FIC: Impossible, (7/30)
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. ), ( 5.), (6.)
**
I'll take my chances
While you take your time with this game you play
Goo Goo Dolls, Let Love In
**
7.
The days dragged slowly on until eventually Hermione had been imprisoned for an entire three weeks. Unfortunately, it felt like a hell of a lot longer; especially when she was always bored, hungry, in pain or cold, not to mention the fact she was once again unclean. Simple everyday basic needs were not being met, and the only thing that Bellatrix really seemed to consider that Hermione required was the plentiful supply of water and lump of tasteless bread once a day. Hermione had wondered if this would ever be taken away from her, but it seemed that even Bellatrix was not so stupid as to deny her something so vital to her survival.
As time went on, Bellatrix’s various methods of torture continued, though she seemed to be relying on the same old curses such as the Cruciatus Curse and using her fists rather than inventing new methods of torture. If Hermione didn’t know better she would consider than Bellatrix was getting tired of hurting her, but she realised what a ridiculous notion it was. Bellatrix Lestrange did not get fed up of torturing Muggle-borns. How absurd.
What was driving Hermione to distraction more so than the daily torture sessions was the fact that she didn’t have a clue what was happening in the outside world. Bellatrix never mentioned her friends unless it was to taunt her about them, and as of yet she hadn’t revealed anything specific about their whereabouts, or who had died. So far, Hermione had chosen to interpret this as a good thing; surely Bellatrix would gloat if someone close to her had been murdered? But then she snapped back to reality and reminded herself that there was no way everyone she knew and loved could still be alive. It just wasn’t possible considering the state of the wizarding world, was it?
“Yoo hoo,” Hermione heard, and suddenly, Bellatrix was in front of her, seemingly trying to catch her attention. “Enjoying your little daydreaming session?” she grinned.
Hermione shook her head. Please, not today.
“Feeling lonely?”
This time Hermione ignored her, and instead chose to look at the floor. What would be achieved by telling Bellatrix how she felt? She would most likely mock Hermione before causing her immense pain as usual; talking about her fears wasn’t going to change the Death Eater’s perception of her. Short of proving herself to be a pure-blood and declaring her support for Voldemort there was nothing she could do to change the inevitable. This grungy little cell was her home from now on, and that was the way it would be until she took her last breath.
“Not very talkative today, are you dearie? Ignoring me?” Bellatrix surmised. “Do you think a round or two of Crucio would liven you up?”
“I’m not ignoring you,” Hermione said quietly. “I just don’t know what’s left for me to possibly say without you hurting me.”
“Well,” Bellatrix began, leaning in towards Hermione, her curls falling around her face as she did so. To look at her face Hermione saw a beautiful woman, but looking into her eyes there was only insanity and rage. “Consider it this way; I’m going to hurt you anyway, so you may as well say whatever you want to me.”
“True,” Hermione said, agreeing. “Fine then. I want to know what’s happening outside. Who’s...” she paused, taking a second to compose herself. “Who’s dead?”
Bellatrix smirked. “So that’s what’s got your knickers, or rather lack of them, in a twist. You want to know what’s going on in the big bad world of wizards.”
Colour rose in Hermione’s cheeks at Bellatrix’s reference to her state of undress, and she tried not to let herself get too worked up over the comment. It’s not my fault I’m wearing this bloody towel! Nevertheless, instead of voicing her irritation aloud and risking punishment, she replied as civilly as possible, “Yes, I do.”
Bellatrix sighed. “Don’t suppose there’s any harm in it. Of course, you’re going to have to be extra nice to me when I’ve told you though. Do we have a deal?”
“No,” Hermione said firmly.
“Are you trying to provoke my fury? Because you’re going the right way about it!” Bellatrix threatened, eyes flashing.
Hermione stared, incredulous, and worked through her thoughts about Bellatrix aloud. That in itself was a dangerous move to make, but she was morbidly curious about how the raven haired witch would react to her opinions, and so she declared, “Usually when you get angry with me it’s only because I’m telling you the truth about your life... how it really is. You hate the truth because it makes you feel guilty, but today you’re angry for almost no reason.” She paused briefly and then added, “Are you frustrated about something?” She didn’t expect Bellatrix to answer; all she wanted was for her to feel unnerved for a change, see how she liked it.
Eyes flashing, Bellatrix pushed Hermione back against the wall and knelt over her, a leg on either side of her body. “Be careful, my little Mudbaby, be very careful...” she hissed.
