Chapter 4
She hated this place. Azkaban. Even the name felt cruel as it stuck in the back of your throat and slipped over your tongue through your lips..Azkaban. Since the last time she had been here there had been some slight improvements such as showers, toilets and regular meals. Not that she ate much these days. The biggest improvement, however, was the lack of dementors, how she hated those creatures. But it was still cold, the kind of cold that seeps through your skin and settles deep in your bones, and it was still damp. Some things just don't change, like the screams. She could still hear those through the thick walls and doors, the screams of the other prisoners, haunted and plagued by the nightmares of their past sins and misdeeds.
She hated the darkness of this place, even during the day it was dark. The tiny barred window let in very little light. In the dark, every one of her victims returned to her. They haunted her, reminded her of the things she had done and of who she was. She couldn't remember all of their faces, but she could hear their screams ringing in her ears and she could see their blood spilling to the floor. The darkness brought her father back to her, she could hear his violent voice screaming at her and see his eyes flash with anger as he hit her again and again and her mother standing there, allowing it. She felt every curse and hex the Dark Lord placed on her when he was disappointed or angry. He never really needed a reason to punish, he did it for the joy and the power it gave him.
Today was a particularly bad day. She hadn't eaten for two days and she hadn't slept for three. She had lashed out and hit the idiot that had attempted to touch her. He had grabbed her arm to pull her from her bed. Fool. Everyone knew not to touch her. Ever. That one must have been new. She had never seen him before, probably wouldn't again. His cheek would more than likely scar, her nails had dug in deep as she clawed his face. It's his own fault, he shouldn't have touched her. She didn't care that the bedding needed changing or that she needed to shower. She didn't want to move, she just wanted to be left alone. That day had been a good day. She was remembering her little sisters running around when they were children, laughing and playing together, the days at Hogwarts when things had been simple and easy, her friends and spending summers at her aunt's home, away from her father and mother. She wanted to stay there, inside those memories, they were the only thing keeping her relatively sane anymore. And then that idiot tried to drag them all away from her.
She had been placed in solitary confinement, it was an addition to this hell hole that no one welcomed. She hated it more than she hated her own cell, with its grey walls and single cot bed that the springs squealed each time she moved, the horrid metal toilet and tiny sink and stone floor. But this room was worse. It was black, constant darkness twenty-four hours a day. And she hated the dark.
She was tired and longed for her tiny window that let in the small amount of light. There was no bed in here, only a toilet and a sink. She wanted that shower now, the one that was offered to her three days ago, and she wanted a blanket. But most of all, she wanted the tiny window. She would never ask for any of it, though. That would mean apologising and that was something she never did. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, purest of pure-bloods. She would never utter those words to scum like them.
The only way of telling time was when the meals arrived. One of the wardens would unlock the flap at the bottom of the heavy iron door and shove a plate of food in, accompanied by a plastic cup of water. She knew it was morning by the disgusting watery porridge that had been slid into her cell. She never ate in the morning, even when she had been free. At lunch time it would be soup and bread or stew or burnt sausages and soggy vegetables. Dinner was usually some type of meat that had a gelatinous mass of fat coating the top with more bread and thick lumps of gravy.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could endure this room. She was beginning to think that they were going to leave her here for good this time. She had been in here before, of course she had. But never more than twelve hours, that was her longest stay, but it was now the morning of the fourth day in here. This was her longest stay in the darkness. She had heard of others that had been in here longer. Her husband had been in here a month for biting the ear off that boy. He couldn't stand it either. They never told her how he had managed it, to take his own life in a room that had no glass or cutlery. There wasn't even a nail in the wall he could have used to pierce a vein. They came to her cell and told her he was dead by suicide and that he would be buried on the plot at Lestrange Manor with the rest of his family, next to his brother. If they left her in here much longer she would find a way. They wouldn't bury her with her husband. No, she was to be placed at Black Manor with them, her parents.
