The eerie silence of the dark, desolate prison is only broken by the slight movement of the prisoners, as they attempt to continue living. The dead air around the prisoners does not allow them to appear alive and reminds the world only of death and misery. The entire environment is like that of a grave and as the dark, hooded creatures travel through the corridors of Azkaban, stilling the already saturnine atmosphere, the few fidgeting captives drift back into the quietness they had been yearning to escape.
In the midst of it all you, Bellatrix Lestrange, lie. The cell you are the inhabitant of is old, its walls covered in slime, and its stone floor, strange as it is, rough against your skin. The small cubicle room is only as wide and long as a man’s length and has been your home since the past fifteen years. Its gray walls have been your only companion ever since your arrival here and the one that you lean against now, bound in sturdy black chains, is the most intimate friend of them all.
As you lie there, appearing as if in a drunken stupor, your hair rests on your shoulders in a dirty mass of curls. It barely feels like it’s there but you still feel like pulling it out, to give in to you ever-burning rage and to pull away your misery. Your shoulders support your head too, which falls to one side as you attempt to move. The dead, sunken eyes that your face carries are the only sign that you ever existed, though they are devoid of any feeling whatsoever. Your cheeks are deathly pale despite the blood sluggishly coursing through your blood vessels; your lips and throat are severely parched, searing you from the inside every time you attempt to suck in air; every time you try to breathe by holding onto the one thing which never fades away from your memory. Everything comes back to you even as you try to keep it forgotten.
Ten Death Eaters were seated at the table in the Malfoy Manor, waiting for the Dark Lord to speak. The table they were seated at was cleared of all things and not a single hand lay on it. A dozen chairs were lying empty, surrounding the ones that were occupied; the figures occupying the chairs were tense, the bodies rigid and their faces expressionless, not expressing any emotion. All except Bellatrix Black.
Her eyes were hungry, staring at the Dark Lord as she attempted to control herself. He wasn’t looking at her; his eyes staring straight ahead, looking into nothingness but she knew that he was aware of her stare. She couldn’t believe that she could have the audacity to stare at her Master the she was doing but her self-restraint was very less. Her eyes held a reverence for the figure before her and she was unaware of the attention she was attracting from her fellow companions.
The Dark Lord’s eyes then refocused and found her desperate ones. His eyes burned into her hers, forcing her to look down into her lap. Her heart beat faster than it had been and she suddenly feared that she had somehow angered him. Her right hand automatically began rubbing her left forearm, the clear, blank on it mocking her. It had been three weeks since she had joined the Dark Lord but he had not branded her with the Mark despite her brilliant performance at the missions her gave her. The look he had given her gave her reason to believe that the Dark Lord was not going to brand her with the Mark that day either.
“Bellatrix,” Lord Voldemort spoke into the silence. His voice caused everyone to look at him, wondering what he could possibly have to say to the newcomer. The woman being addressed looked up from her arm.
“You have something to say?” His voice was quiet, deathly quiet.
Her cheeks flushed as she looked down again. “No, my Lord.”
He stood up without, his robes swishing behind him as he moved away from the table to stand behind a chair two places to the right of Bella’s.
“Rodolphus Lestrange,” Lord Voldemort’s voice was much louder now, carrying itself through the large room. The occupant of the chair he was standing behind, squirmed.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“What do you think of our dear Bellatrix here?” He pointed towards Bella, his wand held towards her. All heads now turned in her direction. She looked back at them defiantly, refusing to feel ashamed.
Lestrange stared at her too, his black eyes trying to figure her out. He had a perfect reply to the Dark Lord’s question, she knew, but he was not responding. Voldemort’s hand stopped pointing his wand at Bellatrix and laid itself on Lestranges’ head. He went rigid again.
“I think that she’ll be a very good Death Eater, my Lord,” he muttered.
Voldemort nodded in agreement. “You do, don’t you?”
“Then marry her.”
The entire room went froze. All necks turned to face Lord Voldemort who was looking at Bella, as she gawked at him, horrified at what he had said.
“M-my Lord?” Lestrange appeared to be confused.
“Do you have a problem, Lestrange?” Voldemort began walking back towards his own chair.
“N-no, my L-lord,” Rodolphus bowed his head obediently.
Bellatrix couldn’t fathom Lord Voledmort’s order.
“But my Lord, why do you want us to do this?” She asked. A collective gasp rose from her companions, who were amazed at her audacity.
Voldemort, however, smiled at her naivety.
“You are a valuable asset, Bellatrix,” he replied, undeterred, “You are no good to me single; it will only distract you from your missions,” now, Voldemort smiled, his lips curving upwards in the gesture, “I think that you and Lestrange can carry on the pureblood line easily. I’m ordering you to do it.”
The finality of his tone rendered any further conversations useless and as the meeting was adjourned, Bella sat there in her chair, staring ahead, a tear escaping her eye, unseen by anyone.
The memory fades away, leaving behind the same anguish and hopelessness you had felt that day. You blink away the tears that had been forming at the edge of your eyes, burying away the memory forever. It would not do you any good to remember that moment. The wave of sadness that crashes through you at the recollection of Voldemort, tries to overwhelm you but you smother it, refusing to give in to it.
As a dementor glides by your cell attempting to feed off of your grief that you refuse to feel, you let out an earth-shattering scream, its shrillness piercing through the curtain of quietude. You pull on your chains, the clanking sound giving your more energy. Your legs scrape the floor of your cell wildly, tearing your already bruised legs and ankles. Your wrists cut open too; the blood oozing out from all your limbs and onto the floor of the cell, the red clashing with the gray, its brightness burning into your eyes. The rage that has masked your sorrow is nothing for the creature. It keeps moving along, searching for another victim; another weak victim.
