
The only difference between this time and any other time was the fact that he was never the victim.
“Rodolphus.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Another moment of silence followed, and the anxiety within the Death Eater only increased.
Rodolphus wondered how much his master knew, allowing himself to hope for a moment that the Dark Lord had not yet found out about Bellatrix's treachery. Even though both he and his wife had been studying Occlumency, he had never attempted to use it on the Dark Lord. He knew that it would be simply useless.
“How long have you followed me?” the Dark Lord finally asked.
“Ever since I left Hogwarts, my Lord,” he murmured.
“How many of my Death Eaters have betrayed me?”
Rodolphus immediately looked at him. The Dark Lord was sitting on an armchair in front of him, but the lighting in the room was too dim for him to see the expressions on his face.
“My Lord - ”
“Answer my question, Rodolphus.”
Rodolphus quickly analyzed the question in his mind. It was not as easy as it seemed to be. For the nearly twenty years he had been a Death Eater, he had seen only five people betray the Dark Lord. However, he did not know whether he should count his wife’s actions as some sort of betrayal.
It was a choice between loyalty to his wife or to his master.
His eyes landed on the yew wand held by abnormally long fingers and he finally made his decision.
“Six, my Lord.”
Although he still could not see the expression on the Dark Lord’s face, he felt the atmosphere of the room change. At that moment, he realized he had made the right choice. He did not know how his Lord found out about his wife’s treachery, but that was insignificant.
The Dark Lord stood up from the armchair, walked up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“If she dies, I shall be very displeased.”
“Yes, master.”
________________________________________
He watched as Granger bit into the small piece of bread he had given her. When he first walked into the dark room, she stared at him in wonder and suspicion. He could feel her doubt increase when he performed a Scouring Charm on her and healed some of the nastier wounds. She was almost unwilling to take the food from him, but her hunger finally overcame her.
Rodolphus had to admit that he was surprised when he walked through the door. Although she had been tortured by Bella for well over two months already, the brightness in her eyes never went away. Therefore, he continued to examine her, using the minimal light from the end of his wand, as she devoured the small ration he had brought her.
When the last traces of bread disappeared, she murmured a soft “Thank you”, observing him with curiosity in her eyes.
He lowered his eyes, stood up, and walked out of the room. He cast one last glance at the young lady before he closed the door.
The Dark Lord would never choose a woman who was weak.
________________________________________
The fire was too small to light up the living room completely. If possible, it only made the house look even more depressing. The curtains occasionally swayed, blown by drafts entering through unseen cracks of the windows.
He could hear the sounds of the winds howling and rain pelting at the window. Flashes of lighting momentarily lit up the room from time to time.
His wife was becoming frantic. She paced in front of the fireplace, muttering to herself.
Many people said that she was insane - then again, they said that HE was insane, like his wife - but he knew better. She was very intelligent, just not as cunning as the Dark Lord.
“He knows … doesn’t he … no … can’t … no …”
From the snippets he was hearing, Rodolphus could tell that she was not sure if their master knew of her treachery yet.
He quietly continued to watch her, sitting in the armchair next to the window. A couple of times, he caught her looking over at him, as if she was about to ask him something, but decided against it.
She knew that she was a valuable warrior, that their master would not dispose of her because of Granger. He could still feel her fear, however - fear that the little Mudblood would return to the Dark Lord's side.
Her heavy-lidded eyes fell on the door of the prison and she headed toward the stairs.
He softly caressed a spot on his left arm with his right hand as he watched her run up the stairs and enter the room holding her prisoner.
When the door slammed shut behind his wife, he pulled up his left sleeve and pressed his wand against his inner forearm.
His eyes never left the door.
________________________________________
He waited in the study room, not moving an inch from the place where the house-elf had left him. The only light source in the room was the candle on top of the table. The storm finally slowed down, and if he strained his ears enough, he could hear the soft sounds of the drizzle coming in contact with the grounds. His concentration, however, was not on the fickle temper of Mother Nature.
His wife's desperate screams were still ringing in his ears. Momentarily, he allowed his mind to drift off to what had happened earlier.
Even when she was faced with dementors, the signature smirk of the Slytherins had been imprinted on her face. He recalled how they stood defiantly in front of the whole court at the Ministry of Magic as officials read off what crimes they had committed.
