Disclaimer:-This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter Universe. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne Kathleen Rowling.

I make no claims to ownership, nor am I making any profit.

Type: 6th Year AU Story. Involves bashing and the complete revamp of morality and ethics as compared to the canon.

Pairings: Harry Potter/Bellatrix Black

Author's Notes-I'll be taking a lot of liberty with some canon knowledge of events and certain facts have been liberally changed to better facilitate the plot of the story.

This story has elements of darker themes, such as murder and torture. So reader discretion is recommended.

Special thanks to Calamity, AJAvenger01, and Madness Immortality & Magic for being the betas for the chapter.

Also, special thanks to 1Valor1 for his considerate help in verifying the facts for the story, along with the members of the entire Valor Book Club Discord Server. Their efforts are highly appreciated.

Sortes Qui Facit is another story of mine. Feel free to check it out.

I also have a Discord Server where I talk more about the story and updates. It's a new server, but I hope we can make the community grow. The link is in my profile.

Dulce Periculum

by

Ares Alexander Peverell

Chapter 1- The Rise, the Fall, and the Eclipse

Slytherin Manor

Unplottable Location

Northern Ireland

21st of June

Circa 1962

[Lord Voldemort's POV]

Lord Voldemort was lounging in his chair, holding a glass of Ogden's finest, enjoying all the luxuries that came with being Lord Slytherin.

It had been an exceptional day for him. His negotiations with the werewolves had been successful, and he had even managed to gain the support of a small vampire clan.

The icing on the cake, however, was the fact that Harry Potter was rotting in Azkaban. Although the most amusing part was that he had no part in it.

"Looks like history's repeating itself," he thought, with amusement lurking in his scarlet eyes. "First the godfather and now the godson." Was it so unbelievable that he had gained power so swiftly? Indeed, the incompetence and corruption in the ministry knew no bounds.

He knew that the boy was too powerful and dangerous to be kept alive. The way he had used the Avada Kedavra so easily and rapidly without magical exhaustion was a testament to the threat he held. Dumbledore's face, when his golden boy had snapped, was so priceless that it had become a guilty pleasure for his amusement. Although he would be loathed to admit it, the boy had caught him off-guard momentarily. Had it been any other fifteen-year-old who had performed such an impressive feat, he would have instantly taken him as his apprentice.

He guessed the time in Azkaban would help Potter brat to see the error of his ways. Maybe he would even join him in his pursuit of revenge. Nonetheless, it would be a win-win situation for him. Not even the old coot would stop him for long.

Draining the glass, Voldemort retired to the Master's bedroom. Tomorrow will be a long day for him. Raids to be conducted and torture to be done.

Things were going well, indeed.

Headmaster's Office

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Scotland

Albus Dumbledore was tired and exhausted. The recent battle with Lord Voldemort and the following events had disheartened him. Two children had turned to the Dark side. First was poor Neville Longbottom who had killed Rabastan Lestrange with the Killing Curse. The next being Harry Potter's successful use of so many Unforgivables in such a short span of time. He knew that the Horcrux in the boy's head could possess him, but he hadn't expected this much corruption from Tom's influence.

Dumbledore was also worried about Neville Longbottom, although he could understand that the boy wanted to simply avenge his parents.

Dumbledore simply abhorred killing. He was sure that people could be redeemed and brought to the right side if Tom was defeated. And now, another brilliant young man had fallen to the lure of the dark arts. He hoped that the dementors would be able to isolate the Horcrux. The disruption of his office had confirmed his fears.

By discreetly checking him during his outburst, he had discovered that Tom's soul shard was absent, and with further examination, he had found it had assimilated into or possessed the soul of Harry. There was no method to remove a Horcrux. He had even consulted Gellert on the matter, but the ex-dark lord simply told him to kill the host. He didn't want the young Potter to suffer any further, but some sacrifices had to be made for the Greater Good. Oh, how Albus hated those four words. He had agreed with Cornelius's opinion in favour of a private trial: public morale needed to be maintained, and it would do no good to create chaos that would only benefit the opposition.

Potter's friends — except for Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood — had all accepted that Harry had turned dark. They had also noticed changes in Harry and said so in the trial. Luna Lovegood's support was a surprise, but both children had been left alone after the appearance of Augusta Longbottom, who had been shocked to know about the case but had kept her silence after a reminder of her grandson's actions.

