"Rigel, my little star, Mummy's north star, Mummy's world"—Lady Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, 7/7/1980.
1987: six years since the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
THERE SHE IS, BELLATRIX LEST-
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green glow of the killing curse silenced the fool that was nipping at her heel. Damn, aurors are swarming like rats since the Dark Lord disappeared. Blood traitors and mongrels forgetting their place! She was tired and hungry; she's been running for days now. No room to sleep, no room to eat. Morgana's cunt—she could barely piss without the damn filth surrounding her. What was that one now, the fifth one she's killed since they found her and Rodolphus and Rabastan? They want to take her in alive, definitely alive, or else they'd have come with Albus or used the unforgivables that they'd grown so accustomed to using during the war. She'd definitely seen Moody use them in the war more than she ever did herself. "Light" side—what a joke.
Her eyelids felt so heavy, and she could practically taste the blood at the back of her throat. They were hunting her. Ha, Lucius would laugh at the irony—was this what the mudbloods and muggles felt when she hunted them for some sport? Fate does love to switch fortunes, the fickle bitch that she is. Suppose they wish to march her through the ministry like some prize hog they've snared; foolish she is, Bellatrix Lestrange, right hand to the Dark Lord and the most powerful witch in the world. Like hell they'll take her without a fight worthy of her blood.
Rustling and footsteps echoed through the old cobblestone alley as she ducked into a corner, just missing a passing few aurors; just two hundred metres – that's all she needs to break free of the anti-apparition wards; she can make it to Tenby, make it to her father's beach house, drop off her north star and escape.
This little endeavour has proved that Rigel just can't live with her anymore. Rabastan was right; she should have left him at Narcissa's when she had the chance. Yet how could she? He was her son, a piece of her, the most important piece of her. She would rather die than give him up, rather get her name trampled on, her pride shattered, than let any harm come to him. He was hers after so long; he was her little miracle. Her seventh child, after six agonising miscarriages, she finally had her little miracle. Mother magic had not denied her the gift of motherhood, and she'd be damned if some ruddy ministry dogs would take him from her.
She needed a break, a sit-down, a chance to breathe, but she couldn't; they were too close, and she was too close to escape. Sticking her head out of the alley, she saw no one. It was empty, no Aurors, and not a sound. Surely they must have found the body by now.
Unless! The slight ripples in the air above her barely gave her the warning she needed as she dived to the side to avoid the orange-coloured spell that crashed against the cobblestones, scorching them.
They're above her, damn it, not now, not when she's so close. "Surrender, Lady Lestrange, and come quietly; you've reached the end of the line," she heard a stern feminine voice call from above her. As she looked up, she saw an ice-faced woman staring back at her, auburn curls flowing freely down her back, her shimmering emerald eyes locking with her own violet pupils, no hint of fear in them. So this was Amelia Bones. Rodolphus killed her brother and sister-in-law, if she wasn't mistaken, so House Bones is destined to end at the hands of House Lestrange, a fitting end .
"Now, why would I do that? I've never done anything without a little showmanship, Bonsey." Her dragonheart string wand humming in anticipation, it did love a good fight; it must be the Hungarian Horntail's influence or perhaps her own influence on the wand.
She quickly transfigured the wall Amelia was standing on to mud, causing a quasi landslide to occur as the wall fell apart and blocked the alley from Amelia's rear, forming a barrier to Amelia's escape route, as trivial as it would be. Amlia seemed to use a featherweight charm to float down, avoiding being buried under the wall.
If she was correct in her assumption, like most members of House Bones, Amelia would predominantly use fire spells for offence, so a quick Aguamenti should counter her spell and entrench the flow of battle in her own favour.
As soon as the flames had left Amelia's wand, they were quenched by the jet of water that had sprayed from her own wand. Amelia moved quickly to the side to avoid being engulfed in the stream as she launched fire spells one after the other towards her, each one that was met with a well-matched Aguamenti predictable as always. "Yes, Bonsey, do try a fire spell again. I'm sure it'll work this time," I snarked back. Water kept pooling at Redhead's feet; it was up to her ankles now. Perfect. Flugur Tria.
A bolt of blue lightning shot from my wand, etching towards Amlia, who'd already put up a shield in response, not that it would help her any. The bolt crashed into the water around her, electrocuting Alima. "ARRRR!" an agonising scream wrenched from Amlia's lungs as she collapsed to the floor smelling like charred meat. I'd finish her off – if I had anymore time to waste on her.
Just one hundred and seventy metres left. I ran out of the alley. My dragonhide boots clicked across the stones, the presence of Rigel tightly wrapped in a makeshift sling around my back forcing my exhausted legs forward. I can't give in to exhaustion yet; I must keep going for him, for my north star.
The artificial sleep I'd put the seven-year-old in is doing wonders; she's not sure she could handle his questions and demands to help ,if he were conscious now, as much as she loved him. The boy never stopped talking once he got started, a habit that drove Rabastan up the wall more often than not. He was also always meddling, the little trickster; whether sneaking biscuits or books, he always had to have his own way.
"Confringo!"
She barely ducked, avoiding the spell aimed at her head. Merlin. She was so close, but this was not a good area for a fight. The circular setup of this urban street seemed to have all the other alleyways link into it like blood vessels to a heart. She was exposed. The only place she could use for cover was the giant pillar in the middle of the circular environment that reached into the sky, a Muggle monument of some kind.
Each of the different alleys seemed to have pairs of Aurors coming out of them; all four pathways were now blocked off. Not counting the man standing adjacent to her, she counted eight Aurors. Moody stood opposite her in the centre of the circular area, his hands folded as he looked at her with a vicious smirk plastered over his face.
Out of the original group of thirty-five, it seemed ten remained. So Rabastan and Rodolphus only managed to kill nineteen before they fell, covering her escape with Rigel. Were they alive? No, she couldn't think of that now; she needed to figure out a way to escape this mess.
Fiendfyre, perhaps? No, she'd lose control of the flames in her condition; she can't cast it. It'd be too out of control to be any benefit. Her mind went into overdrive, her increased perception and occulemcy working overtime to scan her brain for any and all spells she knew that may help.
Her brain split, processing different tasks: recalling the countless spells she knows, matching them with complementing spells, and adapting them to the current situation, speeding up her perception to think of everything in an instant. Her occlumency skills were truly working overtime trying and failing to make a feasible escape plan.
"Come quietly, Lestrange. What little luck you had has run dry. Resist, and I'm not quite sure I can keep Arthur from making mistakes and failing to capture you alive." Moody's grizzled voice rang out, echoing in the air. The wrinkled man smirked, eyeing her; he knew she wouldn't come quietly. Hell, he was hoping she fought back ; she'd grant his wish.
