Chapter One: Voldemort
It was late. The pavement glistened in light of street lamps and the smell of that day's rain filled the air. A dark hooded figure moved between cookie- cutter houses. Voldemort moved so swiftly that he seemed to glide just above the surface of the damp street. A short man was trailing behind him, the porch lights reflecting off of the top of his balding head. He stumbled along as he struggled to keep up with the pace of his leader. His right hand looked silvery as it swung by his side despite the shadow cast by his long cloak. Voldemort slowed and stopped in front of number 37.
"This is the place." His cruel high-pitched voice echoed from beneath his hood.
"As you wish, my Lord," the other man replied.
Voldemort stepped aside and his follower took the lead. He watched as his servant hobbled up the path to the front door of the house, drawing a wand out of the pocket of his cloak.
"Stick with the plan, Wormtail" Voldemort said coolly. "There is no room for mistakes this time."
"Master, certainly there must be another wa-" Wormtail stopped midsentence as Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand onto the back of his neck.
"Alohomora" Wormtail murmured as he hastily jabbed his wand at the door. Voldemort heard a click and the front door swung inwards. He lowered his wand and the two men entered the house without a sound.
A single light shone in the kitchen, but the rest of the house was dark. Voldemort sat down and closed his eyes in thought as his servant searched the rest of the home. He went over the plan again in his mind. He would succeed this time. He was willing to do whatever it took to accomplish his goal. He did not need Wormtail, but his participation made things less messy. If the coward refused, however, Voldemort would dispose of him and do it himself. He was not concerned. Wormtail would have no choice but to do as he is told. Voldemort knew that much like himself, Wormtail, valued his own life above any other. Forcing him to participate would be easy, as easy as killing his stupid muggle father had been.
"He's down here, My Lord." Voldemort heard Wormtail's harsh whisper from down the hallway and stood up. He drifted down the hall past hanging photographs, their contents still and faded. The door at the end of the hall stood ajar and he lowered his hood as he approached. He wanted his prey to look upon the face of his new master. It was only fitting to choose Roberts, who had been a victim of one of the first major acts of loyalty his Death Eaters had shown in years. After the Quidditch World Cup, Mr. Roberts had to have his memory wiped so thoroughly that he did not remember that he once had a family, and seemed to be in a constant state of ignorant bliss. He would suit their needs perfectly. Voldemort entered the room and saw Roberts asleep on the bed. He turned over in his sleep and let out a short snore. Wormtail stood in the corner and cast his rat-like face downward upon seeing his master's face exposed. Voldemort approached the bedside and peered down at the man. The Mr. Roberts' eyes fluttered open as though he could feel the piercing red- eyed stare.
"AAAAHHHGGG-" he yelled as he attempted to clamber out of bed, his legs tangled in the bed sheets.
"Imperio!" Voldemort shouted over him, his high voice cracking. Instantly, the muggle was silent, and a dreamy expression glazed over his face. Without another word, the two wizards left the bedroom, Roberts trailing behind them. They walked back down the hall, Voldemort in the lead. He sat in a large armchair when he reached the living room and turned his narrow red eyes to Wormtail.
"Are you prepared to take the next step Wormtail?"
"Master, are you sure my participation will be necessary? With so many dementors on our side we might not need to…" Wormtail's voice trailed off as he cowered under the fierce glare of his master.
"I will allow no room for mistakes. The freedom of these Death Eaters is essential to gaining control over the Ministry." Voldemort spat. "If you do not wish to aid me I will find a new servant. I do not have time to waste on your cowardice, Wormtail. You are easily replaceable."
"My lord…" Wormtail realized the implications of Voldemort's words and fell to his knees, clutching his hands together. His right hand was glinting in the light from the kitchen and his eyes were watery. "I will do anything you require. I am your most faithful…" he whimpered his voice trailing off again. "I was only trying to make things easier." He said, so quietly that Voldemort could barely hear him.
"Silence," Voldemort hissed. "Do not try and fool me, Wormtail, I can see into your mind and I know you only fear for yourself. Now, stop cowering. Do not question me again."
