another troy to burn / pg-13
Fanfic Challenge #17
Prompt: Death Eaters. Either something they did as a Death Eater or the circumstances that led to becoming a Death Eater.
Words: 500+
Title: Another Troy to Burn
Summary: Araminta Meliflua may have tried to get the Ministry to legalize Muggle-hunting, but she isn't the only one who enjoyed it; a gathering in the woods near Malfoy Manor, c. 1977.
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus Black, associated Death Eaters
Genre: Dark.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Violence.
Word Count: 3110
Points
3110/50 + 3110/500 = 62.2 + 6.22 = 68.42 → 69
- Antoinette, Ravenclaw
another troy to burn
she would of late
have taught to ignorant men most violent ways
- No Second Troy, W B Yeats
one
Sophie ceases thrumming her fingers on the top of the open window and casts a sidelong glance at the driver's seat. In it sits Cal with his own fingers tapping along with the radio's beat on top of the steering wheel. He has one elbow resting on the sill of his open window. The cool night air blows into the car and out again through the rear windows.
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Sophie has to raise her voice to be heard, and she holds her hair out of her face with one hand.
Outside, in the darkness, Wiltshire flies by. The road is barely lit. The further they get from home, the more Sophie thinks that it's a stupid idea to try and welcome the official first day of summer at midnight with all the other dreadlocked hippies, miscellaneous flavours of pagans and new agers. Sitting on Cal's porch in the darkness, cigarette smoke spiralling upward into the night sky, it had seemed like a terribly romantic idea. Enough so that Cal had sneaked his father's car keys.
From the back of the car, Henry leans forward, a badly folded map in one hand. He waves it emphatically, jabbing at a spot on it with his other hand. "We're going here!"
"That was my ear!" Sophie covers the offended appendage and directs a glare his way.
"Sorry, can't hear you. The music's too loud." Henry settles back in his seat, flinging an arm around Lizzie, grinning the grin of the still-sloshed. He drops the map onto the floor of the car, where it crumples at his feet. He takes the bottle of liquor from Lizzie and downs it with a huge gulp from the lipstick-smeared top.
"Hey, what's that?"
The "that" in question turns out, once Cal stops the car and slowly backs it up to see with the aid of the headlamps, to be the only other vehicle on the road. It's a large, hulking shape with the bonnet popped upward, illuminated barely by the torch in the hand of the young woman leaning over it. Her long hair falls forward, hiding her face, no matter how many times she brushes it behind her ear. It slips free, tumbling precariously close to the oiled mechanisms of the engine.
"Do you need any help?"
The young woman nearly hits her head on the bonnet, but recovers quickly. Her surprise is unmistakable as she faces the foursome in their working vehicle. Even though it's not as loud as the Coopers' truck that woke Sophie up every time it rumbled down the road in the early morning, she finds it surprising that the young woman looks as startled as she does. She eyes Cal’s father’s car with suspicion for a moment.
Then, she smiles, and it transforms her face. It's a lazy, slow smile, one that Sophie recognizes. It's a smile designed to lure people in, particularly men. The young woman's eyes are heavy-lidded and they add a smoulder to her expression.
"Please," she says in a musical tone, and pushes her dark hair out of her face. It falls down, over her back and shoulders, blending into the long, dark dress that she wears.
Cal pulls the car onto the side of the road, shifts into park and cuts the engine, leaving the keys. Sophie can't help but scowl a little; the young woman's smile works. Muttering something under his breath, Henry slides out of the back seat, patting the pockets of his jacket, and finally pulling out a carton of cigarettes. Laving the door open, he sits on the boot of the car, causing a slight dip with his weight while Cal ambles over to the stranded dark-haired young woman and her erstwhile car.
In the review mirror, Sophie meets Lizzie's gaze, and rolls her eyes, peeved. Communicating without using words, Lizzie shrugs. They both get out of the car, kicking their doors shut behind them and lean against the side, huddling together. Even with summer's bright days, it still gets cold out when the sun goes down.
