My Worst Fear

I smirked at Sirius as I passed him, my head held high despite the filthy state of my robes.

He was already giving in to the darkness, I could tell. He glared at me between the bars of his cell, but it was a more subdued glare than I knew he could give. The dementors were taking effect on him.

The soul-sucking creatures led me towards my own cell, my own personal prison.

Everyone is shut off in here. The entire Azkaban complex is made up of solitary confinement cells. That way no one can take comfort or happiness from each other, and must simply wallow in their darkest memories forever.

I remembered what brought me here in the first place.

"Come on, Bellatrix," Lucius said. "We need your planning skills, your strategies. When the Dark Lord takes control, he'll need someone to keep the rebellions that will undoubtedly occur in check. That person will be his close advisor. You could be that person, Bellatrix."

The taste of power had been more than I could stand against. I gave in. I was branded with the mark of a man who was searching for power. I didn't even particularly like Voldemort. He was a means to an end.

I hate myself now. I could have stood against the killing, against the destruction, and yet I didn't. I was too hungry for a taste of recognition, after all those years of being a second daughter in a family that no one but the other purebloods respected.

It got to where I liked the killing. Frank Longbottom had it coming, anyhow. He had dared stand in my way, and that couldn't be allowed. I enjoyed torturing the little woman, too. Her pudgy round face screwed up in pain, her almost beautiful features rendered repugnant by her agony.

It delighted me to have that much power over her.

And the little baby. Neville, I believe his name was. He saw me, saw the rest of us. He was at that age where you can't tell if he'll remember anything later, but we weren't taking chances.

It was Rabastan who took care of him. He was always a bit shoddy with Charms. The child's eyes went momentarily dull, and then he began to wail.

Unthinkingly I bent to scoop him up, some shred of maternal instinct wanting only to quiet his tears and make things all better. He stopped crying and cooed at me, a grin showing off a few newly grown teeth.

"Ma-ma," he said haltingly, wrapping his dimpled hand around a strand of my hair. Then he turned and saw Alice laying unconscious on the ground, and began to scream.

It was a terrible scream, the kind of undiluted fear and agony only a child can produce in sound. It rang in my ears even after we'd left the house.

It echoes in my mind now.

I hear the swish of a cloak and the rattling sound of a dementor drawing breath. Vague screams are coming from some other floor, from some other person who has reached the cliff of insanity, the point of no return.

The dementors don't have much effect on me, it seems. I know exactly why.

I could have done something. I could have stopped the death and destruction, turned spy like Severus, or gotten close enough to Voldemort himself to loose a last, well aimed curse in his direction. For I've no doubt it would be my last, especially if Lucius was present. Even Rodolphus would have turned on me.

But I gave in to the power. The opportunity to be someone, and have people look up to me. To walk down the street and see people cower at my very approach. I traded morality for a snatch at glory.

I am my own worst fear. The dementors cannot do anything against that.

So I sit here now, looking out on this expanse of water that separates me from civilization, knowing that I'll be free someday. No mere child could keep the Dark Lord from returning, and when he does I shall stand at his right hand, and have the power I so rightly deserve for all my pain.

But a mere child can haunt my dreams.

Neville's screams echo in my mind, and I cannot ignore them.