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A Deadly Banishment	By : AikawaAkihiko Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Bellatrix Views: 47194 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER AND MAKE NO MONEY FROM THIS STORY

Chapter List
- 1-A Deadly Banishment
- 1
Title: A Deadly Banishment

Author: aikawa_akihiko

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): Harry/Bellatrix, unrequited Harry/Hermione

Summary: Harry has a lot to be angry about and has been holding onto that anger for far too long

Content Notes/Warnings: Violent sex (slaps, strangulation, biting), insanity, Dub-con, language

Word Count: 3894

Author's Notes: Thanks goes out to the lovely pern_dragon, fcmwt_r_do, and luna_plath for beta-ing this piece for me! Title comes from Shakespeare. This is my entry, using my own prompt, for the 2012 hp_kinkfest over on livejournal.

Moments after watching his godfather die, Harry defeated Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. The overconfident monster had underestimated the power of Harry’s capacity to love and had died writhing in agony, his mind turning to mush, after trying to possess Harry and failing miserably.

It was all downhill from there.

Minister Fudge, arriving too late to be of any help, but early enough to cast himself in a favorable light– as usual, continued denying that Voldemort had ever been back. Only the obvious presence of Death Eaters and the body of the ‘supposed’ Voldemort (as Fudge continued insisting), along with the firm backing of Dumbledore, kept Harry from prison for murder – though he did pay a hefty fine for breaking into the Ministry. Fudge did admit that they had stopped Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, but continued to malign Harry in public.

Harry was made to go back to the Dursleys soon after, having no one to care for him now that Sirius was gone. The Weasley’s had had to concentrate on Ron, as the tentacled brains he had been attacked by acted similarly to jelly fish. Their tentacles latched on to living organisms to feed from them, consuming thoughts and stalling brain functions, and had shot Ron full of venomous toxins that traveled from the lacerations on his arms and up to his brain. In St. Mungo’s, he was pronounced permanently brain damaged. The Weasley’s regard grew frosty as they watched Ron deteriorate into a vegetative husk of himself. They never said the words and were never outright hostile towards him, but it was clear they blamed Harry for his hot-headed actions for the loss of their son and brother.

So it was that Harry was left in the care of his abusive family almost immediately after the traumatic incident and isolated from anyone who would have seen to his mental scars. He sank into a deep depression, his mind swimming in guilt and betrayal.

Hermione had been left partially impaired from the curse she took as well, leaving her weak and in pain for the rest of her life. A cursed wound stretched diagonally from shoulder to hip, the malicious intent seeped into her tissues and left her unable to fully use one arm. The dark magic in the scars meant that she would never be without a dull throbbing pain in her abdomen. On bad days or when she was around dark people or objects, she would have trouble using the leg on the side where the curse scar came to her hip and she would limp. She remained his ever loyal friend, but watching her go about with stilted movements only reminded him of his back-breaking guilt.

It was a recipe for the destruction of Harry Potter.

Back from a summer of seclusion and his family’s cruelty, he started his sixth year quiet and cold. He stared blankly at those who would address him if he did not just ignore them altogether. Most left him alone, believing he needed time to grieve his friend. Others shunned him, believing, as the Daily Prophet reported, that he had brought this on himself by bringing his friends in on his delusion-fueled exploits. He felt dirty, with the blood of not only Voldemort, but Ron and Sirius on his hands. His nights were filled with nightmares and his days filled with numb detachment.

As the time passed, things only got worse. He dropped out before 6^th year ended, no longer able to tolerate the scorn of his fellow students, or the obvious disinterest he saw in his former mentor’s eyes. It seemed that the Headmaster no longer cared what Harry got up to now that he had got the job done.

Still, however, Hermione was there with him through it all. She tried her best to break through the wall that seemed to surround him, a defense he’d built up as he was dealt blow after blow by those he had trusted and loved. Though they had gained physical distance between them, they were closer than ever. She would send him letters and meet up with him in town during Hogsmeade weekends while she was in school and later when she took up the post as the new Muggle Studies teacher. She was too far to truly be much help, but he loved her more for trying.

The press continued to hound him, no longer as the Boy Who Lived but as The Deranged Harry Potter. It was hard not to take notice of the defaming articles but he cared little for what the wizarding world thought of him anymore. The only thing to break through his apathy was any negative mention of his Hermione. He found that his feelings of friendship had grown to a deep love for her. He knew, however, that he would never be worthy of her. She deserved far more than a broken man who had killed nearly everyone he loved with his own stupidity, and he would not let the press drag her future down, simply because she continued to associate with him.

