The Dream

He could hear the sobbing clearly now, begin to see the picture in his mind's eye. He had never mastered Occlumency, after all.

At first, Harry just saw darkness, heard sniveling, whimpering. Then her face became clearer through the darkness, overcast, grief-stricken, tears streaming down what had undoubtedly once been a painfully beautiful face. Bellatrix Lestrange's dark curtain of hair fell around her face as if trying to hide her, to let her grieve in peace.

But it was clear she would be heard, would be noticed, because as Harry continued to watch, the picture inside his head panned out and he could see the rest of the room. Bellatrix was standing in the doorway, clearly afraid to enter the room. Her eyes darted furtive glances across the room every few seconds as she sobbed. As the darkness receded and the picture grew, Harry's mind revealed a Persian rug, a crackling fireplace, and then the entire room.

On the opposite end from the doorway was a window, and standing in front of it, looking out, his back to the door, stood Voldemort, cold and stark-white as ever, his black robes still dusty, hands folded behind his back as he gazed out the window, looking at nothing. Bellatrix's fearful glances were clearly directed at him. For a long while, it seemed Voldemort would just ignore her; then he spoke in a deadly whisper.

"Come in, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix, still sobbing, sucked in a breath quickly, emitting a small squeak before obeying hesitantly, moving slowly into the room a step at a time, her eyes now darting around the room, as if she were afraid something was going to jump out at her any second.

"You—you wanted to see me, Master?" She had refocused her full attention upon Voldemort's tense back.

"No, Bellatrix, I think I would rather I never saw you again after that disaster tonight at the ministry. Do not give yourself the satisfaction of thinking that I wanted you in my presence, but rather recognize the fact that there is no more efficient way of dealing with you and letting you know exactly how I feel about tonight."

"My lord, I am truly sorry. I tried. Please understand—"

"DO NOT ASK ME TO UNDERSTAND!" Voldemort practically screamed at her, whirling around in anger. "And do not assume that I do not! Are you really so ignorant as to think your intelligence superior to mine? To believe that you understand circumstances better than I? I assure you, Bellatrix, I fully comprehend every aspect, every detail of every event that transpired tonight, just as well as I comprehend how abysmally you failed to complete your mission—"

"But, my lord, please! I was not the only one. I got further than the rest! I evaded capture! And I killed Sirius Black! I killed Harry Potter's godfather, I broke his heart, I've made him weak, vulnerable, an easier match for you—"

"I DID NOT SEND YOU SOLELY TO KILL HARRY POTTER! I sent you to retrieve the prophecy, and did you do it?"

"I—"

"DID YOU DO IT, BELLATRIX?"

"I—No, my lord."

"NO! YOU DID NOT! YOU LET IT SMASH TO PIECES, AND YOU WERE DEFEATED BY A HANDFUL OF CHILDREN AND SOME WEAK SOCIETY OF TEACHERS AND RANDOM NOBODIES NAMED AFTER A BIRD, YOU AND THE REST OF THAT MISERABLE, UNWORTHY LOT I MISTAKENLY SENT TONIGHT! I do not make mistakes often, Bellatrix." His voice had dropped dramatically back to a whisper. "But my biggest mistake so far seems to have been trusting you."

Then, as Harry watched, Bellatrix surprised him. She crossed the room quickly with a desperate look on her face, threw herself on the floor at Voldemort's feet with a painful cry, and began to rock back and forth on her shins, her head hitting the floor every time she rocked forward. She was absolutely balling now, her breath coming in sharp gasps, and after a minute or two of this, she raised herself up on her knees, clasped her hands together and looked up at Voldemort with an utterly heartbroken look on her tearstained face, still fighting for air through her desperate crying.

"Pleeeaase," she begged hoarsely, still crying, and she looked so grief-stricken, and so childlike, that for the briefest of milliseconds, in his sleep, Harry almost felt sorry for her.

"Please, I can't bear to lose favor with you!"

"Well, you have irrevocably accomplished that tonight, intentionally or otherwise. Get up, Bellatrix! And pull yourself together in my presence."

Slowly she rose from the floor, breathing sharply as she tried to stop her crying. She took a few deep breaths and said, in a slightly calmer voice, "My lord, think back. I beg you, for just a few moments, think back."

Harry was sure Voldemort would yell at her again, perhaps even strike her, but he was surprised a second time when Voldemort simply turned back around to stare out the window again. Bellatrix seemed heartened by this and took a step forward, reaching out a hand slowly toward Voldemort.

"Think back to Hogwarts. To when we were younger." Her hand came down gently on his shoulder.

Surely, Harry thought, surely she would be punished now. But Voldemort made no move to punish her or push her away, nor did he turn toward her or acknowledge that he felt her touch.

"Tom," she breathed.

Okay, now she was dead. There was no way she would get away with that one. But now, to Harry's utter astonishment, Voldemort did turn toward her, as slowly as she'd reached out to touch him.

"Bellatrix," he responded, and it was hard to tell if his tone was endearing or warning.

He stared at her for a moment, and she stared back, their eyes locked on each other as if each one was afraid that if they made a sudden move, whatever was now passing would be shattered. And considering who the two were, if Bellatrix moved, it likely would be shattered, no doubt by her sudden death.

Then suddenly Voldemort's snake-like eyes clouded and he looked at the floor. The half-smile that had been locked on Bellatrix's face vanished as she came out of the trance in which they had both seemed to be.

"Get out of my sight, Bellatrix, before I decide to punish you as I should."

Bellatrix hesitated for a moment, half-turning toward the door, then decided to take her chances.

"There was a time when you called me Bella," she whispered. "You said it again, tonight at the ministry. I know it was unintentional, but perhaps there's a part of you that still wants to call me Bella, that still remembers…"

"I never cared for you, Bellatrix—"

"That's not true! You know that's not true, Tom!"

"DO NOT REFER TO ME BY THAT NAME! I have no association with it."

"You used to! And so did I, when that's who you were to me, at school, on our walks around the lake in the middle of the night because you were afraid of people knowing you loved—"

"DO NOT FINISH THAT LIE! Fear and love are two things I neither feel now nor have ever felt before. They are the ultimate weaknesses, both of which have been splayed across your face tonight as uncovered as your vulnerable heart, which sooner or later will be shattered so brutally that the rest of you will shatter, too, until you're nothing but a broken corpse laying in pieces if you allow fear and love to control you—to even be any part of you. And I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who succumbs to such weaknesses, so you will do well to obey my earlier command and GET. OUT. OF. MY. SIGHT., Bellatrix Lestrange."

And with a look that said she truly had just been broken, Bellatrix turned and strode from the room, perhaps too afraid, perhaps too in love, to say another word.

And Harry knew, as darkness closed in on the scene and subconsciousness became consciousness, that Dumbledore had been wrong. Despite what Voldemort had told Bellatrix, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he'd been lying and that Dumbledore had been wrong. Voldemort had at one time experienced love. Harry's greatest strength truly was a weakness for Voldemort. For Voldemort did have one weakness. And her name was Bellatrix Lestrange.