Iridescent

Written by, AvalonTheLadyKiller

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

No Copyright Infringement Intended

All rights belong to JK Rowling

As we continue onwards darlings, this story will continue to rise and fall through several dark concepts. I want to state that though I may write these characters to be hateful or cruel at times, I in no way condone their monstrous acts. This is fiction. Above all, canon or not, it will get dark. References made concerning WWII events may be inaccurate, or out of sequence.

Chapter 8: Blood Calls to Blood

The Dark Lord's forces had nearly reached the heavy stone doors, guarding the labyrinth of tombs below. The skeletal figures marched in unison, filled by their voracious hunger for freedom. Gaining speed, they turned to pass through the last chamber, when the Aurors finally made their presence known; spilling forth from the Trial Chambers' Corridor. Their wands, fully ignited with spells at the ready. Their eyes, bearing the same righteous fury that they held tight within their hearts. Stunners and restraints shot forth from their wands in a poor attempt at snaring the dark haired woman leading their charge unto freedom. Bellatrix Lestrange, a war criminal many would die rather than see her walk free again.

Bella's own heart raced with a vitality she hadn't felt in many years. Reaching her wandless arm out, she plucked the young Auror leaping forth. Into the air he went, strung up like a child's doll; using only the ferocious touch of her magic. She gleefully hoped that these simpletons would finally give her a challenge; though she knew very well, they would not. The Ministry didn't employ warriors, they clung too tightly to their prim ideals to keep such weapons content.

Her magic clung to the sweat at the back the boy's straining neck, before clamping roughly around it like a vise. Her grip, unrelenting; constricting just as her master's familiar would around his throat. It wasn't until she heard the loud crack, that she released his body. His life leaving him as quickly as the candle's flame, once extinguished. Another inevitable consequence of her magic's wicked temperament. She dealt death without hesitance, just as she knew her Lord would've demanded.

Then, half drunk on the power rushing through her veins, she unleashed a roar of laughter, reflecting the true madness of her soul. Its malevolent nature had earned her such an esteemed place at the Dark Lord's side. Her veins filled like a violent chasm, as it overflowed with suppressed magic. Eagerly aiming to do it's mistress's bidding, it enveloped the Auror's fallen form. Decimating his airways before crushing his spine, and finally grinding his bones into dust beneath her boots as she stepped forth.

Her eyes, positively danced with malignant intent as her palms itched to feel her magic pulsing once more with such vitality. She launched her magic forward. The darkening shadow of her magic-bound soul taking form, setting it's sights upon her next target. No words nor spells were needed to direct this primal force. For it was the same pure, unbridled magic their ancestors had relied upon; long before the time of wands. Intent was everything; the fuel and the driving force. The hammer and the momentum.

Curses poured from frantic lips like cauldrons set to boil, as the Ministry's fools earnestly attempted to break her hold on the young one. To no avail. Dark amusement pooled within her at the sight of the high and mighty Aurors failing to save one of their own. The horror ate away at their hearts, as they let their need for vengeance guide their bodies forth. Just as she so hoped they would.

And people actually trusted these imbeciles to protect them from someone as formidable as the Dark Lord? She'd sooner cast off her magic and live like Muggle trash, than feel such a false sense of security.

An ear-splitting sound assaulted Bella's ears, when she heard Barty roar out a particularly vicious, "Bombarda Maxima!"

A smirk twisted at her lips as she twirled her body around to witness such beautiful devastation. Cracks ate their way up the massive support column, cleaving up its way through the ceiling. Pieces of the stone immediately began to crumble above them, gravity ripping it from its moorings. The ground trembled as pieces fell. To their left, a great column struck the floor; crushing a lowly Death Eater attempting to flee. Good, Bella thought with a particularly vindictive edge, filthy deserter.

Aurors and Death Eaters alike, scattered at the ripple effect of Barty's spell. But Bellatrix found absolute delight in watching the Ministry's great protectors scramble like vermin. She couldn't help but to redirect some of the slabs, crushing those nearby. All the while, moving her arms as if conducting the most marvelous of symphonies. She flicked away the rubble and dust attempting to fall on her, with a disgruntled sneer at having been distracted from her work. But when the archway collapsed before them, sealing off the Ministry's escape with a great slab of immovable stone; she couldn't help but to grin roguishly toward her Barty. Separating them from leaving the party early and from summoning reinforcements, Bella revelled. How positively wonderful.

