Word count:3557

Lost Hopes and Chances You Never Had

i.

"My name is Narcissa Black. May I presume you are Mr. Lestrange, Bellatrix's intended? She's waiting for you in the drawing room."

Narcissa looks young, perhaps sixteen, but with her long straight black hair and her aloof expression, she looks every inch of the Black daughter she is. She's beautiful, and you think that if her older sister shares if only a tenth of her charms, then you will be a very lucky man.

You kiss softly the back of her hand and confirm your identity, and she escorts you to the drawing room, where a Bellatrix dressed in an intricate coral dress is indeed waiting for you. She looks even more beautiful than her sister, but also more dangerous.

It's no matter – you've never minded danger.

Her father is there too, the necessary chaperone for this meeting, and you greet him first, as per tradition.

Bellatrix gets up, and you let your lips graze softly the back of her hand the way they grazed against Narcissa's skin barely minutes earlier.

You both sit and have tea, but the conversation is lost on you as your mind keeps wandering back to Narcissa, and the way her skin tasted.

It's a mix between peaches and magic, and it tastes like heaven.

(This isn't happiness, and so the memory stays. It definitely hurts – it's where it began, but it's also when you noticed that this was forbidden, and sometimes you wish the Dementors could take it away with the memory of her smile.)

ii.

Your marriage with Bellatrix Black is purely for politics. It's a way for your family to gain power, both magical and in the Ministry, because the Blacks are well known for both.

It's also to ensure the continuity of the Lestrange's line, because anything else than Pureblood would be unacceptable.

Honestly, it's mere luck that Bellatrix shares your interest for the Dark arts and joining the Dark Lord's ranks, and is so beautiful. You know your parents wouldn't have chosen one of Dumbledore's righteous groupies for you, but you also know that it could have gone a lot worse.

After all, it looks like you and Bellatrix will manage to stand each other, and since you have will have to spend your lives together no matter what, you'll take whatever you can get.

And if her eyes trail a little too much after your younger brother, you won't say anything as long as she does the same when your eyes wander on her sister.

No one ever said either one of you had to be faithful, and as long as you both produce an heir somewhere in a not too far of future and keep those affairs a secret, what you do with your free time is your own concern.

For purebloods, not saying anything in those situations is as close to acceptance as it can get, and as you already said, you'll take whatever you can get.

You're both living your lives separately, and you know it won't change after the wedding.

(This isn't happiness either, but this kind of memory is almost bittersweet, because you can almost remember feeling hope. It's almost faded, but sometimes you remember everything.)

iii.

The wedding in itself is beautiful, and as close to perfection as more money than most people earn in a year can get.

You and Bellatrix are wearing masks, of course, but to everyone attending the wedding, you look like one of the happiest couple in the world.

After all, you're both young and graduates from Hogwarts with honors. Of course your futures are wide open in front of you.

'Perhaps', say the whispers, 'they'll even change the world.'

Bellatrix always smirks at that, because of course you're going to change the world. Though perhaps not in the way they'd want you to.

Bellatrix wears a black and blue dress, embroidered with stars, to symbolize her family, and your robes are silver and grey, to symbolize yours.

Rabastan is your best man, and Narcissa her maid of honor, and once magic bound you for life to your wife, you steal her sister away for a dance.

It's not like Bellatrix will mind, since she's dancing with your brother, and Narcissa doesn't seem to either, if the pleased look she can't quite manage to hide is any indication.

(This too is bittersweet, because the look in her eyes tells you that she knows that she will never choose her feelings over her duty, at least not for you. That looks is one of the images the Dementors bring back over and over again.)

iv.

The Dark Lord is everything you expect, but at the same time he is nothing like what you had in mind. Whenever he speaks, you can hear the power seeping through his every word.

His ideals become your ideals, and his will becomes yours. He preaches for the extermination of Muggles and Mudbloods, and every time you listen to him you feel like his ideas are the ideas you've always felt lurking at the back of your mind, always there but never quite real.

