Bellatrix was horrified when she and her escort squad of four Aurors landed from their Ministry Portkey. She gasped in terror, feeling like she was going to tumble right off the perilous cliffs around them. They were on a high, rocky island in the middle of a cold sea that was thrashing against itself. It was storming; the whole place seemed angry. She looked up at the triangular stone tower before her, and each of her elbows were seized by a female Auror. They urged her forward through the lashing rain, and she noticed then that there were at least two dozen Dementors, wispy and black and obviously profoundly Dark, hovering around the periphery of the structure.
"Move aside," growled one of the male Aurors as they shoved through the rough-hewn wooden double doors. He used his foot to shove away a House-Elf that looked like it was a sponge sucked dry. For some reason, it was manually using a bucket of water and a brush to scrub what looked like blood off the stone floors, and it grunted in reply.
"Up the stairs, Bellatrix," said Blaine, the Auror who had been the one to take off Bellatrix's necklace in the Wizengamot. Bellatrix was pushed roughly up a narrow flight of stairs that mirrored the triangular shape of the building. She felt two wands poking between her shoulder blades.
"How far up?" she asked, and Blaine snapped back,
"Walk until we tell you to stop."
Bellatrix climbed… and climbed, and climbed, and climbed. Finally, they began to pass cells. Inside one, Bellatrix heard a wizard whining for his mother. She felt queasy, but she kept climbing. She passed another cell, and she smelled the unmistakable stench of a rotting corpse coming from inside. Still she climbed, tipping her chin up.
Black with metallic red flecks. Fear. She felt fear. She pushed it away in her mind, imagining her hands on the crystal ball in Voldemort's office. He would not want her mind troubled. He would want her to find blankness here. So she climbed in dignified silence.
"Stop here," Blaine said. She seemed to be talking to the other Aurors then as she said, "I'll take her in and get her changed. You lot wait our here. Keep a Patronus going to stave off that awful feeling."
"Expecto Patronum!" incanted one of the Aurors. Bellatrix was pushed into a tiny cell, a room no bigger than her bathroom at Malfoy Manor had been. She looked around and saw an oval hole in the ground, which she guessed was meant to be a privy. There was a lumpy sort of mattress on the left side of the room with a blanket that looked like it was made of burlap and would do nothing against the rickety cold coming in through the narrow window. That window let in a slight view of the angry sea outside, as well as the sight of a few floating Dementors. Very little light came in, and there appeared to be no sconce on the wall. Bellatrix stepped into the cell, and she was told by Blaine,
"Strip."
Bellatrix silently unbuttoned her velvet dress. Her fingers had been shaking like mad this morning when she'd put it on; Voldemort had had to help her do the buttons up. Now, as she took it off, her fingers were just fine. She unbuttoned the dress and slipped it off, along with her bra and knickers, and she kicked off her boots and socks. Blaine shoved the clothes into a canvas bag and informed Bellatrix,
"You will be given these back upon your release. Your uniform is there on the cot. Put it on."
Bellatrix did. It was striped and was stained, like someone else had worn it before. It was itchy when she pulled it on. She did those buttons up, too, and pulled on the too-large cotton knickers, and Blaine informed her,
"You'll be given a change of knickers and a few Scouring spells to prevent fleas and infection around once a month, if the House-Elves remember. If you're in a state of mind to remind them, you're allowed to do so. Try and eat the food they bring you, even if you do not much feel like it. You are meant to receive meals twice a day. Over time, you will probably lose your appetite. Try to continue eating."
Bellatrix chewed her lip and nodded. She glanced about and said,
"I suppose I will not be allowed any personal items? Ballet shoes or books? I won't receive letters?"
"No. You won't be dancing ballet or receiving letters," Blaine said, sounding almost amused. "Consider yourself lucky. You've only got six months. Unforgivables are meant to carry a life sentence. How fortunate that you hadn't turned seventeen yet when you cast that spell. Good luck to you."
