FIC: Impossible, (8/30)
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 begins during the summer months at the start of Deathly Hallows and complies with the events throughout 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. :)
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**
They've clipped my wings again
Tore them apart and then
Left me
No use to fly away to
My yesterday
Of freedom
Katy Rose, Lemon
**
8.
For an entire five days after her conversation with Bellatrix, Hermione saw no sign of the Death Eater. Lemmy still came once a day with her measly bread, and to check her constant supply of water was clean. There were no more baths, cold or otherwise, she was still forced to use the bucket as her toilet, and so other than her captor’s non-attendance, life went on as usual for Hermione in her cell. Whenever Lemmy visited she had tried asking her about Bellatrix to find out where she was, but the elf had denied knowing anything. Whether this was because it was what Bellatrix had ordered her to say or she was lying, Hermione had no way of finding out, but all she knew for certain was that Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen.
It was strange, but Hermione almost missed her. She didn’t miss being tortured, or mocked, or made to feel frightened, but she missed setting eyes upon another human, and she missed observing Bellatrix and her features, wondering about her. She had been practising Occlumency even harder in Bellatrix’s absence, and had felt mentally and physically stronger from the lack of curses thrown at her. In that respect it was nice, and she felt like she was at least achieving something by practising mind relaxation and defence techniques.
However, she was aware that although she felt better, she was growing weaker with each day that passed. Visibly skinnier, she had noted that her ribs were now prominent, even when she tried to push her stomach out. The lack of nourishment was seriously beginning to affect her; her period had yet to come when it had been due to start the previous week, though in fairness the stressful situation had probably impacted upon her cycle rather than her low body weight, as it was doubtful this had begun to affect her in such a way. Yet. Nevertheless, she couldn’t say she cared so much about this; her period would only have been something else for her to worry about, and Bellatrix would not have been sympathetic to her needs in the slightest.
Hermione had just wrapped her towel around herself tighter than previously in an attempt to keep warm (as well as the fact that there was now less of her to draw it around) when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Gazing up into the moonlight that shone through the tiny window, she waited, body tensed. Had Bellatrix finally decided to start visiting her once again? The dread set in, knowing that it was likely she would be punished. It was what she’d been worrying about all week; scared that Bellatrix was just waiting for the fear to build up inside her before she approached her once more.
There was suddenly light, and squinting, Hermione turned to face the door. It was not Bellatrix.
Rodolphus Lestrange, her husband.
Please, no.
“Well well... what have we here?” he said, his voice bitter, sharp.
Remaining silent, Hermione continued to watch him, standing up slowly and feeling vulnerable with him towering above her. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and dark hair. If not for the malevolent expression that he wore on his face he would be good-looking, though perhaps not quite in the same league as his wife. Bellatrix’s face still bore the signs of youth and beauty, whereas Rodolphus’ had more of an aged look, and there was a glint in his eye that far outweighed what coldness she had so far seen in Bellatrix’s. How surprising. As a consequence of this, Hermione didn’t want to say or do anything to make him angry; especially not after what Bellatrix had implied about him liking to keep his prisoners naked and chained. Feeling vulnerable, she clutched yet more tightly onto the towel. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
“You’re Bellatrix’s very first pet Mudblood, hmm?” he said, almost growling. “How are you finding it?”
“Ok,” Hermione managed to croak out. She knew that either way this was going to end badly, and so hopefully by saying as little as possible he wouldn’t be too angry with her and would instead just abuse her because he could, rather than because she had caused his fury. He seemed to be entirely together and not at all willing to converse with her in a fake friendly manner; again, entirely unlike Bellatrix.
“Ok?” Rodolphus repeated, adding sarcastically, “You mean to say my darling wife has not been giving you the two hundred thousand Galleon treatment?”
What did she say to that? A contemptuous reply was definitely off the cards; Hermione knew that contrary to Bellatrix he would not find her to be in the least bit amusing. Instead she waited, wondering if it was just a rhetorical question and she could get away with not replying. Maybe he was just talking to himself and didn’t seriously expect her to respond. It was fairly clear to anyone with half a brain that living in the cell was less than desirable.