"Yes, my lord."
"We leave immediately; I grow tired of waiting." Voldemort stood with a swish of his cloak and started for the door, Wormtail and Roberts at his heels. With a loud CRACK the trio apparated onto a tiny island standing alone in the North Sea. Waves crashed against its desolate shore and a salty spatter collected on their faces. Voldemort looked out across the turbulent water. He could see the silhouette of the prison in the distance. Dark shapes drifted in the air above its two massive guard towers. Its walls were made of large stones, covered in barnacles and green, slimy sheen. The island it stood on dwarfed the one that was to be his temporary hideaway. Voldemort squinted his already narrow eyes, his robes whipping in the wind. "Do not keep me waiting, Wormtail."
"Yes, my lord." Wormtail inclined his head and wiped the moisture from his brow.
"Return to me as soon as you have finished." Voldemort turned from the prison and walked towards a small cave behind the outcrop where he stood.
"Of course, my lord" Wormtail straightened himself and drew his wand from his pocket. He stepped towards the edge of the outcropping, Mr. Roberts standing next to him, eyes staring blankly into the distance. Voldemort watched as his servant raised his wand over his head, a look of satisfaction spreading across his inhuman face.
Chapter Two: Bellatrix
"How dare you?" she screamed, as Rodolphus paced back and forth in front of the bars of her cell.
They permitted her, on rare occasions, to be visited by her husband, although she had no real interest or desire to see him. Rodolphus was a tall man, but slight, his skin sallower from his stay in the prison. His eyes were dark and tired as his wife berated him.
"How dare you say you would rather die here than live to escape and serve the Dark Lord until his final victory is won!" said Bellatrix.
Rodolphus stopped pacing and stood so his eyes met hers.
"You're foolish," he said. "No matter how loyal you are, the Dark Lord feels obligated to save no one. If you are rescued, he will use you, as needed, and then dispose of you after his mission is complete. He doesn't require your talent, much less your affection. Your obsession sickens me, Bellatrix, and it will result in nothing but disappointment."
"He will come for me, Rodolphus. He will remember my loyalty and he will reward it. Then, as his most trusted and humble servant, I will carry out his every order until-"
"Bella-" he interrupted. "You don't have to convince me of your loyalty to the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix savored the hint of jealousy in his tone and flashed a sinister smile.
"He might have a use for you too, you know." Her eyes searched him from head to toe, as if she was assessing his value. "I'm sure he hasn't forgotten you had a hand in the Longbottoms' defeat. All he needs is a willing vessel. He might even ask you to finish the job-kill off the lot of them."
These were as close to affectionate words as Bellatrix ever uttered to him. If she were capable, she would have pitied him. Being in this place had affected him much more than her; his weakness disgusted her. Madness, perhaps, offered her a unique sort of protection from the dementor's kiss.
"Let him come for you, Bellatrix. I have no desire to-"
"-Given up, have you?" she questioned.
Rodolphus was unmoved by her mockery.
She was the only one who came willingly to Azkaban; the only one who had never lost hope in his return the first time, and the only one confident that he would come for her now. The Dark Mark on her arm throbbed and became more distinct by the day, a sign of the trust she had so greedily sought from him. Reflecting on the evening the Dark Lord bestowed this gift upon Bellatrix brought her the highest level of delight. She was young and possessed a striking beauty then, before Azkaban had taken its toll.
The Dark Lord had trained Bellatrix himself. The most eager of students, she displayed a skillful mastery of the dark arts and a matchless delight in causing others pain. As a result, Voldemort gave Bellatrix what she most desired in life: his trust. Proudly, she wore the Dark Mark and served as the Dark Lord's instrument. Once, he had entrusted her with a curious object, which she knew was still hidden securely in her Gringott's vault.
"It is of utmost importance that you keep this safe," he had said. Although she didn't understand its significance, she dared not question him.
"Whatever the Dark Lord requires," she said with her head bowed. "What else can I do to serve you, my Lord?" she questioned.