"Goodbye, Miss Blaine. I shall remember your face and name," Bellatrix said, meeting Blaine's pale eyes. The Auror looked very uneasy, but she walked out of the cell, shutting the door, and there was a heavy clanking from outside.
Bellatrix moved to stand by the window, staring out at the Dementors. She narrowed her eyes at them and murmured,
"I am not afraid of you."
Then she moved to the centre of the cell, feeling the cold stone beneath her feet, and she pushed off the ground with one foot. She shut her eyes and spun, moving in an elegant ballet spin. She descended into a deep, extended arabesque. They had told her she would not dance. She would dance. Barefoot and freezing, hungry and tired, she would dance.
Later that night, she lay on the thin, lumpy mattress, and through the window, she could see that the storm outside had calmed. She could see the sky, and she smiled a little as she whispered,
"Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars."
The black flecked with red was gone. She had pushed it away. In her mind, there was a long corridor again. She was unsure of where that image had come from, but it was a powerful blankness, that corridor with the candle at the end. She let it fill her mind, overwhelming the sadness the Dementors wanted her to begin feeling and the fear any reasonable person would experience upon coming here. She stared at the stars, and she whispered into the cold air,
"Goodnight, Master."
Dear Bellatrix,
I know that you are not permitted to receive letters, so I suppose these will be more like diary entries. I had a diary, once upon a time, but I had to stop using it. It's complicated.
I tried to use my connections to get someone to get ahold of your wand before it was destroyed, but it was too late. It has already been snapped, burned, and Vanished. So, I have written to Gregorovitch, giving him the measurements and specifics of your first wand, and have asked for a replacement that would be a good fit for you. When you are released, I will have a wand for you to use, and you will use it to kill many people - Jamie McLaggen, Josephine Glass, perhaps your sister Andromeda. Many will die at your hand.
In the ten days since you've been gone, I have been drunk almost every day. Abraxas was growing concerned, so I Vanished all the firewhisky and wine in the house and have decreed that Malfoy Manor will be dry going forward. I will not fall prey to the common earthly hindrances of men. I know that you would not wish for me to be sitting about, morose and drunk, in your absence, and so I will not. I have, however, developed a nightly ritual of opening our marriage box, brushing my fingers over the black velvet ribbon inside, and whispering a goodnight to you, as if you could hear me. I know it is strange. I do not much care. Giving me your key is, perhaps, the only compassionate thing Dumbledore has ever done for me. He is crippled by his own decency sometimes. I will not criticise this instance.
I know that the Dementors must be making you feel inky black - sadness. I hope that you can lie on your cot and shut your eyes and overcome the feeling of grief they give you. I hope that you can find a soothing blankness like you did when I tested you. I like to think of you like that. I like to think of you, powerful in your own mind. I have confidence in you. I love you.
LV
Dear Bellatrix,
I went up to your dance studio today and just sat for an hour. Then I went to a cliff in Folkstone, and I waited for a Muggle bus to pass. I used my magic to shove the bus off the road, plunging it off the cliff. Fourteen Muggles died. I brought bones back to a meeting of my Death Eaters. They were all rightfully horrified. You would have laughed, I think. Somehow, I think you would have been amused. I sat in your dance studio after the meeting and tried to imagine your reaction. Sometimes I wonder if you miss dancing. I imagine it would be very difficult to dance at Azkaban. If anyone could find a way, it would be you.
You have been gone from me for two months now. I can not keep from killing. I nearly killed your father last week. He made me very angry; he refuses to completely disown Andromeda. If he does not do it soon, I will have to punish him far more severely. I know that you would fully understand this. I took care of that Auror - Blaine, the one that hauled you away. I made her disappear. They can prove nothing. Then there was the Muggle bus.
Bed is very empty without you. The other morning, I woke and had my eyes shut, and I was very convinced you were curled up beside me. Then I opened my eyes, and you were not there, and it felt instead like there was a boulder on my chest. I admit that I tore up what remained of the Malfoy gardens that day. I owe Abraxas a serious landscaping overhaul.
