FIC: Impossible, (3a/30)
Title: Impossible
Author: perfect_pride
Pairing: Hermione/Bellatrix
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: It goes without saying that none of the Harry Potter world or its’ characters belong to me, unfortunately. Neither do the lyrics.
Warnings: Mental and physical abuse/torture.
Summary: Bellatrix abducts Hermione and keeps her prisoner, but an ancient magic threatens to change both their lives in ways they never thought were possible.
A/N: This fic is set during the summer months at the start of Deathly Hallows and complies with the events in the book. The timeline has been slightly adjusted at the start but it is barely noticeable. It takes into account events from the books and the films, but mainly the books as they are my favourite and provide greater detail. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 (film) wasn’t considered as I wrote this beforehand and I feel like the scenes I have written and slotted into the book version work better. I hope that makes sense, if not, please ask. Also, I have tried to keep the characters in-character despite the unlikely pairing. Feedback is welcome. :)
(1), (2)
**
Don’t let me see mistakes and lies
Let me keep my faith in innocent eyes
Delta Goodrem, Innocent Eyes
**
3.
“Wake up, Mudwhore!”
Groggily, Hermione opened her eyes. She must have fallen asleep at some point after forcing herself to pee into that disgusting bucket in the corner. Despite the icy temperature of the dreary cell, she had apparently been so tired that she had somehow closed her eyes without realising. Thankfully, she hadn’t dreamt, because under no circumstances would her dreams have been anything but horrific considering her current predicament. To add insult to injury, her face was throbbing from the previous day when Bellatrix has punched her hard, the Death Eater’s heavy silver ring having broken the skin that covered her cheekbone.
“I said WAKE UP!” Bellatrix repeated, when Hermione’s eyes flickered shut once more. “You have no right to ignore me, despicable girl!”
Not wanting to antagonise Bellatrix further, Hermione snapped her eyes open. Upon doing so, she realised just how close to her the older witch was, and instinctively, she slid backwards to sit upright against the wall. “I’m sorry,” she croaked, trying not to sound dazed and half asleep. There was an insane look in Bellatrix’s eyes, coupled with a deadened sort of glare which scared Hermione above everything else. It was almost like Bellatrix was unaffected by everything around her, and was fixated entirely on Hermione. That alone wouldn’t ordinarily be so much of an issue, were it not for the fact that it was not only a deranged Death Eater standing in front of her, but one with a penchant for injuring Muggle-borns like Hermione.
Muggle-borns that she despised.
“I will say this once, and once only,” Bellatrix growled, her voice dangerously low. Instinctively, Hermione knew that she was about to face the wrath of Bellatrix. “If you ever speak to me in the way that you did so yesterday, I will make this twice as hard for you.”
How is that even possible? It wasn’t as though she’d been having a fabulous time so far; she had been tortured, humiliated and locked in a cell with no means of escape. Nothing that had happened to her was even close to Hermione’s idea of entertainment.
“Ohh it can get a lot worse,” Bellatrix said threateningly, and Hermione tried her best not to worry about the possibility that Bellatrix was still sifting through her private thoughts whenever she so chose. Occlumency was her only hope of preventing it, and she had no idea if she was even capable of learning it in such a horrific environment with no outside support like teachers or books.
“Please, don’t do this,” Hermione pleaded. “Whatever you’re planning... please. Don’t.”
Bellatrix shook her head, swaying back and forth. “Uh uh. Too late.” She straightened, and promptly spat in Hermione’s face. “You disgust me!”
Cowering, Hermione raised her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t even bother to wipe her face; Bellatrix would most likely only do something worse if she did. No more did she attempt to beg, because it wasn’t worth it. Until Bellatrix had punished her there was nothing she could do but accept what was coming to her. The Death Eater’s did not forgive easily, if at all, and so Hermione’s earlier lapse in judgement had just earned her what was likely to be a world of pain.
“I could get the others here, you know,” Bellatrix said casually. “I could strip you of your filthy Muggle clothes and give them permission to do whatever they wished with you. No doubt there would be blood, sweat and fucking... over and over again until you passed out from the agony of it all.”
Hermione whimpered, audibly, inside of her skull, deep within her chest. No. Please, no.
“That’s not going to happen today though,” Bellatrix said, and Hermione was sickened by the fact that the other witch seemed disappointed by this. “No. Instead we have... Flagrate!”