For indeed, it trapped the inept fools in their columned passageway, with no way to send for the second infantry. How amusing the chimaera is, as it chases the dragon deeper into the mountains. Furious and proud in it's glory. Blind to the dragon's design. Locked within the cage of their own making, with nowhere to go. The bars that had once protected them from their fearsome beasts, stood no more. Suddenly the tooth and the claw of their creations, seemed all the sharper as their own flesh lay bare. And Bellatrix had every intention to rip and tear them to pieces, just as her magic yearned to do.

The Floo Network just beyond those walls, having been originally built to ferry dozens of Ministry Officials into and out of the prison from the heart of the Ministry itself. Initially constructed to guarantee that no inmate would successfully manage to break through and retrieve one's wand in the corridor just beyond, without be slain mercilessly. Nonetheless manage to escape back through the Floo upon their return, which was the only choice considering Azkaban's deadly waters and its Anti-Apparition wards remaining ever resilient.

The deathly purpose behind this channel of the Floo Network in particular, was that it didn't lead to just any destination from their end. But rather, straight into the belly of the Ministry of Magic. Into the heart of the Auror Department itself. Wizarding London's finest, she rolled her eyes at the rather nauseating title. Now, with the Anti-Apparition wards still holding, if only just, and the Network officially closed for business, things were falling right into place for the The Dark Lord's most faithful. Her lover's spell had decimated any hope they had in returning to their precious families upon the morn.

They should thank us for our mercy, she yearned to spit out at their panic-stricken faces. After all, there was a ravenous horde of dementors awaiting their promised meal, should any be left alive come morning. The very same dementors that had for centuries guarded each corner of this Morgana forsaken prison. A shining example of Azkaban's unfettered cruelty. The cloaked beasts gorged themselves on anyone they pleased.

Aurors came and went as quickly as possible, to avoid their emotional drain, the depression. The utter desolation of having nothing left to live for. Leaving prisoners, like herself, to rot in this abyss without so much as a backward glance.

Deaths of prisoners went undocumented, for who wished to keep accounts of such a thing. How many bodies had she seen removed from their cells, when inmates died before their due time? Her years lost within this bottomless pit will be imprinted in her mind for years to come, as permanent as the black mark etched upon her arm. For years, Bella patiently laid in wait for her Lord to come for her; like she knew he would. Now that the day she'd eagerly waited for had finally come, she couldn't wait to settle her scores with the world.

There was a debt to be paid after all.

In the midst of settling the red in her ledger, Bella began to move her way deeper into the room. Subtly chasing the Aurors away from the Armory's entrance on the far wall. The pair of gargantuan black doors guarding it, stood as commanding as the Dark Lord himself. Getting these fumbling idiots through them without being apprehended would be no easy feat, but her Lord had placed it upon her head to get this sorry lot through them. Bellatrix was many things, but coward she was not. She would draw their fire, and get her charges through those bloody doors if she had to drag their worthless, sodding arses through them herself.

The Armory was, for lack of a better name, the place where their wands waited to be reunited with their masters. In death, both would be laid to rest for all eternity inside its walls. Entombed in the catacombs beneath them where the victims of Azkaban's cruelty would forever be laid to rest. Stone coffins lined the walls, scribed with each inmate's name and the charges laid against them. It was where Bellatrix feared she would one day rest in utter damnation, surrounded by only the worst of the worst. Her tenacity and her name forgotten, along with all the rest of the rubbish below.

This place isn't worthy of my blood, she sneered amidst the melee unfolding around them. Nor my bones.

The few Death Eaters capable of continuing the fight wandlessly did so while the others fled toward the hall beyond. Dolohov slunk off quickly, barely able to keep up a steady shield from the hammering of spells. His leg bled heavily and he was already swaying on his feet due to the blood loss. How disappointing. Rabastan stayed only long enough to kill the one trying to maim his own hide, before swiftly abandoning her in the midst of the melee around them. It wasn't the first time that Bellatrix had been in a war zone, but it was the first time that he dared to leave her. Rodolphus. The object of her rapidly swelling fury hadn't even paused before following after his brother, who had long since disappeared like the coward that she knew him to be. Her husband, Bella's mind supplied bitterly, sickened by the mere sight of him.