"The time will come for you to prune your family tree of those who are unworthy, those filthy half-bloods and blood traitors."
"Say no more, my Lord. It is done."
"Patience, Bellatrix. Your blood lust is admirable but now is not the time."
His tone made her cower as she tamely replied, "Yes, My Lord."
She longed to speak to him more that day, to offer more to him, to learn more from him, but his indifference had restrained her. Bellatrix had a passion that the Dark Lord did not; unrequited obsession with him fueled her every word and choice. The longing to please her master made life worth living, even in this abominable place. She lifted the sleeve of her shirt and licked the scar like an animal cleaning its wound.
"Come to us," she whispered desperately.
"Thinking about him, are you?" A voice from the cell opposite hers interrupted her thoughts and she felt a forbidding look creep across her face.
"Shut up, Lotta, you have no right to-"
"-To interrupt your precious daydreaming?" Carlotta Pinkstone said contemptuously. "That's all it is you know, your imagination. He doesn't desire you." She was an older woman, but seemed unaware of her age, with curly dark hair and fire in her eyes. She sat on a feeble looking bench, legs crossed and hands in her lap. In any other setting she would have looked quite genteel.
"Ahh you know that I too have a taste for the bad boys, Bella. One thing we have in common. Although I wouldn't have to win his favor by using unforgiveable curses and keeping track of his little belongings-"
"How do you know about that?" screamed Bellatrix.
"Oh that Rodolphus can be quite the chatterbox, sweetie. You really should pay more attention to him before he goes off finding someone else to confide in."
"Oh I'll attend to him soon, you can be sure of that."
The idea that both of them knew her precious secret repulsed her. She'd let it slip in an argument with Rodolphus, one of the many in which she boasted about the Dark Lord's trust in her. Her arrogance had driven her to foolishly divulge one of his secrets and she hated herself for it. She reminded herself that they knew not what the object was or where it was hidden, much less why the Dark Lord needed it so terribly. She soothed herself with that thought, and became trapped deep in her mind once again.
A burning sensation started in her wrist and ran through her veins. She gave a nasty laugh that seemed to shake the whole of the shadowy fortress. She delighted to think of her escape from Azkaban. No one could tell her it wasn't coming or that it wasn't going to be soon. The thrill made her unaware she was thinking her thoughts out loud.
How will he do it? Will he send someone? Will he, the Dark Lord himself, come for us? Oh even the thought-
"The Dark Lord always sends someone else to do his bidding." Carlotta had overheard her. "Don't be so foolish as to think he'd find it necessary to retrieve you himself."
The dark-haired witch stood up from the filthy corner of her cell and wrapped her gaunt hands around the iron bars, allowing her face to stick out in between them.
"And when's he coming to retrieve you, sweetie?" she said as her sullen eyes brightened and she revealed a ghastly set of teeth. "Reckon he remembers your Hogwarts days, do you? He's not Tom anymore; he doesn't bother about keeping around little playthings that are of no use to him. No, the Dark Lord has no use for you. He'll let you rot in this place without even a hint of remorse."
Carlotta did not sink back at this insult; her hands gripped the bars of her own cell and they stood eye to eye. Bellatrix looked satisfied as Carlotta breathed heavily, her chest heaving as she tried to form a response.
"What use does he have planned for you?" Carlotta said harshly. "Seems to me he's letting you rot here just as well."
"He gave me a mission and I'm sure he has his reasons for-"
"His reasons for keeping you locked away while the dementors slowly steal your magic and weaken you in every possible way? What purpose does he have for that? No, looks to me like he's just embarrassed."
"Embarrassed?" Bellatrix hissed.
"I supposed I would be too with a family like yours. Sirius is it? The scoundrel who escaped? Quite clever, I'd say. But a blood traitor nonetheless." she jeered.
