FIC: Impossible, (5/30)
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) , (3a.), (3b.) ( 4. )
**
Sorry you can't define me
Sorry I break the mold
Sorry that I speak my mind
Sorry don't do what I'm told
Christina Aguilera, Stripped
**
5.
There was something about Bellatrix that had confused Hermione entirely. Before she had met the Death Eater, when all she had heard about were the heinous crimes the vicious witch had committed, Hermione felt she was utterly abhorrent. She couldn’t believe that anyone could be so cruel for such a pointless reason. Blood. In the same way that racism existed in the Muggle world, pure-blood supremacy caused unnecessary divides in the wizarding world. The extremes that Bellatrix had gone to for Voldemort made no sense to Hermione; what had she ever gained from torturing people other than perverse pleasure? A pleasure that for the most part was likely down to an unhealthy bitterness over the treatment she received in Azkaban and before that motivated by a hate for Muggle-borns that most likely derived from her parents.
More than ever, Hermione wanted to see what was going on in Bellatrix’s head. She didn’t want to see her memories as such (although that would be interesting) but to understand the way she felt about the world around her. As someone who very much enjoyed learning, Hermione was intrigued by Bellatrix, and despite her horrible personality, she wanted to delve deeper and see exactly what made the older woman tick and why. It was a shame that she wasn’t an accomplished Legilimens, for at least then she would have some idea about what went on inside Bellatrix’s mind, and what inspired her to do such evil, terrifying things.
Surprisingly, true to her word, three days later Bellatrix did allow Hermione to have a bath. However, it was not without conditions, and Hermione did not allow herself to be too pleased for fear that this was just another one of Bellatrix’s games. She was not exactly filled with confidence from the word go, when on their way to the bathroom, her hands were bound together tightly by magical restraints. Hermione suspected this was partly to deter her from an attempt at escape, but also because Bellatrix wanted to make things just that little bit more difficult for her. Through the hallways, she walked in front of the older witch, who spoke only to direct her with commands such as “Go right” and “Walk upstairs” on their journey through the elaborate manor house.
“Is this your house?” Hermione asked curiously once they had reached the bathroom. She stood next to Bellatrix, observing it in awe. It was a large room made of white marble, with a deep, wide bathtub (that looked more like a mini-swimming pool) positioned against the farthest wall from the door.
“It was my parent’s house,” Bellatrix replied. “Myself and Narcissa inherited it entirely, though Narcissa has no desire to live here considering that she and Lucius have Malfoy Manor for headquarters. Technically I could stay at the Lestrange property but sometimes I prefer to be alone; especially when the Dark Lord is away.”
Hermione was surprised at the civil, revealing answer she had been provided with, but chose not to comment on this. However, she did consider the impersonal, detached way in which Bellatrix referred to the home she shared with husband extremely odd to say the least. Bellatrix talked of Rodolphus as though he were a distant acquaintance. Nevertheless, not wanting to cause trouble when Bellatrix was being so kind to her, Hermione simply replied, “Lucky.” How many other people out there had the choice of living in three different homes?
“Yes, lucky,” Bellatrix agreed. “I take it that means you like it, Mudblood?”
“It’s nice,” Hermione said truthfully. She wasn’t overly keen on the Dark objects displayed in the hallway or the lack of light and cheerful colours, but all in all, it was a beautiful property. Had it been decorated differently it would be the sort of home she would be happy to live in. There were many shades of green surrounding each room that could most likely be attributed to Salazar Slytherin, but regardless, it was an outstanding manor that Hermione never would have imagined Bellatrix to live in. Really, it put Grimmauld Place to shame, even if it did outnumber it as far as the amount of Dark objects were concerned.
Bellatrix laughed. “Only nice? I’d have thought coming from a foul Muggle dwelling that your parents no doubt own that such grandeur would impress you more.”
The insult against her mother and father, not to mention her childhood home, sent a surge of anger through Hermione. “Actually, my home is lovely. My parents’ are qualified dentists; they earn a lot of money.” She refrained from stating any specifics as to what they were currently doing. If Bellatrix called her on it she would say that they still worked as dentists and hopefully by employing Occlumency against Bellatrix prevent her from finding out about the memory charm she had placed upon them, thereby still keeping them safe. It was unlikely that Bellatrix would go to the effort of tracking them down anyhow now that she had Hermione as a bargaining tool, but it was best to be sure. Who was to say she wouldn’t torture them in front of Hermione if she had the opportunity?
