Azkaban--the wizard prison--hell.
They say that Azkaban drives a person mad.
That it makes one forget who he is. Makes one lose all memories, good and bad. That it made a person into a shell of a being. Whole looking on the outside, but completely hollow on the inside.
She sat directly in the center of her cell. Her posture was great, for one who had suffered near insanity. Her back was straight as a board. And her eyes--those green eyes, which had once been, well, not really happy, but filled with a mischief that seemed to make her glow, were but hollow holes now.
Hollow.
That's all she was.
A former skeleton of herself.
Her body; her once beautiful body that any woman would kill for and that every man wanted to ravish, was destroyed.
She was nothing but bones. Sharp angles. One could sit down and count all of her ribs. Her hips, which had once been well shaped, were nothing but bones which stuck out at odd angles. If one were to run his finger along her spine, he would find that every vertebra stuck out.
But no one would ever run his finger down her spine.
She was in here for life.
Torturing had once been something she loved. One of the few things she loved.
It was something she could rely on, count on when all else failed and went miserably wrong. She could whip out her wand and send any man to his knees.
She couldn't be beaten. Never got caught.
But this time. She'd gotten sloppy, gotten caught. Maybe if she would have ran faster, not lost her head and remembered that she had taken on Aurors before.
Maybe if she wouldn't have been staying somewhere so obvious three days after the attack on the Longbottoms. If she wouldn't have been in her own house, sitting in her own living room.
If she would have planned more carefully, not gotten cocky, not thought that she was a god that could never be beaten.
If she wouldn't have, when the aurors had turned up, not have panicked and run upstairs, to where Rodolphus was sleeping; if she wouldn't have been worried about him, if she would have just left then and there, she wouldn't have been caught.
But she had.
Oh how she had torn up the many stairs in their manor to the bedroom.
Her heart had been beating wildly in her chest, breathing in gasps.
"Rodolphus. Get up. Rodolphus!" She ran over to the bed, shaking him awake.
He rolled over in her arms, and looked for all the world as if nothing was wrong.
"What Bella?" His arms had wrapped around her neck as he leaned in to kiss her, acting as if this was just a normal day.
He was completely oblivious.
"Get off." She flailed, pushing him away. "Aurors. Here." She could feel herself panicking. She knew her eyes were wide with fear.
He didn't bother saying anything, but jumped up, grabbing his wand off the bedside table.
She could hear them in the house.
"Search everywhere."
"Leave no room upturned!"
"Be on your guard."
They were on the stairs, coming for the bedroom.
Coming for her bedroom. Where she'd lain with her husband so many times, and it seemed she never would again.
Her eyes flicked to the open door and then to Rodolphus. And without thinking, she sprinted the length of the room, slamming the door shut, and sealing it with her wand.
She pointed her wand on herself.
Rodolphus ran over to her, holding her wand away from her.
"No. Don't take your own life."
She thrashed against him. "I don't want to be caught. I'm not going to Azkaban."
He didn't know what to do but to hold on to her, pinning her hands to her sides as she fought against him for what would be her last few minutes of freedom.
"Bella. No." He was so desperate.
"Let me apparate." She was pleading with him. Begging.
"And what? Go out like a coward?"
"I'm not going to Azkaban." She stomped on his foot.
"You can't apparate, Bellatrix. The house is apparating intolerant. You'll be torn to shreds."
She said nothing back to him, just continued to struggle. She refused to sit here and wait for them to come and take her.
She wasn't going down without a fight.
BAM!
The door had come crashing in. Both of them stopped. She stopped writhing against him and he stopped holding her captive.
His arms were sill around her, holding her in protective manner.
A group of Aurors stood in the doorway.
"We've found them!" The foremost called.
"In the bedroom." Said another.
She ripped away from her husband, pointing her wand on the group.
"Avada Kedavra." With a flash of green light the first one who had spoken fell. She wasn't going to be caged away like an animal.
She didn't get caught.
"Crucio." The second fell to the floor, screaming in pain.
The remaining of the group entered the room, closing in on her.
She aimed curse after curse at each one, slamming them into walls, killing a few, and torturing the rest.
Rodolphus did the same to the group that had just now stormed in through the doorway.
His curses were perfect, meant to cause pain and eventually kill.
She had busied herself with the half that her husband wasn't dealing with.
They'd backed her into a corner. Her heart was hammering in her rib cage. But she was still cold as ever on the outside.
"Eight against two? That's unfair…but it's your heads."
She bolted for it, running the length of the room, jumping over the bed and scrambling across the floor for her freedom. Her wand was positioned over her shoulder, firing at the ones who had been foolish enough to chase her. The room was alight with sparks from wands, spells flying everywhere.
They would get away. Her and Rodolphus would get away.
Suddenly, a curse caught her in the back and Bellatrix fell to the floor. Her face collided with the rough stone, blood pouring from her nose. Before she had got up, she heard another body hit the floor.
"Count again, Lestrange." Someone snarled.
Bellatrix turned around to find herself face to face with Remus Lupin.
"Your husband's fallen."
She franticly looked around to only spot Rodolphus' unconscious body on the floor.
"No." She stuttered. She couldn't believe it. She'd been caught.
"Yes."
They were closing in on her, backing her into a corner, all four wands pointed for her chest.
That was one of the few memories she had left.
The rest were fleeting and left her before she could ever grasp them.
A stolen kiss in a corridor. Lying with Rodolphus in her foyer, undressing him. A sharp pain in her wrist. Fighting. Screaming. Hating. Lusting. And, oddly enough, loving.
For she had loved the man.
When her hard face, so pointed and rigid, lined with lank black hair, which had once been gorgeous; looked out of her cell, to the one diagonally opposite of hers, she could see the man she had once loved.
But lust didn't come into her eyes as they used to.
She didn't feel the need to rush him, put her hands around him. Hold him and never let him go.
No. Her eyes remained hollow, as did her emotions.
Her days were filled with sitting in her cell.
Nights filled with laying in it.
Never asleep.
Never actually awake.
Just there.
Hollow.
Some say Azkaban makes you mad.
That it makes one forget who he is. Makes one lose all memories, good and bad. That it made a person into a shell of a being. Whole looking on the outside, but completely hollow on the inside.