The only sign that Hermione was frightened by this move was the fact that she swallowed hard, her breathing shallow as she tried not to freak out entirely. Bellatrix leant over her like this in such close proximity was confusing her, because the repulsion she had always imagined herself to feel didn’t occur at all, and instead, there were knots in her stomach, curling back and forth for an unknown reason. Being this close to Bellatrix meant she could see the exact swirls and shades of browns in her eyes, and it did nothing to help her focus on the fact that this was a Death Eater above her, not just an attractive older woman.
Damn it, she thought angrily. Focus!
This wasn’t her. Bellatrix had to be doing something to mess with her mind, because there was no way she would ever feel this way willingly, was there? Not about her. Besides, the feeling was so overpowering that she couldn’t ignore it, which meant Hermione decided that there was something going on here that she couldn’t explain. It couldn’t be some sort of love potion, because if that were the case she wouldn’t be so aware of her repulsion and horror. No, it was something else. Maybe a dark magic that she had never heard of before that Bellatrix had decided to practice on her.
“Now, are you going to be a nice, polite little girl?” Bellatrix asked, a sickly sweet tone to her voice.
“Fine,” Hermione said grudgingly, trying not to move too much in case Bellatrix shifted even closer and made things more difficult for her. “Please, will you tell me what’s been happening?”
“See, much better,” Bellatrix cooed, stroking Hermione’s cheek with her thumb as she spoke. The skin she had touched tingled long after she had moved her hand away, and momentarily, Hermione was distracted once more. The raven haired witch was so close to her that she could smell her, and for once, she was pleasantly surprised. It smelt as though Bellatrix had used some sort of honey sweet shampoo on her hair, for it engulfed Hermione, making her feel lightheaded. It made such a change to the smell of damp that she usually had to put up with, that Hermione couldn’t stop herself from taking deep breaths, over and over. She tried to do so discreetly so that Bellatrix didn’t see, but needless to say, it was impossible for her to focus on the words coming out of Bellatrix’s mouth as well as this. Since when did Bellatrix Lestrange smell like honey anyway?!
Hermione tried to stay calm, and came to the swift realisation that to do so, she had to concentrate on the conversation once more. Reluctantly, she stopped inhaling Bellatrix’s scent, and attempted to snap herself out of the dreamy state she was in. Nevertheless, the focus only came after she made eye contact with Bellatrix again (after staring at her mouth) by which point she had missed half of what she had said. “-So really, The Dark Lord is feeling optimistic.”
Hazarding a guess that Bellatrix had just been talking about Voldemort, Hermione asked her the one thing that she really cared about, sure that if it had already been mentioned Bellatrix would have questioned her inattention earlier on. “Are my friends ok?”
Bellatrix looked confused. “You don’t want to know about the wizarding world in general first?”
“Of course not,” Hermione denied. “I want to know if Harry and Ron are ok. And... and Ron’s family.”
“That’s more important to you?!” Bellatrix exclaimed.
“Yes!” Hermione said firmly. “That’s all I care about really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I obviously don’t agree with Him being in power, but I just want to know if anyone I love has been hurt.”
Bellatrix cocked her head to the side, staring down, and leant back to sit herself on Hermione’s bony legs. Hermione could tell what she was thinking. Love? You’re bringing that up again? Ugh. Bellatrix just couldn’t grasp that there were things in life more important that blood purity, more important that service, obsession and pain. Love was powerful in a way that no other magic was; it saved lives, it gave courage, and it provided protection. Love was everything.
With Bellatrix perched on her legs, the pressure coupled with the awkward position they were in meant it wasn’t exactly comfortable. However, unlike earlier when she wasn’t really listening, Hermione found herself too enthralled in the conversation to be bothered. Anyhow, if she asked Bellatrix to move because she was hurting her, it would probably only encourage Bellatrix to cause her further discomfort, maybe by bouncing up and down on her weak bones until they snapped, or flicking her wand back and forth to perform some sort of curse.
“If you say so. No, no one you love has been captured,” Bellatrix grudgingly revealed. “Though it’s only a matter of time.”
Relief flooded Hermione, despite Bellatrix’s latter comment. However, she tried not to look too happy, knowing it would infuriate Bellatrix. “Right,” she said in response.
Bellatrix seemed to rack her brains for something to say, disappointed by Hermione’s lack of emotion in response and giving her no real reason to begin punishing her. Seconds later, she smiled slowly and cackled, “Your Muggle Studies teacher is dead!”
