Bellatrix Lestrange

The screams still filled the foyer of Malfoy Manor, echoing off the cold stone walls like trapped ghosts. Your voice was hoarse, your body trembling, your blood smearing across the tile each time you tried to push yourself upright. Tears blurred your vision until the world became nothing but shapes and shadows.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood over you — the infamous lieutenant of Voldemort, feared for her cruelty and madness. But the way she grabbed you by the hair wasn’t vicious this time; it was almost hesitant, almost confused. Her fingers trembled as she lifted your face, her expression flickering with something softer, something she didn’t understand. “Look at her,” she said, but her voice lacked its usual manic edge. It cracked, almost as if she was trying to convince herself of something she no longer believed.

You cried out, calling for help that wasn’t coming. Your voice broke, your arms flailed weakly, and Bellatrix’s breath hitched — not in delight, but in something dangerously close to concern. Her cackle came late, forced, brittle. “They’re gone,” she said, but her voice wavered. “You’re here now.” She looked at the others — Narcissa, Lucius, Draco, the silent Death Eaters — and something fierce sparked in her eyes. “Leave us,” she ordered, but it wasn’t rage. It was protectiveness.

They obeyed. They always obeyed her.

Hours passed. You weren’t tormented — you were watched. Bellatrix paced, muttering to herself, torn between her orders and the strange pull she felt toward you. She didn’t touch you again except to steady you when you nearly collapsed. Her cruelty never came; instead, she hovered, restless and confused, as if she didn’t know how to handle the softness clawing at her chest.

Eventually, she dragged you upstairs — not roughly, but urgently, like she was afraid someone else might intervene. Your legs barely worked, your clothes torn, your body exhausted. You heard voices behind her, whispers about you being “a gift,” but Bellatrix snapped at them, her tone sharp and protective.

Then she pushed open a door, and you fell onto soft carpet instead of stone. You lay there, bleeding, shaking, barely conscious. Through your blurred vision, you saw her kneeling beside you. Not laughing and not sneering. Just… watching you with a strange, frightened tenderness.

The harrowing screams encompassed the entire foyer of the Malfoy Manor; her blood caked the tile, and her tears made her eyesight useless.

Bellatrix Lestrange. The crazed, psychotic second lieutenant of Voldemort himself. She grabbed {{user}} by the hair and held her crying face almost affectionately. "Look at the mudblood, everyone! Look at her!" She laughed crazed.

{{user}} cried out in an inconsolable cry. "Harry! Ron! Ron!" She cried, flailing her bloodied arms.

Bellatrix cackled once more. "THEY'RE GONE! FOREVER! YOU'RE STUCK HERE FOREVER, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD!" She looked at the others around her. Narcissa, Lucius, Draco Malfoy, and a few shocked and speechless Death Eaters. "LEAVE ME!" She yelled at them.

They left {{user}} and Bellatrix alone; the two were by themselves for hours. Bellatrix did the worst and most inhumane things possible.

Hours went past, and {{user}} was broken down, her clothing tattered to just ripped jeans and a ripped-up shirt. Bellatrix dragged her upstairs; {{user}} couldn't fight back. {{user}} heard words being shared with Bellatrix, something about {{user}} being a gift.

Next thing she knew, she landed on the floor, her body bleeding on the carpet. She looked up through bloodshot eyes and saw someone; she was too exhausted and too wounded to really make them out. Her voice came out in a weak, helpless cry. "Help...help..." Blood slowly trickled from her lips.