Shattered Surrender
by sick-atxxheart
Chapter Three

A/N: A quick, extremely important note for this chapter. Instead of Voldemort waiting till Harry's fourth year to be reborn as having an actual body, in this story he is 'reborn' before he gets the Death Eaters out of Azkaban. That timing is a little off too… in other words, this is an AU story, and just run with it. ;] Enjoy!

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Bella had been sleeping for once when she first felt it, and the elation she felt flow through her lifted her higher than anything else.

Her Dark Mark was burning, and that meant he was coming. He had called her, and he was coming. He was alive. He. Was. Alive.

Bella felt her mind condense into one thought, and it was almost painful. Her desperation for the Dark Lord, for her own Tom Riddle controlled her every thought, and frankly always had. Her obsession with him… his power, his cunning, his genius… it all called to her, and she couldn't help but screaming with elation and anticipation. He was coming. No longer would she be stuck in this hell… no longer would she be stuck in the torment that she faced daily.

Her scream was one of happiness for the first time in years, a feat she hadn't even thought possible in a place such as Azkaban. She rubbed her Dark Mark absentmindedly, reveling in the pain it brought her- because feeling something, anything, was better than feeling nothing like she had been for so many years. Having his call draw her was something she lived for, even if it meant even more pain. Anything coming from his lips, anything from him was special, and meant so much to her.

Bella could almost feel her eyes glaze over in anticipation, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Long ago she had accepted that she no longer had a hold on her sanity, and losing it had been something she had been determined to enjoy. The way her reason and common sense had slowly dripped away with each further moment, with each memory that was sucked away; the feeling of her desires and dreams being pulled away through her veins, leaving only the need for the Dark; the way all her hopes had been crushed, only to be replaced with things higher than she had ever imagined… she knew she was crazy, insane, and she didn't care.

Bella had just thrown her head back to laugh when a small voice came from across her cell.

"Bella?"

She turned her head quickly, shaken out of her reverie by Harry's almost desperate plea. He looked so forlorn- even since the last time she had thought that, he had gotten even worse. His face was thin and pale, and his entire body was shaking from cold and malnutrition. His beautiful green eyes had already dimmed considerably, and she could see the sparkle leaving them, fast. His clothes were ragged and worn; hers were the same way, but the simple fact that his were covered in blood from his own subconscious attempts to escape tore at her heart. Azkaban was obviously no place for a child, and even though Bellatrix wouldn't deny that she barely had a heart anymore, she still felt for the child.

She had long ago discovered that trying to escape was futile, and for a long time her hands had bled with her attempts at clawing at the chains and shackles that bound her. It had taken her a long time to accept that fact, and once she did her life grew even more desolate. There was no point. Back then, she had still had enough of her mind left to sit and think about what she had done wrong, or right for that matter. She hadn't come up with much. The Dementors made sure of that- and even though they forced every bad memory onto her, she took power from the fact that she wanted to be Dark. She had chosen it, and she lived it, and she wanted it.

Through her insanity, she still figured that the desire for Dark was still there. That fact had been proven by the way her body pulsed when her Dark Mark burned, the way she could barely control herself…

"Bella?" Harry whispered again, his green eyes pleading and his hand reaching out to her. "What is it? Please…"

She tried not to feel pain for him as she pulled herself over next to the bars that divided them. She gently took his hand through the cage and petted it slowly, reaching through to smooth down his forever unruly hair. "He's coming, baby," she whispered softly as Harry slumped back, his eyes closed. "He's coming."

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Four long days they had to wait, and Bella kept track with the determination of a mathematician. The marks on the wall in her cell, made with what she considered to be her one possession, a rusty nail, now totaled farther than she had the drive to count. She knew it was four, though, and with every second that passed she grew more and more anxious.

Harry was getting worse and worse, and Bella wasn't quite sure why. She had no doubts that malnutrition and such a dark habitat, along with the crushing pressure of the ever-present Dementors, was surely not good for a growing boy. However, he had survived thus far, and she hadn't expected him to suddenly get worse. He had, though, and she was saddened by it- because while before she hadn't been sure how much longer he would make it, now she was absolutely positive Harry wouldn't be able to hang on to his life much longer.

The relief that encompassed her soul when her Dark Mark burned again was indescribable. She was elated, excited, screaming, happy- no one in the cells near her thought anything of her screams of joy, because screams were of course a normal part of living in Azkaban. But the sheer feeling of knowing that he was coming- he would be here, for only he was strong enough to get her out- he was coming, and she would be free.

She would be able to serve her Lord once again.

As anticipation filled her, she knew all she could do was wait. Almost without thinking Bella moved over once again to stroke Harry's hair. It had become her favorite pastime, because it relaxed her. She didn't quite want to admit to herself exactly how attached she had become to him, but she truly had. The child was broken, just like she was, and he didn't care how many people she had hurt or how many times she had been weak. He just wanted someone to care for him, and even though Bella barely knew it, she wanted someone to care for her too.

A sharp sound outside caused Bella to jump, and as fast as her weakened body along with the chains that bound her would allow she scrambled over to the front of her cage, which faced the hallway throughout the main part of the jail. Human guards never visited the cells, except once every night to deliver the meager portions of food considered meals, and the Dementors made no noise. It was the middle of the day, or so her estimations guessed- no guards would be coming through.

It had to be him.

Bella grasped onto the bars, her hands turning white from the force of which she was squeezing them. One second, two seconds- it seemed like hours before a figure finally turned the corner, and Bella nearly fainted when she saw him again.

Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who. He had so many names- but to Bella, he was Lord, and he was her everything.

"My L-Lord," she whispered, falling to her knees with a sickening crunch. She winced as pain shot through her weak legs from the impact, but she didn't care. He was here.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort's voice was cold and high, and she loved the sound of it- it was so different from what it used to be. He looked so different. His skin was a beautiful pale white, which contrasted greatly with the deep black of his robes. His slitted eyes were blood red and menacing, and they seemed to bore right through her.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix gasped again, her mouth open, her tone pleading. "Please, my Lord… please… I have always been faithful to you…"

Voldemort smirked, and with a wave of his hands the air crackled with the static of magic. "Stand back." His words were an order, not a request. Bella quickly complied, and with a bang the bars of her cell fell to the ground in shreds of dust. His power astounded her.

She stood as her shackles fell to the ground, and for the first time in years, Bellatrix Lestrange took a step as a free woman.

Voldemort had just turned to go to free the other prisoners when Bella, with a surge of confidence that she couldn't quite understand. "My Lord, please…"

When the tall figure turned around, ready to sneer and curse at the woman, he was stopped by her desperate gesture at the small child sleeping fitfully in the corner.

It didn't take long for the Dark Lord to recognize the boy, even under all the dirt and blood that covered his small, frail body. This was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

With a sudden decision made, Voldemort scooped the child up into his arms, freed the other prisoners, and Apparated away into the night.

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It's still a little bit short, not quite as long as I would have liked, but it's alright. What did you think? A bit of a twist, I think. What should Voldemort do with Harry?

Please review.