A/N – heya! This chap is a bit early, but I was in the mood to write! So, lots of questions answered, but NOT the end of the fic! Hope you like it. Wonder how many of you saw it coming? Many thanks to all my lovely reviewers!! Also love to all the people who have put this story on alert because it shows appreciation. mutters Reviews would be nice though. Let me know how you felt this one went.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.

The shattered spell

The bleak sun beat down on the naked terracotta earth and the white hot olive leaves. Bellatrix Black stalked between the arid groves, her hand shading her eyes, squinting in the glare. A little wizened prune of a Greek man watched her inquisitively whilst his mule contemplated the meaning of life. She was too rich, too pale, too full and too soft for this dry atmosphere; the gentle swish of her dress spoke of the patter of far off rain; the blackness of her shadow came from another world. Around this weather queen the heat buzzed with cicadas, their whine grating on her narrow nerves. She kept her eyes on the ground, surveying the unforgiving earth intently whilst small black olives waved in the non-existent breeze above her head. Suddenly she exclaimed at a flash of movement, dropped to her knees and shot her hand out. She grasped the small brown lizard; it dropped its tail in a frantic attempt at escape, but her grip was unrelenting and she lifted it off the hot dust to her eye level. It blinked dimly at her and she smiled, turned on her heel and vanished with a bang.

The little Greek considered. He felt he should go home and tell his wife about the new dark goddess of the olive groves. But the sun was high and the shade slim, and the donkey was settling beneath some bushes, offering its hot side as a tempting pillow. Sighing he lay back and settled his hat over his eyes. His wife would still be there in the cool evening, after all.

In her potions room Bellatrix slid a knife down the lizard's side and skilfully located the heart. As the creature thrashed wildly she flicked the blade and the small organ leapt from its home onto her table. The lizard finished its dying throes and she studded the tiny heart with three cloves before dropping it into the blue potion bubbling in the cauldron over the fire. She stirred it four times clockwise and it hissed, shot steam and slid into a purlply pink. She paused to consult the book on her workbench and smiled to herself. It had to sit for several hours, and then only one more ingredient and her potion would be finished.

It had not been easy to make, but she was a dedicated mother. She needed to help Harry, and she had decided on this potion because it made the drinker aware of any spells they came into contact with. And Bellatrix Black was now totally convinced that Harry was under a spell. Over the past week he had suffered from inexplicable nightmares. He was dissatisfied with a life that had contented him for fifteen years, he clearly yearned for other company (and this hurt her immensely), he showed an incredibly limited interest in learning the dark arts and had pestered her non-stop for his own owl. When she demanded to know who he wanted to write to he had flatly refused to tell her and when she probed his mind his mental defences were stronger than usual. She could have broken through them, but she didn't want to risk hurting him.

And so, the next day, Bellatrix Black ladled the key to ending her desperation and despair into a beaten silver cup and swilled the liquid promise carefully. She took the same knife which had serviced the lizard and jabbed her finger, wincing at the pain. Her blood ran warm and rich down the tip and into the goblet, personalising the potion. It shot a tongue of flame to the ceiling, then settled down to a slow blue burn and she gulped it down whilst it stillblazed, like a flaming shot. The warmth enveloped her throat and slid through her chest, until it rested perceptibly in her belly, filling her with an enthralling heat. She gasped, and grabbed the table as her knees threatened to give a way. The heat spread again, through her torso, down her legs, making them wobble. Waves of fire washed down her arms until she felt that flames would shoot off her finger tips. Finally the heat rose up, into her head, in a sudden rush which made her feel faint. The world spun, so she closed her eyes and focussed on breathing. Slowly she forced it down to deep and regular. The heat died down but she felt different, new, as if something dead had been burned away inside her. As if the whole world had changed slightly, or had been changed and she was suddenly aware of it.

Bellatrix Lestrange opened her eyes slowly, stood up fully and frowned, a little confused. Her head spun slightly, probably as an after-effect of the poem she had just drunk. Another after-effect appeared to be the loss of the ability to remember what it was or why she had drunk it. In fact the last few days were a bit of a blur. Surveying herself in the mirror in the corner of her potions room she was satisfied to see her own reflection preen back at her. Nothing wrong with what was on the outside then. She shook her head to try and clear it from the odd muzziness, and pulled a grumpy pout. Maybe Rudolphus could remind her what she'd been up to.

