Bellatrix studied herself in her mirror at her parents' house. Was she appropriately dressed for blowing up a row of shops in the Midlands, she wondered? She smirked. Yes. Her leggings and boots and tunic and skirt spelled danger. She looked like a soldier today.

She looked like his soldier today.

She tipped her head up as she braided her hair over one shoulder and tied it with a leather lace. She pulled her wand from the holster at her hip and held it steadily in her right hand. She shut her eyes and imagined the place where she was going - Weobley, Herefordshire. It was a picturesque little village full of Tudor houses and shops leaning on one another. And Bellatrix was going to blow it all up. She imagined Weobley, squeezing her eyes shut, and she Disapparated.

When she came to, she was standing in the middle of a sunny side street, empty as far as Bellatrix could see. She was in front of a house with a blue door and flowers in boxes out the front windows. Bellatrix aimed her wand at the flowers and withered them with a muttered spell, giggling to herself as the flowers died. She skipped a bit down the road as she made her way toward the bustle of the high street she could hear. She hummed as she skipped, thinking to herself that she was going to find the best-positioned Muggle automobile and blow it to bits. She was so looking forward to the sound of breaking glass, to the fires, to the screams, to the -

"Bellatrix Black?"

She froze. She whirled around, her wand aimed out before her.

"Expelliarmus!"

Bellatrix's wand went soaring out her hand and zoomed toward a middle-aged witch who stood up the hill, up where Bellatrix had just come from. Beside her were three wizards, one in his twenties and two much older. Bellatrix glared at them and said angrily,

"Give me back my wand."

"Miss Black," trilled the witch, a Scottish woman Bellatrix didn't recognise, as she tucked Bellatrix's wand away, "Ye will be coming with us."

"I very well will not!" Bellatrix exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just who do you think you are?"

But she knew. They were Aurors. Of course they were; who else could they be. Rather shockingly, though, the witch answered her,

"I'm Gavina Robertson from the Department of Mysteries. These three wizards are Aurors. And ye will be coming with us, lass."

The Department of Mysteries? Bellatrix panicked. She whirled to her right and tried to Disapparate, but it was hopeless without a wand. She wasn't powerful enough for that sort of wandless magic. Two of the wizards laughed at her as she tried fruitlessly to leave, except for the eldest man, who glared at her with savage hatred. He aimed his wand at her and said in a low, booming sort of voice,

"Stupefy!"

Bellatrix flew backward and hit the cobblestones, and then everything went black and quiet.

"Is the prisoner secured?"

"These ropes have been Conjured with good, solid magic. She's not going anywhere."

"And she's been dosed with potion to knock her out cold?"

"She should be unconscious for some time, yes."

Bellatrix could hear the voices talking, but she couldn't do anything to make them stop. She couldn't move. She couldn't open her eyes. She tried to scream, but that didn't work, either. She tried to call out through her Dark Mark for her master, but of course that did nothing. A long while later, she heard some more voices.

"What's that pale pink mark upon her forearm?"

"It's his mark. He puts it on his followers."

"Have we tried activating it in some way?"

"No; we think that will call him here, and that's the last thing we want - to give away her location."

"Right."

Bellatrix tried her damndest to shriek, to call out, to thrash her arms and legs wildly where she lay. She was in some sort of bed, she came to realise. She was lying on some sort of uncomfortable bed to which she was lashed by a few strong Incarcerous Spells. Bellatrix tried to sit up, failed, and frustratedly growled inside her mind. She listened as the voices around her - one being the Scottish witch, Robertson - talked to one another.

"Remind me, Robertson, what precipitated the capture of Miss Black."

"We had a prophecy delivered, Mr Parker. A few months ago. It was quite clear. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley, at three in the afternoon after the first sunrise of April. Her nearness to him must you fear with your might. The nearer she grows to him, the stronger he becomes. To vanquish his Darkness, she must be torn asunder from him. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley."

"You've been sitting on that prophecy for months without telling us about it?" asked Parker, and Robertson replied,

"We had to figure out what it meant, Mr Parker - that is, the Department of Mysteries had to determine that the prophecy needed to be passed on to the Aurors, and I worked with them to determine who was being referenced in the prophecy."

"And? You figured out that it was Bellatrix Black?" asked Parker.

"Well. Albus Dumbledore figured it out, or knew. He told Holbrook and Seacombe, after they visited him to ask for advice on the matter. He said that the witch who was most loyal to Lord… to him was Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix wanted to scream more than ever from where she lay. Albus Dumbledore? A prophecy? What was this madness? She had been prophesied to strike Weobley on the first of April, and that same prophecy described her the same way the Dark Lord's prophecy had done. The nearer she was to him, the stronger he would be. If she was separated from him, he would flounder and fail.

And these villains, Bellatrix thought to herself, had done everything they could to make sure Voldemort would fail. They had separated Bellatrix from him and lashed her to a bed somewhere. Where she was, she had no idea. But she knew that she was somewhere chilly, and somewhere that smelled like cold stone. She blinked her eyes open at long last and found herself staring at a black tile ceiling.

