Bellatrix watched Voldemort fall to the ground, a strangely small figure as he lay among the dead leaves. He'd just killed his greatest enemy, the boy Harry Potter. She hadn't thought he would come, but the Dark Lord had been so certain. That he did show up only emphasized her great unworthiness.
Rushing to his side, she hesitantly touched his robes. They felt real. The cloth felt tangible as it slid through her fingers. Why, then, did he always seem so far away? So unreachable? On too high a level for any of them to climb. She didn't love her husband, and never had. Surely everyone knew that. Bellatrix Lestrange – heartless except when it came to another who lacked love. She had been among Voldemort's first followers. His love for cruelty and lack of respect for mankind had been so like her own. He spoke to the core values of all pureblood families, calling them to his side to help overthrow the mudbloods and blood traitors who called themselves the Ministry of Magic. To put muggles in their rightful place – beneath wizards' feet.
Too many people to count she'd killed, too many tortured to add up. She didn't hold an ounce of regret for any of them. Maybe it was true, what people said; that she'd lost her mind in Azkaban. But her empathy had disappeared far before then. During the first few kills, the first few times she'd joined other Death Eaters on raids, she'd been a little hesitant. The Dark Lord killed without mercy, didn't find any remorse in the unseeing eyes of those he mowed down in his quest for eternal life and eternal power. And, she promised herself, neither would she. Soon she laughed as her victims died. As the light left their bodies, it seemed to warm hers.
Now she was one of his most trusted servants. She wasn't like Lucius or that coward Wormtail. Her obedience to him wasn't brought on by fear. She loved what she did. Maybe that's why he'd entrusted her with that cup, the Hufflepuff cup. Bellatrix knew exactly what it was. Whether or not the Dark Lord knew she knew or not, it was irrelevant. She'd thought, just maybe, that when he'd given her a piece of his soul, maybe she'd finally become more than just another Death Eater.
But then she'd lost it. Harry Potter, that infuriating child she could have killed countless times if Voldemort weren't so insistent that it be himself and himself alone who ended the boy's life, had stolen it from her Gringotts vault. Her master had massacred all the goblins at the bank, and threatened to kill her and Malfoy.
"YOU USELESS WASTE OF MAGICAL BLOOD!" he'd yelled at her, and slapped her across the face. His snake, Nagini, had hissed at her and coiled around the Dark Lord's feet. She'd dropped to the ground and clutched at the marble floor in front of him, begging for forgiveness. The snake rubbed its muscular body against his ankles. That animal got closer to Voldemort than any of them. No matter how pure her blood was, she'd never be anything more than slightly better than a mudblood to him. Slightly more useful. Her allegiance didn't matter. He could Imperius someone and get just as good a result.
Lord Voldemort stirred. She considered crawling away and cowering as he got up, but stayed where she was. He opened his red eyes. "Get away from me." Was all he said. And as he shook her off and walked away to examine Harry Potter's body, her body grew cold, as if dead.
All the killings, all the blood on her hands meant nothing. If she died tonight, she wouldn't care. It didn't matter anymore.