FIC: Impossible (15/30)
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. :)
(1), (2) , (3a), (3b) , ( 4), ( 5) , (6), (7), ( 8), ( 9), (10), ( 11), (12), (13), (14)
Before you read this part, I would highly recommend that you take a look at fanart (CLICK HERE) that has been very kindly created by julipy to go along with this fic. Basically this came about because I received a PM over on ff.net from Shut up the Karma who requested my permission for this to be drawn, and of course, I said yes. It's really fantastic and it'd be lovely if you could let the creator know if you like it as I imagine she spent a lot of time on it. :)
**
Lining up for the grand illusionNo answers for no questions asked
Lining up for the execution
Without knowing why
Ana Johnsson, We Are
**
15.
The moment that Hermione saw Bellatrix’s face through the gate of Malfoy Manor, she felt a warped combination of sickness and relief. The latter was barely detectable, but there was a sudden heat that fizzed within her as she saw Bellatrix, and she felt some of the longing that she had being trying to ignore for what felt like forever dissipate. She wondered briefly if it was the same for Bellatrix, that she too had felt the same spark that had fired within herself. It was hard to tell when the Death Eater steadfastly appeared to be looking anywhere but directly at her, but her reluctance to look her way led Hermione to believe that yes, she had felt something too. If she was unfazed by Hermione’s presence then she would just face her; she didn’t have anything to lose from one simple glance. Needless to say, despite it being silly, the thought that Bellatrix was secretly going to help her calmed Hermione slightly.
The first immediate word that sprung to mind as Hermione was dragged inside of the Manor, was grand. Everything about the dark home was larger than life; high ceilings and walls that seemed endless. Hermione was sure that the entrance alone was the size of five or so rooms in her parent’s house. Somehow though, despite the impressiveness, there was something amiss that didn’t sit right with Hermione. A cold draft sent shivers down her spine, though to her, it felt like the atmosphere of the Manor had caused it rather than a physical draft from an open window or door. Hadn’t Bellatrix said before that Voldemort was staying here? Maybe that was why. Merlin, if he was here now...
She could only hope that he wasn’t.
Bellatrix had asked for Draco on their way in... maybe that meant she had a plan to get them out of here involving him? Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were also present, as well as a skulking Wormtail. Hermione weighed up their chances. Wormtail wasn’t the greatest wizard; with wands they would be able to take him down, and Draco was unlikely to duel to kill. Lucius was desperate for favour with the Dark Lord, so he would be more of a problem, and Narcissa was an unknown quantity. She had only met her briefly on a few occasions before this moment, though the hatred in her eyes at Madam Malkin’s as she had insulted her was still painfully remembered. Bellatrix was by far the most dangerous and skilled witch present, but all the same, with so many enemies around, (the Snatchers would also prove to be a problem) what chance did Hermione, Ron and Harry have? Unless Bellatrix helps.
It was only when Bellatrix started to talk about contacting Voldemort after making sure that it was Harry they had captured that Hermione realised things probably weren’t going to play out the way she had hoped. There was a glint of evil in Bellatrix’s eyes that Hermione didn’t remember seeing before; pure fervour and longing as she talked about her Lord. Desperately, Hermione tried to catch her eye, tried to convey her feelings wordlessly, to beg for mercy inside her head so that should Bellatrix attempt Legilimency, she would see what Hermione needed her to do. Save us, Bella, she screamed silently. Please, please, please.
She was ignored. Bellatrix only had eyes for Harry, gazing at him with excitement so evident in her pupils that Hermione was sure she had never witnessed such passion in her entire life. It was enough to make her feel sick, and she held in the urge to vomit, trying to think clearly. She had to be brave, daring. Out of herself, Ron and Harry she was the one that possessed an extremely logical mind, which would come in handy if she could just hone that talent of hers to come up with a solution. Maybe we’ll survive this.
When Bellatrix finally looked her way; she was unrecognisable. There wasn’t a touch of sanity in her expression, and no sign that she even considered the connection that she shared with Hermione. After she had correctly identified that Hermione had used a Stinging Jinx on Harry and taken her wand, she realised just how much trouble they were in if Bellatrix was not going to provide aid. Hermione’s only possible form of defence had been Bellatrix, and Hermione knew that the chance of gaining back her wand and escaping was very little if Bellatrix was going to turn against her. The Death Eater simply didn’t care. Terrified, Hermione whimpered quietly, and then almost collapsed with fear the moment that Bellatrix laid eyes on the sword she claimed to be hers.
The next few moments happened so fast that Hermione barely had a chance to comprehend what was happening. The Snatchers were being thrown out, Harry and Ron were dragged to the cellar by Wormtail and Bellatrix was backing her against the wall, screeching into her face. She had singled Hermione out away from the others; was that so that she could help her escape again? Maybe she was going to take her back to her own home where she would proclaim to interrogate her about the sword, but in reality would let her go for the second time? Did she care that much for Hermione?
Wishful thinking, Hermione told herself.
And she was right. Suddenly, Bellatrix was on top of her, and the interrogation began. It was like being back in her cell in the very first days, before anything had happened between herself and Bellatrix. She couldn’t really pay attention to anything that Bellatrix was saying, because she was so focused on the memories, on crying at what an idiot she had been, giving half-hearted protests that she hadn’t taken the sword because what else could she do? No wonder she hadn’t told Harry and Ron about her feelings for Bellatrix; they would have ridiculed her and told her she was being made a fool of. Bellatrix had played a clever part in pretending that she was trying to resist Hermione and would consider Semper Amor as a possibility; in reality she had been laughing at her all along.