Barty, however, remained at her side with malevolent glee. She silently marveled at the natural ease in which he was dodging Incarcerous curses one minute, and hexes meant to break one's limbs unequivocally the next. Their dark eyes gleamed and their teeth snapped in feral delight. Together they paired diligently, calculating the other's next move before they even shifted. It appeared the last decade apart hadn't affected their harmonious dance one mite. So while Bellatrix worked to keep their shields charged, he winged the Aurors' phalanx with vigorous intent. Forcing them to cluster, limiting their assault. Altogether, forcing them to back toward the crumbled archway in retreat.

She reignited an age old Black family ward, the likes of which had served her well in battle before. Her ears perked up as Barty cast an Imperius toward the older blonde Auror, who seemed to ignore their efforts to round them up and instead charged right toward them like a bloody troll. The wild promise of vengeance could be seen gleaming from his eyes with madness biting around the edges. Yet Bella smirked at the challenge, for she knew that his aggression could be easily tamed. They were all so alike and oh, how I enjoy uncovering what makes them break.

It only took a moment for the Unforgivable to take affect of his body. Then, it was like a switch was flipped. He lumbered around, slaughtering his partner in cold blood. No amount of visible resistance on his part whatsoever. Only acting out Barty's desires like a mindless puppet. But Bellatrix could see the utter mania shining from his eyes as he swung back toward the shadowed man at her side. Devastation slowing his reaction time, just enough for Bella to throw him back up against the wall with lethal force, as Barty sustained the shields. The Auror's body slumped down to the floor with blood pooling around his still form; spine snapped like a twig underfoot as curses hammered their wards.

They each could have kept this up for several minutes more, but as the last few Death Eaters that had remained behind escaped one by one, the Ministry's lackeys began to refocus their efforts on her. It seemed they had finally smartened up, realizing whom the bigger threat was. Together, working now as one unit, the Aurors' attempted to penetrate their shields tenfold. Bella realized how vastly outnumbered they were, combined with how little sustenance she and Barty had been living on, she finally spit out for him to leave her. He needed to retrieve their wands, and she could hold them off until his return.

Morgana, she hoped. If not, well then there was no greater honor to her than to die doing her Lord's bidding, and the woman with unruly dark curls knew that she would take down as many of the Muggle-loving bastards as she could before one of them got in a lucky shot.

"Go now Crouch, before I have to repeat myself," she grumbled to the man at her side. "Fetch me my damn wand, so that I may spill some blood properly." Bella asserted to the man beside her, both her hands reaching out to weave a new charm into the bare bones of her last protective spell. Strengthening the barrier and protecting them from harm. Then, with the heat of the battle feeding her fires, she pivoted. Hands seeming to grab up the collar of her next next victim, then twisting until her magic tore his head from his body. Her sentence, seemingly punctuated by the fall of the severed head. Bella heaved to the left to avoid another stunner thrown by one of the Ministry's baboons. Its attempts to slip around her shield, met with Barty's magic absorbing its power and returning it towards its sender with a deadly surprise in store.

All the while Barty, having finally realized that they didn't have any guarantees that any of the Death Eaters making a run for it were going to retrieve any wand other than their own, shot one final curse over his shoulder. Pointing a grimy finger at her in warning, her Barty growled out the most heartfelt of replies.

"If you even think about dying without me, I'm going to skin Rodolphus alive and tie his soul to yours for eternity." His dark eyes flashing with dangerous promise and threat. Knowing how truly cruel she'd find the idea of being tied to Rodolphus further into the afterlife. Bellatrix's marriage having been forced upon her under the arrangement their families made upon their graduation from Hogwarts, all those years ago. The insipid fool didn't even know how to properly take care of her or what she required of a partner; otherwise the dolt would been here beside her. Fighting and maiming all who threatened them.