The dread in the pit of Hermione’s stomach that had formed the moment Bellatrix had began to smile increased somewhat due to the horrific news. “Professor Burbage?” She hadn’t known her too well, but had still seen her sitting in the Great Hall at Hogwarts’ dinner times, and had even had classes with her during her third year when she had used the Time-Turner to attend Muggle Studies classes. Not wanting to give Bellatrix the disgusted and upset expression she expected, she tried her best to keep her face impassive. Don’t react. Don’t give her the satisfaction.
As expected, Bellatrix nodded, seemingly disappointed by Hermione’s expressionless face and unaware of the sickness she felt inside. Hermione was getting better at hiding her emotions, after all. “The filth has been reported to have resigned, which is of course a lie. The Dark Lord killed her himself for teaching nasty lies.” She paused. “Oh and the fabulous Mad-Eye Moody is dead too... but I assume you knew about that, hmm?”
Hermione nodded numbly, still painfully aware of the journey of transporting Harry to safety that had resulted in his death. She still couldn’t believe that Mad-Eye, one of the most fantastic Aurors of all time had been murdered by Voldemort himself. “Yes, I knew about him.” I was there moments before, she thought.
A wistful sigh escaped from Bellatrix’s lips as she savoured the memory.“They’re the immediate names that spring to mind. Everyone else you know is alive and flying.”
And then in sunk in, the fact that it wasn’t all bad news. Harry and Ron are ok. Hermione was hit by a sudden urge to smile, unable to stop a grin from spreading across her face. Thus far, her friends had survived. She wondered whether they had managed to defeat any Horcruxes yet, (though she imagined Voldemort’s soul was extremely difficult to handle) and how close they had gotten to finding any of them. She wished that she could be there with them, battling for the Greater Good, but unfortunately, there appeared to be no sign of her joining them in the near future. Even if by some miracle she did manage to escape from Bellatrix, there was no guarantee that she would be able to track them down, or even be strong enough to do anything useful for the Order considering her recent treatment. Moreover, she had not been able to practice magic for so long that she was worried that her skills and ability to perform it would have taking a huge blow. She was certain that eventually she would get back into the swing of things should she ever be released, but she could be useless for a long time yet.
“You’re thinking of that filthy blood-traitor and ickle Potter boy, aren’t you?” Bellatrix sneered, slapping her across the face.
“Yes,” Hermione said, seeing no need to deny it. “They’re my friends. I love them.”
“I’ve already told you that love doesn’t matter,” Bellatrix said dismissively, waving her wand and causing a few, tiny sparks to shoot out of the end. “It is for fools.”
Hermione shrugged. “Fine.”
“Fine?” Bellatrix said, apparently confused by Hermione’s lack of protest.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Hermione said tiredly. She could feel the hunger getting to her, and she had no desire to suffer the added effects of Bellatrix’s temper upon her usual torture session.
“Oh but I do so love it when we argue, sweetie,” Bellatrix growled in a way that could only be described as sickeningly seductive. “Don’t you?”
The low tones in her voice were doing awful things to Hermione’s heartbeat, and desperately, she tried not to let it show. Stiffening, she forced herself to focus on the conversation, continuing to talk about love, if only because it was the one area in which she easily outsmarted Bellatrix. “I love my friends,” Hermione told her. “I love my parents. I love reading, and learning, and success, and being happy, and... and...” she racked her brains for something else that she loved. “toothpaste,” she finished, lamely.
“Oh yes, I forgot about your little teeth fetish,” Bellatrix grinned, flashing her perfect teeth at Hermione.
Cheeks flushing hotly, Hermione didn’t allow herself to stare any longer for fear of what it would do to her body. “It’s not a fetish,” she snapped.
“Whatever you say.”
It was obvious that Bellatrix didn’t believe her which infuriated Hermione all the more. Remembering that Bellatrix was a Legilimens, she quickly ensured that the mediocre barriers she possessed were up. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to the stage where Bellatrix tried to pry, but she would still like to be in the advantageous position and entirely prepared for whatever the older witch decided to throw at her. This wasn’t the time to fall to pieces or give into unwanted desires, it was the time to be strong and hold her own for as long as humanely possible.
“It’s not!” Hermione exclaimed. “Anyway, what do you love? Apart from arguing with me, of course,” she added bitterly.
“I’ve already told you... I don’t really love,” Bellatrix said with a shrug. “I love to serve my Lord, I suppose, but that is all.”