“Answer me,” he commanded.
No... apparently he does want a reply, Hermione sighed inwardly. It was unfortunately that she was actually required to indulge him, but she did so as she said in what she hoped was a toneless voice, “She’s been treating me the way you would want her to.”
If she named actual curses that had been thrown at her, no doubt Rodolphus would end up trying them himself. Or perhaps it would give him a brainwave for his own prisoners; something that Hermione wanted to play no part in. The thought that there were others out there suffering even more than she herself made her feel sick inside. At least Bellatrix had only one prisoner so far. Although it would be company for her if Bellatrix brought yet more captives into the cell, she would never wish this kind of situation upon anyone. Being along for the most part was horrible, but having to watch another person get tortured would be far worse than going through it herself.
Rodolphus arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hermione really did sigh now. “It means that she tortures me in pretty much every way she can think of.” She really didn’t want to get too specific, and hoped that Rodolphus wouldn’t push her for more information. Part of her wondered if his intention was indeed to gain ideas or inspiration, as perhaps he had exhausted all he knew on whoever he currently had locked up at the moment. Whatever his motivation, Hermione was absolutely not going to give him the satisfaction. Maybe he would get angry at her for claiming not to know anything, but then again, maybe he would just assume she was an idiot. If Bellatrix had not spoken of her cleverness then it was unlikely he knew from any other source; she doubted that Voldemort would reveal such a fact about a Mudblood to his Death Eaters, indeed if he had a clue about her achievements.
Unsmiling, Rodolphus unlocked the cell door, and moved closer to Hermione. "You know, Scumwhore, you're not nearly battered and bruised enough for my liking, considering that you’ve been so badly tortured," he said, looking her up and down. "I think Bellatrix has been far too kind to you."
Hermione barely had time to register Rodolphus's words before she felt her head crack back against the wall, and she saw stars. He had hit her across the face with far more force than Bellatrix ever had. Unable to prevent herself groaning, she braced herself, somehow intrinsically knowing that it was not yet over. As Rodolphus brought his hand down once more, then again and again with numerous fierce blows until she gave up counting, Hermione was sure that she was going to die. How funny that she should be subjected to so much pain that her death may be caused, by the simple Muggle act of violently beating someone, no less. She had always imagined the Avada Kedavra curse to be the reason for her demise. Hypocritical bastard Death Eaters.
“Please,” she begged, although she knew it was a futile attempt. “Please stop.” She tasted blood on her tongue, and her head slumped forward. She didn’t want to die like this. If she was going to die then it was going to be Bellatrix who killed her, and she would look her in the eye when she was murdered, her last courageous act on earth. As it was, this was Rodolphus attempting to batter her to death, and it was all she could do to remain standing, let alone looking him in the eye. Not to mention that she was afraid that if she collapsed it would give the Death Eater licence to move onto other forms of torture that were far more painful.
As expected, Rodolphus ignored her request, and gave a command of his own instead. “Take off that filthy, ragged towel.”
Hermione whimpered. “N-no.”
There was another blow to her face, and suddenly Rodolphus had her pressed up against the wall with his hand around her neck, choking her. “You will do as I say, or I will forcibly remove it from you with a dose of Crucio for good measure,” he threatened.
“You’ll do that anyway,” Hermione gasped. It wasn’t as if he would treat her better if she obeyed; he wasn’t Bellatrix after all. At least to a certain extent her encounters with Bellatrix weren’t solely focused on torture. Rodolphus on the other hand had gotten straight to it, and now appeared determined to break her into smaller pieces than she had already been smashed into.
Rodolphus spat at her. “Have it your way,” he said cruelly, not even bothering to force her to listen anymore. Ripping the towel from her, he cast it aside, and leaned in closer to her. “You smell disgusting,” he hissed.