He still believed that Augusta shouldn't have saved her grandson by proposing his actions as the payment for the Blood-Feud, but the Wizengamot had eaten the story up and even praised the boy for his actions. Albus wasn't happy with the outcome and believed that Neville needed to be disciplined rather than given a slap on the wrist. He wished to guide the boy, now that he was the child of the Prophecy and the key to defeating Voldemort. He may be headmaster, but he had to be logical and selfless in his actions in the war; people looked to him for guidance and leadership.

The old man hoped the dementors would manage to purify Harry's soul, but deep down Albus knew that Harry was a lost cause — and it would be better to keep him there until Tom was defeated. Maybe then he could find a method to free him from Horcrux's influence.

Yes, he would find a way — he was not a person to freeze in the face of adversity. Perhaps the new batch of lemon drops might cheer him up.

Fawkes trilled a soothing note, it made Dumbledore feel much better. He left the room, not noticing the Phoenix's eyes following his every movement.

Minister's Office

Ministry of Magic

Whitehall, London

Cornelius Fudge was a happy man. While most men would say that the reappearance of Lord Voldemort and imprisonment of the Boy-Who-Lived would be bad news, he had miraculously managed to save his job after a clever maneuver, if he admitted it himself.

He had published a statement that the government was secretly preparing to deal with an upcoming Dark Lord that was trying to capitalize on the fear of the previous dark lord.

What they didn't know was that it was you-know-who himself who had managed to resurrect himself. After all, dead men don't just come alive, now, do they?

The public had actually eaten it up like crazy and his current public ratings were at an all-time high. He knew he'd have to be wary of both Dumbledore and You-Know-Who since he was pretty confident they both had spies in the Ministry. Lucius' betrayal had made him very paranoid - but it wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you, was it?.

But it had allowed Cornelius to blame Dolores' actions on him by influencing her actions through the use of the Imperius Curse. She was fanatically loyal to him and held a large amount of influence and blackmail. She would prove an important asset to him during these times.

Fudge knew that he was a peace-time minister. He was no general of the war, but he vowed to not side with either of the politically powerful wizards. He was the Merlin-damned Minister for Magic and anyone opposing him would earn the Ministry's wrath.

This morning he had called a meeting with Amelia Bones, Pius Thicknesse, and Rufus Scrimgeour, along with his personal circle of advisors. Sure that they'd be able to establish law and order and deal with the current situation, Fudge planned to easily swoop in and take the credit after.

Potter's betrayal came as a surprise to him. He thought Dumbledore and his friends would try to save the boy, but to his astonishment, not only did they speak against him, they also discouraged him and actively blamed him for forcing them into fighting Death Eaters. The only one who defended him was the Lovegood girl and the Longbottom heir.

He almost felt bad for Potter. It looked like the brat had finally snapped. He was not going to take a gift horse in the mouth and finally sent the brat to Azkaban.

With the boy's influence in tatters, nobody could challenge the minister. Even Dumbledore was wary of him these days.

However, he genuinely wanted to do something besides being sold to the highest bidder. He knew the next Minister would be in the pocket of either side, so he wanted to establish the Ministry as the ultimate power-base capable of dealing with both sides.

That would even extend his fame and make him the most powerful Minister ever. He could then even run for Supreme Mugwump in the ICW.

But first, he had to attend a conference and convince the members to side with him. He would definitely take a drink after that meeting: the headache promised to be intense. Perhaps Dolores would be kind enough to join him.

The Minister flooed away while whistling a merry tune, ignorant to the upcoming tempest.

Azkaban Prison

North Sea

14th of July

Circa 1996

[Bellatrix's POV]

It is said that the regrets we hold in our hearts do not abandon us until our dying breaths. That they continue to smother and suffocate us with the guilt they invoke in our hearts. How excruciating is it to be a prisoner of your own mind? Being a puppet in the hand of one master and forced to serve another.

She might be surrounded by dementors and in a prison cell, but she was finally free. Free of the shackles that bound her. Free of the restraints she had been in for her whole life.

