They said Bellatrix Lestrange was mad. They said she had been manipulated. They said all kinds of nasty things about her.
Only one person had ever called her pretty and clever . That person wasn’t the Dark Lord, who everyone thought had Bellatrix wrapped around his finger. They said she was hopelessly in love with him.
Well, that was not true at all.
Yes, it was true, Bellatrix did look up to the Dark Lord. She was loyal to him, and found his ways and methods entirely reasonable. She had probably adapted some of his worldviews as her own, but Merlin, she was not stupid.
Her heart belonged to someone else. Well, if one can call a moth-eaten, half-rotten apple a heart. Perhaps it was more appropriate to say her whole body and mind belonged to someone else. Someone that played her like the broken violin she was, and Bellatrix played her just the same. With harsh melodies and rogue fingers, that’s how they played each other.
Oh, how Bellatrix despised that woman. Her white hair that was so obviously dyed, her pink lips that were always wearing that same fake smile. Her eyes that pierced through Bellatrix’s soul like she wanted to rip Bella’s soul open and gauge it from her throat with bony fingers. Bellatrix hated her sense of fashion, she dressed like a peacock and strutted around in the same way, too.
She was the love of her life, that woman.
Rita Skeeter. Successful businesswoman and a proper bitch. She was horrible, the way she threw compliments to the people she interviewed for her little job, but always succeeded in making her interviewees completely uncomfortable and self-conscious. Sweet Salazar, how marvellous was that.
And if there was one thing to say about Bellatrix herself, it was that if anyone was bad, she could be seven times worse. Rita loved that, too.
That was the life Bellatrix had had during the Wizarding War. She’d been running around on the Dark Lord’s missions, tormenting muggles left and right, torturing the self-proclaimed “good side” and their precious little mudbloods. Then, when she’d had even the tiniest break from her duties, she’d slipped into an apartment in muggle London, and played house with Rita Skeeter. They had fought every single time they met, not quite sure as to who was the cat and who was the mouse in their little game, but it had always ended up with them on Rita’s shabby sofa, hands reaching further and tongues clicking and licking and making all kinds of bestial noises.
It had been a one kind of life, but now Bellatrix had none of that. The victors of the War had gotten the privilege of writing the events in their favour, and thrown all of their enemies to Azkaban without any trials. That showed what good people they were, so pure at heart. So just and right.
Now Bellatrix’s life consisted of staring at the gray wall of her cell and chuckling all by herself. The thing about Dementors was that they mostly tickled Bella. Apparently they were confused about her memories. They tried to suck the joy out of her, but the kind of joy that Bellatrix Lestrange could feel was sick and twisted. There was nothing happy or good about it, and so it must’ve tasted like sweaty socks in the Dementor’s mouths. They didn’t come near her cell very often, and so Bella was left alone with her memories of sweet torture. How the Longbottoms had screamed and begged… Merlin, it still sent satisfactory shivers down her spine. Bellatrix lay on the hard ground and purred like a cat, just thinking about it.
She had already lost count of the days or weeks or months or years she’d spent in that cold, wet cell, when a breath of fresh air came crashing down the empty hallways of Azkaban.
At first she thought nothing of it, just layed on a different side of her body. Her body had become skinnier and there were not many positions that didn’t hurt when she lay her bony torso against the floor. Once she’d finally found a position that didn’t hurt, she wasn’t keen on changing it anytime soon.
Politicians or other kinds of important, empty-headed people sometimes raided up and down the halls of the prison, to look at the state of the place and to confirm its security or something. Sometimes stone-faced men carried stinking corpses by Bellatrix’s cell. She always went up to the bars to get a good look and put on an act of insanity to make the men as uncomfortable as possible. She threw herself against the bars and laughed, licked the bars and sometimes even the floor until her mouth tasted like iron. She hissed and purred and howled, and then she laughed again.
Sometimes she wasn’t as eager to do it, making a spectacle out of herself. That was because, as good fun as it was, it also brought back her worst memories from childhood. For her parents Bellatrix had always been more like an animal to show off and less like a daughter. In her lowest moments Bella lay down in the dark and thought about all the times they had erased her memories or placed the Imperius-curse on her. Like nails on a chalkboard, a question in bold red hammered in her head: If they hadn’t done that, would I have become like this?
It was a stupid thing to think about.
Now, though, she was just tired. Tired from what, exactly, she wasn’t actually sure, but she was tired nonetheless.
All hairs on Bellatrix’s body stood up as soon as she heard the voice of the faceless person approaching.
“Oh it’s going to be an exciting article, for sure”, the voice said in an over-the-top level of enthusiasm and liveliness. That voice sounded like it had been packed with sugar and all kinds of sweeteners.
