Author's Notes: Umm… Yeah, Bellatrix has a bit of an impulsive streak, to put it mildly. :-) Thank you, reviewers: Barranca, TheAngelOfSilence, Voldiesgirl999, potterlovegood, Sarah Coldheart, saint liz, wildandclear, Squiggles.Candi, SailorHecate, Kristina, jka1, selenoliber, and Lrnd.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

Recap from Chapter 11:

'My Dark Mark is humming,' Luna said lightly. She said it because it was true, and she said it to remind Bellatrix that she was initiated into the Death Eaters.

'Shut up,' said Bellatrix.

The two women stood side-by-side. Both knocked on the door at the same time. They waited for their master to settle the question of loyalty once and for all.

Chapter Twelve

Stronger and Weaker

'What's all this?' Voldemort said softly. His glittering scarlet eyes crawled across Luna's tattered ruin of a dress. 'And why have you interrupted me?'

'I apologise deeply, my Lord,' Bellatrix said, sinking to the floor and prostrating herself so that her hair flung out from her head in a curtain of admiration. 'I thought you should know. This little creature here can't be trusted.'

'Indeed?' said Voldemort.

Luna could not think of any words to defend herself. Something had stolen her tongue. She settled for kneeling. Nagini hissed once and curled up beside her.

'Yes,' Bellatrix continued, 'I've seen her thoughts. She has every intention of betraying you to her little friends. She hates you. And she's going to kill your snake.'

The noise of protest from Luna's mouth did not come out loud enough. She wondered if her voice had a mind of its own, or if perhaps the Silencio had after-effects on speech. Bellatrix's accusations were a little too close to the truth for Luna's taste.

'Is she?' Voldemort asked. He walked across the room, a soft silken walk across rough floorboards, until he was before Luna and Bellatrix. With his long white fingers he grasped Luna's chin so that she looked up at him. 'Rise up.'

She rose.

Voldemort tilted his head and looked into Luna's eyes. This part was familiar. He would invade her and go wherever he liked inside the wild, spacious place that was Luna's mind. The height of the cold moon gave Luna power and she let her defenses assert themselves, all the while looking wide-eyed and innocent and welcoming of Voldemort's Legilimency. 'I would not betray you, my Lord,' she said, and was surprised at how true it sounded.

Twin beams of red inquiry shot inside her, searching and sorting and finding, as Luna discovered her own nature through his eyes. She let the right things come forward, namely the abuse by Bellatrix of a few moments ago. Voldemort saw the whole incident but seemed unsurprised. He kept looking.

He found something that even Luna did not know was there. He plucked out a thought, the view of his own chambers as a comfort, the pleasure Luna could not help taking in being there and playing chess with him and holding conversations. He smiled with a too-human smile and his not-human-enough red eyes left her alone and dizzy.

'Her loyalties are to me, Bella,' Voldemort said.

Bellatrix, risen from the floor by now, licked her lips. 'Are you sure, my Lord? I was sure I saw –'

'Do not contradict me,' he said coldly. Bellatrix's face paled. 'But,' he continued, 'I wonder. Can you tell me about a few images I just divined? Did you think I would not know what you've done? How dare you undercut me by harming my Seer?'

Bellatrix shook her head desperately. 'Oh, that was nothing, my Lord, I was just teaching her a little lesson –'

'That is my job,' Voldemort hissed. 'Crucio.'

The worst part of it was how Bellatrix reacted to the Dark Lord's torture curse. She fell to the floor, jerking and writhing in pain, hands clenching in spasms, hips bucking. But her face was one of pleasure. Luna watched, horrified. The woman had no limits on depravity.

Voldemort laughed quietly. 'She likes that,' he said as though in an aside to Luna.

'Stop it,' Luna whispered. 'Don't let her enjoy it.'

Unexpectedly, Voldemort stopped the curse. Bellatrix pouted.

'What do you suggest instead?' Voldemort asked Luna. 'Tell me. Your whim is my command.'

