Bellatrix had a smile on her face by the time she finished the charm. It was good to feel this power again.
- They'll be here in a minute, Master.
- Yes. We should go.
As Bellatrix approached her room, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her mind. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath to steady herself, when suddenly, she heard his voice behind her.
- Bellatrix.
She turned to see Voldemort standing a few paces away, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. His expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made her heart race.
- Master. - she greeted, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her.
He stepped closer, the air between them charged with an unspoken connection.
- I just wanted to say… I'm truly glad you're back.
His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, momentarily dispelling the shadows of her recent past. The weight of her experiences in Azkaban pressed heavily on her chest, but at this moment, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in ages: hope.
- Thank you, my Lord. I'm glad to be back. - she replied softly, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her gratitude.
Voldemort took a step even closer, the space between them shrinking further.
- Take care, Bella.
The use of the nickname sent a jolt through her, a wave of nostalgia crashing over her. It was a name from a time long buried, a name that only he had ever used. It felt intimate, as if he had reached into the depths of her soul and pulled out the child she once was—a child filled with dreams and loyalty before darkness had consumed her.
For a heartbeat, she was caught off guard, her defenses momentarily crumbling. She swallowed hard, fighting to regain her composure.
- I will, Master. - she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
As he turned to leave, she felt an overwhelming mix of emotions—fear, gratitude, longing, and the ever-present pain of her past. But amidst it all, the flicker of warmth he had ignited in her remained a fragile flame that she hoped could grow stronger with time.
Bellatrix stood in front of the large mirror, adjusting the black dress robes she had borrowed. Her reflection barely registered—the only thought that consumed her mind was the coming dinner. A reunion with her parents, after so many years.
Narcissa entered the room, gliding in silently, her eyes already knowing.
- You ready for tonight? - she asked, casually.
- Is anyone ever really ready for our parents? - Bellatrix muttered under her breath, tightening the clasp at her throat. - Even you, the perfect one, can't handle them.
Narcissa's mouth twitched into a smile.
- A fair point. But you should know—they're eager to see you.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes.
- Eager to criticize, you mean.
- Oh, you know how they are. Expect a few remarks about how Azkaban didn't help your posture. - Narcissa said, her tone playful.
Bellatrix smirked.
- I'd rather be back in Azkaban than listen to their endless complaints about how I've disappointed the family.
Narcissa let out a small laugh.
- I'm sure they'll go easy on you tonight. After all, how many Death Eaters get a welcome home dinner?
- Come on! This dinner screams you all over it!
- That was the idea, I guess. Your favorite sister throwing a great dinner for you, but you should know that Lord Voldemort asked me to put this together.
- Oh… really?
- Yes, I guess he thought you'd like the attention.
- Don't get me wrong, I do. But…
Bellatrix somewhat wanted to say about her weakness, it was her little sister after all. But she just couldn't.
- But what?
- Not this much attention from Druella and Cygnus.
- Yeah, sorry. - Narcissa stopped next to her and helped fix her dress. - You look amazing.
Bellatrix's grin faded slightly, her thoughts drifting back to the weight of the evening.
- I can take whatever they dish out.
The dinner had been as tense as expected. The long table was filled with Death Eaters, each vying for their Lord's attention, but Bellatrix hardly noticed. Her eyes were drawn to two familiar faces: her parents.
Their greeting had been stiff, formal. Her father's gaze was stern, as it always had been, while her mother offered a slight, disapproving nod. No words of affection. Not much had changed. Yet, in their way, they were still her parents. It wasn't an outright rejection, but the warmth she had craved all her life would never come.
Bellatrix was watching everything from far away, her mind on what had happened between her and Voldemort.
And she sees Cissa on her way with the parents. She rolls her eyes.
- Bellatrix, mom and dad were looking for you. - Cissa says with a fake excitement.
- I was hiding from them.
- Oh, sweetie! I see Azkaban hasn't done anything for your sense of humor. - says Druella, her mother. - So how are you? Me and your father were very concerned.
- I see. You even helped to get me out, right?
They didn't.
- It was all Dementors, Rod was the one chosen to rescue you. - said Cygnus. - We were afraid you had gone mad. But you seem in your normal self.
- I am insane, Daddy. Watch out! - she said ironically. Cissa forced a laughter.
- You know, me and your father thought that you would have escaped by now. I mean, after Sirius did it, how hard could it be?
- Mom! - said Cissa. - How could you say that?
Bellatrix was pure anger. After all she's been through in Azkaban listen to something like that! Like Sirius Black would ever be better than her.
The witch slapped her mother right on the face. And getting close to Druella she whispered:
- Don't you ever mention his name to me again. Ever. Or I could give you something more than just a slap!
Everyone was staring. Usually, all those fearful looks would've made her feel great, but now she only felt exposed.
Narcissa held Bellatrix's hand waiting for the next step. What would happen? Rodolphus approached his wife, ready to hold her if she needed to.