Was it possible that the others knew, too? That Voldemort had told her what to do and that by seducing Hermione it would make access to Harry easier, and that with a bit of luck Hermione might provide vital information that lead to his capture? If it were the case that today had not been due to Harry opening his big mouth and saying Voldemort’s name aloud despite the Taboo, Hermione would have blamed herself. Nevertheless, she may be innocent in that respect, but she had taken stupid risks for Bellatrix, all because she had probably been suffering from a delusional crush on her captor. Definately Stockholm Syndrome, she thought bitterly. You bloody fool!
Then Bellatrix was scratching into her arm with her wand, carving something out. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look at whatever she was drawing or writing, for the pain sliced through her, causing her to scream aloud, wishing that Harry and Ron would find a way out of the cellar to rescue her. She tried not to make too much noise, knowing they would be distraught for her and going out of their minds with worry, but it was impossible for her to stay quiet. It was bad enough to experience the pain, but the fact that it was inflicted by Bellatrix made the situation even worse, for Hermione was unable to just switch off her feelings no matter how much she wanted to. All she wanted was to forget about what an idiot she had been and get out of there to just curl up in the tent with Harry and Ron, listening to the radio and ignoring the world around them for just an hour or so before the Horcrux hunt began once more.
Harry and Ron were everything to her. They had been the best friends she had longed for ever since she was four years old and was picked on for being a geek and a freak. When she was feeling down they made her laugh, and when she was feeling happy, who else was better to spend her time with but them? They had been through so much together that Hermione had lost count of the memories they had given her, and she had always hoped that it would continue through the rest of their lives as they grew old together.
When Bellatrix next looked into her eyes, Hermione could tell that she was seeing inside of her mind, viewing Hermione’s thoughts. As at the moment these thoughts mainly consisted of Harry, Ron, someone, help me, Hermione wasn’t too concerned. There was no point pleading because Bellatrix didn’t care one iota. However, not wanting Bellatrix to start mocking her, Hermione tried not to think about her betrayal, not wishing to provide her with ammunition. Of course, when under a situation of such immense pressure, and facing Bellatrix in utter agony, (her arm felt as though it was on fire) Bellatrix could more easily know her thoughts. Hermione braced herself, telling herself that it didn’t matter if Bellatrix was brutal; she would be brave and strong like she was supposed to be. Come on, Gryffindor Girl!
As Bellatrix leant closer to her, hair falling around their faces, Hermione flinched, not knowing what she was going to do. It was therefore a surprise when she felt Bellatrix’s breath gently tickle against her ear, and the Death Eater whispered, only audible to Hermione, “Trust me.”
Hermione wanted to shout and scream, “Trust? Trust you?!” but every fibre of her being was telling her not to be stupid, to listen. She didn’t trust Bellatrix, but she did need to allow this to play out if there was even the slightest chance that Bellatrix was genuine, because right now Hermione didn’t have any better ideas. Short of the entire Order (or what was left of it, anyhow) suddenly figuring out where they were and bursting in to rescue them, Hermione was pretty certain that they were completely out of luck.
And then, Bellatrix spoke again, whispering in her ear, “I have to do this.”
What does that even mean? Hermione thought.
Bellatrix waved her wand, and suddenly, Crucio came to life once more in Hermione’s veins, pores, muscles, organs and every inch of her body, all coherent contemplations ripped out of her. She remembered how horrible it felt, how excruciatingly painful it was, and despite the fact that she’d experienced it many times previously; it didn’t make it any easier. It only served to confirm in her mind that Bellatrix was playing with her for amusement; why else did she feel the need to go so far and inflict the Cruciatus Curse on her? If this was just her faking it then there were numerous other curses she could have used.
It didn’t last too long as far as Hermione could tell; between one and two minutes would be her estimate. When it ended she allowed her head to slump to the side, facing only Bellatrix and she half-moaned and half-mumbled in agony, “Bella...”
“Hush, little one. Don’t speak,” Bellatrix murmured into her ear, leaning over her body.
And then, she was gone.
Bellatrix had moved away to interrogate the goblin that Hermione knew to be called Griphook from her visits to Gringotts bank. Not wanting to see any more torture, she turned to observe the Malfoy family who were standing still, watching her from across the room. Lucius looked fierce, Draco appeared frightened, and Narcissa’s expression she couldn’t read easily. She was staring straight at Hermione, directly into her eyes, leading Hermione to wonder if Narcissa was accomplished at Legilimency like her sister. If she was then it could cause serious problems, and so Hermione looked away, trying her best to use her Occlumency skills to shield her shaking mind.
Instead, she focused on the hair that dropped from Bellatrix’s head that landed on her, trying to distract herself from thinking about anything dangerous. Unfortunately, it reminded her of the first kiss she and Bellatrix had shared, of feeling the raven haired witch beneath her whilst she pressed their bodies together, clenched fistfuls of hair in her hand during the memorable passionate embrace. Trying not to think at all, she was aware of the only pain that she now experienced searing through her arm, for there was no after effect of the Cruciatus Curse other than feeling intensely weak and as though she would break at any moment. It was as she looked downwards that she caught sight of her skin, and the word that Bellatrix had scrawled across it for all to see, possibly forever.
Mudblood.