"Smoke?" Henry waves the pack at them. Glad for the small bit of warmth, the girls accept the cigarettes and their accompanying flames.
two
It's easy to do one at a time. Easy to cast a whispered spell, to impose her will upon them. She's got very good at it, and it doesn't take very long for her to move from the fake car to where the girls stand, smoking their cigarettes. It's like pressing on someone's throat, but easier, and they don't even realize what she's done. They don't even see the wand, pointed at each in turn. They stumble, one after the other, putting one hand out as if they could steady themselves. One of them reaches for his throat, as if he could fix what's happening by coughing. It's not his throat that's the problem - they're all breathing fine. She went in further than that, past the first layer of thought that's conscious and easily formed. She's made them forget to breathe for a little bit. Not long enough to cause irreparable damage or anything, just enough so that they would stop being conscious.
It's not like they'll need to worry about the side effects of asphyxiation, anyway.
The last one falls, first against the car, and then onto the dusty, gravel-strewn road.
Bellatrix smiles, pushes back her hair, and summons a messenger. It looks bright against the sky, cocks its head at her, and she sends it on off with another wave of her wand. She leans against their car, crossing her legs at the ankles, and waits. It won't be long now. The engine of their car is still warm beneath the metal. She runs her hand over it, feeling like it might almost be alive, twirling her wand in her other hand.
There are no other headlamps in the distance, no other Muggle cars coming down this road at this time. She knows there won't be.
The silence of the night is split with the sound of a pair of loud cracks, almost right on top of each other.
Bellatrix doesn't look at them directly. She slants a glance out of the corner of her eyes, and smiles. It's not the same smile she gave the Muggles earlier.
"You're late," she says.
Rodolphus barely spares the unconscious Muggles a glance as he strides over to Bellatrix. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her up from the car roughly, and kisses her. The stubble on his cheeks rasps against her skin, and she smiles into his kiss. The smile is not for him. She pulls back and sees Lucius, impatient with the display, moving the Muggles with his wand.
They look like puppets with their strings cut. Lucius ties them together with ropes from the end of his wand, and then turns to the car.
The Muggles drop to the ground, less gracefully this time. Bellatrix can't help but giggle.
Lucius ignores her. He pulls something long and sinuous from his pocket, taps it with his wand and mutters: "Portus."
The Ministry disproves of making portkeys without authorization, but that portkey would be the least of their problems if the Ministry were to find out what they are planning tonight. It's a good thing that the forest near Malfoy Manor is charmed so heavily that if anyone from the Ministry tried to enter it, they would set off enough ruckus to allow those inside to escape.
This piece of rope, for Bellatrix can now see it is a piece of rope, flies through the air and ties itself around the waist of all of the Muggles. A moment later, they vanish with a small flare of light.
"Are you coming?" Lucius asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, and disapparates without another word.
Rodolphus takes out his wand and transforms the two cars into a pair of strangely shaped rocks. Perhaps, if you looked close enough, the rocks might remind someone of Muggle cars, but only if they closed your eyes and tilted their head a certain way.
three
The clock ticks on. It's not a normal one, one that you would find in the middle of a house, with the names of the family and different places written around the edge. This clock has no such words or images. It has only one hand, a plain silver one, and it sits on the wall, unassuming. If you don't know what it was for, you would think that it's a barometer, meant to measure the air pressure if you were going to go flying.
But it is a clock.
Regulus is the only one who keeps glancing at it. Bellatrix wants to grab his chin and force his gaze away from it. Nervousness is unbecoming to a Black, like public outbursts and intimate relations with Mudbloods.
She keeps quiet, like a good Black woman should, and she listens. She has always been listening, ever since she was a little girl. She knows when to make her move. She leans on the armrest of Rodolphus's chair, his arm around her; his hand is on her hip, and she listens.
Lucius is talking with her brother-in-law. He and Rabastan are at the other side of the room, drinks in hand. Something dark and golden is in their glasses, and Bellatrix knows what they are talking about without listening. They are talking about her sister, about Narcissa, whose hair is nearly the same colour as the liquid in their glasses. Lucius wants to marry her.
Severus crosses the room to where Regulus skulks by the window, now tapping on the sill. He says something into Bellatrix's cousin's ear, and she frowns.
Rosier, the great fool, has made a suggestion that they give the Muggles a sporting chance. He says they have a wand of their own, a metal one that hurts people. One day, he is going to get himself killed and then Bellatrix will laugh. Not at the funeral, of course, because his mother is great friends with Bellatrix’s own, and that would be impolite.
So now, Bellatrix laughs. It carries in the room; she has planned it this way. She is standing in the best place in the room, acoustically speaking. "Don't be an idiot," she says, letting scorn dance freely through her tone. "That's not what we planned."
