Bellatrix Lestrange (blackest_heart) wrote in snitched, @ 2008-11-05 13:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | azkaban prison, character: bellatrix lestrange, character: charlotte montgomery |
Who: Bellatrix & Charlotte
What: Unpleasant funtimes
Where: Azkaban
When: Wednesday afternoon
Status: Completed Log
Rating: Oh, R I hope
The past few days had been spent in an unpleasant sort of calm; there was something both nauseating and relieving about knowing precisely when your doom was approaching, and though she didn't know the exact hour, minute, second, she knew it would be soon and watched, listened for any sign of it. It was easy to tell when non-dementors were in the ward; the click of their heels was audible a good two to five minutes ahead of time depending on how riled up Madame Screams-a-lot was that day - and she knew Bellatrix was coming today. Charlotte's 'nice' things had been hidden away in the cubbyhole Snape had magicked up for her, though she had difficulty finding it at first. The cloak, the extra ink.
Then, the worst part. Not knowing precisely what Danielle might have told Bellatrix (did sadists sit around and have tea together, discussing the finer points of the cruciatus? did they eat spongecake while reliving the specifics of internal damage and the apropos of directional wounding?), she had resigned herself to re-inflicting some of her previous damage. Snape might have been all comfortable in his Headmaster seat in his warm office, but she had simultaneous fears of both him being discovered and her being punished for medical miracles. She found the idea of self-injury repugnant, a vestige of childish tantrums and screams for attention, and though she was loathe to so much as touch upon such sentiment, she finally rationalised that so long as she didn't tell anyone, it wasn't quite as offensive. Yes, that argument would do in a pinch.
It still didn't make this easier.
Gathering up a sharper fragment of Snape's rock cutting excursion (she'd hidden a few of them in the hole, for practicality's sake), Charlotte settled herself in front of her trough and splashed a bit of the ice-cold water onto her chest. She didn't actually know if she could do this, honestly, and didn't want to. Why couldn't Bellatrix pick on Justi--; and then horror filled her at that stray thought, making it easier to pull her shirt off so that she was shivering and half naked in her cell, making it easier to tie it around her mouth tight enough that she wouldn't - so that she couldn't - scream. Easier to lean in and soak her chest in frigid water despite how suddenly aware of her lungs and ribs and nipples she was and god it burned it was so cold.
Easier to press the edge of stone against the edge of white scar left by Snape's healing.
But nothing made gritting her teeth and breathing so hard she thought her heart might burst and leaning into the trough for support and ripping the edge of that stone across the length of her breastbone easy. Grand ideas she had about suppressing her own screams naturally were dashed by the first inch as she wailed wholeheartedly into her gag; when she finally finished, Charlotte slumped over the trough, trying to find relief in the numbing water. There she lay for a good ten minutes, all back ribs and pounding lungs and blood spilling into the water. She watched the red fingers of colour curl outward and realised just how tired she was.
Cleaning up was easier and faster and by the time the click of Bellatrix's heels sounded across the stone three minutes, two minutes, one minute away, Charlotte was dried, redressed, and sitting on her bed. All illicit materials had been hidden away, and her journal sat in the corner, near-empty ink bottle and ragged feather on top - comprising her only possessions in the world.
Bellatrix absolutely loathed Azkaban. Even though she had arranged for the Dementors to be safely ensconced on the upper levels of the prison for her visit, this place held far too many memories for her to ever enjoy a visit, even if it was to inflict pain and suffering on another. Not that anyone ever really enjoyed Azkaban. But she had to pay a visit to the prison to retrieve her new slave and so she decided that while she was there, she might as well take advantage of the opportunity to fulfill her promise of making a lesson out of the Montgomery girl.
Despite her discomfort at being in Azkaban, at this point she was well-practiced at concealing any genuine emotion at being back here, a task that was made even easier by her annoyance at the moment. She was still quite angry about Umbridge's refusal to grant her the Longbottom boy as a slave, and her anger had only been aggravated by the news that she had offered him to Snape of all people. And then Snape had dared to try and use the boy against her. It actually had been a rather tempting offer at first, but Bellatrix was far too proud and stubborn to ever concede to Snape's demands.
So here she was, flicking her wand at the door of Charlotte's cell and sweeping into the tiny cell with an expression of quiet rage on her face. Just as Danielle had done, Bellatrix also left the door open behind her, although in her case it was more out of a desire to avoid the feeling of being trapped in one of these damnable cells. "Miss Montgomery," she greeted politely, although her voice was cold as she looked the girl over critically. She could see why Snape was so concerned about her, although that didn't mean she had the slightest bit of sympathy towards her. Charlotte was a prisoner, and therefore nothing more than an amusement and a lesson to be taught. A means to an end.