Harry drifted for a few years after dropping out of school, surviving on his inheritance while trying to find some place or vocation where he could fit in and forget about his troubles. Having never been taught the basics of independent living and having no one who would guide him, he soon found he had spent almost the entirety of his trust account and would not be able to gain access to his family vault until he reached the age of twenty-five.

At the age of twenty-three, however, it did not look like he would make it to his age of majority. Haunted by his past, Harry delved into drugs and mind numbing potions. As it went hand in hand, he had taken to hanging around dark and dingy places in Knockturn Alley, where such things were supplied in the seedy underbelly of the wizarding world. The scrawny yet wholesome child he had once been was now a dark and grungy looking man, with tattered robes, dirty, untamed hair and equally scruffy facial hair, fitting right in with the dubious characters that were often found there.

He had taken to participating in high stakes Dil-whippy tournaments, a game similar to Muggle poker, hoping to raise his funds. He had found that he had become pretty good at bluffing and usually won more often than not.

One fateful night, he played in the Hag’s Hump, a small hole-in-the-wall pub in the grungiest part of the Alley. He had thrown his cards to the table, the animated faces on them cheering him on in their victory, having won his fifth round against Tommy Gruffudd. Gruffudd was a man with a fearsome reputation around London and he was quickly losing his patience. His anger over being bested by the pathetic boy in front of him erupted. Here was this boy, a mere child to him, who was the heir to a fortune and clearly a newbie around the Alley, making a fool of him, a seasoned patron of the darker side of wizarding London. He began to berate the young gambler, venting his fury at losing his last Knut. Unfortunately he happened to hit on a sore spot of Harry’s; Miss Hermione Granger.

Things quickly got out of hand from there and one anger-fueled and over powered Expelliarmus from Harry caused Gruffudd to be thrown back and crack his head on the wall, killing him instantly. The Ministry, upon finding out his involvement was only too happy to punish him to the full extent of the law. Now he was in Azkaban for assault.

Harry had gone quietly with the Aurors, never speaking in his defense or responding to the vicious comments from his guards. At the warden’s office just inside the gates of Azkaban, they checked him in. Through the haze in his mind, Harry remembered absently that the Dementors had never returned to Azkaban after joining with Voldemort. No one knew just where they had gone, but there were few willing to go look for them.

Two guards silently led him deep into the prison to his cell. The guards stopped before the last cell in the hall. He only had enough time to note that he had a cellmate before he was pushed inside, the iron-bared doors slamming shut behind him.

He shuffled over to the single cot in the room with a sigh, sitting on the rickety bed and lifting his knees to his chin on which to rest his head. He glanced at the huddled figure that crouched on the back wall of the small room. Dressed in the dirty grey robes that made up the prison uniform, the long straggly matted hair, and filth covered body told Harry that his cellmate had been here a while, perhaps years.

Harry truly was uninterested in his neighbor, planning to just sit in silence until his six-month sentence was over. The haze of lethargy that usually covered his mind was wiped away by shock and anger when the figure lifted its head. The tangled black locks fell away to land on narrow shoulders and a pale feminine face was revealed. Dark grey eyes stared at him and Harry stood in recognition, his ire ignited by hatred. They had put him in the same cell as Bellatrix Lestrange.

She had been imprisoned since that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries almost a decade prior. Like Harry, she had run out to meet her Lord, only to watch in disbelief as his attempt to possess the boy’s feeble mind caused her Lord to shriek in agony. She had watched incredulously as his death throes lessened to nothing and the great Lord Voldemort was left staring blankly up at the ceiling of the Ministry building.

She had been enraged, crazed with grief and the need for vengeance, but once again her Lord had left her to the mercies of the Mudblood-loving Ministry and Azkaban. Even after the twenty-fourth year of her life spent in one of the cold, dank square cells of Azkaban, she still felt the zealous righteousness that had so consumed her in her youth and unyielding respect for the Dark Lord. As it was, the time spent idling away had tempered her sadistic bloodlust somewhat.

Her eyes narrowed with focus as she gazed at her old enemy, pinning him with a strangely intense stare. Bellatrix looked him up and down, before her eyes landed on his face. Confusion clouded her face before it cleared abruptly and a low chuckle erupted from her. The low sound grew until she cackled maniacally, her body rocking back and forth as she squatted on the balls of her feet.

“Hoh! Looky here! Little Baby Potty has been a bad boy!” Bellatrix attempted to taunt in the familiar sing-song voice she had once used to goad Harry to distraction, but it came out hoarse with disuse. Her voice went deep as she snarled with a sudden burst of anger. “What’s the matter, Potter? Those Mudbloods and blood-traitors you were so eager to die for turn out to be the worthless sacks of scum we told you they were? Turn their back on you, did they?”