Yet, tonight was the first time he had seen Bella’s face turn as pale as it had when she saw their master appear in their house. It turned a few shades paler when he brushed past them, going straight to where the Mudblood was being kept. Before she could comment or even attempt to stop the Dark Lord, however, she fell to the floor, bound by the Full Body Bind.
The Dark Lord halted in his stride. An aura of power, mixed with silent anger, filled the room, almost suffocating Rodolphus. Without turning around, their master said quietly, “I will overlook it this time, Bella. If this happens again, I will not be so kind. Perhaps it would do you well to remember: Lord Voldemort always knows. Release her after I leave, Rodolphus.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
He watched as the Dark Lord made his way up the stairs before his eyes landed on his wife. Her eyes were pleading him to release her, but both of them knew it was a futile request.
When his wife was finally released from the curse, her screams filled the house, filling in every empty corner.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. He immediately dropped down to the floor, recognizing his master’s presence even before he saw him.
He vaguely remembered giving the Dark Lord reports about what happened afterwards and receiving directions about what to do hereafter before he returned to his home.
Bella was still sitting on the floor, a look of despair and hatred on her face.
It was at the moment when Rodolphus realized that his master’s words were correct again.
The conflict between the lioness and the serpent would never end.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Lord Voldemort, Hermione Granger
Prompt: 011. Red, 010. Years, 014. Green, 086. Choices
Word Count: N/A
Rating: R
Summary: She will surrender. There are no questions in his mind. It is only a matter of time. And he was never an impatient man. What Lord Voldemort wants, he will get. It will not be any different this time. Hermione Granger will belong to him.
Author's Notes: This one was written for another prompt challenge. However, the community hosting the prompt challenge died, so I figured why not use it for this prompt challenge since it says in the profile that old fics are allowed. Hopefully, I'm not breaking any rules. :) No betas for the first few chapters of this fic, so please excuse any grammatical errors.
Chapter 1
The war was over.
Everything seemed to stand still the moment the Killing Curse was cast from Lord Voldemort’s yew wand and hit Harry Potter square on the chest.
The Boy Who Lived, their savior, the only hope for the Muggle and Wizarding world was dead.
A few minutes later, a scream of glee came from Bellatrix Lestrange as the Death Eaters attacked all who had stood up against the Dark Lord. With the victory of Voldemort, the Death Eaters fought even more viciously. As much as the people on the Light side wanted to put up a battle, the death of Harry punctured their spirits as a needle would puncture a balloon.
For some reason, Voldemort had not used the Elder Wand in the last battle against Harry. Later, when Hermione was thrown into a dungeon at the Malfoy Manor, she heard rumors about the Elder Wand being stolen. That, however, was no longer the most important issue.
Despite of her grief for the deaths that had occurred, she knew she had to go on. The brightness in her eyes slightly dimmed as she thought about those who had perished in the final battle.
Harry, Ron, Seamus, Justin, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Tonks were among the ones she had seen die before her. The rest of them were captured and waiting for a verdict to come from Voldemort. Nobody knew what was going to happen to them.
McGonagall was taken from the dungeons a few days ago and had never returned. The rest of them knew better than to think that she was alive although they did hope for it. If at least one of them could get out of the prisons, they might have a chance to rally more people to fight against the Dark Lord.
________________________________________
He had heard many things about her that reminded him of a younger version of himself.
He was curious about her until the first time he had seen her.
So naïve, so pure, so awfully good and brave, he thought in his head mockingly as he stared at the bushy-haired witch.
He wanted to break her. He wanted to taint her so that she was no longer as white as a piece of paper. He wanted Dumbledore and Potter to die in vain.
His followers had injured her quite badly that day, leaving her with gashes in all parts of her body. Her shirt was almost completely stained red from the blood that was pouring from her wounds. Yet, she still fought on.
When he had her brought in front of her, she looked at him with a look of defiance.
“Miss Granger,” he nodded in her direction as a gesture of greeting.
Hermione stood motionless in front of him.
He stood up from his chair and circled around her, looking at her contemplatively. He stopped behind her. “Pardon me. I had forgotten that you were a Gryffindor.”
She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.
Voldemort knew that she was afraid, but she was not frightened enough. He grabbed her by her waist, forcing her to tumble into his arms with her back towards him.
“And may I remind you that you are a Gryffindor in my hands,” he whispered to her, his lips nearly touching her earlobe. He smirked when he felt a slight shiver go through her body.
She still did not say anything.
