Harry Potter - The Black Pearl: Chapter Four (original) (raw)

Rating: Mature
Warning/s: Torture, Incest, Graphic Sex
Pairing: Bellatrix Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange
Word Count: 3,933
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange's desperate need to have a child leads her into the ever consuming darkness of insanity. As she races towards her ultimate demise, with Voldemort's faith in her fading fast, she is forced to question everything she has dedicated her life to fighting for. The descent into madness is a dark and twisted one, but what if you discovered it had been forced upon you? (AU)

***

“Belle...”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes lacking their usual lustre. For a moment she looked at him somewhat expectantly. As though she presumed he had brought her good news. It presented a nice change from her now customary vacant expression, the one that slid back into place within in an instant. She sat perched on the window seat in the library, hugging her knees close to her chest as she curled up against the cushions that surrounded her. When he failed to say anything beyond her name she turned her attention back to the window. He did this often and she’d become accustomed to ignoring him. Words, it had always been words with him and yet he seemed to have trouble articulating his thoughts now. It would have irritated her had she bothered to care, but very little caught her interest anymore.

Dark eyes roamed the grounds that lay before her. They took in everything from the gardens to the lake, while at the same time they took in nothing. Her eyes were dead, her mind was nothing but a never ending chasm and her very soul seemed to have lost that pure Bellatrix spark.

“Come outside with me?” he asked quietly, having moved towards the bay window without her noticing. He held his hand out to her silently.

“I don’t wish to,” she muttered. “It’s too cold.”

He sighed heavily and lowered his hand. At least she had begun making excuses rather than simply denying him and saying no more. He supposed that was progress, in a way. “Belle, I want you to come with me,” he tried again, reaching out to gently brush a curl out of her face.

“We don’t always get what we want,” she responded bitterly, pulling her head away from his touch.

Rodolphus took a step back, knowing it was best to hold his tongue but hating that there was nothing more he could do. It had taken him almost six weeks, six long and tiring weeks, to get her to the point of sitting downstairs in the library, or anywhere other than their bedroom. Though it had taken him a few days after the initial shock wore off he had finally managed to get her to eat. From there he slowly coaxed her to the bathroom each morning to bathe and change into clean clothes. Then there was the matter of getting her out of the bedroom altogether. It had been some weeks after her trauma before she started wandering around the Manor of her own accord. She wouldn’t speak a word, just wander. They’d had a minor setback when her wandering lead her into the nursery, the room that had been locked for years until she had fallen pregnant again one last time. He made sure to lock it once more, charming the door so she would be unable to open it again. He was down to one last task, getting her outside the house.

He was determined that she would go outside today. Snow was beginning to fall, the first for the season, and he knew that she loved the snow. They always stood outside in the first snowfall, since her first year at Hogwarts. He remembered finding her alone in the common room attempting to conjure her own snow. It was the first time she wouldn’t be able to enjoy it with her sisters and at the age of eleven she had yet to master the art of hiding her emotions. So he had taken her hand and led her through the castle, wrapping her in his robe to keep her warm as they dodged ghosts and prefects. Once outside they sat in the courtyard, hidden by the shadows, and watched it snow in silence. He wasn’t about to let her ruin tradition not. He understood she needed time to heal but if he left her to her own devices she wouldn’t make the effort to try.

Leaving her in the library he strode out into the hallway and headed for the closet beneath the staircase. He pulled on his winter boots and threw on his overcoat before grabbing both her coat and boots as well. She was going to go outside whether she liked it or not. If he had to dress her like a baby for the rest of her life, dragging her outside like the petulant child she was, then he would. She was not going to spend the rest of her life cooped up in the Manor if he could help it.

She didn’t look up when he walked back into the room, just as he expected. However, he did get her attention when he pulled her legs down to the floor and promptly sat down at her feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked, shocked that he would treat her as though she were a child. She tried to pull her leg away but he held onto her, jamming her calf between his knees as he laced up her boots. The silence she was met with only proved to confuse her. “Rodolphus, unhand me this instant!” she warned him. Yet her tone failed to be as dangerous as it once was.

Deciding to give her some of her own treatment he continued his work in silence. Letting go of her left leg he move quickly to grab the right before she took the chance to escape. As she continued to try and fight him off he slid her other boot on, hitting the heel firmly to push it into place.