"As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted," Rosier says to Avery and Parkinson, ignoring Bellatrix even though his face is flushed dark with anger.
"If he wants to play tag with a Muggle and one of their metal wands, he can do so on his own time," Bellatrix continues, directing her words at her husband. She knows that everyone is watching her, even though they pretend not to do so.
four
Bellatrix can hear the Muggle's breathing. It's harsh and out of place in the near-silent woods. She moves, quiet as the shadow she looks like, barely breathing. She pauses at one tree, and casts a disillusionment charm upon herself. This is her favourite way to start. Hidden and watching.
She steps out of the shadow of the tree, and stands right in front of the Muggle, unseen. He looks terrible: there's a scratch across his cheek, one of his sleeves is torn and it looks like he has caught his foot on something. Bellatrix thinks he might be limping, but that is no concern of hers.
She points her wand past the Muggle, wordlessly blowing up part of the ground. The Muggle ducks instinctively, and lurches away. She makes another patch of ground explode; this one in the direction the Muggle had lurched.
She laughs, and he freezes. The Muggle looks around, unable to see the source of the laughter. This only makes Bellatrix's smile spread.
"Who's there?" The Muggle asks, turning around. His voice is high-pitched. Bellatrix keeps herself from smiling.
"Incendio," she whispers, and sets a nearby mess of twigs and leaves ablaze. Now she can see the Muggle's face better, see the fear that creates sharp lines and shadows of his features.
She stops him from running away, tripping him up with a quick jinx. On the ground, the Muggle crawls backward, moving behind a tree and out of Bellatrix's sight. She covers the ground quickly and rounds the tree, letting the disillusionment charm fade. She knows that it will make her look like she has appeared out of the shadows themselves. A pretty trick, but one she likes.
She also likes the knife she slides from her pocket, as she slips her wand into her sleeve.
"Hello," Bellatrix says, crouching down beside the cowering Muggle. He looks up at her, eyes wide.
"Did they get you too?" he asks in a whisper.
Bellatrix sighs and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Must they always be so stupid? She knows that the wizard brain is clearly superior, but sometimes she would rather not feel like she's talking to an idiot child at times.
"Shh, shh," she says softly, the same way her mother used to calm Narcissa when she was a baby. Bellatrix cups his face in her hands, one thumb resting on his chin. The Muggle's eyes flit sideways and widen when he sees the glint of the knife.
He tries to pull away, but she already has a firm grip on his chin. Bellatrix draws the knife down the side of his face, pressing not as hard as she could. Blood wells up in the line that follows the blade, and the Muggle gasps shakily.
Bellatrix smiles, and smears the blood with her thumb, moving it across the Muggle's face. She drags the knife down his throat, pressing harder, but not enough to cut too deeply. Nicking the carotid artery or the jugular vein would be a mistake; it would finish everything far too soon.
The Muggle tries to push her away. Bellatrix sweeps backward, the knife vanishing. She removes her wand from her sleeve, and points it at the Muggle.
"Crucio."
The first screams are always the best, when the victim is unsuspecting and taken by surprise. It's then that you can hear the first expression of raw pain, the howling of their most inner self. Bellatrix lifts the spell after a long moment, and watches the whimpering Muggle. It's a disappointment really, but what else is to be expected? He's a man, a Muggle man at that. Women have always been better at bearing pain.
She casts it again, this interval longer than the last. The Muggle bends in funny ways, like a stretchy toy. His back arches, and Bellatrix lifts the curse when he does so, and pushes on his torso, bending it back.
There's a crack, but she is unsure whether it's his spinal chord, or a dry piece of wood breaking under the Muggle as he falls back to the ground.
Maybe she has broken his back. Bellatrix points her wand at the Muggle's foot and sets it on fire. He isn't looking at his foot; he's looking up at the sharp shape she makes in the night, beneath the moon. He doesn't scream or cry any more than he already is, so the question is answered. There is no feeling in his foot; she has broken his back. The foot continues to burn.
The Muggle is gibbering like a lost infant now. Bellatrix sneers down at him, disgusted by the display. He's like an animal, really. No control over his actions, no higher thought.
She casts the curse a third time, and halfway through, the Muggle goes limp. She lets him fall to the ground, listening closely. She can't hear him breathing; she can hear only herself.
Bellatrix tilts her head to the side, and nudges the Muggle with her boot. It doesn't move. She narrows her eyes, and raises her wand again.