Bellatrix had often spent day after day and night after night wishing that Weasley woman had killed her at the battle of Hogwarts. She wouldn't have to re-live every evil deed committed, she wouldn't be in the dark, she wouldn't be cold and she would never be tired. The stupid woman had hit her with a stunning spell, a strong one, a painful one. It had knocked her unconscious for hours. When she woke, she had been in the Hogwarts hospital wing, the memories and realization flooding her that her master was dead, her entire life had been lived for nought. All the hard work and devotion placed in the Dark Lord destroyed by a boy. She screamed for what seemed like hours, raw magic coursing through her, destroying everything within a few feet, even knocking people back before they managed to sedate her. She woke up two days later here in her cell, wishing for death.
Hours had passed since the mess of breakfast had been served. She heard loud, heavy foot steps moving down the corridor and the deep sound of a male voice answered by another deep voice. They stopped outside her door. She felt the magical wards drop and the heavy green door open slowly with a loud creak of the hinges. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hissed as her eyes were assaulted by the sudden flood of bright light.
"Bellatrix Lestrange?...Stand up," one of the deep voices ordered.
When she made no move to stand from her huddled place in the corner of the floor, the man took a step towards her. She pushed back against the wall and hissed again, but this time in warning.
"I said get up, you stupid bitch. There are people here to see you!" he said, taking another step towards her. Just as she was about to pounce on him, the other man placed a hand on his shoulder and asked him to wait outside the door.
"Mrs Lestrange, please will you stand up and come with me and my colleague? We have a lot to discuss with you," he said in a much calmer, quieter voice.
She recognised his voice, but couldn't place it. She had heard it before, during something important, but she just couldn't think what. She couldn't see his face, he was standing in the bright light. She stood up and took a step forward. The calmer man called to the first.
"Make sure she has a shower, fresh clothes and something to eat before you bring her to the office," he told the warden. "Oh, and Micheal, be very gentle with her, we need her calm," he added a bit more firmly as he was walking away.
After washing her hair and body with the block of green soap, she was given fresh clothes, a pair of loose black trousers and a white t-shirt. Muggle clothes, another reminder that all she and her Lord had worked for was lost. The t-shirt had the number ninety three printed on the back. They had given her the same prisoner ID as last time, as well as the same cell. It had been re-built and painted, but it was definitely the same one. She could feel it. It was almost like coming back to her hellish, twisted home every Christmas break. The man called Micheal had waited impatiently for her to finish and dress. Once fully clothed, he escorted her back to her regular cell. When inside, he thrust a bowl of what looked like stew and a lump of bread at her. Unable to eat the meaty mess, she nibbled at the bread until all that was left was the hard crust. She washed the taste and feel from her mouth with a glass of water. Twenty minutes later, Micheal walked back into her cell, stopping just inside the door, and gave her a twisted smirk.
"Looks like this could be my lucky day, Lestrange. It seems like the Ministry wants to put you to good use. They have started some new experiment or something with you low lives. And they want you," he said, pointing a finger at her, " to be the first to play. You might be lucky and be re-united with your husband soon," he said with a look of cruel pleasure in his eyes.
Oh, how she wanted to hurt him, to rip that smirk off his face, to pull his tongue out and make him eat it. But she refrained, she didn't want to return to the darkness. She wanted to know what these people wanted. She would never agree to being part of an experiment. The Dark Lord liked to experiment with the Muggles and half-bloods they caught. New hexes and curses, some more horrific than others, but never a good ending for the victim. No, she wouldn't be part of their games.
Realising he wasn't going to get a rise out of her, he gestured for her to move.
"Come on, best not keep the boss waiting," he said.
Outside her cell there were two more wardens with heavy chains in their hands. They were to be cuffed around her wrists and ankles. These were only ever used for prisoners going upstairs to the higher levels. She had only ever worn them once, when her sister Narcissisa had visited, when she came to say goodbye.
With the shackles in place, Micheal prodded her in the back with his wand, indicating that she should start walking. Taking small steps down the corridor, as that is all the short chain joining her ankles would allow, the two extra guards stopped at the service elevator and ushered her in. They would stay with her until she was back in her cell.
The lift was fast, faster than the ones at the Ministry. They moved at such a rapid pace, she felt her pathetic lunch rise in her stomach. Any longer and she was going to be sick. Finally they came to a stop and the doors opened to another corridor, but, instead of grey painted brick, these walls were a soft magnolia and the floor was covered with a pleasant mocha carpet. Along the walls there were magical photographs or passed head wardens, all frowning and shaking their heads. No prisoner had ever been allowed up here. If the head wished to speak to them, there was an office on one of the lower floors for such a purpose.
