A/N: Hey all! Hope you like how the story's going so far…. I know it seems slightly long, but it's crucial to developing Bellatrix' character to her fullest extent. I promise that the next few chapters will be some things to look forward to!

Well here's a quickie for ya. It's a little longer than some of my chapters but it's more amusing (or at least I think so XD). Anyways, it was fun to write so enjoy! I'll try to update again as soon as I can! SAT's coming up! Wish me luck!

And remember….reviews = LOVE!!! So send some my way! Thankies!!

Felicia


In the Shadows of Endless Nighttime

Chapter 5

On several occasions, Bellatrix Lestrange finds that the contents of her stomach no longer remain in tact. Much of it lies in a corner in the more dismal area of her cell. The smells projecting from the waste are rancid. Her 'bathroom', more specifically, the rusting bucket of metal, full of both expired urine and feces, rests adjacent to the bars that obscure her views to the outside world, not far, from the more appalling part of her room, where a most foul scent presents itself. It is sufferable, no longer, for she cannot withstand occupying an area whose qualities turn her stomach sour and cause her head to throb with much reason.

She hates it, hates it all. She hates the gloom feelings that toy with the hairs of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine. She hates all the misery of the place. She hates the screams. She hates the days, the nights. She hates the damp air. She hates what she has become; the brittleness of her hair, the stingy grime beneath her fingernails. She hates the prison security, their lack of intelligence. She hates her cell, her food.

Oh, how she despises the food. Had she not been so spoiled by spendthrift dinners and banquets of gourmet buffets in her youth, Bellatrix might actually try to appreciate what she receives.

But she was. She was spoiled beyond belief.

She could have been a princess (if her parents told her she was), a princess of pureblood status, from a family who occupied themselves with the job of making sure their line was cleansed; a prime example of untouched blood, a child whose morals were twisted and influenced by the perverted ideas that muggles were beneath her, and all who enjoyed the company of such a wasted race, were traitors. She was "royalty" and such a fine exemplar in a new generation of Blacks must be tamed to keep the family reputation safe.

How many of those lavish meals she would avoid because of the arguments that would commence over her marriage arrangements and her plans of her future. Bellatrix was a free spirit, a wild Mustang, reluctant to bow to those who tempted her capture. She was not enthusiastic about marriage to begin with, and when she heard that she was to be tied to a man whose past was too sinister, too smutty for her liking (one she experienced first hand), she completely disregarded any small level of respect she had for her parents' wishes.

She wanted nothing more than to kill the scum they so frequently called "a proper match for [their] eldest daughter". She scowled into the night. The only man ever worth any of her attention or honor was that which she already has given and proven to Lord Voldemort. Yes she had to oblige with matrimonial services to Rodolphus (once her fight was lost), on nights where he required her feminine form for his own means of pleasure, but they were nothing worthy of any importance in her mind….

Hours pass slowly. There is an unfamiliar calm that overcomes cell 01397. Dinner time approaches and yet, Bellatrix' appetite seems to fade for she finds herself looking not for food, but entertainment. She sighs, a weak appeal towards the air that asks to ease her of her boredom.

She turns to the bowl that gathers dust from the floor. It is still full of that rubbish the guards call her "food", begging to be consumed, to be gargled and gagged as so many times before. She stops moving. Her eyes widen with amusement. Slowly, as if approaching a large intimidating object, Bellatrix moves toward the item and takes the bowl in her lap. She begins to trace her fingers around the edges in a circular motion. Her forefinger moves in between the cracks and dents in the stone, repeatedly following the curves of the clay material. She begins laughing aloud, enjoying herself and the small delight she so recently discovered. Her laughter grows, escaping her lips like small groups of overzealous dancers, soaring off the walls and through the cracks of the heavy iron door. She begins to clap her hands in excitement, a sinister-looking smile playing upon her lips. For some time, she is not troubled by the ambiance as she would normally be in her cell. For now, she is happy. She continues with her activities, till a persistent knock disrupts her play, bringing her to her senses.

