KENT, ENGLAND.

'Just this morning three dangerous Death Eaters have been tried in court, following last week's latest round up of the dangerous criminals after the disappearance of He Who Must Not Be Named on All Hallows Eve a month ago. Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange and Barty Crouch Junior were responsible for multiple crimes, including most recently the usage of the cruciatus curse on Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. The Aurors are still in St Mungoes, and unfortunately their situation remains unchanged, it appears they have been permanently incapacitated for life. The whereabouts of Bellatrix Lestrange, quoted as the "right hand" of He Who Must Not Be Named and the leader of the crimes against the aforementioned Aurors is yet unknown. Several other crimes including the most recent use of the cruciatus curse against Auror Alastor Moody which has seen him in hospital is also thought to be inflicted by Bellatrix Lestrange. The Ministry are warning that she is deranged and dangerous and is now considered public enemy number one. Anyone who may know of her whereabouts is encouraged to step forward but warns that under no circumstances should she be approached. Bellatrix Lestrange is believed to be extremely dangerous, and responsible for over three hundred war crimes over the last decade, including murder and torture of muggle-borns and Aurors alike. Bellatrix is also cousin of the recently convicted death eater Sirius Black, imprisoned for the murder of thirteen muggles in broad daylight. . .'

Bellatrix tore a chunk off the half-loaf of buttered bread as the wizard radio continued to roll through the stream of news. She took a bite once she'd dipped it in the broth and washed down the rich taste with a gulp of her firewhiskey. Though she had her hood raised and a fair few transfigurations placed on her, she was still sat in the corner, glancing about her from time to time. The pub was quite however, save for the bartender, a pair of old wizards and a sleeping drunk witch on the other side of the bar. Everyone was out celebrating, she thought bitterly to herself. Even the two wizards were chatting so happily and excitedly about what a miraculous thing had happened. Their talking made Bellatrix sick to her stomach. Everyone was celebrating, but Bellatrix's whole world had fallen apart.

She thought back to the night where she'd tortured the Longbottoms. Rodolphus had been so sure of her, but since then hints of doubt crept into her mind. She couldn't trust anyone — the last week had proven that. Malfoy Manor now had wards up that stopped her from getting in, Karkaroff had been the one to tell the Ministry what was happening to the Longbottoms to save his own skin from Azkaban, and none of the other death eaters had answered her summons. Cowards, she thought bitterly as she gulped down the rest of her firewhiskey, letting it pave a scorching path down her throat.

Wherever he was, he was hurt, but it wasn't irreparable. Her eyes welled when she thought of him in such a state. Him. The most powerful wizard in the world, wounded by a baby. She blinked away her tears and drank back the last of her firewhiskey, pushing a few coins onto the table and leaving the tavern.

There was one place left to go despite the risks that came with travelling there.

THE DARK LORD'S PRIVATE RESIDENCE, UNKNOWN LOCATION.

His residences were private, locked so tightly it was impossible to get in without him, but it was worth a try. She landed just in front of the gates and she raised her wand immediately, looking to her left and right on instinct. He'd placed so many wards on the place even the most seasoned wizard or witch wouldn't find this place and true to his magic, the street outside was entirely deserted. He'd bought her here countless times, she remembered as she looked up at the grand home. It wasn't as big as Malfoy Manor or Lestrange Castle or Black Mansion, but it was still majestic and strong, fit for him, a King.

Bellatrix thought hard of the parseltounge word he used, she didn't understand it, it just sounded like hissing to her, but she heard him say it enough. He had told her if she was ever in need to come to his home by herself, all she needed to do was remember the password in her heart and follow a pattern only she knew. She tapped her wand three times on the left panel at the wrought iron gates, then seven on the bottom, five on the top and four on the right. The gates dissolved before her eyes and she blinked a few times in realisation that it had worked. The thought was enough to make her feel suddenly safe. His magic would always protect her. She stepped through the threshold and her feet touched paved ground. She heard the familiar scrape of magic as the gates wound their way back up and sealed her in.