"You wouldn't dare." Bellatrix hissed back immediately in response, glaring darkly at him and he had to take a moment to take her in once again. Her wayward hair dancing around her with every movement she made, it framing around her pure-blood features that forced her onyx orbs to glitter with madness from within the darkness around them. Even with how long she have been confined here, Barty couldn't deny just how attractive he found her to be. Wild and unfettered by their society's regulations on females. If anything, he wanted to put his mouth on her and show her how much she meant to him. She was all he thought about besides killing and his unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord.

"I don't make jokes about skinning livestock." He offered back to her, refusing to acknowledge her spouse as anything other than a pig for all his disgusting philandering. Of course he wasn't cruel enough, at least not to Bella, to follow through with such a threat. Heated anger boiled within his stomach at the mere thought of such a powerful woman being eternally intertwined with such a swine, even in death. He wanted to destroy that half-arsed excuse for a wizard, far beyond that which a simple Killing Curse could achieve. Barty scowled at his witch with the weight of a thousand words left unspoken between them, before he twisted his body and bolted for the hall. His lanky figure blending effortlessly into the shadows where he belonged.

Bellatrix thrust her emaciated frame over the fallen bricks and mortar, but not before a burning sensation began running down the left side of her face. The pain that accompanied the cutting spell pierced the nerves around her eye like knives, causing her vision to swim bitterly with unshed tears and blood. That gutless wanker! She was going to make him suffer for that one.

For while shielding herself against the sudden slew of curses aimed solely at her, she had miscalculated the timing horribly. Crimson seeped rapidly from the wound, the liquid curling down her face to drip down her jaw cooly, as her flesh melted. Sodding head wounds always bled the worst! There were several healing charms she thought to use, but without a proper wand, she could do more harm than good. Healing was tricky, or at least it had always been for her. Clenching her teeth through the torrential waves of agony, the only sound escaping her was the inhuman growl of rage bellowing from within.

Her waning magical strength no more in the forefront of her mind as she leapt from behind the fallen column with renewed vigor. If nothing else, than to peel the skin from that old prick's face. A young Auror circling her flank was the first to drop, with little more than a half-hearted Avada Kedavra leaving her lips. A familiar flash of verdant green claimed his worthless life. Pathetic, she thought. She never gave him a breath to realize he was done for, before forging onward just as quickly. The Scotsman was her target, the cowardly leader of this little charade. And all Bella wanted to do was rip, tear, and bathe in his blood. It was his lucky shot that left her so disfigured, after all.

Cutting her way through the lot, she didn't even noticed the two coming from down the hall. Her focus was on killing the one who had maimed her face so horribly. Threats painted her thoughts with graphic imagery of what she would do to him. How dare he let his filthy magic touch my flesh! I'll gut him for it. It wasn't until she had threw back her wrist, gathering what was left of her raw magic into a orb of molten fire, that she felt the air lurch next to her. Drained as she was, it felt beyond her abilities to mentally hold the incantation and understand what was happening. Her vision had already begun to fade around the edges, and she felt as though she might drop at any moment. But through her haze, an inky mist spiralled through the damaged ceiling's view of the night sky.

A face etched with lustrous fury, eyes ablaze with an almost otherworldly gleam leapt from the mist. Cloaked from head to toe in the deathly pale color so at odds with the Dark magic used to transport her body here. Launching a shield of white hot flames around both Bellatrix and herself, the woman rapidly firing curse after curse at the two Aurors who'd thought to attack Bella's turned back. Her breathing doubling at the danger that had been approaching from behind. Unbeknownst, she thought with mortification.

Her defender, however stood merciless in her attacks. Cutting through the air with her sheer magical might, sparks flying in every direction. Her hands twisting and compressing her magic in a way she'd never seen before; as through she could see the strains of magic leaving her body instead of just pushing inanimate objects at a target. It was like a dance that she'd memorized all the steps to a thousand times before. However impossible that sounded.

Bella could only imagine the undeniable will one would need to harness such a power. Wandless magic, having long been understood to be the most difficult medium by which to channel one's core.

But this witch, who barely looked old enough to have left the halls of Hogwarts, moved uninhibited. She cast with such precision and strength, it reminded Bella of her master. The witch from the cell next to hers was a fearsome thing to behold. Bella didn't even know her name, having lived at her side for the last decade. The ghoulish slip of a woman was as mysterious as the words she'd spoken to the Dark Lord just minutes before. Words that Bellatrix couldn't help but to overhear when she'd spoken them so boldly. 'Brother,' she'd called her master. Could the blood of Salazar Slytherin truly run through her veins?