No warning.
Heat. Burning. Fire.
Hermione yelled, and at once her throat enveloped in the flames that had already surrounded her body, drowning out her screams. She was being burnt alive, and there was nothing she could do but to focus on the pain, the intense, horrifying, torturous pain. So terrible was it that Hermione almost imagined she would rather have faced all the other Death Eaters that Bellatrix had threatened to bring to her. Nothing could be as bad as this, it was just another form of Crucio, a hotter kind of torment that was unbearable, that made Hermione feel as though she was losing her mind. Was this ever going to stop? Would she ever feel normal again? I’m burning... I’m burning... fetch the engines, fetch the engines. Fire fire, fire fire!
She couldn’t remember the ending... the solution that led to the fire dying. There was no water for her body, just constant, terrifying anguish and suffering.
Please stop.
And then, her request came true. “I think that’ll do...” she heard from the distance.
The flames disappeared, and after she felt her skin heal, she eventually she managed to stop her screams, wrenching her mouth shut. She didn’t trust herself to say anything right now, and wasn’t entirely sure if she was even capable of speech.
“You do realise that only went on for thirty seconds,” Bellatrix informed her. “Much longer and there’s a risk of permanent damage... and the last thing I want to do is to scar your lovely, flawless skin!” She cackled.
Forcing her eyes to open, Hermione felt the dread turn to relief as she felt her neck and realised that Bellatrix was right; her skin was undamaged. Although her heart was racing, she felt calmer knowing that aesthetically at least she was unaffected. Come to think of it, there weren’t any lasting twinges of pain or weakness either like there was with the Cruciatus curse, though her skin did feel hot. It was almost as though it had never even happened, and that was what scared Hermione most of all. It meant that Bellatrix could perform that spell over and over again, inflicting excruciating pain on Hermione whenever she so wished to do so.
“Speak, Mudblood,” Bellatrix commanded sharply.
“I... I...” Hermione tried hoarsely. She could barely speak such was her fright at the new form of torture that had been thrown at her. ”Don’t know what... to say.”
Surprisingly, Bellatrix sat down opposite Hermione. “Why don’t you ask a question? You’re so good at those! Nothing related to my devotion to The Dark Lord though,” she warned.
“I don’t... what sort of question?” Is this a game?
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “I tell you what... question for a question! And then some more, perhaps. You ask yours first and then I’ll speak. It’ll give you a chance for your voice to recover. In fact, drink this.” Bellatrix thrust the dog bowl at Hermione.
Not daring to disobey Bellatrix, especially when she was in such a raving mood, Hermione drank. The water actually cooled her throat, for though she no longer experienced any pain, her body still felt too warm. One thing was certain however, she would never again use metaphors such as “My body is on fire” to describe a high temperature when she was ill; not when she had been unfortunate enough to have experienced the real thing.
“You should ask your question now,” Bellatrix said with a manic grin.
Knowing this was just another form of play to Bellatrix, Hermione didn’t want to ask her any questions with real meaning. At the same time she had to be seen to be genuinely interested in the dark haired witch, lest she suffer the consequences. Therefore, she settled for something that she had always wondered about, and was entirely random. “Why don’t you...” she paused. There was no nice way of asking this question, but she couldn’t think of anything else to ask. Moreover, she was actually intrigued, and this would comply with Bellatrix’s instructions in that it was completely unrelated to Voldemort.
“Do go on,” Bellatrix drawled, appearing to wait in anticipation.
“On the photo I saw of you at Sirius’s old home,” Hermione began, careful not to say anything that would reveal the location of the house should it ever be safe to use in the future. She also ignored the twinge of pain as she remembered Harry’s godfather and how Bellatrix was responsible for his death. “You looked different.”
Bellatrix smirked. “I’m surprised my dearly departed cousin even allowed for there to be a single photograph of me in the house.”
“On the tapestry,” Hermione mumbled.
“Oh really? That explains it,” Bellatrix accepted. “Continue with your question.”
“You looked... beautiful,” Hermione said, feeling slightly ridiculous and trying not to dwell on the fact she had sort of complimented Bellatrix. “But now, it’s like you don’t care anymore. Your teeth and your nails...” she stopped talking, not knowing quite how to phrase what she wanted to say. She didn’t want to face another curse or hex, especially not when she had just faced the last one. Sighing, she decided she should probably just say what she wanted to say. If she unnerved Bellatrix, then good. The bitch deserved to be the freaked out one for a change. “Why don’t you take care of the way you look? I don’t understand it.”