"AVADA KADAVRA!" She screamed as the jet of green light cut through the air towards Moody, who jumped out of the way just as she knew he would. It wasn't meant for him but for the idiot behind him, who was caught off guard and hit by the attack. The rookie didn't have a chance.
She achieved her goal of moving Moody from his position and killing an Auror; this would stop the pincer she was trapped in between Moody and Arthur Longbottom. As she moved to the side to have a wall firmly at her back, her eyes locked onto the enraged face of Longbottom, not caring as she transfigured the ground he was standing on into a bunch of solid spikes intent on impaling him. Moody was the true threat. Moody and Shakelbolt – the later she couldn't quite see, hiding in one of the alleys for sure, trying to ambush her most likely, fat chance. As long as she had a wall to her back, she would see all attacks and not be caught unawares.
"You mongrels think too highly of yourselves. The Dark Lord's absence has made you arrogant. Let me remind you all of your true place in this world, beneath the boot of your betters. None of you will leave here alive!" I growled out, my hand already in the process of moving my wanded as needed
I need a place to put Rigel, but I can't risk exposing myself. No, I should wake him and let him run to some safe place whilst i deal with these pests Enervate I cast quickly, stirring the boy from his sleep.
Pertego – I cast as a dozen stunners bounced off the shield charm. It wouldn't hold for much longer. "Rigel, Mummy needs you to run as far as you can as fast as you can when she tells you. NO QUESTIONS. JUST DO AS I SAY. UNDERSTAND?" I preemptively shut off any of his usual protests. He noded as he climbed out of the sling and onto the floor, his little feet making a soft 'thud' against the aged stone. Throwing the cloth sling off myself into the air in front of me, I transfigured the piece of cloth into a giant flock of white doves obscuring their view of me.
"NOW!" I demanded he run away; the pitter-patter of his feet grew more quiet as he ran into the alley I'd originally emerged from, the only alley not blocked off by any aurors. Good, he was getting to safety now to deal with the rabble.
The flock of birds erupted into a mass of flames as all the Aurors seemed to move out of the alleyways. Looks like they're getting truly serious now; this will be fun. Multiple spells shot towards me. I deflected and dodged as well as I could: bone breakers, stunners, disarmers, and cutting spells, none truly lethal.
"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" i heard Moodys grizeled cry call out.
I cast a quick shield to stop it, but the shield collapsed instantly as the concussive force of the spell slammed into me. My bones rattled against my organs as I was launched across the floor, skipping over the cobblestones, scraping and tearing at my skin; my fist remained tightly clenched around my wand.
I quickly rolled to the side to avoid a bone breaker aimed at my neck as Arthur semmed to have broken free from the mess of spikes the deep cuts still bleeding perfously as he limped forward I had to keep rolling as much as i could to avoid the dozen stunners that the other aurors kept trying to hit me with
Diffindo Duodecim I cast towards the aurors next to Moody as dozens of invisible waves of magic moved towards them, intent on ripping them to ribbons. Many managed to cast shields to negate the spell, but a few were caught as arms and legs flew in the air, severed from their bodies, accompanied by an agonised cacophony from the rabble that were hit.
As I was getting up, I felt a sharp pain shoot through my back. Shit. Shackelbolt made his move as I felt the warm blood trickling down my back. Scurrying onto my feet, i tired to catch my footing, so he was under a disillusionment charm, a very good one at that.
"You know this dress was very expensive. Don't worry, you can pay for it with your life," I growled, throwing an organ liquification curse at him, which he shielded against as he fired back a bone breaker, which crashed against my violet shield.
"Don't worry, I'll replace it; just tell me your size, and I'll get an Azkaban uniform for you, one to match your husband," he snarled back as he and Moody and the other Aurors began to close distance, pelting my shield with more and more spells, causing it to splinter and stagger under their combined force.
"No, thank you. Grey isn't my colour, but crimson definitely is yours." I poured as much magic into my shield as my wand would allow, expanding it larger and larger as I began to push back the aurors and get more space and more room. Then she let the shield collapse and transfigured the stones below her into a defensive wall in front of her, which buckled and collapsed near instantly under the pressure of the Aurors' spells, but that was enough time for her to cast the spell. This one couldn't be wordless "EGO REPELLENDUM!" She screamed as loud as she could pushing as much air out of lungs to make sure her intent was clear to magic
In a blinding crimson flash, a massive concussive force hit everyone in the area, throwing several aurora sky-high as they landed with sickening crunches and splats. Many skipped across the stones as if they were thrown by schoolboys at a lake.
She felt herself be pushed back by the concussive force of the spell, a spell that affected everyone in the area with a blast of concussive force. She felt herself be lifted off her feet and crash into the wall behind her, her bones creaking from the force of the impact as she felt the air get pulled from her lungs.
But this was worth it if she had room thats what she needed to move, to not be pinned down. The attack was worth it – a little pain for some substantial gain. A flash of purple caught out of the corner of her eye caught her attention – a bone-splitting curse. She couldn't react in time, not in the state she was in, as the spell hit her left arm.
She felt her bone crack and splinter as it tore her muscles and ligaments and then break past her skin as the bone ripped her flesh apart from the inside out, tearing its way clean out into the open air. She could feel the wind on it, gently blowing against it; she felt tears sting her eyes.
She barely muffled a scream: NO! They wouldn't hear her scream or see any tears; she was a BLACK! She was beyond reproach, above everyone, as all Blacks were; the oldest and most noble lineage in the world, they would not so much as dent a daughter of the house of Black.
Each gentle breeze felt like needles being stabbed into her eyes; she felt blood flowing from her wound down her alabaster skin and dripping onto the stone as her left arm hung limply, absolutely useless to her now, but it was fine. She could manage this; it would just make for more of a contest. She will kill them all and then find her north star and go to the castle Black.
"You won't beat me. I have legacy and the purest heritage on my side. I have the will of those countless men and women who came before me. I know the responsibility of those who stand upon the shoulders of giants! I will not allow you to give all my forefathers have worked for to interlopers; I shan't have it. You will not STOP ME!" I growled out, forcing myself to my feet when all my body wanted to do was give up – no, I must continue for Rigel, for Draco, for House Black.
"Legacy this, blood that. It's quite a fanatical tale you've spun for yourself. You're just another low-life murderer, Bellatrix – a murderer with delusions of grandeur, a psychopath wearing the facade of a revolutionary. Yet you seem to forget a society built on the oppression of others is not a society that can last." Kingsley grunted out as he got back to his feet, his wand drawn and readied.
