|Coming For Me
Author: sick-atxxheart PM
He hasn't forgotten. He is coming for me.' Two phrases run through Bellatrix Lestrange's mind in the moments before she escapes for Azkaban. The one person she loves is coming, and she feels it, wants it, needs it. Drabbles.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Angst - Bellatrix L. & Voldemort - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,351 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 08-21-09 - Published: 07-09-08 - id: 4383215
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The cold wind swept through the Azkaban prison, its tendrils wrapping ruthlessly around the pale skin of those residing there. A woman shook, her fragile body writhing in pain from the cold; her eyes were open with undisguised fear and terror, but beneath them there was still something more- pure, unadulterated pain. This woman had no soul. Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange, but long ago, her name had been given away along with her soul- long ago she had ceased to be a person. She had faded away into the shadows, became 'his Bella'- which in itself was a joke; she was simply a veiled face, a blurred mirror of duty and fortitude resting behind lies.
The wind died slowly but surely, and Bella closed her eyes once more. There was nothing to see but the black of the cell wall, pure, unbreakable stone- the very thing that had held her captive in this living hell, for fourteen years now.
The years had brought new thinking to her mind, but no new light to her eyes. Perhaps it had been wrong- perhaps her family had been wrong- in their belief that those with different blood were lower, less worthy. Maybe torturing them for information she knew they didn't have wasn't exactly fair. Maybe condemning others simply because of the blood that ran in their veins wasn't exactly right. But ever since she was young, that power- the power that came along with running with the Dark- had called to her, and ever since her first taste of it she hadn't been able to let go. And since then, her care for the lives of other humans hadn't been able to overcome her love for him.
Voldemort. Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord. To Bella on the surface, he was Master. To Bella on the inside, he was love.
It wasn't that he was handsome, even though to her his white face, flat nose, and red, catlike eyes were the portrayal of insane beauty. It was the way he controlled himself- in essence, it was his mindthat she drew to and loved so deeply. No matter how insane, or how far his mind had fallen, the man was a genius- his tact and ability to foresee the consequences of an action had always amazed her. Every attack that had been waged against the Light had been carefully planned out, all aspects looked at from every angle as to leave no holes; but still, a mere child had defeated him on that fateful night. His genius had been ripped away from him, his body leaving in haste; the only thing that had kept him alive was his Horcruxes, which Bella, among very few others, had known about. He was alive but barely- Bella could still feel him in the air and feel his power coursing through the mark on her arm.
No longer could Bella fully grasp her mind- no longer could she hold in her racing thoughts enough to gain some semblance of control over her life. Long ago, perhaps when she had first been inducted into the Death Eaters, her sanity had slowly slipped away- and when she looked back on it now, after so many, so many, years in this hell of a prison- now, sometimes she thought she could see the path she had walked, and how it had led her to fall- how it had led her to fall so hard.
Her family was Pure-blood right down to the very definition of the name. Blood status was everything- and from the family tree on the wall Bella had learned her place, at a very young age. Even at the tender age of six she had known that she was part of the elite class- and in her brain the message you are more powerful, they are lesser than youhad been ingrained forevermore. As a child, her sisters- Andy and Cissy to her, then- had been her role models, but in her mind they too had always been weak. She was the one with the power, with the right, to take a place at the highest point of strength. She wasn't the smartest one, and she hadn't been the beautiful one, and she was not kind- but none of that mattered to her. She had strength.
Bella's strength, as she looked back on it now, had been her downfall.
Perhaps it had been better if she had just died during her initiation. That way, she would not be there to tell the tale of her misery.
That day had been worse than even the years in Azkaban, but Bella had been blinded. Not only literally- which in itself had been true, for pain can be condemning- but also symbolically. She had believed before, during, and after- even while she was nursing her battered, broken body back to health- that joining the Dark was an honor only bestowed to the strongest, the best. And in a way, she had been right. She had no problem with being cruel- it ran through her veins, she supposed- but when she fell hard, harder than ever before, for the Dark Lord himself, the downward spiral had steepened.
Her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange hadn't been unhappy- if anything, it had just been unfair. Love hadn't been part of the deal- but then again, when she looked back, she hadn't been searching for love. As with everything else, she had been looking for power. And with Rodolphus, she had achieved it. The high-powered pure-blood marriage had raised both of them up in the ranks of the Death Eaters.
But here in Azkaban, time was but a measure. It meant nothing, for time brought nothing new except new pain.
Where have the last fourteen years of my life gone?
Bella's legs barely held her weight, and the chains that wrapped around her wrists and ankles held her tight to the wall; but she leaned back and raised herself up, standing for what seemed to be the first time in years. Here in Azkaban, there was no time. There was only memories that ticked by the hours with screams and tears, sweat and blood-
But now, the tears seemed to have run dry. What was there for her to cry about? What more did she have to give? What other happy moment could she give to the Dementors for them to suck away?
She had given them her childhood, her wedding day, her Death Eater initiation; she had given them the times she had risen above others; she had given them every pleased word Voldemort had spoken to her- she had given them everything in those fourteen years, until she had nothing left but her own broken self. Bella was broken, for not only did they take her good memories away, but they tortured her with the bad ones- every Crucio that had been bestowed on her by her Lord, the times when she failed, her own insanity creeping in- and it was used against her, second after second, moment by moment, hour by hour.
Now, fourteen years were gone. Now, nothing was left. Now, only her screams kept her company, and her insanity that she felt every second- for she did feel it. She was only accompanied by darkness- but perhaps a hope. Bella didn't know what she was hoping for- redemption? freedom? love? All those things seemed hopeless. But perhaps, one day, she could serve her Master again.
Bella allowed herself to scream when the Dementors came again, simply because it felt good to scream.
Fourteen years can do that to a person.
This was originally it's own oneshot, called Fourteen Years. Please review. This was written for the Realization Challenge on HPFC.