10 Drabbles
I'm trying to get back into writing, so rainpuddle13 kindly provided me with several drabble prompts.
Mostly gen, with a few instances of torture and disturbing imagery.
The Killing Game
Bellatrix stared at the quivering lump of flesh, disgusted and elated. “Now?” she whispered, raising her wand.
“No.” Her master’s voice rang like the vespers. Her wand floated out of her hands, and she received a smack. “Kill it without magic.”
She uncertainly reached for the rabbit, which cuddled into her arms, nuzzling and shaking as she comforted it like a child.
Her master nodded.
She wrenched the bunny’s head. She fumbled, but finally the bunny lay limp in her arms.
“Trust. Betrayal.” Approval in her master’s eyes. “Control.”
“Subtlety,” she added as she dropped the rabbit. “I understand, Master.”
*
A Reason to Fight
“It’s not the right time.” Bellatrix glared at the child sleeping in Lucius’s arms.
“This is what we’re fighting for,” Lucius said, a ragged edge to his voice she had never heard before. Weakness.
She carefully touched the rose-petal skin of the infant’s foot. “It’s too delicate a thing, Lucius. You know the war we’re fighting. Children are just a risk.”
His knife-sharp eyes bore into her, and he hissed, softly to not wake Draco, “Then you don’t understand why we’re fighting.”
Bellatrix opened her mouth, but Lucius cut her off. “Now, this is my fight. He is the cause.”
*
The Void
It had been sitting on the desk in the drawing room all summer.
Draco hadn’t dared touch it, despite his pretensions at manhood. Had even avoided looking at it, as it served as reminder of the terrible things happening to his family.
“Last time, I didn’t know what to do with it,” Narcissa said to her son as he hovered in the doorway. “It’s such a part of him, it seemed wrong to stick it in a drawer.”
Draco turned to look at her.
“This time wasn’t any easier,” Narcissa’s eyes never left Lucius’s wand. “I miss him.”
“Me too.”
*
Unintentionally Sought
They stumbled across her on their way back to the Slytherin Common Room. They recognized her on sight; not only was her red hair distinctive, but everyone knew what had happened with the Chamber of Secrets. Malfoy began to heckle her, but Nott stood back, watching her carefully.
“Go away,” she sniffled, curled in on herself on the cold dungeon corridor.
Nott spoke over Malfoy’s steady outpouring of insults. “What was he like?”
Malfoy fell silent, and Ginny raised her head, red-rimmed eyes peeking out of a curtain of tangled hair. To Nott, an eternity passed before she spoke.
“Beautiful and terrifying,” she said. “Wonderful and willing to rip your soul out.”
Both boys froze, having expected her to avoid speaking of him. Her tones were the same reverent ones Nott had always heard, but something unfamiliar tinged her words.
A ghastly smile flickered across her face. “He seduces you with everything you ever wanted, and rips it away leaving you with nothing.”
Draco stepped back, wanting to run from this young girl who reminded him of mostly-forgotten childhood terrors.
“I’m sure you understand.”
Nott looked at Malfoy, and they turned and hurried away from answers they never intentionally sought.
*
Legacy
“I saw the announcement in the Prophet.”
Narcissa had been gazing at her baby again, entranced with every kick, gurgle and smile, and hadn’t noticed someone approaching her table. Andromeda sat without asking, looking at Draco.
“He looks like Lucius,” she finally said. “Though he’s got the Black smile.”
“Does yours look like you?” She’d never seen her niece.
“Sometimes,” Andromeda said. “And that terrifies me.”
Narcissa wanted to tell Andromeda she missed her, wanted Draco to know his family, but the words stuck, unspoken.
“They’ll understand why one day,” Andromeda said. They locked eyes. “Even if they don’t approve.”
*
Hatred
Rookwood hated the Muggle’s screams.
Before, in the hazy days of sanity and power, he had loved the sounds Muggles made. Now, they reminded him of those terror-drenched years listening to screams echo throughout Azkaban.
Lucius removed every silencing spell he cast.
Rookwood’s gaunt hands shook when he grasped his wand, while Lucius’s were strong and steady. Rookwood’s voice was scratchy and faded, whereas Lucius still had the oratory prowess that made him one of the Dark Lord’s favorites.
Rookwood imagined the Muggle wore Lucius’s face as he cast the final spell.
Freedom had shown him what hatred truly was.
*
The Doll's House
Once, Bellatrix had thrown Narcissa’s dollhouse from the highest window of their house, laughing and delighting in the crunch of wood and the shattering of glass and the way the baby doll (parent dolls hanging out of windows weeping glass) lay, arms broken off and head busted in.