It goes away and you slump against the wall, enveloping yourself into its arms and your head hangs to the side. It is then that your eyes are drawn to the trail of blood on your left arm, tracing a path through the dirt on your limb and revealing the Dark Mark underneath. Its sight makes you grin manically and ultimately causes you to scream with hysterical laughter, your life seemingly seeping back into you.
The Dark Mark again reminds you of the person you’re holding onto; a reminder of the being who’s the sole reason for your existence and a reminder of the memories of his that you hold onto. Despite the sluggish activity of your brain and our refusalto give in to your thoughts, you drift away into those memories, latching onto them as if they were your lifeline.
“Bella,” the smooth voice of his echoed the small room they pair were standing in.
“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix Lestrange replied, kneeling down on one knee before Voldemort, her head bent low, refusing to look up.
“You did very well on your last mission, Lestange,” he stated, “I was happy with its success.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” her voice did not express the gratitude that she felt, “I did it for you only.”
She did not raise her head to see him smile. There was a soft intake of breath and Bella felt a hand on her left shoulder. She tensed. His touch was soft and light as a feather. However, the instant his cold fingers rested on her body, a shiver had run through her frame, exciting her for what she knew was coming.
“Rise,” his voice was as low as a whisper, carrying the command to her. His hand pulled her upwards, allowing her to stand and raise her head; finally having the courage to look at him.
His red eyes did not instill any fear in her as he spoke.
“Bring forth your arm, Bellatrix.”
The happiness and excitement she felt at that statement was indescribable. She had waited for this moment ever since she had met Voldemort and had dreamt of it since then. She couldn’t believe her luck at finding the person who was before her, becoming a part of her life. A state of blissful ecstasy overcame her as the hand on her shoulder moved to grip her extended wrist tightly. His wand’s tip alighted against her skin as the skull burned itself into her body but she felt no pain and no burning sensation. All she was aware of was the Dark Lord’s finger on her arm and the brief look of pride he had bestowed upon her.
You smile as the vivid memory dies away to be buried at the back of your brain, waiting to be summoned back as soon as you return to same state of mind as of now.
Another dementor passed by and you shy away from it, shielding the memory from its hungry self. Your mind closes itself off, blanketing the memory into a protective shell, trying to keep it away from the prying senses of the dementor.
As you sink away, turning your face away from the cloaked guard of Azkaban, it pauses. You stop breathing. It has not fed off of you in ages, allowing you to regain your senses and get back into your state of mind where you have been able to relive your moments. You know that at that moment, it can smell that lingering feelings of excitement and joy coursing through your bloodstream. You are aware that it cannot stand to see you happy and feels obliged to take away your hope.
It moves through the bars of your cell, gliding towards you as you stare at it defiantly. Inside, you feel only one ounce of fear; fear of losing that memory’s happiness once again as the hooded being would remind you of your ordeals.
The dementor bends down, breathing in, sucking in your grief associated with the previous memory and bringing it to the forefront of your brain. The contentment fades away instantly as you’re reminded of your losses, of your griefat the separation from the Dark Lord and of your sorrow felt at his demise.
The anguish threatens to overwhelm you as you give in to it. You can see the disgusting creature feeding off of you when suddenly you feel time stop. At that instant, everything seems to be frozen, including the dementor and everything around you. Your brain registers the change in the atmosphere but fails to comprehend it. As you begin taking in your surroundings, the moment unfreezes. A loud blast rips through your world, ricocheting off the walls of the prison. Debris fall on and around you as you struggle to come out of the stupor the dementor has forced you into and make an attempt to get your bearing.
The dememtor seems to fade away as you look up. The roof of you cell has fallen, its wreckage all around you. A glowing emerald beam seeps through the opening, illuminating the walls of your insignificant room.
Your eyes travel to the source of the green light and find the same skull branded on your arm, floating in the sky. Your eyes take in the image, burning it to your brain and trying to comprehend the situation. You cannot to believe what has happened and are in an instantaneous state of shock. As you blink rapidly and find the skull still present there, the shock wears off and a manic gleam enters your eyes.
Another hysterical laugh escapes your lips as you gaze up into the skies, feelings of inexpressible delight threatening to burst through your being. Similar explosions echo through the air, reaching you, telling you that its finally time when you will be reunited with your Master; your sole lifeline.
A/N: Hey guys! So how do you like my new little experiment with second person? I've recently been reading a lot of second person so I thought I'd give it a go. What did you think of it all? Oh and the most important question! How boring was it? I know that stories like these can get a bit dull and monotonous so I want to know where you guys thought that it got boring. Do tell me that, I'll change it! =) The description and feelings were sort of a challenge for me, I don't know how I did there either.
Also, the second persond isn't perfect seeing as it's only my first attempt at it; though if you do want a perfect story in second person, check out Seeing Double by Aphoride! It's a wonderfully executed story and a great inspiration for this one-shot of mine.
And what did you all think of the characters? Do you think I nailed Bellatrix? I know that there are a few problems with Voldemort but I couldn't seem to pinpoint them on my own; perhaps you could tell me what's wrong with him. It's also my first attempt at extreme angst after a very long time, so do tell me what you thought of it and how I could improve! Thanks for reading! =)