“I can be very persuasive, Eris.” He then rolled his eyes. “And why is that? Because you spend your time being her little..lackey? Convincing yourself that by doing her bidding, she cares?”
“That, my dear, has yet to be determined. I have seen no evidence of such...” Eris quipped, before raising an eyebrow, “If you believe I am concerned with such trivial matters such as how much Bellatrix cares than you fail to capture the symbiosis of our relationship.”
Severus was kneeled, drenched in sweat and marred with the presence of everliving ink. The Dark Mark. Severus Snape had finally sequestered the decision to take the Mark and become among the ranks of the Death Eaters, among those that served Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord. And Eris was there to see the completion of her missive solidify in permanence.
“Thank you, Eris Rowle, for bringing Severus Snape to us, for revealing to him the true path of purity and for sharing with him the vision that we all share for this world. The vision that will soon become a reality with the assistance of you both. Now, Ms. Rowle, I have another request… that you join Severus in his induction, his rebirth, and share in the fruition of your joint efforts, a reward if you will…” The Dark Lord stepped towards Eris and gave an address, nothing further. Eris knew what the mission was and she had an inkling that Sev did as well.
“Yes, Lord Voldemort,” Eris nods concisely, before reaching out to Sev with a hand, in it contained a mask.
“No, but you agreed that he was thirty and only one of the McKinnon brothers is thirty.” She shrugged. “I suppose I am. I find parties are much easier to deal with if you’re at least a little bit tipsy.”
“I agreed on nothing,” Eris opposed, still carrying a smile, “Matthew McKinnon is not yet thirty?” She knew the answer. “While I am sure that is true, Pureblood gatherings can also be dangerous if you are at least a bit tipsy. Gossip runs rampart. I am sure to manage here without alcohol.”
“I didn’t think it was worth completing,” Lucius shrugs. He either talked too much or didn’t think his thoughts through. There was no inbetween. He tilted his head when Eris spoke again, allowing the words to seep in. Rather than comment, Lucius pressed his lips together and looked away from her, storing the information away for another time. “Why do you think that?” He asked, giving her a confused glance before looking down again. “I don’t understand why that’s something I should do.”
“And that would be where you were wrong...” Eris adds, with the silent urge for Lucius to try and challenge her. Lucius often seemed suffused with the unshakable conviction that things would be better if he intervened, as if, by his presence, the situation would come under control. He carried an air of prepossession that could come off as menacing, and many people at school often bowed at his will. But, Lucius’ father would not, and neither would Eris; except, for the moment, Eris was aiding Lucius. “I think that it would teach Narcissa more about you, about where you came from, about the strength that you carry. It is not a weakness, it is proof of conquering.”
Lucius looked away from Eris, a steadying breath needed before he was able to get the thought out. “I’m never going to be good enough,” He said through gritted teeth. They’d had this talk time and time again but Lucius was now realizing he didn’t know what to do about it. “I can handle it, but I don’t want her to see him when he gets mad at me. And –” Lucius cut off, looking rather offended. “My behavior is not atrocious.”
“Your sentence was left unfinished, Lucius. You should pay more mind to your phrasing,” Eris corrects, “You are never going to be good enough... for your father. But, one day, your father will be dead, and all that will be left is you. You do not need to be good enough for him. You need to be good enough for you.” She stared intently at Lucius, attempting to allow a moment for her words to absorb and be understood. It was unlikely that he would grasp the gravity of her words at present, but later... later Lucius would understand. “I think you should let her see his behavior.”
“Are you saying that you would tell anyone what is actually in that head of yours, how dark and twisted it truly is?” He shot her a look. “I think that you’ll be surprised, just as to how much Bellatrix wants to see me.”
“I might, if someone asked politely and presented a convincing argument to do so,” Eris returned the look, “And I think you will be surprised to learn that nothing Bellatrix does comes as a surprise to me.”
So they are all but agreed, then. ”I’ll tell Lucius,” she said quietly, for his piece of mind and because Narcissa believed her future husband needed to know if she was capable of Dark magic, even if she did not yet know if she was herself. “However, I think that the fewer people who know, the better.” Narcissa stands, brushing a hand over her skirt. “It’s been most lovely catching up, Eris. I’ll be sure to owl you over the school year?”
“That sounds reasonable,” Eris concurs, “I think Lucius may be pleased with your decision. And if he is not, I shall have a word with him concerning the topic.” If Lucius did not approve, Eris was sure she could sway his thoughts on it rather easily. “Agreed,” she moved to stand as well, knowing it was impolite to say farewells while still seated. “It has been lovely, Narcissa. Please do.” Eris smiled and reached forward to place a polite kiss farewell upon Narcissa’s cheek.
It echoes back to Bellatrix, ringing with the clatter of teeth clashing with teeth. Yours. Bellatrix’ fingers dig into Eris’ shoulders as their mouths battle, the throb of her bruised cheeks and cut lip drawing the furious need to new heights. Her body aches for the violence and desperate need to take what rightfully belongs to her. Not to Abaddon. Not to the Rowle family. Not even to the Dark Lord. Her blood finds its way into Eris, just their soul exists only between themselves; a single existence shared in two fleshly structures.
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!”
