"So you smashed my prophecy?" Voldemort said softly boring into the Potter boy's mind.
A crash.
Then Longbottom brat's legs doing a ludicrous sort of tap dance, he recognized as the effects of the Tarantallegra jinx.
There was the loud sound of ripping fabric and then to his horror the unmistakable sound of cracking glass as the small orb smashed under one of Longbottom's dancing feet.
"No Bella," he said in the same soft voice, shocking himself as he spoke. That name. he had called her-no it was just a slip of the tongue. It would not happen again Voldemort assured himself as he continued speaking. "he's not lying…I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind." Voldemort could now feel anger boiling up from somewhere inside him.
"Months of preparation, months of effort," he was now struggling to keep his voice calm. Control, he thought. "and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter" he spat the name as if it were something disguising. "thwart me again."
Bellatrix was sobbing. Large round tears rolled down her beautiful face. "Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black." She flung herself at the floor. Voldemort subconsciously took several steps towards her, caught himself, and stopped abruptly.
Bellatrix was still crying. Sobs rippled through her body in great waves. "Master…."
But Voldemort didn't hear her next words. He had found he had taken yet another step towards her. Control, he thought again, but even as he thought the word he could feel his careful control melting away. Bellatrix, usually so proud and beautiful, lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, and Voldemort was suddenly overtaken by a weird urge to pick her up off the ground and cradle her in his arms as he had once done so often so many years ago. To hold her in his arms and tell her it was alright. To tell her, he wasn't mad at her and everything would be alright.
Voldemort immediately shrugged off the feeling.
What was he saying?
What was he thinking?
Everything was definitely not alright. The prophecy was gone. Of course he was angry with her. How dare she, even for a brief moment, make him feel so…sooo…so human.
Bellatrix was at his feet moaning words he did not care to listen to. He cut her off in a dangerously low voice, "Be quiet Bella."
He paused for a split second. Completely thrown off guard by his own words.
Bella.
He had called her Bella. Not once but twice. And within minutes of each other too.
Twice….and after he had sworn never to use that name again.
It had been so long. He couldn't remember when he had last used that name.
No.
That was a lie. He had last used it on a dark night nearly 15 years ago.
It was the night that he had finally, finally gotten wind of the Potter's whereabouts. That was the last night he had been with her.
Rodolphus had been sent off earlier that evening on some assignment. But it was not an important mission. Its only purpose was to get him out of the way. Rodolphus knew of course, but he dared not argue with The Dark Lord. He dared not confront The Dark Lord about sleeping with his wife.
Voldemort remembered how the wind howled at the windows despite the fact it was supposed to be a warm summer's evening. But it was like the warmth that was supposed to be outside was captured in the small house.
She had been so beautiful. Her dark thick hair framing her face and covering her neck. He kissed her hard on the lips and it was like an electric current had shot between them. He had drawn away from her month and kissed her again, softer than before, on her neck. She had moaned with pleasure as her pale smooth skin connected with his own.
She was his.
His beautiful Bella.
He could have lain there all night with her.
But then a knock came at the door pulling them apart.
"Who's there," he had called slightly annoyed.
It was Wormtail, and he had come baring the news he had so long waited for.
News of the Potter's whereabouts.
In less than 10 minutes he was outside. Ready to, at last, find and kill the Potter boy. The only one who might be able to ever defeat him.
He stood in the yard, the wind whipping at his face, his cloak billowing out behind him. He was just about to Apparate to Godric's Hollow when he heard a voice behind him.
Bella had run out into the yard after him, a look of intense worry on her beautiful face.
"My Lord," she called in a furtive whisper. "Master."
He turned to look at her.
She continued, "Please let me come with you."
"No Bella," Voldemort had said a bit harsher than he meant. She looked slightly hurt.
"Please, My Lord," she pleaded. Her dark hair blew across her face as the wind picked up. The silk dressing gown she had obviously just thrown on, blew in the wind. Voldemort could just see her soft skin beneath it and could imagine the rest of her naked body shivering under the light material.
"No," he repeated a little more kindly than before.
"My Lord." she was begging now. "Please don't go by yourself."
"Why Bella?" Voldemort asked, amused.
"Well…I…" she faultered for a moment. "I have…I have a bad feeling about this. Something is going to go wrong I just know it, please let me come along." She pleaded.
He could only laugh at her. "I'll be fine," he assured her.
She smiled uncertainly. "Please, just let me come."
But he had refused. The truth was he too had a bad feeling. A nagging sensation in the back of his mind that told him, something bad was going to happen tonight. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but it was there, weighing on the back of his consciousness. And whatever horrible crimes he had committed, however many people he had killed, in that moment all he wanted to do was protect the woman standing in front of him from whatever was coming tonight.
Whatever happened tonight at the Potter's, his Bella would be safe.
Voldemort had turned away from her, once again ready to Disapparate.
"Tom."
The word was whispered so quietly that Voldemort was not sure if he had heard correctly. Once again he turned to look at Bella.
"Please, Tom," she whispered again.
"What did you call me?" Voldemort had asked his voice dangerously low.
Bella flinched slightly but continued. "Tom, I'm begging you, let me come. Don't go alone, tonight. Tom please."
Voldemort had just stared at her. She had looked terrified. She had dared to speak his real name. Dared to call him his filthy Muggle father's name. That nasty common name, Tom.
But there was something about the way she said it. It didn't sound common. Something about her voice had made the name sound beautiful. And seeing Bella before him, shaking with fright or the cold, he was unable to feel angry. Not at least while she was there so terrified for him.
Because of him.
Voldemort name crossed the distance between them in 3 long strides. He had cupped her beautiful face in his hands, clearing away her windswept hair, and gazing into her dark eyes.
"Bella," he had whispered. "I'll be fine. I promise. After tonight, I will come back for you. I will find you no matter what happens. I will always come for you. Don't worry, Bella. I promise."
She had nodded slightly. Voldemort had, had the urge to kiss her but thought better of it, turned, and Disapparated.
But things had not gone as planned. That nagging feeling was right. That night he had lost all his power.
He had lost everything, even his body.
And it was because of her.
Because she had made him weak.
Right here, right now, in the Department of Mysteries, she was doing it again. She was making him weak. She was making him lose focus.
She was distracting him from his goal just as she had fifteen years ago.
But no, it wouldn't work this time. He was stronger this time. He was wiser. There would not be the same mistakes as last time.
She would not get in the way, and he, Lord Voldemort, would make her pay for try. He would punish her for what she did to him.
He glanced down at the girl crying, at his feet. "I shall deal with you in a moment," he said in a cold, cruel, detached voice. "Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear you're sniveling apologies?"
"But Master," Bellatrix sobbed. "He is here-He is below-"
But Voldemort firmly ignored her.
He turned his whole attention to Harry Potter, the boy he had tried to kill so very long ago on that cold windy night.