He promises to make your dreams a reality, and you believe him. You're not the only one to either, because soon you can recognize almost all of your old Hogwarts' House, and then some foreign wizards.

What was a small group in the beginning grows and grows until you don't even know a quarter of the people there. Your brother is there, ever so discreet but obviously as enthralled as you are, and Bellatrix is one of the more ardent followers, the ones who look at the Dark Lord like he is their God, their Savior finally walking the Earth.

You've rarely felt as alive as you feel during those secret meetings, and so when the Dark Lord asks to see you personally, you agree.

Of course you do – what else is there to do? You've seen the man, if he is even still a man, do magic you've only ever dreamed of. He's more than worthy of your trust and admiration, and it's a real honor that he considers you worthy of his.

You take his Mark and become part of his inner circle. It looks like you're on the right path toward that brilliant future you've always dreamed of. One day, people will know your name as one of the people who brought a new age to the Wizarding world, and Age of Glory.

And maybe that day, Narcissa will even be yours.

(It's how you know that there is something wrong, because when your future begins to look too much like a fantasy, there are chances it's just that, a fantasy.

And so, what remains of those memories is almost blank where it used to be filled with self-satisfaction.)

v.

You often have long conversations with Narcissa, the both of you alone in the drawing room of your Manor.

You're a married man, and she's now part of your family – it's allowed. You don't even need a chaperone, something for which you'll be eternally grateful, because you know that the way your hands always drift toward hers wouldn't be allowed.

Nor would the fact that sometimes you don't even talk and just stare at each other. It's how you noticed that Narcissa has the lightest blue eyes, and that her the right corner of her mouth shivers just the slightest bit when she breathes.

The more time you spend with her, the more you realize just how different she is to your wife. They're in the way she can't quite seem to ever hide entirely her emotions if one knows where to look, whereas Bellatrix seems dead inside when she's not drinking the Dark Lord's every word.

Today though, seems different. Perhaps it's in the way her eyes are a little less open than usual and look less like the blue of the winter sky and more like the grey of the clouds before it rains.

Something is wrong, you can tell, and you almost feel like a teenager again as you wait for her to tell you the news you can see weighing her down.

"I'm marrying Lucius Malfoy," she announces, and it sounds like an ultimatum.

Your breath is stuck in your throat and your heart skips a beat, or several. You knew something like this would come, you even thought yourself ready but as now the time came to let her go, you realize just how wrong you were.

You'll never be ready to let her go – you don't want to.

"Congratulations," you answer nonetheless, because it's what's proper, and being a pureblood is all about what is proper.

You know your eyes tell another story, but then maybe it's for the better, because it means you won't have to say anything.

"Thank you," she says politely, a light smile on her lips.

Her eyes tells you that she's just as happy about this as you are, and you feel a sudden burst of frustration as your mind conjures up an image of a trapped bird changing owners.

It's exactly what her life is like, and you both know it. Perhaps that's why you were attracted to her in the first place, because she's like a wild animal not yet tamed – something beautiful and perfect in its own way.

She stands up to leave and it looks like you're going to lose something you haven't had yet. It tears at your heart, and your mind keeps telling you 'Just accept it, you have lost.'.

You've never been one to listen to your mind, and you can't bear the thought of giving up without a fight, of losing the woman in front of you.

"Will I see you again?" You ask her at the same time as your eyes ask if this is over.

She's silent for a long moment, and the beat of your heart sounds deafening as you wait for her answer. Her eyes are lost in yours, but you know she's looking for something. You just don't know what; or even if she should find it.

Apparently, she finds what she wants, because she takes just that one step toward you, giving you the liberty of closing the space left in between.

Her eyes are inviting, and tell you 'only if you want it to be'.

You don't, so you take that one step too.

Her lips are on yours for one blissful and yet too short moment. She still tastes like peaches and feels like heaven.