He traced a finger down her cheek, momentarily astonished by how warm she was. Still keeping his lips right next to her ear, he hissed, “Mr. Malfoy informed me of your intelligence, Ms. Granger.” He could feel her body stiffen at the mention of her former classmate. “There are so many things I could teach you. Your thirst for knowledge could be quenched. All you have to do is swear your loyalty to me.”
________________________________________
He was trying to tempt her. As alluring as the deal seemed to her, Hermione was not going to give in. She already felt guilty for living while others perished. She was not going to let another issue haunt her conscious.
“You are as stubborn as Bella had told me,” he snarled as he threw her on to the floor.
Hermione grimaced when she hit the floor but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
“I could kill you as easily as I had killed the others. Don’t forget that you are a Mudblood. I’m only allowing you to live because I see the potential inside of you.”
“Then kill me,” she answered as she turned around and looked at him venomously. To her surprise, a high, cold laugh replied to her instead of the infamous green light.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly as he bent down towards her. “You are truly naïve. Why would I kill you when there are many, many more things to be done to you?” He stood up again and waved his wand at her, cleaning her up. “You are to follow beside me from now on.”
Hermione looked at him in disbelief.
He looked at her with his crimson eyes. “You shall see the magnificence of the Dark Arts with your own eyes.”
________________________________________
For seven years, Hermione had been following beside him. Every time he took her outside, she would look for a way to escape from him. Of course, she never succeeded and was treated with rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. To some extent, the torture made her felt at peace. She felt as if she was repaying the debt she owned Harry and Ron. Other than that, she would be tortured with the Curse when she rejected to the idea of learning the Arts.
She was tempted by the knowledge of the Dark Arts, but she still refused to touch them. She could not, however, deny the fact that watching Lord Voldemort perform them was mesmerizing. Besides the grace and expertise by which he performed the Arts, she could feel the passion behind every single one of his moves. She was almost positive that some of the curses and spells were creations of his own. Although she felt disgusted with herself, she had to admit that he was an admirable wizard.
Day after day, she saw innocent lives being taken and people who had resisted the Dark Lord tortured. At night, when she lied in the chamber that was connected to Lord Voldemort’s room, she sometimes wanted to laugh at Voldemort for believing that she would want to learn the Dark Arts if she saw these inhumane acts. Of course, sometimes, he would read intriguing passages from texts about the Dark Arts to her, but she continued to hold up her resistance.
She knew that she had no one else. The last of the people on the Light side to die was Neville. Hermione had formerly thought that he would have been one of the first ones to die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Nevertheless, the maniacal witch saw it fit to torture the last Longbottom to insanity before ending his life.
Despite knowing what Voldemort stood for, Hermione knew that he was slowly becoming part of her life. It was evident to her when he disappeared for three days straight. Perhaps it was because she knew that he was the only one who cared about her well-being, as ludicrous as that might sound. To some extent, he was even kind to her, compared to how he treated the other prisoners. The Death Eaters around her, on the other hand, were merely indifferent.
And for that reason, she hated them even more than she hated the Dark Lord.
________________________________________
“I shall be leaving for three days,” Voldemort announced one day as he sat at the dinner table.
She was allowed food but while she did not surrender to him, she was not allowed to eat on the table. Hermione looked at him from the floor with a frown.
He was looking at her, his eyes unreadable pits of red.
She wanted to ask him where he was going to or if he was taking her, but it felt wrong for her to do so.
“You will stay in my chambers while I am gone. The House-elf will bring you your meals. You should know better than to try to leave the chambers,” he continued.
Again? That was the first thought that came to Hermione’s mind when she heard his announcement. He was leaving her alone in the chambers again?
As if he had read her mind, or maybe he had, he smirked before standing up from his seat and Apparating at the spot.
She continued to stare at the spot he had occupied until one of the House-elf came and questioned her if she would like a bath.
She numbly replied to the House-elf but she could not explain the feeling of loss she felt inside of her. What was wrong with her?
________________________________________
Hearing the gentle click of the doorknob, Hermione jumped up from where she was sleeping and ran into Lord Voldemort’s room. To her dismay, it was only the House-elf bringing her lunch. She sank down to the floor.
Where was he? It had already been four days already.
Perhaps someone killed him, she thought, trying to smile at the idea but was terrified when she found that she could not.
Throughout the whole day, Hermione vaguely knew what was happening around her as she contemplated on her feelings and the reasons for them. The next day, those thoughts were thrown to the back of her head when Voldemort still had not returned.
