Harry watched from the portrait as Ron and Hermione searched the room. He tried to move, to flutter a wing, bat an eyelid. Not happening at all. (He knew this would happen! Somehow he knew! And now he's gone, I'm trapped, and call me pessimistic, but I bet the two Aurors who were outside the door were the only ones who knew about this spell… Ron, Hermione?)

"I told you! No sign of him! You don't think he, that he…"
Hermione shook her head, "No Ron, I don't think he had the time… Harry got away. If he hadn't… which he did! Stop looking at me like that Ron! He got away! But if he hadn't we'd know. There'd be more signs of a struggle. …besides, this is Harry's wand, and from what Harry told me, …if he'd been killed, Voldemort would have taken it, as a trophy."
Ron nodded, eyes scanning the room as if he expected Harry to be lying in a corner. "…so he's not dead, where is he then?"
Hermione sighed. "…Ron, if I knew that, would I still be looking for clues?" she turned away from Ron's sputtering protests, scanning the room again, her eyes once more settling on the picture. "…you know there's something strange about this… this picture is the only thing in here. Why?"
Ron shook his head. "I'm no art critic, but this picture seems in pretty poor taste to me. I mean, maybe it stands for something, or maybe the artist wasn't quite there… but its just plain ugly!"
Hermione stopped and gave him a look. "…Not an art critic, eh?"
Ron blushed, "…well everyone's entitled to their opinion… it blinked!"
"What?"
"It just blinked at me! I swear it!"
"..Maybe you should sit down Ron…"
"No, I swear that it… it did it again!"
"Ron! Stop it!"
"Look! Look!"

Harry blinked like a madman, (oh please oh please oh please…) Hermione looked, her eyes grew wide, and then she laughed. "Oh, of course it blinked Ron! This is the wizarding world! It should be doing a lot more than just blinking!"
Ron stopped, nodded, "...I, well of course your right… I don't know what…" he looked at the portrait again. "…still, I get this feeling…"
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "There must be something special about this picture, it's the only object in the room. Take it off the wall, we'll go ask some of the other wizards what they think."

Tiger and Cobra entered the new base unchallenged. Not far off, a group of twenty in robes were being led by a member of the first circle. They ran off in arch formation, wands at the ready. Field combat. In another direction the wards were being strengthened, warning spells put in place. A Draft horse fell into stride beside them, she tossed her head in greeting, the tiger snarled a reply, and all became human once more as they passed the final barriers. Bellatrix smiled, but it was strained. Anything that was straightforward taxed her now, the act of behaving sanely too much for her eroded mind to bare.
"My lord, the keep is prepared, drills continue as usual. We have spies out at the borders. Other than that, nothing to report." Voldemort nodded, eyes distant and focused. But he tiredly extended a hand and she took it instantly, pressing it against her cheek, closing her eyes to savor the touch. Lucius furrowed his nose, lips curling in poorly concealed disgust.
"…Such fawning, is rather 'repulsive' Bella. I don't even understand why it is allowed. I would be soiled, having you so close."
Her eyes snapped open and turned on him murderously. "Be still! Who are you to speak in our lord's presence? Strutting fop! Only I am loyal, only I am deserving! What know you of pain? Of sacrifice! You do not know loyalty till you have suffered as I! And suffered for HIM! You would never! You would…"

Voldemort's hand had moved. It slid from her cheek to rest demandingly over her throat. A slight pressure, a reminder of her place.
"Bella, who are you to judge worth? Who deserves? I believe that privilege is mine, or not …would you challenge me Bella..?"
She looked up with wide unhinged eyes, trembling from roughly constrained emption. "Forgive! Forgive my lord! Never! I have never betrayed! I trust! I follow! Do not hate me my lord! Do not hate me!" She turned on Lucius again. "You! You do not deserve to see him! He is too good for you! Traitor! Betrayer! Backstabbing..."

…He whispered it so gently, like a lover whispers to their heart, only he could say it with such affection, the soft whisper of the Cruciatus from the Dark Lord's tongue.

She screamed, yes she screamed, and lay trembling at his feet, and called out. Lucius drew away, his amusement plain. He knew that Voldemort would take his side, and took pleasure in being proved right. The dark lord looked on silently, unmoved by the form shrieking and clawing at his feet. Then he let her go.

"…my…lord, ..do not… hate…" she pulled herself up, threw herself upon his legs, "…do not… please… please…" she shuddered, trembled, muscles spasming, eyes wild.
…And he bent down, and took her grasping hands, though she still clawed, and her nails pierced the skin and the blood flowed, he let her press his bleeding palms to her face. His eyes met hers, held her there, and one finger stroked a lock of gritty hair from her face. And she cried, and cried, like a soul saved from hell… "thank you, thank you, thank you."