A crossness seized Bellatrix. She didn't like this dreadful feeling of not knowing exactly what had happened. It irritated her, and was also worrying. Had she been bewitched? A forgetful spell perhaps? She knew of a potion which could help one see through spells one came into contact with, but it would take days to brew… Gnawing her lip in annoyance Bellatrix Lestrange left the potions room and went in search of her husband.

He wasn't in his study. In fact his study was a mess, with books lying open on the mahogany desk, gathering dust. Bellatrix felt her rage rising as she clapped her hands. A House Elf appeared in front of her with a bang, bowing low.

"Mistress!"

"Clean up this mess," Bellatrix snarled, spitting each individual word. The House Elf cast anxious eyes over the room.

"Mistress. Forgive me. I.." she faltered, but gathered herself and struggled on. "I see no mess, Mistress." Bellatrix snarled in anger and grabbed the Elf's absurdly oversized ear.

"The books, you fool! Close them! Clean them!" The Elf twisted in her grasp and wept tears of fear and misery.

"Mistress! Forgive me, please, but the books are all on the shelves." She saw Bellatrix's expression and wrung her hands, whimpering. "I… I can dust them, mistress."

"You utter fool!" Bellatrix screamed. She couldn't understand it. This Elf wasn't blind and yet it was persistently ignoring the books. In a fury she hurled the wretched creature to the floor, and stormed out, leaving it in a puddle of its own tears.

Her temper burned as she stalked through the house. Where the hell was Rudolphus? What was going on? She felt uncertain, caught off-footed, as if a big secret was being kept from her. Her natural defence to such a situation was anger. Who dares? It stopped her from feeling the fear which was threatening to seize her in its cold fingers. What is happening? She rolled up her left sleeve, taking comfort in the Dark Mark emblazoned on her wrist. It gave a sensation of quiet, smug constancy. As long as it burned there all would be well.

There was someone in the drawing room. Bellatrix had already passed the open door before she realised that she had seen the dark haired figure. She froze and tiptoed back, wary, her hand reaching for her wand. Someone sat on the sofa, his knees curled up beneath him, a book on his lap, his head bowed so low to it that she could not identify him. But his figure was enough to make her certain about one thing. It was not Rudolphus. A stranger! A young one too, by the look of it. She sized him up, noticing the expensive cut of his clothes; the gold signet ring he wore, just as she wore one, marking him as a member of a pureblood family.

Yet she couldn't for the life of her think which one.

Her temper was still high, and she pushed the door fully open so that it crashed against the wall. To hell with subtlety! She'd force this intruder to state his business and if his answer did not satisfy her then she'd tear him apart.

He glanced up with a look of confusion on his face. Bellatrix froze, horror and glee battling within her breast. He smiled for some reason, a welcoming smile, and made as if to stand.

Her wand shot up.

"Don't you dare move, Potter!" He frowned, a strange lack of fear in his face.

"Who?" He glanced over his shoulder and then laughed, holding his hands out disarmingly. "It's just me, mother." She laughed, triumphant, itching to caress the mark on her arm. But no, she must secure him first!

"Mother? Someone hit you with a Confundus charm, Potter?" He winced at her mocking tone.

"Mother? Are you feeling all right?" He moved to stand and she twitched the wand. Anxiety clouded his eyes. "Look, why don't you put down that wand?" she cackled, savouring this.

"Put down the wand?" she mocked. "You poor fool! I don't know how the hell you got here, Potter, but you're even thicker than usual." She raised her left arm. "Perhaps the Dark Lord will be able to fathom your babblings." His face darkened.

"No! Don't summon him! It's not necessary!" She screeched with joy, feeling her own uncertainty fading in the face of his confusion and fear, feeding on his weakness. He hadn't even reached for his wand!

"Afraid of him, are you? Ha! And yet," she frowned, "you don't seem to fear me, boy. We can soon change that. Crucio!" He didn't even move, just gaped at her in horror as the spell shot towards him. It blossomed on his chest and his first spasm threw him off the sofa, so that he writhed on the floor, screaming. In amongst the unintelligible shrieks of pain Bellatrix picked out words and laughed, howling them back to him as he yelled.

