DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER

A/N: I worked on this for an entire day and I've been working on the idea for about a week now. I'm kind of proud of it, actually, and it would mean a great deal to me if you would review this. Thanks xx

Two years... two year almost to the day. It was hard without her. She was his happiness.

It was almost laughable how it had started the complete opposite, all those years ago when he and Bellatrix were still in school. Two teenagers who had better things to do than to be married to someone their parents picked out for them. They left school and were married and suddenly it was like both of their worlds had exploded as they were violently combined in a matrimony neither party desired. For years it was like this. If it wasn't silence between them, it was harsh words and offensive names. If they weren't staying as far from the other as possible, they were hurling plates and decor and furniture, desperately hoping to wound the other. However, somehow, along the line, what was violent became passionate and what was hatred became a deep affection that could, much to their distaste, only be described as love.

A painful, beautiful, disastrous love.

It had only taken a few years for them to warm up to each other completely, to begin sleeping in the same room and, soon enough, in the same bed. Bella began to smile and he decided he liked seeing her smile. It was rare and one of the only things reserved for him and him alone. They soon learned what made the other tick. They dedicated a day to locking themselves in their bedroom and memorizing the other. Soon he knew her better than anyone... and she knew him.

He'd memorized each of her features. Her long eyelashes, her heavily hooded eyes that were such a deep, dark brown you could barely see the pupil... but nobody had the honor of looking that long, that deeply into such dark eyes. Nobody but Rodolphus. He had taken the liberty of acquainting himself with every inch of her creamy, porcelain skin, ran his hands through every unruly curl. Yes, Rodolphus Lestrange was fairly certain that he knew his wife inside and out. He knew where to touch and kiss to have her melting in his grasp and even, once, discovered just where to touch and prod (her sides, actually) to have her shrieking in laughter and squirming in his arms.

Their lives together had gone from violent and bloodthirsty, desperate to hurt the other enough for them to leave, to a couple who was more in love than one would think they would ever be in.

Then came the Dark Lord's rise to power.

It was always presumed that the two of them would get Dark Marks. They would often joke about it, calling them "couples' tattoos" but when it actually came time to be Marked that July, Rodolphus felt something he could only describe as hesitation and regret knowing that once he was branded he could be ripped away from Bellatrix at a moment's notice and vice versa for her. He became extremely aware of their mortality that night, feeling as the skull was burned into the skin of his left arm, the serpent slithering from its open mouth and turning a jet black once finished. Their lives were so fragile and here they were, selling them away for a tattoo and a title… just as was expected of them. That night, or possibly early morning, they laid awake in bed, their arms around each other, trying not to irritate their freshly marked arms, and made a simple promise to one another, Rod expressing his concerns for the both of them.

"I will always come back to you."

It was these same words that Bellatrix and Rodolphus would murmur to each other before one of them went off on a mission or raid that the other was not part of, promising that they would return. Though it was never concrete that they would come back after every mission, they managed to each time and, surprisingly enough, it was enough to put his mind at ease.

It was at a Christmas party at the Malfoy's when Bellatrix and Rodolphus met the Dark Lord himself for the first time. The look on Bella's face was one that would be engraved into his mind forever. The Dark Lord had taken a liking to her, obviously intrigued by one of the first women approved to join the legion. Bellatrix had a sort of look in her eyes, a look she only used to get when looking at Rodolphus, and he knew that, from that moment on, things were going to be very, very different.

It wasn't long before Bellatrix had appeared to transfer her affections. It began with subtle changes at home… he would kiss her and it was as if her lips didn't want her to return it. Little showings of affection became nonexistent. Her mind seemed elsewhere, her eyes almost having a blank, glossy stare whenever he even attempted to initiate intimacy… as if she was preparing to block him out, do it to satisfy him so he'd stop asking. It was as if she had forgotten the years and years of marriage they'd gone through, every passionate moment still ringing true in Rodolphus' memory. Then it began to be clear that their marriage was not going to be as enjoyable as before. She started coming home later, staying back after their meetings were over while Rodolphus left for home, claiming she'd 'be home soon.' He'd planned long speeches about suspecting her infidelity, wishing she'd tell him things like before but, when it came time to actually say them, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

They only had four months of true happiness after that, when Bellatrix announced one morning at breakfast that she was pregnant. There was a smile on her face and Rodolphus' heart swelled with love for the woman across from him on the table and the child that she was carrying within her.

Their child, he was sure of it.