"You think I don't know what I've done. Of course I've stacked a mountain of bodies – young, old, innocent, guilty, those who died alone and those whom I killed with their families. I know what I've done! But to preserve our way of life, to preserve our legacy, sacrifices must be made. No successful revolution is bloodless; no society is without deplorables." I said as I began to circle him, keeping my eye on the few remaining aurors struggling to get back up as I fired an eye-popping curse at him.
"Please, preserve life; you're a bigot who's afraid of change. Society changes; ways of life end! We aren't the same society that we were 50 years ago. Society is not stagnant; standing on the shoulders of giants , doesn't mean we shouldnt aim to be better than them. You're no revolutionary; you're a relic of a dark past, trying to cling to your power. If you truly can't picture a society that is free from oppression, where everyone is equal and no one stands above another, then your view is flawed. Idealism is what everyone should aim for; always try to be better. That is what society should be; that is justice, and it prevails." Kingsley shouted as he dodged an eye curse I sent his way.
"You're a fool lost in his own fantasies; you can never have a society free from oppression! Society will always have winners and losers, those who dictate the ebb and flow of the world and those who are washed away in those tides made by them.
You think your laws make you civil, that justice is equality. That idealism blinds you to your own hypocrisy. A society that's free from social hierarchy – ha, now that's true stagnation! Light without shadows is blinding, hate is born in order to protect love, war is waged to preserve peace, and death is what gives life meaning. These causal relations can not be severed! In this world, that is the law! The law that has always governed life and magic, a balance that always exists.
There will always be a balance; good will always rise up to face evil, heaven will always paint a picture of hell and dreams will always create despair. If you want your equal utopia of Mudbloods and Muggles singing around a fire with you, go to sleep and live in your dreams and let the actual adults make a society that can exist in reality.
I've killed, but that's because all societies are built by killers! Merlin killed Morganna, Circe killed Hecate, and Rasputin killed Baba Yaga. Four decades ago, Dumbledore waged war against Grindelwald. Life is conflict, a battle of wills and ideals where each side considers themselves as the righteous heroes.
Don't act like you're not the same as me! You go ask your werewolves, veela, giants and goblins how just and fair and equal the society you risk life and limb to uphold is. Don't dress up in some thin cloak of righteousness in front of me.
There is one truth and one truth alone in this world: might makes right. You speak of justice; what exactly is that? I'll tell you what it is: Justice is a seeping pile of thestral dung that you mongrels have passed around amongst yourselves for decades! From Dumbledore to Moody to you to Sirius until you all don't even know what it is anymore!
Justice, plain and simple, is the view of the strongest. You say justice will be victorious; well, of course it will. Whoever wins the war becomes justice, and the losers are always rebels and terrorists.
Power is all there is in this world, and no power is greater than the most noble and ancient House of Black. We've stood at the top of society since the beginning and will do long after you and I are dust, Kingsley." I found myself screeching, my words echoing over the spells i exchanged with him. I could see my words shake him as the other aurors began to stand back up.
"Stop playing around and debating a mad woman! Kingsley, focus, lad." Moody yelled, snapping his compatriot to his senses, the doubt vanishing from his eyes as he and Moody synced into a dual attack pattern. putting on as much pressure as they could, trying to give the other aurors a chance to get a grip.
"Just give up; you're surrounded, and you can't outlast us all," one of the rabble near on pleaded as he feebly forced himself to stay solidly on his feet, yet shook in the wind like an autumn leaf, clearly concusied at the least.
"The only thing I'm surrounded by is fear, fear and dead men! For none of you shall leave here alive." I bite out. Unleashing another barrage of spells; trading with Moody, Kingsley, longbottom and the other rabble; avoiding and deflecting spells when I could and shielding when I couldn't. Dust and rubble flew in the air from the clash; broken pieces of the road reached into the air like grasping hands, metal poles from demolished fences littered the floor, twisted into a terrible tapestry of our battle's consequences, and a few of the wooden pieces of rubble burnt, hit by an errant fire spell from someone. Who? No-one knew or cared.
The shaking auror seemed to have lost his nerve and turned around to run. Trying to leave through the same alley I had used to walk into this trap. The same alley that Rigel had run down to escape. No, he couldn't go there, not to Rigel.
"AVADA KADAVRA!" I screeched. The others shielded themselves with pieces of rubble before they even knew who the target was. Not that it mattered; it wasn't for them. In a flash of green, the coward fell lifeless; his body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
"No one leaves the butcher house, NOT ALIVE!" I cackled as I was forced to side-step another slicing curse from Moody. The bastard was using lethal spells, even when others were trying to take me alive; at least one of them has a functioning brain.
An all too familiar itch began to crawl in the recesses of her mind, pushing against her shields, slowly crawling over the walls of her subconscious, itching forward from the crevices of her soul. The stress, frustration and indignation had finally become too burdensome for her to suppress any longer. Her madness was coming, a storm to swallow an oasis. She could feel herself slipping, her inhibitions beginning to melt away. She felt herself being swallowed, being pulled under the tsunami of malice that had burst forth from her heart.
Soon she felt herself lose any and all control she had; it felt as if she was floating over her body, seeing the most volatile aspects of herself pilot the vessel that housed her soul. Her skin had gotten paler, almost ghost-like; her violet eyes lost any and all indication of life, cold, dead, haunting pupils staring through everyone in the world, a promise of carnage shimmering in them. She'd lost herself to the madness, no longer Bellatrix Black but Aibnat Alnujum, her madness made flesh.
The Black madness – blessing or curse? – no one could say for certain. Yet it bloomed in every Black, a wellspring of power brought forth from the bottomless pit of malice that was their soul. Magical power that boosted them beyond their limits but at the cost of all control, at the cost of their humanity. A Black once consumed by the madness was no person at all, merely a manifestation of brutality, a sadist that delighted in doling out death and despair. A beast born to wreak havoc.
Her greatuncle Arcturus had called it a gift, an ingrained protector built into the blood of House Black. Of course he would say that he was almost as mad as she was. That was the gift, wasn't it? The stronger the individual, the more profound the darkness that swallowed them once the madness manifested.
To her it was stupid; the madness wasn't a protector or a curse, it was simply the cost of the Black family magic. Magic always required a balance, and for all the gifts it bestowed on House Black, it had to give out a toll of equal value. The Lestranges' family magic had one also; for their inbuilt prodigal ability to use offensive magic, they lost any ability to practise healing magic. 'No Lestrange had ever become a healer since they had been bestowed magical recognition', Roddy had said. The madness was merely the levy that House Black paid for the boons magic had gifted them with, all those thousands of years ago, when magic had recognised her family lineage.