- Are you fucking insane? To humiliate your mother like that! - Said Cynus.
- Do you want it too? - There was a great silence in the room. - Are you scared, dad? I thought I was just an insane bitch now.
Cygnus gets his wand and points it at her daughter.
Bellatrix just raises her hand and Cygnus flies to the other side of the room. The witch is ready to do it again when Voldemort holds her from behind and pulls her out of the room.
- What are you going to do, fucking kill me? - she screams while trying to free herself. - Try me!
Lord Voldemort takes Bellatrix back to her room with Rodolphus and Narcissa. He puts the witch on one chair and says:
- You two, get everyone out and start working on the Vanishing Cabinet plan.
- Yes, Master. - they answered.
Bellatrix was paralyzed. Staring at nothing and just trying to control her trembling body. Voldemort just looked at her and sat down on the bed.
He could see her trembling and the tears that filled her eyes. He could see her effort to remain in control of her body. And he could truly see the pain she was trying so hard to hide.
- Azkaban is a big chamber of
torture, emotional torture more than anything. - he says with a calm, but firm voice. - I can understand you faking to everyone, but I don't see why you're lying to me.
She looks at him. It was like she was trying to say something, but no words came out of her mouth.
- What are you so afraid of, Bella? - Still, nothing. - Rest. We'll talk in the morning.
- I'd like to participate in the meeting if you agree. - she said, holding some tears and taking a deep breath.
- So we better go.
She would do no good being alone. Her master knew that.
She focused on the task at hand: the Vanishing Cabinet plan. The discussion was brief, a series of sharp exchanges about logistics and security. She barely contributed, her mind still reeling from the sight of her parents. And as soon as they reached the end of the discussion, Voldemort himself waved a hand, dismissing the rest of the details.
- Tomorrow, we execute. The plan is simple enough. No need for more words tonight. - he said, his voice low but commanding. The others exchanged glances but didn't dare question his judgment.
As the meeting ended, Bellatrix's muscles tensed. She had held her composure throughout, but the strain of the day was getting to her. As the group disbanded, she felt the weight of the evening press down on her, and her chest tightened.
Later, in the cold darkness of her room, Bellatrix lay down, her mind swirling. She had thought seeing her parents again might give her some sense of resolution, but all it did was leave her feeling empty. Worse, she had barely spoken to them, and now the silence between them seemed insurmountable.
She closed her eyes, seeking sleep, but the moment her consciousness began to slip, the nightmares clawed at her.
The cold hit first. A numbing, bone-deep chill that she knew all too well. Azkaban. The walls of her mind echoed with the sound of the crashing waves outside the prison, but worse was the darkness that enveloped her.
The dementors were coming.
Suddenly, she was in her cell again. Alone. The walls seemed to close in on her, and the sound of her own heartbeat roared in her ears. They hovered just out of sight, those vile creatures, but she could feel them. The hollow emptiness they left in their wake as they sucked every ounce of happiness, of warmth, from her soul.
Flash.
Her hands gripped the cold bars of the cell, trembling as they always had. She tried to conjure a thought of power, of her Master, but the feeling of weakness was overwhelming.
She was nothing. No wand. No magic.
Flash.
A dementor drifted into the cell, its ragged breath chilling the air further. She could feel it, the way it drew closer, the shadows of its hood revealing nothing but a void where its face should be. Then came the kiss—not the full soul-sucking horror she had been spared—but enough to make her feel as if her very essence was being pulled apart.
She gasped for air, choking on the ice that filled her lungs.
Flash.
She was standing in the corner of the cell, hugging herself, trying to block the agony from creeping up her spine. A scream tore from her lips, but it was swallowed by the oppressive silence of the prison.
No one came.
No one cared.
Flash.
Her mother's cold, indifferent eyes. Her father's stern disapproval.
Why was she always alone?
Bellatrix jolted awake, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to ground herself in the present, but the room seemed to spin around her. The cold from her dream clung to her skin, and her heart raced uncontrollably.
She reached for her wand instinctively, only to remember it was still missing.
A sudden wave of dizziness overtook her, and her vision blurred. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. Before she could catch herself, everything went dark.
Bellatrix stirred, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings—the soft, luxurious feel of silk sheets beneath her and the dim glow of candlelight in the room. Disoriented, she blinked, trying to remember where she was. Azkaban? No… not there. The nightmare had shaken her, pulled her back into the dark clutches of memories she had tried so hard to suppress.
Suddenly, she sensed his presence.
- You're awake. - came Voldemort's voice from the chair beside her bed.
She turned her head toward him. His red eyes glimmered in the dim light, and she realized with a start where she was. This wasn't her room. It was his.
- My Lord. - she whispered, her voice hoarse, as she tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness pulled her back down.
- Don't move too quickly, Bella, - he said, a strange softness in his tone. - You've been through quite an ordeal tonight.