I love you.
LV
Dear Bellatrix,
Aeta Malfoy came today and told me that I am a changed man. She did not mean it as a compliment. Abraxas made her go back to Wales.
I think that you would like the changes. I am harder, as though the loss of you has taken a man of stone and forged him in steel. I am Darker now, though I did not think that possible. Somehow, I do not think you would mind.
I want to tell you, through these letters that I write to myself, that I made Horcruxes years ago. You read a little about Horcruxes during our study of Necromancy. I will not give you any more detail than to simply notify you of their existence. I am telling you of them because I felt fractured when I made them, and far more fractured when they took you away. When I made my Horcruxes, I was seeking immortality, and I grew Darker. In the loss of you, I have found a determination to conquer, and I grow Darker still. All of this, I know, you will appreciate, because that is the sort of witch you are.
Dumbledore had no idea what he was doing.
I love you.
LV
Dear Bellatrix,
I fear that my separation from you has aged me considerably. I am sorry to report that when you see your husband again, you will see a man whose hairline has retreated like a terrified army. You will see a man whose hair has gone almost entirely grey, a man who now wears black-framed glasses most of the time (for my vision has weakened, as old men's vision tends to do). You will see a man with permanent bags under his eyes, a man with lines around his lips. And when you are released, you will still not yet be eighteen. Will you mind my appearance, I wonder? You will turn eighteen a month after your release. I will host a great celebration for you. I will give you more gifts than you can fathom.
I have your new wand. I think you will quite like it; it is almost identical to your old one.
I have now written ninety-seven letters to you, one for each day of your imprisonment. I am going to try and find a way to get them to you. I have tried to get the Dementors to free you, but efforts to break you out of prison are proving very difficult. The least I can do is smuggle you in some correspondence.
I hope that you see stars upon stars upon stars upon stars.
I love you.
LV
"Dobby."
"Master Voldemort, sir." Dobby nearly toppled over. "Master Abraxas said you needed me, sir. How may Dobby assist you, sir?"
"I need you to get something to the House-Elves at Azkaban Prison," Voldemort said from where he sat behind his desk. He cleared his throat, sipping from his rose tea, and he adjusted his glasses on his face. He was feeling very old these days, but, then, Avery and Mulciber and Nott were balding with glasses, too. They were not powerful the way Voldemort was.
"The… the Elves at Azkaban, sir?" Dobby asked, and Voldemort nodded.
"Yes." Voldemort nodded curtly. "I have a parcel that needs to be delivered to a cell in the prison. Well. Smuggled in. This is not optional. I know that you creatures have ways of communicating with one another. I am very aware that you can get in touch with them. You must do this."
He rose and brought a bundle of letters that had been tied together, handing it over to Dobby, who took the bundle with shaking hands.
"Oh… Dobby is very afraid of those House-Elves, Master Voldemort, sir," Dobby said. "They are so very angry. They are empty inside."
He shuddered, and Voldemort shrugged.
"I find I do not much care if you are frightened. Get those letters to Mistress Bellatrix. See that it is done."
Dobby bowed low. "If it is your will, and the will of Master Abraxas."
"It is. Do it." Voldemort watched as Dobby skittered out of the office, and he leaned heavily onto his desk. He gulped hard, feeling the sudden absence of the one hundred and two letters that he'd written over the last few months. The letters would either get lost, or they would get to her. She would either read them or be too far gone to know what they were.
He pulled her key out from his pocket and went over to the right side of his office. It was nine o'clock - time for his nightly ritual. He opened the drawer where he kept their carved wooden marriage box, and he used the key necklace to open it. He pried open the box's lid, brushed his knuckles over the ribbon, and thought of how, today, he'd arranged for the Gringotts vaults of six Mudbloods to be raided by individual, paid-off goblins. He whispered,
"I suppose you would be proud, Bella. Goodnight."