A singular tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and she did all that she could not to allow an actual sob to escape. She wondered if Bellatrix meant it, and then mentally chastised herself. Of course she meant it; Bellatrix was a pure-blood through and through and hated Muggle-borns like herself, thinking them to be dirt she could kick about and play with whenever she felt like it. By pretending to be on her side and whispering in her ear it was just amusing her even further; the thought that Hermione would take her seriously probably making her want to laugh hysterically for hours on end. Everything had meant nothing to Bellatrix, contrary to Hermione where nothing still meant everything to her. She hated Bellatrix, but she wanted her all the same. She didn’t want this war, or for there to be sides or fighting, whereas Bellatrix thrived on it.
“The same won’t be said for this one,” Bellatrix said, and Hermione dreaded what she had said just before that statement, and wished she had been paying attention so that she at least knew what to expect.
It was then it happened. Ron yelled, “Like hell!” and ran up the stairs with Harry, bringing about a crazy commotion that resulted in Hermione being dragged backwards with Bellatrix holding a knife to her throat. Hermione didn’t know how Ron and Harry had gotten out of the cellar, but she felt a slight surge of hope that at least one of them would get out of this alive to continue searching for the Horcruxes to vanquish Voldemort once and for all. Even if Harry was the Chosen One, if it was just Ron or herself then they could at least destroy the Horcruxes over the next few years until someone came along that was capable of defeating Voldemort. Screw the prophecy!
At present, however, Hermione was still terrified. She cried quietly, shaking against Bellatrix and partially propped up by the older witch clutching her. “Please,” she begged, as Narcissa and Draco battled against Harry and Ron in front of her, and Lucius was thrown backwards.
“Don’t fight me,” Bellatrix hissed in her ear, and Hermione couldn’t tell whether it was a warning or an order. Before she had time to properly debate this, Bellatrix shouted in Harry and Ron’s direction, “Stop! Drop your wands.” She waited a few seconds and then repeated, “I said drop them!”
Harry and Ron had evidently decided that due to Hermione’s precarious position they had better do as they were told, and so they reluctantly obliged. Around this point Hermione began tuning out again, trying to protect herself from the situation. She wanted to sob loudly, to fall to the floor and just die from the torment within. Being brave was getting tough, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her anymore.
Bellatrix had rested a hand against her forehead, gently keeping it still, the heat causing Hermione’s heart to pound harder than it already was. The contact between them made her imagine thoughts she really shouldn’t be thinking of, especially considering the situation they were in. It didn’t help to calm her though, for she had no idea where Bellatrix’s loyalties lay. Not anymore.
Especially not after Bellatrix observed Harry’s face returning to normal, the effects of the Stinging Jinx wearing off. Hermione could hear her talking, but she refused to listen, unable to handle it. It was only the last two words that she paid attention to, and they were the most important. “Call him,” Bellatrix ordered with glee, and at once she realised that this meant any moment now they were going to have to face Voldemort. He would arrive, kill herself, Ron and Harry in whatever sequence he chose to kill them in. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if he threw in some torture too, just for good measure.
Bellatrix repeated her order, as Lucius, Narcissa and Draco watched each other. Hermione could only see them from the corner of her eye and was therefore unaware of their expressions, but judging by their body language she assumed there to be a certain level of hesitation. This didn’t give her hope anyhow, because she knew that they would do as they had been told even if they didn’t really want to. They stood to gain so much if they were the ones who presented Harry to Voldemort, and Hermione knew that they would be desperate to win favour with him.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back to avoid having to see the Dark Mark that would be shown, not sure she could stomach it at the moment. Tears in her eyes, Hermione was sure that this was the moment. I’m going to die, was all she could think. Before she had even gotten a chance to take her N.E.W.T exams, too. There was so much she had left to learn that it was ridiculous; she was going to die not knowing half the spells she should due to the lapse in her education. How unfortunate, she thought, and she smiled inside her head.
Something was wrong, however. Bellatrix had stiffened, and she was looking upwards just as Hermione was. Suddenly, Hermione noticed.
Dobby.
Dobby? Why was he here? A surge of optimism travelled through her body as she realised he had come to help them, and she sobbed with relief. The elf began to unscrew the light fixture, and then Bellatrix was shoving her forwards out of the way, and Ron had grabbed her dragging her backwards. She remained turned away, not wanting to consider the scene before her, not able to cope, but then Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and she whirled around, needing to know if it was Bellatrix he had targeted despite the fact that she wasn’t supposed to care anymore.
Ron was still grasping her as Bellatrix verbally abused Dobby, and when Narcissa was disarmed by the elf, Hermione realised that they were in control for the first time since arriving at Malfoy Manor. They had all the wands! She was briefly aware of Dobby defending his actions to Bellatrix, and the look of utter fury in the witch’s eyes frightened Hermione so much that she literally clung onto Ron for dear life. She looked fit to kill, and had she been in possession of a wand, she most likely would have. Narcissa merely looked shocked at being overpowered by an elf, and as all three of them plus Griphook were pulled out of there courtesy of the elf, (and ignoring the knife that Bellatrix had thrown as they left) Hermione allowed herself a tearful smile.
Everything became a blur, swirling before her eyes until they were thrown onto a beach against wet sand, and Dobby was somehow in Harry’s arms. Was he hurt?
Oh, no. No, so much worse.
Dying.
Dobby is dying.
“Hermione? Hermione? What is it? Help me!” Harry said, and every word he spoke was like a knife in Hermione’s own chest. There was no dittany left; it had all been used up, and there was nothing she could do but stare, crying, watching as the elf responsible for saving their lives died in Harry’s arms. She refused to allow herself to listen to Dobby’s last words, unable to take it, not wanting to comprehend the fact that it was Bellatrix that had done this. Why had she thrown the knife? What could she possibly have achieved by doing such a thing? They were leaving, and all she risked was killing one of them.