A fine price for the boons, she thought. If the boons required her to become the incarnation of violence for a small fraction of her time, so be it.
The air began to become pregnant with the smell of decaying corpses as the shadows began to shimmer and dance as she moved. The clouds were moving and growing thicker as the sun vanished; the shade that enveloped the world tinged it in a grey hue. The wind stood still, an ambience of tension having taken hold.
She could feel her body hum with newfound power, every cell and muscle fibre pulsing with magical energy. All the spells that had been restricted to her thanks to her exhaustion were now becoming accessible once more as the madness brought her back to a bit of her true power, though the exhaustion still weighed her down. A swift smell of pine clouded the air. Ahh, the Longbottom family magic. How quaint. Frank smelt of earthy oak; Arthur was pine. It seemed cute; she'd enjoy setting it alight.
Aer Hastam jabbed my wand forward, compressing a pressurised sphere of air and launching it towards the aurors, who jumped to the side, disrupting their formation, leaving the struggling aurors behind them vulnerable.
One was pierced clean through a hole ripping through his torso as pressurised air slammed into him, cutting his flesh like a hot knife through butter. The other vermin tried to get up faster, realising they were in danger, but it was useless; the oxygen had already been dispersed, and they became abundant. Iisheal the area turned into a storm of fire and fury as the entire area behind them exploded into flames, the added oxygen serving as fuel for the ignition spell.
The air was awash with the smell of burning bodies, adding to the pungent aura of death that the Black family magic exuded, the heat from the fire licking the backs of the five remaining aurors front of me. They all looked unnerved. Kingsley had a small bead of sweat running down his temple, his stance more tense than before, the Black family magic making him falter.
Good, hesitation meant mistakes and meant vulnerability ; my body can't exactly sustain the Black family magic and the added pressure of the madness, not in its exhausted, starving and injured state, running on fumes – premium fumes because of the madness – but fumes nonetheless. I can't last in a war of attrition with them; I just need to make them retreat with a show of overwhelming force.
Something to break their spirits; elemental magic should do that, but that's too risky. I could be wiped out if they don't falter. I suppose it's all or nothing. "I'm giving you one final chance to retreat, vermin. Consider it a mercy. Mongrels stay, and your wives won't have enough to bury," I warned my wand moving in a circular arc as the men remained frozen from the pressure of the Black family magic pushing down on them.
I began to channel as much magic as I could, flowing it into the air, into the very atmosphere, till I could feel every atom in the area, till I could feel myself become one with the area. Now I just need to focus on the clouds, on the rain, on the sharpness of the winds forcing natural elements out into the world.
The clouds began to ripple and roar and grow darker and darker still until soon rain began to trickle down from them, sharp, forceful hammering down on the entire area, shredding the cobblestones, grinding the iron fences into dust, but avoiding all of the wixen standing as if we had the plague, natural offensive elemental magic, an endless amount of elemental creation where the only magic spent is on control after the perpetual chain reaction has started.
"Sir, perhaps we should leave …natural elemental magic. This is unfounded... we've already lost most of our men; we could all be wiped out. We can come back with more later. Two out of three is still a win," the nervous, gittering fool on Moody's left stammered out.
"Get a grip. Mc Arron If two bids piss pot like Malfoy can use natural elemental magic, then the Dark Lord's right hand should be no surprise. Cygnus Black is one of the foremost experts in charms in the world. Did you honestly believe his favourite daughter wouldn't be able to use this? Don't falter; we move forward, we move to end this, and we move to bring the curtain down on war once and for all. Do not falter, men. This is merely the last dying gasps of a wounded and exhausted beast." Moody growled out as he moved to stand in front of the faltering man, shielding him from my gaze, moving unwaveringly, his eyes locked cleanly with mine, with no shred of fear or doubt in them. He was not going to retreat.
He began to fire cutting curses, blood-boiling curses, bone-breaking and asphyxiation curses in quick succession, all blocked by a wall of water that formed solidly in front of me, dense and permanent, a curtain of protection from his attacks.
"Forward, men. This is Bellatrix Lestrange, the butcher, the vile, vindictive cunt who has a body count higher than all the other Death Eaters put together. What did you think? That this battle would have been easy, that you'd come and merely ask her to stand down, and she would have? Don't be stupid; this was always a high-cost mission. Yet you all volunteered for it, from rookies to seniors, because you knew that so long as she lives, the good people you're charged to protect will never know peace.
Think of your Muggle-born wife, McArron; your brother; and your sister in law longbottom think of your half-blood colleagues and Muggle-born friends. Think of the fear they feel knowing she's still running wild without a master to keep a leash on her. Men, this is your chance to make a real contribution. Do not fear. Do not falter, and we will not fail. Forward with me!" Moody shouted his spells, growing faster and more deadly. A flying curse was barely stopped by the water wall as Moody kept moving closer and closer, marching forward, marching unhindered and unwavering, inching one centimetre at a time, never halting.
His determination began to reignite the broken spirit of his men. Their eyes once again ignited with a wild fury as they moved to follow his lead, moved to follow his example, swallowing the fear within them.
This was bad, but not unsalvageable. If she took out the head, the body would fall limp once more. She focused all of her concentration into Moody, halting the rain in the air as it began to swirl and slither around her, flowing into small, sharp, pressurised arcs that danced around her that soon launched towards Moody, whose feeble shield collapsed instantly as the water blades tore into his flesh, his left leg severed at the knee, flying through the air in a sharp arc. His head knocked back as a water wave took his right eye, and another severed his left hand as he was catapulted back, skipping across the cobblestone like a discarded toy.
"CAPTAIN MOODY—" Longbottom shouted, but whatever words of concern he was going to yell died in his throat as a scream of righteous fury cut through the air.
"I SAID ADVANCE, MERLINES BALLS, ADVANCE. SHE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU ON HER LAST LEGS. TAKE HER NOW, END THE WAR." Moody yelled as he twitched and contorted on the floor in agony.
"On my last legs, hardly this is war. The war is not over, not so long as I live, not so long as my will can be carried on." I roared as I tried to push back some of the men, their spells slowly pushing me back, my water walls collapsing, faster and faster.
"The war is over. Your master is dead. The war is at an end. You're just a rabid dog we have to take care of." Moody growled from his seat on the floor, attempting to stem his bleeding wounds.
"You're such a fool, Moody; keep constant vigilance over everything. The dark lord may have fallen, so what?