To inflict punishment was not in Luna's nature, nor was judgment, nor did she have any idea what to do. What would stop Bellatrix from hurting her in the future, out of jealousy for the regard of a monster? This witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, was strong and powerful and cunning. She was like a superwoman. She had killed Ron Weasley, who had once laughed and loved and teased and played Quidditch and complimented Luna on how well she commentated for the Hogwarts games. Bellatrix was Voldemort's right hand in the war, and he would never injure her, not really. Now the woman knelt on the floor, looking pleadingly, teasingly up at Voldemort. She tossed her glossy wild hair around like the mane on a horse –

'Cut off her hair,' said Luna in a voice that was hardly her own.

It had the desired effect. Bellatrix's eyes widened in astonishment and anger. She brought her lips back in a snarl against her sharply glinting white teeth. 'How dare you –'

'Interesting,' said Voldemort. His crimson king's eyes met Luna's and she found approval there for her cleverness. 'Bella, this will teach you not to harm my pets. I've already spoken to you about Nagini. You must rein in your jealousy. Do not forget that you are my protégé, my best captain, my most loyal one. I've honoured you in countless ways. Is that not enough for you?'

'Of course it's enough, my Lord, I'm sorry, I – please, don't take my hair. I'll leave her alone. I'll even find Harry Potter for you, I'll bring him here…'

'Shut up,' said Voldemort. 'Don't make promises you can't keep. Bow before Lord Voldemort.'

Without a choice, Bellatrix bowed, and Luna watched as the Dark Lord murmured the charm that left the witch Lestrange with a close-shaven head, still noble in its shape, and a pile of shorn black hair that looked like spilled ink on the floor. An uncomfortable squirm of delight clasped around Luna's heart, leaving black marks there, marks like the one on her left forearm. She wished she could have gotten revenge like this on those Hogwarts girls who'd always teased her so mercilessly. If their hair had fallen out, they would have left Luna alone. She choked on her own breath at the thought.

No. It wasn't right. Bellatrix deserved it, but the others… who do you think you are to pronounce judgment on who ought to be bald? A voice, sweet and clear, spoke to Luna. She thought it the voice of Conscience. Something to be listened to. Don't let it go to your head, or your own hair might start falling out. Then what would you have to play with?

After Conscience started talking, it was hard to get it to be quiet again. Luna hadn't been in touch with that part of herself in awhile. It took her several minutes of concentration to calm her mind and stifle the remorse. By the time she met Voldemort's eyes again, he was bored with them and wanted to be alone. It was obvious.

She wanted to ask him for her wand back, but just as the question formed on her tongue, Luna lost her nerve. Her trustworthiness had been tested this evening and she did not want to push her luck. 'My Lord,' Luna bowed, taking her leave. Bellatrix followed. Nagini stayed with their master.

Luna and Bellatrix walked down the corridor, a new dynamic suffusing the air between them, something approaching equality. Bellatrix clutched the pile of black hair that once lived on her head. The shorn woman's features now almost resembled those of Voldemort himself: spare, noble, lines of madness.

'You know,' said Luna, 'bald is sort of fashionable. It makes big earrings look better. I wouldn't have suggested it if I thought you couldn't pull it off.'

Bellatrix looked at her as though she were crazy but said nothing to contradict the opinion.

'Good night,' Luna said, waving.

'Watch yourself,' said Bellatrix. 'You may think you're in with him, but he can turn in a second. He doesn't let anyone in. Not even me.' A twinge passed across her face as she said it, as though she had surprised herself by revealing so much to Loony Luna. But then Bellatrix set herself back into defiance and nodded once, leaving Luna standing in the hallway at the top of the stairs of the Riddle House.

