Her cell is small.

The first day she spends pacing the room, memorizing the number of steps it takes to get from one side to the other, how long it would take, how much effort. She takes in all the stones and the metal bars and memorizes imperfections. She knows which bars have nicks from other inmates, which stones have cracks and dents and lines. When the Dementors pass her cell she screams at them through the bars. They don’t seem to notice and she goes back to her pacing.

There is nowhere comfortable to sleep or sit. She thinks this is because they want her to never sleep again so she’ll go crazy. She laughs and knows she has a couple of cards up her sleeves because she’s already crazy and she doesn’t feel guilt.

Day and night starts folding up together so she can’t tell how long she’s been sitting in one place.

She hears people sobbing. She hears people screaming and shouting and moaning and snoring and retching all over the place and she refuses to let it get to her because she is not weak. She can handle a little bit of noise and she knows better than to give up now because He will come for her. The Dark Lord can’t be gone forever, and when he returns he will come for her and she will be rewarded for her devotion. When she thinks about this all the sounds fade away and being alone in a cold, dark cell isn’t half as bad as it was before.

Rodolphus and Rabastan and Barty are in other cells, other places and she misses the company of being able to talk to them. She misses Rodolphus’ touch and Rabastan’s ridiculous jokes and Barty’s twisted way of seeing the world.

She used to want to be alone so deeply it hurt to be with people, and now that she is alone she thinks that company isn’t such a bad thing.

She doesn’t know how long it’s been when she gets a visitor.

Narcissa looks out of place in Azkaban, out of place in the darkness with her pale hair and her pale face and her pale eyes that watch everything like it is about to come out and get her. Narcissa has always been the pretty one and she stands in front of the bars and stares in, no expression on her face, no terror in her posture. She just stands there because Narcissa is not afraid of her sister.

“What do you want?” She hasn’t spoken in a very long time and her voice comes out raspy and worn in a way that makes her ashamed of its sound. She sounds like a prisoner and she sounds guilty and she can’t let that happen.

Narcissa doesn’t flinch. “You look thinner.”

“That’s what Azkaban does to you, Cissy.” She gets to her feet and paces to the bars, staring out through them at her sister, standing so close that they’re almost nose to nose and she thinks that maybe this will make Narcissa go away, but Narcissa doesn’t move. “It makes you crazy. It starves you thin and makes you want to die rather than stand true to your lord. It makes you something less than human!”

Spit flies out of her mouth when she yells this and sprays on Narcissa’s face, thin drops, but Narcissa still won’t move.

“I’ll leave if you want me to.” There is something else to Narcissa’s demeanour. Something icy and cold that she didn’t notice before. “You don’t have to shout at me, just tell me if you want me to go.”

She doesn’t know what she wants.

“My son is almost two years old. Draco.” Narcissa’s face softens at the name, softens at the idea. She never wanted to be a mother but now that she is it is all she ever wants. “I was thinking about you.”

“Why?” She spits out the word and doesn’t want an answer.

Narcissa looks at her. “I don’t know.”

Something about that stings. Like she is becoming invisible, a ghost that used to be alive but isn’t anymore. Something weak and foreign and not quite human that makes her want to escape a kill again just so people will remember her name. She doesn’t want to be that woman sent to Azkaban for the rest of her life because she did horrible things that no one remembers, she wants to be Bellatrix Lestrange, that woman right behind you who will kill you if you make a sound.

“Come on, Cissy, you can do better than that.” She paces backwards again because standing still hurts and staring at her sister, perfect, pale, pathetic sister, makes her want to be free again. “Where is your flair? Your so famed way with words? Be honest, I’m waiting for something spectacular.”

Narcissa is still expressionless. She looks like she is watching someone lose her mind, but it can’t be her sister in the cell because Bellatrix has always been crazy. “Bella, you’ve been in here for a long time.”

“I know that!” She throws her body on the bars again, breathing heavily and this time she does make Narcissa move, jump back and away slightly from the mad woman in the cell, that crazy woman who’s completely lost her mind already. “I’ve been locked away in here for a long time, Cissy, I don’t need you to tell me that!”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?” The shell cracks and Narcissa’s voice is raised now, louder and more urgent, confused and angry like she always gets when her sisters pull her hair and make her feel stupid. “You’re in Azkaban, Bella! You are locked away fro the rest of your life! Am I supposed to congratulate you? Fantastic job, Bella, you have really done it this time. You are an inspiration to us all!”

“Shut up!” Her vocal cords rip and tear and protest to the scream but it has to come out and she can taste blood and treachery in the back of her throat.

Narcissa is silent.

There is still noise. Still the wailing and the screaming and the shouting and the moaning from all the other inmates and she wants to crouch down on the ground and cover up her ears and rock back and forth until she’s someplace else.

Anywhere else.

“Go.” The word comes out easily even though she doesn’t know if this is what she wants or not. “Go back to your family. Your son’s probably missing his mother.”

Narcissa’s face changes briefly and then she is gone.

And Bellatrix is alone again in her small cell, pacing around like she did the first day, memorizing the number of steps to make sure the size hasn’t changed. Making sure it hasn’t shrunk since she came here and it is all the same. The cracks in the bricks and the imperfections on the bars. The screams and moans and sobs are all the same and she bites her lips until they bleed because it reminds her that even though she’s a ghost in a prison cell she is still alive. She still has blood and He will come for her. He will reward her for her devotion and she will be free again.

She doesn’t close her eyes and she doesn’t stop moving but she lets her mind drift and think about the Dark Lord and how He will reward her when the time is right.

She will be free again, she thinks, and paces again.