He was nothing special. War is not the culmination of the people who fight in it; war is the ultimate form of divination. War just is. War was there before humanity crawled out of the nethers of chaos into the universe, waiting for us, the ultimate trade waiting for its most diligent practitioners. War exists so long as humans do, so long as one holds one view that differs from another. War is the battle of ideals where you seek to test your will against another in the greatest will of all war. War is what makes society. War is existence. So long as those that carry our will dwell within society, the war is not over, and it certainly isn't lost.
How humorous it is – how many of our soldiers did you let roam free for swearing the imperious defence? How many simply wait for a general to take command again? The war is not over, Moody, simply because your side can't practise it as diligently as we would have. You allow dissenters to exist, so you allow the sparks of revolution to persist. The war will be fought once again; it is merely a matter of time. Keep an eye on the hemlock that's been added to your melting pot of a society. Wait for war to begin anew." I yelled out, trying to retain my position, yet the force of the spells kept pushing me further back.
A desperate declaration to maybe buy some time to catch my breath to reevaluate. They should have run after the elemental magic, not stayed damn moody, the stubborn bastard. My control over the water was already slipping, the shields growing thinner, the water slowing down in its descent, no longer a hammering force to pulverise but almost back to the natural gentle pitter-pattering of raindrops against stone. I can't keep control up, not for much longer.
"War is not a game, nor is it a trade, nor is it a natural part of human nature, Lady Lestrange; war is the ugliness, the revelation of the darkness that's within each human, but it is not our nature. War is the act of the desperate, but even then war has rules; we don't slaughter women and children or the defenceless civilians. What you waged was no war; it was a slaughter of good and bad, old and young, a chaotic carnage crystallised by the creeping fear of equality. For you aristocrats, when all you've ever known is privilege, equality can feel like oppression, Lady Lestrange, but it is not.
You did not practise war; you did not lead soldiers; you were merely a butcher for an even more cruel and sadistic master. He's gone, and you'll rot in Azkaban again, a privilege afforded because of your status. You are right; we should have wiped you all clean, root and stem, but that is not what society has decided because even with your depravity there dwell a few souls who believe even you don't deserve death. If that is not proof of our righteousness, then I don't know what is. We are merciful even to the cruel; we don't match their degeneracy."
Moody's dry voice cut through the damp air like a gust of wind through the desert, invigorating his men to move in even closer, ignoring their own injuries and ignoring my swift attacks, as they focused solely on attacking. No regard for defence, no fear of me – they seemed to only carry the will to vanquish me. Nothing else seems to matter to them anymore as they creep forward, cuts and bruises trivial in pursuit of their mission.
I was at my breaking point; the power of the madness was fading. My body felt light, exhaustion dulling my senses. The feeling of being a passenger in my body grew as exhaustion began to take over. Even the screams of my semiconscious soul to keep fighting for Rigel started to fade into the abyss of my fatigue. I've pushed all I can. My baby boy, I'm so sorry I can't fight any longer. Mummy is such a disappointment.
My water shields finally collapsed, and I felt myself get hit with a bludgeoning spell that knocked me into a wall. My head felt light as my vision began to blur from the impact, my lungs barely managing as I gasped hungrily for air, my wand no longer in my hand. Before I could even try to pick it up or get to my feet, I felt a boot land hard against my jaw; my lip gushed open, blood oozing into the dirt and onto Arthur Longbottom's boot as my head snapped to the side. Yet pain seemed a foreign concept to me; it was all so numb, as if my body had given up on resisting feeling, and simply it simply couldn't carry on any longer.
I could feel their arms tighten around me, tearing at the rags that had once been my acromantula silk dress, the crimson fabric being ripped and stretching and straining before it fell apart to reveal the bruised ivory skin beneath it. The dress – why did it even matter now? She'd lost, been defeated, days on the run, being hunted like a dog. After Roddy and Rabby held them off for her, what was she able to do? Throw a little tantrum, go mad? Laughable. Laid low by blood traitors and half-bloods? How revolting and shameful for a daughter of the House of Black.
Dull aches flooded her mind as Longbottom pulled and jostled her mangled left arm, her noble blood staining his filthy hands as he pawed at her wounds, likely to make her suffer. Ha, she was so tired she could barely feel the manhandling. Her eyes were glued on the cobblestone drenched in the very water that had betrayed her.
*RIP*
*Tear*
The constant rending echoed in her ears, sharp and abrupt, so much like Roddy and his laugh, a sharp crackle. How she missed it. This was the dress he'd given her; he had prepared it for her for Narcissa's spring equinox gala – how the fool abused her love to dance and show up everyone since they were mere children. She missed his ever-present smirking visage now. They were tearing away a gift he gave her, tearing her dress like they'd torn apart her family.
She wanted to resist, to claw at them, to push them away, to scream that only Roddy could touch her so forcefully, but her eyes felt so heavy and her heart so hollow. How could she stop them from mangling her as they dragged her after them? To take her to await judgement, no doubt. Ha, bottom feeders judging a Black. The world really had gone to hell. A rough pull by Longbottom almost caused her to trip and almost fall until she felt McArron steady her by digging his hand into her thick raven curls, his fingers scratching her scalp as he grabbed firmly, forcing her up, almost ripping chunks of the thick mane out. Roddy loved her curls; he loved to run his fingers through them. How dare this mangy ministry cur touch them?
The grip loosened slightly. Not letting this opportunity pass, I slipped out of his grasp, out of their hold. Even if I was surrounded and wandless there, I saw him. Rigel, my North Star, standing stones in hand, as he threw another at the perplexed auror, hitting him right between the eyes. "GET AWAY FROM MY MUMMY."
Rigel didn't stop scooping up more and more stones, throwing as many as his tiny hands would allow, tossing them at her oppresors " COME ONE COME ALL, I CAN FIGHT. LEAVE MY MUMMY ALONE," he shouted as he tried to run at her, throwing the rubble of her battle at the few remaining Aurors. How brave, how noble, how Gryffindorishly reckless!
Before any words of discouragement could escape from my lungs, I felt my heart sink as Longbottom blocked Riggles's path. His leg pulled back, cutting through the air in a swift crescent moon-like arc, striking Rigel; his boot digging into the belly of the distressed seven-year-old, who curled around it, coughing up spit as he bounced off the boot, rolling along the cobblestones, his small body unnervingly still when he came to a stop.
"RIGLE!" My voice boomed, my agony bouncing off the walls in a tragic echo as I tried to close the distance between myself and my baby.
McArron's portly fingers sank into my flesh, halting my advance. "NO, LET GO, YOU FOOL. Please leave him; he's my son, my only son. Your quarrel is with me. Beat me, kick me, cut me – do all you want to me. HE'S ONLY LITTLE; HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND! My desperate cries meshed into the air, drowning out the pitter-pattering of the rain, confining them to the background of my desperate pleas. Pleas that fell on deaf ears.
