Written for Lady Eleanor Boleyn's 'Ten Deadly Sins' challenge at xoxLewrahxox's forum.

Prompt: write a drabble with a word count of an exact multiple of 100 -or at least, as close as possible - I don't mind if it's a few words under or over - dealing with a HP character (or characters) and one or more of the Seven Deadly Sins - Envy, Lust, Rage, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth and Pride.

This is wrath (rage)

exactly 400 words

How virtuous the maidens
Who pray beyond the dell
And welcome all the animals
And bid them to be well
How virtuous the maidens
Who taketh in the poor
To feed and clothe and comfort them
In their house beyond the moor

Narcissa lay on her stomach, twirling a dandelion between her fingers. Snatches of the song she was singing floated to Bellatrix with the wind.

Her sister looked up from her book.

"That song again?" She said.

"It's pretty!" Narcissa protested.

Bellatrix sat up suddenly, closing her book. "What's so pretty about that song anyway? Sounds stupid to me."

But Narcissa ignored her, for a songbird had alighted on a branch just above her head.

Bellatrix Lestrange was singing. Her voice was high and queer, and in the darkness, the disembodied sound was more terrifying than the white-masked Death Eater who floated up to the door. Bellatrix knocked, and stopped her singing to say, in a high, overly polite voice, "Let us in, please!"

But when there was no answer, she blasted the door off its hinges and strode inside.

The home of Frank and Alice Longbottom was not particularly notable, inside or out. Rather like its owners, it was common, vaguely messy and not at all well put together. But Bellatrix saw none of these affinities as she strode purposefully up the stairs to find those poor souls.

And find them she did, in a back room, huddled together like Hufflepuffs. And when she saw them, she smiled, because there was something satisfying about finding the perfect outlet for her wrath.

Everything she ever hated bubbled to the surface as she shouted Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! until they collapsed, useless, to the ground. She knew that she should have been trying to extract information from them. More, she knew that if she'd just given them a chance, they would have talked. Spilled all the secrets they knew, because they were weak.

But somehow, all that was forgotten when she began. And more appallingly, she didn't care at all. She was happy now. Terribly, terribly happy, because she could lie, she could say, "No, my Lord. They refused to talk. And what choice did I have after that?"

Still smiling madly, she made her way back downstairs and continued her song.

How virtuous the maiden,
Who preys beyond the dell
And tortures the unworthy ones
With passion none can quell.

Did you like it? Or should I abandon all literary endeavours for a life of petty crime?