Interested by Bellatrix’s choice of phrase, Hermione considered her words. Bellatrix hadn’t said that she was in love with Voldemort, only that she loved to serve him. That implied that she didn’t actually have any real feelings for him, but rather saw him as a symbol of beliefs she had held ever since she was a little girl, if her pure-blood background was anything to go by. Had Bellatrix been brought up as a Muggle-born or even half-blood, she may have gone through life infatuated with Albus Dumbledore, and seeing him as her saviour, similarly to Harry. It was funny, Hermione thought, the cards that life handed people. Opinions that were formed so easily could sometimes never be changed, and in Bellatrix’s case, both nature and nurture had bonded tightly to form sick, demented beliefs that caused suffering, pain and destruction. How sad.
“Don’t make me use my skills as a Legilimens on you, to see what you are thinking about me,” Bellatrix threatened, drawing Hermione from out of her own head.
“I haven’t said it aloud because you won’t like what I’m thinking,” Hermione explained patiently, keeping the worry out of her voice at the idea of Bellatrix invading her mind once more.
“I want you to say it anyway,” Bellatrix instructed her, in Hermione’s opinion, rather childishly.
Hermione sighed. “Fine.” She proceeded to relay her thoughts to Bellatrix, not attempting to word them better or say them in a kinder manner so that there was less chance of riling Bellatrix. Quite frankly she was too weak to do that, the lack of food affecting her capacity to reword her ideas and generally affecting every single process that occurred within her brain.
When she had finished telling Bellatrix of her views, the Death Eater sat before her, resting a hand on her chin and debating Hermione’s words. She looked so lost in thought that Hermione took the opportunity to shift her legs into a slightly more comfortable position underneath Bellatrix, and luckily enough, she was not called on this. Instead, Bellatrix fixed her dark brown eyes upon Hermione’s, and she said, “That’s true enough.”
“Wh-what?” Hermione stuttered, sure she had misunderstood Bellatrix.
“If I were a Mudblood,” she said this distastefully, “Then I would probably idolize Dumbledore.”
“Oh,” Hermione said faintly. “I didn’t... I didn’t think you would agree.”
Ignoring this comment, Bellatrix continued, “In short, I would be just like you.”
Hermione frowned. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. I mean, I know that you think it is, but you don’t know me. Not really. And if you take away the fact that we believe in different causes, have different blood and have opposing views in general... we’re not all that different. We’re both smart, aren’t we? And you love, Bellatrix, whether you admit it or not.”
Bellatrix appeared to consider this.
One second. Two seconds.
And then it came.
“I love being a Pure-blood. I love my sisters. I love duelling, flying as long as it’s not during a game of Quidditch, and being in control.”
Finally, Hermione thought jubilantly. A breakthrough! With words like that, there had to be something in Bellatrix, didn’t there? She was a million and one horrible things, but she was still human. Unlike Voldemort, she still had a soul. The countless crimes and atrocities she had committed probably meant that her soul was damaged, but short of her creating Horcruxes, there was still time for her to take a different path in life. Or feel remorse. Remorse was always harder to reach, but it was no doubt a possibility.
It was another thirty seconds or so before Hermione picked up on something she had said. “You used the plural,” she stated, shocked.
“Excuse me?” Bellatrix replied, looking confused.
“You said sisters. Not sister, sisters. You still love Andromeda,” Hermione said, processing her thoughts aloud. “Oh my... that means that you...” she stopped, thinking. What did it mean? Her mind wasn’t working as fast as it used to, and she couldn’t quite figure out why this was such a revelation to her.
“I meant sister,” Bellatrix backtracked, voice dangerously low. “Why would I still love a Mudblood-lover?”
Hermione shook her head, deciding not to allow Bellatrix to explain it away. “You wouldn’t have said something like that if you didn’t mean it on some level at the very least, even if it was entirely unconscious.” Merlin, she couldn’t believe this! For someone such as Bellatrix, admitting that she was capable of love was a big enough revelation, but voicing the fact that she still cared for the sister that she considered a traitor was an even bigger disclosure, and the sort that should Voldemort ever find out about, that he would kill her for.
The most important thing that Hermione felt right now was that Bellatrix could not close off again. If she turned to torture to distract Hermione from the fact that she had confessed something entirely damaging to the character she portrayed then it was likely that this moment would never again occur in the future. It was for Hermione to ensure that it didn’t happen, and that she said the right thing to make Bellatrix realise what her words meant when it came down to the crux of the issue.
