A/N: It isn't normal for me to write Bellatrix, but this just popped into my head the other day and I decided to go with it. Plus one of my best friends' favorite characters is Bellatrix, so this is sort of for her too.
Disclaimer: This all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. Sadly.
She sat outside the courtroom, her head held high, waiting to be summoned inside. She drummed her fingers on the creaking wooden bench, impatient. Finally, a door to her right opened into a high-ceilinged chamber. Four dementors came up to flank her and her companions, escorting them into the courtroom. A darkness flashed through her mind as they surrounded her, but her mind had been immersed in darkness for so long that it didn't matter. This darkness, which many would call "terrifying," she found… friendly. Loving, almost. It caressed her mind, her very heart and soul, squeezing into every nook and cranny, like a gas. She could feel it spreading to her fingers, her toes, the ends of her hair… and she smiled.
She heard with satisfaction the even, rhythmic click-click-click of her shoes as she walked calmly toward the chained chair. She cast a glance at the Wizengamot, many of whom were looking as though they had never seen anything like her before. What, did they expect her to stumble in, knock-kneed and shivering, as though she were afraid of the dementors? As though the court could do her any actual harm?
When she reached the chair, she sat down with poise and purpose. On either side of her, Rodolphus and Rastaban sat expressionless, emotionless. They looked as though they were simply numb to the whole proceedings. Two seats away, Crouch Jr. was trembling. He was pale, nearly in tears, and looked as though he might vomit. Pathetic. She wondered why they had even taken him along. He had done his share of torturing, yes, but even Mudbloods could be confident when they were not yet caught. To be reduced to a pile of pleading, sobbing regret just because you were caught was, well… pathetic.
She, on the other hand, was awake, alert. The dementors reminded her, as they always did, of her Master, which emboldened her and increased her pride. She was there for a reason.
Crouch Sr., the Ministry pawn who was presiding over the trial, began to speak. "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous—" Heinous? Was that the only word he could come up with to describe it? She could conjure up a hundred other adjectives: thrilling, invigorating, satisfying, enticing, delightful, long-awaited, delicious, sweet…
But Crouch Jr. had to interrupt, weak, sniveling thing that he was. "Father. Father... please..." Oh, yes, that's right. Grovel now, after we all know you did it. Grovel now and beg to your father, don't accept your proper place in Azkaban with honor, like the rest of us. When the Dark Lord rises again, we will be rewarded, but you—you will be disgraced for worming your way out of your proper punishment… She spat in disgust.
"—that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court." Crouch Sr., she saw, was determined to ignore his son. Good. He'll get what's coming. He'll get what's coming to all of us, what he should accept with honor. Is he so ignorant that he does not know it is a privilege to endure Azkaban for the Dark Lord?
"We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror—Frank Longbottom—and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You are further accused of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information." She ignored Crouch Jr.'s renewed pleas for mercy and savored the memory of that day…
"Where is the Dark Lord?"
She hadn't even given him a chance to answer before she cried, "Crucio!" She felt the raw power rush forth from her wand and into her victim in that oh-so-satisfying way… She began to laugh, a crazed, possessed cackle of glee. She would not stop until they were brought to the Ministry.
His screams echoed through the house, soon mingling with those of his wife. She basked in the sound, feeling in her element for the first time in a very long time. It mattered not whether they truly knew the Dark Lord's whereabouts. In fact, she hoped they didn't. Then there would be one more source out of which to drag information. This was bliss, truly, this was ecstasy…
She and her companions continued until she knew their victims were insane. How many had it been—twenty? Thirty? She had lost count. She could have gone on—she longed to go on—until they were dead. But better to leave them as a living, breathing example of what would happen to those who still dared to oppose the Dark Lord's followers.
"You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence—" Lives of violence, Crouch? Yes, they were violent, but violence is needed to purify the wizard race! Surely as a pureblood even a scumbag Ministry official like you wants to see the wizards claim their proper place in the world, lord over the Muggles and Mudbloods and swine…
"—you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury—" You do not need to ask the jury anything and you know it. I am guilty—we are all guilty—and proud to be so! I am proud to go to Azkaban in service of the Dark Lord!
And Crouch's brat was screaming again while his mother looked on, sobbing. "Mother! Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!" She wished the dementors would swoop down upon him right now. He deserved it if he would betray the Dark Lord, if he would go crawling back to the Ministry and his equally weak father instead of facing his punishment…
"I now ask the jury," shouted the father, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!" But she—and everyone else in the courtroom—already knew what the verdict would be.
"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!" Oh, stop your whining, you worthless little…
The dementors returned as Crouch Jr. continued to plead with his mother. Bellatrix ignored him; she had better things on her mind. This was it—her one last chance to proclaim her views to the world before Azkaban opened its welcoming arms to her. She addressed Crouch Sr. with words that she truly believed, with all that was left of her dark, twisted heart.
"The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"
The Wizengamot was in an uproar and the coward was still screaming as she swept out of the courtroom, flanked as before by the dementors, and walked willingly into fourteen years—and a lifetime—of insanity.
A/N: Reviews? Please? You will make my day! :)