"Mother? Your mother can't save you now, you fool. Poor Baby Potter! Poor little Baby crying for Mummy!" She lifted the spell abruptly, and he stared up at her, gasping for air, black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. She took a step forwards, utterly convinced of his weakness, and he surprised her, grasping her foot and twisting it out from underneath her so that she fell. Her wand flew out of her hand and as she struggled to get back up he leapt on her, pinning her arms down.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" she screamed in hatred. He held her down, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What have you done with my mother?" She laughed scornfully and he shook her. "Answer me!"

"Your mother's dead, Potter," Bellatrix Lestrange cried, relishing the pain which flooded his young face. "Or had you forgotten?" She howled with glee at his lost look. "Dead and dry. Filthy mudblood bones and ashes." He stared at her in revulsion, drew back a hand and, quick as a snake, hit her hard across the face.

"Don't you dare speak such foul lies!" he screamed, adding a blow to each word. "My mother is a pureblood and she is alive!" Bellatrix felt her nose crunch and tasted blood, but she giggled to infuriate him further. His eyes boiled with madness, yet he seemed at a loss as to what to do. She could see in those green depths a wild desire to hurt and hurt and hurt, but he didn't know how.

He was using only one hand to hold her right arm down, as the other one beat her, and she was able, with a flick of her wrist, to evade its grip. Instantly she reached with her right index finger to the Dark Mark and pressed it, feeling the surge of power. He stared at what she'd done, aghast.

"You're a Deatheater," he hissed, incredulously. She snorted.

"He's coming, child. I can feel him approaching. He's coming for your blood." Potter spat in her face.

"When he comes he will kill you for insulting my mother!"

"I highly doubt it!" Bellatrix cried derisively. "Wake up, fool. The Dark Lord comes for you, not me." A tremble of fear shook her. She could feel her Lord approaching. But what if he should see her like this, brawling like a muggle? Concentrating, she apparated away, out from underneath Potter, to where her wand was. He spun around, hissing like a cat as she scooped it up, and she pointed it at him, struggling to stem the flow of blood from her nose with her other hand.

"He's nearly here, boy! Any last words?"

"You're going to die," Harry said softly. He shook with suppressed rage, then tilted his head to the side, a terrible, mad smile on his lips. "You're going to die. Ready?"

Before she had a chance to reply there was a crack and Lord Voldemort appeared in the middle of the room. Bellatrix instantly bowed her head.

"My lord!" she cried excitedly. "My lord! I have him! Harry Potter!" Harry didn't even bother looking at Voldemort, but just laughed coldly.

"My lord, do not be deceived by her. She attacked me and dares to profane my mother!" Bellatrix stared at him in horror. He was speaking to her Lord as if he were a Deatheater! She didn't understand it and trembled a little, wiping the blood from her nose with her free hand. Voldemort sized up the pair of them swiftly with his calculating red eyes and sighed heavily.

"Oh, Bella. What have you done?" His tone was so sad and disappointed that Bellatrix felt all of her previous fear and uncertainty returning tenfold.

"But, my lord, it is Potter!" she insisted. "I'll show you!" Raising her wand, she screamed the Cruciatus curse and the red light blazed towards the shocked boy before he had time to react. But Voldemort was fast. He raised a hand and Harry flew to the left, into the giant fireplace. At the same time the Dark lord shouted a fire spell, and with a flick of his wrist some of the Floo powder in the pot beside the fireplace leapt into the sudden flames. Harry disappeared in a flash of green fire, and Bellatrix's spell scorched the carpet harmlessly.

Bellatrix felt her knees give way. She didn't understand; she hadn't understood ever since she drank that damn potion. She was angry, she was humiliated. She was unbearably miserable. She lowered her head and wept behind the curtain of her dark hair, not caring about the tall figure of her Lord in front of her. She felt him move towards her and then his hands, like giant spiders were on her shoulders. Bellatrix shivered under the unfamiliar touch as he lifted her up; his voice was devoid of emotion.

"Bella. Stop crying." He sounded so calm! "You're making a spectacle of yourself."

"I don't understand," she sobbed. He placed one of his hands on her forehead, fingers splayed.

