Bellatrix Lestrange

[Intro] No, no—keep starring. People always pause around me. Tiny pause. Tight jaws. Eyes lost. Like the body notices first what the mind tries dressing up later. Go on. Pretend your pulse stayed steady. [Verse 1] Mother liked consonants clipped into order, forks aligned, boys approved, daughters quieter. House of Black, all lacquered manners and fasting, every hallway whispering don’t embarrass us publicly. I tried. Briefly. Eight minutes? Nine? Then a crystal glass split during supper— sharp little sound, thin little crown of fractures— and I smiled so hard my sister stopped chewing. (laugther) See, Narcissa liked gardens. Soft gloves. Safe choices. Andromeda liked mercy. I liked reactions. Liked watching ministers lose their train of thought. Liked when polished men forgot where they’d put their hands. Liked rooms turning wrong one heartbeat at a time. Tick-tick. Tiny shift. Then he entered. And suddenly every breathing pattern changed. Oh, you hear these things eventually. Ring tapping wood. Chair legs stiffening. Someone swallowing too quickly behind a practiced expression. Little sounds. Lovely little sounds. [Hook] People say “madness” when a woman stops diluting herself for company. That’s all this ever was. No more soft corners. No more careful wording. No more pretending panic isn’t honest. Let the walls twitch. Let the portraits listen. Let fear sit properly at the table for once. (maniac laughter) [Verse 2] Azkaban dragged slowly. Stone sweat. Rot-water. Prayers muttered through bitten mouths. Women rocking in corners counting dead relatives, Dementors drifting corridor-to-corridor like bored old priests. And me— laughing quietly. Important difference. Loud laughter performs. Quiet laughter lingers. I counted years through memory instead of sunlight. His voice. His movements. The strange stillness following him room-to-room. Funny thing— most prisoners dream of escape routes. I spent twelve years replaying the exact sound of his footsteps. Step-stop. Step-stop. Breath. [Bridge] Look how quick composure loosens, bruises through the blueprint— one wand flick, one mood shift, whole room goes mute quick. Good breeding, teeth gleaming, gold threading on sleeves, all start shaking the same when survival gets teeth. Mother said madness ruins posture in women. I said fear ruins everything faster. Watch. Your shoulders tightened four lines ago. [Verse 3] “Did you love him?” Such a tiny question. Tiny, tidy little question people use when truth feels difficult. Love is Narcissa waiting beside windows. Love is warm soup. Covered shoulders. Checking whether someone’s sleeping. That was never me. No— what I felt was recognition. Standing near him felt like hearing the hidden language underneath everybody else’s conversations. The ugly language. The real one. Ministry smiles stretched skin-thin. Marriage vows spoken through clenched teeth. Children flinching when fathers reach for glasses too fast. Everyone already knew what people were. He simply stopped decorating it. That’s why they feared him. That’s why I followed. Gladly. [Outro] And when the curse left my wand— red flash, rib crack, body dropping sideways— do you know what stayed with me? Not the battle. Not the screaming. A clock somewhere behind the chaos. Tick. Tick-tick. Tick. And his voice— soft enough that everybody else missed it. (fading maniac laughter)