Chapter Two -- Cure
"Excuse me, Bellatrix?" growled Voldemort in his high-pitched voice.
"Just wondering whether you're lonely," replied Bellatrix innocently, "You may barely be human, but don't think you could ditch emotion all together."
"Silence, Bella!" Voldemort whirred around and pointed his wand at the witch. Bellatrix flinched and reached for her wand, yet knew there was no need. She had what her lord needed, and killing her might just break it.
"Bit touchy, are we?" she replied defiantly. Voldemort raised his wand more. "You couldn't kill me, not without the bottles."
"You're pushing it!" the snake-man screamed
"Okay, okay, now just put the wand away," she said calmly. Voldemort lowered the rough wooden stick. "Just answer me one question, my lord. Why is it that you suddenly rushed over to that old muggle desk the moment you sensed my arrival."
"Keep your nose out of matters that aren't yours, Lestrange!"
"Black is the name now."
"Are you so soon to abandon your husband? Just like those who abandoned me? And take on the name of your cousin Sirius?"
"It's just a name, no need for a tantrum." Bellatrix smiled at the lord. She had always been rather naughty with him, like the way a young girl is with her father. Voldemort almost was her father, helping her out of a lot of dark situations before. She often wondered whether she owed him more than her slightly rude treatment, until she realized that Voldemort enjoyed her snide remarks. She then understood why he never scolded her harshly; it was that he needed someone to treat him as a human, rather than some god, some devil. Bellatrix wondered if she was the reason Voldemort never cracked under pressure, or if her giving of human emotions would lead him to a meltdown. Either way, the only answer to the question was to sit and watch. If her lord were to die, she would flee. If her lord survived, she would ascend the rankings; perhaps she would even become his queen, his Persephone. Bellatix was always his favorite. She laughed at the thought.
"So why suddenly so lonely?" Bellatrix poked again at her master. She knew the true reason; she could see the feeling of lost love in his eyes. What she didn't know was who could it might be. Could it be Bellatrix herself?
"Didn't we already go over this?" retorted Voldemort
"I never got my answer."
"You don't need one."
"So does that mean you're admitting loneliness?" Bellatrix raised an eyebrow mischievously and let out a small smile.
"Childish mind games," muttered the dark lord, "Bella, I will not answer your silly questions. Now give to me what you have fetched and leave."
"So soon to end the party?" the mischievous woman let out a small pouty face. "Come on, you can tell me! I've only been your loyal servant for, how many years is it now?"
"Too many."
"See, you have the ability to be charming and witty!" Bellatrix lightly pushed him on the arm. Voldemort twitched darkly, shuddering from the touch. Nobody had touched him for far too long, dozens of years. Bellatrix's kind expression changed to one of confusion at the white-faced man. He felt embarrassed, another odd emotion which he wasn't used to feeling. He turned his face away and walked across the room to where Bellatrix couldn't see his confusion. The memories of love past suddenly filled him, which he had suppressed for so long. He brought his hand to his forehead, steadying his shaking body, covering his eyes, tears trying to break free. But he couldn't! He wouldn't! Stop, he commanded himself, Stop!
"What?" Bellatrix seemed concerned. Voldemort didn't notice that his last "Stop" had been uttered aloud. "Stop what?" asked the curious woman.
"Nothing, nothing." Voldemort muttered again.
"If you weren't the most wanted man in the wizarding world, I would suggest therapy." Bellatrix crossed her arms at the troubled man. "But, that's thoroughly impossible. I'm the next best thing. So just tell me, what is wrong?"
"Haven't I answered this question too many times?" Voldemort's temper was rising at the nosy minx, "The answer is nothing, and I don't think these questions are respectful at all. Give me the bottles and go, Bella! I have no more wish to see you!"
"I want to help you."
"I don't want your help. How many times must I command you to leave before I have to force you out?" He drew his wand, even though he had no intention to curse her. He hoped she didn't know and she would leave him and his forlorn memories in peace.
"I cannot do that." Bellatrix sighed, scared of her master's wrath. "I am the only person in this world who truly cares about you, and I want nothing more than to help you. I can see that you have been distant lately and I know that something is wrong. Tell me, my lord, and we can fix this!"
