Bellatrix ran the blade over her legs, carefully shaving off the blood splatter on them. She shivered in delight at the gentle scratches threatening to cut her open and drain her like a barrel of wine with its cork removed. Danger felt like home.
She remembered finding it as a little girl, how it had called to her even then. The hilt was perfect for young hands unaccustomed to knife wielding. There was no gripping too low, no sliding out of her hand. She smiled at the rabbit's paw hanging off her mirror. The squeaking and the horrified noises from her sisters echoed in her mind.
It had been quickly drowned out by her peals of delighted laughter. None of them had ever seen anything die before and she could mark that occasion as life-altering for all of them.
Narcissa had pulled up her mask of indifference as soon as she recovered from the shock. She learned to stay in the background and avoid ill-advised confrontations.
Andromeda, after mastering her fear, had found fascination in the play of the muscles and the change in its body as the rabbit died. The regret she felt for its death fuelled her as she set herself to becoming a healer.
But Bellatrix. Bellatrix had tasted power. Power over life and death. It was addictive and she did nothing to squash her desire for the next rush.
Snarling tore her out of her memories. The chest she had taken from the mudblood's house before turning it into ash was shaking. Boggarts didn't like to be contained. She nudged it open with a toe and out came the amorphous vapor of an undecided boggart she was used to. Her fears were locked behind occlumency barriers so thick and thorough that even she had forgotten what they were. The boggart wafted around her, trying to find a chink in her armour, turning into childish fears it must have learned from weaker people. A giant spider, a banshee, a person with a red nose and ludicrous face paint..
Bellatrix let it tire itself out. She admired boggarts, delighted in the prickling on her skin that warned her of the predator seeking to steal her pain.
To be so terrifying to behold that it made others immobile, to harm by sheer presence- a smile played on her lips. Finally, the boggart came to a halt in front of her. It had settled on her own lifeless body, a doll held up by strings. She stroked her mirror image’s cheek before gently sliding the blade in its torso. An unearthly shriek filled the room, echoing off the room dividing mirrors into a wail of despair only a banshee could hope to rival. The boggart’s form started to bubble like a cauldron before turning into mist. Uncountable voices filled the air, all seeking to escape. But Bellatrix held firm and her blade was hungry. Slowly, the sounds were drawn inside it. Then a wisp of greenish blue got sucked into her blade. More blues and greens followed, tinting the remaining mist into ever changing shades of red until that, too, disappeared. Only now did she notice that there had been a pressure on her neck, that the mist had been trying to choke her. She smirked. A valiant effort, she had to admit. Absolutely useless against her, who had been used to choking for quite some time now, but amusing nonetheless.
She examined her knife in detail now. It shone with the hues of the boggart, like a prism capturing fear. She placed it on the now docile chest as she prepared for an experiment. In her mind, Bellatrix carefully pulled forth Lucius as she saw him. A sniveling coward with no concept of goals or beliefs. Just following where the wind blew. She stepped inside his skin, became him allowed his perspective to become hers. Pushing him to the surface, outside of his shields, he looked at the knife again. He was nearly overcome with terror. It practically radiated malevolence and felt as though it might be perfectly capable of killing him without his murderous cousin wielding it. He fled the horror that was the knife and was swiftly replaced by Bellatrix whose smiled threatened to tear their face apart.
It was time, she thought, to find herself a dementor.