She sat beside the chair he always sat in at the dining table, burying her head in her knees. She was lost and confused. She hated him. Then why was she feeling so lost when he was not around her?
When she heard the familiar crack beside the chair she was sitting next to, she immediately looked up. He was looking quietly at her with his red eyes.
Hermione knew, without looking at the mirror, that her eyes were sparkling at the sight of him.
________________________________________
The night he took her, she did not resist him. While they were in bed, all she could remember, all she could see, all she could feel was him. As she lied beside him, afterwards, she wondered if she had been placed under the Imperius Curse.
Her face turned a few shades paler when she could not convince herself any longer that she was placed under a spell. She had been willing.
Hermione turned her head and looked at the wizard lying beside her. Voldemort was looking at her with an expressionless face.
She wanted to cry but she could not. The tears did not come even when she willed them to come.
Hermione felt dizzy as the realization hit her.
She had fallen in love with him. Although she hated him, at the same time, she loved him.
He sat up on the bed and ran a finger down her arm. Hermione looked at him but he did not say a word. He got out of bed and robed himself.
“I shall return by nightfall,” Voldemort said before he Apparated away. Hermione stared at where he was just standing before again.
I’m in love with him. I hate him. Yet I’m in love with him.
Hermione almost wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it.
Instead, she screamed.
________________________________________
He knew that she would stop struggling against him one of these days. However, he still grimaced at the irony of how it would be love that conquered the stubborn little witch for him.
When he returned to his chambers that night, he was surprised that he did not see Hermione. He called on the House-elf and it informed him that the witch was taking a bath.
He made his way to the bathroom, a smirk lingering at his lips for his ultimate victory over Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived To Annoy.
When he pushed open the door to the bathroom, all things around him seemed to freeze.
A scream of fury erupted from his throat as he threw a spell at the already broken mirror. The shattered pieces fell to the floor, joining the other pieces that were there when the mirror was first broken.
Just like the first time he had seen her at the battlefield, she was still as white as a piece of paper.
All the wounds on her body had healed already except for the new one in her chest.
And all he saw was red.
Chapter 2
She should have known earlier.
Or perhaps she had known but had not wanted to believe it.
“My Lord, why keep the girl? She is of no use to us any longer,” she had asked.
“Bella, if you were Dumbledore or Potter, would you not turn in your grave if one of your best accomplices broke down to your greatest enemy?” her Lord had answered with a vile smirk.
She always believed in what he told her. Therefore, when he said that to her, she believed in him. She believed that he merely wanted the pleasure of killing the girl for himself.
Bellatrix Lestrange had been wrong.
She had waited. She'd panicked when she'd heard about the Dark Lord bringing along the Mudblood Granger wherever he went. She'd told herself that it was a matter of days before the Dark Lord would become bored from torturing the girl. It was not that hard to break down a filthy little Mudblood. After she broke down, the Dark Lord would kill her. The place at his arms would be rightfully Bellatrix's again within days.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years.
For seven years, the Mudblood followed the Dark Lord while Bellatrix stood at the sidelines, becoming increasingly vindictive. For the first four years, still could still tell herself that there was nothing between the Dark Lord and Granger. The day when the girl appeared at the Quidditch World Cup (something which the Dark Lord had kept despite his disinterest of the sport), Bellatrix finally felt the danger of her position.
Although Granger still walked around with a look of defiance on her face, there was something else in her eyes.
Bellatrix understood that emotion. It was the same emotion she garnered for her Lord. She felt disgusted when she realized that she shared something with someone with impure blood. However, that feeling was quickly overcome by the threat she was faced with.
The Dark Lord watched the match between Bulgaria and Luxemburg nonchalantly, but she caught the occasional glances he had thrown at Granger.
No. Bellatrix finally found out that her place in the Dark Lord’s heart had been moved.
She, nevertheless, was not a witch to go down without a fight.
________________________________________
She waited. People often said that she was rash but they had forgotten that she had spent fourteen years in Azkaban. She could be patient when she needed to be.
And patience she had.
She had to go through days in which she saw that filthy little thing standing beside her master, the greatest wizard in the world. It sickened her to see the Dark Lord care about Granger. The girl and even the Dark Lord might have been oblivious to that fact, but she saw it. She saw the concern in his eyes when something about Granger happened. It made her wanted to grab the girl by the hair and throw her against the wall.