He would stay up with her at night, one hand resting on her belly, barely swollen with new life in the early weeks of pregnancy, while his other hand caressed her cheek or cradled her to him, talking of baby names, what they wished it to be, features they wished the child to inherit. They wanted a son with his father's looks and his mother's wit or a daughter with her father's eyes and her mother's hair and stubborn mind. It was a night like this, Rod and Bella finally deciding that they'd like a girl as their first born, that they fell asleep, his arms wrapped around her body, hand still resting on her stomach, only to be awoken by Bellatrix in the middle of the night, her blood staining their sheets.

Her name would have been Laurelia. Laurelia Octavia Lestrange.

Losing the baby was the breaking point of their marriage. They wouldn't speak; Bella wouldn't let Rodolphus touch her. She wouldn't look at him for days and even began sleeping in a different room. It was like when their marriage had just begun only there was no violence, only sadness. It was then he was sure that this would not last and that he would be in an empty relationship, forced to watch as Bellatrix distracted herself by throwing herself into her work, staying later even later after meetings, going on extra raids and soon she began looking at their Lord with the same affection she once showed him.

He'd heard stories about the way the Dark Lord was conceived: under a love potion, meaning he could not feel real love, but just because the Dark Lord could not love did not mean that would stop others from falling in love with him. The love that Bella had fallen into may not have been the same love she had with Rodolphus but she was still in love with another man and Rodolphus was jealous. He was envious that the love of his life was doting over someone else, someone who didn't even know what love was what he was the one who had been with her through everything. He deserved that love.

Soon enough, it was like the two of them weren't even married anymore. They interacted but it was more like colleagues than husband and wife, more like acquaintances than lovers. The only things he ever even looked forward to were raids and mission together because they reminded him of time even before marriage, before Voldemort's influence got inside her head.

When Voldemort had been defeated for the first time it was like someone had torn a piece of Bella away and Rodolphus couldn't help but think that there was no way she was going to act like this when he died. In fact, he was sure that she wouldn't even notice.

The things she was doing to get the Dark Lord back were on the border of insanity but he did what he could to make her happy, holding on to hope that if she found out there was no way to get him back, she may come back to him. This would be one of the only times he ever would have been happy to be the one she settled for. So when she suggested they go out and try and find information on his whereabouts, he decided to go along with it. When they tortured the Longbottoms, he decided to go along with it. And then they were sent to Azkaban, and he decided to go along with it.

He wasn't worried about Azkaban, in all honesty. In fact, he was more worried for Bellatrix than himself. He was thrown into his cell, his body hitting the cold, damp ground with a thud as the dementor's rattling breath filled his ears as well as Bella's screams of rage as she was dragged down the corridor. He knew they were smarter than to put them near each other, her voice getting further and further away by the minute. He threw himself against the bars of his cell, yelling her name before the dementor pushed him back, throwing him against the back of his cell, all the warmth leaving his body as he was left cold, lying against the wall of his cell while his wife's screams got quieter and quieter until he heard the rattling breath of at least two other dementors and the prison grew silent.

He wasn't sure how long he was going to be in there but he was sure that it would not take as hard a toll as it did on others. He had no happiness to take, his own happiness lying in a cell yards away from him, possibly down another cell block even. Rodolphus had nothing left to lose and you could not break a man that was already broken.

Years passed in that wretched prison, Rodolphus losing track of how long they'd even been there for. He'd seen more prisoners come and go than even the dementors, he was sure of it. It felt like a lifetime since he'd seen Bellatrix, heard anything from her but screams, and, for all he knew, it was a lifetime. There was talk around the prison, whisperings through the walls, that Voldemort had risen to power again, that he'd come back to life and would release his most faithful.

For once, Rodolphus was glad that he had gone along with Bellatrix all those years ago. This meant that he, too, would be broken out, his loyalty to his wife easily mistaken for loyalty to their patron.

Sure enough, there was an explosion in the walls one day, blowing a hole in the cell he was in and the cells of many others. He felt the spray from the waves, high and dangerous, that surrounded the island the wizarding prison was built on. This was happening. This was real life.

He looked around the prison in the chaos, sure that Bellatrix and his brother would have been able to escape. He saw a frail figure stand, her dress tattered and worn, her hair matted and tangled, her eyes sunken in and her face pale and grey from the lack of natural light but her eyes held a certain fire that could only be seen in the eyes of a true believer of the Dark Lord, a dark cackle erupting from her. She had been hoping for this day… it may have even been the only thing that kept her alive in this vile place.

Since the escape from Azkaban, Rodolphus had accepted the fact that they were no longer married. He had returned to their manor, leaving her with the Dark Lord to do as she wished for him but he would have no part in it. He was not bitter, no. He reveled in Bella's happiness… he just was not able to watch her be happy with someone else so he left her, knowing full well she would never return to this manor again, what was once a grand home for the two of them was now falling to ruin, if she even remembered where it was.