It could have been me. She nearly killed me.
She wished it was her. Dobby didn’t deserve this, he was such a kind-hearted caring elf that only wanted to help Harry, and anyone who was a friend of Harry. He had come to help her because that was the sort of elf that he was; he would have gladly risked his life to save the boy that he had always admired, and in fact, had devoted the past few years to helping him. More than that, Hermione knew that even as he lay dying, Dobby would have still made the decision to go through it all again.
For Harry. For us.
At the precise moment that she thought this, Hermione considered that everything with Bellatrix had all been a lie. Every last word exchanged between herself and the older witch had all been for nothing. Even when Bellatrix had allowed her to escape there must have been an alternate reason that as of yet Hermione was unaware of. She truly was Voldemort’s servant, and would never be anything else. There was no excuse for what she had done; Hermione couldn’t see any justification whatsoever. She watched as Dobby’s chest stopped moving, and he lay still cradled in Harry’s arms. One look at Harry’s expression of torment and anguish, and Hermione realised what had happened.
Dead.
Dobby is dead.
It could have been seconds, minutes or hours later that they began digging a grave for Dobby, but Hermione was in a daze and had no concept of time. They dug manually, wanting to put in effort and hard work for Dobby, to show how much they appreciated him and everything he had done for them. His death could have been prevented had he not been trying to save them, but if he hadn’t chosen to take the actions he did, they would be dead by now. And so in his own way, Dobby had contributed to the war by saving The Chosen One, Harry’s life, and he deserved to be honoured and remembered for all he had contributed.
Ron kept on trying to touch her, to comfort her, but she shrugged him off for the moment. She couldn’t bear for anyone to touch her now; she wanted to just wrap herself in her own little shell and hide from the rest of the world. It was impossible, she was aware of that, but there was only so much she could handle at the moment without breaking or snapping completely. Dealing with the grave, making sure the hole was big enough and that it was perfect for Dobby’s tiny little body helped her, for it gave her something to focus on other than the obvious.
Right after they had finished creating the hole, Hermione wrapped Dobby in a white blanket, and together, they all placed him inside. After sealing it, Hermione drew her wand, and out from the ground sprang white lilies, beautifying the ground in which Dobby rested. After waving her wand again, Hermione enchanted the flowers so that they would forever bloom, never dying. It was the least they could do for the elf that had risked everything to save them.
“Lilies,” Harry said, sounding choked. “It reminds me of... of my mum.”
Hermione looked back at him, remaining silent.
“You know... because of... because of her name,” Harry clarified, as though Hermione had not understood.
“We know mate,” Ron said, gentler than usual. He too watched Harry, appearing to not have any idea what else there was to say.
Tears threatened to fall once again for Hermione, and she squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to avoid crying. There were so many kinds of pain in her chest that she didn’t know what one to focus on; grief, betrayal, failure, and sorrow all battled for prime position deep within Hermione’s heart. Today had brought nothing but ruin for them; they had almost lost the sword, and more importantly, had actually lost a friend.
“That bitch,” Harry said, voice fierce through the pain. “So much for persuading Bellatrix to come over to our side. It’ll never happen.”
“She’s poison. She’ll get what’s coming to her, I know she will,” Ron vowed.
Hermione nodded, not actively agreeing but not willing to disagree either. She didn’t know what to think. Considering everything Bellatrix had just done, it suggested that she was going to hand them over to Voldemort, but the secret whispers were unexplained. Could it be that she wanted Hermione to stay quiet and not reveal what had happened between them to her family? If that was the case, why didn’t she just silence her somehow, or kill her? Why play a stupid, risky game? Even by Bellatrix’s standards it didn’t entirely make sense.
Without warning, Hermione felt a rapid sensation of heat emanating from the pocket of her jeans. Feeling sick at the realisation of what it was, she turned away from Harry and Ron under the pretence of taking a moment to herself, knowing they wouldn’t disturb her out of respect for her privacy. Drawing out the partner Galleon to the one she had given Bellatrix, she read the time and the date:
14.30. 07.03.98
Tomorrow. Was Bellatrix actually serious? There was no way she was going to meet her after everything she had done. Dobby was dead because of her! Feeling rage within her, Hermione wanted to throw the coin away, bury it in the sand so she wasn’t ever tempted to go back. But she couldn’t for some inexplicable need to know whether Bellatrix was toying with her. There was no way she would go to the meeting tomorrow, but in the future when she had calmed down, she decided she might. That way at least she might gain some answers.
Despite everything that had happened, she still wouldn’t tell Harry and Ron about the apparent connection between herself and Bellatrix. She had a feeling that merely mentioning Bellatrix name at the moment would cause Harry to fly into a rage, for any anger she had undone in him when she described how Bellatrix had confessed to her that she had not been responsible for Sirius’s death, (and considering the real culprit was Voldemort which Harry found more than easy to believe) was now back with a ferocity, as Harry would be seeking vengeance for the elf that he had considered his friend and saviour.
No. For now, Hermione would continue to handle this alone. Tomorrow she would not indulge Bellatrix, but should there be a future request, she would attend. Not for her own sake, but for Dobby’s, because should the chance arise, Hermione would be more than willing to make her feelings perfectly clear. She would go with the intention of hurting Bellatrix if she should try and attack her, and if needs be, she would do anything to chase retribution for Dobby.
Whatever it takes, Hermione.