"Please, he's just a child." I pleaded, tears finally staining my skin as they ran freely from my eyes. That single kick had felt more painful than any wound I'd ever experienced, and I wasn't even the one who was kicked. My baby boy – just let me hold him, let me soothe him. Don't hurt him.
This fool wouldn't just leave me be; leave me alone. His hands were firmly planted on my mangled arm as he held me. To hell with this arm. If it was stopping me from getting to my baby, I'd leave it. I pulled, forcing myself forwards, my flesh straining and ripping apart as ligaments and muscles twisted and shredded under the force of my attempted escape. My joints creaked and cracked, and the skin began to shred even more. Why couldn't the arm just be severed already? Let me hold my son. How much more must I pull?
He continued to be a wall in my path, firmly wrapping his fat logs around me, his pot belly brushing against my back. "So what if he's your son? How many sons have you killed? How many brothers and fathers? How many children have you and your husband orphaned? Monsters, all of you purebloods, you think your blood is worth more than ours, that you're better. Well, you're not! Consider this revenge for Frank's kid. Maybe Arthur won't cause lasting damage ...if you're lucky." He barked out a vindictive sneer plastered on his face as his voice rang out with hypocritical righteousness, like the rest of his ilk. Such a good person he was, letting a child continue to be beaten. Since when were children responsible for the actions of their parents?
THUD
THUD
THUD
THUD
The echoes of Arthur's kicks kept ringing in my ears, my son helpless as I was too weak to protect him. NO, she won't stand for it. She wouldn't be too weak to save her baby, her north star. Contorting and twisting and sinking as much as she could, she *CRACKED*; her left arm finally snapping, dislocating from her shoulder, allowing her to twist around fully to come face to face with her would-be judge.
In an instant her maw was opened as wide as it could be, almost unhinging as her muscles strained. She latched onto his unguarded throat, her teeth digging into his salty, sweaty skin, the fatty flesh giving way as blood began to tickle her teeth, the metallic nectar slowly flowing into her mouth and down her throat, staining her skin as she continued to dig in further till she could feel bone. Ripping her head back, she tore out his meddlesome throat. His beady little eyes widened in fear as he clutched the gaping hole that was his throat, falling back and landing on the floor with a audiable thud, his eyes dimming and growing cold.
She was free before she could even process that her body began to move on its own, rushing at Arthur to stop him, until she felt air rushing past her as her legs ceased to move, locking up as she felt herself unable to move; she had been hit with an immobilisation hex. She collapsed like a bag of flour, her attempted rescue failing.
A cold oppressive feeling pressed down on her as she felt an eerie presence she'd not felt in nearly a decade – someone else losing themselves to the madness, the Black family magic wafting into the air as the smell of corpses itched at her nose – yet it was different from the smell her magic and madness created.
Where hers had a distinct cadaverine smell, as if a corpse was cut to ribbons and left out in open display, this smell was stronger and laced with sulphur and ash, as if the corpses had been burnt to cinders. There was something distinct in the feel of the magic. Yes, the Black family magic was always eerie and chilling, yet it was never this cold. It felt like she'd been placed naked on a block of ice outside on a snowy winter's night.
Lestrange family magic! That's what the cold feeling was: the Lestrange family magic always attributed to frost. This was a perfect blend of both Black and Lestrange family magic attributes. It was Rigel's magic. He was experiencing his first bout of madness. To be expected in this environment, even if she'd have liked it to have been more controlled for the first time.
She did the best she could to move her eyes to see Rigel, to catch a glimpse of him, even if it felt as if her eyes would dislodge from her sockets; she had to see him. She had to at least witness his madness; if she couldn't comfort him and guide him through it, she owed him at least that much.
She saw him, his dark curly hair floating and shifting colours wildly from black to red to silver to purple to gold to grey as magic oozed out of him like thick oil polluting the sea. He began to tint the air to grow darker as if he was painting on the very air itself. The tabula rasa began to glow with spiralling crimson patterns etched onto the primordial void that was his magic, a cosmos drawn from his power. Galaxies enshrined in the space he took from the world.
Her own magic had the attribute of shadows when it showed itself dark yet clinging; as it ate the light, it never emerged into the world this way. The Dark Lord's own magic was a blinding flash of green light that slithered around like a snake clinging to him, never venturing too far. Rigels was different; it didn't cling to him but invaded the world, claiming portions for itself, making it his own. The only other time she'd seen that attribute was in a memory...a memory of her granduncles. The memory of when he'd faced Grindelwald; his magic was like a star shining bright, engulfing the world and dimming everyone else's magic. It claimed the world for itself, flooding every corner of wherever he was. It never clung to him, rather forcing his presence everywhere else like a dragon strutting about in the open.
Her eyes drifted to the frozen Arthur; he hadn't moved...no one had. Yet, Arthur's didn't seem to be the result of shock; rather, it was a forced immobilisation. Arthur began to float slowly into the air, creeping higher and higher until he stopped at around fifty metres, still floating in the sky, still immobilised. Until he started to accelerate downwards and SPLAT! He crashed into the ground in a bloody mess. Blood stained the stone where he crashed. Near instantly he was lifted up again and slammed right back down. The sickening sound of meat meeting stone reverberated. The pieces of meat that clung together into a misshapen ball of broken bones and pulverised flesh began to rise again, repeating the process, painting the stones even more in the blood of the former Lord Longbottom. Rigel had clearly lost all control.
Stupefy
The spell cut through the air, catching Rigel right in the solar plexus, and he collapsed. It was over; his madness was cut short by Kingsley, who seemed to have finally found his footing from seeing the brutal execution of his men. She had failed; she was weak and worthless. They'd take Rigel away from her and separate the family; she'd failed. made Roddy's sacrifice meaningless; he'd stayed behind for nothing. What was she but a disgrace to her blood and family?
___________________________
25/1/1980
Lestrange Manor was bathed in morning light bouncing off the grey stone of the ancient manor, flooding in through the double-glazed glass, bathing her in warmthless light. The stiff, ever-present cold of the winter mornings stung her skin; she sank further into the blanket, the griffon fur tickling her. The empty bed still felt hollow to her. Rodolphus was working harder and harder to cover for her absence on the field … But she couldn't risk it, not now. …not when they had another chance to be parents.
Like clockwork, her door creaked open, the oak parting to reveal Rabastan etching in slowly, hands holding a silver tray full of her morning potions. He looked so tired, his eyes darkened with heavy bags, his skin a tired grey; he'd spent all night brewing again – even with his mission yesterday. It felt as if he was more concerned with the brewing babe's health than she and Rodolphus were at times; the softie needed to take it easy for a while.
