Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, as this is fanfiction that seems unlikely from the start, but enjoy this. I've had this running through my head for so long I'm afraid I couldn't help myself. I hope to get to updating a few other stories' soon too, so thanks for reading and your support.
.hacker Magician Smoke
Bellatrix Lestrange found herself in an odd predicament; for her at least. It had honestly never happened to her before – while her master was around at least. She had recently been busted out of jail – well a year ago or there about. Everything was going – well if you discounted certain events, or people; it was going great. However, she may have gotten foolish, and had gotten complacent in her superiority. It must have been a year exactly since she escaped, but when you had no time schedule to keep you sort of lost track for most days. She had been running an errand for her master, not that she got that far before 'this'.
She was skulking down Knockturn as she needed to collect something important for her master when she – well everything went blank and she just woke up, naked, completely, not even a piece of jewellery. Her wrists were bound with sealed chains tying her painfully to the wall of the room, keeping her off her feet; her ankles too were bound in chains, and though the underside of the chains were layered with padded leather they were not comfortable, and they were tight and likely to leave marks.
She didn't know how long she had been captured, but she had to have been hanging taught to the wall for a few days. Her toes barely brushed the cool smooth white floor, and yet she had seen nobody; her capturer wouldn't pay her a visit no matter how much she demanded and mouthed off, trying to get a response. She honestly didn't expect a response from her capturer until they were ready, not because of her demands. She was obviously dealing with someone who could care less about taunts with endless patients that didn't need anything from her urgently.
The room was bland and bright. White lights were coming from everything, even from the floor and around the mirrored wall that was directly opposite. She could see herself reflected somewhat now that her eyes had slowly adjusted to the constant light of the matte white dungeon. That was what she thought of her cell. It was something like she would expect a dungeon to be like, and if not for white and spotlessly clean, it could have made a nice addition to her home, or maybe even Hogwarts.
She was famished and tired, but the light gave her very little sleep if any. She had already figured out the light itself wasn't keeping her awake, but some sort of spell in the light niggling at her senses, and she felt like she was always being watched. If she wasn't so pissed off, she could have congratulated its creators, maybe even marvelling at the ingenuity of her torture. Her Prison Warden was doing something she was too impatient to try; she didn't think any of her fellow Death Eaters had this kind of ingenuity or patients; it was a shame her Warden seemed to be the enemy.
Her Warden was trying to break her spirit. No information about the person who captured you could be worse than knowing it seemed. Then the Warden had taken her clothes, stripping her of any and all dignity she might have had gained after, or left from before her time in Azkaban. Though, even this dungeon could not hope to compare to that humiliating, dark, cold place where they tortured inmates into insanity for just being near the spectres of soul eating chill: dementors.
However, this was large and airy, bright, and not a small cage like she had, empty of anything save her and the silver chains, but somehow it felt more oppressive. She didn't like this. It was unfamiliar. It was lonely and desolate, as if she was stranded with no hope in the middle of a desert, alone. There were no dementors to make her remember her worst moments in life, but she didn't need them here. With her mind so clear she thought about so much that her chest sometimes hurt, and in that respect maybe this prison was worse.
She thought back to her mother and father, remembered disappointing them on many occasions; how angry they had been, but whereas before when under dementors she had screamed in anguish for being such a disappointing child. Here in this cell she wished she had just killed them. Why should she have cared about their approval? What had they ever done that was so great by their daughters? She remembered she hadn't been sad at their funerals. She had smiled; she had hated them!
Why did she never remember that under the dementors? She remembered looking at her mother's grave and feeling content! She had been free from the woman! She had wished things had been different! She didn't know what would have been better, if anything, but the way the woman had expected so much, too much from her and her sisters was pathetic! She swore she would never be pathetic like her mother and father and joined the Death Eaters shortly after her death to her aunts' pleasure, but she hated her too!
Bellatrix didn't feel that she needed any member of her family to approve after that. All she needed was the Dark Lord, and she climbed up his approval rating faster than any man. It was a glorious time. The Dark Lord didn't look down on her talents because she was a young woman, but he welcomed her. The Dark Lord had faith in her power, and she took sick pleasure in-lording her superior position over other Death Eaters eventually earning their fear because they would not respect a woman.
But still it was always the same temperature in this cell, which had some benefits over Azkaban. It wasn't too warm, and it wasn't too cool; there wasn't even a slight breeze, and she didn't sweat. But she was hungry now, famished, and her lips were cracked from dehydration. She hadn't eaten much since Azkaban (at least they fed her) because it made her feel sick, but now she could eat a hippogriff or 2. She would even drink her own urine like she sometimes had to in prison because they didn't give the prisoners enough water, so she was sure she wasn't the only one to do what had to be done to survive their torture.
"Who are you!?" she roared out into the empty nothing; her voice echoing off the walls for the first time in a while, struggling tiredly at her chains, but they wouldn't budge; she was too weak to struggle for long. She felt exhausted just trying; she felt her stomach turn. She felt as if she had been sick over and over but nothing spewed from her stomach and passed her cracked lips.