Bellatrix, however, held it all in.
Years passed again, but she was no longer worried. She had a plan. The Dark Lord did not give her his trust for no reason. Although she might be insane, as many people claimed, she was intelligent.
The night her master took the girl, she knew that he had some business to attend to at midnight and would not return till the next day. She knew her chance had finally come.
She waited outside his chambers, as much as it tortured her. Each gasp and each moan that came from the filthy Mudblood’s mouth was like a sword being plunged into her heart. She felt excruciating pain when she heard the Dark Lord’s groans and whispers.
She did not need to deny it. She was a jealous woman and hearing those sounds made her want to inflict the same amount of pain she was going through on the woman on her Lord’s bed. She, however, could wait. She had waited for three years since the Quidditch World Cup. She could wait until midnight.
When she heard the familiar crack from inside of the room, her eyes shimmered with glee. Oh yes. She was going to get her revenge.
________________________________________
She walked into the chambers after Hermione screamed. No tears were running down the Mudblood's face, but she had a traumatized look on her face. However, that look went away when she noticed that there was another person in the room.
“Bellatrix,” she whispered as she pulled the blanket closer to her body.
“Don’t you dare mutter my name with your filthy mouth,” she hissed as she pulled out her wand. “How dare you share the bed of the Dark Lord?”
“I...I...” Hermione stuttered. Apparently, she was more caught up with the fact that she had slept with the Dark Lord than the wand that was in Bellatrix’s hand.
“You love him, don’t you?” Bellatrix said, tapping the wand on her hand as she kept note of the time. All of the things she had planned must be done at the right time or else she might be caught. Or even worse, Hermione might be saved.
“I...I...” the girl continued to stammer. A maniacal laugh escaped from Bellatrix.
“You didn’t know? Or did you just find out tonight?” she giggled.
The girl stared at the wall with a blank look on her face but Bellatrix knew she was thinking.
She stopped her laughing and a menacing look appeared on her face. “It doesn’t matter any longer, Mudblood. It’s going to end tonight.”
Hermione looked at her alarmed.
“What are you going to do?” she questioned. Delicious fear was written on every feature of her face.
“Do you actually think that I’m going to allow you to stay beside him?” Bellatrix asked ferociously. “I am his most loyal Death Eater. I am the one who should be by his side. How dare someone as filthy as you have a place by his side and earn his care?”
“His care...” she repeated softly. Bellatrix laughed again.
“You didn’t know? You didn’t know? And my dear nephew always complained about your intelligence,” Bellatrix jeered as she pointed the wand at Hermione.
“You’re going to kill me?” Hermione inquired. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the girl on the bed.
________________________________________
Bellatrix smiled as she stood outside of her master’s chambers yet again.
“Bella!” she heard him call her name. She immediately entered the room and knelt down in front of him.
“Yes, my Lord,” her eyes glowing with happiness.
He was all hers again.
He remained silent for a while and Bellatrix daringly glanced at him quickly before lowering her head again.
She bit hard into the inside of her lower lip.
“You’re going to kill me?”
Oh no, filthy little Mudblood. You’re going to have many more years of torture for the grief in my Lord’s eyes when he believed you to be dead. Many more years.
“Give her a proper burial,” he finally commanded. “You know what to do with those who dare to taint her name.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix answered with hatred burning in her heart.
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he sat down on the bed and looked out the window with a contemplative look on his face.
She walked into the bathroom and collected the body. When she Apparated back to her house, Rodolphus looked up at her with an anxious look.
“Bella,” he called out.
She looked at him, waiting for him to talk.
He shook his head. “This is not a good idea. If the Dark Lord finds out about this…”
“He will not find out unless you decide to tell him,” Bellatrix cut in.
He let out a sound a sound of frustration but she had already decided to ignore him.
She walked upstairs to her room and threw the body on the floor. A smirk appeared on her face as she remembered that she would have to thank the Crouches for giving her the idea. Although the dementors could not see or hear the prisoners, she knew quite well that Mrs. Crouch had taken Barty Crouch’s place at Azkaban.