“‘Cissa, ‘Cissa!” she had cried. “Come see now!”
Narcissa had pranced into the room, hugging her new kitten to her chest and smiling until Bellatrix had pointed to the window.
Narcissa, after realizing that the broken mess of miniature furniture and tiny babbling portraits belonged to her, had wailed how horrible Bellatrix was and how the dollhouse had been hers and how Bellatrix was just mad because she didn’t have a dollhouse nearly so perfect.
“Yours isn’t perfect,” Bellatrix had said calmly, smiling and pointing towards fluttering curtains and slightly scratched windowpanes and the destruction that lie below. “Now mine is prettier.”
*
Denial
“I named her Nymphadora,” Andromeda offered. She had known that Bellatrix wouldn’t welcome her, but she hadn’t expected her volatile sister to give her the silent treatment.
Bellatrix wouldn’t run, that would be a sign of weakness. But Andromeda thought that the silence and turned backs were just as cutting.
“Bella, we’re sisters. This is a child with Black blood and eyes -- like ours. Why can’t you accept her?”
Finally, Bellatrix turned, mouth twisted. “Because it is trash, no blood of mine, and you are no longer my sister.”
“Bella!”
Her sister kept walking, ignoring Nymphadora’s squalls and Andromeda’s pleas.
*
Loyalty
The first time she had seen Lucius’s arm stained with the mark of the Dark Lord, Narcissa had recoiled.
She saw the disappointment in his eyes, and forced herself to reach forward and graze the reddened skin with her own pale fingertips. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I think of you,” was his ragged reply.
When she met the Dark Lord, she did not recoil.
“Your husband is amongst my most loyal followers,” said the Dark Lord in his compelling voice.
“I am loyal to Lucius and my family alone,” Narcissa said bold irreverence.
An approving nod. “So be it.”
*
Sacred and Profane
“Kill it,” instructed the Dark Lord.
Regulus looked at the kitten and asked, “Why?”
Voldemort chuckled. “Brave child. Because I command it, and I am your master.”
Regulus reached forward. A struggle ensued, but finally the kitten lay dead on the blanket.
“What have you learned?”
Regulus looked at the welts raising on his hands, the beading of blood slashing across his fair skin. “Innocent things can cause harm,” he answered obediently.
He carefully sucked at the worst scratch, tasting generations worth of warm, pure blood.
“Appearances can be decieving.”
His master nodded.
“And nothing is sacred to the profane.”
Mostly gen, with a few instances of torture and disturbing imagery.
The Killing Game
Bellatrix stared at the quivering lump of flesh, disgusted and elated. “Now?” she whispered, raising her wand.
“No.” Her master’s voice rang like the vespers. Her wand floated out of her hands, and she received a smack. “Kill it without magic.”
She uncertainly reached for the rabbit, which cuddled into her arms, nuzzling and shaking as she comforted it like a child.
Her master nodded.
She wrenched the bunny’s head. She fumbled, but finally the bunny lay limp in her arms.
“Trust. Betrayal.” Approval in her master’s eyes. “Control.”
“Subtlety,” she added as she dropped the rabbit. “I understand, Master.”
*
A Reason to Fight
“It’s not the right time.” Bellatrix glared at the child sleeping in Lucius’s arms.
“This is what we’re fighting for,” Lucius said, a ragged edge to his voice she had never heard before. Weakness.
She carefully touched the rose-petal skin of the infant’s foot. “It’s too delicate a thing, Lucius. You know the war we’re fighting. Children are just a risk.”
His knife-sharp eyes bore into her, and he hissed, softly to not wake Draco, “Then you don’t understand why we’re fighting.”
Bellatrix opened her mouth, but Lucius cut her off. “Now, this is my fight. He is the cause.”
*
The Void
It had been sitting on the desk in the drawing room all summer.
Draco hadn’t dared touch it, despite his pretensions at manhood. Had even avoided looking at it, as it served as reminder of the terrible things happening to his family.
“Last time, I didn’t know what to do with it,” Narcissa said to her son as he hovered in the doorway. “It’s such a part of him, it seemed wrong to stick it in a drawer.”
Draco turned to look at her.
“This time wasn’t any easier,” Narcissa’s eyes never left Lucius’s wand. “I miss him.”
“Me too.”
*
Unintentionally Sought
They stumbled across her on their way back to the Slytherin Common Room. They recognized her on sight; not only was her red hair distinctive, but everyone knew what had happened with the Chamber of Secrets. Malfoy began to heckle her, but Nott stood back, watching her carefully.
“Go away,” she sniffled, curled in on herself on the cold dungeon corridor.
Nott spoke over Malfoy’s steady outpouring of insults. “What was he like?”