Bella remembered the days before Sirius managed to escape. The memories boiled up within her, sending her into a frothing rage of jealousy and loathing for her pathetic, mudblood-loving cousin. If it had been up to her, she would have preferred him to rot in this hell until he became one of the soulless skeletons that purposelessly wandered the prison for eternity. Yet even when he was a captive, he never seemed affected by the soul-sucking dementors. Bella knew he had a secret defense against them, which heated her temper even more.
"Have I struck a nerve there, Bella?" Carlotta prodded, a sly grin playing around her lips.
"I care not about that treacherous oaf," Bella spat, "he will join his despicable friends soon enough."
"We'll see," Carlotta jeered.
Bella knew not how long she had been wasting away in Azkaban, but she knew the time was coming when she would escape. Her loyalty to the Dark Lord would pay off in the end.
Chapter Three: Carlotta
She could remember the first time she met him. Lately the Dementors had been uncharacteristically silent- their rattling breath absent from the symphony of dripping water, screams, and cackling laughter that haunted Azkaban Prison. Their lingering presence chilled Carlotta to the core, ripping happiness from her in a wave of ice, but in their absence, the warmth of her memories came flooding back to her.
She could remember walking into the Great Hall in her fourth year, waiting to see the new Slytherins get sorted. The group of first-years always looked the same, a huddling bunch, wide-eyed and nervous, still shaking from their boat ride across the lake. But a small boy stood out to her, his slight figure standing alone from the rest. He was young, but handsome- a look of greed on his face as he took in his new surroundings. When his name was called, "Riddle, Tom!" the brim scarcely touched his head before announcing him as the newest member of Carlotta's house. He surveyed his new peers coolly, and took a place near her, catching her eye with a smirk.
The rumor that Tom Riddle was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin did not take long to spread through the house, and Carlotta was eager to get close to him, to prove herself worthy of someone whose blood was so pure. She was a talented witch herself, but never good with abiding by the rules. She didn't care that her friends judged her for her interest in a first-year. She would make Tom come to her, and in her sixth year, he did. Tom had created a close group of friends for himself, allowing Carlotta into his inner circle. He told her of his plans, his distaste for the muggle-borns and mudbloods, which Carlotta shared, and his obsession with immortality. He let her call him "Lord Voldemort," which she would have found haughty on anyone else, but suitable for Tom. She shared in his dreams, reveling in the glory that she knew he would achieve, for a future she also yearned for. When Carlotta left Hogwarts after the next year, Tom was her hardest goodbye, but he had assured her that when he reached his goals, he would take her with him. She chose to believe him, but Carlotta knew that power was Tom's mistress.
She had planned to join him when he rose to supremacy; brand herself with his mark, but the Ministry had other plans. Carlotta had never understood why wizards kept themselves hidden in the shadows of the world, while muggles roamed free. Why she, a pureblood, capable of complex witchcraft, had to live in secret as a second-class citizen. The first time she violated the Statute of Secrecy, a muggle man had honked his car at her while she crossed the street. Angry, Carlotta had turned to him, raised her wand, and set his car hood on fire, purple flames dancing. A crowd had gathered, and she began casting spells wildly, turning the stoplight into three colored birds who swooped away, still blinking with the colors of their former selves. Within seconds, ministry officials apparated and took her away, leaving her witnesses with memory modification charms. She received an official warning for using magic in front of muggles, but was released. The injustice! That she should be punished for showing the muggles what she was capable of! It was disgusting. All she could think of was Tom as she decided to change the way things were- he had always told her "muggles should know their place."
Carlotta needed the world to see that wizards didn't need to hide; they needed to rule! Lord Voldemort would rise to power, she was sure, but she would give Tom help. She would show muggles everywhere what "her kind" could do, and finally garner the respect they deserved. Muggles never saw what was right before their eyes- they were willfully ignorant of the world around them; it would have to be a big display. Carlotta turned to the London Underground to begin proving to muggles the existence of the magical world. On a foggy Tuesday morning, during the work rush, she blasted a crater-sized hole in King's Cross Station, close to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The muggles standing around were propelled backwards, collapsing around her in shock and pain. Carlotta was filled with a sensation of pride and a hunger to prove herself. She spun around, casting spells at those closest to her, lifting them off the ground, gliding them closer and closer to the electrical buzz of the tracks. They screamed. Carlotta took a step toward the middle of the clearing that had been created around her, never lowering her wand from the vermin she dangled in mid-air.