"Ahh, Rabby, gracing me with your company this early. How delightful," I said, my voice sickly sweet, as I emerged from my cocoon of quilts and blankets, fluttering my eyelashes at him in an exaggerated fashion.
"Isn't it a bit early for your tripe, Bella, or does Rodolphus's absence make you more grouchy? Don't tell me pregnancy has finally let slip what little sanity you had." He spoke, meeting my challenge as he gently placed the tray down on my nightstand. The anti-nausea potion and vitamin and essential mineral potions are glowing – very fresh. He must have had a later start yesterday.
"I'm as lucid as ever, Rabby; don't bet on shipping me to Saint Mungo's just yet. Though with skills like these you could have been such a prodigal potions master. What a waste to not apply yourself; now the Dark Lord must make do with a greasy half-blood," I barked out, uncorking the potion bottles and swallowing them in one good gulp, the bitter aftertaste almost making me wrench.
"youre one to talk about wasted potential, turning down multiple ministry offers from the DLME and DOM to prance about the world picking on mideocre talenet"he said falling onto the bed laying right beneath my feet his body imprinting onto the bed like hands on wet clay
"You're one to talk about wasted potential, turning down multiple ministry offers from the DLME and DOM to prance about the world picking on mediocre talent," he said in a bored tone, falling onto the bed, lying right beneath my feet, his body imprinting onto the bed like hands on wet clay.
"Ha, as if I'd be a ministry attack dog or waste away my life on some trivial research – nothing they research would hold my interest long enough for that," I groaned out, kicking him in the face, my feet still under the covers.
"Same with me and potions. I'd rather not waste my life away over a cauldron. Only because I have a firm mastery of the subject doesn't mean I enjoy it, Bella," he said, sitting up, his face pierced in a frown from the rehash of the classic argument as he picked up a pillow to place between us as a shield.
"Still dreaming about your eternal bachelor life as a beater. How dull. You really should grow up, Rabby; you're too old for that now." I lurched forward, trying to wrestle the pillow from him. How dare he stop my feet from using his face as a placement?
"You grow up, Bella. "You're a lady of an ancient house; have some decorum, and it's never too late to achieve your dreams," he snapped at her, his voice having no actual malice. He grabbed my arms, trying to restrain me.
"You wouldn't have to toil for them if you'd just have let me tell Daddy to put you on the Newcastle nightmares." Your reluctance is foolish; family connections are meant to be a leg up, Rabby," I said, pushing him onto his back as I fell right beside him, wrestling myself free.
"I told you, Bella, I have to earn my place," he said matter-of-factly as he let go, rolling off the bed to get away from my nest. Good, he should know not to lie in a bed with me; that's a privilege only Roddy can enjoy.
"Yes, yes, your silly notion of pride and need to prove your worth is so very silly. You're a pureblood of a recognised lineage; you have no need to concern yourself with the opinions of your lessers." I croaked out, moving forward on my knees towards the edge of the bed to swat at him as he tucked into himself, barely escaping my wrath.
"Just drink the potions, Bella. Regardless, all of this is merely theoretical until the war is done and we can return to a sense of normalcy." He said with a sense of listlessness in his voice; he brushed off his robe, removing some of the soot that had gathered since his brewing began.
"Normalcy...what would that even be? The Dark Lord hopes to move further into Asia, Africa and the Americas and then finally launch the anticipated attack on the Muggle world. The war will not be over yet!" Not for a very long time. She felt almost hollow at that. So much more fighting left...would her child grow up in a world riddled with chaos and despair? A feeling of trepidation gnawed at her core at that thought. She didn't want to give her child a broken world. These thoughts had become a constant for her during this sabbatical: what sort of mother would she be, what world would she bring her son into, and the more she thought, the less she felt herself entrenched in the dark lord's court.
"So much to do, yet so little time. I suppose youth is wasted on the young," Rabby said, his voice already soft and low. He was tired and low in spirits, as was so often the case in winter. Stanny had that too – seasonal depression. It's for ones whose family magic feels so cold; they sure do love the sun.
"Yet you waste so much of it away slumped over a cauldron for me, Rabby. Oh my, do you perhaps have a little crush? Is that why you've been so accommodating lately?" I japed, dismissing my thoughts on the serious ponderings of my place in this world, the one I'd made for myself.
"I like you as far as I could throw you, Bella," he muttered out as he removed the empty vials from the bed to clear it, placing them on the tray gliding about the room like a gentle breeze.
"I – oh, so very light – a beater like yourself could toss me a fair distance, I'd say, Rabby," I snickered, pushing him a bit more. As reserved as Rodolphus was at times, he and Rabastan shared the same quick temper, so easily pushed. She almost felt bad; after all these years, she could still push them about so easily.
"Well, here's hoping you landing on your head may fix some of the damage," he barked back as he gathered up his supplies, preparing to leave me to rest and more than likely to get me breakfast. Such a gentleman under all that bravado.
"Oh, insulting me. Such playground tactics – are you going to tug at my hair next, Rabby? Tsk tsk tsk," I tutted at him in my most mocking voice, watching his grip tighten around the tray as he left the room. Too easy.
________________________________________
7:11 am- 7/7/1980
AAAAAHHHHHAHHHAHH
A desperate cry echoed through the twilight, cutting through the nocturnal activities of the critters and creatures muddling between the forested estate. Creatures scurried and scattered when the aching echo trekked past them as they lodged themselves in their dens, static and trembling, some drowning in their sweat. The reaper's cold grip felt more tangible with each passing moment, and the sands of time drifted slower and slower until nothing moved, nothing flowed, nothing fell, and nothing rose. All things halted along with the excruciating echo.
The grey stone manor of House Lestrange was bathed in the first whisps of rays from the morning sun, the light bouncing off the ancient marble walls, bathing the dome tops and symmetrical wings in an orange hue, drowning out the illumination from within as shadows still clung to the corners of the manor stone. The early morning was welcoming a new start, not merely to a year but to the line of House Lestrange.
The labours had ended, and the healthy whining of a freshly spanked babe echoed through the solitary corridors. Even a few of the house-elves celebrated their cores growing as strands of new magic melded with the existing tapestry of their being: a new master born, a pact renewed, and magic rejuvenated. Lady Lestrange had welcomed new life into this manor.
Her arms felt heavy, yet even still she wouldn't let go; the pain had been worth it. The lightweight in her exhausted arms filled her with glee as she gazed down at the tufts of straight brown hair and curious blue eyes staring back at her.