"Crucio." She casts it lazily now, uncaring. She knows what death looks like. The blood that flows from the Muggle's mouth is evidence enough for her; he has bit off his tongue in his thrashing. Perhaps he choked on it; perhaps he choked on the blood.
Whatever the reason, he is no longer breathing harshly. He is no longer breathing at all.
Ahead of her the trees rustle, and Bellatrix looks up to see her cousin running at her, wand outstretched. She has her own out, wary of Regulus now, but stops herself mid-hex.
He isn't aiming for her.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green light flashes past Bellatrix's ear, and there is a thud behind her. She whirls around, wand ready, as if the curse couldn't have done its job. She sees one of the Muggles lying there, one of the female ones. There's a large, sharp rock on the ground beside her hand. For good measure, Bellatrix kicks the dead Muggle in its stomach, her upper lip curling.
"She was going to kill you," Regulus says, his voice soft. He sounds like a lost boy. He looks like one, too, standing on the incline of the forest ground, the moonlight catching him as it shines through the leaves. He seems younger than he really is, which makes Bellatrix almost scornful. He's far too old for this to be his first kill.
Bellatrix laughs, and grabs his hands. She spins him around until she's nearly dizzy enough to fall down. Instead, she throws her arms around him. He smells of cold and fear.
This will do, though. This death will be the first out of many for him.
She holds onto her baby cousin until his arms wrap around her, until she can feel his hands on her back, near her shoulder blades and he stops shaking. Her own hands press filthy Muggle blood onto his back, ruining his shirt.
Once he stops shaking, he'll be fine. He'll see.
five
Stonehenge is a bust; no one allowed in, and they are sent back away as the early dawn starts tiptoeing around the edge of the sky. Sophie sucks on her cigarette, the wind from the open window carrying it to the empty backseat of the car. Right now, she just wants Cal to take her home so that she can sleep. She never knew that driving could be so exhausting.
Sophie takes one last drag on her cigarette, and flicks the butt out the window. She feels like there's something she's forgotten. She tries to think about it for a moment, and comes up blank. Obviously, it wasn't important, she tells herself as she closes her eyes, leans back in her seat and tries to sleep.
Prompt: Death Eaters. Either something they did as a Death Eater or the circumstances that led to becoming a Death Eater.
Words: 500+
Title: Another Troy to Burn
Summary: Araminta Meliflua may have tried to get the Ministry to legalize Muggle-hunting, but she isn't the only one who enjoyed it; a gathering in the woods near Malfoy Manor, c. 1977.
Characters/Pairings: Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus Black, associated Death Eaters
Genre: Dark.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. Violence.
Word Count: 3110
Points
3110/50 + 3110/500 = 62.2 + 6.22 = 68.42 → 69
- Antoinette, Ravenclaw
another troy to burn
she would of late
have taught to ignorant men most violent ways
- No Second Troy, W B Yeats
one
Sophie ceases thrumming her fingers on the top of the open window and casts a sidelong glance at the driver's seat. In it sits Cal with his own fingers tapping along with the radio's beat on top of the steering wheel. He has one elbow resting on the sill of his open window. The cool night air blows into the car and out again through the rear windows.
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Sophie has to raise her voice to be heard, and she holds her hair out of her face with one hand.
Outside, in the darkness, Wiltshire flies by. The road is barely lit. The further they get from home, the more Sophie thinks that it's a stupid idea to try and welcome the official first day of summer at midnight with all the other dreadlocked hippies, miscellaneous flavours of pagans and new agers. Sitting on Cal's porch in the darkness, cigarette smoke spiralling upward into the night sky, it had seemed like a terribly romantic idea. Enough so that Cal had sneaked his father's car keys.
From the back of the car, Henry leans forward, a badly folded map in one hand. He waves it emphatically, jabbing at a spot on it with his other hand. "We're going here!"
"That was my ear!" Sophie covers the offended appendage and directs a glare his way.
"Sorry, can't hear you. The music's too loud." Henry settles back in his seat, flinging an arm around Lizzie, grinning the grin of the still-sloshed. He drops the map onto the floor of the car, where it crumples at his feet. He takes the bottle of liquor from Lizzie and downs it with a huge gulp from the lipstick-smeared top.
"Hey, what's that?"