“Dentists?” Bellatrix repeated sounding appalled rather than confused. Hermione knew that it was because she deemed anything Muggle-related disgusting, but still decided to explain anyway.
“They take care of people’s teeth,” she stated patiently. “They make sure they are healthy, and if someone has a pain in their tooth then a dentist will diagnose and treat it. It’s a very good job.”
“Why wouldn’t a Muggle just use a potion so the pain went away?” Bellatrix said, now sounding ever so slightly curious. Hermione forced back a smirk at the realisation, and decided she would enjoy the memory of the older witch’s curiosity about Muggles later on.
“Muggles don’t have potions,” Hermione informed her. “They have what we call ‘tablets’ that they swallow for lots of different diseases and illnesses, but sometimes outside intervention is required. So, for example, if a Muggle has tooth decay, a dentist might drill a hole in the infected enamel and put a filling in there.”
“Drill? Filling? You’re not making sense!” Bellatrix said, sounding frustrated by her failure to understand what Hermione was telling her. “Are you mocking me you arrogant little cow?”
Feeling elated at the position of strength she was suddenly in, (intellectually speaking of course) Hermione explained things more basically. “If the tooth goes black because it’s rotting, a dentist will probably get a drill which is made of metal and about this big,” she gestured with her hands. “They make a hole in the tooth to get rid of all the diseased area, which is called tooth decay. Then, they will fill it up with a substance, so that the tooth no longer hurts.”
Bellatrix pondered Hermione’s words for a few moments. “And Muggles invented how to do that?”
Hermione nodded.
Against her will, Bellatrix looked impressed. Suppressing a grin once more, Hermione asked, “Does that make sense?”
“Yes, of course,” Bellatrix snapped, but she didn’t meet Hermione’s eye, leading her to believe that Bellatrix might still not fully understand.
“Muggles can be smart too, considering they don’t have magic,” Hermione said, hoping that she wasn’t pushing her luck. “It’s interesting. If you like, I could teach you about different things in the Muggle world.”
“And why would I want you to do that?” Bellatrix asked snidely. “The only reason I asked about your parents is because it may be useful information should I decide to kill them in the future.”
Ignore her, Hermione thought. Ignore the sickness inside. Smile. Move on. And so she replied calmly, “I’m not saying you do... it was just an offer.”
Bellatrix looked her up and down. “Merlin, you actually mean what you say, don’t you?” she said, sounding bewildered.
Hermione smiled at Bellatrix, genuinely, for the first time. Maybe if she could break down some of the older woman’s defences, this entire experience would become a hell of a lot easier for her. There was no way on earth that Bellatrix was going to suddenly start caring about her, but over time she might be able to sneakily persuade the raven haired witch to treat her just the tiniest bit better than she currently was.
“You have an obsession with teeth,” Bellatrix said, evidently thinking back to their previous discussions, and her now perfect set of teeth that were spurred on by comments Hermione had made.
Hermione grinned, wider now. “It’s my parents’ influence.”
For a split second, Bellatrix looked like she wanted to return the smile, but she hid it so rapidly that Hermione wondered if she had imagined it. Bellatrix was much more complex than she had thought her to be; she took pleasure in hurting Hermione, but at the same time seemed to want to have real conversations with her, and seemed truly interested in what she had to say. Ever since she had met Bellatrix for the first time in the Ministry, Hermione had always imagined her to be the toughest of all Death Eaters, but now she was beginning to wonder if she was in fact the best of a bad bunch. Either that or her insanity has spread to me.
Bellatrix pointed her wand at the bath, and water immediately began to pour out of one of the taps. She then turned back to Hermione. “I’m going to remove your restraints now,” she announced. “But if I so much as suspect that you’re up to something, or that you’re going to try and escape, I will make you wish you had never been born.”
“I understand,” Hermione said quietly. And she did. Under no circumstance was she going to attempt to get one over on Bellatrix; it wasn’t worth the risk.
Bellatrix observed her for a few more moments, and then flicking her wand, undid the invisible binds around Hermione’s wrists. At once Hermione felt liberated; the most she had since her imprisonment began. The urge to run was tempting, but she was far too sensible to even debate risking it, for Bellatrix would never allow her to leave the house alive. Instead, she did as was asked of her, and stood still, waiting. All she wanted was to launch herself into the bath straight away and cleanse herself for the first time in weeks. Maybe then she would be able to think more clearly, find a way out of this if she could just think hard enough. She was getting better at Occlumency, she sensed it. Any plan she formed would hopefully be hidden from Bellatrix, so long as her behaviour wasn’t suspicious enough that Bellatrix tortured her for information as to what she was up to. Which she will, if she suspects.