She almost expected to see him at the middle window where she knew his study was, hands clasped behind his back as he'd been informed by means of his own magic of her entering the grounds and looked down to watch her walk in.

She imaged him as she had when she was nineteen. He was only forty-four then, his hair dark in thick curls, with only the faintest hints of grey, his obsidian eyes watching her and a slight hint of a smile on one edge of his lips. Then, she imagined him most recently at fifty-five on the eve of his disappearance. His hair had pulled back considerably from his hairline and gone almost entirely grey, he had dark shadows beneath his eyes which were now entirely bloodshot and obsidian ringed scarlet, his cheeks were gaunt, his face marred with dark magic, a long scar dragged down one side of his face, his features were waxy and blurred. But he still had a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched her approach his abode. Lord Voldemort would always be a handsome man in Bellatrix's eyes, no matter what he looked like.

But he wasn't there in his window, smiling down at her with a half-smile he seemed to only wear around her these last few years. She stopped at the front door and suddenly didn't know how to get in. He'd always opened it with wandless magic himself from upstairs and she'd seen herself in and to his lounge, or dining room, or office, or bedroom. She hesitated a moment, thinking to raise her wand again, but to her great surprise the door opened.

Was he here? Suddenly she was through the threshold at a sprint, turning into the lounge where he might've been in his favourite armchair reading from the wall of books.

"Master?"

She called for him as the lounge turned up empty, the hearth looking dry and unlit for some time. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked at his armchair. How many times had she sat opposite him and listened to his stories of magic and told her how to kill, how to look guilty but never get caught, all when he'd been her teacher what felt like an eternity ago? How often had she rest her head in his lap as the fire crackled and he stroked her wavy black hair? How often had she curled up in his lap and kissed him as he drank firewhiskey and read to her? Or late at night when they'd sit opposite one another sharing a bottle of red wine and plotting and scheming and determining how the world would be his?

She went then to his dining room but it too was empty and cold. She looked at the chairs they always occupied. He was of course, the head of the table, she sat to his left. They talked and laughed in those chairs, there was no plotting and scheming done there, not when they ate breakfast or lunch or dinner together, or drank tea. They were just Bellatrix and Tom despite her never once calling him that. He was still my Lord, but he had the elf make her favourite desserts — strawberry tart or red velvet or devil's food cake — as they drank wine and talked meaningless things and just enjoyed one another's company.

She choked back the urge to scream for him again. Instead she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

His office was on the first floor, and Bellatrix pushed the door open without knocking. She'd only ever done that twice before and both times he'd looked up at her with raised brows. The first time it happened she was twenty and she had thrown the door open and shouted at him. She shouted at the Dark Lord for doing nothing, and she cried and begged him not to make her marry Rodolphus Lestrange. He'd sighed as he told her the contract was signed and even he didn't have the power to unbind that kind of magic. She'd fallen to her knees before him in sobs and begged and begged him to take her away and make her his wife instead. He'd said nothing for a long few moments as she cried into her hands and then he'd pulled her up and kissed her so hard she forgot how to breathe and then he'd taken her up against the bookcase as he said over and over 'you're mine, whether you're married to him or not, you're mine'. Three months later she'd married Rodolphus Lestrange. The second time she was twenty-four and he was already stood as he'd heard her running up the stairs, but she'd flung herself into his arms and he laughed at the way she giggled and clung onto him. She told him with giddy glee she'd killed the last of them and the Ministry of Magic was now his. He'd swept everything off his desk and pulled up her already short dress and taken her right there. Now, the office was empty.

She shook her head in confusion, unable to understand. That must mean?