Bellatrix looked genuinely perplexed by Hermione’s question. Slowly, she answered, “Well Mudblood, I suppose I’ve just not really thought about it.”
“Ever?” Hermione asked, disbelieving.
Bellatrix shrugged. “When you’re on the run and fighting for your cause and Master, nothing else tends to matter.”
“But you still dress well,” Hermione pointed out. If a little morbid.
Bellatrix grinned. “I’m sure your little friends wouldn’t appreciate you complimenting me, Mudbaby.”
“It doesn’t matter... not as if I’m ever going to see them again,” Hermione said dismissively, and she tried not to let this thought hurt her too much. She had to focus on the conversation, if only so that she could read Bellatrix’s moods and sense when she was straying into dangerous territory as far as conversation was concerned. At the moment she appeared to be treading on stable ground, but that could all change in a moment, especially when considering Bellatrix’s ever-changing personality. All it would take for Bellatrix to turn would be for her to say the wrong thing on just one occasion, and that would be it. Smack, Bang, Crucio.
“Hmm,” Bellatrix said. “You know, I think it’s my turn to ask you a question now.”
“Fine,” Hermione said, bracing herself for whatever offensive remark and request for information was going to be thrown her way.
“Many witches and wizards despise me,” Bellatrix stated. “They would happily see me dead. But you... you don’t. I lock you up, torture you, mock you, and yet you still don’t hate me. Why?”
“How do you know that?” Hermione said. “You have no idea how I feel towards you.”
“Ohh, but I do,” Bellatrix disagreed. “I read your thoughts, remember? I know how you ponder the decisions I’ve made, wonder about my evil ways. You debate with yourself whether or not there’s a good little Bella deep within my stony heart.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to believe you truly hate me so much,” Hermione responded. It worried her that she apparently wasn’t aware of Bellatrix’s perusal of her thoughts. If she wanted, it seemed she could read certain feelings of Hermione without her even being aware. Hermione suspected that this was due to her advanced skills in Legilimency, most likely second only to the skills of Voldemort. She doubted that every single Legilimens out there could perform it as well as Bellatrix could.
“What are you suggesting? That my torture is a sign I love you?” Bellatrix said mockingly, bringing a hand up to her chest and splaying her fingers out over her heart. “But you still haven’t answered my question, ickle one...”
“That’s because I don’t really know the answer,” Hermione admitted. “I just... can’t. There are others I hate, but not you. And it doesn’t make sense to me in the slightest, believe me.”
Bellatrix searched Hermione’s eyes for signs that she was lying. Satisfied, she said, “I can see that you’re telling me the truth, and that makes it all the more extraordinary. Apparently, I made the right choice in bringing you here out of all the filth I could have chosen. At least you’re not a savage.”
Hermione was perplexed. “And why exactly would I be a savage?”
Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix looked at Hermione as if she was the stupidest person she had ever met. “Because most Muggles are.”
Not even bothered to explain that she wasn’t actually a Muggle, Hermione was far more intrigued by the fact that Bellatrix seemed to truly believe her words. It was as if she really thought that Muggles were barbaric creatures who existed to torment wizards. Fair enough, there were a large amount of crazy, insane Muggles out there, but it was exactly the same in the wizarding world. In fact, Bellatrix was a perfect example herself. She didn’t exactly have the right to go around commenting on others’ violence and penchant for sadistic torture considering her own crimes. Hypocritical freak.
She frowned, a random thought dawning on her as she considered Bellatrix’s actions further. Why had Bellatrix brought her here? Was it opportunist or was she targeted? Did Bellatrix make the decision or Voldemort? Why Hermione?
“You’re wondering why you were chosen,” Bellatrix stated, and felt twinges in her brain, a sign that Bellatrix had broken into her mind again. “Well, I’ll answer it for you seeing as you’ve been such a good little Mudgirl these past few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Hermione said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
“It’s simple, really. Of all the Mudbloods out there, you are the only one who has so truly captivated a pure-blood, or rather, pure-bloods,” Bellatrix said with a shrug. “I wondered what all the fuss was about.”
“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, confused.