Voldemort turned away again. He had never heard such words in his ears. So many new thoughts had come tonight, his brain felt like an unstable cauldron, ready to explode with such inexperienced ingredients. He felt the exact spots on his back where Bellatrix's eyes were boring into. He knew she wouldn't look away or go away until he gave her some kind of closure or he simply killed her. The second was no option, he knew, she was too special to him. Wait, special? Did I just think that? Voldemort couldn't believe the feelings that were entering his mind now.
Bellatrix, staring at him just as Voldemort thought, was equally confused about his emotions. Surely he feels regret about the recent events, but I didn't know he was so sensitive about so much, she thought to herself, perplexed with Voldemort's condition. She did know that he felt some kind of feeling now; there was no way to mask the heart. Perhaps I'm just surprised, thought the woman. Nobody had ever seen this side of Voldemort. Very few, perhaps even her among them, even believed this side existed. Voldemort was barely a human being, especially after his rather sick rebirth. But now she saw the emotions, which had been capped off since some faithful day when he broke the chain, emotions that nobody but she would ever see again.
"Is that your father?" Bellatrix approached the mossy painting at the wall, "He does seem to look a bit like you. Well, a bit like the old you, I guess."
"Yes, that's him," muttered the dark lord, not turning back to face her, "The filthy muggle who chucked me in an orphanage the moment he knew my squib of a mother wasn't like him."
"Well you've definitely defied the old saying 'Like father, like son!'" Bellatrix chuckled and stared as hard as she could at the man in the painting. It was a dark room, and you could barely see because of the moss, but it was a very well done painting, especially for a muggle painter. She stared and stared, knowing that Voldemort will have to say something. She was right.
"This emotion," he hissed softly, "Loneliness. If I were to admit that it plagues me, then could you just tell me how to banish it, give me the bottles, and go?"
"A tough price," Bellatrix turned to face him, yet he was still turned away, "But one I may comply to. So, are you going to admit it?"
Voldemort paused. Things like this weren't meant to be admitted, particularly by a man such as him. "Yes."
Bellatrix smiled. "The first step to solving your problem is admitting it. But there is but one way to cure loneliness. And I don't think it's something you fancy very much."
"And what would that be?"
"Love," she responded plainly.
Voldemort shivered. Love was the reason he was reduced to a hideous form, hovering between life and death for thirteen years. It was a false charm that had destroyed his heart when he was young, and destroyed his body that faithful day. Voldemort turned around and stared at the witch who had uttered that cursed word. "Love?" he spat.
"You heard me."
He was silent and turned back toward the wall. Bellatrix walked up behind him, her heart shaking with each pace. When she reached him, she placed a soft hand on his shoulder. He gasped again, yet Bellatrix held on. "You cannot push this away anymore. Your heart and soul are in pieces. And we cannot heal that. But we can mask the pain."
Voldemort turned around and looked at her. She was a very beautiful woman. His eyes looked at her caringly, a look he had only given to one other person, so long ago. They stared and didn't say a word. And not a word was needed as they slowly moved closer, and their lips came together for a kiss.
The fire awakened. The dark lord yelled in pain and grabbed the witch, throwing her against the wall. What is love? Love is pain! Nothing would ever change that in Lord Voldemort's mind. He again walked to the corner of the room, steaming at that conniving little witch who lit the fire.
Bellatrix sat in a heap on the floor, hurt in ways she didn't imagine. She brushed the dust off herself, slowly massaging a bruise on her leg. She walked over swiftly.
"Here is what you have been seeking. The castle was empty and easily to break into." She protruded five bottles from her shadowy robes; two of which seemed to have looser corks, three of them seemed to be closed tighter than Voldemort's heart.
"Thank you, Bella. You may go."
"Oh no, I intend to watch these with you. I've always wanted to know the secret thoughts Dumbledore cares to look back on in his pensive. Maybe they might even reveal your little secret." She winked cheerfully, a wink of forgiveness at her abuser.
Voldemort paused. There was no convincing her. "Very well, Bella."
"I sensed many of them concerning you. But like you asked, I only took the ones which were straight from Dumbledore's mind. Have you a pensive?"
Voldemort walked over to a bookshelf and pulled out the clear white bowl used to view memories past. He sighed and brought it to the desk.
"Let the fun begin!" Bellatrix uncorked the first bottle.
