The Duel: Hermione VS Bellatrix, Where Insanity and Instincts Collide

Note: I do not own Harry Potter and this is FanFiction, purely written for fun and as a writing exercise- Unless I am JK Rowling and I don’t know it, which would just be weird. With that out of the way, let the story begin!

Intelligence Meets Insanity

Hermione ran through the Forest of Dean, the thorns and brambles tearing at her already tattered clothes.

She ran as fast as she could, not caring about the direction, as long as it was away from her pursuer.

Jets of spellfire burst through the undergrowth, barely missing her as she ran wildly, trampling green grass underfoot.

She’d been tortured and humiliated by her assailant twice – she still had the scars on her arm to remind her of it – she wouldn’t fall in their clutches a third time, and so she ran, ran as fast as her tired and bleeding legs could take her.

She jumped over a fallen tree trunk and missed clearing the brambles which suddenly came up before her, cutting her left cheek and drawing blood. Ignoring the wound, she continued onwards, randomly throwing spells to hinder the progress of her assailant. It wasn’t a tactic she liked, she would have preferred using stealth and cover to escape her pursuant, but Bellatrix Lestrange wasn’t one to be easily fooled, even if the Death Eaters with her were mere grunts without an iota of intelligence between them.

Her breath caught and she could feel stiches in her side as her strength began to give away, but she didn’t slow down. She’d rather die than be tormented by the Mistress of Torture herself.

The woods were thinning before her, and judging from the sounds behind her, she’d managed to harm or lose the grunts, and only Bellatrix was pursuing her now.

But that thought didn’t bring her any joy. The Death Eaters with Bellatrix would have only slowed her down, but now without them dragging her down, she could revel in her role as the hunter chasing her prey.

Hermione hoped to clear the woods and be out of the range of the anti-apparition ward soon, but it looked like it would be a near thing.

Hermione could hear the crazy Lestrange’s baby voice mixed with panting as she mocked her.

She thought of her previous humiliation at the hands of the twisted witch, the losses that she…Ron…Neville…Harry…all of them had suffered at her hands and made up her mind.

It was now or never. Even death wouldn’t be too high a price to pay if she could bring down Voldemort’s most trusted and vicious Death Eater with her.

‘Third time will pay for all’, a small voice from her childhood chimed in her mind. It was the voice of her mother reading out Gandalf’s words from the ending of the Lord of the Rings to her. A soft tear rolled down her cheeks at that thought; a thought from an innocent time, from another age.

She blinked the tear away as she crossed a small clearing, hid behind a stout tree at its edge, and muttered the first of the many spellchains she’d invented. Her boys had fondly called it the ‘Granger ghostform’ when she’d first pranked them by using the chain. That thought lit her face up with a small smile.

A mixture of the disillusionment charm, the shield charm, and the Lumos and Nox charm, this spellchain effectively rendered the user invisible while also adding a layer of protection from most attacks, depending on the magical strength of the user.

The moonlight sifted through the trees and bathed the small clearing, painting an image of ethereal beauty. She could have stopped and admired it, had it not been for the madwoman on her trail. Hermione quickly carried out a mass transfiguration on the leaves, grass, and broken pieces of wood in the clearing as sounds of her pursuant grew nearer.

There was nothing overt in the transfigurations she’d just done, but she hoped that when the time came, they’d be worth all the energy expended on them. She stood with her back to the broad tree trunk and slowly drew in soft breaths. She wanted to pant and huff, but that would give away her position to Bellatrix, and she needed every advantage she could get if she was to fight and defeat the one of the world’s most powerful and insane witches.

She mumbled another couple of spells and shot them upwards. Then, she waited.

After a couple of minutes, the menacing figure of Bellatrix Lestrange entered the clearing. She slowly stepped into the moonlit meadow. Her eyes gleamed with darkness and the promise of pain. Her hair was in its usual bushy, mangled state, and her black robes had been shredded and torn, cutting her skin in many places. Hermione smiled at this, happy to see that her assailant hadn’t emerged unscathed from the chase.

“Liddle Her-my-ninny, come to Bella, stop hiding liddle baby guuurl” cooed Lestrange, her baby-voice more sinister than any threat of torture.

“Come out, come out, weedle guurl, come to play with mama”, Bella’s sing-song voice resonated in the silence of the night as she stepped in the centre of the forest.

“Now, no-” but her next words were cut short as the stone, rocks, and debris on the ground began attacking her from all sides. Hermione had heard enough, and instigated by the Death Eater’s words, she’d begun her attack in a flurry of cold, cold, rage.