Without any further greeting or preamble, Bellatrix raised her wand and pointed it at the girl. "Crucio," she said quite calmly. Despite her tone of voice, the spell itself was anything but casual as she let her anger and frustration channel through her wand. The rage started to slip off her face, replaced instead by a twisted smile as she began to feel the rush of pleasure that invariably came from torturing another person.
Oh my God. No amount of mental steeling prepared one for having a face of one's nightmares and childhood newspapers - the face of a national terrorist and wanted criminal (and now prestigous ministry employee) - appear before her. Immediate fear washed over her insides, though she was trying very, very hard not to just fall down and cry - since Danielle had seemed less than impressed with her unmitigated terror the previous week. To be fair, the desire was quelled somewhat; having been tortured once already gave her a vague sense of self-control, or at least composure, so that even if she trembled from head to foot, she was not whimpering and begging for mercy. Logically, Bellatrix didn't seem the sort of person who quite believed in mercy, anyway.
Her eyes flicked from madwoman to cell door, and she slid herself off the bed against her will, knees locked so that they wouldn't buckle. Charlotte hope she gave an impression of polite submission. Cowardice was generally viewed as pathetic, but she had come to accept a very long time ago that she wasn't the most noble of beasts, and thus only fought her outward expression of such weakness. Tears shamed her, and this trembling - god this was just embarrassing - but as long as she could stand still and be quiet (but for a politely husked "ma'am"), maybe she could get through this with some semblance of dignity.
No, dignity would have to wait until later, because Charlotte had no sooner taken to her feet than she was curling up on herself, barely able to process the amount of pain that was thrusting every muscle into a convulsion of protest. Her mouth was open and noise spilled out, but all she could hear or feel was the scream of lungs and the burn of her stomach as she writhed across the dirty stone floor, spine arching in an attempt to force her away from the source of pain - but there was none, and so she simply ground into the unyielding floor beneath her, screams growing wet and deeper pitched.
Bellatrix tilted her head and watched with more than a bit of curiosity as Charlotte writhed on the floor. It always fascinated her the way people reacted to the cruciatus. Most people would likely not notice the difference, but to Bellatrix there were subtle differences in the way people chose to suffer. And as far as she was concerned, it was a choice, at least on some level. Some resisted, trying to put on a brave face through their suffering, foolishly attempting to resist the overwhelming urge to cry out and scream in agony. The rare type seemed to find some twisted pleasure from the pain. But Charlotte amused her because of the sort of resigned acceptance that she emitted, even as she apparently attempted to bury herself in the cold, stone floor.
After a few minutes of this curious study, Bellatrix finally lifted the spell and stood there, watching Charlotte try to recover with a vague sense of satisfaction. "Tell me, is this little experience going to merit a mention in your next travel guide?" she asked. "I was quite surprised to see you making use of your silly pen name again. I would think a few months - or how long have you been in here? Never mind, it is not important. I would think you would have learned your lesson by now."
Even if this visit had nothing to do with Charlotte's entry, or really anything Charlotte had done at all, Bellatrix never could resist the opportunity to taunt a prisoner. But she didn't bother to wait for a reply to her questions before casting her next spell, a curse to burn Charlotte's skin that she aimed at her stomach. Without actually setting her on fire as that would undoubtedly get messy to control. "I would not want you to be cold in here," she said mockingly.
Ughhhhh God.
The fetal position wasn't as comforting as Charlotte remembered reading it to be, though it did offer her some relief in stretching out her spine, still spasmed painfully as the cruciatus released her muscles into trembling aftershocks. Thin, terribly pale arms wrapped around each other, trying to protect her ribs, maybe, or her stomach, or her shoulders. All she knew was that she still hurt, and was breathless with it, no matter how much worse the cruciatus was by comparison. The slash across her chest oozed and burned and she gasped, rolling onto her back and sucking in breath after breath in a vain attempt to calm herself. If this was what Bellatrix was starting with, she didn't have much hope that Snape's presumptions about her desire to kill would hold true.
"No ma'am." Though her mouth pressed into a thin line, there was very little she could do to stop the shine of tears behind her eyes as she cursed herself for her complete and unmitigated stupidity. What the hell had she been thinking? Well, she hadn't. Or she thought that a sense of humour might go unnoticed. But acts of idiocy as far as the establishment was concerned and, now, as far as she was concerned. "It was a stupid mistake, I'm sorry."
