Chapter Text
As her eyes came into focus she stared at the grey surrounding her. Grey walls, grey ceiling… She glanced down, yep, the floor was a dark mottled grey too. It seemed there was no escaping the bland colour that seemed to suck the life out of her surroundings. Maybe even out of her… she shivered involuntarily.
It took a moment for her rational side to shake off the last vestiges of sleep, before she sat up and realised where she was. It was at that moment, the screaming started. It was when her voice was hoarse that she realised the hysterical, bone-chilling sound originated from her own vocal chords. Straight from her soul.
Turns out there are places as bad, if not worse, than Askaban. At least there they left you lucid. Although as often is the case, it was both a blessing and a curse knowing what was and wasn’t real.
She pulled her knees up into her chest to stop herself from shaking, to stop the screaming that was so horrible she wasn’t aware it was a noise humans could make; but her terror escaped, bleeding through in the form of rapidly falling tears. The droplets of water started to obscure her vision as though her body was trying to protect her… as though it wouldn’t be real if it couldn’t be seen. It was through these cascading drops she saw the well-hidden door on the far wall opened, and a young-looking witch in a healer’s uniform walk in carefully carrying a tray. The healer met her patient’s eyes only for a moment, before continuing to the small table that stuck out of the wall near the head of the bed.
Hermione’s stomach lurched when she saw the state her patient was in. It was usual for the dark witch to be unsure of where she was, aggressive even, but this raw, animal pain was very rare indeed. She forced her lips into the semblance of a smile, and put down the tray almost on autopilot. First she took off the water, then the food, and finally the small cup of pills the patient had been prescribed, carefully avoiding eye contact. If she strayed too long, she was sure she would reach out to comfort the older witch, and that just couldn’t be done. She had to remain professional. Besides, Bellatrix was too fragile…
Steadying her resolve, Hermione continued her duties on autopilot. Carefully blocking the camera view for a moment, she slipped a pill from somewhere up her sleeve into Bellatrix’s water jug. It dissolved in a microsecond. Also as usual, the brunette had switched the pills meant for Bellatrix with what were essentially sugar-capsule placebos. It was horrible to see anyone suffering this much, but if her patient took the real pills… well she didn’t need any more hallucinations.
Hallucinations where Hermione was more than just her mediwitch, and where Andromeda and Narcissa were still alive, reunited even. Illusions where she was happy and free, and in love with a wonderful woman who would hopefully soon be her partner for life. All despite her adamant proclamations in her youth, that there was no such thing as love, let alone a happily-ever-after.
It seemed to the doctors that these figments of her imagination were the only protection from reality her mind could provide her with. This may be a horrible situation, but Hermione didn’t see a better alternative. Not quite yet. She could only stall for time.
Once the brunette woman had left, Bella twisted to lie on her side and curled up into a tight ball. Her fingers traced the tattoo of her family crest just below her ribs, holding on to anything that was familiar. So much for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Bellatrix was trapped somewhere in the dark depths of St Mungo’s, and there was nothing she could do about it.