" Are you scared?" she cackled, challenging those around her. "Do you understand now? Understand that while you've been living your pathetic lives, magic has been living above you? Does it-" she lowered the muggles closer and closer to the tracks, the electrical current inches from their skin- "shock you?"
She continued to lower them, their screams echoing in her ears, visions of Tom radiating with pride crossing her mind. Their toes touched the live track, a strong wave of electricity running through their bodies, until- BANG! Ten wizards, dressed in scarlet robes, armed with polished wands, had Carlotta in magical handcuffs before she could say another word.
The next thing she knew, she was sitting in front of the Wizengamot, the wizarding high court, at the mercy of the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore had peered over his half-moon spectacles at her, his piercing blue eyes filling Carlotta with unease. He had been a professor when she was at Hogwarts, keeping a close eye on Tom and his friends. She could remember Dumbledore sticking up for muggle-borns and blood-traitors. Now her fate was in his hands.
"Carlotta Pinkstone," he said seriously, still gazing at her. "You have been charged with violating the Statute of Secrecy, as well as twelve counts of muggle endangerment, and two counts of torture with intent to kill. The muggles you tortured are currently being treated in Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and getting their memories modified. The damage to King's Cross Station has been repaired. This is the second time you have used magic in front of muggles, and attempted to grievously injure them. Do you have a defense for yourself?"
Carlotta's eyes narrowed at Albus, the green of them meeting his pale blue. "Why should I hide," she had answered viciously, "when they are the ones who are inferior?"
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. He surveyed the other forty-nine members of the court, who were whispering to each other.
"Sometimes the greatest display of power is to simply let others be," he told her. "This court sentences you to fifty years in Azkaban Prison. Your wand will be destroyed." Dumbledore banged his gavel and Carlotta, frozen in angry disbelief, was carried away.
That was years ago- how many, she did not know. Carlotta was sure that time passed, but unlike some of her more insane prison mates, she had not sketched a calendar on the walls of her cell. She had been delighted to find out that a Chocolate Frog Card had been made of her, although the Dementors had stolen the joy out of the news the minute she had discovered it. She had wondered, desperately, if Tom had seen it. She had heard his story, of course, his rise, his reign, his takedown. Death Eaters had shown up in Azkaban over the years, piecing together what she had missed in her time away from the rest of society. It was unimaginable to Carlotta that a child had defeated the greatest wizard she had ever known. She knew it was only a matter of time before he returned, and that this time, when he did, she would finally join him.
Carlotta was broken out of her reverie by the hard sound of a rat's nails scuttling across the cell floor. She watched as it wandered around, running frantically and then pausing, sniffing around as if trying to find something particular. She heard a shrill voice yelling in the cell across from her, Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband having a domestic spat. Carlotta settled in to listen; this was a daily occurrence. Bellatrix, a gaunt woman with untamed dark hair, had been in the cell across from Carlotta for years now. She was a proud woman, foolishly convinced that Tom trusted her above all others; that she would be rewarded beyond her wildest dreams when he eventually broke them out somehow. It was Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus, whom Carlotta pitied the most. A tall, sallow-skinned man with dark eyes and a grim expression, Rodolphus Lestrange was clearly in a losing battle for his wife's affections. Bellatrix's obsession with Tom had only escalated in her time on Azkaban, and Rodolphus plead with her on a daily basis to come to her senses, sometimes turning to Carlotta for comfort.
She couldn't pretend she disliked the attention; all these years in Azkaban and Carlotta still found pleasure in making other women jealous- Bellatrix was no exception. Carlotta had instantly disliked the witch, with her arrogance over the meaningless tasks Tom had allowed her to handle. She had no idea of the Tom that Carlotta had known back at school, that Tom could never love someone who showed so much willful submission to him. It was disgusting to watch Bellatrix practically drool over her forearm in the hopes that somehow her lips could reach the Dark Lord himself.
