157DISCLAIMER:- Harry Potter belongs to J.K.R. and this is a fanfiction.
CHAPTER 1:- The crying boy
An angry wind was coursing through Privet Drive disrupting the quiet of the street. But it was not alone.
The lone magical resident of the area, a soon to be 16 year old green eyed, black haired boy with a peculiar and unique scar on his forehead had started moaning and crying quietly. He was begging for forgiveness in his sleep. A scene was being continuously repeated in his dreams, nightmares really. A tall, lean wizard with long dark hair and a silly grin pasted on his face was being thrown with the force of a spell towards an old stone archway with a tattered black curtain. The wizard is Sirius Black, Harry Potter's deceased Godfather and the stone archway is The Veil of Death.
Nobody was there to comfort him or sit by his bedside to provide the much needed support to the young teen, who blamed himself for the tragic demise of the man, whom he considered the last of his family.
He was left alone with his last blood relative, his Aunt, to spend his summer holidays with, as always. The family of three, his aunt, uncle and their son had left him alone to guard on the house while they enjoyed a 'well-deserved' vacation in China.
Albus Dumbledore, a wizard of phenomenal power, considered by many as the reincarnation of Merlin, and the leader of the light as well as The Order of the Phoenix had issued the behest for Harry to be left alone, so that he could come to terms with his Godfather's death. With the help of his family, of course.
Soon, the quiet sobbing in the dark changed into screams, as the dream Sirius no longer only fell through the Veil but taunted and accused Harry for his death in a very child like manner.
"Poow Hawwy killed me..why? Your precious Godfather, Potty…and, and I thought Hawwy lowed me…Poow Seriuz..me"
The tone of the voice was very similar to a certain infamous witch with a beauty like no other and a total lack of sanity. This particular witch was also the murderer of Sirius Black, and his cousin, Bellatrix.
No one heard the screams, but her.
Bellatrix Lestrange was a very strong and ruthless witch. Raised to be a proper pureblood and never to abandon the idea of a world with purebloods as the rulers, ruling the lesser breeds of half-bloods and muggleborns as well as the scum of the earth, muggles, she never hesitated in killing or torturing.
When she met a certain charismatic wizard who promised a world and society laid upon those ideals, she gave him her loyal and unwavering support.
Soon, she became a member of a group whose aim was to free the society of all the filth, and restore the old ways. Death Eaters. The name sounded odd at first but she was very proud of her accomplishment, nonetheless.
When she was given her first task, which was to torture a group of five year old muggle children, her hands wavered at first but she did so anyway. It was for the purpose of hardening her resolve, after all, as their leader had told them, to be a great fighter, so she did what was ordered by her Master and tried to revel in the screams of the young children until they finally died of the pain inflicted upon them.
Yes, somewhere along the way, the wizard, their leader became their Master. Her loyalties as a Black, to never kneel in front of anyone, and as a pureblood, to do what's best for their race, quarreled at first but the pureblood part won and she gave herself to her Master. Mind, Body and Soul.
She tortured and killed and maimed. She delved into the darkest of the dark arts. Her master himself taught her to inflict maximum damage and take as much delight as possible in the screams of the innocent. For they were born, to be crushed.
The one time, somehow she questioned herself and her master, the all knowing lord that he was, the one who could read minds just as clearly as the title of some book, knew that a lesson was in order.
He ordered her to shred her dignity in front of everyone present and all men took her in turns one by one. She cried and begged but her Master only laughed, taking delight in her screams, as she was taught to do.
Even her husband and brother-in-law took pleasure in her misery.
He then tortured her himself until no tears were left in her eyes and no voice in her throat.
This treatment continued for two weeks. She was given hope in a dark chamber all night that tomorrow would be different, that tomorrow someone, ANYONE would free her of her misery but her soul was again crushed the next day. Whipped, bloodied, raped and heeled to go through the same process again. And again. And Again.
Until, at one point, when she realized that her Master wanted her to revel in her own screams, in her own misery.
And, then she laughed, and cackled with glee. Her current torturers were confused, but she gave them no mind. She just laughed and laughed and laughed.
Bellatrix was shattered. She became a shell of what she was. She was seventeen at the time.
Her master finally got up and gave her his own wand. She used the weapon to inflict pain and finally kill her then, unfortunate abusers in the most creative ways. Although she could not kill the other members of her group, everyone now feared her, just second to her Master. They knew she was insane.
The beautiful woman had locked away the memories of her life, of her own torture, and her sanity in a long forgotten corner of her mind. She had promised herself subconsciously never to again visit that part of her.
Her sanity only waned in the dark corners of Azkaban where she relived her screams, her pain, her misery again and again for years. But she continued laughing and never stopped taking delight in the screams of her own, and others.
But the dull sobs and terror filled screams of the poor teen in front of her, somehow snapped her out of her years long stupor. He sounded just like her, as miserable, as tender as she did and just like her, there was no one for him.
After killing her cousin, she did not go to her Master's hideout. She should have but she didn't. Instead, she went somewhere else and waited, waited for the proper moment to present itself when she could finally finish the story of the Boy-who-lived.
She followed him from the train station, to here, No.4, Privet Drive, so that she could atleast come back and finish Potter if something unexpected happened. She waited and saw the relatives of the boy leave him alone. She wanted to kill the muggles along with the boy then and there. But she waited, for she wished to surprise dear Potter. She waited for him to settle, so that she could see the astonishment in his eyes when she would slowly wake him up.
She was just about to enter the muggle house when she heard him. His pitiful sobs and cries for forgiveness. She was confused for a moment but slowly made her way into the house and upstairs. She had not expected the Boy-who-lived to live in this trash, but apparently, he too was just being used.
That thought gave her pause, and she observed him. Turning, tossing, dying bit-by-bit from inside out. Just like I did. And then the memories hit her with full force. Her sobs, her cries, her pain, when she begged, the laughter of her master, that creature, ringing in her ears. And then she collapsed.
As Harry Potter's screams continued, Bellatrix Lestrange herself silently wept on the doorstep of his dirty dusty room.
For the years she lost, for the pain she beared, for the innocents she killed, for the families she torned apart, for Sirius Black, her own blood and for the nearly 16 year old wizard in front of her who was on the way of becoming just like her, who would try to kill her as soon as he sees her in the morning.
She could not kill him now, she knew. She could not go back to her ma-that creature, not now. He will immediately know. She knew she had to wait and accept her fate. She will accept what Potter decides for her. At the least, it would give him some satisfaction.
With that thought, she got up and silently went downstairs to wait for the sun to rise.
AN:- That's it for now. Tell me what you think. Shall I continue it?