The "that" in question turns out, once Cal stops the car and slowly backs it up to see with the aid of the headlamps, to be the only other vehicle on the road. It's a large, hulking shape with the bonnet popped upward, illuminated barely by the torch in the hand of the young woman leaning over it. Her long hair falls forward, hiding her face, no matter how many times she brushes it behind her ear. It slips free, tumbling precariously close to the oiled mechanisms of the engine.
"Do you need any help?"
The young woman nearly hits her head on the bonnet, but recovers quickly. Her surprise is unmistakable as she faces the foursome in their working vehicle. Even though it's not as loud as the Coopers' truck that woke Sophie up every time it rumbled down the road in the early morning, she finds it surprising that the young woman looks as startled as she does. She eyes Cal’s father’s car with suspicion for a moment.
Then, she smiles, and it transforms her face. It's a lazy, slow smile, one that Sophie recognizes. It's a smile designed to lure people in, particularly men. The young woman's eyes are heavy-lidded and they add a smoulder to her expression.
"Please," she says in a musical tone, and pushes her dark hair out of her face. It falls down, over her back and shoulders, blending into the long, dark dress that she wears.
Cal pulls the car onto the side of the road, shifts into park and cuts the engine, leaving the keys. Sophie can't help but scowl a little; the young woman's smile works. Muttering something under his breath, Henry slides out of the back seat, patting the pockets of his jacket, and finally pulling out a carton of cigarettes. Laving the door open, he sits on the boot of the car, causing a slight dip with his weight while Cal ambles over to the stranded dark-haired young woman and her erstwhile car.
In the review mirror, Sophie meets Lizzie's gaze, and rolls her eyes, peeved. Communicating without using words, Lizzie shrugs. They both get out of the car, kicking their doors shut behind them and lean against the side, huddling together. Even with summer's bright days, it still gets cold out when the sun goes down.
"Smoke?" Henry waves the pack at them. Glad for the small bit of warmth, the girls accept the cigarettes and their accompanying flames.
two
It's easy to do one at a time. Easy to cast a whispered spell, to impose her will upon them. She's got very good at it, and it doesn't take very long for her to move from the fake car to where the girls stand, smoking their cigarettes. It's like pressing on someone's throat, but easier, and they don't even realize what she's done. They don't even see the wand, pointed at each in turn. They stumble, one after the other, putting one hand out as if they could steady themselves. One of them reaches for his throat, as if he could fix what's happening by coughing. It's not his throat that's the problem - they're all breathing fine. She went in further than that, past the first layer of thought that's conscious and easily formed. She's made them forget to breathe for a little bit. Not long enough to cause irreparable damage or anything, just enough so that they would stop being conscious.
It's not like they'll need to worry about the side effects of asphyxiation, anyway.
The last one falls, first against the car, and then onto the dusty, gravel-strewn road.
Bellatrix smiles, pushes back her hair, and summons a messenger. It looks bright against the sky, cocks its head at her, and she sends it on off with another wave of her wand. She leans against their car, crossing her legs at the ankles, and waits. It won't be long now. The engine of their car is still warm beneath the metal. She runs her hand over it, feeling like it might almost be alive, twirling her wand in her other hand.
There are no other headlamps in the distance, no other Muggle cars coming down this road at this time. She knows there won't be.
The silence of the night is split with the sound of a pair of loud cracks, almost right on top of each other.
Bellatrix doesn't look at them directly. She slants a glance out of the corner of her eyes, and smiles. It's not the same smile she gave the Muggles earlier.
"You're late," she says.
Rodolphus barely spares the unconscious Muggles a glance as he strides over to Bellatrix. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her up from the car roughly, and kisses her. The stubble on his cheeks rasps against her skin, and she smiles into his kiss. The smile is not for him. She pulls back and sees Lucius, impatient with the display, moving the Muggles with his wand.
They look like puppets with their strings cut. Lucius ties them together with ropes from the end of his wand, and then turns to the car.
The Muggles drop to the ground, less gracefully this time. Bellatrix can't help but giggle.
Lucius ignores her. He pulls something long and sinuous from his pocket, taps it with his wand and mutters: "Portus."
The Ministry disproves of making portkeys without authorization, but that portkey would be the least of their problems if the Ministry were to find out what they are planning tonight. It's a good thing that the forest near Malfoy Manor is charmed so heavily that if anyone from the Ministry tried to enter it, they would set off enough ruckus to allow those inside to escape.
