We Will Wait: A Story of Bellatrix Lestrange
By Lady Lestange
Chapter 2
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and previous situations belong to JK Rowlings. No infringement is meant or implied. No money is made from this Fanfic. THANKS JK.
--LADY LESTRANGE
(A/N: I've written another story on fanfic, entitled HARRY POTTER AND THE SEERS' TRUTH (HPatST). WE WILL WAIT was background for me to understand Lady Lestrange. Since I wrote HPatST BEFORE OotP, I named Lady Lestrange, Valeriana. She was written before Bellatrix was published and I can't change her name in HPatST. For those of you who are reading or have read HPatST, and are confused by the name change Valeriana and Bellatrix are the same person. Her twins, of course, are Ethan and Edward, key characters in HPatST. All other reference are as cannon as I could make them.—Lady Lestrange.)
==
It was a day, like any other day, a night like any other night. Bellatrix scratched a tally in the cold stone. Another day, another tally. It didn't matter. He didn't come. She waited through the night because night was His time. Night was when there was some possibility of feeling the Mark, but it didn't come.
Another day passed and another and another. They ran together. She wondered why she ever thought that she should debase herself so much as to beg Rookwood for soap and water. That foul thing. He should have been in a cell beside hers. He was a guilty as she was, but. If she and Narcissa had been allowed in the same courtroom together wouldn't they have found a way to force the judges to free them? It all came down to money and influence in the end. She had too little of both. Of course, silver-tongued Lucius could have done it if he wanted to, but he never liked her. She wasn't pretty enough to suit him. But, he did it for her sister. Bellatrix was not so stupid as to think that Narcissa got out of coming to Azkaban on her own. No. It was Malfoy money and Malfoy charm that bought her freedom. So why was she condemned to rot here? She was family. Shouldn't they have her out by now? She scratched another mark on the wall.
Why did her Dark Lord not come! It was time. He had plenty of time since September first. He should be planning. She should be planning at his side—tasting and feeling his magic. At His side. She could almost make herself feel it. She willed herself to remember. She had to remember. She could not forget the feel of his magic. A passing thought nagged at her. She had forgotten Rodolphus. She had forgotten her husband's magic. She squelched the thought with her iron will. It did not matter. Only the Dark Lord mattered.
That night, she prayed. She had not prayed for many years. All the gods and goddesses had abandoned her. "Like He abandoned her," a little traitorous voice taunted. "No! She shouted. "He will come for us!" She waited for the echo of the other prisoners taking up the cry, but they were silent. "He will come!" She shouted, once twice, a hundred times. "We must be faithful."
"Fuck faithful!" growled a fellow inmate, and Bellatrix finally grew silent, and hot salty tears coursed down her face. Tears, she thought. Hadn't she cried enough? It accomplished nothing—but it must. It must have purpose. She must have purpose.
List every potion that you can remember in which tears is an ingredient, she told herself. She remembered one hundred and five of them. Eighty-nine she had brewed herself including the love potion that caused Rodolphus to fall in love with her at Hogsmeade so long ago. Rodolphus Lestrange. For just a moment his face swam before her eyes and she remembered—She remembered his face, but not his magic.
She was in her sixth year at Hogwarts and Bellatrix was living to the fullest. She had met Rodolphus Lestrange, two years her senior, at a Malfoy party and he had met her at Hogsmeade the following weekend. Bellatrix knew her parents had spoken to the Malfoy's about allying themselves with the Malfoy clan. It didn't matter which sister-married Lucius. Personally Bellatrix thought him a little too pretty for her tastes, but when Laurel decreed that it was time to marry a Ravenclaw and went after Marshall Avery with claws bared, the choice was down to the two of them. She never thought that Narcissa could think of anyone besides herself, but she had tearfully admitted to her sister that she was pregnant, and the child was Lucius'. Bellatrix shrugged. The Malfoy money and the Malfoy name would have been nice, but it wasn't something she couldn't live without. When her mother asked her why she was distancing herself from Lucius, she couldn't betray her sister's trust. It wasn't that she cared about keeping the secret so much, as it would drive a wedge between their magic, and she wasn't about to cease to share magic with her sisters. It was what she lived for.