Rodolphus had stopped by Carlotta's cell the last time that he and Bellatrix were allowed to visit. She could tell that his arguments with his wife took a toll on his confidence, and the surrounding dementors had taken away most of the hope he had left of reconciling his relationship. She allowed him to talk with her, in hushed tones so that Bellatrix could not hear them from her cell. He had told her of a special privilege that Tom had asked of them- to keep something safe in their vault at Gringotts. While Bellatrix had seen it as an honor, Carlotta surmised that Rodolphus viewed it instead as another hold that Tom had on his wife. She relished in hearing more about Tom's actions, but also in being privy to something she knew Bellatrix would have thought was a secret all of her own.
The argument between Bellatrix and Rodolphus seemed to have died down. She had heard his footsteps fade away into the blackness that surrounded the cells of the prison.
"Hey Bellatrix, when are you going to let Rodolphus off his leash?" she asked nastily, through the bars of her door.
"Mind your own, Lotta; my husband is none of your concern!" Bellatrix emerged from the shadows to face Carlotta, teeth bared.
"Can you really still call him your husband when you're so clearly devoted to another? Seems quite unfair…"
"My devotion to the Dark Lord is my business! You could never understand, you…you-"
"Bella, are you blushing? I would have thought it would take more to embarrass you!" Carlotta smiled wickedly. She could hear Bella muttering curses under her breath.
"Don't call me Bella! When I get out of here, Carlotta, you mark my words, the Dark Lord will let me take you down, and Rodolphus will be at my side when I do!"
"You're forgetting, Bella, that I know him; I knew your precious Dark Lord before he had an inkling of who you were."
"That matters not! I helped him, not you! It was I who tortured, who fought alongside him while you rotted away here, and for what? To prove to muggles that we have power over them?" She scoffed. "The Dark Lord knows of my loyalty, my thirst for his return, and each day he grows stronger!" She threw her dark head back, cackling madly as Carlotta retreated from the bars.
Idiot woman, she thought to herself.
When the day that Bellatrix had been prophesizing since she arrived finally came and Carlotta was broken out of Azkaban, she had no doubt that she would rejoin Tom. She would rise to a level of power and fame that Bellatrix had never even dreamed of, and she would relish every second that Bellatrix suffered in the process.
Heavy footsteps derailed Carlotta's thoughts. Nearer they drew, stopping in front of the entrance to her cell. Carlotta looked up- Rodolphus was standing before her.
Chapter Four: Rodolphus
His head was pounding. After a loud screaming match with Bellatrix, Rodolphus began his walk back to his own cell. It wasn't much, just an old, creaky bed with what barely passed as a blanket, but it had served as his home for so long that he had lost track of the days.
As he walked, a rat scuttled past his feet. It was nothing out of the ordinary to see a rat; the place was filled with them. He always wondered what it was that attracted rats to the prison; it's not like there was any food to spare. The rat had disappeared when Rodolphus rounded the corner to enter his cell.
He sat down, the old musty bed creaking, and thought about his argument with his precious Bella. It pained him to know how devoted she was to the Dark Lord. It hadn't always been this way. He and Bellatrix met during their final year at Hogwarts and were content together for years. This changed when they met Lord Voldemort.
Bellatrix devoted her life to serving the Dark Lord and he did the same, if only to make his wife happy. He didn't really care for Voldemort. How could he, seeing as he was the man who stole his wife's affections? Bella gave all of her love and attention to a man who was simply using her as a pawn in his quest for world domination. She refused to accept this, arguing that the Dark Lord cared for her above all and would reward her for her loyalty. She's only going to be disappointed. Rodolphus thought with a grimace. I wish there was a way I could convince her that he's not coming back. She hasn't listened to a word I've said since she met him.