The Ministry of Magic. She was inside the Ministry of Magic. She knew that much, because her own father had told her that the interior of the Ministry was tiled dark. She stared up at the black tiles and listened as Robertson trilled to Parker,

"She's been here for thirteen hours now, and he hasn't come. We don't suppose he will -"

"Robertson," barked a new voice, and Bellatrix tried to sit up again to see what was going on. She heard someone say, "We've got to move her; it isn't safe here. Word is he's mobilising soldiers for an attack on the Ministry in the morning."

He was coming for her. Bellatrix grinned to herself and said in a hoarse voice,

"He's coming for me."

"What's that, girl?" burred Robertson, striding over quickly. She glared down at where Bellatrix was strapped to the table and then looked over her shoulder. "She's woken up. Get me more of the potion."

"Just Stupefy her again; we're going to move her," said the voice from the doorway. Bellatrix squirmed where she lay and said again,

"He's coming for me."

"Silence, girl!" Robertson aimed her wand at Bellatrix. Suddenly there was a bright green flash of light, and then the wizard, Parker, let out a horrified yell. Another green flash of light burst forth, and Bellatrix wondered what the blazes was going on. Robertson whirled round and aimed her wand at some unseen enemy, and then Bellatrix heard it.

His voice. His voice.

"I wouldn't do that, Miss Robertson. Put the wand down."

"Get out of this Ministry, you terrible old -"

"Right, then. Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort incanted the Killing Curse almost boredly, and Robertson slumped down, her head socking against the tiled wall as she fell. Voldemort quickly approached the bed where Bellatrix had been trapped, and he stared down at her with wide eyes.

"Emancipare," he incanted, and Bellatrix felt all of her bindings loosen and snap. She tried to sit up, but she couldn't. She shook her head a little and said helplessly,

"I can't move, Master."

"They dosed you with Paralysing Potion," he nodded knowingly. He scooped Bellatrix off the bed and into his arms, and he murmured, "I knew something was amuck when you didn't report back to me an hour or so after you were meant to carry out the attack. When night fell and still there was nothing, I went to your parents' house. They hadn't seen you. I went to the village. Nothing. No signs of an attack. I knew something was horribly wrong. And I knew you must be here, at the Ministry."

"Where am I?" Bellatrix asked, but then she answered her own question as he carried her out into a strange-looking corridor. "The Department of Mysteries. How did you know, Master?"

"Abraxas Malfoy got a tip from a coworker that Gavina Robertson and some Aurors were hunting down Bellatrix Black because of a prophecy that had been made."

He carried Bellatrix through an odd circular room and out into a vestibule, then through to a bank of lifts.

"Where's all the fighting?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort scoffed gently.

"What fighting?" he asked. "It's three in the morning." He walked into a lift with her and pushed a button, and suddenly they were rocketing upward. Bellatrix shut her eyes, curled up against Voldemort, and muttered,

"She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley, at three in the afternoon after the first sunrise of April. Her nearness to him must you fear with your might. The nearer she grows to him, the stronger he becomes. To vanquish his Darkness, she must be torn asunder from him. She who is most loyal to the Dark Lord will strike in Weobley."

"Was that it? Was that their prophecy?" Voldemort asked, sounding just a little anxious as he stepped out of the lift into the vast, empty Atrium. Bellatrix nodded against him and whispered,

"They'll keep chasing me, My Lord. I'm a liability."

"You are a necessity, Bella." He sighed as he made his way toward the area where he could Disapparate. He reminded her, "There have now been two prophecies which insist that with you, I am successful and without you, I am a failure. There have now been two separate prophecies which dictate that you stay near me, and that you stay mine, if I am to reign the way I desire. I won't have you going on solo missions anymore, and about that I'm certain you're very disappointed. But we mustn't have you getting captured."

He Disapparated from the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and when he came to outside of Malfoy Manor, he adjusted his hold on Bellatrix and looked down at her. He shook his head and walked up toward the manor, saying,

"It would be the very worst thing for me in all the world, Bellatrix, to lose you now. It would be the worst thing imaginable. And so it simply must not happen, you understand? Hmm?"

"Yes, Master," she replied. She felt some of the feeling coming back to her arms and legs, though certainly not enough to walk, and she mumbled, "I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing, Bella. It was just a few people to get rid of to get you back. But I mustn't lose you again. Ever. Under any circumstances. At all. So I won't."

He pinched his lips and stared ahead determinedly, and Bellatrix could read in his eyes that he meant it. He was not going to lose her again. She just had no idea what that meant, and what sort of prison she'd have to live in to accommodate the prophecies.

Author's Note: Oh, my. So, Bellatrix's plot to blow up the Midlands really didn't go as planned. Lucky Voldemort got to her within a day, but it's like she says - what does this mean for her going forward? What is Voldemort going to insist upon in order to ensure that he doesn't lose Bellatrix again? Big changes are coming in Bella's life.

Thank you so very much for reading. If you get a quick second to review, I'd be very grateful. I can't tell you how thankful I am for those who have left feedback so far.