Walking to the end of the hall, they stopped outside a big heavy oak. One of the guards knocked and, without waiting for a reply, opened the door and entered. The other made a sweeping motion with his hand, gesturing for her to move forward into the office before him.
"Ah, Mrs Lestrange. Come in, sit down," said the head warden, pointing to a chair opposite him, as if he were greeting an old friend instead of a crazed Death Eater.
As she moved into the office towards the offered chair, she noticed a man sitting in the one next to hers. She recognised his messy black hair, she noticed his red robes. An Auror she thought.What kind of experiments were these people doing that would involve the department of do-gooders? she wondered. As she came around to sit down, she looked at the man's face and froze. It was him. The reason her Lord was gone, the reason she was back in this dump.
"Harry Potter," she said in a dangerously low voice. She made to lunge at him, but the guards were too fast. They had cast a body bind on her before she was able to move an inch. One foot in front of the other, arms outstretched, hands ready to wrap around Harry's neck and a snarl on her face, she was frozen to the spot, unable to reach him. She could feel the rage coursing through her, but all she could move were her eyes from side to side.
Harry stood up, not really surprised by her reaction to him. He put his hands up in a calming gesture.
"Mrs Lestrange, I know that I am the last person you wish to see. But if you give me half an hour to explain, you will see that I am here to help you." After a slight pause, he looked her in the eye and continued. "If you are able and willing to control your outbursts, you will find out that you have a chance to leave this place," he said, still looking her in the eye. After a moment's hesitation and with the guards still pointing their wands at her, he removed the bind that was holding her in place. She made no move towards him, but Harry thought he saw something flash across her face. Something he didn't recognise on her. Hope. But in an instant, it was gone.
"Why?" she snapped.
"If you take a seat, Mrs Lestrange, I will explain everything," Harry said, gesturing to the seat next to his.
She sat down with a thump. He took the opportunity to look her over and noticed she was extremely pale and so thin, almost to the point of looking ill. Her hair was dull and lifeless, lips cracked with dried blood on them from where they had cracked open. His eyes took in the rest of her frame. Her hands were bony and her nails were yellow and broken. He saw that when she sat down, she hunched into herself. This was no longer the proud Death Eater that haunted so many people's nightmares.
"Keep staring at me, boy, and you won't need those glasses anymore," she said scathingly. She hated being stared at, especially now. She knew she was a mess, she just didn't care. What was the point in trying to keep yourself looking marginally good if you were stuck in here for the rest of your life?
"Get on with whatever you have to say to me, Potter," she said.
"Yes, please, Mr Potter. I have a meeting I can not miss to get to soon," snapped the head warden. He thought this plan was completely ridiculous, he knew Lestrange would never agree to it. She was, after all, still a pure-blood that hated everything, especially Muggles, Mudbloods and blood traitors. She would never do what they are asking. And even if she agreed, she wouldn't last one week out of Azkaban.
"Yes, sorry, " Harry said, sitting down in his chair. Turning to face Bellatrix, he started to explain.
Some time later after he had finished talking, Harry sat, watching Bellatrix's reaction. She gave nothing away, her face was impassive. After a short silence he spoke.
"Do you have any questions, Mrs Lestrange?" he asked.
She slowly turned her head to look at him. "You want me to work for a Mudblood?" she said in a low angry voice.
"You will work alongside a Muggle-born, yes," he replied.
"Are you a complete idiot, Potter? Do you know who you are talking to? Do you remember who I am? Or have the last four years working in the ministry and having a bit of power gone to your head?" she asked mockingly.
"I hate their kind, they are thieves and filth. I spent years working with the Dark Lord trying to eradicate them and now you want me to work with them, to live among them," she said with a sarcastic laugh. "What makes you think I won't just kill them the second I get near them?" she finished with a twisted smirk.
"Because without Muggle-borns, Bellatrix, there would be no pure-bloods, your family lines would die out. It's because of a group of Muggle-borns that the likes of you weren't given to the Dementors straight after your capture. Like it or not, you owe your life to them. You are being given a chance to live free to have a relatively normal life. With a few restrictions, you have a second chance laid at your feet. Don't throw it away because of your pure-blood supremacy ideas. You have a chance to finally be able to do the things you wanted to do, without the pressure of your parents or Voldermort's brainwashing. Are you really willing to let it pass you by?" he said angrily. He was getting fed up of having to talk people on to this. Why can't they just see it's a great opportunity for all involved?
