The Blackline

Chapter 1

The dark, cold stone walls of Malfoy Manor seemed to press in on Hermione Granger as she was dragged down the narrow corridor, her wrists bound tightly by enchanted ropes that cut into her skin with each struggling step. Her breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding in her chest as she tried to take in her surroundings, searching for any possible escape route. But the oppressive atmosphere of the place, thick with the lingering magic of dark rituals and the weight of centuries of bloodshed, sapped her strength and hope with each passing moment.

She could hear the murmurs of her captors behind her, Death Eaters cloaked in black, their laughter cold and devoid of humanity. They spoke of her as though she were merely a prize, and the thought filled her with a mixture of dread and determination. She would not give them the satisfaction of breaking her spirit. Not now, not ever.

But as they approached a set of ornate double doors, her resolve wavered. Hermione knew what awaited her beyond those doors, and the knowledge sent a chill down her spine. The woman who had tortured her, who had taken so much pleasure in the suffering of others, was waiting for her. Bellatrix Lestrange.

The doors creaked open, and Hermione was shoved inside. The room was dimly lit by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and something else, something metallic and foreboding. At the far end of the room, seated in a high-backed chair with an almost regal posture, was Bellatrix.

Her wild, dark curls framed a face that was both beautiful and terrifying, her eyes gleaming with a madness that seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the magic in the air. She wore a black dress that clung to her slender frame, accentuating her curves in a way that seemed both deliberate and disdainful, as if she reveled in her own allure while knowing it could only inspire fear. There was a smile playing on her lips, a cruel and twisted thing that made Hermione's blood run cold.

"So, the little Mudblood finally graces me with her presence," Bellatrix purred, her voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. "I've been waiting for this moment, you know. I've dreamed of the day I'd have you all to myself, where there would be no one to interfere, no one to save you."

Hermione stood as tall as she could, refusing to let Bellatrix see her fear. "I won't give you the satisfaction," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "You can do what you want, but I won't—"

Bellatrix's laugh cut her off, sharp and mocking. "Oh, sweet little Mudblood, you think this is about what you will or won't do? No, no, no. This is about what I will do, and how you will beg for mercy before I'm finished with you."

With a flick of her wand, Bellatrix released the ropes binding Hermione's wrists, but before Hermione could react, the witch was on her, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look into those dark, crazed eyes.

"You're so much like her, you know," Bellatrix hissed, her voice suddenly soft, almost tender. "So much like the one I loved and hated in equal measure. But you'll learn, Mudblood. You'll learn what it means to be in the presence of someone truly powerful."

Hermione struggled to pull away, but Bellatrix's grip was unyielding, her nails digging into Hermione's skin. She could feel the woman's breath on her face, hot and tinged with the scent of wine and something more bitter. Bellatrix's gaze bore into her, searching for something deep within, and Hermione felt a surge of panic rising in her chest. She couldn't let this woman, this monster, see her fear, see how close she was to breaking. Not when she had to stay strong, to survive.

But Bellatrix's voice, low and hypnotic, continued to weave its dark spell around her. "Tell me, Mudblood," she whispered, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear, "do you think your broken Order will come for you? Do you think they'll be able to save you from what I'm about to do?"