"Master?!" She shouted as she ran up the next flight of stairs. She pushed open the door to his bedroom. His bed was exactly how she'd left it that night. She'd thrown the sheets off herself the second she had felt the scorch of pain in her arm, the searing hiss of magic and his voice whispered in her ear waking her from her slumber. She shivered at the only word she'd heard him utter, 'remember'. But remember what? Her head pounded as she thought hard. She leant for a moment onto the bed and then she felt the softness of his sheets. She'd been in this bed with him more times than she'd been in her husband's bed, she wagered. Rodolphus was a good man, but she didn't love him — not the way she loved the Dark Lord.

He wasn't here.

Bellatrix sniffed lightly. She'd shed too many tears, she'd screamed into nothingness, she'd destroyed and she'd tortured and tortured, and tortured until she was dizzy and sick. Now, she was exhausted. She kicked off her boots and unzipped her dress. She opened the wardrobe and pulled on one of his shirts he usually gave her to sleep in. She pulled her hair into a braid and lay down curled up onto her side — what would normally be his side of the bed — and she pulled herself under the duvet. She breathed in his scent on his pillow, leather and old books and the ocean. It was such a comfort her eyes almost instantly dropped shut. She sighed, clutching his pillow, pulling the duvet up around herself.

She hadn't slept properly in a month. She was getting sloppy with her tortures. Mad-Eye was choking on his tongue as she cut off two of his fingers. He'd screamed and bellowed and called her the Dark Lord's whore and she'd stupefied him and forced her way into his mind to find nothing of her Master's whereabouts. She'd broken his nose with her heeled boot and disapparated before he could be tracked. All she could think of tonight was how much she longed for her Master. How desperate she was for him. Her eyes felt heavy with sleep and wet with tears as she warmed into his pillow and fell fast asleep.

She was on her belly on the floor of a pitch black forest, hardly able to see a thing but sliding her way through crinkled leaves — or perhaps they were stars — her eyes trying to take in the night and adjust.

She was hungry, cold, alone.

It was so dark here she thought to herself distantly as she searched hard for anything she could see.

She was barely conscious she realised then, something between life and death but not limbo.

She was hanging in the ether, hoping to attach herself to anything that came along.

Then she felt like she was gliding across water.

She was searching for life, for something to hear her call.

Ssayakassihethh ssasstayass. . .

Bellatrix awoke with a start, hissing still ringing in her ears. She realised as the noise abated and her vision came to her that it was early and she had turned in the night, facing what would've normally been her space in his bed.

All she remembered now was that she slept on her left and on his left and he always had his arm slung around her waist from behind, his face pressed onto her plaited waves. She was so used to sleeping on her left now despite that she never used to before him. She scarcely remembered life before him. She supposed she did not want to. He'd usually wake first, and he'd stretch and yawn and kiss her neck which always felt comforting even when he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He was so quiet she'd fall back asleep for a little longer and he'd go and shower, shave and scour his teeth and then walk into his dressing room to ready himself for the day. He'd let the elf wake her by putting breakfast on the table. She'd wake up to the smell of hot freshly baked croissants with jams and cheeses and cooked eggs and fresh fruit. Then she'd go downstairs in his shirt after she'd scoured her teeth and washed her face with soft clean soap that smelt of peach and mint, and she'd purr 'good morning master' while he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his thumb over her fingers. She'd sit at the table beside him while he continued to read his paper. They'd sit in relative silence for a time until he was done reading and by then the charmed teapot would pour them both another cup of tea, both with a little milk and no sugar, and they'd talk of their plans for the day, most of which included one another.

She sighed as she turned onto her back, but a creak of the bedroom door had her reaching for her wand. She snatched it from the bedside and pointed it at the door, but it was only the house elf.

"Tiffy," she breathed as she lowered her wand, "its you."
"Tiffy is most sorry to disturb you Mistress. Tiffy found you asleep last night and wondered when you'd like breakfast? Normally the Master instructs Tiffy—"
"Have you seen the Dark Lord, Tiffy?" She asked quite quickly, "has he been here?"
Tiffy sadly shook its ugly big head and said in a squeaky voice, "No Mistress, not since the night the Master left on hallows eve, Tiffy is most sad to say she has not seen the Master since then."