"What's going on in there?" A husky voice pesters the middle-aged woman from outside her metal doorway, from the hallway he guards.

She doesn't respond. Instead, she continues her fun, ignoring the man, while lowering her laughter to more somber chuckles.

"I said, what's going on in there?" He sounded dangerous and almost intimidating, but not as large a threat that would waver Bellatrix. She raised her head to face the door.

The bolts alongside screech open and a bulky man stands in the center of the doorway, small candlelight shining on the floor from outside her room, some of it reflecting off his full form. She saw something along the lines of a club, hoisted to a belt around his pants, hanging to the ground. On the other side of his waist was a wand, Bellatrix knew for sure by the shape of its leather casing. Whiskers and a full beard surrounding a large, crooked nose were the first things she could make out of his features. As her eyes adjusted to the level of light, she could see his: black with question and anger, anger which she sensed quickly, enough to freeze her where she stood. She moved the bowl from her lap and back to the floor. Her eyes are downcast and her brow furrows; she is disappointed. Finally her attention is wholly on him, watching his moves.

"What? Not eating now are we?" The guard puts his hands on his sides, stressing the sarcasm already evident in his tone.

Bellatrix continues in silence, bringing her chains towards her hips so as to relieve some pressure from the pull they give on her wrists. Her eyes do not meet his for some time.

"Well?" He grows frustrated with her reluctance to respond to his question. The man takes two large strides forward as if in slow motion, hesitant to approach the criminal. She catches his uncertainty without delay and smirks in the dark of her room.

It's time to play with my little friend! Bellatrix contemplates this idea quietly and uses his apprehension to her advantage; surely he must be armed with a wand, but she shall take the risk.

She crawls dreadfully slow towards him, her shackles scraping the floor. There is a disturbing look in her eyes, leading him to believe she is not afraid. She chuckles aloud and he falters slightly, reaching down towards the pocket of his attire that holds his weapon. In a high pitched voice she finally says, "Bella does not want the stupid man's food!" She has stopped to kneel on her knees, her hands folded upon her thighs.

"You'll eat what's given or you won't eat anything else!" His voice wavers, trembling as if he believes she is not chained at all.

"Oh?!" She snaps in a child-like manor. Again she continues, bringing her eyes up to find his in the cover of night, "What if dear ol' Bella doesn't want to? Will she be punished again? Should she punish you?" She taps her finger against her lip and then brings it closer to her chest so she can swiftly push it back out to point at her guest. Her voice lingers on thin air, silencing any other noises that may challenge the strength of hers. When the echoes have subsided, she doesn't continue. Instead, she slides back into the depths of her cell, back to where her food was situated, back to the comfort of her cot against her back, and towards the waste bucket she can once again smell.

"ME?!" He retorts, fury written upon his face. "You dare to warn me with your sniveling comments? Who is the one chained to the walls? Hmm? And you dare threaten I?" His breathing turns shallow, his face flustered.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no," she says. "I would never do such things!" She is smiling now, almost happy that she is risking being beaten again. "But you, my dear, are another story! Do you know who you are talking to?" Her voice is back to its shrill-like state.

"You're a criminal, and you will soon be an injured one if you don't shut that hole in your face!" The guard removes his wand from its holster, prepared for anything that Bellatrix will try to do. His face is hard; there are no traces of panic whatsoever. Though sweat covers his forehead, he doesn't move from where he stands a stolid being, full of rage.

"You should watch what you say, my dear! The things I could teach you, you would beg for my mercy!" She is shouting at him now.

He barks back, "Do not test me, woman. You are filth and nothing more!"

Bellatrix is shocked at his statement, more than she should be, considering the position she holds. But she is not frightened, not faltered by his size or demeanor. In one swift motion, she throws her bowl, food and all, in the direction of the prison guard. It misses him by mere inches, smashing against the open door above his head, the muck raining down on his body. The man yells aloud, something Bellatrix can't quite understand, but she knows she has upset him.

She cackles at his disgust, "The scum suits you well!"