The twigs snapped and broke against Bella’s body, stones bruised her and made her bleed, as Hermione activated the transfiguration spell she’d carried out on the clearing. The debris went into Bellatrix’s eyes, partially blinding her, and she made to shield them from the miniature hurricane of dust and rocks. Hermione conducted the hurricane like a small orchestra, maximizing the damage to the witch who’d made her suffer so much loss. Stones hit her, breaking the skin, drawing blood, bruising her bones, and Hermione made them go faster and faster from behind her hiding spot.

Suddenly, Bellatrix started cackling and laughing manically despite all the pain, and in one swift draw, pulled her wand and shot an entrail-expelling curse towards Hermione, who barely managed to duck behind the massive tree trunk. Sadly for her, the force of the spell was enough to rend the tree in two, expelling splinters of wood in all directions.

Hermione ran beyond the trunk, barely avoiding it, and her spellchain deflected most of the wood chips coming at her. She continued to conduct the mini hurricane as she ran, not giving Bellatrix a moment to breath.

Despite her relentless attack which would have easily overpowered lesser witches, Bellatrix seemed to revel in the chaos of the fight. She laughed harder with every hit, the pain just spurring her on.

Mocking, cruel laughter. Cackles of madness as the insane witch laughed at Hermione’s every attempt, now blithely ignoring the debris and easily shielding that which could seriously harm her.

“Is that all widdle Hermy Granger can do? Even her muggle parents were better opponents”, cackled Bellatrix.

That was the wrong thing to say. Mention of her parents and the damage the witch before her had done to them drove all rational thought from her mind, and Hermione attacked. She attacked without abandon, channelling all her fury and rage through her spells. Her fear turned to anger and hatred, and a coldness spread through her, a coldness which only wanted to cause harm to the person before her. It was a madness which gripped her, the battle-drums ringing loud and clear in her ears. But her fury and need to hurt the witch was different from Bellatrix’s insane need to cause pain and torment. Where Bella was all passion and raw emotion, madness, insanity, and a twisted love for her Lord driving her actions and spell, Hermione’s fury was like hardened cold steel forged in the hottest forge of hell, before it was thawed in the icy, emotionless pit of death.

She used a spellchain she’d vowed to never use again. One of the darkest spellchains in her arsenal, one invented not by her, but by the Half Blood Prince and his classmate in school – she still found it hard to believe that it was a chain invented by Snape and Lily together at Hogwarts – though it had been discarded due to its volatile and uncontrollable nature. A spell chain which had been perfected by none other than Harry Potter in their seventh year together. She still shuddered when she thought of the first time he had used the spellchain at the end of their seventh year. The spells in the chain had one function, and one function alone – to utterly decimate your foe. Utter annihilation and glorious death, and the Light’s golden boy, Harry Potter had perfected it.

It still made her retch to think of the dead bodies which littered the Hogwarts ground when Harry had showcased his sheer might and shown Voldemort the true depth of his powers. That was the first time that she had realized that Voldemort was right to fear Harry. Her Harry. He had vast potential in him, terrible potential. He was truly the Chosen One. Not by destiny anymore, but out of choice.

And she remembered her own strong opinions against using the spellchain ever again, their huge argument about it which had almost ended their friendship.

Oh how silly she had been. No, not silly. Innocent. Despite their adventures, she was far from the true brutality of war, and only Harry who had continuously suffered under Voldemort’s evil had truly understood it.

But she was innocent no more. She would do what had to be done to rid the world of the evil that was Voldemort and his Death Eater’s. No more was she the innocent child who would scream in agony under her foe’s not-so-tender mercies.

She half laughed and half roared her challenge to Bellatrix, whipping her wand about and letting the hurricane of debris conduct itself as she let loose one of the most potent and devastating spellchain’s in existence. A spellchain which she’d only used last time when she had come face to face with Lord Voldemort himself while Harry had been grievously injured.

No more would she fail, and she screamed, “Novem Virens Drakon Ictus, Ventoverso Sectumsempra, Ignis Inflammare, Az-Raeth, Crucio Maximus”.

Nine-way Dragon flames followed by a raging Whirlwind of Sectumsempra, laced with barely controlled Fiendfyre and finished with a Crucio which would send concentrated pain through every nerve of her target’s body.

Black flames blazed the meadow, attacking Bellatrix from nine different directions, ever changing and flashing with raw heat.

The Half-Blood Prince’s prized creation, the Sectumsempra flashed and swirled in the wind, many slashes of an invisible sword at the edges of a raging tempest of wild wind.

