He had her. He had her shackled to the wall. Her glossy, black hair swung wildly as she attempted to free herself. Her cloak had twisted away from her body baring one milky shoulder. It was soft and flawless. For a second he contemplated touching her everywhere but refrained. He was the good guy after all. Her wrists were rubbing in the shackles as she twisted, trying to break free. He hoped it burned. He hoped it would leave red marks. Jewelry could be lost but scars, he knew, lasted forever.
For a long time she struggled. She twisted smoothly like she was made of honey. She was dancing at the end of her chains. Eventually she gave up, looked up and caught his eye. Instead of fear he saw satisfaction and delight etched on her face.
Her smile was bitter and twisted. Her eyes were nestled in black hollows. She had the appearance of a monster skulking in the shadows. He didn't mind. He loved her crazed, hunted look. She looked like a psychopath cornered. He supposed that's what she was. There was something about her hidden eyes and her fanged smile. She was danger and freedom and mystery. He had always been drawn to these things. One way or another, he had always been drawn to darkness.
For a long time they stared at each other. Neither one spoke. Finally Belatrix broke the silence.
"Dumbledore and my dear cousin would be very disappointed to see how much you're enjoying this." Harry smiled wickedly at her.
"Thanks to you and your friends that's no problem. Besides," he walked over and pointed his wand at Bellatrix face, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."