A strangled cry leaves your throat drawing her attention once more. Looking at you with crazed eyes, deep into your mind and soul. Waiting and wanting to rip

you up whole. You whimper as you know that shrieks and cries will only fuel her

manic state, the obsession twinkling in those ravishing eyes and you should have

expected it, should have known it wouldn't last. That she'd dive head first into

her crazy, psychotic state of mind, but you risked it, risked it all for her and

those sweet whispers and those delicious promises of love she'd say to you each

time you'd make sweet love. It is only until now that you recall the flickering

of insanity transversing through those dark eyes after every passion filled

adventure in the bedroom, in your home.

Home, you used to think the only place you'd ever feel at home was in her strong

arms. You'd also thought she'd changed. You should've known better. It was all a

matter of time until she was dragged back to her raving reality, but it had been

years and the officials had approved her for society. She could be so sweet, her

words like candy. You should have noticed but you were to blinded by your

feelings. You wrote off when one day she broke that vase, there was no reason

for it besides not liking it and at the time she'd screamed at your face, pupils

dilated, teeth bared, spittle launched at your face how she hated it, but you

simply wrote it off. She's probably stressed you'd defended, perhaps it reminded

her of her terrible childhood or of things not deemed right to remember, excuse

upon excuse you'd make for her never realizing she's never truly spoken about

her childhood nor early life. Her family life was unknown to you, all you knew

was that Narcissa meant a lot to her. You should've seen the signs. Should've

known better.

She has you tied up in some place you've never seen before and even as you

witness her madness screaming through her eyes, as she rips off your clothing

and digs her fingers into your flesh, you want to deny its happening. You want

to provide another excuse.

Your heart is begging for a sweet lie to make it better, your screaming about its idiocy knowing full well you might die right then and there, but your body, oh your body gives the worst reaction and you are left with a feeling of a deep betrayal. However it is not from her no, you still love her, always will. No, the betrayal is from your own body. You've never been so aroused even as she digs her knife into your thigh, or whips your arse, back, and thighs, you can only hang on the verge of begging for release. You won't go so low, no, not when you're the one held captive in so many ways and you don't know if you have control over anything else anymore. Does her heart still yearn

for yours as everything of yours yearns for her? Does her love still exist

behind that mind lost in its insanity? She owns everything that you are, your

soul, your heart. She is the empress of your mind, ruling with an iron fist and

you can't bring yourself to hate the fact.

As you struggle to stay calm, to calm your raging libido, to take hold of your

slipping life as your blood flees your body, you recall all those moments that

should've given you a sign. The things you should've noticed instead of making

lies. It's quite ironic that years later you wish you has taken the blasted pink

toad-Umbridge-'s ..advice and not told lies. You might not have been here

chained up to a dank wall in some unknown place keeping away from the light with

all your might.

She continues on marking her way through your body, as if creating a map upon

flesh with her beloved instruments. You wonder if she loves them more than she

does you. You know almost instantly that the loss of blood is affecting you in

that moment. It's irrational to be jealous of inanimate objects.

You don't know how long she's gone about it, but you thank whoever's up there

for the release she granted not so long ago just when you'd thought you'd burst.

She'd shoved three fingers into you and you don't know what else but you suppose

it doesn't matter as the results had been spectacular. You doesn't know if

you've ever been that wet before nor if you've ever came that hard before. It doesn't matter you realize. Your time is almost at an end. Your vision is dimming, but you can't bring yourself to care. Though even then you wonder, your curiosity too great, if you'd not lied and discovered the signs of her fading sanity would you still be alive? Does she still love you at least a part of her?

What'll happen to her? Will she remember what she did to her filthy mudblood? A part of you hopes she does, in a sick twisted way you want her to remember everything pertaining to you even your last moments in her wretched(lovely) company.

You want to be immortalized if not in her heart then in her mind. You really did love her you think to yourself, your vision almost gone and as the last of it fades you catch a small glimpse of her face and you've gotten the answer to at least one of your questions. In the end she still loves you, the proof is in the expression she wore on her beautiful face; it read so many things, but the main thing you took note of was the heart wrenching look in her eyes.

She should've known better, should've thought ahead and seen the signs but in the end it didn't matter because her last breathe was given knowing she had loved her till the end.

Bellatrix looked upon the body of her lover with sorrow, pain, and panic written eyes. She'd lost control, given into the screaming voice inside and it had cost her. Without thought her body collapsed under her, as pain filled sobs wracked her body.

She's lost everything that day, but the screams where still there still urging her to kill something, someone who was no longer there.

A/N: In death Hermione realizes that Bellatrix's actions where not of her own will. With the pain and regret screaming in her ex-death eater's eyes she knew Bella would not have done this just to do so. With those thoughts in mind her heart relieved to believe that her raven haired murderess still loved her, even if once again she might be telling lies.

Bellatrix on the other hand fought through the temptation the voices sung to her each day. She'd promised herself she wouldn't fall for their traps again. She'd tried to change if not for Hermione then for herself. In the end however it would seem that once dark always dark perhaps.