A Harry Potter NextGen Story--Belladonna Black and the Book of Necromancy

Surprises

The First Annual Jingle Bel's Sweepstakes!

Every Christmas you will be able nominate and vote on a chapter-length short story in the Belladonna Black Universe to be released on Christmas Eve.

Surprises

The dank walls of the cell closed in around her as she shivered on the hard cot that stood only a few inches above the floor. It must be nearing sunset, the last vestiges of warmth were starting to leech out of the western wall. It was closest—albeit barely—to the outside world, and sometimes she thought she could feel the sun through the stones. But perhaps she was just imagining things, something that happened far too often lately. She used to scream at the dementors, but only the newly arrived bothered to do that. Now she only screamed at the infrequent human visitors. Watching them flinch back against the far wall was one of the only pleasures she had left. Last time one of the Aurors had walked past her cell she hadn't bothered.

Suddenly, what was left of her muscles tensed, and she shrank against the stones. A dementor was gliding down the hall toward her cell, she could hear the screams of the others farther down. With effort, she turned her head away from the bars, but nothing could stop the dementor from draining what was left of her. Ironically, it had become less painful as the years wore on. There isn't much left to take, she thought as her eyes drifted closed.

Hours later, she turned her head to see the small tray that contained something that could charitably be called food. The witch decided that she couldn't be bothered. The tray lay abandoned on the flagstones, accompanied by several others. An explosion rocked her cell followed by indistinguishable shouts. A rescue hallucination, she thought dully. It must be a good day. Funny, it doesn't feel like a good day.

Running footsteps and the snap of robes rang down the hall finally stopping in front of her set of bars. "I found her," the man shouted, the dull light glinting off his silver mask. More footsteps followed by another man outside her cell. The bars of her cell disintegrated with a sharp crunch, and the second figure stepped fully into her field of vision. It's one of those then is it, thought the witch, still not bothering to move as he crouched beside her.

"Bellatrix," he asked, followed by a more concerned "Rix!" She only blinked back at him, startled by the sudden wandlight.

Bellatrix...thought the witch. That used to be important. She still didn't move as she was lifted from the cot and into the cold night air. There was no point.

The feeling of falling woke Bellatrix from her dark dream, and she rolled out of bed, nearly stumbling over the haphazard pile of dirty robes from last night's raid strewn across the floor. The witch rushed across the room, and through the adjoining tiled room and managed to make it just in time to retch into the toilet. The effects from too many years stuck in Azkaban were always interestingly varied, but nausea was a new one. There seemed always to be one coming or going, and nausea appeared to be this week's delightful present from the hellhole. In another time she might have had other feelings about incidents like this, but that was one of the first things Azkaban had stolen from her.

After a few minutes, she stood shakily and leaned against the marble sink below her mirror. Surprisingly, she looked slightly better than usual, perhaps after a year and a half of freedom she was beginning to reclaim the last of the weight imprisonment had stripped from her. This was the third day she had not cast homenum revelio, against her mother's orders from so long ago about symptoms like these, but nothing the charm could tell her was something she wanted to hear. But Draco's work on the Vanishing Cabinet was finished, and she could not afford to be ill, today of all days. But of course potions could not fix that.