Chapter 12
The Last Memory
The Writer hummed a tune to herself as she sent out invitational emails. She'd conquered the Death Eaters, so now she was going to celebrate. Good Firewhiskey and good company. Plus a few of the memories she'd collected over the past few days. Then it would be a real party.
Her little melody was silenced by the loudest explosion she'd ever heard. The Writer ducked beneath her desk, avoiding the debris scattered across her now mostly destroyed office.
She peeked over the – thankfully intact - desk, dust rising from the rubble that used to be part of the wall. The door lay broken into splinters on the floor, having been blasted away. The shelves were in disarray, the books ripped and torn to pieces, littering the floor, photographs smashed, glass shards shattering as they fell and the video camera a useless hulk of sparking metal and plastic.
In the middle of this chaos stood a very scary – and extremely angry - woman. The Writer immediately brightened up. Despite the damage, this had actually made the day even better. She sat back on her chair, leaning her feet on her desk.
"If it isn't my favourite homicidal killing machine!" she greeted Bellatrix Lestrange as though she were a sister she hadn't seen in a long time, not a rage-fuelled murderer.
It almost took the loyal Death Eater by surprise, but she composed herself and pointed her wand at the annoying little twerp sat before her, grinning like she was so important. What made a filthy Mudblood so bold? She'd show that Writer, that would teach her for telling everyone her beloved Master liked women's underwear!
"The Dark Lord has granted me an opportunity to kill you," Bellatrix snarled, "I took it at the very first moment!"
"I don't think you did, Trixie," the Writer snatched up a sheet of paper, grabbed a pen and scribbled something down.
"Don't. Call. Me. Trixie. You. Filthy. Mud. Blood!" Bellatrix shouted. The Writer ignored her, continuing with her writing.
The rubble on the ground shook, fitting itself back into the wall. The books sewed themselves back together, slotting themselves into the shelves. The glass covering the photographs put back together like jigsaws. The video camera gleamed, as though fresh from a shop.
"Right, that's better," the Writer looked up, "I thought you liked my little set up? It gave you a new insight to Muggle technology. It gave you a chance to humiliate Lucius..."
"Tricks," Bellatrix snapped, "all of it. All used to get someone on your side!"
"I don't need people on my side," the Writer replied, "if I did need a powerful Death Eater on my side, I wouldn't have unveiled your Master's...what shall we call them...preferences?"
Enraged, Bellatrix raised her wand.
"Not so fast," the Writer jotted down another note and Bellatrix's wand flew from her hand, landing in the corner. She went to retrieve it, but slammed into something. The Writer laughed without shame as she watched the Death Eater try to figure out what was keeping her from reaching her wand. Bellatrix pushed at what appeared to be open air, but bounced off.
"Oh, invisible walls are fun to write about..." the Writer sighed happily, folding her arms, "right, we're now on level playing terms. I haven't got my wand, you don't have yours."
Bellatrix turned back to the Writer, snorting with fury. Her eyes bulged slightly, dark eyes piercing.
"You think I need a wand to kill you?" she spat, "I'll simply have to do this a Muggle way. I'd prefer not to, but needs must when-Ah!"
She shrieked as the cage bars fell down and the door slammed shut. A huge padlock clicked into place. Bellatrix rattled the door, but it wouldn't budge.
"Let me out right now," she ordered, tugging on the padlock.
"No," the Writer simply said, folding her arms, "instead, I'm going to present you with a choice."
"A choice? I have no time for games, filthy Mudblood."
"Games? This is the difference between you leaving with your dignity intact or not," the Writer presented her with two vials. Both were identical, the same colour liquid, each with a key in the bottom, "pick one. One contains the key to your release and pumpkin juice, the other vial contains a fake key and a mixture of Veritaserum and a Transporting Potion."
"This is what you did to Lucius, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked.
"Very observant, aren't you?" the Writer asked, "I was out of ideas."
"But, you're a Writer, aren't you supposed to have an imagination?"
"Shut up and pick."
"Alright," Bellatrix grabbed at the vial in the Writer's right hand. She unstopped it and downed the liquid, grabbing at the key as it fell out. She tried it in the lock.
It didn't fit.
"I didn't think that tasted like pumpkin juice..." Bellatrix clamped her hand over her mouth, but, like the others, it was a vain attempt, "I'm in love with the Dark Lord!"
"What else have you got? Practically everyone knows that one."
Bellatrix's face morphed into a scowl, "I have coulrophobia."
"You're Bellatrix Lestrange, and you're afraid of clowns?" the Writer laughed, "I'm sorry, I find them creepy too, but...you're Bellatrix Lestrange!"
The Writer took her memory before Bellatrix began to fade. As she did, she shouted curses and profanities, promising revenge, some day.
"That'll be the day I dress as Pennywise for Halloween," the Writer chuckled to herself, "even if it's the middle of May."