Bellatrix paused remembering, the complex and beautiful spells they formed together and abruptly caught herself. Keep thinking along those lines, and you'll have the whole colony of dementers down upon you, she thought. She had told her parents quite truthfully, that she wasn't ready for marriage. But she was a Black and from a long line of purebloods. And her parents weren't ready for that truth.
Bellatrix met Rodolphus again and again. They played so many pranks on Gryffindors and muggles that they lost count. Some of them were harmless, most were not. Their secret meetings intoxicated her. He was fun and funny and powerful. He told her he was a Death Eater, high in Voldemort's regard, and she believed him. He was used to following orders, hers as well as Voldemort's. Sometime he sometimes left her abruptly alone in the middle of their secret meetings, but he never left her bored. Finally, she refused to be left behind. She coaxed and cursed alternately until he grudgingly agreed for her to go with him killing aurors and muggles alike. She knew she could convince him and after a while, the salty tang of blood was better than the aphrodisiac she had brewed.
Finally, he took her with him to Lord Voldemort. The pain of the Dark Mark was unexpected, but once she touched his magic, she was transformed. It was pure power, and nothing else would suffice. She could take the pain as long as she had the magic too. She so needed the magic now. Tears streamed down her face in hot bitter tracks. She had so much, and now she had nothing. She even had to struggle to remember his magic, but she wouldn't let it be lost. Never.
She put her mouth over her mark, trying to taste some remnant of the magic in her mouth, and she wept because there was nothing there but a vague tattoo, which was slowly growing darker. Then without warning the Mark fired in her mouth and she tasted his magic exploding into her mouth, but not just his. It was sent by a woman—a girl really—a Weasley Bellatrix thought with surprise. She must be mistaken. The sign of the Mark was too powerful for a mere Weasley and it tasted of him. She pondered this long and hard. How could it happen? Were they sharing magic? Sharing sex? Perhaps she had just received the Mark and had not yet assimilated his magic. That seemed most likely. She realized that she had let the moment of fury pass her. The magic was gone and all was silent. No one had clamored from the cells "We are faithful! We will wait." The infinite silence returned only to be broken by an occasional moan or sob.
Bellatrix's mind went back to its wanderings. When he said, "Blood and magic mingled. You are mine." She believed him. She believed him with her whole heart and her whole soul. She knew he was right. She was his. The thought brought a feeling of satisfaction that she once may have labeled as joy, and she looked around anxiously for the dementers, but they were no where in sight at the moment. Maybe Rookwood had them in their box. Nonethelesss, she curbed her emotions.
"Her parents were looking for a husband for her, now that Lucius was so obviously enamoured of her sister, but she didn't want anyone else. If she couldn't have the Dark Lord himself, she wouldn't marry at all," she told her parents.
Even in memory, Bellatrix shuddered. Never had Carman's crucio been more vicious. "Well, if he was going to live forever, and his women weren't—" she had said—
Another curcio more vicious than the first struck her.
She didn't know how she returned to Hogwarts but she spent the week in the hospital wing. Trembling she imagined herself there now. She ached with almost as much pain, but the pain was mental: the pain of betrayal and loss. She was sure that Madame Pomfrey understood that what she was feeling were the residual effects of the crucio so long ago, but she decided to keep quiet about it. Bellatrix worried about Dumbledore knowing the curse came from her mother. What would he do to her parents if he believed they were abusive? She repented her actions. She was wrong. She should marry whomever they chose. She would still belong to the Dark Lord. Nothing would alter that she thought as she fingered the Mark. She sent her parents an owl and later that night, told Rodolphus of her decision. Here in this place devoid of magic, she touched her Mark and remembered and she marked another tally on the wall.
She had already laid her head down and closed her eyes. She heard the scratch scratch of the rats nearby, It had been a wonderful day. She knew he was alive. He was moving toward something. Three Marks within a month of each other—and then the burning stuck her left arm.
