15th June 1981
The muggle girl on the floor sobbed and twitched, lying in a pool of her own vomit. She was young, a pretty little thing, and wearing a fuchsia dress. Bellatrix recalled being forced to wear dress robes of a similar colour to an event that her family had hosted, long before the Dark Lord had saved her. The memory made her despise the filth on the floor more.
"Bella, will you get a move on," Rodolphus snarled, one eye cast wearily to the door. "He'll be wanting news."
Bellatrix's mouth curved into a smile as she turned back to face her whimpering victim. Yes, he would be waiting for news of their invasion and she, Bellatrix, would be the one to deliver it to him. She shivered imperceptibly at the thought of the Dark Lord bowing his head in satisfaction, the way his eyes would seek out Bellatrix because he would know that she had been the one to work this mastery. Her heart throbbed with anticipation and blood pounded through the hand holding the wand that was directed toward the filth. This – this – was what she had been born to do, to prove, to serve.
Bellatrix flicked her wand upwards and the filth emitted a piercing scream. She felt intoxicated at the power emanating from the wand in her hand, the pain that was gradually breaking the filth before her.
"Please!" the filth gasped, and those pretty little eyes were looking imploringly at Bellatrix as though she were the last hope she had left in this world. Bellatrix bent down beside her victim, her movements slow and tantalising, and tasted the blood sliding down the girl's face.
"Just as filthy as I thought." Bellatrix rose and conducted her wand once more, every beat the filth's heart pumped less bringing her closer to the praise of the Dark Lord. "Have it your way, then."
The filth's shuddering screams resounded in Bellatrix's mind long after their owner had lain still.