Bellatrix sighed, impatient. “The Weasleys... the blood traitors! They’ve practically adopted you as their little pet... they love and care for you and make you feel oh-so-wanted. How many other pure-blood families are doing the same for a Mudblood in these dark and dangerous times?”
Hermione thought for a moment, and then realised that Bellatrix was right. There were no names that immediately sprung to mind, and upon thinking further, Hermione still couldn’t name any other family who had looked after a Muggle-born the way that she had been looked after. A pang rushed through her heart as she realised how lucky she had been, how her stupid actions had landed her in this current situation. The Weasley’s had not left her alone because they had been concerned for her safety, and rightly so judging by what had now happened. If only she had listened to them then she would be safely tucked up in bed at this very moment, not having an in-depth conversation with Bellatrix Lestrange in a grotty little cell. And really, that was the crux of the matter; if she hadn’t been so stubborn and had done as she was told then she wouldn’t be here.
Curious about how Bellatrix had found her, Hermione said, her voice full of inquisitiveness, “How did you know I’d be outside the protection of the Weasley’s home?”
“I didn’t. It was a lucky guess, I suppose. We have all been visiting the homes of members of the Order in an attempt to catch somebody off guard...” she leaned in to Hermione. “And I grabbed you faster than a goblin grabs galleons.” Bellatrix chucked as Hermione shuddered.
“So... what? You thought you’d take me away, make me suffer?” Hermione asked, horrified by Bellatrix’s admission.
“That’s the gist of it, yes. And if your dear friend Potter turns up to rescue you then all the better for us,” Bellatrix said with a smile.
“He won’t,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “He’s not that stupid.”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Besides, even if he doesn’t, you’ll still be sticking around. My husband has had many of his own witch-pets these past few months, and I decided it was high time I had one of my very own,” Bellatrix said, and for a split second, it was almost as though she was leering at Hermione.
Hermione stared. She was confused, not only by the brief expression on Bellatrix’s face, but by the information Bellatrix had provided about her husband. “You’re happy for him to snatch other women?” She asked, incredulous.
Bellatrix laughed. “For someone so smart, that was an absurd question,” she said scornfully. “Do you really think that our marriage is based on love? I couldn’t care less about what Rodolphus chooses to do for pleasure in his spare time, and he feels the same in return. We married because we were forced, and at the time, for our status. If he wants to take Mudsluts and Muggle filth back to his home to play, who am I to judge?”
“You don’t even live together?” Hermione asked, unable to stop herself. The rational part of her dictated she should be happy about not having to face Rodolphus as well, but she was so enthralled in her conversation with Bellatrix that she barely felt a thing.
Bellatrix huffed at what she clearly considered to be Hermione’s stupidity. “Of course not, idiot. By separating it makes us stronger; if one is caught then it does not mean everyone else is too. Of course, now that the Dark Lord is getting stronger it isn’t as necessary, but I still don’t plan to share a bed with Rodolphus anytime soon.”
Trying not to look too shocked, Hermione blinked, hoping that her gaze was impassive. She was sort of surprised at how much Bellatrix was revealing to her, but in another second, she realised exactly why. Bellatrix was never going to let her go, was she? For the rest of her days she would have to live here, serving Bellatrix. Hell becomes my life, she thought bitterly, before remembering that Bellatrix was likely to delve into her mind if she should she become curious as to know what she was thinking about.
Speaking again, Hermione hoped that a flowing conversation would prevent Bellatrix’s curiosity. “Have you never wondered what it feels like to marry someone for love?” she asked.
Bellatrix kept her eyes fixed on Hermione’s, though they betrayed nothing. “I don’t believe I’m required to answer that question, Mudblood.”
“I thought we were playing a question game,” Hermione said lightly.
“We are. But not only have I answered far more questions, I am not required to do as you say. Remember, all it’ll take is one flick of the wand...” she held it up threateningly, moving it closer towards Hermione.
“Ok,” Hermione said hastily. “We can talk about something else.”
“Or I could torture you again,” Bellatrix suggested.
“No... no wait,” Hermione said, hating the fact that even to her own ears she sounded desperate. “Let’s talk about something... something mundane. Like Quidditch.” She didn’t have a clue about Quidditch, but it was the first safe topic that came into her head.
Bellatrix stared blankly. “I hate Quidditch.” She raised her wand, seemingly bored of talking by now. “Crucio!”
The pain began once more.
**
(3b)