This piece of rope, for Bellatrix can now see it is a piece of rope, flies through the air and ties itself around the waist of all of the Muggles. A moment later, they vanish with a small flare of light.
"Are you coming?" Lucius asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, and disapparates without another word.
Rodolphus takes out his wand and transforms the two cars into a pair of strangely shaped rocks. Perhaps, if you looked close enough, the rocks might remind someone of Muggle cars, but only if they closed your eyes and tilted their head a certain way.
three
The clock ticks on. It's not a normal one, one that you would find in the middle of a house, with the names of the family and different places written around the edge. This clock has no such words or images. It has only one hand, a plain silver one, and it sits on the wall, unassuming. If you don't know what it was for, you would think that it's a barometer, meant to measure the air pressure if you were going to go flying.
But it is a clock.
Regulus is the only one who keeps glancing at it. Bellatrix wants to grab his chin and force his gaze away from it. Nervousness is unbecoming to a Black, like public outbursts and intimate relations with Mudbloods.
She keeps quiet, like a good Black woman should, and she listens. She has always been listening, ever since she was a little girl. She knows when to make her move. She leans on the armrest of Rodolphus's chair, his arm around her; his hand is on her hip, and she listens.
Lucius is talking with her brother-in-law. He and Rabastan are at the other side of the room, drinks in hand. Something dark and golden is in their glasses, and Bellatrix knows what they are talking about without listening. They are talking about her sister, about Narcissa, whose hair is nearly the same colour as the liquid in their glasses. Lucius wants to marry her.
Severus crosses the room to where Regulus skulks by the window, now tapping on the sill. He says something into Bellatrix's cousin's ear, and she frowns.
Rosier, the great fool, has made a suggestion that they give the Muggles a sporting chance. He says they have a wand of their own, a metal one that hurts people. One day, he is going to get himself killed and then Bellatrix will laugh. Not at the funeral, of course, because his mother is great friends with Bellatrix’s own, and that would be impolite.
So now, Bellatrix laughs. It carries in the room; she has planned it this way. She is standing in the best place in the room, acoustically speaking. "Don't be an idiot," she says, letting scorn dance freely through her tone. "That's not what we planned."
"As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted," Rosier says to Avery and Parkinson, ignoring Bellatrix even though his face is flushed dark with anger.
"If he wants to play tag with a Muggle and one of their metal wands, he can do so on his own time," Bellatrix continues, directing her words at her husband. She knows that everyone is watching her, even though they pretend not to do so.
four
Bellatrix can hear the Muggle's breathing. It's harsh and out of place in the near-silent woods. She moves, quiet as the shadow she looks like, barely breathing. She pauses at one tree, and casts a disillusionment charm upon herself. This is her favourite way to start. Hidden and watching.
She steps out of the shadow of the tree, and stands right in front of the Muggle, unseen. He looks terrible: there's a scratch across his cheek, one of his sleeves is torn and it looks like he has caught his foot on something. Bellatrix thinks he might be limping, but that is no concern of hers.
She points her wand past the Muggle, wordlessly blowing up part of the ground. The Muggle ducks instinctively, and lurches away. She makes another patch of ground explode; this one in the direction the Muggle had lurched.
She laughs, and he freezes. The Muggle looks around, unable to see the source of the laughter. This only makes Bellatrix's smile spread.
"Who's there?" The Muggle asks, turning around. His voice is high-pitched. Bellatrix keeps herself from smiling.
"Incendio," she whispers, and sets a nearby mess of twigs and leaves ablaze. Now she can see the Muggle's face better, see the fear that creates sharp lines and shadows of his features.
She stops him from running away, tripping him up with a quick jinx. On the ground, the Muggle crawls backward, moving behind a tree and out of Bellatrix's sight. She covers the ground quickly and rounds the tree, letting the disillusionment charm fade. She knows that it will make her look like she has appeared out of the shadows themselves. A pretty trick, but one she likes.
She also likes the knife she slides from her pocket, as she slips her wand into her sleeve.
"Hello," Bellatrix says, crouching down beside the cowering Muggle. He looks up at her, eyes wide.
"Did they get you too?" he asks in a whisper.
Bellatrix sighs and fights the urge to roll her eyes. Must they always be so stupid? She knows that the wizard brain is clearly superior, but sometimes she would rather not feel like she's talking to an idiot child at times.