Bellatrix pressed her hands into her face for a few moments and then rubbed her eyes. Where was he? She nodded, pressing her lips into a line, "I'll have breakfast in the dining room now."

Tippy bowed deeply and disappeared with a small crack. Bellatrix took her time getting ready, she showered and dressed back into his shirt, reluctant as yet to let go of it. She took her usual seat then at the dining table and gazed into his empty seat. The buttery soft pastry didn't taste as nice, she realised — though it was no fault of Tiffy's. She missed him. She ached in her very soul, in the core of her being. His disappearance had left a gaping hole in her existence. If he was hurt or missing, she thought as she took a sip of her tea, the it was up to her to find him. Bellatrix was a warrior for a reason, she was a damned good fighter, she was lethal and dangerous and she loved the hunt as much as she loved the thrill of battle. Her Master was immortal, he'd told her so countless times, though he'd never disclosed how he came to be it. She'd not questioned him. After all, not only was it not her place to ask questions but also if there was anyone in the world who could attain immortality, it would be him. She also knew from her dreams and from the ache in her soul that he was still alive, still somewhere, just gravely wounded.

So she determined to herself that there was only one solution to this. Bellatrix stood, placing her now empty tea cup down and looking out to the grass which had become white with frost in the late November ice before she turned for his lounge and library, plucking books wordlessly from the shelves and making a stack as tall as herself. She chose history books of creatures of magic and European magic, the dark arts encyclopaedia of potions, an ancient book he had on blood and bone magic, a book about necromancy and one about spirits and souls. She went down into his potions stores and put a bottle of dittany, wiggenweld, black fire, blood-replenishing, dragon poison, exstimulo, girding, Invigoration Draught and wide eye all into a specially made potions bag. Next she went to his bedroom. She had very few clothes here. They seemed to balance on a very fine line of familiarity with one another. They spoke comfortably when they were alone, Bellatrix was always by his side. She shared his bed, shared showers with him, had meals with him. Yet she had no clothes here. It was too personal, she thought. There was a line he just wasn't willing to cross with her, despite all the intimacies of their day to day life. She'd never begrudged him that. He was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord. He wasn't to be shared, to be kept. If he let her in some small parts of his life, that was his prerogative, and his choice to make.

She took a couple of his shirts and transfigured them so they wouldn't hang off her, adding a few self-cleaning and keep-fresh charms on which she'd seen Narcissa use. She transfigured her clothes from yesterday to leggings and a jumper and pulled them on once she'd tied her hair neatly into a low ponytail at the base of her skull. She did however, have one thing here. Hanging for her was a long thick fur black cloak. She supposed she should make it a little more muggle to blend in. she transfigured it to a long fur coat instead with inside pockets as well as out. Then a flick of her wand sent everything soaring neatly into a small bag with an undetectable expansion charm on it.

She thought for a few moments on how she'd get around. If she apparated she'd need considerable rest between large jumps and to know exactly where it was that she was jumping to. She could make portkeys after her initial jump, she'd use random objects when she arrived to her location to get to the next. It was by far the safest thing for her to do.

"Tiffy!' She called as she pulled on her newly transfigured black sphinx fur coat. The elf appeared with a crack, bowing to her and awaiting instruction. 'I'll need to call you from time to time, I want you to stay here in the meantime and under no circumstances are you to leave unless I call you. You won't answer to anyone but myself and the Dark Lord, am I clear?'
'Yes mistress, of course mistress.' She nodded vehemently, 'Tiffy shall be at your beck and call!'

Bellatrix gave a single nod and the elf disappeared off to continue with its work. Belatrix looked herself once over. She'd expanded her pockets so she could fit in her wand in, and the bag which was no bigger than her hand was slung over her shoulder beneath her fitted coat. Where she was intending to go, there was need to be prepared.

'Well,' she muttered to herself as she thought on her location, 'into the dragon's mouth we go. . .'