No answer. That was the usual response to her cries. She felt herself shaking before she shook off the feeling of hopelessness and desperation. She wasn't a helpless little girl anymore. She refused to cry over anything much less what she had no control over. She hated the feeling more than anything and desperately squished it down to the back of her mind.
She blinked tears back. If her mother ever saw her reacting like that she would have been disowned along with her moron cousin Sirius, and her sister Andromeda, but maybe if she had been she wouldn't have been in the cell; who knew what might have been? She had to shake away those thoughts, but they kept coming, worse than anything dementors could do; she realised she was punishing herself with these thoughts; that was all she had time for: thinking of the past and present.
She kind of missed her sister a bit sometimes. She was always the brains of the three sisters, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa, but then Andromeda married that mudblood Tonks. Though, Bellatrix could personally not care one way or the other. It was about pureblood morals and honour. She had tainted the family with impure blood, and that was the way they were raised to be respectable purebloods, so going against the order of things was wrong wasn't it?
How long had it been since her capture? She was sure that whatever was keeping her awake wasn't doing perfectly, making her lose track of everything, even her thoughts, and nightmares were blending into daydreams. She was just too tired that she kept having moments of unconsciousness; not sleep, but passing out meant some less pain on her body, for a few moments before it came back 10 fold.
It would have been her first proper Christmas free from that hell, Azkaban, and she was certain she wasn't going back ever again, but what was going to happen to her, she didn't have the slightest clue. And if she were to guess outright she would say that she was going to die soon.
She hadn't been caught by aurors. They were useless, and because of that mindless minister and his greed and fear denying the return of the Dark Lord for so long they were so far behind. It was in the Dark Lord's favour, but honesty, nobody, or near nobody believing Albus Dumbledore over the bumbling minister? She had thought she had seen everything, but then worse, trying to blame Sirius for breaking her out of jail? The ministry deserved to be conquered by someone with half a brain cell just for that incompetence.
The signs were clear as day, but Sirius faced corruption of the highest level when he received no trail, and he was as good as they got back then, especially coming from a dark family, but that was all they needed; him coming from a dark family condemned him to the ignorant. But then that could have boiled down to Dumbledore scheming, but then she got a trail, and she was a crazy bitch. It was a sham of a trail but she was not only unrepentant but readily admitted her crimes with glee dripping from her voice when she should have probably stitched up some Death Eaters she didn't like so she could continue the search for the Dark Lord.
She couldn't have been captured by the Order of the Phoenix, and though they were looking for her all this time knowing or believing the Dark Lord had returned from the start they weren't any better than the aurors. They followed the lead of an old crackpot that pretty much rules over idiots without them realising. It was actually pitiful how easily the old man controlled so many fools, and let them die so that he could give murdering psychos a second chance just because they were purebloods: ridiculous! They didn't even seem to realise that the old man let their people run to death so readily while not condoning the deaths of Death Eaters.
The Order of the Phoenix likely wouldn't have kept her, and just handed her over to the ministry for her to escape again a few days later; not that they would have attacked her in the back like a smart person; they would have been foolish enough to confront her head on, and she would have defeated them, and they would have died slow and painful deaths for stupidity because the Order were made up of whiny idiots.
Even if the Order did capture her they wouldn't have her in such a clean holding cell anyway, or the funding to build anything like it, and certainly not the talent or imagination to create all of the charms and wards she knew were making sure she could never get out.
The Order wouldn't have chained her to a wall like she was because 'Dumbledore' was 'better' than torture, until he was throwing people in Azkaban. Then finally they wouldn't have taken her clothes from her and left her looking so undignified, and she could secretly admit she was fairly discomforted, and maybe feeling some fear and apprehension, but she would persevere for her master.
Looking straight forward she could see her reflection in the mirror; Azkaban hadn't done anything for her complexion. She was paler than she ever was, but her breasts were still full, and her body slim and she didn't know why her captor had removed her pubic hairs. She had cold blue eyes that seemed unable to stay open for long, and long dark brown crinkled hair over her shoulders.
She had lost some weight from where she hung and from her stay in Azkaban, even though she had taken so long to realise that some kind of rune was making sure a bathroom wasn't needed. At least that was something good about her Warden. That was probably the worst part of Azkaban, other than dementors, doing her 'business' in a hole in the ground that always over flowed during bad weather, which was most of the time as the dementors always brought with them choppy weather while in large swarms.
"Please!" she whispered weakly as she came to terms that finally she was going to die. Her Warden had sentenced her to die of hunger, uncomfortable, and deprived of any sleep with spots in her eyes from the bright lights. "Why don't you just kill me already!" she demanded with a wicked grin on her face. "What are you: a coward? Come on, place your hands around my fucking throat and squeeze; enjoy my struggles as you squish the life out of my body!" she demanded with an odd feeling in her stomach she had never felt before as she said those words, thinking about the actions behind them.
Bellatrix hadn't expected an answer, so she was shocked as she heard a nose to her left. There was no exit or entrance but a man stood in a strange outfit with a hood over his head, covering his face in shadow. He stood out vastly in the white room. His long coat flayed out at the bottom, uncontrolled. His whole coat including hood was like black smoke that the light of the room avoided, least it be absorbed into nothingness.