**
(( CLICK HERE for part 16 ))
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. :)
(1), (2) , (3a), (3b) , ( 4), ( 5) , (6), (7), ( 8), ( 9), (10), ( 11), (12), (13), (14)
Before you read this part, I would highly recommend that you take a look at fanart (CLICK HERE) that has been very kindly created by julipy to go along with this fic. Basically this came about because I received a PM over on ff.net from Shut up the Karma who requested my permission for this to be drawn, and of course, I said yes. It's really fantastic and it'd be lovely if you could let the creator know if you like it as I imagine she spent a lot of time on it. :)
**
Lining up for the grand illusionNo answers for no questions asked
Lining up for the execution
Without knowing why
Ana Johnsson, We Are
**
15.
The moment that Hermione saw Bellatrix’s face through the gate of Malfoy Manor, she felt a warped combination of sickness and relief. The latter was barely detectable, but there was a sudden heat that fizzed within her as she saw Bellatrix, and she felt some of the longing that she had being trying to ignore for what felt like forever dissipate. She wondered briefly if it was the same for Bellatrix, that she too had felt the same spark that had fired within herself. It was hard to tell when the Death Eater steadfastly appeared to be looking anywhere but directly at her, but her reluctance to look her way led Hermione to believe that yes, she had felt something too. If she was unfazed by Hermione’s presence then she would just face her; she didn’t have anything to lose from one simple glance. Needless to say, despite it being silly, the thought that Bellatrix was secretly going to help her calmed Hermione slightly.
The first immediate word that sprung to mind as Hermione was dragged inside of the Manor, was grand. Everything about the dark home was larger than life; high ceilings and walls that seemed endless. Hermione was sure that the entrance alone was the size of five or so rooms in her parent’s house. Somehow though, despite the impressiveness, there was something amiss that didn’t sit right with Hermione. A cold draft sent shivers down her spine, though to her, it felt like the atmosphere of the Manor had caused it rather than a physical draft from an open window or door. Hadn’t Bellatrix said before that Voldemort was staying here? Maybe that was why. Merlin, if he was here now...
She could only hope that he wasn’t.
Bellatrix had asked for Draco on their way in... maybe that meant she had a plan to get them out of here involving him? Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were also present, as well as a skulking Wormtail. Hermione weighed up their chances. Wormtail wasn’t the greatest wizard; with wands they would be able to take him down, and Draco was unlikely to duel to kill. Lucius was desperate for favour with the Dark Lord, so he would be more of a problem, and Narcissa was an unknown quantity. She had only met her briefly on a few occasions before this moment, though the hatred in her eyes at Madam Malkin’s as she had insulted her was still painfully remembered. Bellatrix was by far the most dangerous and skilled witch present, but all the same, with so many enemies around, (the Snatchers would also prove to be a problem) what chance did Hermione, Ron and Harry have? Unless Bellatrix helps.
It was only when Bellatrix started to talk about contacting Voldemort after making sure that it was Harry they had captured that Hermione realised things probably weren’t going to play out the way she had hoped. There was a glint of evil in Bellatrix’s eyes that Hermione didn’t remember seeing before; pure fervour and longing as she talked about her Lord. Desperately, Hermione tried to catch her eye, tried to convey her feelings wordlessly, to beg for mercy inside her head so that should Bellatrix attempt Legilimency, she would see what Hermione needed her to do. Save us, Bella, she screamed silently. Please, please, please.
She was ignored. Bellatrix only had eyes for Harry, gazing at him with excitement so evident in her pupils that Hermione was sure she had never witnessed such passion in her entire life. It was enough to make her feel sick, and she held in the urge to vomit, trying to think clearly. She had to be brave, daring. Out of herself, Ron and Harry she was the one that possessed an extremely logical mind, which would come in handy if she could just hone that talent of hers to come up with a solution. Maybe we’ll survive this.
When Bellatrix finally looked her way; she was unrecognisable. There wasn’t a touch of sanity in her expression, and no sign that she even considered the connection that she shared with Hermione. After she had correctly identified that Hermione had used a Stinging Jinx on Harry and taken her wand, she realised just how much trouble they were in if Bellatrix was not going to provide aid. Hermione’s only possible form of defence had been Bellatrix, and Hermione knew that the chance of gaining back her wand and escaping was very little if Bellatrix was going to turn against her. The Death Eater simply didn’t care. Terrified, Hermione whimpered quietly, and then almost collapsed with fear the moment that Bellatrix laid eyes on the sword she claimed to be hers.
The next few moments happened so fast that Hermione barely had a chance to comprehend what was happening. The Snatchers were being thrown out, Harry and Ron were dragged to the cellar by Wormtail and Bellatrix was backing her against the wall, screeching into her face. She had singled Hermione out away from the others; was that so that she could help her escape again? Maybe she was going to take her back to her own home where she would proclaim to interrogate her about the sword, but in reality would let her go for the second time? Did she care that much for Hermione?
Wishful thinking, Hermione told herself.
And she was right. Suddenly, Bellatrix was on top of her, and the interrogation began. It was like being back in her cell in the very first days, before anything had happened between herself and Bellatrix. She couldn’t really pay attention to anything that Bellatrix was saying, because she was so focused on the memories, on crying at what an idiot she had been, giving half-hearted protests that she hadn’t taken the sword because what else could she do? No wonder she hadn’t told Harry and Ron about her feelings for Bellatrix; they would have ridiculed her and told her she was being made a fool of. Bellatrix had played a clever part in pretending that she was trying to resist Hermione and would consider Semper Amor as a possibility; in reality she had been laughing at her all along.