“Don’t pretend, Bellatrix,” Hermione said softly, risking the use of Bellatrix’s name. When the raven haired witch opened her mouth to argue with this, Hermione continued talking, distracting her, hoping that she didn’t draw her wand. “It’s just you and I at the moment. I’m not ever going to tell anyone what you’ve said to me, not just because I probably won’t get the chance but because you can trust me. I may be a Mudblood in your eyes, but I’m still human.”
“The fact that you’re a Mudblood matters more than you realise,” Bellatrix said, quieter now. “Do you think I could ever talk like this in front of my Lord? He would kill me without a second thought!”
“Exactly,” Hermione agreed, following the lead that Bellatrix had provided her with. “Why would you follow someone like that? You can have so much, Bellatrix. You know... I’m betting that if you changed sides, Narcissa would follow. Andromeda would forgive you, and in time, everyone would admire you for making such a brave decision. I could help you.”
Bellatrix remained silent, and avoided Hermione’s gaze. She looked over to the right, and Hermione wondered if the reason she was not looking down was because her eyes would still be resting on some part of Hermione. Taking a risk, Hermione slowly and carefully reached out, placing her hand atop Bellatrix’s left, the opposite of the hand she held her wand with. Shakily, applied pressure, surprised at how warm Bellatrix’s hand felt underneath her own. The warmth seemed to increase until Hermione’s hand was also affected, and it was like there was a buzzing sensation within, an indescribable feeling that Hermione had never before experienced.
Hermione watched Bellatrix’s face for signs that she too was experiencing this, but aside from her rising and falling chest with every breath she took, there was no sign that she was feeling anything at all. Speaking more gently now, Hermione said, “You could be in control. I’d still... still be here, if that’s what you wanted. I don’t care, Bellatrix. If it means that you’re at least on our side... I would do anything to keep you there.”
Bellatrix stirred at this, and she turned back to face Hermione. “Why, Granger? Why would you help me?”
“Because I don’t believe this is really you,” Hermione said honestly. “I don’t know what has made you so intent on hating many of those around you, but it doesn’t have to be this way.” She squeezed Bellatrix’s hand, holding back a gasp at the jolt within her that it provided.
“I’m not sure your friends would agree,” Bellatrix drawled, confidence in her voice, but again betraying herself through the haunted expression in her eyes. How had Hermione never noticed that before? “Not everyone forgives so easily.”
Hermione shook her head. “No, they don’t. But before he died... Dumbledore made it clear to the Order that everyone deserves a second chance. If we truly believe that someone has changed, if they prove themselves to us and we trust their word, then we are to forgive and accept them. Right now the Order are the only people whose opinion you should care about.”
“And if I don’t want to change?” Bellatrix asked, almost casually.
Hermione leaned forward. “I think in here,” she touched her free hand against Bellatrix’s chest where her heart was. “I think deep deep in here, you do.”
Face expressionless, Bellatrix stood, freeing herself from Hermione’s touch. Without glancing back, she sealed the cell, and left Hermione alone once more. Without hesitation, Hermione knew what she was going to do for what was left of the day. Silently, she closed her eyes, and began to pray. She prayed for Charity Burbage. She prayed for all those that had suffered so far at the hands of Voldemort.
She prayed for love.
**
October 1969
Rodolphus was everything that Bellatrix was supposed to want in a man. He was handsome, intelligent, and most importantly of all, he was a pure-blood. The latter was all that her family really cared about, and so in turn, she had to care just as much too. Since she was a little girl she had known this would happen, that she would have to devote her life to another, someone who it was quite possible that she didn’t love and never would. And for all the brilliant, wonderful things about Rodolphus, he didn’t make her heart flutter or cause a tingle to form in her chest.
Nevertheless, it has been ordered by her family that she was to marry him, and not wanting to bring shame upon them, she had done so quietly. Especially after the unspoken of “Andromeda situation” had caused them so much stress, worry and anger. But considering that Bellatrix wasn’t at all attracted to Rodolphus, she would just have to make it clear to him that they were married in name only; nothing more, nothing less. It hadn’t been too hard so far; he had not attempted to take her to bed since the first night after their marriage, anyhow, which was a great relief considering how appalling it had been. She didn’t think she was capable of that again, not with him. And as far as public appearances went, if he thought that she would just be a pretty little wife for him to show off at wizarding functions, then he had another thing coming. Oh, she would play her part, do what was required of her, but she would not fawn over him or stay at home like some sort of baby-making machine; Bellatrix aspired to be more than that.