“Ow! That hurt,” she cried out, reaching out to slap him in the shoulder. “Rodolphus...” she frowned. She couldn’t understand what was happening. He usually left her alone if she didn’t want to do something. With the exception of that one morning she hadn’t wanted a bath and he had ended up dumping a bucket of cold water on her. “I don’t want to go outside, why can’t you just leave me be?” she sounded tired, defeated, yet still she tried to make him stop.

He finished with her boots and stood up, pulling her to her feet with him. “Arms up,” he ordered as he picked up her coat. Holding it up, ready to dress her, he raised an eyebrow when she didn’t move.

In response she crossed her arms firmly over her chest and stared straight back at him, defiantly.

“Arms up, Bellatrix,” he repeated firmly. He tried not to think of a smaller version of her, an older Cassiopeia, refusing to do what she was told. Was this his punishment for his actions? Playing the role of ‘father’ to his own wife? The thought stung him. He’d tried so hard not to think about it, not to let it linger, but her childish behaviour didn’t help at all.

She noticed the change. Quite suddenly he lowered his head, looking away from her. That wasn’t at all like Rodolphus. He was the only one that held his own against her, had the guts to challenge her until she backed down. So to see him back down so easily worried her. With that in mind she took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms, holding her hand towards the arm of her coat.

As he noticed her reaching out towards him, he looked up and a faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He gently eased her coat on, stepping around her as he helped her with her other arm. As he stood in front of her once more, buttoning her up, he paused when she suddenly leant forward and pressed her lips to his softly. The kiss was soft, innocent. It was like that first kiss they had shared fourteen years earlier. But that first time she hadn’t been shaking.

He pulled back, holding her by the arms and studied her closely. “Belle?” he noticed how her lower lip trembled, along with the rest of her. The sight had become all too familiar to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes downcast.

“What are you sorry for, love?” he asked, gently tipping her chin up to make her look at him. Her eyes met his, reflecting nothing but sadness, and he pulled her into his arms. Maybe he’d done the wrong thing giving her space. He didn’t know what he was doing. All he could do was try his best and hope it all worked out right. “Come with me.” He whispered in her ear, taking her hand in his as he pulled out of the embrace.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she let him lead her, using her free and to wipe her eyes before the tears fell. She was sick of crying. And frankly she was amazed there was anything left in her body to do so.

He didn’t answer her. Pushing through the door to the conservatory, he led her out the backdoor and down the steps into the garden. Standing outside in the cold he held his hand out, watching as small snowflakes landed in his palm. “It’s snowing, Belle. The first snowfall,” he told her as he stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t let you miss it.”

She put her head back to look up at the sky, her eyelids fluttering as little flecks fell on her eyelashes. Slowly a smile began to spread across her lips. A sad, but beautiful, smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, closing the distance between them to cuddle up against him. “Thank you for staying.”

“I will never leave you, Belle,” he told her softly, kissing the top of her head as they stood in the falling snow.

“Even after everything some part of me still thought... maybe,” she said quietly. It was the first time she’d spoken about what happened, or at least what she knew of it, since he’d held her on their bed and she wasn’t quite sure how to express her thoughts. Yet the words spilled from her lips with no direction. “Maybe when the war was over, maybe when everything had settled... maybe it just wasn’t our time yet... and now we’ll never know.”

He stayed silent for a moment. His arms tightened around her and he rested his chin atop her head. ‘What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her,’ he silently repeated in his mind. Each time he’d woken to her screaming in the night he couldn’t help but consider showing her. Would it not be easier for her if she just had one memory, one moment, to cling to? It may not change anything but at least she would remember holding her daughter in her arms. However, he understood such actions would do more harm than good. He had to protect his wife and in doing so he had to ensure she never found out about their daughter.

“Rodolphus?” she pulled back to look at his face, a slight frown in place as she studied him. “Did I say something wrong?”

The confusion in her eyes broke his heart – those beautiful eyes. He gently cupped her cheek and kissed her lips. “I thought the same,” he told her honestly. “But I also worried about you being put through all that pain again. Belle, I’ve watched a little piece of you fade away with each loss. You don’t know how I feared losing you altogether.”

She buried her head against his chest again, her arms digging beneath his coat to circle his waist. Somewhere on the tip of her tongue was a promise that she would never leave him yet she could not bring herself to say the words. They died in her throat. Instead she simply clung to him, watching the snowflakes rest on his coat.