"Shh, shh," she says softly, the same way her mother used to calm Narcissa when she was a baby. Bellatrix cups his face in her hands, one thumb resting on his chin. The Muggle's eyes flit sideways and widen when he sees the glint of the knife.
He tries to pull away, but she already has a firm grip on his chin. Bellatrix draws the knife down the side of his face, pressing not as hard as she could. Blood wells up in the line that follows the blade, and the Muggle gasps shakily.
Bellatrix smiles, and smears the blood with her thumb, moving it across the Muggle's face. She drags the knife down his throat, pressing harder, but not enough to cut too deeply. Nicking the carotid artery or the jugular vein would be a mistake; it would finish everything far too soon.
The Muggle tries to push her away. Bellatrix sweeps backward, the knife vanishing. She removes her wand from her sleeve, and points it at the Muggle.
"Crucio."
The first screams are always the best, when the victim is unsuspecting and taken by surprise. It's then that you can hear the first expression of raw pain, the howling of their most inner self. Bellatrix lifts the spell after a long moment, and watches the whimpering Muggle. It's a disappointment really, but what else is to be expected? He's a man, a Muggle man at that. Women have always been better at bearing pain.
She casts it again, this interval longer than the last. The Muggle bends in funny ways, like a stretchy toy. His back arches, and Bellatrix lifts the curse when he does so, and pushes on his torso, bending it back.
There's a crack, but she is unsure whether it's his spinal chord, or a dry piece of wood breaking under the Muggle as he falls back to the ground.
Maybe she has broken his back. Bellatrix points her wand at the Muggle's foot and sets it on fire. He isn't looking at his foot; he's looking up at the sharp shape she makes in the night, beneath the moon. He doesn't scream or cry any more than he already is, so the question is answered. There is no feeling in his foot; she has broken his back. The foot continues to burn.
The Muggle is gibbering like a lost infant now. Bellatrix sneers down at him, disgusted by the display. He's like an animal, really. No control over his actions, no higher thought.
She casts the curse a third time, and halfway through, the Muggle goes limp. She lets him fall to the ground, listening closely. She can't hear him breathing; she can hear only herself.
Bellatrix tilts her head to the side, and nudges the Muggle with her boot. It doesn't move. She narrows her eyes, and raises her wand again.
"Crucio." She casts it lazily now, uncaring. She knows what death looks like. The blood that flows from the Muggle's mouth is evidence enough for her; he has bit off his tongue in his thrashing. Perhaps he choked on it; perhaps he choked on the blood.
Whatever the reason, he is no longer breathing harshly. He is no longer breathing at all.
Ahead of her the trees rustle, and Bellatrix looks up to see her cousin running at her, wand outstretched. She has her own out, wary of Regulus now, but stops herself mid-hex.
He isn't aiming for her.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green light flashes past Bellatrix's ear, and there is a thud behind her. She whirls around, wand ready, as if the curse couldn't have done its job. She sees one of the Muggles lying there, one of the female ones. There's a large, sharp rock on the ground beside her hand. For good measure, Bellatrix kicks the dead Muggle in its stomach, her upper lip curling.
"She was going to kill you," Regulus says, his voice soft. He sounds like a lost boy. He looks like one, too, standing on the incline of the forest ground, the moonlight catching him as it shines through the leaves. He seems younger than he really is, which makes Bellatrix almost scornful. He's far too old for this to be his first kill.
Bellatrix laughs, and grabs his hands. She spins him around until she's nearly dizzy enough to fall down. Instead, she throws her arms around him. He smells of cold and fear.
This will do, though. This death will be the first out of many for him.
She holds onto her baby cousin until his arms wrap around her, until she can feel his hands on her back, near her shoulder blades and he stops shaking. Her own hands press filthy Muggle blood onto his back, ruining his shirt.
Once he stops shaking, he'll be fine. He'll see.
five
Stonehenge is a bust; no one allowed in, and they are sent back away as the early dawn starts tiptoeing around the edge of the sky. Sophie sucks on her cigarette, the wind from the open window carrying it to the empty backseat of the car. Right now, she just wants Cal to take her home so that she can sleep. She never knew that driving could be so exhausting.
Sophie takes one last drag on her cigarette, and flicks the butt out the window. She feels like there's something she's forgotten. She tries to think about it for a moment, and comes up blank. Obviously, it wasn't important, she tells herself as she closes her eyes, leans back in her seat and tries to sleep.