She blinked, confused.
- What… what happened?
Voldemort's gaze was fixed on her, unblinking as if assessing whether she was truly alright.
- You had a nightmare, - he explained. - Everyone in the house woke to the sound of your scream. It was… piercing.
She winced. The shame of it washed over her in waves. She had screamed. In front of the others. The thought alone made her want to crawl back into the abyss.
- I don't scream. - she muttered, more to herself than to him.
- You did tonight, - he said simply, his tone betraying neither judgment nor disappointment. - When you fainted, I brought you here. To my mansion. I decided it was best to take care of you myself.
Her breath caught in her throat. Voldemort had taken care of her? Him? The most powerful wizard of all, the Dark Lord himself? She felt exposed, and vulnerable in a way she had never imagined. But his words—he had called her "Bella," that familiar childhood nickname that only he ever used—brought her a strange sense of comfort amidst the confusion.
- I… I'm sorry, my Lord, - she said, her voice barely a whisper. - I shouldn't have—
- Don't apologize, - he interrupted, his tone low but commanding. - You've endured more than anyone else could. Even the strongest can break. But you will recover. You always do.
She closed her eyes, swallowing back the emotions that threatened to spill over. He was right. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not to anyone, not even him. Yet here she was, at her lowest, and he hadn't turned away.
- I'll be fine, - she whispered, though even she didn't believe it.
-Of course you will, - Voldemort said softly. - But take care, Bella. You're far too important to me to be careless with your health.
The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket, and for the first time in a long while, she felt something she hadn't in years. Safe.
She felt his hand brush her forehead, and for the briefest moment, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable in front of him, the one person who truly saw her. He had found her in her moment of weakness and hadn't cast her aside.
That, she thought, was enough.
Bellatrix's breathing was still uneven as she stirred in the dark room. The soft flicker of candlelight illuminated the outline of her Master, standing over her with an unreadable expression.
Her eyes widened slightly. She felt exposed and vulnerable—things she couldn't afford to feel, especially in front of him.
- I… I didn't mean to cause trouble, my Lord. The last thing I wanted was to be a burden. - Her voice was hoarse, and she instinctively looked away, ashamed. - I will do whatever you ask of me, anything. I live to serve you.
He didn't speak for a moment, his red eyes lingering on her as if searching for something beneath her words.
- You are not a burden, Bella. - His voice softened as he used the name only he called her, that childhood nickname that struck her deeply. - But I need you at your finest, not broken.
- I will get better. I promise, my Lord. I'll do everything you say, and follow every order, just… let me be useful again. Please. - Bellatrix clenched her fists, determination burning in her eyes despite the fatigue that weighed her down. - That's all I want.
Voldemort reached out, and for a brief moment, his cold fingers brushed against her wrist, a fleeting, almost tender gesture.
- You've always been useful to me, Bella. Rest now. We'll see what comes next after you've regained your strength. You'll be stronger than before. Of that, I am certain.
She nodded, unable to respond, her heart racing not from fear but from the sheer intensity of being in his presence. As he rose to leave, she felt a strange sense of peace, knowing that even in her weakness, he still valued her.
As Voldemort turned to leave, Bellatrix felt a sudden tightness in her chest. She hadn't planned on saying it, hadn't planned on showing more weakness, but the words escaped before she could stop them.
- My Lord… wait.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
- Will you… stay? Just for a while. - Her voice wavered, something it rarely did. - I can't… I can't be alone. Not tonight.
Voldemort's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as if he were reading her soul.
- Bella… - he said slowly, his tone measured. - Are you admitting fear?
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Her throat tightened, and for a moment she wanted to deny it, to laugh it off like she would with anyone else. But not with him. Not now.
- Yes, my Lord. - She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. - Azkaban… it's still in my head. The dementors… they made me feel things I never want to feel again. Weak. Alone. Helpless. - Her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she forced the words out. - I know I'm supposed to be strong for you, but… tonight… I'm scared.
Admitting this felt like tearing open a wound she'd kept hidden. Her pride screamed at her to stop, but deep down, she wanted him to understand. She needed him to know.
For a long moment, Voldemort said nothing. His face was unreadable, his red eyes locked on hers. Then, without a word, he stepped closer, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed.
- You've been through hell, Bella. - His voice was low, almost soothing, though his touch remained cold and distant. - But you survived it. You're stronger than the rest. That's why I chose you.
His presence alone made her feel calmer, though the thought of showing this vulnerability pained her deeply.
- Just for tonight, - she whispered, almost pleading. - Please.
There was a brief silence before Voldemort inclined his head ever so slightly.
- I'll stay.
Bellatrix exhaled, feeling an unfamiliar weight lift from her chest. She closed her eyes, allowing herself this rare moment of relief, knowing that even in her darkest moments, he was still here, still with her. And for now, that was enough.