“Get in,” Bellatrix instructed, when she had used her wand to turn on the water and fill the bath up.
“You’re staying?” Hermione asked, dumbstruck. Stupidly, she had assumed she would be left alone. At most, she thought that Lemmy would have been called up to observe her.
Bellatrix huffed, exasperated. “I’m not an idiot; do you really think that I’m going to leave you unattended? There’s no telling what you might decide to do.”
“But there’s no way I can escape,” Hermione protested. “I’ll sing all the time if you want, so you know I’m still here.”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Bellatrix said sharply. “Either do as you’re told and get in the bath now, or you can go back to your cell.”
Torn, Hermione racked her brains for what to do. There was no way that Bellatrix was going to leave, but then how could she bathe in front of the Death Eater? It would be a humiliating, uncomfortable experience. Maybe if...
“Will you at least turn around?” Hermione pleaded as soon as the idea occurred to her.
Bellatrix laughed cruelly. “I didn’t have you down as the shy type, Mudbaby...”
“Please,” Hermione said, begging now. “Please.”
Bellatrix considered her request for a few moments, and then answered, “No.”
“Why not?” Hermione asked, feeling the closest to upset she had since she had first been taken. There was no reason why Bellatrix couldn’t do as she asked, at least until she was in the bath. There were no bubbles but at least the water would partially hide her once she was in there.
“Because you need to learn obedience,” Bellatrix informed her threateningly. “I’m not standing around waiting anymore; either get into that bath in the next thirty seconds or I will curse you down the stairs, bouncing your muddy little face off each step you go down!”
Knowing that Bellatrix meant every word, Hermione didn’t debate any longer. Her need to feel clean ultimately won over her embarrassment, and so hastily, without allowing herself to think about what she was doing, Hermione tore her clothes off, throwing them down on the floor beside her. As she removed her socks, her jeans, her long-sleeved top, then bra and panties, she kept her eyes focused on the bath, not allowing herself to look at Bellatrix. When she was entirely naked, she launched herself towards the bath, jumping in.
She yelped.
The bath felt like ice. The coldness had spread through her entire body, enveloping the areas of skin that weren’t even touching the water. Several times per second there was a stab of pain that coursed through ever nerve inside her, forcing up a silent scream in her throat that she kept smothered for fear of Bellatrix cursing her. This was a test of some kind, she was almost certain of it. Maybe Bellatrix wanted to see how tough she really was. Or maybe, she just wants to hurt me. Sadist.
“Is there a problem?” Bellatrix said lightly with a smirk.
Wrapping her arms around herself to protect her modesty as well as attempt to keep herself warm, Hermione stayed in the water, somehow intrinsically aware that the moment she got out was the moment that she would be dragged back to her cell and punished for not putting up with the icy temperature. Or maybe she would be thrown back into the bath regardless, and forced to endure the Cruciatus Curse at the same time. No no no.
Her teeth chattering, Hermione said somewhat stupidly, “Wh-why does it have to be so cold?”
“You didn’t say anything about wanting it to be hot,” Bellatrix responded, playing innocent. “And everything else you need is already laid out for you.”
“I th-thought it was ob-obvious,” Hermione forced out, trying to ignore the agonising cold. “I don’t want a boiling ba-bath, but a warm one would b-be amazing.” She shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t question, but this was bloody freezing and had chilled the cogs in her mind, preventing her brain from working properly.
“Well now, I think someone’s being a spoilt little Mudblood,” Bellatrix said jeeringly, though Hermione did not note her expression as she still refused to look at her. “You should make the most of what you’ve been granted.”
It was a lost cause, Hermione thought. There was no point arguing with Bellatrix, and so she made the best of a horrendous situation, and quickly began washing herself, knowing the faster she moved the faster it would be over. She ran a generous amount of shampoo through her hair, rubbing it into her scalp quickly, before she noticed the toothbrush, toothpaste and razor also left to the side, evidently for her.
The razor.