She sat on the bed as the face of “Hermione Granger” turned into someone else.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Oh no. I’m not going to kill you,” Bellatrix replied as she walked across the room and sat on the armchair her master always sat in. She lovingly touched the part of the armrest where the Dark Lord always placed his hand on. “I’m not going to let you have the easy way out. Not after the torture you’ve placed me through for the past seven years.” She looked back at Hermione. “Not to mention that it would be suspicious if you died by a hex. You don’t possess a wand. No. You’re going to live but not next to him.” She flicked the wand towards the bushy-haired witch. “Stupefy.”
She started to giggle before she stood up from the bed and walked out of the bedroom. She crossed the hallway and opened the door at the end.
She was going to enjoy the next few years much more than the previous ones.
“Hello again, Mudblood.”
Chapter 3
The darkness in the room wrapped around her eyes as if she was blindfolded. She felt like a wounded lioness, lying on the ground, wearing pieces of rags on her body.
“Fit for a filthy little Mudblood like you,” Bellatrix Lestrange had spat out the first day Hermione Granger had been thrown into this cage.
The vindictive woman’s words dripped of hatred, her scent of envy. Bellatrix was wrapped completely in the color of the House of Slytherin. She was surrounded by a green world of jealousy and left with nothing but spite and vengefulness.
For a whole month, Hermione had been tortured by one of Lord Voldemort’s favorite Death Eaters. It was a game Bellatrix relentlessly played. As long as Hermione still held on to her sanity, Bellatrix was not going to stop inflicting pain on the bane of her existence.
“He never notices me because of you. You’re nothing but a filthy Mudblood, but all he thinks about is you,” Bellatrix snarled as she kept the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione.
Was he really thinking about her?
A sardonic smile appeared on her face as she looked in the Bellatrix's direction, even though every single cell in her body felt as if it was being ripped apart.
She was the luckier one of the two then. Although Bellatrix was free, the Dark Lord’s thoughts were still not on her.
________________________________________
Sometimes, she wished that Bellatrix would just kill her already. In some of her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, she would dream about the infamous flash of green light and she would wake up with a smile on her face, only to find that she was still alive for another day.
She could feel the impatience from Bellatrix’s words, annoyed by the fact that Hermione was not insane yet.
“It just goes to prove that Mudbloods are like cockroaches. You try to kill them but they just don’t bend.”
Hermione could hear the irritation behind those mocking words. A smile appeared on her lips as she acknowledged that Bellatrix was probably having an even harder time than she was. It was ironic how the one who wanted to torture someone ended up being the one persecuted.
It also surprised her that Bellatrix never bothered to illuminate the room.
Wouldn’t it give her more satisfaction to see me in pain? Hermione had initially thought.
Nevertheless, only darkness surrounded her as her screams ripped through the vacancy of the room.
________________________________________
Rodolphus Lestrange was never a kind man. It was a fact that was known by everyone. Similar to how humans needed water to survive, Rodolphus needed to inflict pain on others to live. Oh yes. He and Bellatrix were known for their abilities to administer the Cruciatus Curse, second only to Lord Voldemort himself.
That was precisely the reason why Hermione was surprised the first time he appeared in the room, cast a Scouring Charm on her, and healed her wounds. She had no idea why he was expressing motions of kindness towards her when she was, in the eyes of the Death Eaters, worse than filth on the ground.
Nevertheless, she thanked him gently whenever he appeared and he always answered with his usual unreadable expression. He never said anything while he was in the room, although Hermione would have been more than happy to hear someone else talk to her. It had been a while since she had had a proper conversation with someone, since the only tone of voice Bellatrix used on her were screams and snarls.
She tried to ask him questions, but they were never answered. Rodolphus only stared at her quietly as she swallowed the small portions of food he would bring her on his visits.
Despite her frustration, for once in her life, Hermione viewed a Death Eater as a beacon of bright light in a suffocating forest of green.
________________________________________
She no longer counted the number of days. It was impossible to know when it was morning or when it was night unless someone opened the door to her cage.
Sometimes, she found herself screaming into the darkness. Perhaps Bellatrix was getting her wish soon. Just maybe, Hermione Granger was about to go insane.
It was right when she was at the brink of breaking down. It was absurd since she never believed in the sixth sense or fortune-telling rubbish. Nevertheless, she knew. She knew he was coming.
An ominous black aura disrupted the never-ending ocean of green that surrounded her and Bellatrix.
And she knew she was correct when Bellatrix became increasingly frantic. She was not as composed as she usually was as she cast different spells around the room to conceal noises made within it.
“You’re not going back to his side. You’re not going back to him,” she chanted nervously as she continued to put up every single ward she knew.
