Water splashed on his face and he coughed, shaking his head. Pain had happened. He groaned, and tried to turn his head away from the long cold fingers that stroked his chin. "You need a shave, young man," said the chill-raising voice, and Neville felt the fingers replaced by the tip of a wand. He flinched. "Hush," she whispered. "It won't hurt." He heard the whisper of the spell and felt the short hairs fall off his face. He blinked as the face of Bellatrix Lestrange came foggily into veiw. "Much better," she said, pushing his hair back. He groaned as the burns under the short regrowth came afire under her fingers. "It's all right," she sing-songed. "It's over now. You can rest until tomorrow."
Neville's head fell forward as she stood up. She picked up his arm and fastened his wrist to the chain that was embedded in the wall. As soon as she was out of earshot he closed his eyes and curled up around himself and let a low sob escape.