Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: My take on the last encounter of Bellatrix and Nymphadora. Responses are great, thanks!
'Leave her to me, Antonin.' Bellatrix's cold voice breaks through the mass of death and the cries of hastily cast spells as she calls to her fellow death eater. The stench of blood would choke a normal person, the sights of the bodies and the misery would blind them with tears. Antonin simply nods at her and whisks away to find more enemies.
She looks at the girl in front of her. Today, her hair is short and turquoise, a beacon amidst the bleak darkness. She looks so much like Andromeda. Her traitor of a sister. She can't see fear in her nieces eyes. She'd be tempted to be proud of that, if it wasn't for the single tear running down her cheek. For her fallen husband, no doubt. Weakness.
'Nymphadora, ickle Nymphie. Crying for Wolfie are we?' she cackles, an evil grin bracing her thin lips. Nymphadora squares up to her aunt, barely two meters away from her. She knows what is coming.
"Won't you feel anything, Auntie Bellatrix, when you kill me? Won't you feel remorse when you kill your youngest sister's only child? Won't you feel your soul get torn a little more when you say those little words?' Nymphadora says, not tauntingly, she doesn't care for that anymore. She speaks purposefully. Pitifully.
'Foolishness!' she cries, a slight, bitter laugh breaking through in her voice. 'You think I felt anything when I killed your mud blood father? No! And I will feel nothing but pride when I send you the same way as darling Daddy!'
Nymphadora laughs. Not a fake laugh, she has nothing to be afraid of or hide anymore. It's a real laugh. 'You were a child, once, Aunt,' she says, changing her face to that of a young Bellatrix. It is the face of a woman who was not ruined by dark magic. It is the face of a woman who couldn't have imagined what pain she would cause. It is a face Nymphadora has only ever seen in photographs. She see's her Aunts eyes narrow when she realises who's face she is looking into. 'Don't you remember, Aunt, what it was like to feel?'
Yes, a quiet, soft voice breaks through inside her head, yes, I do remember. And she does. Bellatrix remembers playing with Cissy and Dromeda. She remembers the pain and the sorrow she experienced when she first used an unforgivable. She even remembers crying. She can't remember how the remorse felt. She no longer cares. Even more prominent now, she remembers the pride she feels when her Dark Lord praises her good work. She remembers the power and the anticipation and the thrill of killing.
Nymphadora has succeeded in nothing by trying to persuade her Aunt to try for some remorse. She has succeeded in nothing, except fuelling her anger. She knows her death is imminent. She doesn't even try to fight it. At least she will have died doing what was right.
Bellatrix raises her wand, fury running deep in her eyes. In a single breath, she screams 'Avada Kedavra!' She stalks away immediately, not even bothering to watch as her estranged niece falls to the ground, a smile on her face. Bellatrix doesn't care. It doesn't matter to her anymore.