Fiendfyre, fire from the blackest, harshest pits of Hell. Fire which was alive. Fire which had a mind of it’s own, mutating and transforming into many beasts – Dragons, Sphinxes, Gryphons, Nundus – all reflecting Hermione’s anger, fire which she only managed to control with extreme concentration and iron will. Fire which threatened to engulf the world and the meadow in death and destruction, unleashing the demons of Hell.

And Bellatrix danced. That crazy, evil, vile witch, oh how she danced!

Evading the flames, dodging and blocking them with bursts of a shield as black as obsidian and pitch. Black as her soul.

:lThe sectumsempra’s died on her shield, only a few managing to graze her as she twisted and turned between their sharp, invisible edges

A few drops of blood, that was all that she lost, that was all. Even Lucius Malfoy had been unable to evade this spellchain. Bellatrix, she truly was a demon in Human form.

Only the Fiendfyre managed to keep her at bay, the fiery personification of Hermione’s anger making the witch dance to an ever-changing, incessant tune.

Only the fires of Hell could match the grace and madness in motion that was Bellatrix Lestrange. Only them.

Bellatrix’s obsidian shield of darkness began to mutate as if it had a life of its own, twisting and turning when the witch couldn’t, shielding her from mortal wounds, letting her escape with barely a few searing burns.

If ever there was a battle that was beautiful in its deadliness, if ever there was a duel which was grace and death personified, it was this. The battle that had the ability to change the course of the war.

The fight that could tip the tides in favour of either sides. And it was unwitnessed. Unwitnessed save for those burning in the fires of Hell, given life again for a few moments to rage their hate and anger on the world through the avenue of Fiendfyre.

Lestrange leaped over the flames attempting to lick at her feet, she missed those devious flames by mere inches, avoiding death with each small movement, every little turn.

And she laughed, oh how she laughed, a horrible, cackling sound enough to give the very fires of Hell pause, enough to make the crackling flame wither for a second at the insanity and genius of the witch they were attempting to devour.

Then the crucio maximus struck, avoiding her darting shield of blackness, striking her on torso dead centre.

It is said that the cruciatus spell is derived from another spell, one whose origins had been lost to the sands of time. The cruciatus was said to be a much weaker version of its original form, one which had been rediscovered in the second blood war against Voldemort. One which even the Dark Lord rarely used, since the agonizing pain of the crucio maximus was enough to kill most people in mere seconds.

And here Bellatrix was hit by the spell dead center, and she roared. Roared with pain and laughter. Roared in ecstatic agony. She had finally found a worthy opponent. An opponent she would delight in destroying. Oh how she laughed… The cackles haunting the forest of Dean forevermore…

And then the most feared witch of her generation, Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenant, the most ferocious of the Black sisters, she turned and attacked

“Az- Raeth, spiritus revilus, blood-bound daemon, shadow-mist, Noir Nox”

Bellatrix Lestrange’s famous spellchain. The one which she had only ever used thrice. The one she had developed under the tender guidance of her Master.

The first when she had faced the Marauders for the first time, then when she had faced and destroyed the Longbottoms, and finally when she had faced him. The Chosen One. Harry Potter. And now she would use it to crush the mudblood who had been a constant thorn in their plans. A worthy spellchain for a worthy opponent, she grudgingly admitted.

Fire. A harsher version of Fiendfyre, her own creation, made with the help of her Master. Fire which channelled the deaths of her previous victims, their fading energy and parts of their soul stored in her wand let loose in a massive torrent of silver, unearthly flames.

The flames which screamed, the final tortured cry of her victims caught in the moment of death by her wand and now unleashed as a blast of raw power and hate.

Oh the irony, her victims and their deaths were being channeled and used to aid her beat the White Witch of Hogwarts.

The next spell raised the very spirits of the forest. Those spirits and revenants who feed on despair, hate, and are fuelled only by a desire to do great harm to others. To turn mortals into spirits like them and share in their infinite misery. And sadly these spirits are found in abundance all over.

The next raised a blood bound demon of the nether chained to her body and will to attack Hermione.

Shadow mist drew forth the shadows in a roiling inferno of blackness, obscuring her from view. Its intent – to wear down on the will of the caster’s opponent, to make them give up and seek the solace of death.

And the last, perhaps the most dangerous of them all. Noir Nox. Based on the Avada Kedavra but a million times harsher.