Bellatrix could hear the music of Starlina in her head as she danced. She was filthy; she looked nothing like the nightgown-clad Starlina who was worrying over her distant, storm-tossed lover. Bellatrix danced the solo barefoot as best she could, ignoring the pain of going up en pointe without shoes.
She kicked her leg up and back, curling her spine back, touching her foot to her head. In her mind, the music vibrated emotionally. She swung her knee down to the ground, kneeling plaintively. She looked out the window, smirking almost playfully at the Dementors guarding Azkaban. They wanted to feed on her emotion, but in her mind, they would find none. They would find empty corridors and skies in which you'd fall forever. They would find black, mirrored seas. There was no food for them in Bellatrix.
She touched her fists to her face, hearing the violin in her head as she extended her left leg out before her, pointing her toe. She pushed her arms behind her, bringing her leg back, extending her arms straight up, still staring derisively out the narrow window at the Dementors. She wrapped her arms around herself, bending town in her self embrace. The music swelled after she contorted backward, the music in her mind. She rose up, curving her arms into a perfect circle, pleading for Starlina's father and lover - but, really, for Lord Voldemort.
"Master," she whispered.
She kicked her leg into an arabesque, then whirled round in a circle, her bare, calloused foot smacking the cold concrete floor between each turn. This was battle dancing, in a way, she thought. She was fighting. She twirled, spotting the Dementor out the window, and then she froze as the music in her head did.
"Bellatrix Black?" croaked a voice from behind her. She frowned and turned, watching a knotted little hand push her tin plate of gruel and mealy apple slices through the food slot. Then came the water mug. Bellatrix was not used to hearing her name. The House-Elves never spoke to her. Sometimes they'd wandlessly Scour her through the slot, if they felt like it, or toss through a new pair of knickers, but they never spoke to her. This one had a gravelly voice, and it sounded like it had been crying.
"Bellatrix Black?" it asked again, and Bellatrix padded over to the slot. She moved her food and drink away and realised she hadn't spoken loudly in so long that she hardly had a voice.
"Y-Yes?" she whispered. She cleared her throat and said more firmly, "Yes. That's me. I'm Bellatrix Black."
Something came through the slot then - a parcel, it seemed. The slot slammed shut, and Bellatrix heard the House-Elf's feet pattering up the steps to the next cell. Her eyes welled at once when she saw the writing on folded paper on the outside of the bundle. Bellatrix, it said, and the neat scrawl belonged to none other than Lord Voldemort.
Bellatrix ignored her gruel and apples and water, and she rushed over to her cot, tearing at the twine and paper holding the parcel together. Suddenly, a barrage of envelopes spilled all over the cot. They were dated, every last one of them. Letters. Bellatrix began to cry as she realised there was one for each day.
Suddenly a Dementor appeared very near outside her window, and she felt its pull through the gap. She shook her head, shutting her eyes. Sparkling gold mixed with hunter green. Gratitude. She pushed the strong emotion away. She felt something else, too. Crimson love. Adoration. Cerulean blue. Longing. She pushed the emotions away, one by one, until she had replaced them all with the idea of sitting in an empty boat on a motionless sea that reflected every star that had ever been. She opened her eyes and saw that the Dementor had moved away, off to feed on someone else's sensations. Bellatrix cleared her throat and looked for the earliest letter, dated in February, ten days after she'd come to Azkaban. She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, and she read,
Dear Bellatrix, I know that you are not permitted to receive letters, so I suppose these will be more like diary entries. I had a diary, once upon a time, but I had to stop using it. It's complicated.
Author's Note: Oh, my, oh, my. Talk about the law of unintended consequences. Dumbledore definitely meant to stop Lord Voldemort in his tracks. Instead, he killed any vestige of decency left in the man and set the First Wizarding War into motion. And as for Bellatrix? Say goodbye to that last scrap of naïveté. She's a warrior now. So, we're about three and a half months into her six month sentence. What happens when she's released and these two are reunited? Hmm…
Thank you so incredibly much for the feedback on the last few emotional chapters. The encouragement has meant more than I can say.