Destiny Reversed

Chapter 20 Choices

There hasn't been this much excitement in a long while, not since the Dark Lord had last allowed her a plaything. And a delicate one at that, though Bellatrix had pouted when she'd discovered the others had already had their turn.

Yes, this one was trembling so. Bellatrix cocked her head to the side, observing her prey with glittering eyes. It wasn't Longbottom, it wasn't the plaything she so desired. This wasn't the one who'd unfairly stabbed her foot with glass, but this would do for now. After all, the last time she'd been able to play had ended in a hasty retreat with empty hands.

She huffed, pacing around the shaking thing as she thought of how displeased her master had been with all of them. But Lucius, Lucius her dear brother-in-law, had all but blamed the mess on her, on her reckless abandon and thirst.

"You should have gone for the boy," he'd said. "Instead of puttering about with your half-blood cousin while we fought real wizards."

She'd show him, she'd show him! No one stabs Bellatrix Lestrange without facing the consequences.

Her muscles have been terribly cramped lately with all the dueling –it was time for some fun.

"Itsy bitsy Mudblood, hopping through the forest...look out for the big bad wolf!"

For a moment her prey, dressed in Gryffindor's red emblem, almost laughed.

Hermione didn't know where Bellatrix could have heard the Muggle nursery rhymes, but she couldn't help but laugh at the butchering of lyrics, at the absolute ridiculousness of the childish spark in her captor's eyes.

Azkaban had reduced Bellatrix to adolescence, into a child who is inno –no, not innocently– evil. There's nothing else there in that shell.

And she found it incredibly funny as she visualized Bellatrix sucking daintily on a pacifier. Her lungs heaved as the laughter escaped from her, and the sharp backhand she received only made her giggle more.

Bellatrix seized her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Shame," she whispered, suddenly scarier. "I hate broken toys."

With that, she shoved her chin away, discarded. Her wand twirled between gaunt fingers as she hummed an obscure tune, pacing, deciding.

Hermione saw the opportunity, saw it, but something was wrong with her muscles, with her will. Bellatrix was stretching the tension, toying with her. But it was hard to care with an annoying buzzing in her ears.

"The Cruciatus is no fun, not with a broomstick without a broom." A dreamy smile split across her features, instilling in Hermione a sense of dread. "This requires creativity."

"Don't escape."

Hermione didn't move, even when Bellatrix had shut the door behind her. Should she try, should she dare to hope? Muggle villains were always making stupid mistakes, like not bothering to cast a locking spell...

She lunged forward until her elbows hit the harsh concrete. It was exhausting and painful, but she ignored the aching, immobile sensation in her legs and crawled forward, hoping, hoping –

Fingers trembled as they grasped the doorknob, turning tantalizingly slowly until its movement stopped, stuck.

Locked.

After everything, after having literally been taken from the dusty tomes of the library to the dungeon of You-Know-Who, after discovering that maybe, just maybe, she deserved her Gryffindor red and gold, it ended here.

And it wouldn't be pretty.

There haven't been many times when Hermione felt any kind of extreme emotion. The closest she'd gotten to an all consuming feeling was when her uncle died, but that doesn't even compare to the despair she felt in that moment. The hopelessness.