Desperately trying not to cry, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the fact that she was naked. Maybe if she didn’t have to see the look of hatred on his face she would feel braver and manage to stop shaking so much. This was far worse than when she’d first been captured by Bellatrix, for then she had not known what to expect and had hoped for death. On the other hand, now that Bellatrix had already alluded to the fact that Rodolphus treated the Muggle-borns he abducted far worse, Hermione was absolutely terrified. Her terror was further increased by the thought of Bellatrix making an appearance; both of the Death Eaters together was unthinkable. It was doubtful that Bellatrix would defend her, even if she was angry at Rodolphus for interfering with “her pet” as Bellatrix couldn’t have cared less about Hermione.
“I think it’s time that you were restrained a little better,” Rodolphus sneered. Letting go of her, he waved his wand and in another moment Hermione found herself chained to the wall, her arms pinned outwards either side of her. Her legs remained free, but Hermione suspected that should she kick out or put up a fight, Rodolphus would soon chain them too. Although it was against her instincts, she forced herself to remain still so that at least part of her body wasn’t entirely restricted.
“Now that your face is looking more like I expected it to,” Rodolphus said, referring to Hermione’s heavily bleeding nose, swelling eyes, and the blood dripping from her mouth. “I feel it’s time for us to move on to something with a little more magic involved. What do you say?”
“Please, don’t,” Hermione wrenched her eyes open, and tried through her tears to make him listen to her. “I’ll do anything you want me to, just please don’t hurt me anymore.” She was fed up of the constant, incessant pain already, and she had only had to endure if for a few minutes at the most. Chances were Rodolphus would go on like this for hours and hours with no regard for her feelings whatsoever. All he cared about was his own pleasure, and it was evident that he was enjoying himself, the delight visible through his horribly dilated pupils.
Rodolphus raised his eyebrows. “You’ll do anything at all, will you? Like let me fuck you? Sick little Mudblood.” He pressed himself against her, his clothing the only thing preventing his bare skin from coming into contact with him.
Knowing that she would regret it, knowing what this was likely to mean for her, Hermione nodded her head. If he wanted to touch her, to taint her, she would have to just accept it. Fighting was only going to make it worse, no matter how hard she tried to defend herself. If she had a wand then maybe she would have half a chance against him, but here in this position, she would just have to go along with it. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable; it was bound to happen sooner or later, and she’d rather not have to deal with curse after curse beforehand weakening her, when she could just as easily let him do what he wanted and then try and comfort herself later when he had gone. If I’m still alive by then.
“Yes,” she said in a whisper.
“I’m surprised, Mudblood. I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” he mused aloud, and for a split second, he looked unnerved, as though this scenario wasn’t going at all the way he had planned it.
“No. No, I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” Hermione promised, and then inadvertently let out a sob. She didn’t know how she was going to get through this, the fear was starting to set in, and the mere thought of what he was going to do made her want to vomit. Shakily, she told him, “Just be quick.” The adrenaline currently pumping through her veins would probably keep her calm for no longer than a few minutes before she started to hyperventilate or panic.
Instantly, the moment Rodolphus’s eyes flashed, she knew she had said the wrong thing. He slapped her across the face and grabbed her head, forcing her to face his direction whether she liked it or not. Angrily, he shouted, “You do not give me orders; I will take as long as is necessary, you little bitch!”
“I’m sorry, I just-”
“SHUT UP!” He roared. And then, lowering his voice, he said coldly, “I don’t think you have learnt your lesson.”
Hermione tried to speak once more. “I have, please, just-”
Raising his wand, Rodolphus pointed it at Hermione. He held it still for a few moments, and to Hermione, it looked as though he was deciding exactly what he was going to throw at her. Whatever it was, no doubt it would be something horrendous that she had faced before, or at the very least heard of or read about. If Rodolphus was as bad as Bellatrix had said, then she wasn’t going to be in for an easy ride. Although maybe she should use it to her advantage; make Rodolphus so angry that he went too far and accidentally killed her. In fact, she couldn’t having given a shit at this moment in time if Voldemort turned her into an Inferi or hung her off the ceiling, mocking her in death as well as life. She didn’t have the energy anymore. There would be no more pain and suffering; just peace.