Was it possible that the others knew, too? That Voldemort had told her what to do and that by seducing Hermione it would make access to Harry easier, and that with a bit of luck Hermione might provide vital information that lead to his capture? If it were the case that today had not been due to Harry opening his big mouth and saying Voldemort’s name aloud despite the Taboo, Hermione would have blamed herself. Nevertheless, she may be innocent in that respect, but she had taken stupid risks for Bellatrix, all because she had probably been suffering from a delusional crush on her captor. Definately Stockholm Syndrome, she thought bitterly. You bloody fool!
Then Bellatrix was scratching into her arm with her wand, carving something out. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to look at whatever she was drawing or writing, for the pain sliced through her, causing her to scream aloud, wishing that Harry and Ron would find a way out of the cellar to rescue her. She tried not to make too much noise, knowing they would be distraught for her and going out of their minds with worry, but it was impossible for her to stay quiet. It was bad enough to experience the pain, but the fact that it was inflicted by Bellatrix made the situation even worse, for Hermione was unable to just switch off her feelings no matter how much she wanted to. All she wanted was to forget about what an idiot she had been and get out of there to just curl up in the tent with Harry and Ron, listening to the radio and ignoring the world around them for just an hour or so before the Horcrux hunt began once more.
Harry and Ron were everything to her. They had been the best friends she had longed for ever since she was four years old and was picked on for being a geek and a freak. When she was feeling down they made her laugh, and when she was feeling happy, who else was better to spend her time with but them? They had been through so much together that Hermione had lost count of the memories they had given her, and she had always hoped that it would continue through the rest of their lives as they grew old together.
When Bellatrix next looked into her eyes, Hermione could tell that she was seeing inside of her mind, viewing Hermione’s thoughts. As at the moment these thoughts mainly consisted of Harry, Ron, someone, help me, Hermione wasn’t too concerned. There was no point pleading because Bellatrix didn’t care one iota. However, not wanting Bellatrix to start mocking her, Hermione tried not to think about her betrayal, not wishing to provide her with ammunition. Of course, when under a situation of such immense pressure, and facing Bellatrix in utter agony, (her arm felt as though it was on fire) Bellatrix could more easily know her thoughts. Hermione braced herself, telling herself that it didn’t matter if Bellatrix was brutal; she would be brave and strong like she was supposed to be. Come on, Gryffindor Girl!
As Bellatrix leant closer to her, hair falling around their faces, Hermione flinched, not knowing what she was going to do. It was therefore a surprise when she felt Bellatrix’s breath gently tickle against her ear, and the Death Eater whispered, only audible to Hermione, “Trust me.”
Hermione wanted to shout and scream, “Trust? Trust you?!” but every fibre of her being was telling her not to be stupid, to listen. She didn’t trust Bellatrix, but she did need to allow this to play out if there was even the slightest chance that Bellatrix was genuine, because right now Hermione didn’t have any better ideas. Short of the entire Order (or what was left of it, anyhow) suddenly figuring out where they were and bursting in to rescue them, Hermione was pretty certain that they were completely out of luck.
And then, Bellatrix spoke again, whispering in her ear, “I have to do this.”
What does that even mean? Hermione thought.
Bellatrix waved her wand, and suddenly, Crucio came to life once more in Hermione’s veins, pores, muscles, organs and every inch of her body, all coherent contemplations ripped out of her. She remembered how horrible it felt, how excruciatingly painful it was, and despite the fact that she’d experienced it many times previously; it didn’t make it any easier. It only served to confirm in her mind that Bellatrix was playing with her for amusement; why else did she feel the need to go so far and inflict the Cruciatus Curse on her? If this was just her faking it then there were numerous other curses she could have used.
It didn’t last too long as far as Hermione could tell; between one and two minutes would be her estimate. When it ended she allowed her head to slump to the side, facing only Bellatrix and she half-moaned and half-mumbled in agony, “Bella...”
“Hush, little one. Don’t speak,” Bellatrix murmured into her ear, leaning over her body.
And then, she was gone.
Bellatrix had moved away to interrogate the goblin that Hermione knew to be called Griphook from her visits to Gringotts bank. Not wanting to see any more torture, she turned to observe the Malfoy family who were standing still, watching her from across the room. Lucius looked fierce, Draco appeared frightened, and Narcissa’s expression she couldn’t read easily. She was staring straight at Hermione, directly into her eyes, leading Hermione to wonder if Narcissa was accomplished at Legilimency like her sister. If she was then it could cause serious problems, and so Hermione looked away, trying her best to use her Occlumency skills to shield her shaking mind.
Instead, she focused on the hair that dropped from Bellatrix’s head that landed on her, trying to distract herself from thinking about anything dangerous. Unfortunately, it reminded her of the first kiss she and Bellatrix had shared, of feeling the raven haired witch beneath her whilst she pressed their bodies together, clenched fistfuls of hair in her hand during the memorable passionate embrace. Trying not to think at all, she was aware of the only pain that she now experienced searing through her arm, for there was no after effect of the Cruciatus Curse other than feeling intensely weak and as though she would break at any moment. It was as she looked downwards that she caught sight of her skin, and the word that Bellatrix had scrawled across it for all to see, possibly forever.
Mudblood.