Hermione approximated where Bellatrix was and watched her, imagining her anxious moves. It might have been funny in other cases but all Hermione felt was sadness towards the Death Eater.
________________________________________
She knew it was him before the door opened. His presence was too dominating to be missed, even if she couldn't see him.
He walked over to her and picked her up gently before Apparating back to the mansion they were living in before.
He did not ask her what happened while he healed her injuries.
“Bellatrix?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
He looked at her quietly, taking in her features which had taken on a ghostly touch to it due to lack of proper meals.
“She is no longer your concern,” he answered after he scrutinized her for a while.
As he watched her drink the bowl of soup the House-elf had brought to her, Hermione wondered if the sudden scream she just heard was simply her imagination.
Or was she really hearing the cries of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was plunging even deeper into the sea of jealousy?
Chapter 4
Another scream ripped through the air, disturbing the silence, similar to how the rumbling thunder outside interfered with the rhythm of the steadily falling rain.
He was accustomed to screams. Torture was part of his life. Without it, he was like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen, but never receiving it.
For the first time in his life, however, the shrieks did not bring him any pleasure.
“You filthy little Mudblood!” he heard the shrill voice of his wife shriek, followed by another groan of pain.
No, it did not bring him the elation he usually got from hearing the waning breaths of prisoners. In fact, all he felt was angst.
He was scared.
It was perhaps strange to think of Rodolphus Lestrange being afraid. However, no one could possibly blame him. Everyone in the Wizarding World feared the Dark Lord.
He leaned back into the chair and looked out the window. It was difficult to see the rain through the curtains, but he could still hear it spattering loudly against the glass and on the grounds. The heavy cloud cover that blocked out the sun seemed to be untouched by the winds that whistled through the unseen cracks of the house.
Sometimes, he wondered if the clouds were an omen of what was going to happen. It had not stopped raining since his wife captured the prisoner of their master.
His eyes flickered towards the prison on the second floor. It was as if he could see what his wife currently was doing to the cherished Mudblood, the woman that caused whispers amongst those who were loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
The only thing he could do was watch from the sidelines while his wife did as her heart desired.
And the uneasy feeling never subsided.
________________________________________
He was surprised when the Dark Lord requested for his presence alone. Usually, when he was called for, his wife would be summoned, too.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to run down his face. Yet, he did not dare to move before he was allowed to do so. For almost an hour, he had been kneeling in front of, and being scrutinized by, the most feared wizard in the world.
Contrary to popular belief, the Dark Lord did not live in a place filled with cobwebs and bats. Rodolphus had heard the most ridiculous rumors while he was traveling around the world, running errands for his master. People seemed to believe that the Dark Lord must live in a place that looked like a cheap Muggle imitation of a haunted house.
He had never seen the whole house before since the Dark Lord would never allow that. However, he had a general idea of what it looked like. The decorations and furniture of the mansion were simple, yet elegant. It was not nearly as cold as the Lestranges’ house or as extravagant as Malfoy Manor, but it was certainly more welcoming than both of them.
There was one thing that was similar between the three houses, nevertheless. Each of them contained, within them, dungeons to keep prisoners. Rodolphus knew too well what they looked like. Each cellar was like a second bedroom to him, having spent many moments in them.
The only difference between this time and any other time was the fact that he was never the victim.
“Rodolphus.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Another moment of silence followed, and the anxiety within the Death Eater only increased.
Rodolphus wondered how much his master knew, allowing himself to hope for a moment that the Dark Lord had not yet found out about Bellatrix's treachery. Even though both he and his wife had been studying Occlumency, he had never attempted to use it on the Dark Lord. He knew that it would be simply useless.
“How long have you followed me?” the Dark Lord finally asked.
“Ever since I left Hogwarts, my Lord,” he murmured.
“How many of my Death Eaters have betrayed me?”
Rodolphus immediately looked at him. The Dark Lord was sitting on an armchair in front of him, but the lighting in the room was too dim for him to see the expressions on his face.
“My Lord - ”
“Answer my question, Rodolphus.”
Rodolphus quickly analyzed the question in his mind. It was not as easy as it seemed to be. For the nearly twenty years he had been a Death Eater, he had seen only five people betray the Dark Lord. However, he did not know whether he should count his wife’s actions as some sort of betrayal.
It was a choice between loyalty to his wife or to his master.