Luna dreamt alone. She occupied the Dark Lord's bed but he was absent, on a mission or a revel or an errand, of whatever kind evil dictators had to do. She tossed and turned unselfconsciously, naked but for a thin silk shift that grazed the tops of her thighs. It did not matter, for there was none to see her. Her blonde hair, intact unlike Bellatrix's, spread across the pillows in braids and rivulets of pale dirty gold. The same thing kept haunting her dreams, a vision of Voldemort gaining strength and ability, getting stronger. In her dreams he was very unhappy about it.

It was the last day in December when she saw him again. She'd confined herself to the house for the past month with no one for company aside from Nagini. It was a depressing month for Luna, lonely, and she had no real significant Seer's dreams to report. Christmas had come and gone, unnoticed; Luna had not realized it until two days after the fact. It was a blessing, for she knew that memories of Christmas with her father might have undone her.

She saw Bellatrix a few more times after that feast night's attacks; the female Death Eater gave Luna wide berth and dark glances from beneath long-lashed, tired eyes. Snape, too, avoided Luna and would not give her any information on the Order of the Phoenix. When Luna stopped him in a hallway and asked who was still alive, he shook his head and his gaze trailed to the spot on her arm where the Dark Mark resided… As though it made her untrustworthy, as if she were a ticking time-bomb and she would rat him out to Voldemort as the 'source.'

On New Year's Eve, a wild storm blew in from the north. As though it came straight from the cold Norse god-realm of Valhalla, the black clouds brought blacker hail and winds and unforgiving thunder. Luna watched from the window of Voldemort's bedroom. She wore a simple white dress, a foil to the flashes of mean lightning that winked knowingly at her. From the window she could see Dementors reveling in the weather, vague shapes in the storm, ghastly because she knew what they were. The elements battled it out. In between thunderclaps, she heard a knock on the door, and she hesitated. Was she supposed to answer for Voldemort?

It was Theodore Nott. Luna's former classmate wore standard Death Eater's robes but no mask; his job was of the office variety. Luna tilted her head at Nott; she'd seen him but twice over the duration of her captivity. She knew that Nott's job was similar to the one Wormtail had vacated: the Dark Lord's secretary, his quiet and loyal butler, scribing notes and keeping Voldemort's busy schedule in order. There was nothing nasty about Nott, in Luna's opinion. He was just an errand-boy.

'Hello, Theodore,' Luna said.

Nott nodded at her. 'Please step aside. The Dark Lord has returned to the premises and I'm to prepare his quarters.'

'He takes Assam tea in the evenings,' Luna said in an effort to be helpful.

Nott ignored her and set about tidying the room, setting out a stack of books, and opening a curious box filled with potions vials. They looked medicinal.

'What's that?' Luna asked.

No answer as Nott drew the curtains closed against the storm.

'Why don't the house-elves do this?' she tried again.

'He doesn't trust house-elves,' Nott said. 'They're too easily manipulated. You know that. Please, Lovegood, move aside.'

Luna was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her shoeless feet tucked beneath her in a lotus position. 'Trust me, the bed is where he wants me.' She looked directly into Nott's eyes, letting him draw his conclusions if he hadn't already, and she was unashamed when she saw the little gleam of understanding.

'Fine,' said Nott. He said no more as he finished and left the room.

An uncomfortable little worm of anticipation started to flip through Luna's stomach. Where had Voldemort been? And would he look different? Luna could not shake the feeling that the war was starting to pick up pace. A spiral of events went faster and faster toward the inevitable: the confrontation between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. In her private thoughts, Luna felt that things could be resolved a different way, but both Voldemort and Harry seemed hell-bent on the destruction of the other. The weakness of the Order of the Phoenix had always been the non-understanding of how and why society might support the choices Voldemort had made. The Dark Lord was not an island unto himself; his evil actions had won him benefits in a world where the right path was not always rewarded.

Glancing around the room, she thought that yes, power gave rich rewards. The furnishings were in the highest taste, those intricate colourful carpets and the expensive candles and the carved, heavy furniture. In the corner stood the most intriguing item of all: a cabinet, which Voldemort had never opened. He refused to tell Luna what was inside. She'd asked on several occasions and gotten nothing for her troubles. For fun, and for practise, she decided to meditate and try to See what was inside the cabinet.

