Accio Apathy

Nails digging deep into Eris, Bellatrix turns them in a swinging step, stalking them both toward the bed. Her teeth clamp down on the other woman’s bottom lip enough to break the skin so she can suck at the blood drawn to the surface. One hand unhinges itself from the shoulder and claws into Eris’ dark hair, pulling hard at the base of her skull to draw the two of them apart.

With a hissing simmering rage, Bellatrix drags her nails from where they hold the fabric of her soulmate’s black top. The magic churns from their nearness and the yank of Bella’s hand dissolves the fabric into singed tatters, falling away from Eris’ torso to leave her exposed in nothing but her bra beneath. The Dark Mark shines, pitch against porcelain skin. There is no reason to conceal their darkness here. The sight of it only sparks another possessive need in the woman. A mark needed to contest with the one of their Master. “Mine!”

Alice Notley | In the Basement of Claypool’s Department Store | Mysteries of Small Houses

“You will use Occlumency! What does the efforts we went through amount to if you allow him to invade and violate your mind?!” Bellatrix screams it at the top of her lungs. Back in her present body, she jerks up from where she lies on the bed, shouting her thoughts aloud to an empty room. And to make matters worse, a house elf comes cracking into her quarters, alarmed at the sudden outburst.

A maddened lash of magic nearly takes the elf’s ears off and it squeals and pops away without getting a word out. In the time she had been dragged from her focus on Eris’ setting, what was once a strong visual presence scatters to just thoughts and emotional rage charging through their connection. Bellatrix’ fingers claw at her stomach, feeling that anxious squirming call for an apparating jump to her soulmate’s side. In flesh presence rather than only in mind and thought alone. But it wouldn’t bode well and she lets the roiling feeling run through her and sends her essence back to the room where her presence appears standing on the table now.

“What will he see, Eris?! What will he know?!” She doesn’t care if her screams cause Eris pain, her enrage tones echoing around inside Eris’ cranium. But the shouting stops the moment Alastor strikes. Bellatrix feels her own head snap to the side, greedily taking the brunt of the backhand in order to save Eris from it. The ghost touch of hard calloused knuckles throb against Bella’s cheekbone and she lets out a hiss between clenched jaws.

Bellatrix lowers herself off the table as Alastor throws it aside and dark eyes move from Eris to watch as he calls for the other man who strides in. Her body bristles at what so clearly means to happen. “Eris, you will let me take as much as possible from any injury you sustain. You need as much strength in order to keep your occlumency at strength because you will not just let him dig for whatever he wants.”

Bellatrix screams with indignation at Eris, as if Eris had suggested turning them both in. And before Eris can get a word in edgewise Bella’s form disappears, her words becoming only an echo within the confines of her skull. All that is left is Alastor Moody’s face staring back at her with anger, his own indignation at her words.

Suddenly, what was an easy feat to manage before, carrying on two conversations, becomes exponentially more difficult. Eris attempts to pay attention to the fury that the Auror is spitting at her, to observe, analyze, and anticipate his next actions. But Bellatrix’s presence was back and her tantrum was running rampant in Eris’ mind, causing her vision to blur for a moment, as her soulmate drove verbal spikes through the tender fortress of Eris’ psyche. Eris reaches out in an attempt to sever their close connection, knowing that any damage that Bellatrix does in ire will only serve to weaken her mental defenses later.

The strike comes suddenly, followed with an almost deafening silence. Eris blinks, head twisting and slinging forward uselessly as a long bloody strain of spit falls from an open lip. But, Bellatrix pulls the pain away quickly and all Eris can seem to focus on is the eeriness of Bellatrix’s silence. Every moment of every day, even as she sleeps, Eris can hear Bellatrix’s monologues. But, at the moment, there is radio silence despite the fact that Bellatrix stands on the table with a low hiss.

“I suppose we will see; though the point of my pretty words seems to have entirely been missed by you. I look forward to your return, Alastor Moody.” Eris speaks aloud as Bellatrix speaks to her, in anticipation of her own torture, “I have no intentions of allowing him to invade and violate, Bellatrix. He will not root around like a dog with a scent within the confines of our minds. It will be guided. Subtly. Alastor Moody will not see anything that I do not want him to see.” A bag is placed over her head, but Eris continues to speak to Bellatrix, her words coming more quickly now that she knows their time is limited, now that she can no longer anticipate what happens next. “But, for that, for us to be sure, I need you to separate yourself from me as much as possible once he casts the spell. You need to withdraw behind an impregnable iron fortress, some place that I cannot even find you.”

“Ye’ll be damned t’ Azkaban if I see fit fer it. D’nae mistake me on it, lass. Because yer father will nae ‘ave much t’ sae on the mattae if I do as I please.” Chest heaving, Alastor steps away from the table and pulls his own chair away as he does so. “Yer wand will nae meet yer ‘and while yer wit me ‘ere an’ I’ll see joost what yer mind will offer up t’ me when I force me wae inside.”

The man then takes the table by one end and drags it away from Eris, exposing her in her chair, bound against escape. The tension burns in Alastor’s muscles as he refrains from doing anything further. Violence never suits him when it can be carried out by another with more fortitude and expertise.

With this in mind, the Auror steps over to the one and only door that provides entrance or departure. “Sebastian,” the Scot barks without breaking his dark gaze from the captive in the middle of the room and when he speaks again, he addresses her. “I’ll nae enter yer mind till ye take some time wit me friend. Then we’ll see ‘ow strong yer capable o’ withstandin’ me an’ usin’ that slick tongue o’ yers t’ spit petty werds.”

The dilation of Alastor’s pupils as he stands and swings reveals far more than meant. The pain was sharp and her head spun sideways under the force. Calloused knuckles make contact with Eris’ cheek and the impact alone is enough to prove power behind the prose with which he languishes upon her.

Eris only feels the pain for a moment before it is stolen away from her by Bellatrix; she allows the trespass, knowing that more will come. Knowing that they will both have their fill of agony at the hands of this Auror. And there is an odd sense of curiosity that lingers, wondering exactly how far she could push this man to his breaking point without even lifting a stray finger. How long would it take before he snapped? How much picking would it take to release the monster lurking, waiting at weakened gates? How much blood she would have to shed before he stepped away and saw nothing more than a girl broken under his ministrations?

The table is dragged away and Eris turns to face Alastor, spitting blood on the floor, surprised to find that all her teeth were still indeed intact. “I suppose we will see; though the point of my pretty words seems to have entirely been missed by you. I look forward to your return, Alastor Moody.” Her tone is unwaveringly polite, a hidden promise beneath the words despite the innocence of her actions.

Another Auror enters the room as Alastor excuses himself, seemingly unable to stomach his own choices. The bag is placed over Eris’ head and darkness consumed her vision as she readies herself for the first hit – magical or physical.

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