Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, nor do I own any characters in this story. I wrote this to amuse myself and not for profit. Please don't sue me!

I relish the smell of battle. Whenever I am unopposed, I take a deep breath and inhale the bitter scent of freshly-scorched stone, the metallic whiff of spilled blood, and the terrified sweat rolling down bodies of helpless heathens. All these aromas make my blood warm and my heartbeat quicken. And as I linger at a turn in a crumbling passageway, I raise my face to the heavens, now visible through the non-existent ceiling, and laugh.

I hear the echo and resounding footsteps of retreating children. I whip around, a smile gracing my lips as I search for the fearful rats. Two huddle together in the growing shadows, their whimpers unhidden by the lack of light.

Now is the perfect chance to toy with them. I stand my ground at my end of the hall, arms only slightly away from my sides, and stare them down. They want to move, wish so hard that they could melt into the blackness. I give them the chance, never taking a step in their direction, yet their wide eyes do not stray from my dark silhouette.

Time to step it up. I chuckle and, with a "Ruff!", stomp my right foot toward them. Their imminent fear as they run farther down the hall and into the shadows causes me to laugh again. How I adore being in control.

Enough with this playing, I need to do some real work. I stroll back through the passageway and lift my arms to the sky. When I hear an explosion or scream, I bob my head and my arms dance, conducting their own orchestra of victory. I do not notice the rubble and bodies beneath my boots because we are so close to attaining the permanent victory over these children. My arms continue their dance and my smile widens, showing my toothy grin.

As I enter the new room, I see Dolohov deal a fatal blow to the werewolf. He falls stiffly to the ground, eyes wide with shock and I blink calmly at the lifeless body. He was a waste of space anyway.

And then…I hear that voice and my smile drops from my pale face. The sickening blood-traitor has decided to make an appearance. What a foolish move. She doesn't know how dearly her actions have cost me in his eyes.

"Remus!" A messy head of fading purple hair streaks past my vision and throws itself upon the dead man. "Oh, God, no!" Dolohov moves to exterminate the vermin, but I jerk my head toward him, motioning for him to leave the room.

This one's all mine.

"Expelliarmus!" The woman's wand flies out of her hand and far out of reach. She slowly looks to me as I continue strolling, my wand pointed directly at her chest. In that moment she reminds me so much of the little animals I found in the garden when I was a child. My sisters were always more popular than me, more attractive. I was the strange Black daughter.

I had no respect from the family.

Nymphadora does not look away from me, but her eyes quiver just slightly. "Is the ickle kitten a scaredy cat now?" I taunt. "Is her big bad wolf unable to protect her?"

I only earned respect through the fear I caused those animals. I became who I am in this moment because I learned at an early age that power is the only way to survive in this cruel world.

"Crucio!" She falls onto Lupin's body, convulsing in obvious pain. Her limbs twist and bend in unnatural angles. Her voice is muted by her pain, although her mouth tears open and her chest contracts with the inability to let out her emotions through one, tiny scream.

I would never kill the animals, oh no. That would defeat the entire purpose of earning their respect through their fear. To see that spark of realization in their primitive eyes an instant before scurrying away always caused a tingle to rush up my spine. And then I would smile and skip back home.

But this night would be different. I will not suffer a pathetic excuse for a witch to live. This is the night that changes the world. This is the night that places my Lord on his rightful throne of ultimate power.

I blink calmly again and raise my wand, her body arching with its direction and then throw my arm down, causing her back to crack into the floor. I release the curse for a moment, allowing her to finally moan in bitter agony.

"Please -" Gasp. "- Have mercy." Her pain-twisted face looks to me and I see her eyes begin to glaze over.

I take a couple steps closer to the sad sight on the ground. "Auntie Bella?" I whisper. "Handing out mercy?" I opt to give her a swift kick to the ribs. "That is the least of your wishes, dear."

I raise my wand again, and the scenario plays out before me once more. Amid the wretched cries escaping Nymphadora's torn body, I hear a tune in the back of my head. It vaguely resembles something Narcissa pecked out on the piano when we were younger, a haunting melody that, despite the gruesome visage in front of me, still makes me dance again. I continue conducting the deathly orchestra with my wand arm, chuckling at the odd transformations that Nymphadora's body is going through. Twisting and breaking and creaking and bleeding and bouncing and shrieking and dying!

Yes! The goal is nearly reached. My eyes glaze over with a green film, I see only helpless prey within my grasping claws. My breathing turns to panting and I imagine myself becoming a sleek panther, toying with a petrified squirrel, watching her convulse. This fantasy brings more amusement to my face and I begin to laugh while dropping the curse again. Her body resumes its still pose on the ground.

She rasps for oxygen, her chest falling up and down at an irregular rate. I make my way between the fallen man and my pathetic niece and sit on the dead werewolf's chest, hard and swollen with death. I watch as the woman in front of me struggles to keep her eyes open, to keep her eyes on me. But I am surprised that she does not try to crawl her way out of the room. Instead, she lashes out with an arm and grips my leg with all the strength she still somehow possesses.

I snarl and point my wand at her filthy hand, yelling, "Confringo!" Her hand immediately shoots away from my shin and she cradles it against her chest, whimpering a bit as she does. I notice that her hair has gone completely brown. Her natural color, I suppose.

Shame. She's still an ugly scar on the Black Tree.

"How many more…must die before…you're satisfied?" she whispers.

I lean toward her and, with all sincerity, answer, "As many as it takes to rid this world of disease." She closes her eyes and rolls onto her back, apparent exhaustion taking control of her mind, as well as her body. But instead of a defeated look on her features, I see submission, and – can that be? – acceptance.

Either way, I'll win this fight.

"However, I could settle for at least two more deaths." I stand up and she opens her eyes one more time.

With great effort, Nymphadora swallows. "You'll receive no rest in Hell, Bellatrix."

I smirk. "It's a good thing I'm not tired, then, isn't it?" And I brandish my wand, and I utter one great Curse, and I watch as life leaves the young woman lying on the ground.

And I hear the piano music more clearly in my ears as I begin to skip out of the room and toward my Lord's presence.