It’d be so easy... one quick swipe and she could be bleeding out from an artery and dying in minutes. Would Bellatrix be able to stop her? With a bit of luck Bellatrix wouldn’t want to touch her filthy blood and so would leave her to perish. Get another prisoner and update her icky little Mudblood. Hermione wouldn’t live to see Voldemort defeated, but it wasn’t as if that really mattered anymore, because the way things were looking at the moment, it was close to impossible to rid the world of him. There were Horcruxes here, there and everywhere and the chance of her surviving this situation was less than zero.
Unfortunately, she was smart enough to realise that the chance of Bellatrix healing her before death and the likelihood of punishment afterwards forced her to discount this idea. She would bring her back to life only to torture her as a punishment for attempting to change the rules of the game which such drastic action. Therefore, she ignored all suicidal thoughts and began to brush her teeth, relishing the clean taste as she scrubbed at her gums, adoring the flavour of mint in her mouth, the fresh feeling inside. Yum!
So cold.
No. No, she wouldn’t think of that. She had to stay focused! Moving on from brushing her teeth, she began ridding herself of body hair, all the while hating that Bellatrix was probably watching her every move. Surprisingly, she felt her cheeks flush despite the cold as she imagined Bellatrix silently observing every small movement, waiting for the time when she would be able to mock something that Hermione was doing.
Icy cold. Cold, cold.
Her hands shook as she moved on from shaving her underarms to her legs. She removed her body hair in record time, and though she debated whether there was any point in shaving her more private areas, she decided that she may as well take advantage of it now that she had the opportunity.
“Expecting a fuck, are we?” Bellatrix said crudely.
“Hopefully not,” Hermione shot back, the cold provoking her temper.
Bellatrix merely seemed amused though, as she stated, “You’re probably a virgin anyway, aren’t you? Dirty blood means no one will want to go near you.”
Angry, Hermione quickly finished shaving, not wanting to cut herself. Bellatrix was right; she was a virgin. It was entirely through her own choice, however, not because the opportunities hadn’t been there. No way was she going to admit this to Bellatrix though, to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was right. Angry, she slammed the razor next to her and reached for the soap, proceeded to rub it over every inch of her skin several times over. Once she had done this, she took a breath to calm herself, and avoiding eye contact to make Legilimency harder, she smugly lied, “Actually, quite a few people have wanted me over the years; two of whom were pure-bloods.”
Bellatrix made a sort of half strangled noise. “Blood traitors,” she spat.
“Blood doesn’t matter to some wizards and witches,” Hermione said calmly. Trembling all over by this point through rage and the near freezing temperature of the water, Hermione began rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. Bloody traitors like Ron? The voices in her head wouldn’t leave her alone, and they meshed themselves into the cold, paining her further.
“It matters to me,” Bellatrix hissed. Her voice sounded closer now, and Hermione couldn’t help turning to see where she stood, right next to the bath. “Disgusting little slut.”
Not even deigning to respond, Hermione wiped the last of the suds from her forehead. Relieved that despite the cold and her violent shivering, she actually felt clean, she announced, “I’m done.” She stood shaking, and immediately felt warmth hit her the moment she stepped out of the bath next to Bellatrix; a contrast to how one usually felt when they exited from a relaxing soak and left behind the heat.
Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. Defiantly, Hermione stared back, her arms folded over her chest, chiding herself internally not to shiver so much. Expression changing, Bellatrix’s dark eyes moved downwards, sweeping over Hermione’s body, over every inch of skin. She paused around the area of her midriff and stopped once more when her orbs reached Hermione’s cleavage, more pronounced as she had pressed her breasts together in her attempt to cover them.
Noting Bellatrix’s line of sight, the words were out of Hermione’s mouth before she could stop herself. “See something you like?” she asked sarcastically.
Taken aback, Bellatrix snapped her eyes back up to Hermione’s face immediately. “Don’t flatter yourself, filth.”
“If you think I’m filth then maybe you shouldn’t look at me in that way,” Hermione said, before she could stop herself.
Quick as a flash and Bellatrix had her by throat, slammed against the wall. She was careful to keep her body close to Hermione for control, but just far away enough for them not to actually be touching. “I warned you about speaking out of turn,” Bellatrix said, her voice low. “I sense the need for another Cruciatus session, hmm? Shall I have you laid out on the flood naked, legs spread as you scream in pain?”
Hermione resisted the urge to say, “You’d like that” aware that it would most likely be the final straw before Bellatrix followed through with her threats. Instead, she choked out, “N-no.”