“It will be alright,” he promised her, wrapping his coat around her to keep her warm. “Everything will be alright.” He rested his cheek against her head and for a moment everything was as it should be. For that one moment they simply stood watching the season change before their eyes.

She let herself believe him, her mind lost in the moment as she snuggled against him. If she dared to think beyond that she knew she’d let go of his promise and everything would crumble. “I’m getting cold,” she said quietly after a long silence, her voice almost muffled as she turned her face to bury it against his chest. Her arms tightened around him slightly, despite her feelings about the weather. She didn’t want to let go.

“Shall we go inside then?” he asked softly. He pulled back slightly, gently tipping her chin up and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I can draw you a warm bath and have Varius bring up some hot chocolate...”

“No,” she murmured quickly. Her tongue traced her lips a moment as she thought about it. A hint of the old Bellatrix present in her eyes as she looked up at him. “You make it so much better.” Her lower lip jutted out slightly as she pouted.

Once again he was struck by the image that haunted his dreams. A teenaged Cassiopeia flashed across his mind, bearing that very same pout. Instantly swaying whatever negative response he had given into a resigned positive. His change of heart was rewarded with a swift kiss to his cheek and the imagined girl danced from the room, his wife’s knowing smirk barely hidden behind a book.

“Of course,” he agreed and slid his arm protectively around her as they moved to head inside. “We’ll have Varius draw the bath, nice and warm. And then afterwards once you’re tucked into bed I will bring you up a hot chocolate.”

They meandered into the Manor, taking their time for reasons neither of them felt the need to put into words. Silently he helped her with her coat and boots once more as he called for Varius and put him to work. She waited patiently as he shrugged off his own coat, sliding her hand into his the moment he offered it to her. With their fingers entwined they headed upstairs.

In the bathroom he stood behind her, carefully undoing the small buttons on the back of her dress. There had been a time, long ago now, when he had found women’s clothing so complicated that she had opted for him simply tearing the wretched garments from her body. However, since then he had learnt a great many things and found enjoyment in slowly peeling each item off her tenderly. For him it was a chance to truly worship every inch of the woman he loved and she had only ever allowed him to do so. As he pushed the dress from her shoulders he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck, feeling the light shiver that ran though her. She leant back against him, his arms sliding around her waist, content for the moment to just be in his arms.

“Mon ange,” he said softly, kissing her shoulder. His lips lingered against her skin as he closed his eyes.

She took a deep breath, raising her hand to thread her fingers through his hair. “Mon amour,” the words came out in a sigh as she exhaled slowly, relaxing against him.

He turned his head to kiss her neck and then slowly stepped back. Stripping off his clothes quickly, he moved to the bath and stepped into the hot water. Steam swirled around him as he sank into the bath, leaning back to let the water cover his torso. He raised his hand to her, helping her balance as she stepped in gracefully and sat in front of him. They had grown so accustomed to bathing together that it was hard to think of a time when it had been awkward between them. She had giggled every time his legs brushed hers having not bathed with anyone but her sisters and even that was when they were small children. But now she sank into the water with ease, leaning back against him without a thought.

Idly she ran her fingers up and down his thigh. She could feel the thin black hairs that covered his legs. It amused her that something women went to great lengths to rid themselves of was attractive on their male counterpart. Not that her husband was particularly hairy but she knew of many women who found it a turn on, chest hair particularly which she hated. She liked to run her hands over her husband’s smooth chest, or lean against it. However, she was fascinated with the hair on his legs and she had been since it had begun growing there. It was surprisingly soft beneath her fingers and that was what she liked about it. Her life was, like her appearance, sharp - all anger and rough edges - but he provided a softness, helping her stay calm and collected.

“The Dark Lord asks after you,” his words broke her from her thoughts and she looked away, her fingers still absentmindedly playing with the hairs on his leg. “His best, his brightest...”

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip as she thought of their Lord and Master. How long had she been hidden away in the Manor? How many days had she spent curled up in bed? Surely he would be angered by her weakness. She did not deserve to return to his side. “He does not request my presence?” she asked, her voice merely a whisper.

“He...” Rodolphus paused to think about it.