The wizard has had enough; his temper is at its limit and with no hesitation, he silences her enjoyment with a single cast of "Silencio". Bellatrix' eyes grow large. She can't speak, can't torture him with her words of foul play.

The guard, now pleased with himself, slowly approaches her, circling her like a hawk does its prey before attacking. He smirks, the smug look remaining on his face. "You've been quite some trouble, haven't you, my dear?" He mocked her previous statement; she was at his mercy, his brutal, ghastly clemency.

Bellatrix struggled to produce any amount of noise, but it was useless; and she was vulnerable. It was his turn to laugh at her. He snorted, more confident than before.

Beginning his triumphant speech again, he encircles her, his pauses almost in time with the thud of his shoes on the rock floor, "You're quite the little fire, aren't you?" His breathe is on her ear. She can almost taste his sweat. "Thirteen years and still you persist; still you try to aggravate us. Face the cold hard truth, darlin'…..your little master ain't comin' to your rescue. I'll bet your life on that. You'll rot in here, just like the rest of 'em; just another corpse to clean after, once you've wasted away." His words burned her ears like flames would her bare skin.

Bellatrix couldn't scream at him like she wanted, but she could think, and her thoughts were earsplitting. You're lying! He will come! He'll come for me and he will kill you in the process!

He heard nothing. He waited, waited to see if she dare tempt him again with her sadism. Perhaps she'd fling her chains his way instead of her bowl. Perhaps she'd spit in his face. No, she was far too intelligent to stoop to his level. Whatever dignity she had left, Bellatrix would not let him win. She straightened her back and sat up, refusing to look in his direction at all.

"What's this?!" He noticed her movements and her sudden care to sit poised and lady-like in a place that did not even require clothing. He removed his club from the clip on his belt and swung, all of his anger released on the side of her face. The impact was harsh, nearly knocking her to the ground. Her head fell to her knees as she used her hands to steady herself, trying to regain some sort of balance. When she finally looked at him, he saw that her eye had been scratched by blow of the club. The whole left side of her face was swelling. Her eyes watered; there would definitely be severe bruising after he was finished with her.

"You really are a tough one aren't you?!" He swung again, this time with more force and she consequently bit down on her tongue. Bellatrix fell hard to the dirt, her whole body aching with pain, though the only area of evident contact was where she was hit on her face. The weight of her chains, toppled with the shock and agony she received from the club finally won the battle she tried to win to stay standing.

Blood crept up the sides of her lips as more began to drip down her face from the edges of her eyes. She tasted the soil beneath her, and the iron flavoring of her own mouth. Sooner, she could taste the foul leather of his boots which he used to carefully lift her face off the ground to help her look up into his eyes one final time, before he would make his departure.

"The next time you try anything like that again, I will personally beat you till your face is no where near your body. Do you understand?!" He shook her head slightly with his boot to make sure she was paying attention; Bellatrix was listening intently (for she could do nothing else). He spat at her face and missed by centimeters landing on the floor just above her nose, and walked away, closing the heavy iron door behind him.

For weeks, nothing can be heard from out of cell 01397. Days after her defeat, Bellatrix does not move from the spot on the ground to which she was first confined when she lost to the prison guard. Instead she rocks to and fro, holding her knees to her chest, holding back waves of tears, of misery. Whether or not the spell on her voice has been removed, Bellatrix chooses not to speak.

She has tried sleeping to help eliminate her hunger, but it proves to no avail. Nothing, not even the growling in the pit of her stomach, can stop the constant excruciating throbbing of her head. She has tried soothing her temples with her fingertips, but there was no use; she could do nothing to stop it.

There are screams rising from beneath her. They do not assist her either. At times they would provide comfort, security, reassurance that she was not the only one suffering the unimaginable. She wishes now more than ever for some quiet, for some escape from this horrible place.

All she can do is lie there against the cold floor. She can stare off into the wall, observe all the little holes and dents on the stones but they do nothing for her.

A small moan and the slow downward movements of her eyelids indicate a time of sleep once more. With a last sigh, Bellatrix begins to fall asleep, thumb in mouth. She prays she dreams not of clubs or pain tonight.