Note from MOI: I still don't like Charlie. Or Harry. (No offence charlotte! Remember I gave you Ralph's right eye! And arse…) But anyway, I just wanna clear something up…

1) RALPH FIENNES ROCKS MY SOCKS and shall rule this earth forever. May his evil, usually deformed characters roam my dreams for eternity…

and

2) Callie died because she was only immortal as in she didn't age…like elves. You know, in LOTR. Can be slain in battle or die of a broken heart. Well Callie could be slain in battle. And she was. Sad, really. Callie was ME!Moving on…

Chapter 3

Bellatrix Lestrange was standing in her bedroom, staring at her left forearm. Her husband was lying partially naked on the bed, grunting in his sleep. She looked at him and sneered. He was nothing compared to the Dark Lord, nothing at all. She had no need of him.

She was wearing nothing but a thin silk dressing gown, tied tightly round the waist. She took her right hand and gently stroked the Dark Mark, which had faded now, and had been faded for seven months, since the Dark Lord's death. Bella could not begin to understand how or why he died, but she would never let herself believe the incessant ramblings of her mad sister.

There was no way she would think that in his last moments, her one and only Lord had succumbed to his senses and destroyed himself, leaving her alone in this world. She had loved him, and she had no doubt that he had loved her back.

Since his death, she had moved from Death Eater to Death Eater, rousing their spirits, urging them to follow up Voldemort's work with. But it was no use.

Craven as they were, no one would follow. They all came out of their shells, claimed they were under the Imperius Curse or worse, were blackmailed by the Dark Lord himself, frightened into performing his great acts.

Bellatrix was disgusted. She remained, as ever, his only faithful servant, and every day since the day he died, she had cut one scar into her right arm, trying to channel all her emotional pain into physical pain, dulling her senses, making her fit for his profound design.

She alone would bring back the Dark Lord Voldemort's power, she alone would see fit to carry on where he left off, take over his role, be his Lady as he had been her Lord.

She scowled as her husband rolled over in bed, stirring, just to look over at her suggestively.

"Hey beautiful, come join me over here…" he leered at her figure in the gown.

She walked over to the dressing table where her wand lay. She picked it up, and twirled it around her fingers, all the while staring at her husband. He was useless. She did not need him. Then, a voice echoed in her head.

"Do it Bella, do it my love."

She knew it was him, invading her mind, where he had always been. She could hear him now, it must be right, if he wished it of her…she smiled insanely, so euphoric that her husband frowned at her expression. He got up and walked over to her.

"Bella, what's going on?" he shook her out of her stupor, and she looked on his face, hatred blazing in her eyes.

"He wants me to kill you." She sneered.

"What?"

"The Dark Lord is all powerful, and he wants you gone. He wants you gone so we can be together, together forever." She spoke as if in a trance, the ecstatic smile breaking out over her features once more.

Her husband backed away, hands raised, eyes frantically searching for his own wand, when suddenly, she picked up with her free hand.

"Come on Bella, what are you doing, think what you're saying! He's dead, we don't have to do that crap anymore, he's gone, we're free."

"FREE? You speak of the Lord as though he was a burden!" she screamed two more words, and when she looked down, she realised she had killed him with his own wand. This amused her greatly.