“No?” Bellatrix repeated, her attractive facial features contorted horribly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, trying to sound remorseful, even though she didn’t really think she’d done anything wrong. Bellatrix spoke to her like crap incessantly; why couldn’t she be allowed to retaliate once in a while? After being forced to endure a freezing cold bath, she wasn’t feeling as charitable towards the Death Eater as she usually was. Keeping her temper, knowing it wouldn’t help, she rasped, “I’m j-just cold, I su-suppose, and not thinking straight.” Her gaze focused on Bellatrix, praying that the hardened look in her dark brown eyes would soften, even a little. She did her best to look innocent and apologetic even managing to pout a little.
Apparently it worked, as Bellatrix gave her an unidentifiable look, loosed her grip on her throat, and summoned a towel silently from the shelf to the left of her. She threw it at Hermione, who immediately wrapped it around herself, and stepped backwards.
“You are pretty,” Bellatrix said finally. “For a Mudblood, of course.”
Hermione suppressed the ridiculous urge to smile at this declaration, and retaliated, “Well, you would be pretty too, if it weren’t for the warped expression you constantly wear on your face.”
Mouth slightly open, Bellatrix seemed shocked that Hermione had delivered such a comeback. It was just the right amount of praise, mixed in with an insult that wasn’t quite an insult, and Hermione knew that Bellatrix knew that was what she intended it to come across as.
“Considering I hold your general wellbeing in my hands at the moment, do you really think it’s a good idea to speak to me like that?” Bellatrix asked, in Hermione’s opinion, rather lamely. There was no slap, jinx or curse to deal with, just questioning words. And that, Hermione could handle.
“You’d torture me even if I told you how much I loved you and begged for you to keep me here forever,” Hermione said dryly.
“I’ve told you, I could make this a lot worse for you,” Bellatrix warned, her eyes carefully locked on Hermione’s.
“I know,” Hermione replied, believing her. “But the point I’m trying to make is no matter what my behaviour is like, you’re in control. And I don’t think you really care about how nice I am to you... if anything, you probably prefer it when I defy you because it gives you an excuse to hurt me more.” She sighed. “Not that you need one, but it’s a way that you can justify it, telling yourself I deserve it.”
Bellatrix observed Hermione, twirling her wand around in her fingers. “How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?” Hermione said, feeling the water from her hair drip down her back, and brushed it away. She was still cold, but less so now that she didn’t have to deal with the horrendously frosty water surrounding her.
“Read me without using Legilimency?”
“Huh?” Hermione said, confused, and then she realised what Bellatrix meant. “Oh. Well, I guess I just pay attention to the way you treat me.”
Bellatrix inclined her head to the side, indicating that Hermione should continue.
Hermione flicked her wet hair back from her face, and held her arms around her towelled self. “In the Muggle world, in some schools they teach a subject called psychology. Part of it is studying the human mind, and people’s behaviours and characteristics. Even though I couldn’t learn it at Hogwarts, I used to read books on it all the time.”
“Fascinating,” Bellatrix said sarcastically. “But that doesn’t actually answer my question.”
Realising that she quite literally had to spell it out for Bellatrix, remaining patient, Hermione explained, “Well that’s how I can read you, from studying psychology. I can tell from the way your voice is, your body language, your behaviour... it allows me to look beyond the obvious of whether you’re happy, angry or whatever. It helps me to work you out.”
Bellatrix remained silent. Whether she was impressed or not Hermione wasn’t entirely sure, but she was certain that there was no anger hidden in Bellatrix’s expression, and so she didn’t worry too much.
“And... and I don’t blame you, not really. If you’ve been brought up hating Muggle-borns like me then that’s probably the way you’re going to think for the rest of your life. From your family, Sirius was just an odd exception,” Hermione added.
Clearing her throat, Bellatrix stated, “And my sister, too.”
Hermione frowned. “Your sister? Narcissa?”
“Andromeda,” Bellatrix said bitterly. “She’s a Mudblood-lover. She married one. They defiled the reputation of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”
Remaining quiet for a moment, Hermione considered what was best for her to say right now considering how little she knew about Andromeda. She didn’t want to annoy Bellatrix, but the Death Eater was revealing more information to her than she had ever deemed to be possible. It was as though she wanted to tell Hermione such personal things to talk about them, to have someone to listen who was not in a position of power to reveal what she had told them to Voldemort. As if in some warped way, she almost trusted Hermione.
“You can’t help who you fall in love with,” Hermione said softly. “As much as we want to, we can’t control it.”