For years, Rodolphus lived alone with nobody but the house elves, the empty manor an echo of what his life once was when Bellatrix was his. Days when he would be working in his study and she come waltzing in, lounging in his armchair and whining about how much work he was doing until he finally gave into her, once almost ravaging her on his desk itself. But those days were long gone, over years and years before they even were in prison.

The letter informing him of Bellatrix's death came as no surprise… he had been preparing himself for years but it did not stop his heart from completely breaking in two. There was no funeral; there never were funerals for people like them, they were just the people who died in battle for the losing cause and nobody ever gave the losing cause a farewell and a ceremony. He owled back, wishing not to receive her body but her have her ashes scattered. That was what Bella would have wanted. She never did like being confined and keeping her in an urn was almost like an Azkaban of the dead… and she had spent enough time in dark places like that.

He chose not to remember Bella the way she was before he left her. He chose to remember her in the earlier days of her marriage: after the violence, right when the two of them were beginning to fall deeply and dangerously in love with each other. It was dangerous to remember her like this, his mind playing tricks on him while he went insane with grief. He'd be sitting in his study, staring at the books, untouched for years upon years, lining the walls until it was too dark and his mind had grown too tired to continue doing nothing and he went to bed. He hadn't left the manor in two years and, for all anyone else knew, Rodolphus Lestrange was dead.

Rod had gotten up one day, skipping breakfast and heading to his study with a cup of tea that would soon be emptied and refilled with firewhiskey. He sat at his study, not even finding the energy to be active enough to try and get something done. He was so lonely without her. He missed her dearly.

"Roddy... regardez-moi."

It was a like the softest whisper, his eyes snapping open and looking down at the half empty cup of tea on his desk that had gone cold hours ago. His mind was brought back to French lesson after French lesson, trying to teach her enough so that she would be able to keep a conversation with him. She wanted to learn the language, ever since she'd realized he could speak it.

She had always had trouble pronouncing her R's.

"Ma belle," he whispered, his voice breaking.

He looked up to find Bella. His Bella, back before the Dark Lord happened, before he took her from him. She looked just as she did before. Before they grew apart, before they lost the baby, before those countless years in Azkaban. She was the Bella he remembered.

He had to have been hallucinating. She was lounging on the arm chair, just as she had done when she was bored and found nothing more entertaining than bothering him in his study. She looked so real, as if he could get up and walk across the room to touch her. The sight of her broke his heart. He knew, in the very back of his mind, that she was, indeed, dead and had been for two years but seeing her in his study, lounging on his arm chair with that familiar smirk across her face.

"You look… lonely, sad," she noted quietly, her face never changing, the smirk set in place on her lips.

"This is a cruel trick that my mind is playing on me," Rod said, his body growing cold. There was no way she would come back here, living or dead. This was not her ghost; this was a figment of his own twisted mind, sick with grief.

"Oh, it's a trick of the mind, yes. Not a cruel one, though."

"What do you mean it isn't a cruel one? You're here to torment me, to remind me that I lost the love of my life long before her life was taken."

"I'm here to end the torment, end the pain."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know as well as I, mon chéri."

It hit him. This was something that he'd always contemplated but never found the courage to do. His hand found his way to his wand in his back pocket.

"Do you mean…"

"Oui."

Rod swallowed, heaving a heavy sigh as he pulled his wand from his pocket and laid it on the desk in front of him, his eyes glued to it. He knew what Bella, or what his mind conjured up to be Bella, was implying but he'd never ever been brave enough to even attempt it. Even the bravest are afraid of death.

"What did you promise me, mon chéri?"

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes still on his wand. He hadn't thought about their promise in years, not since the last time they'd made it to each other several years, maybe even decades ago. He didn't want to say it out loud, he didn't want to say anything out loud. He couldn't breathe.

"You promised me you would always come back to me."

That was it. That was the breaking point. He rain one hand through his hair, the other one clenching into a fist. He'd made that promise to his Bella long ago, a Bella that was long gone and here was this product of his ill mind telling him what he promised to his Bellatrix when he, of all people, would know it the best. He looked up, prepared to yell at this imaginary Bellatrix, but she was gone and he was suddenly longing for her presence again, real or not. It was almost like having his Bellatrix back again.

You promised me you would always come back to me…

He looked down at his wand sitting on the desk next to his cold cup of tea, as if waiting for him to pick it up and use it to fulfill that promise. He picked it up, twirling it in his fingers before looking at it again.

"I will always come back to you, ma belle," he said, pointing the wand at his temple.

Avada Kedavra!

There was a flash of green light and nothing but darkness. Rod's tea had been knocked over on the desk when he fell into it, the liquid spilling down the side and dripping onto the expensive carpet as he lie, motionless. His eyes were void of any of the life left in them.

He was the happiest he'd been in decades.