This is just a little something that's been buzzing around for a while in my head. Because I still don't get how Voldemort could have so much affection for Bellatrix that he screamed when she died and that he called her 'Bella'. Promise I am not a psychopath. It just seems a bit like that here…
When Bellatrix Lestrange was killed by Molly Weasley in the Battle of Hogwarts, it is said that Voldemort, the darkest wizard known in recent times and a man, if he could be called that, still feared in death, screamed.
The Dark Lord screamed as another human being died.
This act has been interpreted in many ways.
Some see this at fear of his own impending doom, after his best Death Eater fell.
Some see it at frustration at her failure.
Some see it as a form of love.
In truth. It was a combination of the three that prompted the most inhumane of men to let out such a human reaction.
When Bellatrix Lestrange had first been noticed by Voldemort, she was merely the wife of one of his Death Eaters. A high profile servant, but not anything more.
Yet she was different from the other wives. She had a strange thirst to prove herself, a brutality that impressed even the Dark Lord. She was also fanatically devoted to him, in a way Rodolphus wasn't. Devoted in a way completely different to any other person.
He taught her everything he could.
He stood there as she used the Cruciatus curse on someone for the first time, a muggle, someone non-descript who he had chosen for practise.
He saw the glint in her eye: the excitement, the joy, the commitment, alongside the concentration. The effort of making it the perfect pain. Her artistry, in a way.
He allowed her to kill that muggle, and revelled in her joy with her. He laughed with pride at her first kill. Her first. He had no doubt there would be more.
He improved her duelling skills, great though they already were, making her better than all his Death Eater's combined.
When he carved the Dark Mark on her arm, unlike the others, she did not wince. She held her head high and beamed with pride, even as her husband watched in fear at what she was now.
She never winced, didn't Bellatrix. Not even when he tortured her, to see her limits. She was limitless.
He revelled in all her kills, treating her as his child, teaching her, improving her performance and rewarding her triumphs with praise. She hung on to his every word. Like a puppy.
He started to call her Bella, like her family. She was his Bella. Not romantically, as he did not know how to love in that way. Her famed beauty was of no interest to him.
But she was still his. His child. His pet. His apprentice. And she loved it.
She went to Azkaban, head held high. She waited for him, and, eventually, he came. He would not leave his Bella to suffer at the hands of blood traitors.
They continued, servant and master, parent and child, killing and slaughtering with ease and artistry.
In the battle itself, he watched the duel between Bella and Molly Weasley. He watched with pride as she fought bravely, valiantly, as Gryffindor as a true Slytherin could be. He watched her spell work, saw the curses he had taught her.
He watched his pet with pride.
Then she fell.
Beautifully, with the same artistry and poise as she did everything in his eyes. She fell.
And he screamed.
He screamed at the weakness of his army without her.
He screamed that his indomitable Bellatrix was not indomitable despite all she could do.
But mostly, he screamed for Bella. His pet. His perfect weapon. The woman he had invested as much love as a heartless man can have into.
To everyone else, she fell a psychopathic mad-woman. To him, she died as Bellatrix. A beautiful warrior. His Bella.