(The crossover fic has been done to death, and I think the trend has kind of passed, but oh well. The Latin may not be grammatically correct, sorry about that. It means, "Time is the river of life, descend into the water. We sink to your will." Lame, yes, but best I could come up with. Enjoy. I own nothing.)
"Men are born to succeed, not fail."
-Henry David Thoreau
The plan was simple enough. She would arrive on time, dress for the part, and then finish the mission. She would promptly return back to headquarters, and the world would be rid of one less annoying, meddling twit.
Bella smiled as she tightened the ribbons on her black corset. Her wiry figure had lost any semblance of curves after her stint in prison, but she'd fix that with a few spells. She was the only one asked to go on such an important mission. Not even Professor I'm-So-High-and-Mighty-for-Killing-a-Weak-Old-Man Snape. She'd show that half-blood that she was superior, and always was. That stupid incident at the Ministry was all Lucius's fault anyway. Besides, where's the fun in doing in a person when they are aware that it will happen, and when everything's been said and done? It is much more delicious to disappoint them, nip all that potential in him in the bud and let them stew over in regret over what could have been.
With a quick flick of her wand, she turned her frizzy black hair a dirty shade of auburn. She glanced at the tattered Muggle photograph. Close enough. She quickly tore the picture into tiny pieces. As much as she would not like to admit it, the stillness of the woman scared her more that her cold glare.
She straightened out the old dress and made sure the fabric was evenly around the crinoline. With a quick look-over, she headed to the main hall of the Riddle House.
"Very good, Bella," her Master appraised her with approval. "Stand over there."
Her Master was quite pleased with himself. Once Bella sent word that her task was completed, he would make his own journey. He would change his mistakes. After all, who could be a better mentor to himself other than himself?
He pointed to the middle of a giant circle. The other Death Eaters had gathered around and were chanting the incantation needed for the spell.
"Vicis est flumen de vita, successio in aequora. Nos subsido ut vestri mos."
Snape handed her a flask of a thick, blue liquid. "Drink this."
Bella glared at him, but obeyed, Suddenly, her blood chilled, and she felt faint. The dim lights of the candles burst with the glow of the sun. The chanting became louder and louder, almost as if the others were screaming from the top of their lungs. The last thing she could remember was the faint felling of being pricked with a thousand little needles.