The Price

Bellatrix Lestrange lay on the straw that littered her cell. It was covered in blood and fleas, among other unpleasant things. A dementor glided past her, and she shivered. Her stomach cramped sharply, bringing her mercifully back to reality. Her fellows in their cells did not have the same reliable pain, the familiarity of something, that she was blessed with as a woman. She blinked a few times to clear her mind, then sat against the wall.

She had decided upon entering that she would not lose her mind. When her Lord returned, she would need all of her mental capacity to be the able-bodied servant that she was. She knew he expected nothing less.

In order to keep her sanity, she had developed a few tricks to keep herself occupied. Her favorite was a simple thing, too simple to have given her so much joy. She rubbed her hands together furiously, sometimes for ridiculous amounts of time, until she could no longer stand the heat. She then placed her hand over her left forearm, over the Mark. It felt like he was calling her. Sometimes, if she dared to brave the dementors that would surely follow, she would let out a shriek of wild laughter, trying to fool herself into thinking that it was real, that he had caused that burn.

She finished her self-deception and waited for her unwanted companions. They gathered around her cell, and she simply waited for the cold to pass.

She had been receiving lessons from him several times a week. She would feel him call her, and immediately Apparate to his side. He trained her relentlessly when they were together. It seemed she never got a chance to breathe. However, she was grateful. He could have chosen any of his followers to favor like this, yet he chose her.

"Listen to me," he demanded as he raised his wand. "The wand is not your most powerful weapon."

"The mind is."

"The wand is the servant of the mind. There is a still greater master. Think."

She racked her brain, flicking through every piece of information she had ever acquired.

"Forgive me, Master, but I do not know."

"I surmised as much."

The remark was a subtle rebuke, one that stung her deeply. It was his disappointment, his lack of faith in her.

"Tell me, Bellatrix...what do you feel when you cast an Unforgiveable?"

She considered it, then answered, "Power."

"Yes, but that is not the answer."

"Hate?"

"Correct again, yet not it."

"Anger?"

"Exactly. You must learn to feel anger at what the one at the end of your wand is. Once you learn to let your anger take control of your mind, new powers will be opened up to you."

"But, Master," she began cautiously, for questioning him rarely ever benefited her, "how will I keep my thoughts straight if my anger is in control?"

"That, my child, is another power you have yet to master. One step at a time."

She hated it when he did those things. When she offered what she thought was a good answer, only to find it was inadequate. It was rather silly of her to be so brought down by this; after all, he was only trying to teach her. She always felt as though she had disappointed him, though he never expressed it.

The dementors sucked more out of her as a new memory surfaced.

The day was rather hot. She had her hair pulled back into a bun and her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. The windows were open, letting the July air inside. Sweat sat on her upper lip and forehead. Breathing was difficult.

"Master, could we not go someplace cooler?"

"No. What if you were to have to duel in weather like this? No, Bella, you must adapt to all climates."

This was not a good enough answer for her, and she felt not a little anger toward him.

"I know what you are thinking, Bellatrix, and it will not help you at all. Let it go."

He had never told her to let something go before, but she did. The heat all but disappeared for the time being.

"Now," he said, raising his wand to chest height," this spell is particularly-"

But she never heard what it was. A piece of hair had fallen out of her bun and into her face. She grabbed it and tried to put it back into place. It rebelled and fell again. She began to get impatient and began treating it more roughly.

"Bellatrix!"

He strode over to her, wrapped his fingers in the offending strand, and jerked upwards. The hair parted company with her scalp, and she cried out. He then struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

"You didn't listen," he snarled, raising his wand.

"Master, please, no!" she pleaded, dropping to her knees.

"Crucio!"

She collapsed, screaming. Her frame began to convulse violently. Then he released her. She lay, twitching, on the floor, moaning softly.

"Get up, and never let your attention wander from me again."

She raised herself to her feet and fixed her eyes on him, never to stray again.

That had been the day she had discovered what a powerful master she served. She felt pride for a few seconds, then the dementors snatched it greedily and forced her back down.

The large fortress loomed before them, the sky dark and overcast. Bella sat in a boat with two dementors and three other people. Her eyes were only on one of her shipmates: Rodolphus. She had lost one of her men when the Dark Lord had fallen and she was about to lose the other for an indefinite number of years. He rested his eyes on her and the dead look made her gasp. Any love she might have felt would have been taken anyway, so she forced it down. Instead she said to herself, "The Dark Lord is powerful." A neutral mantra, one devoid of any hope or happiness, was her only chance of sanity. Her eyes still bored into her husband's. The small boat ran aground and the guards directed their four prisoners to their fate. Bella forced her way to her husband, threw her arms around him, and he kissed her furiously. "I love you," she managed to say before she was dragged away with a sharp stab of painful memories.