Noir Nox. Black Death. A spell to obliterate you from existence. To wipe out your very soul from the fabric of time and send it spiralling in the void of Tartarus, where monsters and daemons of all shapes and forms resided in perpetual agony. Where your soul would be held forevermore and used by them as entertainment. A place where even the King of Hell feared to tread.

And for the first time in her life, Hermione gave up control of her mind and reason. She let her emotions and instincts control her. Let that primitive part of her brain take control which would spit in the face of death and face greater opponents with reckless abandon if it could guarantee survival. She remembered Harry’s words after his first true battle with the Dark Lord, when he had told them how he’d managed to come out unscathed. “I gave in to my emotions. I gave up on rational thought and let my instincts of survival take over. I let my hatred, my anger, my fear and my agony free, forging it into a savage need, a desire to survive and succeed, and then I attacked. I let my love for those who had fallen for me, and those who I would not let fall in my stead overcome and drive me forwards. And I attacked the Dark Lord with all that I had, giving into the most primitive part of my being, where thoughts of life and death were far away and beyond, where only utter annihilation of the enemy was necessary. Love and Hate, two emotions working in tandem, dancing a glorious dance of life and death, and I let loose at the Dark Lord. And I survived.”

And Hermione truly gave in to her emotions.

She drew her wand and ripped out her fastest spellchain. Not a really powerful one, but one that would do the business.

Reducto Totalum and Protego Aurus, 14 spells one behind the other all hurled within mere moments of each other.

The first made short work of the spirits attacking her, while the shield of Gold kept the blackened flames at bay as she jumped and moved to avoid the arms of the dead revenants.

The shadow mist hang heavy in the air, making her want to give up and give in to the sweetness of death and take her away from all the pain of loss she had suffered over the years.

But she was far beyond the shores of rationality and her instincts remained unaffected by the dread mist.

Incendio argus and invictus aurelius exorcised the demons and revenants, freeing the shades of Bellatrix’s victims and letting them fade into the peace of death.

But as she maneuvered and turned, the black stream of Noir Nox was almost upon her.

The stream of darkened shadow was almost upon her, and just as it was about to hit Hermione, she thought of a memory, one of her first memories in Hogwarts, and almost with a smile, she enchanted, “Wingardium Leviosa”

A stone, no bigger than Hermione’s fist rose into the air and shielded her from the incoming jet of blackness just as she dived out of the way, buying her a few precious seconds as the spell lost force and power on the stone, obliterating the dear rock from existence.

Bellatrix Lestrange looked at her, shocked that a first year spell had saved the mudblood from certain death. No. Not death. Obliteration.

Her silent spell which had transfigured the fallen logs into a couple of Griffins, Nundu and a rabbit in a monocle had finally managed to bring down the blood guardian demon of Lestrange’s.

“Intelligence trumps insanity, bitch. May the fires of vengeance and grief burn you forevermore” said Hermione, and as Bellatrix looked at her, confused at these words, two sharpened stakes descended from the woods above. Even in her surprised state, she managed to evade one, but the other got her in the back, puncturing her abdomen and tearing out of her stomach.

Blood and entrails made a mess on the floor, and the greatest of the Dark Lord’s supporters, the only one who had ever truly loved him with all her blackened heart, bled in the Forest of Dean, falling at the hands of a mudblood, one who she had despised with raw hatred.

Hermione walked towards her slowly, and removed a colt from her enchanted moleskin pouch. She cocked the gun and stated at the witch who had ruined many families and many more lives over the years in her eyes.

“You can’t do it, can you, Granger…” She hacked and coughed as she spoke, “Taking a life in cold blood, not up your stree-”

But another coughing fit stopped her words as blood fell from her mouth.

“Give my regards to the Devil, bitch” Hermione said as she raised her gun.

“You can’t, Granger…mudblood, you don’t have the-”

But the rest of her words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot. And as the bullet embedded her skull, Bellatrix Lestrange breathed her last in the Forest of Dean.

“Don’t worry, we’ll send your Master to you soon, Death Eater”, and with that, Hermione drew a piece of paper from her moleskin pouch, wrote a small note on it, turned it into a portkey and threw it on Bellatrix’s still bleeding body.

As the body behind her disappeared and she made her way to apparate to Hogwarts, she wondered what the headlines of the Daily Prophet would say tomorrow, after all, it wasn’t every day that a dead Death Eater – and a Lestrange at that – turned up in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic with a note to the Dark Lord that he was next.

Whatever happened next, one thing was certain, the War would only escalate, but she wasn’t afraid. After all, she had Hogwarts by her side, and she had her friends, who would always welcome her home.

 

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