My birthday present for Whisp-dear~ (though it's a bit… deranged…)
Inspiration-Gotten-From/Written-For The "I'm about to die!" Competition and The Your Goal: 34 Stories, Our Gift: 106 Reviews Competition on the HPFC forum :) Also my audition piece for the Fanfiction Idol Competition!
I am Content… Delighted… Elated
By silver-nightstorm
Summary: Ah, my cousin. The same laugh he gave, just before I killed him. And now I… The last deranged moments of Bellatrix Lestrange.
XX
Look at me, My Lord! Look at how I'm making the filthy Mudblood and her blood-traitor allies dance! They're like puppets in front of me, My Lord. Mere pawns that I can torture until they'll lick Your bare feet clean; after all, that is what they are for, what they are worthy of. No, they are not worthy of that. They are traitors; they cannot touch Your skin.
Notice me, My Lord! See how I grin as I shoot another Unforgivable at the Mudblood? She how she yelps in fear at my – Your – prowess? See how she so fears the very sight of your most loyal servant. I have been loyal, My Lord. I will always be loyal to You. But I, unlike the scum of the Malfoy house that my dearest sister has come to associate herself with, will not betray You, will not demand favors of You. I serve You because You are worthy, and You command it, My Lord. I need not any other reason, and I don't ask another. Simply allow me to be in Your presence.
I can feel Your powerful magic by my side, as we fight together. You trust me so that You will allow me to fight by Your very side! The thought gladdens me so, and it strengthens the force of my spells as I shoot them at the three puny girls (flies! The lot!) trying desperately to stand against me. They stand no chance, not when I am by Your side, not while You continue to have faith in me. I can see in Your face that You trust me irrevocably, that You know to rely on me, and me only.
With a vicious slice, I send a Sectumsempra towards the blonde ditz. She gasps in surprise as a chuck of her hair is hacked off while I wail in anger that I missed. I am sorry, My Lord! Please forgive me! I swear to you, I will not miss again!
You turn to face me, and I don't see disapproval in Your serpentine eyes. The thought makes me happy – You are not upset with me. I have pleased You, despite my humanity, despite my mortality, despite my imperfections. I have managed to please You – the most perfect being in the world.
Yet, I feel saddened at the same time. I do not understand, My Lord! Why do I feel sad when I have your approval? Could I possibly desire… more—NO! I DO NOT DESIRE MORE. I AM CONTENT… DELIGHTED… ELATED, WITH WHAT MY LORD HAS OFFERED ME! I DO NOT NEED ANYTHING MORE FROM YOU MY LORDdonotkillme! I WOULD NEVER DARE TO HOPE THAT YOU WOULD EVER DEIGN TO LOOK UPON ME THAT WAY! FORGIVE ME FOR MY INSOLENCE!
You do not react. You simply continue to duel McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley (Blood-traitors! Muggle lovers! The damned lot of them!) with your effortless grace and power. You command the room, My Lord. Do You see how I beg for forgiveness (of course you do! You know all!)? Do You see how much I desire to please You, regardless of my deepest, nonexistent, desires? I swear to You, My Lord, I am Yours to command forever.
I smirk and send a Killing Curse at Potter's red-headed whore, but it misses her – barely. Forgive me once more, My Lord! None of my curses seem to be hitting them! But, not to worry; I will kill them. They will be destroyed, because You demanded it.
A cry draws my attention away from the three flies I duel – it is the fat Weasley matron, the pureblood pig. She yells at me, calls me a bitch. All very amusing, I believe. She throws her cloak off and runs toward me; I begin to laugh hysterically. I know You do not like it when I laugh like that, but I cannot help it. She looks so utterly foolish. If only she could see herself – her pasty pale skin red with anger coupled with her bright hair giving her the appearance of a frumpled, running tomato, the fat in her pudgy arms roiling with every step she takes. With vengeance on her face – I laugh some more – she pushes the three out of her way and draws her wand.
She actually has the audacity to think she can fight me! Me! The Dark Lord's Chosen! And her. Some bloody privileged blood-traitor dog who raised her children with blithering lies! She truly is out of her mind! To think she stands a chance against me, My Lord! I. Will. Kill. Her. For You.
She almost catches me off guard. She had the insolence to attack me while I promised You something, My Lord. But I will end her, for that offence and all of her countless other offences! I will kill her!
My previously jovial grin falls off of my face as I snarl at the red-headed dog, twirling and slashing my wand at her. The floor becomes hot and cracked as we fight, the Weasley bitch putting surprising power behind her attacks. Students run forward to assist her and she waves them back. Foolish. She needs all the help she can get, and more, if she desires to beat me (IMPOSSIBLE!).
I laugh hysterically, desiring to taunt her more (Stupid blood-traitor, should be grateful I even take time to insult her!). "What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" I snarl, loving the expression of rage intensify on her face, "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"
I dimly notice that we have an audience, My Lord. The only people I see clearly right now – no, Weasley is not a person – the only person I see clearly now is You. The animal in front of me screams a retort as she slashes her wand murderously at me. I begin to laugh, and exhilarated laugh of victory. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, the laugh seems hauntingly familiar.
Ah, my cousin. The same laugh he gave, just before I killed him. And now I…
I stop. I freeze. The damned Weasley's curse hits me on my breast, right over my heart. I can not move!
My Lord! My Lord? Help me, My Lord! I don't know what to do! My Lord, SAVE ME! SAVE ME! SHE… SHE HAS DONE SOMETHING, I CANNOT MOVE! IT'S A TRICK, A TRICK I SAY! JUST, JUST… SIMP—FIX IT MY LORD! FIX IT! FIX IT! FIXITFIXITFIXIT!
…
Why are you screaming? I see You, across the hall. Your face… You look so sad… Why do You scream, My Lord? There is nothing to scream about here. We won. Don't You see? We have won the battle. Weasley is dead before me. We have won. Don't screa—oh!
What is this feeling? I feel cold. So unbearably cold. My Lord, I … think I've been cursed. You're a bit busy now, screaming and such, so don't worry Yourself just yet. Kill bloody Potter, and then You can fix me up. We will rule the world, You and I. Or simply You, if you desire. I live to serve You.
I… Am I dying, My Lord? The way You look at me… I think I am. But I do not worry. I know You will defeat the dirty traitors that continue to fight You (Futile! Bloody fools!). I must be dying now. But not to worry. You will live forever. I will return to You, My Lord. I will always remain at Your side. I am content, delighted, elated with the praise You shower me in, and I will come back. I will be at your side, My Lord. Always.
You scream for me. Perhaps… perhaps You—I MUST NOT PRESUME THINGS!—But… maybe… just maybe… perhaps You… perhaps You care for me as well?
XX
That was very fun to write! Delving into the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange – it's a very scary place there. Please review~