This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Word Count: 1318
Title: Deal With The Devil
Note: Potential to turn this into a MC- please message me or review if interested.
Warnings: Death, mental illness, abuse
Golden Snitch
[Name] Crissie
[School] Uagadou
[House] Ogyinae
Ollivanders: Silver lime: Write about a deceitful person.
Care of Magical Creatures: Dementor- write about someone evil
Hogwarts
Yearly:
Prompt 507 [Setting] Azkaban
Word 124 [Word] Malicious
Bellatrix Lestrange couldn't cope after the final death of The Dark Lord. She got tossed back into her old cell in Azkaban, stuck believing that he would one day return again and free her from her prison. She never stopped obeying his wishes.
"Bellatrix, hey, Bellatrix," she heard her own voice echo through her empty cell. When she looked up, she saw herself- a reflection, a copy of her.
"You're not real," she muttered, holding her hands over her ears and humming.
"Oh come on, Bellatrix, talk to me," the apparition said, tapping her shoulder.
"You know what I think?" the copy asked.
"What?" Bellatrix said, annoyed at her peace being disturbed.
"You're getting old Bellatrix, nobody lives forever," it chuckled.
"Oh shut up, leave Bella alone," her voice said again - she looked up, it was a younger Bellatrix when she was at school when she was a young witch with delusions of grandeur, innocent, as innocent as she had ever been.
"You know I'm right baby," the older copy said, winking at the younger one. The real Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She wished they would leave, but they showed up every day now at this time.
"Dying is better than being in here forever," the younger one argued.
"Oh shut up, you're not even me anymore," she told the younger clone.
"You tell her Bellatrix," the older clone agreed. "Death is for the weak, and we aren't weak."
"Please tell me the twelve-year-old one is sleeping," Bellatrix said.
"I don't have a bedtime, I'm a big girl," the youngest clone said, popping up on cue.
"Great, that's the most annoying one," she said to herself.
"Apparently bedtimes are for living beings, who would have guessed?" The older one said sarcastically with a devilish grin. The youngest one took it upon herself to start skipping around the prison cell, singing Ring a Ring a Rosies at the top of her voice.
"Stop it, you'll bother the guards," the middle one said hissing.
"Who cares?" the older one replied. "They removed the Dementors, and regular guards are hopeless."
"Hidings hurt," the youngest said, suddenly quiet with the threat of a beating. Fear ran through her like a chill.
The real Bellatrix laughed. "I used to be such a wimp," she said suddenly. The youngest started crying.
"Oh come on Bella, did you have to do that?" The middle one scolded, trying to console the crying child.
"I can taste my hatred for you," she spoke, aiming the comment at them collectively. Her comment was intended to be malicious, but the tone went unnoticed. Either that or her clones didn't care.
"We love you too, Bella," the middle one said sarcastically. "We are your only friends, you know."
"I don't need friends, and I need my Lord," she muttered, shaking her head. She was trying to make them disappear but failed as she did every day. They chose when they showed up, and usually, it was as dusk fell.
"He is dead, Bellatrix," the oldest said. "You should accept that nobody is immoral."
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "He isn't dead, and I won't rot in a cell."
"Ewww," the youngest chirped in. "But we like the optimism, don't we ladies?"
"You're fooling yourself," the middle one said in a sing-song voice.
"Oh, shut up, all of you!" she yelled. The cells around her were empty, and the guards had moved her since she tended to wake up the other inmates. That didn't mean that the guard on duty didn't get a fright at suddenly hearing the inmate yelling to herself. After a couple of shifts working in section D, you get used to her deranged behaviour.
It was past eleven when the noise from the cell died down, Bellatrix had exhausted herself yelling at the apparitions in her cell, and fell asleep on the floor. Since the youngest copy claimed she would scream if she didn't get the bed that night.
The morning found Bellatrix waking up, sore in every muscle she could imagine, and few she couldn't. She swore to herself, hearing a voice saying: "Food time." She had her food pushed through a slot in the cell, usually when she was asleep. On occasion, she had gone without food because she tried to bite the guard. She wanted to keep fighting, never giving up until the end.
She could hardly make out what she was eating, but savoured it anyway, and it wasn't like they were fed all that often. She imagined it was to keep them submissive and prevent riots. One can't rebel if one doesn't have the strength. Her sleep was also restless; when they appeared, it was usually a sign she was in for a rough night.
They gave her a plastic spoon which she used trying to scrape against the concrete wall, marking the next day she was imprisoned. She had covered an entire wall in markings, and had moved on to the second one. She couldn't lose track of time, she couldn't lose herself. She could no longer count them, the days had all converged and time had no meaning anymore. She continued to do it, every day, without fail.
It was probably around 14:00, judging by the sun's position in the sky when she heard a popping noise behind her. "Oh no, you again," she answered without turning around.
"Bellatrix Lestrange," a man's voice spoke. She turned around suddenly, and a man surrounded in ember flames stood in her cell. "I trust I require no introduction." He continued.
"My apologies, I am unfamiliar with your face," she replied. She bowed dramatically to the man in her cell.
The man laughed at this and said: "My face isn't what defines me; it's my abilities."
"I see," she responded sceptically. Was the man just another figment of her imagination?
"I'm real, your Lord Voldemort speaks highly of you," he replied. "Call me Lucifer," he said.
"You're the Devil?" she asked curiously.
"Indeed, and it is almost time for you to join me," he said to her. The ember flames still licking at his shoes.
"No, I'm not dying; this can't be," she said dramatically. She then saw one of the apparitions appear behind Lucifer, and it was the oldest one.
"Make a deal," she said, then pointed to her arm as if making a motion of the time ticking by until she met her demise.
"Not yet," Lucifer said. "But the time is arriving." He announced formally.
"I can be useful to you if you spare my life," Bellatrix said.
"Interesting, and how, pray tell, is that?" Lucifer said, cocking his head to the side and inspecting the woman in front of him. Half withered away by malnutrition.
"I can serve you, help you bring in more souls," she said. It seemed as if the apparitions were speaking through her now. As if one of them decided to cut out the middleman as it were.
"I see, well, I do need another succubus, mine has been indisposed," Lucifer replied.
"Perfect, and that way I get to stay on Earth, you break me out of here, and we both win," she added convincingly.
"Well then Bellatrix, it seems you have given me something to consider. I will be back with my answer once I give it some thought," Lucifer said.
"Indeed, my Lord," she said, bowing gracefully before the Devil. He then nodded to her farewell before disappearing into a pop of ember flames. He left her desperately wondering what she would do if he failed to see merit in the deal.
The apparitions stayed away that night. Although for once, she wished she had the company to distract her. There was a looming sense of impending doom that was overwhelming her. This incident wouldn't be the end of the legacy of the noble family of Black. She couldn't let that happen...
