A/N: A disclaimer: This is written for fun, not profit. I do not own anything except the plot.

She does not feel guilty.

She never does, and she cannot quite grasp the concept of guilt either. She feels sorry for the people who experience guilt. They are weak minded people, unable to own up to their deeds, trying to downplay their evil by claiming they regret their actions.

Well, not her. She accepts full responsibility for every murder she has committed, feels honored for ridding the world of yet another mudblood.

Or, in his case, a blood traitor.

Now, as she is sitting by the fireplace, drinking the finest elf wine she has, it is not the murder she is thinking about. No, her mind is far away.

Exactly three years away, to be precise. She is thinking of that night again.

To this day, she does not know why she did it.

It surely isn't about the sacred bond of family. She snorts to herself. Everyone who knows the Black family knows that there is nothing sacred about any of them.

And it can't exactly be attributed to love either. Not when she murdered him just yesterday.

So what was it that made her act in a way that still haunts her ?

Why did she do it ?

/ flashback /

Bella is bored, so she decides to mess with him a little.

"Hey, mutt !" She calls out, tapping her knuckles against the wall separating their cells. She has been calling him that, somewhat affectionately too, ever since she walked in on him when he was fifteen, practicing to become an animagus for God knows what, with his blood traitor pal, Potter. She never told on him.

She knows she shouldn't be talking to filth like him, but there isn't much else to do in Azkaban and freedom doesn't seem to be in the cards for them anytime soon.

"You remember the prank we pulled on Cissy's seventh birthday ?" She can't help but smile to herself: Those were the days. Sirius hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor yet and even at that age, they were both the most, or rather the only, rebellious Blacks. Even though they fought constantly, they could almost be considered friends. They had even shared their first kiss with each other. She was eight years old and he was six.

She half expects him to burst into laughter, or even make some snide remark. But no answer comes. She sits up a little straighter, listening closely.

Suddenly, she hears a soft panting. What is he doing in animagus form ? She wonders.

Then she feels a chill seeping through her bones, can feel the Dementors coming for their nightly patrol and realization sinks in: He is going to try and escape.

The first thing she feels is fury: How dare he attempt to break free when she has no choice but to rot in this cell all her life ?

The chill gets more prominent, she can hear their rattling breath now and knows they are getting closer.

Normally, probably because she is so mad and takes masochistic pleasure in even her worst memories, they just glide past her cell. But now, for some reason, she is focusing on a much earlier memory, one she does not want to mention, not even to herself, one that happened way back when she was still capable of emotion. The dementors can smell her despair, and just as she predicted, they linger in front of her cell, distracted.

Just long enough to enable a pitifully skinny black dog to slip past them.

/ end of flashback /

She shakes her head as if to expel the memory from her mind. How could she ?

Well, at least she compensated for that.

Barely twenty four hours ago, Bellatrix Lestrange née Black murdered her cousin, Sirius Black.

"You shouldn't have been in Gryffindor." She accuses, speaking out loud. "You shouldn't have been friends with Potter and that werewolf. You shouldn't have joined the Order." She pauses to take a large gulp of wine.

Staring into the flames, she speaks so softly that she can almost convince herself she didn't speak at all:

"You shouldn't have made me kill you, mutt."

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