Another Mark had been sent. She was on her feet, desperate to go to him. The longing to apparate burned hotter than the Mark. "He's coming," she whispered. Over and over again, she simply whispered, "He's coming!" The sound echoed like a mantra through the facility. There were no dementers to bother them because Rookwood had gone to bed. She stayed wide awake throughout the night, marveling. There were two Dark Marks in one place within just a few hours of each other. There could be no doubt. He was moving.
==
"Do you know who your parents have chosen for you?" Rodolphus had asked..
"No."
"I have done a –task--a favor for Lord Voldemort," said Rodolphus. "He has asked me several times what I wish as my reward." He had moved his lips to her ear. "I would like to ask for you."
She remembered the moment so well. She had assessed his proposal. He was powerful and exciting. He was of her blood and position and they got along well together, which she supposed translated to, he did not think he could control her.
He was still looking at her, his voice low and even, he said, "We like the same things, crave the same excitement. I intend to be at his right hand."
She nodded, but with one correction. It would be her at Lord Voldemort's right hand, not him. She smiled and said "yes". His magic flowed into her hot and sweet. She remembered the moment, but not the magic. Not in this place of death.
Rodolphus was her choice—hers and Lord Voldemort's.
She closed her eyes and imagined his hands on her body. She pretended she was young and beautiful and desirable and a sudden chilling cold invaded her cell. The black things came sensing a bit of happiness within her.
"Rookwood,," she screeched. "Get them off of me."
"You looked positively wanton," he said. "The wanton skeleton. If the Dark Lord ever comes, he won't come for you. He will bury you, mistaking you for a dead muggle."
"Rookwood!"
They won't harm me as long as I touch their box," smirked Rookwood
"Rookwood!"
Bellatrix was not so lucky. The dementers were swarming now. The only reason she hadn't been kissed is because there were too many and they were crowding one another.
Rookwood stepped into her cell and locked the door behind him. "Life and death in one cell," he said pulling her close to him. "The only question is, I'm not sure which is which." Still holding the box, lowered his head to kiss her mouth. "Call me master," he said.
As his lips met hers, she wasn't sure his kiss was any better than the demanders. The eternal cold still lingered at her back. They crowded close, anxious to feed on her powerful feelings. With their cold maw at her neck and Rookwood's hot one at her lips, Bellatrix wondered how she had ever sunk so low. She wished for a knife to plunge into his heart.
She remembered Dumbledore teaching her. Dumbledore exasperated.
"Transfigure the mouse into a water goblet."
She had transfigured it into a dagger.
"Transfigure the guinea fowl into a crystal bowl."
She had transfigured it into a razor sharp stiletto, the bird's beady eyes still blinking in surprise, but the blade was wicked sharp and perfectly made. She liked knives. She rubbed her hands against Rookwood's chest, wanting the knife. Anywhere but here, she would have had it.
She felt his heart's fast even beating and she fantasized about it racing in fear of her, his whiny voice pleading and finally his warm blood spilling over her hands and she realized that she was for once far away from Axkaban. She bit down on the tongue in her mouth and tasted the metallic tang of blood. It tasted wonderful, and for one brief moment, life was good. She was fulfilled.
"You bitch!" Rookwood hauled back and struck her hard across the face. Her own blood mingled with his in her mouth. "You damned near bit my tongue off," he complained.
She raised her head a little higher, still clinging to him to protect herself from the dementers that were now in ecstasy, feeding on their high emotions.
"He will come for us," she said, "for me," she whispered, and Rookwood left her in disgust, but he took the demnters with him. The house elves didn't bring her any dinner that night, but it didn't matter. She wanted to savor the taste of his blood in her mouth. It was almost as good as magic.
No it wasn't, she argued with herself. "You have forgotten what magic tastes like, and that's why you are so willing to accept this meager substitution. Nothing tastes like magic. Nothing. Disgusted, she spat the blood out of her mouth on the cell floor. The starving rats came to feast on it. She marked another tally on the wall.
.
