This is just a little plot bunny that grew into a one-shot featuring my two favorite women, Bellatrix Lestrange and Nelly Lovett (Mrs. Lovett) from Sweeney Todd, both portrayed in film by the fabulous Helena Bonham Carter. Like it? Review it. Also check out my H/Hr story, Animus Vinculum. I also have a poem based on the short story Eric Hermanson's Soul by Willa Cather. You don't need to be familiar with the story to check that out. Okay, enough self-advertisement. Please read, review, and enjoy!
Bellatrix Goes To Hell
"We all deserve to die... even you Mrs. Lovett, even I."
-Sweeney Todd
She woke up with her face pressed against the cold stone floor. The melodious sound of screams filled the cold air, and she could see some familiar faces down the hall. And then she realized something. All the people she recognized had died. But that must mean… shit. She was dead. This must be hell. She never would have guessed it would be cold. Or this pleasant. There was no better sound than that of screams of pain and terror, and the walls reverberated with them. She walked down the corridor, noticing facing that looked familiar, and many others that weren't.
But then she stopped in her tracks. At first she thought she was looking in a mirror. The woman standing before her was completely identical to her. She even had her hair up in a style similar to Bellatrix's own. Could this woman be some ancestor of the noble house of Black? Unable to contain her curiosity, she approached the woman. "Would you happen to belong to the noble house of Black?". The woman looked at her with her sunken eyes.
"Deary me, no. My name's Nelly. Nelly Lovett."
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
"I must say though, we look identical."
"I was thinking the very same."
"How did you end up here?"
"I was a supporter of the Dark Lord. One of the most feared Death Eaters in the world. I killed and tortured some of the greatest wizards the world ever knew without even a scratch. Then," Bellatrix snarled, "I was offed by a menopausal red-haired housewife."
"Oh you poor dear! I was thrown in to a furnace by a man I thought I loved."
"At least that's a more noteworthy way to go. 'Ow'd that come about, anyhow?"
"I told 'im his wife was dead when she 'ad really just gone mental after trying to poison herself with arsenic. He was a barber, a proper artist with a knife, who 'ad been transported because a judge was lusting after 'is wife an' wanted 'im out of the picture. Came back fifteen years later, lookin' for 'er, so I told 'im she was dead an' he went on a revenge-driven rampage, openin' a barber shop above my meat pie emporium an' slitting men's throats when he finished shaving 'em. To get rid of the bodies I ground 'em up and baked 'em into meat pies."
"Brilliant!"
"An' people loved 'em too. But 'avin' a respectable business just wasn't enough for 'im. He was determined to kill the judge an' that's when everything fell apart. His wife was the local loon, not that he could tell since she was so dirty an' disgusting. Slit 'er throat. Then came down to the boiler room to 'elp me with the bodies an' he recognized her."
"I know the feeling of bein' in love with a revenge-crazed man. Never seems to end well."
"I know. Love is the worst sort of weakness."
"So what's staying in 'ell like anyway?"
"Not bad, borin' at times, but then again, so is life. It's fun to trade stories though. I must say, hell is probably a lot more interestin' than 'eaven."
"Yes," Bellatrix said, savoring the delicious sound of people screaming, "I could most certainly get used to this."