A singular tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and she did all that she could not to allow an actual sob to escape. She wondered if Bellatrix meant it, and then mentally chastised herself. Of course she meant it; Bellatrix was a pure-blood through and through and hated Muggle-borns like herself, thinking them to be dirt she could kick about and play with whenever she felt like it. By pretending to be on her side and whispering in her ear it was just amusing her even further; the thought that Hermione would take her seriously probably making her want to laugh hysterically for hours on end. Everything had meant nothing to Bellatrix, contrary to Hermione where nothing still meant everything to her. She hated Bellatrix, but she wanted her all the same. She didn’t want this war, or for there to be sides or fighting, whereas Bellatrix thrived on it.
“The same won’t be said for this one,” Bellatrix said, and Hermione dreaded what she had said just before that statement, and wished she had been paying attention so that she at least knew what to expect.
It was then it happened. Ron yelled, “Like hell!” and ran up the stairs with Harry, bringing about a crazy commotion that resulted in Hermione being dragged backwards with Bellatrix holding a knife to her throat. Hermione didn’t know how Ron and Harry had gotten out of the cellar, but she felt a slight surge of hope that at least one of them would get out of this alive to continue searching for the Horcruxes to vanquish Voldemort once and for all. Even if Harry was the Chosen One, if it was just Ron or herself then they could at least destroy the Horcruxes over the next few years until someone came along that was capable of defeating Voldemort. Screw the prophecy!
At present, however, Hermione was still terrified. She cried quietly, shaking against Bellatrix and partially propped up by the older witch clutching her. “Please,” she begged, as Narcissa and Draco battled against Harry and Ron in front of her, and Lucius was thrown backwards.
“Don’t fight me,” Bellatrix hissed in her ear, and Hermione couldn’t tell whether it was a warning or an order. Before she had time to properly debate this, Bellatrix shouted in Harry and Ron’s direction, “Stop! Drop your wands.” She waited a few seconds and then repeated, “I said drop them!”
Harry and Ron had evidently decided that due to Hermione’s precarious position they had better do as they were told, and so they reluctantly obliged. Around this point Hermione began tuning out again, trying to protect herself from the situation. She wanted to sob loudly, to fall to the floor and just die from the torment within. Being brave was getting tough, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her anymore.
Bellatrix had rested a hand against her forehead, gently keeping it still, the heat causing Hermione’s heart to pound harder than it already was. The contact between them made her imagine thoughts she really shouldn’t be thinking of, especially considering the situation they were in. It didn’t help to calm her though, for she had no idea where Bellatrix’s loyalties lay. Not anymore.
Especially not after Bellatrix observed Harry’s face returning to normal, the effects of the Stinging Jinx wearing off. Hermione could hear her talking, but she refused to listen, unable to handle it. It was only the last two words that she paid attention to, and they were the most important. “Call him,” Bellatrix ordered with glee, and at once she realised that this meant any moment now they were going to have to face Voldemort. He would arrive, kill herself, Ron and Harry in whatever sequence he chose to kill them in. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if he threw in some torture too, just for good measure.
Bellatrix repeated her order, as Lucius, Narcissa and Draco watched each other. Hermione could only see them from the corner of her eye and was therefore unaware of their expressions, but judging by their body language she assumed there to be a certain level of hesitation. This didn’t give her hope anyhow, because she knew that they would do as they had been told even if they didn’t really want to. They stood to gain so much if they were the ones who presented Harry to Voldemort, and Hermione knew that they would be desperate to win favour with him.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back to avoid having to see the Dark Mark that would be shown, not sure she could stomach it at the moment. Tears in her eyes, Hermione was sure that this was the moment. I’m going to die, was all she could think. Before she had even gotten a chance to take her N.E.W.T exams, too. There was so much she had left to learn that it was ridiculous; she was going to die not knowing half the spells she should due to the lapse in her education. How unfortunate, she thought, and she smiled inside her head.
Something was wrong, however. Bellatrix had stiffened, and she was looking upwards just as Hermione was. Suddenly, Hermione noticed.
Dobby.
Dobby? Why was he here? A surge of optimism travelled through her body as she realised he had come to help them, and she sobbed with relief. The elf began to unscrew the light fixture, and then Bellatrix was shoving her forwards out of the way, and Ron had grabbed her dragging her backwards. She remained turned away, not wanting to consider the scene before her, not able to cope, but then Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and she whirled around, needing to know if it was Bellatrix he had targeted despite the fact that she wasn’t supposed to care anymore.
Ron was still grasping her as Bellatrix verbally abused Dobby, and when Narcissa was disarmed by the elf, Hermione realised that they were in control for the first time since arriving at Malfoy Manor. They had all the wands! She was briefly aware of Dobby defending his actions to Bellatrix, and the look of utter fury in the witch’s eyes frightened Hermione so much that she literally clung onto Ron for dear life. She looked fit to kill, and had she been in possession of a wand, she most likely would have. Narcissa merely looked shocked at being overpowered by an elf, and as all three of them plus Griphook were pulled out of there courtesy of the elf, (and ignoring the knife that Bellatrix had thrown as they left) Hermione allowed herself a tearful smile.
Everything became a blur, swirling before her eyes until they were thrown onto a beach against wet sand, and Dobby was somehow in Harry’s arms. Was he hurt?
Oh, no. No, so much worse.
Dying.
Dobby is dying.
“Hermione? Hermione? What is it? Help me!” Harry said, and every word he spoke was like a knife in Hermione’s own chest. There was no dittany left; it had all been used up, and there was nothing she could do but stare, crying, watching as the elf responsible for saving their lives died in Harry’s arms. She refused to allow herself to listen to Dobby’s last words, unable to take it, not wanting to comprehend the fact that it was Bellatrix that had done this. Why had she thrown the knife? What could she possibly have achieved by doing such a thing? They were leaving, and all she risked was killing one of them.