Bellatrix cackled. The sound sending shivers down the spine of nearby inmates. They scurried away from the prison cell of the insane witch, trying to maintain as much distance as possible. As soon as it started, the laughing stopped as she went back to comforting the raven-haired boy who had his head in her lap. The boy was shivering and shaking with what she assumed were dementor-induced nightmares. It was clear that he didn't possess many happy memories. Silently running her fingers through the bird's nest which was his hair, she couldn't help but gently trace the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, the place where the Killing Curse had struck him. The scar that had given temporary peace to the entirety of Wizarding Britain.

The only known survivor of that particular curse in the history of Wizarding World.

On closer look, it could even be said that it was in the form of the Sowilio rune, a powerful protection rune. Others might disagree, but Bella knew better.

Sowilio signified victory, sun, and Mastery of the Soul. It surely wasn't a coincidence that a failed spell scar took the shape of the most powerful protection rune in magic.

But this was not the only scar on the young man. He had various lines running across his back in a criss-cross manner, and his ribs were so thick that she could effortlessly feel them. He was malnourished, had black spots in his eyes, and injuries in almost every limb. A fang had left its mark in his left hand, and so much of his body was broken that it was a miracle that he was alive, let alone fighting against the most powerful dark lord in history.

Not a child, but a fighter, a warrior. Bella was all too familiar with how it felt to be a weapon. No, she wouldn't let him die. She had taken enough from people just because she had been afraid of being disowned, and those mistakes had come back to bite her.

Bella kept affectionately stroking his hair, lost in her little thoughts. She had vowed to not let him die the moments those fools had deposited him in the cell, unconscious and sick. Oh, how she wished to choke the stupid minister with her bare hands until the fool turned blue. First Siri and then his godson in this hellhole. Both innocent and yet suffering here.

Yes, she felt strangely protective towards Harry Potter. Even though he would hate her with all of his heart and never forgive her. She wasn't sure that she could even forgive herself—it was her hands, her wand, and her spell that murdered him.

"Oh, how I wish you were alive to see the end of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Father. See where you have led our family in the end," she snarled. The words were dripping with venom and malice as she continued cursing the Lestranges, Voldemort, and the Death Eaters. But here she was, locked in a cell with barely any chance to escape and stuck with a teen who she couldn't abandon. Both of them in a similar situation, it seemed.

The now thrashing and muttering teenager suddenly snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Sirius, no! No, no you can't be dead. It's all my fault. Voldemort lured me for the prophecy." Harry screeched from Bellatrix's lap. He thrashed around wildly, flailing his limbs harshly. It was rather apparent that dementors were coming for their second round. She could feel the cold and numbness that preceded their presence. Many prisoners were shrieking and wailing in fear.

The screams made her guilt return again. Contrary to the prisoners, her anguish couldn't be entirely blamed on the foul creatures. She had tried her best to feed and comfort her cousin's godson in his incoherent state, and she hoped it was enough.

When the thrice-damned demons arrived, her attempts to use her Occlumency to lessen the effects failed. The thrashing intensified even further. However, before she could try anything more, she passed out.

So there lay two figures in a dark, dingy, and isolated cell. Unknown to the fact that their fates were entwined with each other. One harboring rage, the other the victim of regrets.

Sometimes, what we often require is for someone to just understand us, with no expectations, pity, or comfort. Being broken has the benefit of not being broken any further. You just get used to being hurt and pain becomes an essential part of your life. Being dead is sometimes far easier, it's the life that ends a part of you, day by day.

This is the tale of Harry James Potter and Bellatrix Druella Black.

Of regrets and redemption, love and war, blood and sweat, silent pleas and anguished cries,

of orphans and families, scars and healing, dark and light, bitter truths and sweetened lies.

So this is the first chapter of the story. I hope you like the story. If you do, please leave a like, follow, and comment on what you feel can be improved or your general thoughts on the story.

My sincerest thanks to Madness Immortality and Magic for her considerate work on this new story of mine.

For further info, I'll be active on my discord server. Please do check it out!

Yours sincerely,

With love,

Ares Alexander Peverell.

Comment Replies

Geetac- Well, Dumbledore couldn't offer a lemon drop and tell Harry that he did well firing point-blank unforgivables and murdering death eaters. He was always against murder in my opinion. Anyways, thanks for your opinion and review. I really appreciate it.

Pewz- Haha. Thanks a lot. I am honored that you liked both of my stories. I'll strive not to disappoint my readers. Thanks for your review. I really appreciate it. They made my day.