Malfoy fell silent, and Ginny raised her head, red-rimmed eyes peeking out of a curtain of tangled hair. To Nott, an eternity passed before she spoke.
“Beautiful and terrifying,” she said. “Wonderful and willing to rip your soul out.”
Both boys froze, having expected her to avoid speaking of him. Her tones were the same reverent ones Nott had always heard, but something unfamiliar tinged her words.
A ghastly smile flickered across her face. “He seduces you with everything you ever wanted, and rips it away leaving you with nothing.”
Draco stepped back, wanting to run from this young girl who reminded him of mostly-forgotten childhood terrors.
“I’m sure you understand.”
Nott looked at Malfoy, and they turned and hurried away from answers they never intentionally sought.
*
Legacy
“I saw the announcement in the Prophet.”
Narcissa had been gazing at her baby again, entranced with every kick, gurgle and smile, and hadn’t noticed someone approaching her table. Andromeda sat without asking, looking at Draco.
“He looks like Lucius,” she finally said. “Though he’s got the Black smile.”
“Does yours look like you?” She’d never seen her niece.
“Sometimes,” Andromeda said. “And that terrifies me.”
Narcissa wanted to tell Andromeda she missed her, wanted Draco to know his family, but the words stuck, unspoken.
“They’ll understand why one day,” Andromeda said. They locked eyes. “Even if they don’t approve.”
*
Hatred
Rookwood hated the Muggle’s screams.
Before, in the hazy days of sanity and power, he had loved the sounds Muggles made. Now, they reminded him of those terror-drenched years listening to screams echo throughout Azkaban.
Lucius removed every silencing spell he cast.
Rookwood’s gaunt hands shook when he grasped his wand, while Lucius’s were strong and steady. Rookwood’s voice was scratchy and faded, whereas Lucius still had the oratory prowess that made him one of the Dark Lord’s favorites.
Rookwood imagined the Muggle wore Lucius’s face as he cast the final spell.
Freedom had shown him what hatred truly was.
*
The Doll's House
Once, Bellatrix had thrown Narcissa’s dollhouse from the highest window of their house, laughing and delighting in the crunch of wood and the shattering of glass and the way the baby doll (parent dolls hanging out of windows weeping glass) lay, arms broken off and head busted in.
“‘Cissa, ‘Cissa!” she had cried. “Come see now!”
Narcissa had pranced into the room, hugging her new kitten to her chest and smiling until Bellatrix had pointed to the window.
Narcissa, after realizing that the broken mess of miniature furniture and tiny babbling portraits belonged to her, had wailed how horrible Bellatrix was and how the dollhouse had been hers and how Bellatrix was just mad because she didn’t have a dollhouse nearly so perfect.
“Yours isn’t perfect,” Bellatrix had said calmly, smiling and pointing towards fluttering curtains and slightly scratched windowpanes and the destruction that lie below. “Now mine is prettier.”
*
Denial
“I named her Nymphadora,” Andromeda offered. She had known that Bellatrix wouldn’t welcome her, but she hadn’t expected her volatile sister to give her the silent treatment.
Bellatrix wouldn’t run, that would be a sign of weakness. But Andromeda thought that the silence and turned backs were just as cutting.
“Bella, we’re sisters. This is a child with Black blood and eyes -- like ours. Why can’t you accept her?”
Finally, Bellatrix turned, mouth twisted. “Because it is trash, no blood of mine, and you are no longer my sister.”
“Bella!”
Her sister kept walking, ignoring Nymphadora’s squalls and Andromeda’s pleas.
*
Loyalty
The first time she had seen Lucius’s arm stained with the mark of the Dark Lord, Narcissa had recoiled.
She saw the disappointment in his eyes, and forced herself to reach forward and graze the reddened skin with her own pale fingertips. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I think of you,” was his ragged reply.
When she met the Dark Lord, she did not recoil.
“Your husband is amongst my most loyal followers,” said the Dark Lord in his compelling voice.
“I am loyal to Lucius and my family alone,” Narcissa said bold irreverence.
An approving nod. “So be it.”
*
Sacred and Profane
“Kill it,” instructed the Dark Lord.
Regulus looked at the kitten and asked, “Why?”
Voldemort chuckled. “Brave child. Because I command it, and I am your master.”
Regulus reached forward. A struggle ensued, but finally the kitten lay dead on the blanket.
“What have you learned?”
Regulus looked at the welts raising on his hands, the beading of blood slashing across his fair skin. “Innocent things can cause harm,” he answered obediently.
He carefully sucked at the worst scratch, tasting generations worth of warm, pure blood.
“Appearances can be decieving.”
His master nodded.
“And nothing is sacred to the profane.”