Voldemort screamed as his most trusted and loyal accomplice fell to the floor; her body limp and all signs of life from her beautiful face gone. As he looked into her dark unseeing eyes staring at him, their usual gleam of cunning gone, he felt a rage bubble up inside him; something that he had never felt before. It scared him, this dull ache weighing on his heart, for even with a soul as severed and broken as his, he could not escape from this pain.
"Bellatrix!" he screamed as hot tears welled up in his slit-like eyes, which were gleaming more scarlet than ever.
And all of a sudden, as much as he loathed admitting it even to himself, he could understand the Potter boy's pain and that old fool Dumbledore's constant bleating of love being more powerful than any magic he, Lord Voldemort, could ever have conjured.
Because nothing he had ever felt before compared to this; Bellatrix, his one true love, snatched away from him before he had even had a chance to acknowledge the depth of his feelings even to himself, let alone her, because he had never thought it possible to love anyone as he realized he had loved her. She was his weakness and he had detested that; he feared her as much as he loved her; terrified that she would one day be his downfall.
And then the sadness enveloping him was drowned out by another terrible surge of anger. Shaking with fury, her looked up at the creature who had dared do this to the only woman who had ever understood him, had ever stuck by him out of loyalty, not cowardice like all the other pathetic followers he had gained over the years.
Molly Weasley stood defiantly before him, her hands over her wide hips, her red hair tousled and unkempt from the battle. Her face was flushed and tear-stricken but it was clear she did not regret, was even proud of what she had just done.
"Crucio!" screeched Voldemort as his own tears fell thick and fast down his own ghostly face.
He enjoyed the satisfaction it gave him to see her writhing in agony before him; he had never had a victim so worthy of his torture.
And then something happened. Something Voldemort could never have expected: the tears he had shed dripped from his face, and landed silently onto that of Bellatrix.
And, quite suddenly, as though she had never been dead at all, she opened her eyes as if waking from a deep slumber, and blinked confusedly about the room.
The Cruciatus curse inflicted upon Mrs. Weasley lifted as Voldemort dropped his wand in shock and gasped.
Bellatrix raised herself from where she lay and walked slowly and deliberately towards the only man she had ever and would ever love.
And as he felt her lips touch his, Voldemort's skin began to colour and his eyes widened and became the hazel they had once been.
When Bellatrix finally pulled away, she was no longer looking at the snake-like face of Lord Voldemort, but the handsome features of Tom Riddle.
For Bellatrix had mended his soul with that one kiss, the kiss that was more powerful than any horcrux or curse, the kiss of love.