The swirl of jealous lust clouds over Bellatrix gaze and she pushes Eris backward, forcing her to meet the bedframe. She follows after her other half, hands now digging into flesh at Eris’ hips to drag them chest to chest. “Yours.” The word falls from Bellatrix’ lips seconds before she slams her swollen mouth back to Eris’ and shoves the other girl at the hips to urge her back onto the mattress. A deep rumble, near to a growl, comes from Bella’s chest. Animalistic, base need. A mate marking territory against the threat of another. Eris will not be seen as anyone else’s, no matter what society claims otherwise.
Their lips crashed together, rolling, like wave after wave of torment. A powerful tongue forced its way into Eris’ mouth, as if they were still at war with one another. Eris allowed her free hand to trail up Bellatrix’s arm, her waist, briefly caressed the swell of her breast and then up to her cheek. It could have been a caressing touch, one borne out of love, if it had not been for the deranged look in two sets of charcoal eyes. Bellatrix’s fingers were rough and harsh and Eris could feel the bruising of her skin where her soulmate was holding her, burying talons into her flesh as they stalked and stumbled their way to the bed.
Bellatrix was ferocious and poisoning and Eris met this with her own darkness, shining and shimmering with distilled furious passion. A hand snaked around Eris’ neck and fingers pushed through equally as black hair, to once again pull them apart forcefully. A breathy growl fills the air between them as the pain sends shockwaves through Eris’ body, reverberating into Bellatrix and returning to her thrice.
As her shirt was burned away, a testament to the heat between them, Eris’ eyes never once fall on the mark that exists on her flesh. Her fealty was to Bellatrix alone. Her head knocks into the bedframe as she is thrust backwards and Eris meets Bellatrix with a reply, her own ‘Yours’ falling from her mouth in tandem with Bella’s admission. It was something never spoke aloud before now; something they understood. They owned each other and nothing would change that. Not even this moment between them.
A deep groan escaped Eris’ throat when she encountered Bellatrix’ mouth, blood meeting blood. As Bellatrix straddled her, distracted by her own animalistic need to claim, to conquer, Eris dragged her fingernails painfully against Bellatrix’s inner thigh, leaving deep gashes that filled instantly with pooled blood. Blood only to be smeared between the two girls as Eris bloody fingers trailed up to Bella’s corset. Eris muttered something under her breath and what was left of their clothing disappeared, leaving two porcelain canvases that begged to be painted with each other’s blood and need.
“I think I’d rather flirt with his brother, at least he’s a little younger.” Isabelle shrugged. “I don’t particularly like mead either, but I’ll drink it if it’s the only thing here. And I think it might be.”
"I never specified which McKinnon, Fawley,” Eris smirked, settling herself against the table as Isabelle fixed herself a drink. “Then you are far more determined than I am to have a drink tonight.”
Bellatrix rounds on her other half where her incorporeal form lies low against the table’s surface. The talk of memories and pensieves had made her laugh with the absolute absurdity that Alastor makes of himself. Of course he couldn’t be so dense as to think he’d stand a chance the moment he passed over Eris’ wand. How stupid he must be. Yet she hisses, glaring at Eris now.
“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.”
With each passing moment, the fury builds to a crashing crescendo in Bellatrix’ mind. Alastor Moody must pay for his ineptitude and callousness. His disregard for anything sound and his harm to the one person in her life that matters. Resisting the impulse of the bond to apparate takes incredible energy.
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.”
The spell is spoken aloud and Eris is almost surprised than an Auror would use an Unforgivable Curse. The Cruciatus curse was something that Eris could survive; though the pain was intense and unforgiving, as the name implied, Eris knew it would not kill her. The spell sunk into her chest and Eris’ back arched off the wooden chair, almost levitating. The bindings tighten until Eris is unable to writhe in the agony of the curse, her muscles twitching helplessly.
“Do you understand, Bellatrix?” Eris urged through their connection, attempting to force some distance between their two minds so that Bellatrix could not take the brunt of her pain. Bellatrix needed to keep her strength for now, until they knew what to expect from this imprisonment. “I need you to—” Eris’ sentence is cut short, her mind short-circuiting as something hard hits her in the lower left leg. The sound of her bone breaking was the only thing to pass between the soulmates before Eris let out a scream, unable to preempt the injury, unable to bite back the pain she had not known to expect.
Blast the insufferable pureblood manipulations to hell. Alastor’s gaze narrows as he feels a spark of true anger and frustration flaring to life in his breast at Eris’ calm explanation of how her father would keep her from spending any time in Azkaban. The fact that she dares to request her wand irks him a smidgen further and without waiting to reason with his own ire, Alastor springs to his feet and sends a backhand strike across the young woman’s face.
“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 dark haired man called for enters the room then with a bag clasped in one veined hand. Alastor shares no other parting words as he steps out of the room and leaves the Hit Wizard to his own brand of interrogation techniques.
It seemed Eris had spoken precisely enough anger the otherwise tactful, calm Auror. She spies the exact moment that her words sunk in, that they reached inside Alastor Moody’s chest and settled, sparking into a rage barely contained. While Marcus McKinnon acknowledged his rage, harnessed and capitalized on it, used it to reach his ends, Alastor Moody denied his. And his rage was starved. Eris had every intention of feeding it.
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.
--
When Eris woke, she found herself hanging limply against the restraints around her torso. She felt cold and the pain was excruciating. As her eyes fluttered open, she instantly felt sick. The world was a blur and it was spinning rapidly before slowly settling, her surroundings turning clear before her eyes. At some point, Bellatrix must have broken through her barricade and forced her to seek reprieve in unconsciousness. Reprieve that could last no longer.
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