An hour later she was in a half-trance, Seeing nothing but a multitude of faces, which was ridiculous because so many people could not fit inside a single cabinet… she didn't think, anyway.

Luna heard the door open and a light footfall on the carpet. Her eyes popped open to see Voldemort standing there in a deeply hooded black cloak; he was identifiable by his long-fingered white hands. Luna waited to be spoken to. A funny urge came over her to throw her arms around him in support; there was a slump to his shoulders.

The room was thick with the silence as Voldemort swung off the black cloak. His face looked the same, vaguely deformed and not-quite-human, but an expression of weariness created lines across his smooth skin. He saw the layout of medicinal potions, glinting and colourful on the table, and a small noise of approval came from his throat. He pulled the stopper on a vial filled with dark fluid and knocked it back as though it were a shot of alcohol.

'Sir?' Luna asked after he swallowed. She was unable to bear the suspense.

'Luna,' Voldemort said. 'What have you learned in my absence?'

'Learned?'

'What have you seen? In your dreams, your meditations?' A note of impatience crept into Voldemort's voice.

'Oh, that.' Luna played with a strand of her hair. A negative answer might put him into a temper; his tension played into his movements and eyes. Best to lie, then. 'I had one significant vision,' she said. 'I saw you getting stronger.'

'Stronger,' he said bitterly. 'Yes, yes.'

'Can I ask why?' Luna stared at him from her place on the bed. 'What's happening? What is this process that you've talked about? And the healing potions? And the artefacts?'

It was a great many questions for the space of a few seconds. Voldemort said nothing; it seemed no one wanted to answer Luna's queries today. She sighed.

'It's the last day in December,' said Voldemort.

'Yes. And, it's New Year's Eve.'

Then Voldemort himself sighed. It sounded almost… wistful.

He sat in his armchair, took out a book, and began to read. 'Find something to occupy yourself,' he said to Luna.

She stared at him for a moment and then chose a book for herself. Instead of a chair, she sat herself on the carpet in front of the fire, like Nagini. Turning pages two at a time, she looked at the pictures (it was a book about giants) and wondered what life would be like if she were twenty feet tall. Then her head would really be in the clouds.

After about an hour, the Dark Lord slammed his book closed, causing Luna to jump. He brought a white hand to his temple; he clenched his fist. He made a small noise. Slowly and with measured movements, he stood up, placed the book back on the shelf, and walked across the room to grip one of the bedposts, still as a statue.

'Master?' Luna asked.

He started to say something… and then, Voldemort clutched at his head, a terrifying sudden movement so against his normal control. His face screwed up in agony and he fell back onto the bed as though his legs could no longer support his weight. Long fingers raked through his black hair and his joints went into spasms, as though he suffered an epileptic fit. The air around him shimmered with physically visible black streaks and swirls.

Luna stared at the display. He was vulnerable. He was weak. And her reaction was not to take advantage of it, but to ease his pain. She heaved herself up from the floor and crossed the room to look through the box of potions… she wanted to find something to stop the seizure… or some Draught of Peace in case he was in pain. She found what she was looking for and grasped the bottle with quick fingers.

'Here,' she said, 'Draught of Peace. Drink this.'

'No,' he gasped, 'no, it won't help.' And he shut his mouth stubbornly and refused the potion.

Luna knew it was not because he didn't trust her. It was because this was some kind of involuntary transition, something that no potion would cure. She set herself gingerly on the side of the bed next to him. Somehow his hand found hers and they gripped each other tightly, and Luna watched, fascinated, as small ripples raced beneath Voldemort's skin, as though he'd taken Polyjuice Potion.