“I disagree.”
“You... but how can you disagree?” Hermione asked, confused. “Surely even you don’t believe that love can be forced?”
“Controlling the actual love and forcing it not to exist? No, that’s not possible. Controlling whether or not we act on it? Yes, I believe we can do that,” Bellatrix said, somewhat ferociously.
“But why bother? I mean, if both parties are consenting adults, then why does it matter what blood status they are, or how old, or what sex for example?” Hermione responded.
“It matters because anything even slightly out of the norm will be judged!” Bellatrix exclaimed. She said it as though she were making an entirely obvious point and that the whole world should agree with her. It was a state-the-obvious sort of mockery that Hermione severely disliked.
“Judged by Him, you mean?” Hermione said quietly, scared that she would provoke Bellatrix’s wrath.
“Yes. My master approves of my marriage to Rodolphus, and so that is what is important to me,” Bellatrix said fiercely.
Hermione bit down on her lip. There was a question that she wanted to ask, but was unsure of how to go about it without Bellatrix going utterly insane at her. Ok, so this was an almost normal conversational debate that they were currently having, but that didn’t mean Hermione should be lulled into a false sense of security, for she had to remember that she was still face to face with a Death Eater; the woman who tortured her on a daily basis just because she felt like it.
Hesitantly, she began. “I just... don’t you...” She stopped. Starting again, she asked nervously, “Would you never even consider giving up your Lord for love? I don’t mean lust, or maybe-love; I’m referring to a forever-love that consumes you so completely you can think of nothing else.”
Bellatrix frowned. “I may not be in love with my Master, but I will do anything to serve him. I have no need for love.”
“But... but that’s exactly the point. You’re his servant, not his lover,” Hermione said, sure that any moment now Bellatrix was going to curse her. “You haven’t even given yourself a chance at real love rather than habitual infatuation, because you have been so irrevocably obsessed with someone who wouldn’t think twice about obliterating you if you so much as talked back to him. And he will never love you back; he’s not capable of it.”
Bellatrix stared, and her face grew even paler than usual. “Stop.”
“No, Bellatrix, because you need to hear this,” Hermione insisted, beginning to feel powerful, the fear having faded. “You can do whatever you want to me in a moment, but for now, just listen. I see, ok? I can see that you’ve been brainwashed. And me... the Order... whoever... well we can help you. We’ll protect you and then when he’s gone, and he will be gone, you can be sure of that,” Hermione said, (determined to make herself believe it as well as Bellatrix) “Then you can live your life. I’m not saying that you have to go out and marry a Muggle, but you can make your own choices, see your sisters and family again.”
“If I renounced The Dark Lord, I would not live to tell the tale!” Bellatrix exclaimed. “And if by some miracle I did survive, Andromeda may want to see me again, but certainly wouldn’t want to see her!” She raised her wand, looking as though any moment now she was going to cause serious, intense pain to Hermione.
Sensing the danger, Hermione attempted to placate her. “Bellatrix, I’m sorry I just-”
“Do not call me that!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You are dirt and have no right to!” She breathed deeply in a seeming attempt to calm herself. “You are out of line, Mudblood. Way out of line! This Muggle power you call psychology... you are no longer to perform it on me! Ever!”
Hermione opened her mouth to make another attempt at speaking, when Bellatrix slapped her, the sound echoing off the walls. Evidently feeling this wasn’t enough, she punched Hermione so hard that her head cracked back against the wall, and she felt a trickle of blood begin to seep from her nose. Her vision blurred from the extent of the pain, but she forced herself to listen to Bellatrix, not wanting to be punished for ignoring her.
“This is what is going to happen,” she stated, voice slightly calmer after her assault on Hermione. “You are going to go back to your cell wearing your towel, which is your new outfit, by the way, and I am going to burn your disgusting Muggle clothes. There will be no second reward considering the lies that have just spewed from your mouth. Do you understand?”
Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had been doing so well, but now, she had monumentally screwed up, possibly caused irreversible damage. Nice one, idiot, she chastised herself.
“Good,” Bellatrix said. She grabbed Hermione’s hair, pulling hard on it. Dragging her forwards, she kept her wand level with Hermione’s head, ready to attack her if necessary.
There’s really no need, Hermione thought. Only an idiot would provoke Bellatrix when she was in a mood like this. Because of me, Hermione cursed herself. I put her in this mood, and it’s me who is going to suffer the consequences.
**
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