“Bellatrix darling,” he said as they sat in the lounge, her perusing a book named “Attack of the Dark Arts” whilst he attempted to mend with his wand the broken clasp on his favourite black cloak from Twilfitt and Tattings, something that Bellatrix herself had steadfastly refused to do. That came too close to the category of wizard’s housewife for her liking, and so Rodolphus had been forced to fix it himself.
“Yes?” Bellatrix replied, not paying him much attention. She was engrossed in her reading, and quite frankly not at all interested in hearing whatever Rodolphus had to say.
“We have a guest who will be attending at our home on Saturday evening. He’s coming to discuss some important matters with me, and I think you may find him interesting enough to join us,” Rodolphus informed her.
“Whatever gives you that idea?” Bellatrix said impatiently. No doubt it would be some idiot about as fascinating as Lucius Malfoy, the last “interesting person” that he had seen fit to introduce her to. Well, her parents and Narcissa may have been enthralled by the long-haired creep, but she on the other hand felt like that was an entire four hours of her life that she would never get back.
Rodolphus cleared his throat, evidently in an attempt to make Bellatrix focus her attentions on him rather than page two hundred of the book in front of her. “Well, he rather shares the same views as us on a number of subjects, and has a few ideas that could benefit society in a... political sense.”
Upon hearing this, Bellatrix looked up, glaring. “I have no desire to listen to a Ministry employee harping on about...”
“He is not a Ministry employee,” Rodolphus interrupted, something that he knew she hated. Arsehole. “He’s an extraordinarily talented wizard who believes he can... purge society of unworthy witches and wizards.”
Bellatrix frowned. “Such as?”
“Mudbloods,” Rodolphus replied. “He believes that with the right help from a few followers he can bring all worthy witches and wizards around to his way of thinking. Our world would once more be pure, and we would be all the more powerful for it.”
This got Bellatrix’s attention. “We would be powerful?”
Rodolphus smiled at her, evidently pleased that he had now, finally gained her interest. “We would, he says, as loyal followers be rewarded with the positions we so desired if he should gain power.”
“And how does he plan to do that?” Bellatrix snorted, wondering if this was just some mad, delusional fool without a hope in hell of ever achieving anything in life, let alone what he was claiming he would do.
“That’s what he wants to talk to us about tomorrow, darling,” Rodolphus said patiently. “Would you like to join us?”
Bellatrix debated with herself. It could be a waste of time and effort, and once she had committed to attending, she couldn’t very well change her mind, could she? Bellatrix would not do what she didn’t wish to do other than what society generally dictated was required of her, but she was not going to be outright rude. After all, why else had she married Rodolphus? To uphold the Black family name, make her parents proud and because getting married was just what was expected of her. She was lucky in the sense that Rodolphus hadn’t tried too hard at the moment to force her to perform the basic marital requirements in the bedroom and by dragging her around in public, but she didn’t need to irritate him too much within their own home. Attending a simple meeting with an acquaintance of his would not be too taxing. Besides, it may even turn out that he was actually interesting and had the potential to truly bring something new and exciting to her life.
Mind made up, Bellatrix gave her answer. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Rodolphus beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll let him know; he’ll be so thrilled to know a female is interested in his work. He mentioned to me that at the moment it is mainly wizards who are joining him as many witches have yet to commit.”
“Well seeing as I have been discouraged from joining the Ministry,” Bellatrix said, still bitter about the fact that her parents had basically ordered that she was not to take a job and that as a pureblooded woman, she was expected to rely on her husband. Again, after what had happened with Andromeda she had not felt able to argue back with this. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t take the opportunity, especially if it means undertaking work that I believe in.”
“Exactly, Bella,” Rodolphus said. “And I’m sure that should this turn out to be what I think it is, then I will have no problem in persuading your father to allow you to work. If you’re upholding the principles and beliefs that he stands for, what could make him prouder?”
Bellatrix rolled her eyes at his blatant attempt to draw an enthusiastic reaction from her. “Ok Rodolphus, there’s no need to overdo it; I’ve already said yes.”
“But I mean it,” he protested. “Aren’t you happy about that?”
“I’ll be happy if it actually happens, yes,” Bellatrix informed him. “Until then I’m afraid, the happiness will remain on hold.”
Rodolphus sighed. “You’re so hard to please.”
Sensing an argument coming on, Bellatrix shut her book, and stood to leave the room. She had considered not responding to Rodolphus’s statement, but as soon as she reached the door, she suddenly found herself to be curious about something. Turning back, she asked, “The wizard you’re talking about... what is his name?”
Rodolphus smiled once more. “Voldemort. His name is Voldemort.”
**
(( CLICK HERE for part 8. ))