She tastes like your salvation, but you don't know from what. You only know that without her you'll be lost.

"Of course," she finally says as she draws back, clearly enjoying the effect she had on you, "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

You barely blink and she's gone. The only thing that tells you any of this happened is the lingering warmth on your lips, and an empty teacup on the table.

You wonder if you should read something in this or not, because you still feel like you lost something.

(You hate this memory as much as you cherish it – it's as close to happiness as you think you ever got, but it's also the closest to heartbreak you ever felt.

Still, you're pretty sure this too will be lost soon, as are the memories of your conversations.)

vi.

The boy's name is Barty Crouch Jr. Bella takes an instant liking to him, and you almost feel sorry for him. Or at least you would, if he wasn't taking in everything Bella thought him like it was made for him and worshipping the Dark Lord just as much as your wife.

He becomes one of the younger Death Eaters, as you are now called, and he's a wonder on raids. You only ever kill when you have to, just like your brother, and Bellatrix is like a cat, playing with her prey and enjoying other people's suffering.

But Barty… Barty is an artist. He casts the most gruesome spells and never flinches, and he almost looks like he's dancing in the blood of his victims. Clearly, this life was made for him.

You know that hadn't Bellatrix been so taken by your brother, she and the boy would have been prefect for each other. It's like a match made in hell. You see it in the way they laugh as a life end and almost try to outdo each other on who kills the most Muggles or makes the most damage to a body without killing.

It frightens you almost just as much as you find it exhilarating to watch.

Soon enough, you're a team, and even the one the Dark Lord is the proudest of. You're on a high, and you don't think you'll ever come down of it.

And then Narcissa tells you she's pregnant, and it feels like the world is crashing down around you.

You lose yourself just a little in raids, and you emerge different, maybe a tad broken. It's not until you wash the blood of your hands that you find how much you deviated from your original golden road.

You realize you don't even care anymore, and you sleep with the woman who could kill you without even blinking for the first time in months.

You try to forget the woman you love, and you almost do.

(Those memories stay with you. They're the ones the Dementors can't take away from you, and unfortunately that means they're the ones that torture you.)

vii.

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay and everything's going right – it's a fact, and it's proven once again when you receive an invitation from the Malfoy family that announces you the birth of their son.

What perhaps makes it worse is that you haven't seen Narcissa in months as you shared your wife with your brother and spent the rest of your time lost in endless raids on unsuspecting Muggles or Dumbledore's supporters' families.

You had almost managed to forget the news she had given you; almost being the key word.

You've never been one to listen to what your mind told you, but the result is that you can't ignore your heart, at least not completely.

It's your heart that pushes you to go, and once you're there you're not surprised to see a small baby with a tuff of blond hair on his head.

You always knew he'd look like his father, and you were prepared to hate the boy the way you secretly hated his father. You didn't expect him to open his eyes and to look at you with his mother's expressive light eyes.

(You remember seeing Narcissa that day, her once black hair now blond, like her husband's. You take it for what it is, the sign that you waited too long and leave without the apology you had prepared.

Sometimes, the Dementors make you dream of a longing glance you might have missed. This hurts almost as much as the fact that the memory remains as clear as day in your mind.)

viii.

You're almost relieved when the Dark Lord dies. You know better than to say this in front of Bellatrix, of course, or even in front of Barty.

But still, inside of your mind you think that this might finally be your chance to get out of this web you wrapped yourself in. It's never too late to be what you might have been after all, and you're still not old enough to have forgotten the way everyone told you that the future was yours to create.

And then you get dragged to the Longbottoms and you're still a team – you can't not be part of this team anymore, because if you're not then you have nothing left – so you torture them like everyone else until they don't remember their names.

You know they never knew where the Dark Lord was, and something in you feels like it's breaking as you realize that you might never be able to change after all. Maybe you just lost too much of yourself already.

