Disclaimer: This – the ever-redundant story – applies for this chapter and the subsequent four. I am not JK Rowling. Hence, I am rightfully entitled to absolutely no portion of Harry Potter.
Author's Note I: The original intent was for this to be a one-shot, but I'm trying to – at least, momentarily – lay off the ungodly long one-shots. Revising the original one shot was also a contributing factor in my ultimate decision to make this a five-piece. Irrespective, each entry is to contain a song excerpt to highlight its overarching theme. Let's get this underway, then, shall we? Favorite, alert, review, whatever you please :)
"Sometimes I wonder do you
Even recognize the woman
That's standing in front of you…"
Estelle, "Thank You"
~ Principle Offense ~
[: Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black), 1995 :]
Hands caressed a far too prominent ribcage, her dull eyes staring back at her as she stood – frozen – before the floor length, oval crystallized mirror. Some tiny, foreign portion of her soul longed to cry out, beg for validation that its host was, indeed, animate.
Her hands clenched, jagged nails shredding the sensitive flesh of her palms. Perhaps crying wouldn't be so shameful, not now, after everything. But she cannot. The last of such emotion had been exhausted, one night ago, when she escaped prison – when He looked at her.
Before Azkaban, Bellatrix had not spent a single waking moment doubting herself, thinking herself less than the Dark Lord's favorite. He was a harsh master, yes, but punishment only strengthened her resolve, eradicating all tenderness his protégé might have concealed.
The prison bars had snapped, with a flick of the wand. His handsome scarlet eyes swept over them – Rodolphus, Rabastan and the others – and paused upon arrival of her frame.
Abhorrence tarnished his gracefully sculpted features.
Who was this emaciated creature with the sunken face, the acute angles, the appearance to suggest she was more than a bit touched in the head?
What had become of His Bella, the beautiful woman with the distinctive grey eyes, the hourglass figure, the potential for promise?
Promise.
She swore to be his finest servant.
She swore to remain unscathed, amidst all affairs.
I ought to leave you here. He snarled, thoroughly inspecting the pitiful figure within the damp, dark cell. This person, she is a shell of my Bella.
She lied.
"Narcissa." A man drawled the name, sleepily. His sat upright in the bed, blonde hair uncharacteristically disheveled as he blinked, slowly, gazing about the room. "Your sister seems to have forgotten the whereabouts of our guest room…and her clothes."
"Lucius, got back to sleep." His wife replied, lovingly, yet dismissively. Her slender hands pressed to his chest and his back as she lay him down.
Sapphire eyes filled to the brim with concern as she frowned at her skeletal sibling. "You're hallucinating, darling."
Fin.