He thought back to the last time he and his wife saw Lord Voldemort. It had been a surprisingly long time since they last heard from him and knew he had to be planning something. They met him and his other most trusted servants in a new location, somewhere they had never been before. The room was dark and stuffy, spider webs and dust covering all visible surfaces. A long table ran down the center, a smattering of chairs scattered around it. Being his most faithful followers, he and an ecstatic Bellatrix were invited to sit on either side of their Lord as he told them of his plans.
"I wish to kill the Potter boy," he began in a quiet, calm voice. "He's the one who stands directly in my way. He must be dealt with accordingly."
Rodolphus looked over to see his wife staring at the Dark Lord, admiration in her eyes. There was no mistaking her infatuation him and Rodolphus couldn't help but feel a small twinge of jealousy in his gut. He lost his wife to Voldemort and although there was nothing he could do to change this, he would do everything in his power to keep her pleased. He agreed without hesitation when Bellatrix volunteered them to do anything the Dark Lord needed done.
After the Dark Lord was defeated by the young Harry Potter, Bellatrix was devastated.
"Bella, come here. I have a plan," Rodolphus called, receiving no response from his grieving wife. "I have a plan to bring him back."
Bellatrix looked at him expectantly.
"It's… well…. We don't know what happened to the Dark Lord, right?" he began trying to explain. "Those blood traitors in the Order of the Phoenix would know, wouldn't they?"
A sly smile spread slowly across Bellatrix's face. She paused for a moment, thinking, and then took off running toward the door. Rodolphus followed, a newly found energy powering his run.
Hours later, after finding two blood traitors from the Order, Bellatrix seemed to be back to be back to her old self, shrieking as she led the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
"Where is he?" She screeched, her voice hitting registers Rodolphus didn't know existed. "I know you know where he is! Now, tell me!" Alice kept her lips tightly sealed. "No? Okay then, CRUCIO!"
Rodolphus took in the sights around him. Bella was standing over Alice, her breath ragged, eyes gleaming with anger and impatience. His brother, Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Jr. had joined them at the Longbottom's and were yelling similar things at Frank as he shuddered and trembled on the floor of the sparse living room.
"Why won't you tell us where the Dark Lord is? You have to know."
"Are you enjoying this pain? If you tell us where he is, maybe we'll stop." Frank, like his wife, refused to speak. "Still nothing to say? Crucio!"
Bellatrix turned to her husband.
"Well?" she spat. "Are you going to come help me? I thought this was your plan."
At that, he jumped to attention and joined his wife in her torturing. Moments later, the Longbottom's front door was broken down and the four Death Eaters were arrested by ministry officials. Although their actions weren't completely successful, it was the most alive he'd seen his wife since that last night with Voldemort.
"Shut up!" Rodolphus heard his wife yell, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into the present. It had gotten even darker than before and it was hard to even see out past the bars of his cell. He knew Bellatrix would be yelling at the witch in the cell across from hers, Carlotta. The two never got along and from what he could hear from his cell, they often fought about the Dark Lord himself. He and Carlotta had talked on several occasions when he was permitted to visit his wife. She told anyone who would listen that she knew Voldemort when they were still at Hogwarts. She wasn't one to keep that information to herself and very often reminded Bellatrix that she and Tom had a past.
Although he couldn't always hear what they were arguing about, Rodolphus knew that the disagreements almost always centered around the Dark Lord. His wife despised the woman in the cell across from her.
I wonder… Rodolphus thought as he looked toward the door. He had never thought about trying to get out of his cell. Winning his wife's affection would be worth the risk. He stood up, hands trembling in anticipation, and walked slowly toward the door.
His hands barely touched the door before it swung open, squeaking loudly. Rodolphus looked around in shock, not sure what to do next. He hadn't had this much freedom in years and it was a feeling that he wasn't accustomed to.
He wondered if his door had ever locked behind him. He had never had the will to try to escape before, so it could have been unlocked the whole time, but there was no way of knowing. Since the dementors hadn't seemed as bad recently, maybe something had malfunctioned. Either way, Rodolphus was free to roam the halls as he pleased. Not sure where else to go, he headed back the way he had come, not too long ago.