“CRUCIO!”
Hermione’s protests were cut off as another intense, unbearable wave of pain hit her. She’d had a break from torture ever since Bellatrix had stopped visiting this week, but now it was back with a vengeance, and she remembered just how atrocious it was. She heard herself scream as it felt like her bones were vibrating, and somehow, this was so much worse than anything Bellatrix had ever done to her. Maybe Rodolphus wanted to cause her more suffering than Bellatrix, which in turn increased the strength of the spell he had cast? It didn’t make sense to her, but why else would she be in more pain now, considering Bellatix was renowned for her skills as performing the Cruciatus Curse?
She couldn’t see anything but blackness, but no matter how hard she tried to fall into the blackness so that she didn’t have to hurt anymore, no relief came. It’s like dying without the dying part, she said in her head, over and over on repeat, trying to focus on the mantra rather than the agony itself. Her throat was burning, though whether that was from screaming so much or the curse itself, she had no idea. Desperately, she needed to take in a breath, but then the pain had been going on for a while now, so she must have been breathing. Right? Right? RIGHT?!
Overall, it was the longest Cruciatus Curse that Hermione had ever had the misfortune of experience. On and on it seemed to go, no let-up, and all she could hear was Rodolphus calling her names, laughing every time her head jerked back and smacked against the wall. Her body wanted to fall forward, but of course was prevented from doing so by the chains keeping her in place. She was feeling sicker and sicker, her face was still bleeding from numerous places, and...
It stopped.
Sucking in oxygen, Hermione tried to compose herself. Breathe in. Breathe out.
She felt completely weakened; far worse than after any other Cruciatus curse she had so far experienced at the hands of Bellatrix. She couldn’t help thinking that this time it may have gone on for longer than when it was Bellatrix doing the torturing, which scared her immensely. What if her mind had been permanently affected? If Bellatrix hadn’t tortured the Longbottom’s into insanity all that time ago, then that meant that Rodolphus had most likely played the biggest part, (along with his brother Rabastan if evilness ran in the family) and was therefore extremely apt at such a curse.
“The Cruciatus Curse is a speciality of mine,” Rodolphus informed her, as if he could tell what she was thinking, even though Hermione was pretty sure that he wasn’t a Legilimens. “Of course, I’m not quite as good as my wife, but still... good enough!”
This confused Hermione, even in her pained state. She had always assumed Bellatrix to be the best at the Cruciatus curse; not her husband. It had been bad suffering because of Bellatrix but nowhere near as agonising as what she had just experienced. Was Bellatrix losing her touch? Hermione doubted she was going easier on her; what reason would Bellatrix have to do such as thing? Still, she supposed that it was best to keep this information to herself; if Rodolphus went back and told Bellatrix what she had said then maybe she would decide to come and practice even more on Hermione to see if she improved at all. Or worse still, Rodolphus would question Bellatrix and then take Hermione for himself, and she would have to face this sort of treatment on a daily basis.
“Is that it now?” Hermione gasped, although she had a feeling that there was a hell of a lot more left in store for her.
“Ohhh... I don’t think so,” Rodolphus told her. “We’ve barely even begun, so if I were you I’d brace yourself and prepare for the rest.”
“The rest of what?” Hermione asked, though she didn’t really want to know the answer.
“The rest of our time together,” Rodolphus said. “Did you think that would be it? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed myself so far, but this isn’t the end. Not yet.”
The last little bit of hope Hermione was storing away inside her heart disappeared. It was often said that the Cruciatus Curse was the worst curse to suffer when it came to pain, but in Hermione’s experience so far there had been many serious contenders. Rodolphus had something else up his sleeve, and Hermione was utterly terrified as to what that something was. Maybe it was worth provoking him so that he did extensive damage until she actually passed out? But no, he would most likely just use the Rennervate spell to force her out of unconsciousness before the suffering began once more.
