Fatal Remorse by Periwinkle
Chapter Notes: Thanks goes to mooncalf for being such a wonderful beta!
Dark, obscuring smoke rose out of the blackened chimney of a deteriorating hut located on the edge of a thick forest. It was eerily silent around the home, which would have struck an outsider as thoroughly unnatural. However, to the inhabitants of the little place, it was more than ordinary. One did have to admit that the area had a new aura around it - a different, more cryptic one than usual.
A quiet man was sitting in a spindly chair, running his hand over a smooth wooden box, eyes closed. His tapered, gloved fingers caressed the artifact, as if seeking comfort from it. His eyes remained gently closed, unaware of anything but the soft murmuring of the wind rushing through the fir trees, the chilly night air wafting in from the open window and the abnormal absence of any sounds from nocturnal creatures.
The man had the appearance of someone once young; worry and strain had made him older. His ebony hair rested on his shoulders, his black beard accented his strong jaw and fine lines. The eyebrows were shaped like raven's wings and made him look slightly comical, until the observer moved further down to his eyes, where a different story lay altogether. His eyes were a piercing blue; intricate patterns laced the iris. Once the onlooker got pass the initial shock, they noted that the eyes seemed a hundred years older than the rest of the body. They held an immeasurable amount of pain, sadness and… death.They haunted - those eyes - following, never stopping their quest. They frightened some and fascinated others. They penetrated, cut; were a consolation and a source of pain. The man was unaware that his gaze caused so many to quiver. His associates noticed but did not comment and his wife gave them no attention.
His eyes changed his whole face. One could get lost staring into them, get sucked into them and seldom come back. They were a weapon for him, although he did not know it. He could change minds with those eyes, and only the strongest could overcome the temptations.
Abruptly, the man opened them, scanning the room. His face took on a troubled appearance, even an alarmed one. He set the box down carefully and stood up, heading for the liquor cabinet. Removing a bottle of Firewhisky to calm his nerves, he resumed his former position in the chair, the flask held in his hand. It looked as if a great burden rested on the man's shoulders; he fought to get rid of it.
For he knew that he had failed. Again. He knew that he had not finished what he had set out to do and that it was most likely the end of him. He did not cry nor beat his breast nor pace the room in agitation, like so many others would have done in a similar situation. He sat calmly in a unsteady chair, his head in his hands, his once-radiant eyes closed. He did not even utter a word - the only sounds coming from the one-room hut was the clock ticking on the mantle of the fireplace. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It reminded him of the seconds of his life going to waste, and each resonance of the timepiece filled his chest with dread.
Lost in his thoughts, the man did not notice a woman enter the room. She held herself upright, her dark green cloak swishing behind her, her ratty hair done up in a modest bun. Her heavy-lidded eyes betrayed no emotion, and her once beautiful face showed no feeling. She lay a long, white hand on the man's shoulders.
"Bella!" the man exclaimed, jumping up. He fumbled with the box, stuffing it into his pocket. A fake smile adorned his wasted face; his hands were held out, palms up. "What are you doing here?"
Silence. Bellatrix stared at him, her wand grasped delicately in her hand. Twirling it between two fingers, she finally replied in a throaty voice, "Curious that you ask."
Raising an eyebrow, she began to circle him slowly, wand dangling from her fingertips.
"I had thought that you were expecting me." Her words were slow, playful. Her lips smiled whereas her eyes did not.
The man attempted another stab at his supposed surprise. "I was told you were away."
"I am here now," she replied after another uncomfortable silence, then added in lower but still deliberate tones, "and I am sure you know why." She paused her stroll around him, looking straight up into his eyes. She did not flinch, like so many would have done by now. She held his gaze, boring into him. "You do not?"
He gave a nervous laugh. "No, my dear. But I am happy that you're back."
"Are you?"
He gave up the pretence then, the grin sliding off his lips. He knew there would be no playing around her - she was too smart for him, too domineering. His face hardened but he looked back at her, unwavering.
She smiled. "That's better," she told him and resumed her walk. "I do not like to prolong things and my task here would be better done quickly. Adopt a cooperating air, Rodolphus. Otherwise, things will go very badly with you." Her last sentence was said in a half-hiss, half-whisper. She did not look at him but merely glanced out the window, where the moonless night concealed all secrets.
"You failed," she sneered, walking closer, her wand now gripped firmly, trained at his chest. "The Dark Lord is very displeased."
He did not tremble; he did not cry out. He closed his eyes and in a husky voice whispered, "Kill me then. I'm not stopping you. Go ahead."
She laughed, "Don't be a fool. Give me the locket."
He adjusted himself, cautiously reaching into the folds of his robes and withdrawing the carved box. Gradually, he handed it to her. She took it, hid it and turned back to him.
"The Dark Lord told you that you will be killed if you did not complete your task. You blundered miserably." Her voice adopted a touch of scorn as she moved in closer. "You knew the consequences, yet you did not heed them. You are of no use to the Dark Lord now. He does not need you."
Rodolphus stared back at her yet he did not hear a word she said. His mind was full of thoughts - of his childhood, of his youth and of his pride at becoming a Death Eater.
"Tell me," she prodded him with the end of her wand, "was this all worth it?"
He knew his answer would determine her method of killing.
He thought back to when he was a little boy, when he had wandered foolishly outside his manor and met a group of males his age. They took one look at his eyes and whimpered, fleeing into the arms of their concerned mothers. As he left, he heard one of them say, "Mamma, that boy is evil."
He remembered when he received his first letter from Hogwarts. How excited he had been! Eagerly, he had set out to buy his supplies. When older, he had taken a certain liking to the Dark Arts and soon became infatuated with them. He met others his age that shared his beliefs, but none stood out as strongly as Bellatrix.
She was so strong, so fearless. Her attitude astounded and interested him. She was always accurate, bold and had an unusual charm around her. He became attracted, and they both married after graduating from Hogwarts. Both became willing Death Eaters, completing tasks the Dark Lord set out for them to do. He soon learned that Bellatrix was someone not to be dealt with - her deadly presence and dangerous accuracy scared others, but he withstood her moods and acknowledged her orders. She did not love him, and he had never loved her.
He had spent his whole life killing others, being spiteful, cruel and selfish. Did he regret that? Would he have chosen another career if given the chance?
Yes.
Truly?
He looked up at Bellatrix, who had been watching him in amusement while he sorted out his thoughts. He remained silent, but his eyes implored; begged. She stared up at them - those eyes that conquered so many, but she did not waver.
For an infinite moment, he thought he saw a change pass over her face. He wondered if he had really seen a drop of regret on her features or if it was only a figment of his imagination.
She did not say anything else, but only raised her wand and in a strong voice uttered the incantation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
::::
If someone had stumbled upon that hut and peered in, they would have seen a surprising scene. A man was sprawled on the floor, deathly pale. Oddly enough, there was no sign of bloodshed around him, and no sharp or deadly objects lay nearby.
A woman was standing by him. She pulled the hood of her cloak up, covering her face and reached into her pocket. A wide, greedy grin spilled over her face as she opened it, but in a flash it was gone.
The box was empty.