As he got closer to Bellatrix and Carlotta's cells, he could hear Bella muttering curses to herself.
Rodolphus approached Carlotta's cell.
"Come to visit me, have you?" she purred, raising her voice so that Bellatrix would hear.
Shrugging, Rodolphus motioned for her to come closer. He moved forward and grasped onto a bar as he watched her do the same. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Rodolphus conspicuously withdrew a small sharp object. It was no bigger than the handle of his old wand and the specks of mica embedded in the stone glistened in the dim light. Years of hitting the stone against the cold floor and other pieces of rock had sharpened the tip into a jagged point. He carried it in his robes at all times, although he had had no plans for the blade until now. Finally he could prove his worth to his wife.
As he leaned in close, going to whisper into Carlotta's ear, he raised the blade and promptly brought it down across the witch's neck. Warm blood splashed onto his face and her eyes widened as a look of shock crossed hers. Bellatrix, seeing what had happened, screamed in delight.
As Carlotta's lifeless body hit the floor, his forearm burned stronger than it had in years. A loud crash echoed down the hall.
Chapter Five: Voldemort
Wormtail returned to the small island alone. His face was ghostly pale and even more haggard than usual. He had been at the prison for an entire day, his lack of sleep evident in his movements.
"Is everything in order?" Voldemort's eyes closed as he searched his servant's thoughts, giving him no chance to reply. Images of the dank prison flooded his mind. He saw everything from the ground: cold wet floors, dirty feet and the occasional ragged cloak flashed in and out of sight. He recognized the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the only Death Eaters willing to go to Azkaban rather than betray him. He heard other trusted voices: Dolohov, Rookwood, Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort recognized another female voice but was not quite sure where from, perhaps some distant memory. Based on the clips of conversation Wormtail was able to pick up, Voldemort still had followers within Azkaban that remained faithful to him and he knew exactly where they were located. He searched through the rest of Wormtail's mind rapidly, anxious to execute the next part of the plan. Hours earlier, from the safety of his cave, Voldemort had lifted the Imperius curse, making sure the muggle man was left behind. He felt no pity. It was necessary for maintaining his alliance with the dementors.
"Excellent. Your services will be rewarded, Wormtail."
"My Lord! Thank you…I-" Wormtail stepped forward excitedly.
"But first I must attend to more important business." Voldemort cut him off. "You will remain here."
Voldemort drew his wand and murmured under his breath. As the spells left his mouth, he slowly lifted off of the ground and drifted towards the edge of the cliff in the direction of the prison. His pace quickened as flew over the foaming waters, the wind slapping at his face. The closer he drew to the prison the more exhilarated he felt.
By the time he reached the side of the giant fortress his face was encrusted in salt and his skin had gone cold, but he paid it no heed. He hovered next to a decrepit window and aimed his wand at the stone around it. Without uttering a word he blasted a jet of light from his wand and a large portion of the brick wall crumbled. He let out a high cruel laugh of satisfaction. Voldemort lowered himself and stood on one of the fallen rocks in order to better survey the results of his destruction. He outstretched his arms, robes swirling around him as he reveled in his success. When he leaned forward to peer inside, he noticed a trail of blood flowing down the hall. It could not have been caused by his blast; its source appeared to be from further down. His attention strayed; it was not important.
Voldemort stood on his rock and watched as Death Eaters began to emerge. First came Dolohov, a look of wonder on his gaunt face as he realized who had set him free. Rodolphus was next to appear in the opening. His face was splattered in blood, perhaps he was the source of the glistening trail. Or perhaps it was not his own blood and he had already started to dispose of traitors.
Rodolphus was closely followed by Bellatrix. When she caught sight of Voldemort a frenzied grin split across her face. She let out a shriek of pleasure as the wind whipped her hair about her face. She raised her arm into the air and the Dark Mark upon it glistened in the moonlight. The Dark Lord was one step closer to victory.