Her eyes danced across the room to the various people present. Narcissa was in the corner packing up her medical supplies; with all the grace expected of her, even after twelve hours she carried herself with all the decorum their aunt had drilled into them.
Even if she moved a little more softly.Her dresses were looser than they usually were to avoid giving away any indication of the smallest of bumps forming.
She was a mother, and soon she'd be an aunt. Good, her little one would soon have a companion. She just hoped she'd be healthy enough to accompany Cissy as Cissy had accompanied her today.
Her eyes darted to the foot of her bed to a skittish Rodolphus, his hair almost as unruly as a potter's, his blue eyes full of anxiety; he looked at her tentatively, his right hand discoloured and bruised from her grip. She'd squeezed it for dear life, squeezed it for every moment of the labour, and he'd borne the pain in silence like he always did for her. That made her almost giggle. She had him, a mini Roddy, in her arms; the tufts of straight chestnut hair and ocean blue eyes almost made him look identical to his father.
Her attention was brought back to her little miracle. His arms flailed and grasped at her robes to bring her eyes back on him. She looked down to see what she'd assume would amount to a pouting expression if his facial muscles were more developed.
His eyes narrowed and were glossy, and his nose was scrunched up and mouth agape, his gums on display, yet that seemed to change as he looked at her more and more, his eyes locked onto her face; he was analysing her. He began to almost mimic her as he opened his eyes fully and lowered his eyebrows to adopt a more neutral face as compared to his former indignant form.
Then suddenly his hair began to rise and shift as the texture morphed before her very own eyes as it curled and darkened until it was a mirror of her own wild mane. His eyes followed suit, shimmering and shifting from the ocean blue of Rodolphus to crimson pools that made her shudder in remembrance of her lord until they settled into deep amethyst orbs staring back at her, a bit darker than her own violet irises. If she wasn't as competent in oculomancy as she was, she'd definitely believe she was hallucinating from exhaustion.
"Did he just- a metamorphmagus, Bella? He's a metamorphmagus! There hasn't been one in the family in almost three generations." Narcissa's shocked gasps invaded her ears, breaking her from her own stupper; her little one was already proving special, proving his blood true.
"Ofcourse he is. My little Rigel is special and will do great things. Mummy's north star, Mummy's light, Rigel Ursa Lestrange." I couldn't help but coo into his ear at the welcome shock.
"Rigel is the closest star to Bellatrix and the brightest star in Orion. How possessive of you, Bella. Did you even give poor Rodolphus a say? " Narcissa chided as she walked from across the room to get a closer look at us.
"Do I ever have a say with her, Cissy?" Rodolphus drawled out in his tired voice, a soft smile etching onto his face, sliding on the bed to move closer to me. His arms extended to hold Rigel.
"When you squeeze out a child for twelve hours straight, you can feel free to name him whatever you wish, Roddy," I mocked as I gently passed Rigel to his father. He clung to me; I felt a slight sting in my eyes. He didn't want to leave me. I would have grabbed him right back if not for the soft, disarming smile on Roddy's face ... he can hold him for a little bit. Soft, gurgled protests escaped Rigel but quieted down after a little while as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
Roddy slowly rocked him back and forth for a while, poking his pudgy cheeks – baby fat, no doubt, hiding the inherent Black family cheekbones. "So you choose to look like your mother? Well, I cannot hold that against you; she is the pretty one, little crow." Rodolphus chuckled, his perpetual smirk etching back onto his face as he slowly passed Rigel to Narcissa's waiting arms.
__________________________________________________
Azkhban : 12/8/1986
The waves crashed against the granite, slowly weathering it away and falling back into the North Sea. Shadows hovered around the mausoleum of misery; the frigid abyss only proved its existence from the broken whimpers and tortured screams that escaped its walls, the only things that ever escaped. Even the guards who left never truly escaped the misery, their souls tainted with the darkness, their nights marred with sweat and sleeplessness. Panic and pain encompassed their lives; if you were to ask them, they'd tell you that even in their happiest moments, they'd only ever feel numb.
The screams and storm bounced around in her skull. The cold stone scratched her skin, staining it in grime and grizzle. The lone window allowed a small streak of moonlight to shine upon her to illuminate her misery, a spotlight on her laid low, yet none of that bothered her, not anymore. Her pride had been the first thing they took from her, making her grovel for gruel, gruel they'd so often spill so she had to scoop it up from the stones. She shrank; she could feel it. She was smaller. She felt as if even a small breeze would blow her away. Her eyes refused to cry; she couldn't anymore. Even the horrified screams of Rodolphus and Rabastan had lost their impact. She heard Sirius as well, but his were more guilt-filled than filled with despair.
What did her own screams sound like, she wondered? No prettier than the rest, she imagined. Did she even scream or merely whimper? Was Rodolphus as haunted by her pain as she was with his? Could he even hear her? Did he even care?
Would she die in here in this hell surrounded by regret and remorse? What had Barty thought when he passed? Had he regretted serving Voldemort? Had he begged for another chance for Mother Magic to save him? How would she end? Would she keep any dignity at all? She wanted Rigel; she wanted to hold him just one more time, to kiss him, love him, and squeeze the air from his lungs with hugs. How was he alone and scared? Who was looking over him, Narcissa? Arcturus, or her own father – oh, how she wished to look into his hope-filled eyes again and pinch his rosey cheeks. Only her mastery in occlumency kept her sanity intact, kept her from dwindling into a complete, lifeless husk of merely a fleshy flagon for the fiends to consume.
As the warm memories washed over her, she felt a fear creep in towards the back of her mind, a cowardly part of her begging her to forget her own son, to forget all tales of the outside world lest they come crawling from the depths for her again.
Her breath hitched and quickened in panic as she thought of them, their unnerving presence, and how life seemed to be stripped away as they drew near the hollowed haunting failures that followed. Forcing triumph and tribulation upon her again and again and again until the memories ceased to evoke emotions, only to return again to feed once more
Ache in her bones, her throat began to dry, and her eyes watered. NO! They were coming again. Not again. Why couldn't this just be over? She was so tired. No, Rigel needed her; she couldn't break. If only she had her wand; nothing could harm her if she had it.
A pit began to form in her stomach, and her blood ran cold as the blanket of despair enveloped her. She scurried back, her body moving on instinct, but there was no escape; her back touched the cold dam stone. The shabby cloak fluttered into the corner of her eye before she squeezed them shut and tried to run away, to escape into her mind, to escape into herself, but occlumency was useless; they sucked her back to reality as they sucked away her spirit.
-Chapter End-