Flicking his wand, Rodolphus muttered under his breath, almost inaudibly. At once Hermione felt a sharp, pricking pain in her arms, not dissimilar to the sensation of pins and needles. However, compared to the various other methods used against her it was quite bearable, something that must have shown in her face as Rodolphus mused, “No, not quite the curse I was going for. I was hoping for something that would pretty up the rest of your skin in the same way as your face...”
“Why?” Hermione pleaded, clenching her teeth through the pain. “I-I’ve never done anything t-to you. I’ll be-behave, I promise. Just d-don’t hurt me anymore, I beg you.” She felt as though the next bout of pain would be her last, and she would go crazy from the torment both inside and outside. All she wanted was to feel safe, happy. It wasn’t fair; she had only ever tried to be a good person.
Rodolphus paused for a moment. “Why?” He repeated. “I’d have thought that was obvious, you disgusting, foul, hideous, little...” His voice trailed off as he evidently attempted to decide what to call her. Somewhat insipidly, he continued, “Mudblood. You’re a dirty Mudblood, and you make my skin crawl. You’re an unnatural being that is tainting the wizarding world, and you deserve nothing more than to face the consequences for the fact that you have stolen magic and pretended you’re a witch who has the right to use magic. You don’t.”
His nostrils flared as he finished, and there was a burning anger in his eyes, a hatred that terrified Hermione beyond everything so far. He truly wanted to hurt her, and nothing she said would make a blind bit of difference. If she protested, tried to reason, she would bet all her savings that he would cut her off before she reached the crux of her speech, and would punish her for speaking out of turn. Nevertheless, determined to say something (it may be her last chance at talking, after all) Hermione said simply, “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”
The attitude earned her another slap, but it paled in comparison to what she had already suffered. There wasn’t an inch of her body that wasn’t currently hurting, and the humiliation she felt due to her nudity wasn’t exactly helping the situation either. She tried to distract herself by thinking about her friends, Ron, Harry, Ginny... even Neville and Luna. There were so many people out there that she cared about, and she just hoped that even though she was unlikely to survive the war, that they were doing everything in their power to defeat Voldemort once and for all.
“You know, I think I have the perfect curse in mind for you,” Rodolphus informed her, sounding the enthusiastic. “It’s something that Snape taught us.”
Dread settled in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. A spell of Snape’s... could it be the one that Harry found in the Potions book belonging to the Half Blood Prince? Or rather, Snape? Feeling sicker than ever; Hermione tried desperately to remember the incantation, and more importantly, what was the counter-curse? Not that she would get a chance to use it without a wand, (and it was doubtful she would be strong enough to use it on herself even if she did get hold of one) but still, she would at least be able to mime it over and over, hoping that it would have some effect, that a miracle would happen. Or did she want to die? She didn’t know anymore, she didn’t know a thing.
“SECTUMSEMPRA!”
Hermione remembered the curse just as Rodolphus shouted it, making slashing motions across her torso as he did so. Immediately there was an intense unbearable pain, followed by blood spurting from her wounds. Crying out, she felt her heartbeat start to race as the blood kept coming, spilling out on the floor underneath her. She watched, a sort of morbid fascination, unable to look away. There were several slashes, diagonal across her stomach, large enough that the blood flowing from them made her feel dizzy, and her mind started to cloud over. Maybe this was her death... maybe he would not heal her and all the pain would now stop.
Blinking fast, Hermione tried to keep her head upright. She wanted to say something, speak her last words, even if it was to a Death Eater. There would be no way of getting a message to her friends and family that she loved them, but she could still say them, if only to make herself feel better. “I-I love m-my friends and... and p-parents,” she said weakly, talking to herself. I’m sorry Harry, Ron. Mum, Dad. I love you. I love you.
Before she could fully slip into nothingness, there was a bang. Her hazy vision showed her Rodolphus thrown back against the wall, falling to the ground and groaning before appearing to lose consciousness. Trying to focus, Hermione looked up to discover the source of the noise when she saw her.
Bellatrix.
Inexplicably, relief flooded her veins, filling them in a way that the blood dripping down to the floor never could. But no, this is my chance to die, she told herself. Let me. Let it be over, please.
**
(( CLICK HERE for part 9)