If he didn't come soon, there would be nothing of her to rescue, she thought. Whimpers and cries echoed through the darkened halls. "He will come and woe to you who were not faithful!" she shouted.
"Shut up Looney Lestrange," muttered Rookwood, "Or I'll set the dementers on you."
"I will see you in hell," she said, her eyes burning with malice. "She needed to curse something—anything. She needed to feel her power."
She marked another tally on the wall.
"So what to you want today, Bella. Some shampoo? Your hair is looking pretty ratty."
"A rat," she said. "Yes, that's it."
"A rat? You know you are as crazy as the loons in St. Mongos?" Why would you want a rat? I imagine you live with enough of them in here."
She raised her head a little higher, but didn't answer him.
"Ok," he laughed. "A rat it is." He touched her slimy dirty skin at her neck and said, "a rat and some soap. I want my woman cleaner than you are."
"I am not your woman," she said regally.
"I know," he smirked. "You are the Queen of Dark Magic.
"I am, " she agreed. "Someday you will know it."
He laughed at her and sent her soap and water. He did not send her a rat. When he came to her later that night, she wondered briefly what Rodolphus would think of her giving in to him—selling herself to him for a few little comforts. Rodolphus would understand survival, she thought She waited for another chance to bite him, but he didn't kiss her.
In the end, she caught one of the cell rats, by trapping it under the leggings Rookwood had given her last week. She wrapped the cloth around the rat's neck and slowly, ever so slowly strangled it, feeling its struggles. Crucio! She whispered. Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! She pretended that the suffering animal was Rookwood.
For just a moment she pretended it was The Dark Lord who had abandoned her, but then she realized what she was doing. How drastically she was betraying him, and she thrust her arm into the crazed rat's mouth. It bit down with a vengeance and she dropped it, her prey scampering away into a crack in the wall.
Two days later, her arm had swelled to three times its size and she was too sick to remain in her cell. She was taken to the infirmary to be healed. Ironic, she thought. Heal me, so that I can die a little bit at a time. That was exactly what she wanted to do with the rat. If she strangled it gently and carefully enough, she could revive it even without magic. Her own breath would be sufficient to revive it, but she had lost it. She didn't know how many days she was in the infirmary. Frantic, as they led her back to her cell, she realized she would lose track of her tallies.
"What day is it?" she begged first the medi-witch and then the guard.
"What difference does it make?" he asked "You're going to be here till you die, Bellatrix."
"I have to know. Please. Have pity. I want to remember my children's birthday. The day I first pulled magic from the elements. The day I met—my—my husband."
"All right. All right," agreed the guard. "It's October 31. Halloween." An alarm when off at his belt and he frowned.
Bellatrix sucked in her breath. "It's Halloween? Tonight?"
"Yes," said the guard and I get off duty in five minutes to go spend the holiday with my family," he said as he reset the wards and protections on her cell. "I hope this alarm isn't anything that makes me have to stay over time."
Bellatrix watched him go.
She knew the day with every drop of magic that had ever been in her. It was All Hallow's Eve. It was a night of celebration: a night of spells and revelry. It was the night her Dark Lord was taken from her. It was the night Laurel died.. She felt the void of her sister in the pit of her gut. Sometimes, it seemed that void was the only thing there anymore. There was nothing else. Nothing really to live for. Nothing to die for either. She paced the cell feeling unaccountably depressed.
She wished she could spend Halloween with her family. She wished so hard that she knew she knew in any air but Azkaban's, it would have become a reality. What were they doing on Halloween," she thought "What were they doing," and for the first time in her life, she knew exactly what they were doing. They were with her. Bellatrix was stunned into silence.
==
"Bellatrix," whispered Narcissa. "Sister!" and the little group became silent, but Bellatrix did not speak. She didn't want to disturb the wondrous mirage in front of her.
