"You've got to mean them, Potter!" A high, inhuman shriek of laughter ripped from Bellatrix's lips and she tottered to her feet, a wild gleam in her dark eyes. "You've got to mean to torture, to enjoy their pain!"
The familiar tug of failure in Harry's gut, however, did not appear; only rage, horrible rage—it spread like a curse through him, and he felt, not for the first time that night, a murderous glee as he ripped out his wand and pointed it Lestrange.
"Ooooh, trying again, wee ickle Pottykins?" Bellatrix giggled, and threw her wand down. "Come on, Potty! Make Aunty Bella proud! Avenge your ickle blood traitor mutt!"
Harry could not quite work out what happened next. The taunt on Sirius seemed to unleash in him an anger that was maddening; it blinded him with such ferocity he could barely think. How he managed to utter the curse he did not know, but after a flickering moment of flashing lights Bellatrix's screams were echoing up and down the chamber, with anguish Harry had only begun to know. This, however, did not register with him, for at the moment he was oblivious, oblivious of everything, feeding off her pain, fueled by her endless screams, urged on by Ginny's shriek of terror behind him as she took in the horrific scene.
"Stop, Harry, stop, you're killing her—"
This plead came from Neville, who had of course known the pain of the Cruciatus just a little more than a quarter of an hour ago. But Harry could not stop, he needed the energy, the reassurance that Sirius' killer was suffering, was being repaid for what she had done.
"Crucio!" Suddenly it was Harry himself who was on the ground, writhing, twisting in agony—
"Now, now, Potter, I cannot have you bring more madness upon my lieutenant, can I? She is already so charming as is." Voldemort stood over Harry now, twitching the yew wand between his fingers. Harry growled and tried to sit up, but was forced down again by a quick restraining spell. Voldemort laughed softly, red eyes emotionless as a reptile's.
"I don't care." Harry felt cold, hollow; it was as if his insides had been ripped out, and left an empty shell. "I don't care anymore."
"Do you now, Potter?" As suddenly as it came, the restraining spell was released. He was lifted up to face a drunken Bellatrix, who was little more sober than before she was cursed.
"Torture her, then," Voldemort said softly. "Torture her, kill her, do whatever you want.
"And I am to watch."
Harry felt a giddy sensation when he looked over at Bellatrix, as if reliving a particularly happy time. Picked up his wand from the floor, he pointed it at her with a grotesque grin on his face.
"Crucio."