"Remember," Lord Voldemort commanded, his voice deep with power. Bellatrix Lestrange staggered as Bellatrix Black rushed into her head, with all her emotions, all her thoughts, all her memories.

"Who did this to me?" she whispered in disgust. "I thought he was my own! Who tricked me?"

"I did," Voldemort said detachedly. She shuddered as the horror of her remembered love for the boy blossomed within her.

"My Lord! Did I… did I displease you so?" She lifted her face, eyes wet with tears. "Was this some punishment?" He laughed, coldly.

"Indeed not, but an honour. A privilege which you, Bella, took delight in tearing apart!" She shivered at the fierceness of his tone. He laughed and continued. "You see, young Harry is not all he seems. He contains within him something of utmost value." She stared at him, dim comprehension dawning like a hesitant sunrise when the mists threaten to choke the cold sun.

"I was a –?"

"A guard, yes," he told her. He pushed her back to sit in an armchair, but remained on his feet, tell and imperious. "Harry Potter is my seventh Horcrux. This fact was made known to me by Severus, when Dumbledore revealed his true plans for the boy to him. I always knew the man was duplicitous, but his depravity shocked even our dear potions master, and he felt it his loyal duty to make me aware of how matters were. Immediately I understood how vital it was that I took Harry into my care before Dumbeldore realised I knew. If I had not I believe he may well have killed the boy to weaken me."

"But, he loves Potter," Bellatrix murmured, unable to see far beyond Harry, Harry in her mind, in her bed, his fingers in her hair, eating lunch with her, hugging her, his filthy hands wrapped around her back, his body close to her, his chest brushing her breasts. Voldemort uttered a mirthless laugh.

"Good people sometimes have an odd way of showing 'love' when push comes to shove," he commented. "The idea of sacrifice is very popular." He pulled a face, but then continued. "So, I captured Harry Potter relatively easily, but was then stuck with a captive who desperately wanted to escape. My Deatheaters weren't keen on entertaining him either." He coughed that cold laugh again. "I needed a guard. To get him out of my way. To keep him safe. But most of all I needed him to want to stay. And I needed the guard to truly care whether he lived or died."

"You rewrote my memory," Bellatrix whispered, coldness trickling through her insides. She knew he was evil, but he was her lord. Surely he could not use her so cruelly, so callously?

"Just yours?" Voldemort snorted. "Bella, what I did was one thousand times more impressive. I rewrite the memory of the entire world. I cast a spell so that everyone who knew the name Harry Potter was acquainted with his new history. I changed the feelings of hundreds of people towards him: acceptance and love where there had been hate; hatred where once was friendship." He met her gaze, his scarlet candles unrepentant. "I tried to give you happy memories together, you know. I made you want to love each other. But I could see from the beginning that that was my mistake. How could the reality ever compare with the lovely past I constructed for you? He was not capable of being a son. He doesn't know how. And you, my dear." He reached out and stroked her face gently with a cool fingertip. "You were not the best mother. Although you tried to hide that. Too hard, I feel. You just had to brew that potion, didn't you? To see through my spell?"

"Rudolphus?" Bellatrix asked, quickly, desperate to change the subject as a hot flush spread on her cheek under his fingertip. "My husband! He doesn't remember…"

'We will see," Voldemort said noncommittally. "You have destroyed this lovely illusion I constructed so I will have to think of a new one." He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet him. "You understand Bella, I must keep him safe. I will try to keep my Deatheaters happy too, but Harry comes first." The words burned black despair in her heart as he repeated them. "Harry comes first." He stood up and turned to go, and she felt as if her soul would break. She needed to say something, anything to keep him a second longer.

"How long?" she cried, tearfully. "How long have we been under your spell?" Voldemort laughed bitterly.

"Alas, there's the tragedy of it," he said quietly. "It took so long to cast, and you broke it in a mere week! The day you went out hunting with Yaxley and allowed Harry to be attacked. That was the first day. That was the first morning." He executed a sardonic bow, twirling his hand above his head in mock respect, and vanished.

Bellatrix Lestrange fell to her knees and emptied her betrayed heart onto the carpet. The House Elves found her three hours later, exhausted from crying and screaming, and took her to her bed. As they carried her in her dreamy exhausted state she vowed that she would never trust the wizard named Lord Voldemort again.