The change started in his hands. They changed colour from chalk white into a more human tone of pale. Then his features shifted and popped and morphed into something beautiful and horrible. His nose became defined, normal. His brow was no longer flat and serpentine, but shaped into an aristocratic nobility. His skin regained a touch of colour; not much, but some. His eyes were closed.

It was like watching a frog turn into a dashing prince, but this was not right. Looking at the Dark Lord's new visage, Luna was reminded of the description of him given by Ginny, who knew him as Tom Riddle. Ginny had spilled the beans to Luna after they'd shared a bottle of wine and the deepest secrets of the heart had come out. 'The Dark Lord was handsome once,' Ginny had confessed. 'Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin.' At the time it had seemed ludicrous in light of Voldemort's snake-like appearance; now Luna saw what Ginny meant. He was handsome.

Voldemort shivered and shuddered under the burden of his apparent humanity. Luna caressed the skin of his hand with her thumb, non-intrusive in her affection, wishing only to convey that she was there to give comfort if he wished it.

He must have passed out, for his eyes did not open and he stayed prone and unmoving. Luna lay down next to him, still holding his hand, and sleep claimed her, too. Her mind produced images of candlelight and crystal and strange rituals in the night; of dark robes and red high-heels; of her Thestral friend Abacus, flying in endless circles over the Riddle House, high in the atmosphere away from detection, missing his girl rider.

When she awoke an hour later, Luna jumped up at the discovery that Voldemort was not lying beside her any longer. She glanced around and saw his tall, thin frame facing the window, one hand clenching the brocade curtain at his side.

'Sir?' she ventured.

He did not tense at her voice, did not even move. Just kept looking out. She thought she heard his shallow breath, but was not positive of it. When he turned around, it was a shock she had been expecting, but a shock nonetheless.

Voldemort looked human. Gone were the serpentine features which had struck terror into the hearts of wizards everywhere; brought to colour and life was the white skin that had once seemed undead. His raven-black hair was so dark there was a tinge of blue to it, and showed his middle age by distinguished grey hairs coming in at the temples. His face was that of an aristocrat, hollowed cheeks and well-formed nose, a mouth that was cold and hard, a brow that was at present furrowed into a scowl. Voldemort was pale still, but not disgustingly so.

But when he opened his eyes fully, Luna gave a start, because they were the same as they'd always been. Red. Glaring. Bright as though the fires of hell burned behind them. Set in such an attractive face, the eyes made Voldemort look like a true demon, a fallen angel; they emphasized what he really was in a way that his other, snake-like self had never done. He looked more frightening than ever before.

'Master,' Luna breathed. 'You are stronger now. Why are you upset? You're full of life. You like that, right?'

'Did you dream of anything?' he asked. There was a note of desperation in his voice as though he needed to hear a good fortune.

'A Thestral,' Luna said. 'The one who was once attached to me. His name was Abacus.'

Voldemort made a noise in his throat. 'Is it the same one that keeps flying around the wards? It's damned persistent, no one could figure out why.'

'He's here?' Luna scrambled up, excited. 'I'm so glad! He always was such a good Thestral, and I'm sure he's been missing the sugar cubes I used to conjure for him. Where has he been, I wonder? Maybe he went to Iceland, I always got the impression he would like to see the glaciers there…' she trailed off, noting Voldemort's expression of impatience. He would curse her if she wasn't careful. His new face was no easier to read in terms of how close he was to the edge of temper. 'Sorry,' she said.

'The Thestrals like you,' said Voldemort. 'Creatures of death. Loyal. Dark. Misunderstood. Much like my followers, my cause, wouldn't you agree? Were you always so drawn to it?'

'I'm not afraid of the dark,' Luna said stubbornly. 'And I'm not afraid to ask you now: what's happened to you? What is this magical process that's added to your power, but that you're so upset about? If you don't tell me, my Lord, I can't help you. The more I know, the more I can See.' She put deliberate emphasis on her last word.

Voldemort laughed. It was a high laugh, filled with ice and not humour. It was a laugh that made Luna shiver. 'The magical process,' he said. 'Yes. That's a term for it.'

