Getting Away With Murder

I am nothing more than a shadowy silhouette in a lighted window, emotionless and without thought or feeling. A figure of interest for the people in black cloaks and hoods walking on the ground below. They are jealous or my closeness to you, but still I intrigue them.

They do not know me; no one does. If they did, they would that their jealous looks and hateful stares do nothing to me in any way. I do not feel them. I hover somewhere between happiness and sadness in a state which I suppose one would call numbness. This state is rather pleasant on the whole, with no attachment to anything except you.

Sitting here, watching them march out of our meeting place to the Apparation clearing, I try to calculate what creates my madness. It was not the Dementors; I am too strong for them to affect me. It was not your punishment, for it is addictive. I ponder for a moment, but no answer floats to mind.

I should feel helpless just waiting here for you to arrive. But, as I said, your punishments, the pain...It is pleasure. I fight every time to keep a smile off my face, only successful because my screams. I love the way they echo off the stone walls, and seem to make the air around them vibrate even when I am silent. I love sitting here, waiting for disaster to strike. Intoxicating, one might call it.

A smile creeps up on my features. I can feel it stretching my face, as my muscles contort into the all familiar smirk.

I feel rather irrational at the moment, meddling into confrontation to sort out a problem. Usually, I shrug them off, and, to make myself feel better, torture one of the stupid Muggles who went for a walk in the Albanian woods. Sometimes I toy with one, perhaps kiss them if I am in a good mood, and then leave them begging for more. It's fun, in a very pleasing way. It makes me feel as if I'm getting away with murder.

Which, I think, I am.

To myself and to you I cannot lie. I can't to myself because that would lower me to standards that are not my own. Muggles and fools lie to themselves to avoid what is obvious, and those are not people I would like to be associated with.

You walk in, and I do not move. My body stiffens without my consent, waiting for the pain, for the pleasure, the screams...

But they never come. In a moment, I turn to face you. To my confused amazement, you are carrying a goblet.

"Drink this, Bellatrix," you say, persuasive and cold.

"Why?" I question, staring at the goblet. I do not want it. "Is it painful?"

You know I do not wish for it not to be. "No."

My smile is removed and replaced with a frown. I take the goblet from you, and drink even though I don't want to.

The liquid is milky and oddly metallic. I barely get it down before I am bombarded with all the thoughts I never allowed myself to think, everything I ever pushed away. I shift from my state of numbness into a state of something completely new and nameless. Before I know it, I'm shouting.

"I hate you! You tricked me! You told me I would be powerful and beautiful, a queen over a dominion of people. I would have slaves, Muggles and Mudbloods, an army, and everything I had ever dreamed of. You LIED! Look at me! Look what Azkaban has done, what you have done! Tell me I'm beautiful; tell me where my kingdom is! Show me everything I dreamed of!

"Where is it, Lord? Where is everything you promised? Where it always was, NOWHERE! You use that slippery tongue of your to get everything you want, and I hate it!

"This isn't right! A daughter of the Blacks isn't a slave to anyone! She should be the one commanding, not the one taking orders.

"You want to know how it feels? Here! CRUCIO!"

Your screams bring me to my senses, and I lift the curse after a moment's pause. I am confused, wanting my numbness again, my emotional detachment from everything.

The potion hasn't worn off. Memories flood to the surface, even though I never look back. I feel everything; I see it all happening again, an instant replay of my life up until this moment.

Finally it's over. It stops, and I sink into the window seat, leaning heavily against the glass.

"So that is how you feel, Bellatrix?"

I don't answer. My head is reeling, I can't think, I can't speak, I can't do anything.

"I had to show you how you felt. You were to numb to feel."

Oh, how I hate you!

"Yes, you might. However...I suppose...Crucio!"

My screams fill the air, they echo as they always do.

Yet, I do not enjoy it.