“The readers of the Daily Prophet are going to find all of this very interesting, certainly”, Rita Skeeter continued, her heels clicking a soldier-like rhythm to her words.
Bellatrix got up, slowly, and retreated to the shadows of her cell. She eyed the hallway behind the bars warily, like a cat. The shadows behind the bars seemed to move less lazily than usually, and the noisy atmosphere of the prison had quieted down in a manner of curiosity.
The clicking noise came to a sudden end, and Bellatrix could see in her mind’s eye how Rita stood on her place and licked the end of her quill, eyes glistening maliciously.
“How about”, Rita could be heard saying, “How about we pay a visit to another member of the Black family? I’m sure this one would be more… how do I say it, cooperative than that boy.”
A murky voice replied in agreement, and the heels of that ugly, nasty woman clacked on.
It was just a few, fleeting moments, before Bellatrix could actually see her silhouette against the dim-lit background. She looked as sharp as ever, Bella couldn’t deny that. Her hair was all set in place, not a strand was hanging in the wrong direction.
“Ooh”, Rita shivered, peeking through the iron-bars, “this is just like the time I went to a zoo with my mother when I was a little girl! How I miss her, that poor old woman.”
Bellatrix sat quietly in the corner, all dressed in shadows. She had dreamed of this woman and her fake tears many nights. She’d dreamed of strangling her to death all the while kissing her until Rita choked on her tongue. Now Rita was here, in flesh and blood. She smelled delicious, and she was looking Bellatrix right in the eye.
“Let’s see that beast, shall we?” Rita chirped, holding her gaze. A guard fumbled with his keys before the door could be opened, and Rita stepped inside, grinning.
Bella had been on her hands and knees, but just as the door clicked shut behind Rita again, she rose to her feet, slowly. The world felt a bit shaky underneath, but Bellatrix held her lover’s gaze and responded with a feral grin. “I’ve been thinking about you.” Her voice was raspy and low, dangerous and mad.
“Surely”, Rita said, stepping closer and gripping her quill. “All terrible things, I bet. I haven’t thought about you at all.”
That was a lie and they both knew it. Bellatrix ran her tongue by her teeth and blinked slowly.
“So”, Rita said, returning back to her interviewer- persona. “I’ve come to make a little article about you poor little souls stuck in here. I’m sure you’d love to answer a few questions.”
Bella eyed her up and down, every inch of that body she knew oh-so-well. It was rinsed and polished with care, not a speck of dust dirtied her green jacket and lilac skirt. She had applied some colourful makeup on her pale, white face, but nothing could hide the fact that her body was lanky and cold like an uncooked chicken.
“Hit me”, Bella said with a suggestive raise of her eyebrow. She stepped closer to Rita, ignoring the warning glance the guard shot at her. Her fire hadn’t received any gasoline in years, and since Rita was here now, Bellatrix couldn’t ignore the rumble anymore.
Rita Skeeter smelled like sweetened fruits. It was almost drunkening.
With a smug grin Rita set her quill in motion and laid her piercing gaze on Bellatrix. “You have been rotting here for three years, is that correct?”
“Yes.” That was news to Bella, she hadn’t had any idea of the time passing, but it was too obvious to point out.
Three years, then. Three years had passed and an eternity was to come. Interesting.
“And you were thrown here for what crime, exactly? The readers would love to hear it in your own words.” Rita said it lazily, like a cat stretching its back in the sun. It was a challenge, though, and Bellatrix recognised it as such. Rita wanted to get a reaction, to see what was left of the wild-haired, bold girl she used to know. She wanted to assert her dominance, and she wanted to humiliate Bella. Rita Skeeter was a multifaceted woman.
Bellatrix tossed her hair and licked her lips. “A teeny bit of torture.”
Rita raised her eyebrows ever-so-slightly, pretending to be scandalised. “Torturing people to insanity, that’s how you call it?”
Bella smiled and twirled a strand of black hair in a bony finger. “Sure, why not?”
Rita’s quill scribbled words on a parchment, and Bella could take a small look at it. She was writing something about her looking at least twenty years older than she was, her having beast-like nails on her fingertips, her cell smelling like rotting corpses.
“Not here to flatter me, are you?” Bellatrix hissed with a low, indifferent sound to her voice. Her eyes sparkled like grey jewels in her eye-sockets, full of repressed feelings and needs. In her head Bella crafted a mad plan: if she was fast enough, she could leap on top of Rita and bite her neck, tear some hair out of her head. She might even be able to strangle her, but she had gotten too weak to be sure of it. The guard stood too close.
“I am here to do my job”, Rita replied, completely unfazed by the views she saw on Bella’s eyes. “Nothing more.”