She was silent once more. Could she really live like that? Work with the filth she once tried to destroy? What would her parents think of her, the Dark Lord. She had a sudden thought.
"What restrictions?" she asked more calm that before.
"Well, to start with, you will be moved to a Ministry holding apartment, you will stay there for a few days while magical restrictions are placed on your core magic, you will have to sign three different contracts binding you to all terms and conditions of your release. Once all that has been completed and agreed to, you will be moved to your appointed guardian's home where you will live until they see fit to sign you off of the rehab programme," he explained.
"And my wand? Will I be getting that back?" she snapped. She didn't like the idea of being bound to the Ministry in any way.
"Once your guardian deems you stable enough to receive it, but again, there will be restrictions on it," he said.
Knowing the next question before she even opened her mouth, he continued to explain.
"The restrictions would make it impossible for you to perform any type of dark arts with your wand. No hexes, no jinxes and most of all no unforgivable," he said seriously.
"How long do I have to decide if I wish to partake in your little experiment?" she asked.
"Not long, I'm afraid. There's a lot to be getting on with at this stage, what with the Minister and the co..."
"How long, Potter?" she snapped, interrupting him.
"Until the end of today. About three and a half hours, actually," he replied.
"What kind of work will I be doing? I know you said Ministry, but I will not be some pimple-faced brat's assistant or work in the mail room," she said confidently.
"No, you will be working with your guardian. And your guardian has just been appointed the head of Rehab, so basically you will be helping to set up an entirely new department. Your feedback will be vital to the success of this department." He thought stroking that massive ego of hers could only help at this point. He was starting to see some of the old Bellatrix Lestrange coming out.
"And the contracts, will I be able to change or refuse any part of what's in them?" she asked.
"Depending on what it is you wish to change or refuse, we will have to see. If we can not agree on a suitable solution then I'm afraid it's back here to cell ninety three," he said. He wasn't about to give her too much rope, she would gladly hang him with it. She already needed reminding that she wasn't in charge, that's why he told her she would be returned to Azkaban if she made things difficult.
"Right...Fine, Potter. I will accompany you to the apartment, I'll look through your contracts. But if there is anything happening that I don't like, then I'll gladly come back here," she said, pointing a finger at him much the same way as McGonagall used to when he was a boy. Truthfully, she never wanted to return to this hell. She was willing to agree to almost anything at this point, just to keep her out of it.
"I really wouldn't expect anything less, Mrs Lestrange," he said with a small smile ghosting his lips.
"Right. Well, if you have nothing else, we should get moving. Micheal, can you please gather Mrs Lestrange's belongings and meet us at the apparition point in fifteen minutes? The carts are waiting there for us already. Luke, Steven, can you remove the shackles and administer the sedative?" he asked, standing up from his chair and walking past Bellatrix to the fireplace. He threw a pinch of Floo powder on it and placed a sealed letter on the flame. Instead of burning, the letter disappeared. He had sent the Minister of Magic Bellatrix's acceptance. And to let them know they would arrive in a few hours.
"Sedative? Potter, what the fuck?!" Bellatrix shouted at him.
"We are travelling by Thestral drawn carts, Mrs Lestrange. The journey is going to be long and dangerous, as most of the time we will be in the air. We can't afford one of your temper tantrums mid-flight," he said. "So it's either this way or not at all," he said simply.
Knowing there was no arguing at this point, Bellatrix nodded her head in defeat. "Fine, are we leaving then?" she snapped at him.
"As soon as we are done here," he said, handing the release forms over to the head warden to be signed.
"We will take you to the appartement where you can rest for tonight. Trust me, you will need it. The next week is going to be very busy for you," he said, taking the papers back and putting them in his robe's pocket.
Bellatrix nodded again as she stood up to allow the guards to remove her restraints. One handed her the potion that would make her sleep through the journey to her new life. Almost as soon as she swallowed the liquid, she collapsed fast asleep in Harry's arms.
Hope you enjoyed.