Lucius moved back a step with their son, nearly grown now, his white blonde hair like both his father and mother's. They allowed Carman to step closer to the cell. Narcissa threaded her hand through the bars and gripped her sister's hand. A whiff of magic passed through her fingers as her dead sister's husband struggled to open her cell. It was so fleeting so guarded, that Bellatrix was not sure she felt it. This was her sister. Memories of the times they had shared magic coursed through her. They had brought down buildings together. They had moved mountains. She felt the void that was Laurel and realized that Narcissa felt it more acutely. She was not used to the void.
"This one's a bit more complicated," Laurel's husband said as he worked on the lock of her cell. "You must have given them more trouble than most-Bellatrix."
"Of course," she said her voice low and rasping. It bothered her for a moment that she couldn't remember his name. He was a Ravenclaw. That much she remembered. A Ravenclaw with her Lord, for she had no doubt that her Dark Lord was here. Somewhere. Her heart was leaping in her chest. She must be dreaming again. Some of the elation left her. Of course it was a dream. It had to be. Did she really believe he would come for them? Why? They were not worth his time. She realized that now.
Where were the dementers? She wondered, looking fertilely over her shoulder, but they were no where in sight. Of course not, her joy was tempered by the realization that it had to be a dream. It was a nice dream, but a dream nonetheless. Another child was with them; a girl and Bellatrix remembered her sister Narcissa had also been pregnant when they had made the Longbottoms squirm. Was this her child? The child looked like neither her pale blonde sister nor the tall charming Lucius. The child, in truth, looked like a Weasley, but of course, that couldn't be—Well, dreams sometimes go off on strange tangents, she thought.
Is she yours" Bellatrix asked of her sister Narcissa but Narcissa choked and shook her head. "No. Our girl child is no more."
"Dead," thought Bellatrix. "Narcissa had given birth to a squb and it was dead. Dead by Longbottom's curse, and she remembered the night—The night that brought the Longbottom's to St. Mongo's and her to this hell and her sister's child to death--dead. How could a night with such promise end so disastrously?
She pushed the thought away. As long as she was dreaming, she had some choice over the dream, didn't she? So why think of the asshole aurors. Why think of Narcissa's dead squib?
So unlike her dark angels. A slow smile stretched across her face. Her children were alive and powerful. As long as she was dreaming, thought Bellatrix, she might as well see her sons. Belllatrix looked for them, her mind playing tricks on her. She was still imagining them at four years old, but though their faces were not recognizable, she recognized their magic. Her eyes settled on the two dark twins in front of her and she embraced them together, feeling their magic—the first magic she had felt in fifteen years. She nearly wept. What an awesome dream that would allow her to feel magic. She must be remembering, but what a remembrance! She buried her face in their hair like she had done when they were babies on her knee. The smell of their magic was so familiar. It was hers. Her magic and Rodolphus' mixed, but Ethan was more like her. She could smell the fire on him like a smoldering pit of magic. She could taste it, like she had tasted the Dark Mark he had sent one month and thirty days ago. "You," she said softly. "You sent the Dark Mark into the sky on September 1. My firstborn. My Ethan. And my Edward." The freshness of water and air was upon him. So compatible, she thought. So awesome together. She wondered if they had shared a spell yet, and remembered how jealously Carman guarded that secret when she and her sisters were young, but still, she smirked. They had found out. She had no doubt her sons would too.
Everything she had been musing upon was erased by His presence. She could barely breathe. She wanted to fall to her knees and kiss his robes. She wanted to curse him and rail at him for taking so long that she thought she was abandoned, but she looked into his eyes she remembered why she followed him.
He wore his magic around him like a cloak of darkness and within his eyes the fire elemental shone like the flames of hell. Nothing could stand against him. Nothing could touch him, and she was drawn like a moth to his flame. She remembered why she had gone to Azkaban. She remembered why she would cheerfully die for him. He was the embodiment of everything Slytherin. He was indeed Salazar reborn. She wanted desperately to touch him, but she did not dare.
"Bellatrix," The Dark Lord said softly, and she disentangled herself from her family, turning slowly, her eyes locked on his, she sank to her knees in front of him. She knew she needed to tell him of her weakness before he touched her. If he touched her, he would know. He would be angry. A part of her didn't care. Even his crucio would be welcome after the years of famine in this dread place.
