Prologue

"No!" the screams of a young woman echoed through the skies. "No!" she screamed once more, falling down on her knees on the dirt of the earth, and softly touching the lifeless body of the man she once loved.

"No," she whispered now, slowly taking in what had happened. The impossible, the thing no one believed that could happen. He, that stupid little brat, had killed the Lord, the Dark Lord, the man who had so easily taken so many lives now had lost his own.

"No!" she now screamed the cry of a lion out of the hunt, as she brutally attacked young Harry Potter, without even having the decency of taking out her wand to hurt him. It did not matter, as long as he would die.

The young boy seemed to be taken a back by this sudden attack, but the woman's slaps were quite fragile, and although furious, he could take her down if he wanted to. The question was: did he want to?

Then, as sudden as they had started, the slapping stopped. The woman was crying now instead, hard and loud, unable to stop even if her life would depend on it. Harry knew why she was crying, but he simply could not understand a creature as evil as Bellatrix Lestrange was able to show such strong feelings towards anyone, not even her beloved Dark Lord.

Before he even knew it, Harry had put his arms around her and pulled her close. She did not even notice, and continued to cry, but Harry wondered instantly why he was doing this. Why was he trying to comfort the woman he hated so much? Why did it affect him in this way that she had actually shown human feelings? Why?

He took in his surroundings. There were many dead bodies lying on the battlefield, and he could even swear he had seen Luna fall down not too far away from him. But it didn't really matter. The only ones fighting now were fighting a worthless cause and they knew it. The Dark Lord was dead. Soon, all Death Eaters would surrender or flee, but eventually they would all end up in Azkaban anyway. The prophecy was fulfilled.

But here she lay, helplessly in his arms, like a broken porcelain doll, all madness that once possessed her had died with the death of her master and to be honest, she reminded Harry more of a young, lost girl than of a wicked madwoman.

"Harry!" someone called, with a voice Harry recognised as Hermiones. "You killed him! You…What are you doing?" she asked on a bewildered tone, staring down at him strangely.

"It's not the time," he said sharply. "Who has lived? Who is dead? You should go check on that, Herms," he kind of ordered her.

"I already did," she said, sort of offended. "Luna fell, as did Fred. Neville is badly injured."

"And the Death Eaters?"

"Most of them are, well, dead. Lucius fled, but Tonks has gone after him."

"Who lived?" Harry wanted to know.

"Lestrange, Narcissa, Lucius, Draco even. Snape, too. Some others, not that many."

"Cissy!" the woman in Harry's arms suddenly cried out. She grasped and held on to Harry's shirt. "No!" she told him. "No! You cannot have her arrested! Not Cissy! No!" There was such devastation speaking from her eyes that if he would have been able to do anything about it, Harry would have. He began to notice why Bella always got what she wanted; and he realized she was just about as unpredictable as possible.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the sight of a begging Bellatrix, but Harry simply said: "I am sorry. There is nothing I can do about it."

Bella shot him a look as though he was crazy. "You," she said slowly, "you murdered my master, the Darkest Lord of all times, and you say you cannot keep my sister from prison? Liar! Liar! Claim her then, if you do not know how you must do this. Claim her to be your property! Please!" She hung on to him even more, supporting on him, leaning on him. "You won, you can do this," she assured him. "Please, just do this. She would not survive Azkaban!"

To be quite honest, Harry could not care less whether or not Narcissa Malfoy would survive Azkaban, but he could not say that so bluntly, not to this helpless creature that was hanging on to him for support.

Somewhere deep inside of him, he had to admit he had always found Bellatrix Black to be an attractive woman. A bit too old for his preferences, but attractive still. She had this sophisticated look that made her look she was always in control. But now, now she was completely losing it, Harry found her to suddenly become his number one object of desire. Maybe it was everything at once; the feeling of holding this perfect-shaped, knowingly woman in his young arms and the fact he had fulfilled a prophecy today and managed to kill the Dark Lord. One way or another, he did not want to let go at all.

"Come on Harry," Hermione urged. "You have to hand her over to the Aurors, so they can parrest her too."

Bella's eyes widened and she looked even more scared at the thought of having to be in Azkaban again herself. Harry suddenly wondered what had turned this beautiful woman into an insane murderer. She could tell him. She could tell him why she had killed Sirius. Tell him why she had tortured the Longbottoms. If only she could stay with him, then she could tell him. Then he could know the truth.

"No," he said in a determine tone of voice. "I will not have them arrest her. But I don't know how to do this…claming…"

"It's simple," Bella quickly assured him. "You go over to those Aurors and say you want to claim your prize for the war. It's an old habit; you can then claim me and Cissy and you will have our properties too. They will take our wands away, and we will be your servants."

"You would want to lower yourself to being a servant, Black?" Hermione cruelly shot at the woman.

She did not even try to reply, she simply looked desperately at beggingly at Harry, but he had already made his decision anyway.

"Can you get up?" he asked Bellatrix. She sniffed, let go of him and got up rather uneasily, but she did manage to stand anyway. Harry had never seen anyone that weak and although there was already a glimpse of the old, fight-worthy Bella coming back, she still depended on him to save her from Azkaban once again.

He wondered why he was doing this. What use had he in claiming the lestrange mansion and the Malfoy property? Why would he want Bellatrix and Narcissa as his property? All these questions hunted his mind, but they were irrelevant. He knew why, he just did not want to understand.

"There you are, Harry," Tonks said as she saw him coming closer. "Ah, Bellatrix…Looking forward to spending another ten years or more in Azkaban?" she asked the woman tauntingly.

"She is not going to Azkaban," Harry said in a determined tone of voice. "I have come to claim my prize," he said to Tonks, on a very business-like sounding tone. "I wish to claim Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy as my property."

Everyone seemed to silence, and Lupin turned around, a big 'what the hell' written all over his face, but Harry did not even move. He was the winner in all of this, and he wanted a prize. He wanted the woman, leaning on his shoulder, to be his. He wanted to threat her like the dirt of the earth, he wanted to torture her for what she had done to Sirius, but at the same time he wanted to help her erase her old wounds and fight for the future she never had to begin with.

"You want to claim those two? Why would you want that?" Ron asked. "They are Death Eaters for god's sake!"

"I have my reasons," Harry simply replied. "Now, can I have my prize?"

"Fine then," Tonks gave in, very unwillingly. She roughly grabbed Narcissa's wrist and jerked her into Harry's direction. "And I hope you have a splendid time with them, Harry, whatever the hell it is you are upto."

Harry did not reply: he did not even know this himself.