But grovelling wasn't going to help today and Charlotte's apologies were quickly cut off as the vicious, searing pain of burning flesh ignited her stomach's nerves. Her fingers spread down over her exposed stomach as she panted, teeth gritted together. What was she supposed to do? Lie back and just sob till it was over? It was certainly the easier route. The contact of flesh against flesh dragged a sob out of her throat and she was forced to return to her back, where nothing could touch the now-blistering flesh - and where, unfortunately, Bellatrix had full access to her.
Bellatrix took a couple of steps closer until she was standing over Charlotte, staring down at the girl on the floor with a decidedly predatory smile across her face that clearly demonstrated just how much enjoyment she was finding in this little exercise. She didn't care about Charlotte's apologies - they were irrelevant. Instead she just toyed with her wand for a moment, trying to decide what to inflict upon the girl next. Despite her threat to Severus, she actually did not intend on killing the girl and that did make things a bit more difficult considering Bellatrix's usual arsenal of curses was comprised of the mostly-fatal.
She noted the way Charlotte had reacted to her own hand on the seared flesh of her stomach, quickly moving to avoid contact. Well she certainly did not wish to allow the girl any relief from her pain and she gave another flick of her wand to force her back into the fetal position, to press her knees up against her chest. "I think, when I am done with you I may have to pay your sister a visit," she threatened. It was another curiosity really, mostly said to find out just how Charlotte would react. She might very well decide to pay the other Montgomery sister a visit, but it would not be immediately. Instead, she wanted to know if that was a card that could be used against the girl to keep her in submission. And she just wanted to torment her, leaving her with the fear that at any moment her sister could be enjoying the comforts of Azkaban as well. Or more likely be dead.
Another wave of her wand and a jet of white light flew at Charlotte - a spell to make her feel as if she had been struck by lightning. The pain did not compare to that of the cruciatus - and they would get back to that before she was finished - but it would deliver a powerful and painful jolt to Charlotte's body all the same.
Until this moment, she hadn't struggled - hurt and reacted and curled and writhed as her muscles were wont to do under torment, but she certainly hadn't resisted; but when - with barely an afterthought - Bellatrix twisted Charlotte back up into that position of huddled agony, she cried out harder, trying to separate ther thighs from her stomach, and scratching along the ground, nails and fingers and palms, trying desperately for some kind of leverage that would help her fight magic with physics. It was a pointless venture, but she couldn't bear the pain of rubbed, burned flesh that made her nauseated with every squirm and panicked effort.
Pain, however, had no impact upon her that could compare with Bellatrix next utterances. A few seconds passed where Charlotte was suddenly dumb with the threat to her sister. Now, normally, she liked to give the impression that they were as different as night and day (which was true) and that she couldn't give two tosses about her sister (which was not). She didn't know if Bellatrix could or would carry out her intent to visit, but she didn't care - panic was welling up in her, now, too quickly for her to try and react calmly or rationally or even quietly.
"NO. Please please god no." Her voice rose to an hysterical pitch in a few seconds, and she scrambled on the floor, unable to quash histrionics with shame. Not her Catherine, oh God. Whatever notions she had of begging and pleading were interrupted by a fresh wave of pain that struck her. The site of impact was her side, but in milliseconds her entire body convulsed. Every nerve fired in wild abandon, siezing her thighs, her arms, and the ribcage around her lungs; there the air compressed, forcing out a long, low gutteral noise that resonated in the small stone room. When finally released, she simply lay, stunned and confused and unsure if she was still breathing of her own accord.
Bellatrix never did understand what people thought they were going to accomplish by begging her. If anything, such protests only encouraged her further. To know just how horrified Charlotte was at the prospect of her going after Catherine meant that it was a weakness just asking to be exploited. And so her only response to Charlotte's pathetic pleas was to throw her head back in laughter. The sound echoed cruelly through the stone cell and mingled with Charlotte's cries and moans in a way that was truly music to Bellatrix's ears. For Bellatrix there was very little she enjoyed more than finding someone's breaking point. And then pushing them right over the edge. As broken as Charlotte had seemed when she entered the cell, Bellatrix had found a way to push her even further. And that gave her a truly gleeful sense of satisfaction.
Once she had finally composed herself, she looked down at Charlotte and studied her critically for a moment. It was obvious that she would not be able to withstand much more of this without losing consciousness or just going mad entirely and while the thought was so very tempting, she had other uses in mind for her. Instead, Bellatrix knelt down by Charlotte's side and took the girl's face in her hand. Her long fingers pressed firmly into the bones of Charlotte's jaw as she turned her head to meet her piercing stare. There was no tenderness or sympathy in her action, only demands.