His eyes landed on the yew wand held by abnormally long fingers and he finally made his decision.
“Six, my Lord.”
Although he still could not see the expression on the Dark Lord’s face, he felt the atmosphere of the room change. At that moment, he realized he had made the right choice. He did not know how his Lord found out about his wife’s treachery, but that was insignificant.
The Dark Lord stood up from the armchair, walked up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“If she dies, I shall be very displeased.”
“Yes, master.”
________________________________________
He watched as Granger bit into the small piece of bread he had given her. When he first walked into the dark room, she stared at him in wonder and suspicion. He could feel her doubt increase when he performed a Scouring Charm on her and healed some of the nastier wounds. She was almost unwilling to take the food from him, but her hunger finally overcame her.
Rodolphus had to admit that he was surprised when he walked through the door. Although she had been tortured by Bella for well over two months already, the brightness in her eyes never went away. Therefore, he continued to examine her, using the minimal light from the end of his wand, as she devoured the small ration he had brought her.
When the last traces of bread disappeared, she murmured a soft “Thank you”, observing him with curiosity in her eyes.
He lowered his eyes, stood up, and walked out of the room. He cast one last glance at the young lady before he closed the door.
The Dark Lord would never choose a woman who was weak.
________________________________________
The fire was too small to light up the living room completely. If possible, it only made the house look even more depressing. The curtains occasionally swayed, blown by drafts entering through unseen cracks of the windows.
He could hear the sounds of the winds howling and rain pelting at the window. Flashes of lighting momentarily lit up the room from time to time.
His wife was becoming frantic. She paced in front of the fireplace, muttering to herself.
Many people said that she was insane - then again, they said that HE was insane, like his wife - but he knew better. She was very intelligent, just not as cunning as the Dark Lord.
“He knows … doesn’t he … no … can’t … no …”
From the snippets he was hearing, Rodolphus could tell that she was not sure if their master knew of her treachery yet.
He quietly continued to watch her, sitting in the armchair next to the window. A couple of times, he caught her looking over at him, as if she was about to ask him something, but decided against it.
She knew that she was a valuable warrior, that their master would not dispose of her because of Granger. He could still feel her fear, however - fear that the little Mudblood would return to the Dark Lord's side.
Her heavy-lidded eyes fell on the door of the prison and she headed toward the stairs.
He softly caressed a spot on his left arm with his right hand as he watched her run up the stairs and enter the room holding her prisoner.
When the door slammed shut behind his wife, he pulled up his left sleeve and pressed his wand against his inner forearm.
His eyes never left the door.
________________________________________
He waited in the study room, not moving an inch from the place where the house-elf had left him. The only light source in the room was the candle on top of the table. The storm finally slowed down, and if he strained his ears enough, he could hear the soft sounds of the drizzle coming in contact with the grounds. His concentration, however, was not on the fickle temper of Mother Nature.
His wife's desperate screams were still ringing in his ears. Momentarily, he allowed his mind to drift off to what had happened earlier.
Even when she was faced with dementors, the signature smirk of the Slytherins had been imprinted on her face. He recalled how they stood defiantly in front of the whole court at the Ministry of Magic as officials read off what crimes they had committed.
Yet, tonight was the first time he had seen Bella’s face turn as pale as it had when she saw their master appear in their house. It turned a few shades paler when he brushed past them, going straight to where the Mudblood was being kept. Before she could comment or even attempt to stop the Dark Lord, however, she fell to the floor, bound by the Full Body Bind.
The Dark Lord halted in his stride. An aura of power, mixed with silent anger, filled the room, almost suffocating Rodolphus. Without turning around, their master said quietly, “I will overlook it this time, Bella. If this happens again, I will not be so kind. Perhaps it would do you well to remember: Lord Voldemort always knows. Release her after I leave, Rodolphus.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
He watched as the Dark Lord made his way up the stairs before his eyes landed on his wife. Her eyes were pleading him to release her, but both of them knew it was a futile request.
When his wife was finally released from the curse, her screams filled the house, filling in every empty corner.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. He immediately dropped down to the floor, recognizing his master’s presence even before he saw him.
He vaguely remembered giving the Dark Lord reports about what happened afterwards and receiving directions about what to do hereafter before he returned to his home.
Bella was still sitting on the floor, a look of despair and hatred on her face.
It was at the moment when Rodolphus realized that his master’s words were correct again.
The conflict between the lioness and the serpent would never end.