Her moment of violent cognizance ended with an insane cackle.

Harry stood tense and trembling with fury. He looked at this woman who had killed his godfather, the man who could have saved him from the life he had lived since he had gone. She was the woman who symbolized that which had robbed all that he had built for himself, a set of friends and family, and destroyed it. In the early months following that day at the Ministry, he had lain in his bed and simmered in his anger, focused on the woman who had taken his only chance at a real family from him. He had dreamed of getting his justice.

Now, locked in a cell with this woman for the next six months, he took a really good look at this woman who had become an evil monster in his mind. The creature before him now was pathetic, the formerly pureblood aristocrat reduced to crawling along the filth covered concrete floor in rags.

Harry’s body gradually lost all of the tension it was holding, his anger draining away from him. He sunk to the rickety cot as his mind slid back into the depressed haze he had been shocked from. He pulled into himself, dissociating both physically and mentally, blocking out the cruelties of the dank, dark prison and its inhabitants. No matter who he was forced to spend it with, he planned to sit in silence until he was released.

X#X

The grey walls and dim light combined with the ever-present moisture, which seeped in from the North Sea surrounding the small island that hosted the prison, helped to create a dreary and cold atmosphere. The winds howled incessantly and whipped through the tunnel-like hallways, filling them with sounds similar to moans and distant screams, making it sound as if the soul-sucking Dementors had never disappeared.

Harry raised his head from the circle of his arms at the sound of footsteps coming down the dingy hallway. Every once in a while the Auror guards would make rounds, but usually it was only one guard at a time. Harry took notice of a second set of footsteps. In the three weeks he had been here, the days and nights were painfully dull, with nothing unpredictable happening. The only thing that could be considered distracting would be Bellatrix’s mumblings.

As the footsteps got closer, Harry could discern a strange gait to one of them. Suddenly a bushy headed figure appeared backlit at the bars of his cell.

“Harry!” cried Hermione.

“Hermione!” Harry whispered hoarsely as he leapt off his spot on the rickety cot.

Hermione stared at him tearfully as she reached through to clasp Harry’s hands. “Oh, Harry!” She exclaimed, tears running freely down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, today was the last day of class and I came as soon as I could!”

“It’s ok Hermione, it’s ok. It’s better if you don’t come here. This is no place for you,” Harry tried to soothe her, never able to stop staring at her beloved face. Never had he longed to tell her how much he loved her more than he did at that moment and never had his unworthiness been as emphasized as he stood there in his cell in Azkaban Prison.

He grabbed a hold of the iron bars in front of him with white knuckles, in an effort to resist reaching out and running his fingers through her hair or cupping her cheek, as they spoke softly about things that were going on in the outside world.

Every few seconds a giggle would interrupt their conversation, until Hermione, curious as ever, finally broke.

“Harry, is there someone in there with you?” she asked.

Harry stiffened as a cackle sounded from behind him in response. “Just ignore her, ‘Mione.”

“But-”

“Wee Potty’s little Mudblood has come to see Auntie Bella!” Bellatrix announced, throwing her head back with a full-throated laugh.

“Is that..?” Hermione gasped.

“Hermione, I think it’s time for you to go, now,” Harry whispered mournfully.

“But, Harry!” she protested, the sound of Bellatrix’s manic giggling ringing in the background.

“Go. Don’t come back here, ‘Moine. I can’t stand to see you in such a place. I’ll see you when I get out,” he said.

Hermione could hear the pleading in his voice, see it in his eyes, and it broke her heart. “Alright, Harry, if that’s what you want. I will be there for you when you get out,” she finished with a teary whisper. She entwined her fingers with Harry’s pale, thin ones, squeezing them before she turned and allowed the Auror to lead her away, her limp becoming more noticeable the longer she remained surrounded by the dark magic of the prison.

“Looks like Dolohov’s handiwork,” Bellatrix whispered, her voice suddenly much closer behind Harry. “He always enjoyed knowing that those Mudbloods and Muggle trash would suffer long after he was gone!” She was barely able to finish her sentence before she bellowed another burst of crazed laughter.

Harry’s shoulders had tensed at her proximity, but when she started to speak about his best friend as if she was nothing but a toy for a Death Eater to play with he lost all semblance of control.

With a roar, he spun and grabbed the woman by the throat. Bellatrix’s laughter cut off with a “herk” as she was forced nearly off her feet and slammed into the wall. She held onto the arm pressing her to the wall, trying to loosen it and allow breath into her airway. She bucked frantically against the hard body that pressed against her, imprisoning her against the cold concrete wall, and all the while her face twisted in silent laughter.