"Your pleas are meaningless," she chastised. "But there is something you are going to do for me. You are going to write in that journal of yours and you are going to tell everyone just what happens when they anger me. Make them feel your pain. Make them understand that there are always consequences for their actions, even if they are not the ones to feel them directly. If your entry is satisfactory then your sister will be spared. For now. But you will not question the fairness of your punishment or my actions here today. And if I see so much as a hint of sarcasm or disapproval towards anyone but the rebels who put you in this position today then I will kill both you and your sister. Understand?"
Startled out of her reverie, Charlotte's expression beneath Bellatrix's claws twisted out of pained confusion and into one of exhausted, cowardly fear. She would have shrunk away, but held firmly in place by the jaw, her shoulders could only curl up in faux-protectiveness of her neck, over hands that lay strewn across the jagged wound she'd re-inflicted upon her chest. She was so bloody tired, and afraid, and cold, and ashamed.
"Yes ma'am." She could barely drag her voice above a whisper, and in response to painful embarrassment, her wan cheeks flushed red. Charlotte had little doubt that she could come up with a suitable essay, but she was uncertain whether it could be convincing enough. Terror over losing a family member was excellent food for a writing muse, but she was unsure whether it was enough. It would have to be. She didn't doubt for a second that Bellatrix would kill her sister in cold blood - and that would probably kill her mother as well. Fuck.
A moment's hesitation gave her enough courage to try and further the great lie that she was still gravely injured from Danielle's visit. Having Bellatrix as her excuse for not being injured was a dangerous, but appealing proposition. "Ma'am," she lost her breath a minute, unsure how to ask for help - particularly when she wasn't completely sure whether or not asking for healing would reveal that her bones were just fine. "Mrs Edgecombe broke both of my thumbs and," she hurried on breathlessly, no good at lying and trying to skirt half-truths for misleading whole truths instead. "I don't know how long it would take me to finish such an essay legibly." Suddenly she was back at school, embarrassedly asking for an extension on a transfiguration essay - except that Bellatrix far outstripped McGonagall in terms of terrorfication. "May I please have a few days to complete it?" Every syllable pained and polite and she prayed that Bellatrix would prefer 'fixing' her to extending the time limit or - worse - just injuring them further. Dealing with sadists was uncomfortable business, but without risk one could hardly make progress. Or something like that, Charlotte wasn't really in the mood for inspiring entrepreneurial bullshit right now.
Bellatrix had been about to stand, ready to take her leave at Charlotte's agreement to write her little propaganda piece when she realised that the girl was still talking. And asking for an extension as if this was some kind of school project? Dear Salazar, if this was the wavering, nervous uncertainty that professors had to put up with on a daily basis, it was a wonder they did not kill themselves.
"No," Bellatrix replied firmly. "You will write this while the experience is still fresh in your mind." But she did want Charlotte's entry to actually be legible and so she roughly grabbed the wrist of her right hand and lifted it so she could more easily train her wand on her thumb. It was not a humanitarian gesture on her part, just a matter of simple efficiency. She needed Charlotte to be able to write and while Danielle would undoubtedly be annoyed at having her punishment undone, Bellatrix was only focused on her own interests.
On some level she knew that this was undoubtedly Charlotte's goal - to have her bones mended without actually asking for as much, but Bellatrix was assured by the fact that the girl would not dream of even thinking the request had she known of her ability with healing spells. Or more accurately, lack thereof. Aside from a few quick and dirty essentials like stopping bleeding in the middle of a duel, Bellatrix had never bothered to really learn much of anything about healing. That was what she kept Rosier around for, after all. And while a skilled healer would have noticed that Charlotte's thumbs were quite clearly not broken, Bellatrix was too annoyed at having to make this small show of benevolence to even bother paying attention. Instead she muttered the incantation (after thinking for a moment to even remember what the damn spell was) to knit the bones back together without even checking to see if they were properly aligned. Not that it mattered in this case, but Bellatrix did not know that. Instead she assumed she was leaving Charlotte to a lifetime of pain, not to mention the rather grotesque form that improperly healed bones frequently took. But she would be able to write and that was the important part.
"I presume you do not need both hands to manage a simple quill. You have twenty-four hours to make your entry." Dropping Charlotte's wrist, she looked at her with raised eyebrows, almost daring her to try and make another request or complaint.