At the last meeting the Dark Lord had used them as an example, encouraging his followers to fill their wives bellies. The continuation of their bloodlines was a high priority in their cause. After all, if there are no Purebloods to continue what had begun with them then there was nothing to fight for. He had rallied the men, striking at the heart of their fears and desires. If anything Lord Voldemort knew how to manipulate, and no man appreciated the sense of inferiority when it came to his manhood. The more children they had the stronger they would appear to the others and the stronger their personal bloodline would be. To make matters worse the Dark Lord had brought Rodolphus forward and spoken of Bellatrix’ plight, he had made it clear how unfortunate it was that such strong and devoted followers could not contribute to a new generation of Death Eaters. He’d been certain that any product of their union would prove to be a shining example of what they strived to achieve.

It was definitely not advisable to repeat any of what had been said to his wife. It would only prove to distress her further when she was doing so well in her recovery. “He awaits your return to his side, love,” he told her honestly.

“I am not myself,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he brushed his fingers gently against her abdomen, relieved when the action didn’t make her tense. His free hand reached for the sponge and he began to gently bathe her.

“I do try...”

“Shh,” he kissed her cheek as he silenced her, pressing the sponge against her shoulder and letting the water trickle over her skin. “I know, Belle. You’re trying so hard, I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not enough,” she countered, shaking her head slightly. To her credit her voice no longer broke when put to use. Barely any emotion was emitted. It reminded him of how she had acted after they had lost their last child.

He stopped what he was doing for the moment. Letting go of the sponge, he slid his arms around her supportively and rested his head against hers. “If it’s making you better at your own pace then it’s enough,” he told her softly. “And it is. You’re doing so well.”

She turned in his lap and curled up against his chest, burying her face in his neck. As she inhaled deeply she let his familiar musky scent overwhelm her senses. She closed her eyes, calming herself as he took up his task of washing her once more, and gave in to the safety and warmth he provided. Every part of her felt cold. It didn’t matter that she was in a warm bath with her equally warm husband, she could still sense a chill deep within her. A shiver ran the length of her spin and she curled into him further.

“It’s alright...” he responded automatically, sensing her discomfort. He’d become so used to it. Even before they were married they had been so in tune with one another – one reacting to the other’s actions without comment. “You’re alright...” he whispered reassuringly.

Slowly she raised her head, pressing her lips to his neck. Her hand slid up his chest, fingers splayed out over his smooth skin as she continued upward. Long untouched lips trailed a cautious path up his neck, feeling his pulse beat strong against her mouth. Her slender fingers disappeared into his hair as she breathed over his ear. “Rodolphus...” his name was but a whisper on her lips, so tender and yet so deadly.

Against his better judgement he closed his eyes, welcoming her touch.

“Excuses, Master,” a timid voice interrupted them.

A sound escaped her throat, almost like a whimper, and she buried her face against his neck. Her fingers continued to massage the back of his head. Her muscles had tensed the moment another voice was heard and she tried her best to calm herself once more.

“What is it, Varius?” Rodolphus asked sharply, opening his eyes and shooting a glare at the Elf.

It was uncommon for the Master to be unkind to the House Elves and immediately Varius knew he had done something wrong. “Excuses, excuses... Varius is coming to tell Master that Madam Malfoy is arrived,” he told the wizard eagerly, bowing his head low to show respect. However, unlike the younger Elves he did not shake with fear. He had spent many years with Master Rodolphus and many more with his Father, he knew the punishments that would be dealt and he would receive them accordingly. As the Head of the Lestrange House Elves he had to provide an example for the younger ones. “Varius is telling Madam Malfoy that Mistress Bellatrix is not to be disturbed. But she is saying she is waiting to speak with her.”

“Thank you, Varius,” Rodolphus waved his hand at the old Elf. “Tell Narcissa we will be with her in a moment.”

As she heard the quiet pop that signified he had disapparated, Bellatrix raised her head again. “What could she want?” she asked quietly.

“I could hazard a guess,” he muttered, annoyance seeping into his tone.

It had only been a few days after the ‘incident’ before Druella discovered the wards he had put up. He’d set to work as soon as Bellatrix had fallen asleep, the House Elves assisting him with a quiet determination. They had gone from corner to corner ensuring there was no possible way that the aging witch would step foot on the Lestrange Estate. However, once Druella had discovered he had ensured all contact with her daughter was severed she had turned on her youngest daughter and manipulated the young woman’s guilt to her advantage. Narcissa visited twice a week to check on her sister until Rodolphus discovered it was Druella dictating her visits and he’d ordered her from the Manor until Bellatrix was well enough to receive her.

The fact that she had returned could only be bad news.