Harry felt himself harden as she bucked her hips and tried to latch onto him with her legs in an effort to relieve the pressure on her throat. He lowered his face until he was nose to nose with her, his sour breath tickling over her face.

“You are filth. You do not deserve to speak in her presence. You do not deserve to speak about her or to her. You will not even think about her. She is worth ten of you!” he whispered fiercely, before jerking her from the wall and throwing her on the cot.

Harry pressed the heel of his hand to the hardening bulge of his pants, his eyes glowing with rage and lust. Without thinking he reached into his thin robe and took himself in hand. Before she could react, Harry stood over her head, yanked her head closer by her hair, and when she opened her mouth to yelp in pain, shoved his cock into her mouth.

Harry closed his eyes as he was engulfed by her hot mouth. She automatically moaned and started sucking at the spongy head.

“Such a fucking slut! I bet you sucked all those murdering Death Eaters off. Is that it? Were you Ol’ Voldie’s whore?” He emphasized his disgust by plunging deeper. She gagged as his thick cock slid into her throat.

Bellatrix tried to push at his thighs when he did not back off and she couldn’t breathe. Harry hissed in pain, his member sliding out of her mouth with a wet pop, as she dug her nails into his sensitive inner thighs.

Quickly, she scooted away from him to the other side of the cot, laughing breathlessly. Her robe hiked up her thighs revealing deathly pale skin. Harry stalked toward her, unmindful of the fact that his own robe was also still hiked up around his hips and his rock hard cock bounced against his stomach with each step.

Once close enough, he gripped her by her ankles and pulled her back down toward him. She tried to kick out at him and he pushed her ankles back toward her arse, causing her knees to push into her chest and spreading her legs wide. She was completely open to him, and without preamble, he shoved two fingers into her.

The dark haired woman whined wantonly. She was so exposed to him. He controlled her utterly and his fingers felt so good after not having been filled for so long. She was so wet for him.

“Death Eater Whore is dripping for a taste of my cock, aren’t you?” he growled, breathing harshly. Pushing her hard back onto the cot using her ankles, he slammed his cock deep into her soaking pussy. Harry moaned loudly, his throbbing cock buried in the only place warm and welcoming in the hell that was Azkaban.

Once he recovered he fisted the front of her robe and, with a ripping sound, used it to yank her down hard on his cock, fucking her hard and setting a brutal pace, as if fueled by his tremendous amount of built up rage. He pounded into her, blind and deaf to her, as if she wasn’t even there.

She struggled, kicking and bucking, only to be held firm as he used her own leg to restrain her, pushing her knee into her chest with the ankle her held in his hand while the other continued to hold the front of her robe. The fabric ripped more and more with each thrust until her full, firm breasts burst free, bouncing with the force of his thrusts. Every few seconds, her struggles would cease as she arched against him and moaned, riding a wave of pleasure, his cock driving her closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm.

Harry kept up his furious pounding, baring his teeth and growling. He barely noticed the deep scratches Bellatrix was etching into his back in the throes of mindless pleasure. She pulled him down to her and licked a hot path up his neck, breathlessly giggling, and sucked in the lobe of his ear and bit. Hard.

He screamed and sprang up in pain. Laughing, she spit out a piece of his ear, his blood on her lips.

“Fucking cunt!” he screamed in rage. He slapped her hard across the face, and her laughing only increased in volume as he struck her over and over, until her blood dribbled from her mouth to mix with his.

He pounded brutally into her, hand tight on her throat, pinning her in place, hand clenching tighter in time with his thrusts, his pace hard and fast. Finally he felt his stomach tighten and his balls drew up with his impending release. He let go of her throat and through her robes, now in tatters, reached down to where they were joined. With a manic gleam in his eyes, he twisted her clit harshly. Bellatrix shrieked loudly and trembled and shook as she came powerfully. Harry felt her as her inner walls milked him until, with one last thrust, he released his seed deep inside of her.

Harry slumped to the cot, all of the tension and the rage suddenly leaving him. Bellatrix breathed laboriously next to him, her legs still spread wide and his spunk dripping from her abused hole. With a grunt he kicked her over the edge of the cot and she landed on the cold floor with a thump and a yelp.

Harry closed his eyes when she simply erupted into panting, hysterical giggles and shivered at the obvious insanity he heard in it.

Before the familiar swell of abject sorrow could rise in his chest, his mind retreated into numbness once again.

He had five more months of this to go.

fin
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A Deadly Banishment