The Night With Bella

Neville looked at the tall, aged man in front of him. He was currently instructing men and women on where to go in order to watch the prisoners. Three days before, Harry Potter had saved the world again. Lord Voldemort was now gone...forever. The prophecy had been fulfilled; this time it was for good. Most of his Death Eaters had been killed. The Malfoy name was now doomed never to continue; Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were dead along with their name. After the Dark Lord's demise, his followers, the few still living, had fled. They had been recaptured, only to be taken to Azkaban. The fortress was now much different. The dementors had left to find a more barbaric country in need of their help, where souls could readily be taken. The air of gloom still resided, but it was no longer so cold or haunting. The only thing that haunted it for Neville was the fact that she was there.

"Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him.

"Yes, Neville?"

"I want to see her."

Dumbledore blinked at him. His mind seemed as though it were weighing what that phrase meant exactly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," the boy replied resolutely.

"If this is what you want."

Neville's heart pounded as he followed the headmaster down the hallways, turn after turn. They finally reached the thickest door they had seen so far. Unlike the others, this one had no window. Dumbledore drew a large key on a thick chain from around his neck. He put the key in the lock and turned it.

"Will you be alright?" he asked a final time.

Neville pulled out his wand, then put it back.

"I'll be fine."

Dumbledore pushed open the door, gave the shaking boy the lantern, and Neville walked in, closing the door behind him.

It was pitch black apart from the light he had. There was the faint smell of blood, and the silence was painful. He set the lantern in the corner, and finally faced the witch he had come to see.

Bellatrix Lestrange was chained, looking very much like an 'X', to the wall opposite him. Her head was down, her hair hanging in her face. Her black robes were dirty and torn.

"Come to finally kill me, have you?" she said without looking up. "Or are you just going to let me rot?"

Neville could find no words. His whole life he had planned what he would say when this moment came. All of the clever insults and the horrible threats no longer seemed good enough. There were no words to express what he was feeling.

When he had not answered for several minutes, she finally looked up.

"Oh," she laughed. "It's you. I thought Dumbledore might let you have a go at me. Go on, boy. Do as you please."

She sighed when he did not move. "Poor, little Neville. Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

She smiled at him, her current position making her no less frightening. "I'd like to tell you a story."

He did not answer. Why wouldn't his mouth throw out something that would make that awful face of hers fall? If he had words for his feelings, he was sure she would be weeping from them. Where were they?

"It's about the night I spent with your parents. Would you like to hear it?"

He really did, but he didn't. He was curious to know what happened. He was sure there must be some reason why his parents, his noble Auror parents, had been beaten by some Death Eaters. There must have been some odd against them, something nobody else knew.

"After your friend, Harry, forced the Dark Lord into hiding, there were few of us left who would still claim to be devoted to him. We were the elite. We were the ones he rewarded when he returned. We thought that the Aurors knew where he was. By chance, we chose your parents to ask. You must know this story by now, boy. There were four of us. It was Bartemus Crouch, Jr., Rabastan, Rodolphus, and I. We rang the doorbell, and your father opened the door. We began interrogating them. I will never forget the look on your mother's face as she watched me torture your father again...again...and again. Then your father's face when your mother finally cracked, when the drool ran down her face and her eyes stared blankly ahead...Rodolphus's laughter at the sight of your father weeping, crying out your mother's name...Young Crouch's eyes growing wide when he saw what I did to her...it was some of my best work. Your father finally fell apart, after only one more Curse. Unfortunately for us, he had already alerted your precious Order, and they arrived before I got to have real fun with you."

She noticed that he had started trembling. He had also drawn his wand.

"But, the best story I have yet to tell. You and I have always had a special bond. It has nothing to do with your foolish parents at all, really. You started it, and I have a feeling you want to finish it. You reached for me on that night, the night I tortured your parents. I sent my dear Rodolphus to get you. He came down the stairs with you in his arms, and you were crying. When you saw me, you extended your chubby little arms toward me, and I held you. All of your tears stopped at once. Funny, isn't it? The one you hate so much gave you comfort when you were too small and innocent to realize what was going on. You had no idea that it was I, Bellatrix Lestrange, the one to whom you so desperately clung, who was to ruin the rest of your life. It was I," she continued, her voice growing louder and louder with excitement," who drove your parents to the worthless state they are in now, and you believed me to be your one and only comfort when you did not see them both, writhing on the floor in pain, trying to control their screams for you. The way your mother's back arched as she tried to somehow release herself from the Curse I cast, the way I forced her to choke her own husband, the sound of-"

A cried Curse, a flash of green light, and then silence.

Neville watched, tears in his eyes, as her dead weight pulled on the chains, her head resting on her chest. He shook violently, dropping his wand. It clattered deafeningly in the quiet cell. He walked up to her and stared into her face. There was a trace, the merest hint, of a smile.