It could have been me. She nearly killed me.
She wished it was her. Dobby didn’t deserve this, he was such a kind-hearted caring elf that only wanted to help Harry, and anyone who was a friend of Harry. He had come to help her because that was the sort of elf that he was; he would have gladly risked his life to save the boy that he had always admired, and in fact, had devoted the past few years to helping him. More than that, Hermione knew that even as he lay dying, Dobby would have still made the decision to go through it all again.
For Harry. For us.
At the precise moment that she thought this, Hermione considered that everything with Bellatrix had all been a lie. Every last word exchanged between herself and the older witch had all been for nothing. Even when Bellatrix had allowed her to escape there must have been an alternate reason that as of yet Hermione was unaware of. She truly was Voldemort’s servant, and would never be anything else. There was no excuse for what she had done; Hermione couldn’t see any justification whatsoever. She watched as Dobby’s chest stopped moving, and he lay still cradled in Harry’s arms. One look at Harry’s expression of torment and anguish, and Hermione realised what had happened.
Dead.
Dobby is dead.
It could have been seconds, minutes or hours later that they began digging a grave for Dobby, but Hermione was in a daze and had no concept of time. They dug manually, wanting to put in effort and hard work for Dobby, to show how much they appreciated him and everything he had done for them. His death could have been prevented had he not been trying to save them, but if he hadn’t chosen to take the actions he did, they would be dead by now. And so in his own way, Dobby had contributed to the war by saving The Chosen One, Harry’s life, and he deserved to be honoured and remembered for all he had contributed.
Ron kept on trying to touch her, to comfort her, but she shrugged him off for the moment. She couldn’t bear for anyone to touch her now; she wanted to just wrap herself in her own little shell and hide from the rest of the world. It was impossible, she was aware of that, but there was only so much she could handle at the moment without breaking or snapping completely. Dealing with the grave, making sure the hole was big enough and that it was perfect for Dobby’s tiny little body helped her, for it gave her something to focus on other than the obvious.
Right after they had finished creating the hole, Hermione wrapped Dobby in a white blanket, and together, they all placed him inside. After sealing it, Hermione drew her wand, and out from the ground sprang white lilies, beautifying the ground in which Dobby rested. After waving her wand again, Hermione enchanted the flowers so that they would forever bloom, never dying. It was the least they could do for the elf that had risked everything to save them.
“Lilies,” Harry said, sounding choked. “It reminds me of... of my mum.”
Hermione looked back at him, remaining silent.
“You know... because of... because of her name,” Harry clarified, as though Hermione had not understood.
“We know mate,” Ron said, gentler than usual. He too watched Harry, appearing to not have any idea what else there was to say.
Tears threatened to fall once again for Hermione, and she squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to avoid crying. There were so many kinds of pain in her chest that she didn’t know what one to focus on; grief, betrayal, failure, and sorrow all battled for prime position deep within Hermione’s heart. Today had brought nothing but ruin for them; they had almost lost the sword, and more importantly, had actually lost a friend.
“That bitch,” Harry said, voice fierce through the pain. “So much for persuading Bellatrix to come over to our side. It’ll never happen.”
“She’s poison. She’ll get what’s coming to her, I know she will,” Ron vowed.
Hermione nodded, not actively agreeing but not willing to disagree either. She didn’t know what to think. Considering everything Bellatrix had just done, it suggested that she was going to hand them over to Voldemort, but the secret whispers were unexplained. Could it be that she wanted Hermione to stay quiet and not reveal what had happened between them to her family? If that was the case, why didn’t she just silence her somehow, or kill her? Why play a stupid, risky game? Even by Bellatrix’s standards it didn’t entirely make sense.
Without warning, Hermione felt a rapid sensation of heat emanating from the pocket of her jeans. Feeling sick at the realisation of what it was, she turned away from Harry and Ron under the pretence of taking a moment to herself, knowing they wouldn’t disturb her out of respect for her privacy. Drawing out the partner Galleon to the one she had given Bellatrix, she read the time and the date:
14.30. 07.03.98
Tomorrow. Was Bellatrix actually serious? There was no way she was going to meet her after everything she had done. Dobby was dead because of her! Feeling rage within her, Hermione wanted to throw the coin away, bury it in the sand so she wasn’t ever tempted to go back. But she couldn’t for some inexplicable need to know whether Bellatrix was toying with her. There was no way she would go to the meeting tomorrow, but in the future when she had calmed down, she decided she might. That way at least she might gain some answers.
Despite everything that had happened, she still wouldn’t tell Harry and Ron about the apparent connection between herself and Bellatrix. She had a feeling that merely mentioning Bellatrix name at the moment would cause Harry to fly into a rage, for any anger she had undone in him when she described how Bellatrix had confessed to her that she had not been responsible for Sirius’s death, (and considering the real culprit was Voldemort which Harry found more than easy to believe) was now back with a ferocity, as Harry would be seeking vengeance for the elf that he had considered his friend and saviour.
No. For now, Hermione would continue to handle this alone. Tomorrow she would not indulge Bellatrix, but should there be a future request, she would attend. Not for her own sake, but for Dobby’s, because should the chance arise, Hermione would be more than willing to make her feelings perfectly clear. She would go with the intention of hurting Bellatrix if she should try and attack her, and if needs be, she would do anything to chase retribution for Dobby.
Whatever it takes, Hermione.
**
(( CLICK HERE for part 16 ))