They will have no pride in their gift from her Lord, and she knows they are not to be trusted. She sees her husband, dear Rodolphus, across the common whispering crucio in a lover’s purr that draws her closer to him to watch those he tortures tremble and writhe beneath his power. She nearly reaches him before she remembers that she seeks another.
Azkaban is merely a shell of its former glory. She steps inside the fallen ruins and laughs with delight as she walks through the corridors. When she left years ago, she made a promise to the shadows that she would be back and she would see it destroyed. Bellatrix always keeps her promises. Her cousin, Sirius, is gone by her hand. Her sister, Narcissa, and nephew are alive because of her ideas. And now, her greatest accomplishment, Azkaban lies in ruins.
She steps over the bodies of those fallen during the attack. It is a waste to kill so many outright, she thinks idly, when one could enjoy hours of torture before taking their lives. There is no mercy in her gaze as it lingers here and there, the word having no true meaning to her.
The staircase that leads downstairs to the most secure cells is dark and empty. It reminds her of her cell, the cold seeping into her skin as she takes each step lower into the bowels of Azkaban. The screams follow her, remind her of the shrieks the Dementors made before striking, and she is relieved when she leaves the stairs.
The majority of the cells are open, their occupants either bearing the Mark of her Lord or entertainment for those who choose to follow His path. Bellatrix walks down the corridor until she reaches her destination. A man is inside, his pale hair matted with dirt and his skin covered in grime. He does not even look at her when she enters the cell.
Bellatrix removes her mask and lets it fall to the stone floor. When she touches him, he cowers and trembles like a wounded animal. It takes only one look into his face for her to know, to see. His gaze is unfocused as he shakes and makes pathetic whimpers. He does not know her, does not know anyone. She is too late to save her dear sister’s husband. Lucius is gone, leaving behind only this empty shell that has been broken by these four walls; another victim of Azkaban.
There is no hope for him. She knows about Azkaban and its victims, recognizing easily that any trace of the intelligent man he once was is gone. This broken creature is no use to anyone. She refuses to bring it back to Narcissa, preferring that her sister only have fond of memories of the man she chose to marry.
Bellatrix leans forward and picks up her mask. She puts it back on before she brushes the stringy blond hair away from the face that is still handsome. “Lucius Malfoy,” she says his name with respect for the man that he once was, waiting to see if his name or her voice triggers recognition.
The eyes that look back at her confirm her decision as they blink and dart away as if they didn’t even focus on her. She stands, smoothes out her robe, and raises her wand. “He was a good man once,” she declares as she points her wand and says the necessary words, closing her eyes as green light fills the tiny cell.