Then the Aurors come in and you know you just lost whatever chance you might have had. Barty has left and you hope he'll escape this madness – his father is powerful and unless someone remembers him from the meetings and is stupid enough to tell on him, Barty has a chance at this golden future you lost.

Bellatrix laughs madly besides you, and you know that if she won't surrender, then neither will your brother. And neither will you.

Maybe you'll take some Aurors down with you. After all, you know it's either hell or Azkaban, and in your mind one is worth the other. Better the hell you won't feel though; and that's your last thought before you wake up and find yourself locked in a cell, surrounded by mindless demons feeding on your mind and your wife's laugh as she bangs against the walls until she draws blood.

(This is your worst memory, but it means nothing compared to what your mind can imagine. Pain and heartbreak are the only things left as you only have to stare in your wife's face in the cell in front of yours to remember what you lost through your own actions.

There's nothing Dementors hate more than love, and so the feeling disappears first, but when you see little things that reminds you of Narcissa in Bella, you almost remember what it felt like to love, and you don't know if it's worse than not remembering it.)

ix.

Azkaban definitely isn't the place you had expected to find yourself in ten years ago. The prison definitely is the worst place in the world, what with its cold walls and those silent watchers who slowly take away any trace of positive you might have once felt.

The memories darken in your mind and the world turns foggy. Time is but an idea you don't remember, and days and nights are the exact same for you: full of darkness and gloom.

Prisoners come and die around you, and sometimes you wish you would die with them, if only to escape this place.

Instead you live on and see how your brother becomes a shell of who he once was and how your wife loses any semblance of mind she had left. And to the guards you're as immoveable as the stones around you but you know it's because you've already lost anything that might have mattered.

(In fact, you never even had anything that mattered in the first place, and so the Dementors can't really affect you as much as they affect everyone. They can't hurt you as much as you hurt yourself, and you've always known that regrets were useless, because Narcissa and you weren't meant to be.

Dementors can take your memories, but what you regret are things that could never have happened – they can't take that. It's your only comfort in this place.)

x.

You don't know how much time passed – years surely, over a decade most probably, but other than that, you just don't know.

It's frustrating because you know you used to always know the time internally, and now this skill is lost just like you lost time.

Frustration is one of the rare emotions you have left, and you savor it because you know that one day all you'll have left will be fear.

You really hope to die before that day comes.

Hope – how long has it been since you felt like that? Too long. Hope is one of the first things to disappear, and you never had much to begin with.

Something is wrong, or dare you think it? Terribly right. The Dementors aren't affecting you the way they usually do.

In fact, you can't see any Dementors around you.

Bellatrix laughs besides you, and Rabastan stirs awake.

"My Master, coming at last! He'll save me, he'll save us and we'll be free!"

You shiver at her words. Perhaps it's anticipation, but perhaps it's also because you realize what it means if the Dark Lord is back.

It means he beat Death. It means you still owe him your loyalty, and it means you might just still have that chance at this golden world he'll create for you.

Perhaps it's a fool's hope, but after so long in the dark any hope is better than none.

You really think it might be too late to do anything else anyway. After all this time, following the Dark Lord is all you remember and all you know you can do.

(Leaving the prison isn't exactly happy, because you feel deep in your bones that it doesn't change your fate.

Be it by staying in this Hell or by leaving it, all you see now at the end of the road is your own end.

At least by leaving you might have the chance to see her again, to look at her face one last time before everything ends.

And if you're lucky, you might even see her look at you the way she used to.

If not… Well it's alright, because you've never been that lucky in the first place.)

AN/

Well, I found this rather weird to write, but once I began I couldn't stop. I'm not sure this turned out like I wanted it to or like I saw it in my mind, but I think I rather like it all the same.

I'm not sure I'll ever write a story from the perspective of someone in Azkaban ever again though, and if I do it certainly won't be as long.

Anyway, this was written for:

-the Light and Darkness Competition, Round 2 – Death Eater
-the As Strong As We Are United Competition 2.

Please review to let me know what you thought.