Bella raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Rita smacked her lips. “Tell me about your life here in Azkaban. What do your days consist of? Any complaints?”
Bellatrix stepped closer, again. Now she was at an arm’s length from Rita. “Is this really an interview? You’re really gonna put this in the Daily Prophet ? The last time I saw you, even the shittiest magazines wouldn’t hire you.”
Rita smiled like a snake. “Times have changed, Trixie dear.”
Bella hissed and stepped further away, almost hitting her back on the wall. “Who else have you interviewed for your little article?”
Rita’s smile widened. “Your precious little cousin, for example. That was a sweet encounter, I’ll tell you that.”
Bella couldn’t quite control her facial expressions. “You interviewed that traitorous, good-for-nothing little whore?”
Rita cocked her head. Her quill had stopped dead. “Your family name still has quite the value. Besides, his betrayal was a huge scandal as you remember - even if it was dampened by the defeat of your dear Dark Lord. The people love juicy gossip.”
Bellatrix blinked. “You’d know all about that .” Rita only smiled, denying nothing.
“Would you like to see what I wrote of him? I bet you’d appreciate it.”
Bella snarled, but moved closer. Rita turned her notebook so she could see what was written on it.
Next in the line is perhaps Azkaban’s most famous prisoner. He, who thought he was helping his Master but ended up influencing his downfall instead. He, who betrayed his closest friends and failed in killing their son too. We are talking, of course, about Sirius Black.
The 24-year old man has changed quite drastically from his better days. Perhaps the prison air hasn’t worked wonders on his deadly pale skin that once glowed and made girls faint of infatuation. His hair is far too long for a man, and hangs damply on his skull-like face. The readers of Daily Prophet will be delighted to hear Azkaban hasn’t treated this traitorous, disgraced heir of the House of Black kindly.
Black is not up for questions, either. He displays aggressive behaviour, as he tries to jump from behind the bars of his cell and barks madly, like a rabid dog.
We do get one comment, though, from the man himself:
“It was me who did it. I tried to get back into my family’s good graces. It seems like I realised my mistake too late, but I don’t regret anything. James Potter deserved to die.”
Dramatic, much? Well, that’s Sirius Orion Black for you, folks.
Bellatrix glanced up from the parchment to see Rita smiling smugly, so full of herself.
“That quote was completely made up, wasn’t it?” Bella crowed. Any mention of his awful cousin had always made her blood boil. She was the oldest cousin, she was supposed to be the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Only because she was a girl, that honour was swapped to Sirius instead. And then he had the audacity to throw it all away for his filthy little friends, like it meant nothing at all.
Rita nodded, pleased with herself. “Obviously. He just snarled at us and retreated to the back of his cell. Said he’d bite my head off if I came any closer.”
Bellatrix snorted, hatred burning in her veins.
“Care to give a comment on his circumstances?” Rita asked. “He is, after all, the prisoner our readers are most interested in hearing about.”
And just like that, Bellatrix was cast in his idiot-cousin’s shadow again. She didn’t stop to think for a moment, she just launched herself towards Rita, her dirty, beast-like nails ready to scratch and gauge the eyeballs from Rita’s face. She opened her mouth to rip Rita’s throat open with her rotten teeth.
Fuck, how she wanted to kill that woman.
Fuck, how lovely she was.
They landed on the stone floor, Bellatrix was gripping Rita’s shoulders and saliva spilled from her mouth as she howled and hissed. “How dare you, how dare you, how dare you!”
Rita’s back cracked dangerously against the floor, and Bella hoped that it was her spine. Rita grunted beneath her, she was obviously in pain. Her eyeglasses had fallen off and flown to the corner of the cell. Bellatrix lowered her head to slit her throat open, but her mouth didn’t cooperate with her. Instead, her lips reached for Rita’s mouth that smelled like floral lipstick and bad breath.
They kissed deeply, like they were drowning. Bellatrix dirtied Rita’s body just with her touch, she was a wild animal. She groped and grabbed and tried to stay afloat, but Rita wasn’t an innocent, helpless quarry either. She was the ocean Bellatrix was drowning in.
She didn’t resist Bella’s touch, but instead welcomed it, despite the pain. She was as much a wild animal as Bellatrix was, she was just able to hide it better. Her hands were salt water that filled Bella’s lungs, her kisses burned like hell.
It was dirty, awful, and torturing. Bellatrix hadn’t felt so alive in three, long years. She might never feel so alive ever again.
For some reason, it wasn’t the guard that separated them, but Rita herself. She rolled from beneath Bellatrix and breathed heavily. “Quit with it.”
Bella had fallen on the floor, chest heaving. “Don’t you dare act like you didn’t want that.”