His whole outfit was black smoke, hiding him, as he walked around to stand in front of her before it shimmered and he flickered away, not even leaving a shadow before he reappeared, directly in front of her, his face a centre metre from hers, and she could feel his cool breath on her lips. Then his clothes shimmered from top to bottom with black light and the smoke of the clothes reformed solid.
The Wardens coat was black leather and hung to his ankles. It was open with two buckles over his chest and one over his waist. He wore some kind of black top underneath, moulded to his muscular frame, and black combat trousers, and black half-trainer-half-boots. She could see his face and some black hair under his hood. He wore stylish ski-shades curving at angles, black framed, hiding his eyes behind a dark mirrored tint that showed her reflection while he was smirking.
He reached out his bare right hand and slid it up her small empty stomach while she held still glaring at him. His hand slid up, curving over her left breast and pinching her nipple, tweaking it slightly, which surprised her as she gasped when it felt odd, but not in a painful way, but it might as well have been. She didn't understand what that unfamiliar feeling was when he suddenly let her go. He turned from her, stepping away and watching her and himself in the mirror as she knew his glasses would let him see clearly in the light.
"Odd isn't it?" he asked, and she noticed the modulation to his voice, so she couldn't tell who he was, or recognise him if she ever escaped, even though that was highly improbable. "The trouble men would go through to control the fairer sex!"
"Who are you? What are you talking about?" she demanded croakily, incensed by his babble.
However, he didn't turn to face her; she could see he was looking at her reflection. "My dear, Bella!" he began by mocking her when he said her name. "Father passes it down to son, but first the Hogwarts wards around the girls dorms begin the cycle," he said chuckling while he shook his head, amused as he turned to face her, moving closer he stroked up her right arm with his left before stopping at her pulse point.
"There are many pureblood women on the 'light' side who know and because of benevolent men like Dumbledore think it is only right, but most like you, never realise. Though, this," he said, stroking his fingers and thumb over her wrist just below her shackle. "Quite clever of me," he said matter-of-factually, maybe even gloatingly. "I created a seal within your blood to nullify and destroy the charm, and its effects if it ever comes near you again; it makes sure it doesn't work on you any longer."
"W-what charm?" she asked quietly and confused. "What have you done to me?"
He smiled, "such a bright woman, but so obedient to the status quo. There is a charm that can even be implanted in wards that – how should I put this...?" he asked himself whimsically while she watched him, half curious. "I guess straight to the point is best. It stops you from having any sexual aspirations, makes you think that you're just for breeding stock, and that sex only gratifies men. It makes sure you don't leave to find gratification elsewhere, especially not the muggle world, or a better wizard, maybe one not pure of blood.
"It keeps their women obedient like pitiful animals, and it effects all girls at school; how very sad," he said looking downcast as his hand trailed down her arm and chest to rest on her breast, squeezing it. She started feeling that odd thing in the pit of her stomach again, and the more he massaged her tender flesh, letting his fingers brush her hard and surprisingly sensitive nipple the more she felt – nice.
"I bet many women would fall free from the spell though," he continued conversationally, "marrying muggle-born men who never knew about it, and would never agree with it. Or maybe some would break free because the man got lazy and forget to apply it. Or they couldn't afford to add it to the home wards because the charm is unstable and wears off. The women likely think it was natural, having no proper sex education to prove to the contra.
"I have discovered that occasionally Hogwarts isn't the safe place you would think, being a school," he continued whimsically. "Voldemort figured it out. Voldemort might not have become the 'man' he was today if he didn't! But then I wonder how my scans no matter how many we take say you have never 'bred', curious, no, considering you have a husband who would want an heir?"
"He never worked!" she surprisingly answered snidely. "Both he and his brother tried to have me, but they're both broken rejects!" she laughed croakily.
"The cost of so much inbreeding!" her Warden commented laughing. "You need to make a little diversity; it weakens the magical blood! I bet even your master understands this. Maybe your master just doesn't care, and uses fools like them as a means to an end?"
She glared at him with a sneer, "so, you expect me to tell you my masters' secrets!?" she demanded hatefully, but she hadn't wait for a reply as she gave him her answer, "do what you want with me because I'm not talking!" she spat out.
"Nope, don't really need you to tell me anything," he replied, shrugging, "know most of Voldemort's secrets already," he answered shaking his head. "In fact, I would bet I know more than you-!" he removed his hand from her chest a moment later and frowned. "Sorry, but I guess we'll have to continue this later, Bella. I believe I have a visitor. How nice for your master to visit me personally. I so do look forward to our meetings; your master does have quite the amusing side sometimes."
"He's come to get me back, Smoke!" she roared out as a door to the side slid open into darkness even though she could never tell that it was there before. He walked towards the door ignoring her. "That is who you are, isn't it? Smoke: the hunter within the shadows; no known motive; no known allegiance or allies, just a man who kills those in his way, so why keep me like this?"
He didn't answer as his coat burst to life with his clothes, streaming into a white coat with the same black underneath. The door slid shut after him, leaving her alone once more; this time with a strange and foreign wetness trailing down her upper thighs.