"We were faithful, Master," she whispered, her voice rasping. "Rodolphus and I-Rodolphus?" She wanted to be regal and beautiful for him, but she was nothing. She was a beaten dirty criminal. The aurors had reduced her to this, and suddenly an old anger flared within her. She wanted them to die and now she was free. She could make them pay. "We were faithful," she whispered.
"I know," he said. "You and your husband were faithful, and great rewards will be yours."
What greater reward she thought is there but being alive and in your presence.
"Rodolphus -is he alive?"
"He is alive."
She noticed that her Lord did not elaborate and she didn't push him. She would see Rodolphus soon enough. She had to tell the Dark Lord about the times she had failed to be faithful. Perhaps she should even tell him about cursing the rat by strangulation. NO, she shivered. She would try to keep that one secret, she thought. She used to be good at this sort of ward. Just keep one little memory secret from him. Keep telling yourself about all the other memories and don't give that particular one a thought. That was how to do it.
She would have spoken again, but he held up his hand for her silence. "Think of what reward you want to be yours," he said. "You do not have to tell me your wishes now. Think about it."
"I have thought about it my Lord. It is all I have thought about-" Her mind went immediately to Rookwood and her hands clenched wanting nothing more than to curse him this minute for all of his tortures but most of all for making her want the luxuries.
Her Dark Lord turned her palm upright in his own hand and traced the furrows there. "What happened here?" he asked, looking at the deep scars etched into her hands. There was such gentleness in his touch. She had never remembered him being gentle with anyone, certainly not with her, but she was not a woman who appreciated gentleness. It was strength she craved.
"Sometimes when the dementers-" She thought about explaining, but their was no explanation. She decided to be blunt. It was better that way. "Sometimes, I failed." She said.
She licked her lips furtively, looking at the ground, expecting any minute to be punished. She would feel his magic, she thought with a rush, and then she remembered that even the great Dark Lord could not do magic here on Azkaban, but it would come. She would feel his wrath. She was not afraid. After so long without magic, she didn't care what form it took. Pain or joy or just a simple cooking spell would be heaven to her.
"I gave in to the despair," she said. "I thought you had abandoned us," There she had said it. She had told him that she didn't believe. It was better that the truth came straight from her mouth than to have him extract it from her head. She knew this much from experience. She kept nothing from him except perhaps the depth of her despair. The words came in a rush. " I knew such thoughts were dangerous. It was wrong-punishable-but I had no magic-No way to repair--my broken dreams-"
"I see," said Lord Voldemort, tracing the furrows with his own scarred finger and doing something so surprising, so totally unexpected, that she stared in disbelief. H e reached into his pocket and pulled out his own small jar of silvery ointment. He put two of his own fingers into the jar and pulled out a bit of it and spread it carefully on her hands. The scars disappeared immediately. Only phoenix ointment would do that and phoenix was unaccountably expensive and because it was from a "light" bird it was generally not even available at Knockturn. She knew what a gift he had given her, and she was amazed.
"You know now, if I could have come sooner, I would have." He said, his voice as soft as a lovers. She was completely undone. "It was as if he was apologizing—apologizing to her!"
"Yes, Master," she said. Thinking anything he wanted of her—Anything. --in life or death—was his.
He reached out to her and she leaned against his hand as he drew a finger down the side of her cheek. She felt his magic, just for her. His mouth creased into a smile as he caught the total devotion in her thoughts. "You are forgiven," he said, and Bellatrix breathed again..
Once his touch was withdrawn from her mind she felt bereft. Needy. It was not a feeling she was used to. He seemed to sense it, and would have spoken, but she pulled herself out of it. She had prepared for this day. She would stand proud. He smiled at her and then turned to greet the others.
A man as great as he could not be bound. She had waited. She would continue to wait. Her time would come.
She needed to get a hold of herself. To remember who she was. Her eyes were drawn to the sea. The spray was cold off of the ocean, but the magic itself was the temperature she wanted it to be, without further thought she left her family and waded into the ocean to find herself.
