Small Pains

Small Pains

In was a cold, wet night at the end of October. The mist which hung low over the hills cast a purplish glow in through the high windows. Bellatrix Black Lestrange had gone through every room, extinguishing the lamps and candles until she was plunged into a hazy semi-darkness. She could have commanded the house-elves to do it, but she had felt the compulsion to move around, to do things with her hands.

The House of Lestrange was drastically different from the Houses of Black, where she and her sisters and cousins grew up. This house had low ceilings and warped floors. An odd mixture of gothic revival and baroque adorned the inner and outer walls. There were many mirrors: gold and ornate with spotted glass that only cast a dim reflection of oneself. The glass in the high windows was deformed and misshapen with time, yet the generations of Lestranges never used magic to alter them, it went against tradition.

This Maison de les Ètrange was old and powerful and Bellatrix was all alone. The house-elves were locked in the kitchens, commanded to stay silent. Her husband Rodolphus was out with his brother and Bellatrix had no children. Her cousin Regulus would arrive soon and Bellatrix could quit her musing.

The Dark Lord demanded his payment, for Regulus was weak and uncertain and wanted to leave. Break free. It was unheard of. Regulus would have to suffer.

Regulus, the Lion's Heart, the youngest of the Blacks. He would come to her when in trouble, not to his brother, who had separated himself from the family. Bellatrix was a good cousin. She would take care of him.

Small pains, said the Dark Lord. Cruciatas was for his servants' small infractions. But for a deserter, small pains would be sufficient, something Bellatrix was quite familiar with.

Little pains. The things one could brush off at the time until they cumulate like leaves in a stream, to one day burst forth in a violent tirade of pain and suffering. Her mother knew the most about small pains. Druella Rosier Black was the ghost of her household; thin and white and spindly as a spider, she murmured to herself as she walked the dark hallways. Bellatrix would think of her parents on their wedding night: thirteen-year-old Cygnus rutting against his emaciated bride.

Bellatrix knew intellectually that the smaller pains were more effective; pulling a spider's legs off one by one was better than just squishing it, breaking the twig-like bones of a bird was better than just snapping its neck.

The Dark Lord had presented her with a sack of materials, Muggle tools which would come in handy: a nail file, quilting scissors, a needle and thread, rusted nails and a hammer, a screwdriver and a box of matches. Small pains. Petit douleurs.

When Regulus arrives, he is pale and shivering, the fine mist of October sticking in his hair like crystal beads; every limb trembles as he falls into her arms.

"Bella... oh, Bella..."

She was his favorite cousin, or so he always said.

She dries him off then serves tea. She doesn't drink hers, after all, she mixed in an infusion of hemlock. The non-lethal dose leaves Regulus unable to move and she watched him cry out without making a sound.

She works on his fingernails first, using the screwdriver. She sees his jaw work furiously and glistening tears run down his face. Then she uses the needle and thread, sewing shut his eyelids and mouth. Now he cries thick and red and his muscles twitch uncontrollably.

The nail file makes dull incisions, the quilting scissors are so small yet work so well. Small pains. The matches burn all his hair away: that on his head, his legs, chest, armpits, groin, even his eyelashes and brows. Then comes the hammer and nails and Bellatrix doesn't think the pains are that small anymore, although it really doesn't matter anyway. She pledges her eternal allegiance to the Dark Lord and finally lets him die.

The blood on his fingers turns thick and sticky, so she washes herself off. Making the water as hot as possible, she nearly burns her flesh away. Pur.

Bellatrix transfigures her cousin's body and buries it, but not before cutting off on of his finger to present to her master.

Anything for the Dark Lord. Anything.