A/N: Inside these prison walls. Set prior to OotP. Inspired and helped by Lamia. Slight Bellamort.
Submission for:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): Magical Objects And Their Uses Assignment #11 - Write about a character dwelling on an event that happened to them in the past.
Hogwarts Writing Club Competition: Round 6 - card
Missing Moments Competition: Bellatrix in Azkaban before the massive outbreak
Her shallow breath rattles within her chest, sounding in time with the loose shackles fastened around her thin wrists as she sways from one side to the other. She would have thought after spending such a long time within this forgotten place, she would have become completely numb to the cold lingering in her bones. She coughs, not even bothering to cover her chapped, peeling lips with her bony hands, for what's the point? There is no room for steadfast pureblood upbringing and manners here. Here, she is just as dark and grimy as the walls she is surrounded by.
Beyond her four stone walls, she can hear the desperate screams of those who still had enough mind to scream, those who still had some sort of hope. Her mouth forms into a jagged scar across her once beautiful face. Hope is for the weak and naive, a feeling she had learnt to throw away long ago.
"He's coming for you, just hold on," a voice says within her mind, its volume all but non-existent now. "Just hold-"
A scream drowns out the voice's lies, her scream, though she doesn't recognize it as such. All she wants is for the voice to be quiet, to leave her alone. He's not coming. He's gone. He's dead.
The truth courses like arsenic through her veins. He used to be the master of the cards, until that faithful day when he played his last card and lost the game. He's not coming for her and she will waste away in this place, just like everyone else.
Her eyes widen as she notices her breaths becoming thicker and whiter. She can see the chill rising up her small cell. They're coming. They're coming.
.*.
They are close, closer than she ever hoped he would let her be. His lips are at her ear, whispering what, she cannot remember. But then he slips away, disappearing in tendrils of wispy black smoke.
.*.
She's on a rampage, the world around her in fire at her hands as she hears about the fall. How could this happen? How could someone like him be defeated? She crumples to the ground, hiding her face in her hands, wishing the flames would engulf her as well. How could he leave her behind?
.*.
She watches as the woman goes mad, her husband already long gone and mumbling incoherently in a puddle of his own bodily fluids, the red overpowering all others. They are the ones who did this, they are the ones that took him away from her. They are the ones who will pay.
.*.
She sits straight-backed in her chair, staring down the Head of the DMLE as if she is here only because she wants to be. And it really is the only reason. She wants to be thrown away. She doesn't want to continue living on the outside without him. It'll be better this way. She will be safe, and he had always said that he would come for her. She didn't see how, but the hope was there. He would come for her.
.*.
The screams die out as they move away from her cell, her memories not as satisfying as they had hoped. They had taken away her better ones already.
She falls forward, her head hitting the stone floor with a loud thud. As the blackness begins to engulf her, the voice returns, but this time it's deeper, smoother, just like she remembered.
"I'll never leave your side," he whispers, his arms around her waist. Now, she remembers. This was just before he left.
"But you did," she says in response before she is gone.