Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

Chapter 33: The Blackest Day (Bella Unchained)

"INCARCEROUS!" Miss Demeanor growled. Instantly, thick ropes appeared and slithered over Neville's body. His arms were cinched tightly behind his back, with the rope leading up to wrap around his neck in a fairly tight noose. It was the perfect rope formation for keeping a prisoner contained and under control ... and choking him to death if he presented any difficulties.

"Why are you wasting time with ropes and knots?!" the woman rasped, as the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange seized control of her voice. "Kill him! Kill him and be done with it!"

She took a deep breath, and Miss Demeanor regained control. She looked back down upon her captive.

"Kill him, Bellatrix? Where's your sense of creativity? We can come up with options far more amusing than that!"

At her feet, Neville groaned and started to stir. The Death Eater flicked the wand she'd stolen from him. Nothing happened. Then, she focused her will and flicked it again more forcefully. This time, Neville was lifted up and slammed against the wall where he floated a few feet off the ground. She sauntered over and placed the tip of the wand under his chin.

"Who are you, boy?" she growled.

Neville said nothing. He simply glared at the woman in hatred even as he tasted the blood trickling down from his nose. But there was also fear in his eyes despite his Gryffindor courage. He knew this woman, what she'd done, and what she was capable of. She pressed his wand into his neck painfully.

"I assume my reputation precedes me, boy," Miss Demeanor said haughtily. "But in case it has not, I am Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most trusted enforcer. Tell me, boy – are you familiar with the Cruciatus Curse?"

His eyes widened, and while the fear in them grew, so did the hatred. His desire for revenge against his captor for what she'd done to his mother and father warred with his terror that she would send him to join them in St. Mungo's. He slowly nodded.

She smiled cruelly, but internally, she knew that to an extent she was bluffing. At this particular moment, Miss Demeanor was not at all certain she could actually cast the Cruciatus Curse, and she was quite certain that she would not be able to cast the Avada Kedavra. Her time in Azkaban had weakened her considerably, and the blood loss and short-term magical exhaustion from casting a Blasting Hex solely through runes and blood magic had weakened her further.

But worst of all was the problem of the wand she had obtained from her captive. She was accustomed to forcing her will through incompatible wands, but this was different. This wand hated her! She had not won its allegiance in a true duel but simply snatched it off the boy when he was barely conscious. But more than that, she could feel genuine hostility coming from it, and she feared it might well backlash against her if she tried to use it to cast an Unforgiveable against its true master.

"Again, boy, what's your name?"

He gritted his teeth silently. In response, she twisted the wand slowly, causing the noose around Neville's neck to gradually tighten. Not enough to cut off his breathing, but definitely enough to make him worry about it.

"N-Neville!" he gasped out. "Neville Longbottom!"

The woman's eyes lit up deliriously.

"Longbottom! Longbottom! Teeny-widdle Longbottom all growed up! Ahahahah!"

Her voice and facial expression instantly changed. The cold methodical woman who had captured him suddenly turned into a cackling lunatic who practically sang his name in a high-pitched childish voice.

"And where are Mumsy and Daddykins, widdle Nevi-kins? I remember how they screamed. And then how they drooled! Are they here too? Tee-hee! Or did they even survive that night so long ago?"