"No ma'am, thank you ma'am." Charlotte fell back onto the floor as Bellatrix dropped her various extremities, making absolutely no move to right herself until the hellion had left the room. Pathetic with a dash of wretchedness? Probably, but considering she'd just managed to convince Bellatrix Lestrange to solve one of her greatest worries for the next few days, she wasn't about to push any thread of luck she'd still managed to hold onto. Charlotte couldn't believe Bellatrix had actually 'healed' the thumb - and though she'd been forced to stifle a moan of pain (unneeded healing magic wasn't innately damaging but it wasn't pleasant) - she was still alive and possessing her internal and external organs. Thank God. She'd stepped out on a limb and for once it hadn't broken beneath her.
Charlotte found it wryly amusing (or something comparable that meshed with her mixed feelings of terror, pain, and relief) that of the hands Bellatrix had chosen to heal, she'd chosen Charlotte's right - but didn't think it prudent to point out the problem. Both hands were actually healed, after all, and it didn't hurt anybody for Bellatrix Lestrange to think she was right handed.
Still reeling over how she was able to pull these shenanigans off in the midst of a torture session, she breathed out: "I'll write it immediately" in a far calmer voice than she'd thought herself capable.
"Good." Bellatrix stood, giving a quick brush to her robes as she turned to leave. And she had been planning on making her exit. She had terrorized Charlotte, secured her agreement to write about the experience and improved her own mood - everything she had set out to accomplish. But a sudden whim struck her before she had left the little cell and she felt a sudden need to compensate for having to 'heal' the girl. And unfortunately for Charlotte, her calm politeness only made Bellatrix think that perhaps she wasn't as bad off as she had seemed.
Stopping at the door, Bellatrix gave a little half turn back in Charlotte's direction as her eyes flashed with amusement. Well, she might as well bring this little lesson full circle, she thought as she gave one last flick of her wand and cast another cruciatus on the girl. She did not let it last long, no more than a minute or two - it was just an afterthought really, to remind her just what it felt like (as if she could forget!) but out of everything, Bellatrix wanted that sensation, that overwhelming feeling of agony to be the one Charlotte was left with.
So close.
Charlotte had almost sighed out in relief, but instead the breath escaped her lips in the form of a scream. Forced onto her side, her belly, her knees by the pain, wracked sobs poured of her with greater abandon than she'd thought possible. Perhaps she was sensitised to the pain by the previous painful jolt and damage to her stomach, or perhaps it was the lack of mental readiness for the attack; it didn't matter now, and her body tightened and released in sharp spasms of agony for what felt like forever (even a minute or two can drag on when the goings are rough), until she was released, shivering, onto the stone floor.
Expecting that this wasn't the end of it, Charlotte tried to curl up on herself, bony elbows wrapped around jutting knees in some pathetic attempt at protection, every movement punctuated by wet gasps and sharp, throaty lapses in whatever self-control she had remaining.
It would be a simple thing to destroy the girl utterly, Bellatrix knew. One more slight twist of her wand and she could condemn her to a life of insanity. Or simply kill her. Was it any wonder that she found this power absolutely intoxicating? How could she not? And restraint had never been Bellatrix's strength. It was far too easy to let herself get wrapped up in the moment, to take the sobbing and screaming as incentive and let go of what little vestiges of self-control she possessed. So very tempting...
No, the girl would be useful, she reminded herself, her own internal voice firm and unyielding as she reluctantly lowered her wand. "I would warn you not to give me reason to return, but you scream so nicely..." she mused, giving Charlotte a quick flash of her twisted smile. Oh, she would be back, she knew. Not only was the girl rather amusing to torture, but she had the added benefit of being better-suited than most to articulate a message to the terrorists or rebels or whatever the ridiculous Order was calling themselves this week. Plus it also seemed to really piss off Snape and that was always fun.
"I look forward to reading your entry," she added, giving Charlotte a mockingly polite nod of her head before leaving the small cell, her steps much lighter than when she had come in. The door slammed shut behind her as Bellatrix set off to complete her actual errand at the prison and retrieve her slave.
Charlotte remained very still as the other woman finally stepped out of the cell, Bellatrix's words sending a chill straight down her spine. Brilliant. Just brilliant. And she would be stuck here waiting for her to return until the ministry deemed her ready to be sent into the care of someone who might make half an attempt to keep her in one piece. Assuming that someone existed, she tacked on wryly, listening for Bellatrix's heel clicks to fade off down the hall before finally, miserably, relaxing her grip on her legs.
A slow, painful and breathy noise escaped her as she spilled across the stone floor, no longer in a tightly wound ball. Everything hurt; she wasn't sure if it was the succession of two cruciatuses or the spell used between them, but even breathing seemed to spread sharp pains out from her lungs into her ribs. It didn't matter. It really didn't. She was gone now and Charlotte could lay there for eternity. And she was fairly sure that's exactly what she wanted to do.