Her stomach lurched as the dementors drew an even more piercing memory.

She shook in the night air though the summer was very warm. She had just finished Hogwarts a fully-fledged witch. The Dark Lord was ready for her to become a true follower.

"Come along, Bella."

She trotted behind him, clutching her wand. She knew that this was the night that would either make or break her. This particular family had annoyed her master far too long. He was on a mission to destroy them and had chosen her as his assistant, so to speak. She knew that he didn't really need her help. This was her test, his way of finding out if all of her sworn loyalty stopped at words.

When they arrived at the door, he looked at her gravely and said, "Watch me. Do as I say when I say."

"Yes, my Lord."

He blasted the door off of its hinges and stepped into the room. An older man and woman were seated at a table with a boy that could only be their grandchild. When they saw who had intruded, they both went for their wands.

But the Dark Lord was faster.

"Oh, no, we can't have that," he chuckled as he Disarmed them, Summoned their wands, and Levitated them above the head of the screaming boy before they could say, 'Attack.'. "Bella, take the brat."

She rushed forward and put a Binding Charm on the kid. She looked at him and saw someone familiar. He must have been the son of a boy she went to school with, someone older obviously; the child was about four. She studied his face for a few seconds before turning her eyes toward her master again.

"Good. Watch me."

He commenced what most considered to be the stuff of nightmares. The things he did to those people scared her. She never would have guessed that one day she would do the same. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sound of their screams, mingled with those of the terrified child. If she hadn't know that it would result in her own torture, she would have grabbed the boy and taken him far away, holding him close. He was too young to see this; she was too young to see this. All of the practices, the readings, the theories...nothing could have prepared her for this. She was terrified. She tried with all of her strength to enjoy it, to try to feel a surge of pride. She wanted desperately to delight in the vicious picture that was developing before her eyes.

She felt nothing but sick.

When two flashes of green light had finished dazzling her eyes, her master turned to her.

"Now, my Bella, kill the brat."

"This brat?" she asked stupidly.

"No, the other brat. Yes, this brat. I want the whole family gone. Do it now."

She nodded and turned numbly toward her victim. He was crying loudly, tears streaming down his face into his mouth. Bella raised her wand and closed her eyes. She summoned up everything that was in her, all anger and hatred she had ever felt. She felt none toward this child. If her curse failed, her life would most likely end.

"Avada Kedavra!"

An emerald glow resonated around the kitchen for a moment, then faded.

"Well done, Bella."

As they went outside where her master would sling his Mark into the air, she stumbled around the side of the house and vomited. He appeared at her side and said, "It will get better. I felt the same after my first kill. Soon it will be like the sweetest honey to you, to feel that life ebb away at your will. Come."

She was dimly aware of his probing her mind, but there was nothing she could do. All she could see was the face of that boy.

She remembered the relief she felt at the kill where she finally felt the promised feeling. The dementors drew more heavily than ever, finally recalling the most painful of them all.

She was in a room at her sister's house with Lucius and Rodolphus. There were signs of a party lying around. This was the night that the Dark Lord would secure his place as the greatest power to ever live. All he had to do was to go kill some half-blood brat and the path would be clear. She was gazing fondly at her husband when Lucius exclaimed, "NO!"

"What?"

He held out his arm for her to see. His Mark had faded to almost invisibility.

"No," Bella said, frantically, shaking her head. "There must be a mistake."

She checked her own arm and saw that hers had faded as well.

"No!"

"Bella," Rodolphus said, infinite grief in his voice, "he's gone."

She pulled her hand back and let it make painful contact with his face.

"How dare you doubt the Dark Lord! He cannot be gone! I refuse to believe it!"

She sat down and steadily breathed, calming herself.

"We must only wait. He must be using quite a bit of power. If he needs us, he will call for us in a few minutes."

Ten nervous minutes later, there had been no call.

"I don't believe it," Lucius said softly.

"Good," Bella declared sternly, "because it's not happening. He's fine."

Five more minutes passed.

"I'm going to him," she proclaimed, suddenly standing.

She tried to Apparate, but there was no where for her to go. There was no master to go to now.

Tears welled in her eyes. He was gone. She sat back down, her hand to her mouth. The tears spilled from her eyes silently at first, then progressed to violent sobs. She covered her face with her hands, wishing for death. Her husband took her in his arms, and she wept into his chest, wanting nothing more than to feel a familiar burn on her arm.