Rita picked herself up from the floor, cleaned her skirt and adjusted her hair. She summoned her glasses from the corner of the cell and put them on her nose. “Sure, I won’t.”
Bellatrix rolled on her side, much less graciously than she would’ve wished to. “Why do you run away from me, then?”
Rita’s eyes iced over. “I’m not here for this , Trixie.” She turned to her notebook and quill.
“Fuck you, then”, Bellatrix hissed.
Rita shed her words off like raindrops from her coat. “Anything you want to say in the article, still? Or would you like to get a similar segment to your cousin’s? It doesn't matter to me, I’m going to get a promotion and fame either way. ”
Bella scrunched her nose and stood up. It took more willpower than she wanted to admit.
“Tell your little readers what an absolute cunt you are”, she spat. “You put profit over people, your own success over other people. You claw your way up not with talent or anything of your own merit. You do all that by sheer ruthlessness. You will whore your way to the top if that’s what it takes, and you will be proud of it .”
Her words were so full of venom Bella’s mouth started to taste sour, so full of acid it almost burned holes through the roof of her mouth.
Rita merely sneered. “We’re the same, it seems. The only difference between you and me is that I actually got to the top while you fell to the lowest bottom.”
Bellatrix tried to attack her again, jaw snapping and saliva flying all around, but Rita knew better this time. She simply stepped out of the way and let Bellatrix topple onto the floor. It really hurt this time, not just physically.
Rita glanced at the guard and winked towards the locked door. “Our time’s up here. We’ve still got a few people to visit. Perhaps they will act more… civil.” Her smile was so extremely sweet that it turned sour.
Bellatrix just stared helplessly from the floor as the door was opened and closed again. Rita stood on the other side of the door, now, casting one last glance on her.
“I give my one last comment for Mr. Longbottom”, Bellatrix snarled through her teeth. “Send him my condolences.”
Rita looked at her, raising one eyebrow and sneering lopsidedly. “Now, why would I do that? He’s only four years old, that would be way too cruel .”
Bellatrix spat on the floor and hissed: “I hate you.”
“I know you do.”
With that, she chuckled and sailed out of Bella’s sight. Her heels clacked on the floor and sent angry shivers down Bellatrix’s spine. That horrible hag.
She didn’t miss Rita Skeeter, not one bit.
***
A few sleeps later Bellatrix woke up to find a wrinkled copy of the latest Daily Prophet on the front of her cell. She hauled her way to it and checked the date: 21st of August, 1984 .
When she shifted her gaze, there he was again, haunting her. A big, black and white picture of her cousin graced the cover. He cried like a madman, face all crumbled and ugly from pain and remorse. She rolled her tongue in her mouth and spat on the picture.
Fingers trembling from pure hatred she flicked the pages to find Rita’s article. It had an incredibly small picture of herself in the corner of the page: surely that was intentional. Bella read the article hungrily, eating the neatly printed black letters with her eyes.
Finally, there it was. Her segment of the article.
Yet another member of the Noble House of Black that fell out of grace just a few years back, is located here, in the most guarded levels of Azkaban. This time it’s a name that will make many people’s blood boil with hatred and fear: Bellatrix Lestrange.
Cousin to none other than Sirius Black, she was once among the most loyal followers of You-Know-Who. She even went as far as to torture the poor married couple of Longbottoms to insanity, even after the defeat of her beloved Master.
Azkaban has made certain features like madness and cruelty bloom in Mrs. Lestrange. She acts like a wild animal, worse than ever. With looks of a woman at least twenty years older than she really is, Lestrange sports beast-like nails and a feral grin. She will attack anyone who comes too close, and it’s no wonder she’s so tightly secured. Three years in one of the Wizarding Community’s most feared places has not humbled her. She describes the horrors she placed on the Longottoms as “a teeny bit of torture” and grins after, sharp teeth flashing.
With this case it comes quite clear as to why we need Azkaban and no changes are necessary. People like Bellatrix Lestrange are a threat to wizardkind and should be treated as such.
Only then did Bellatrix glance at the headline. “ Talk of changes in Azkaban increases: Is it really necessary? ” A square picture of Rita Skeeter looked up at her from the paper, and Bellatrix just knew that her sharp smile and assessing eyes were mocking her. She seemed to say: I won, and still you don’t despise me. Not the tiniest bit.
Bellatrix screamed and ripped the newspaper to tiny pieces, tossing it around her cell and dropping pieces of it from her window to the raging ocean. The dementors circled closer around her cell and soon Bellatrix lay on the ground, completely exhausted and sucked of any zest for life.
She would keep on dreaming about those sneering, red lips, but Rita Skeeter never visited her again.