For just a moment she felt the frigid water and the she felt only magic. It was elusive and so far away, but it was there. Unlike Azkaban, the magic was here. She dug deep within herself using her will and her power to gain mastery over it and call it to herself. In a moment, she had it, water fell through her fingers and then she dragged a little more power out of the element finding the fire. The sound of the sparks hissing against the water was like a lullaby. She remembered Carman drowning her flames so often when she was a child, but no longer. Her control was impeccable.
""Mistress?"
She turned on it in fury. Flinging the hot magic in her hands upon it. How dare this elf interrupt her! "What is it, creature!" she snapped. Another part of her was amazed with the fact that she had house elves again. Loyal house elves would do her bidding as they did the bidding of countless generations of Blacks, and Doogles, and Lestranges.
"Kreature comes to take Mistress away from here. Mistress must go to the Snow Castle," he said, hesitantly holding out his hand. "Mistress must, touch Kreature.
"What is the meaning of this?" she thought, and her mother apparently sensing her confusion came forward. She wanted to hug her mother like she did her sons. It was not through sentimentality that she wanted to touch her. She wanted desperately to feel her magic. The deep, sweet taste she had felt from her son and Voldemort was not nearly enough. She felt like she had been starved for fourteen years and was desperate to make up for lost time. She wanted to dance around and beg someone to play quit with her. She nearly giggled at the thought, the magic she still held sparking and sizzling like a schoolgirl's magic.
"Bellatrix," said Carman. "The wards do not allow prisoners to leave. Your magical essence is recognized by the ward. The creature's magic will protect you. Isn't that what house elves do? Protect and serve their masters?"
"I have to touch it?" asked Bellatrix, showering sparks which blew in the wind and igniting briefly and then fizzling into nothingness on the barren rock of Azkaban.
Narcissa moved forward. The ever-practical Narcissa would probably tell her to do a dying spell on her robe before she caught a cold.
Instead, Narcissa pulled a wand from her robe and handed it to her sister. "I was going to wait to give it to you," she said, brushing the sparks which were smoldering on her own robe. "But I think you need it already."
Bellatrix took the wand carefully, as if it were the last glass of water in a steaming desert. As she wrapped her hand around it, she smiled. "How can this be?" she said. "Mine was broken—Wait—it's Laurel's, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Narcissa. "I had it shortened by an inch—"
Bellatrix turned waded back into the frigid water.
"Mistress?" The house elf was still waiting for Valeriana to touch it and apparate.
She looked at the house elf and then she looked around the shoreline. Her eyes were drawn back to the Dark Lord, busy in conference with some of his Death Eaters. He needed her, Bellatrix thought. She realized that she was not the only one with an abhorrence of touching house elves. A number of the freed Death Eaters and even some of those who had come willingly, were hesitant to touch the house elves.
Her Dark Lord didn't even realize there was a problem. She remembered what had made her indispensable to him now. She looked at the creature, some of her abhorrence disappearing. She would be indispensable again. She gathered the tiny remnants of magic around herself and stood a little taller. She remembered who she was. Bellatrix Black Lestrange. With a flourish, she raised her hands above her head. She didn't have the energy for the fire elemental to come and sizzle from her fingertips, but it didn't seem to matter. All eyes were on her.
"I told you he would come for us!" She looked around at them accusing. Remembering all those who called her Loony Lestrange and told her to shut up. She would have her revenge, she promised herself, but not yet. Not here.
"Today, He has come for us!"
Some of the freed Death Eaters turned to listen to her.
"He has come at last," she continued. "I will not fail him. Who is with me?"
While all eyes were on her, she conquered her distaste, took several steps out of the water and turned to Kreature.
Yes, she thought. She would go to the Snow Castle, and she would never be without magic again. Her eyes settled on the Dark Lord who had turned to watch her, a smile creasing his face.
She spoke in a loud voice. "Take me where the Dark Lord wishes, creature," she said holding out her hand. Her eyes however, never left the blazing red eyes of the Dark Lord.
==