With a graceful swing of her legs, Luna got up from her place on the bed and stood before the Dark Lord. 'I would hear about it, if you would tell me,' she said. Her voice was a mere whisper that carried, soft and delicate, across the space between them.

He sat in the leather armchair by the window and Luna took this as a sign that he was about to speak. She crawled across the floor and sat at his feet, looking up, head tilted and curious. And curious she was; this might be a first. There was a tinge of honesty in the air that rarely accompanied Voldemort. In the moments after such an upset to his mind, it might be the weakness she sought, the off-guard instant where he would give her something to work with. She blinked, encouraging him to talk with her own silence.

'I –' he stopped and let out a huff of ironic amusement, 'I seem to have regained my soul.'

'Your soul?' It would not surprise Luna to know that Voldemort had done something appalling with his heart and soul. He had never been the type to value such things.

'Have you ever heard of a Horcrux, little one? Did your dear friend Potter never tell you about them?'

Luna shook her head in sincerity. The word rang a little bell somewhere, as though she should know what it was, but the reference escaped her.

'A Horcrux is a safeguard. It prevents death. It is a physical housing for the soul, a place to keep it forever, a way to make oneself immortal. It is created by the act of murder, which splits the soul and frees a part to be put inside a Horcrux. In my case, I made –' he paused, uncaring of Luna's expression of horror, '—I made five Horcruxes before my defeat, or rather that setback, involving Harry Potter. I intended his murder to be my sixth Horcrux, which would have split my soul into seven pieces.' There was boasting in his voice. How he must have wanted to brag about his brilliant idea, and been unable to for so long.

'Seven,' said Luna, 'the most powerful magical number.' She refused to rise to his pride and focused on the facts.

'Yes.'

'So…' Luna paused to gather her thoughts. Horcruxes. What a disgusting, unnatural thing to do. And it was not the way she herself would pursue immortality – so much could go wrong with a Horcrux. What if the object were lost or destroyed? And then it all became clear, as though a storm in her mind had broken and left the skies fresh and clean. 'The artefacts,' she blurted. 'When you first interrogated me. The Order has been looking for your Horcruxes. And – and they must have found them. Or at least some. Most. They've destroyed them! The pieces of your soul are rejoining you!'

With an unpleasant sneer, Voldemort brought his hands together and clapped gently. 'Oh, bravo. Very good. You've solved it all.'

With a gulp Luna looked down at his feet. 'I just –'

'You can't possibly understand,' Voldemort hissed. His voice sounded the same as it always had, cold and sweet and compelling. 'They have weakened me. They think they know how to defeat Lord Voldemort.'

'And do they?' Luna asked. 'Have they destroyed all the Horcruxes?' And she held her breath, for she knew Voldemort would tell her how many were left…

'All but one,' said Voldemort. 'That is why my appearance has taken this form. I'm almost human again.' He said it with such contempt that Luna wanted to cringe away from being human, herself. 'Only I remain, and Nagini, whom I turned into my sixth Horcrux after my rebirth…'

'No wonder I get along with Nagini,' Luna said cheerfully. 'She's part of you. Or you're part of her. Well, you know what I mean.'

The Dark Lord glanced down at Luna. His eyes flashed for a moment; if he had been anyone else, Luna might have taken it for affection. With long fingers he played with a lock of her hair, leaning back in his chair, mouth tight but the rest of his face relaxed. For a moment, Luna relaxed too, leaning her head against his knee in a parody of intimacy. She inspected her fingernails, long and painted bright blue today, and felt the slight caress as her hair moved under his hand.

She thought about what to do next.

A/N: So that's why Voldemort's appearance has been shifting. As I've noted before, we're not sure about the mechanics of Horcruxes, but as creative license his soul will cobble itself back together. Since Horcruxes go against nature, I've made it so that nature might reassert itself upon their destruction. This will become important later.