A spell the color of vermillion rolled off the female's fingertips, as she pulled it from her body in front of her solar plexus. Its light moving through the dark skinned male's shield to stun the witch, who'd raised her wand to take the more offensive position of the two. From what Bella had seen of her before she had collapsed, she had looked little more than a sprite from so far away. Angered by the attack on his partner, the wizard at the little Auror's side bellowed out a binding charm. Ropes shot forth from his wand to pull the blonde fiend toward him, only for them to shrivel and die away the moment they came into contact with the incandescent flames protecting them.

Another spell seemed to be on the tip of his tongue before the ropes even made contact, but the pale woman was too quick in her spellcasting. Weaving together a gale force wind so strong that ripped through the room. Pitching the tall dark skinned male back through the brick and mortar, well into the hall beyond. Then, seemingly at the very moment Bellatrix's magic crackled from the built up tension to release, she turned to grab the onyx haired woman's wrist in her hand, causing the orb to extinguish itself back inside her. Her body practically consuming it to remain standing.

"Not yet, my sister." Her command rang through the air as powerful as a war general. "Save your strength, the Dark Lord approaches. You are needed for the battle to come." Her voice seeming to elude to knowing far more than a guest of Azkaban had any right to.

Her face finally turned to stare into Bellatrix's own orbs, allowing her to see the devastation that wracked her eyes; the burning depths of her deformity. Blindness, a Muggle condition to be hindered by. Unheard of for a member of the magical community, outside of violent occupations or in times of war. So to see a witch so beautiful and young bear it as naturally as she did, was sacrilege. It was unearthly.

"What are you?" Bella found herself whispering reverently. Trying to identify whether the silver-eyed woman truly bore her no ill will after so many years of silence.

But just as the blonde parted her lips, a deafening shout rang out from across the room. The well-worn wizard, staggered forth; wand gripped tight enough to splinter as he held it like a complete oaf. Thrusting every ounce of hatred he had in his body toward the pair. Not understanding the true danger of the situation he now found himself in, he attacked mercilessly. Foolishly, like a trainee with more brass than brains.

The Scotsman spit out the curse with a look of utter contempt and disgust. "Halitus Ignis!" His words lighting the air between them on fire with his fury. His breath was rank with the smell of smoke, brimstone, and death.

No mere spell by any means, and fiercely known to be a Dark spell, due to its high death toll. It was a curse Bellatrix had not thought him to have the spine to attempt. Nor the witch standing before her, if the widening of her eyes was any indicator. Having hid behind the likes of the younger, less experienced Aurors, as she cut them down one by one. Even falling back while the last two were dispatched by the fair beauty at her side.

No, the fire breathing curse was the last thing she expected to spew forth from the bowels of his throat. Sending flames licking their way off his tongue, like some ill-begotten hybrid of man and beast. Charging toward the women, both knowing no hastily crafted shield would've been strong enough to defend such a spell. Its fiendfyre-like capabilities ate through all but the strongest of shields.

Vera had only a hair's breadth of a second to decide, with no time to apparate now even if she could manage to push through the Anti-Apparition Ward with Bellatrix in tow. She'd already declared her brother's most devoted her charge to protect in the days to come, just as she had once been her brother's when they were younger. The onyx haired witch was vitally important to the Dark Lord's regime and would be loyal until her very last breath. She would lay down her life in his defense.

So, she acted in the heat of the moment with little thought of risks and ramifications running through her Lestrange was worthy of the gift her curse was able bring. The pain would be swift and her sacrifice would not be without merit. For with a curse as Dark as this, no deflection nor shield could protect them from death's grip. The ultimate price had been demanded, and fortunately for them, one of the two may very well survive its grasp; unbeknownst to the complete and utter buffoon attempting to control something so far beyond his magical capacity.

Vera protectively positioned her body between harm and her brother's most faithful. Spine curving around the other witch's body like a shield. Her body, the only defense Bella had against the brunt of the flames. Her delayed arrival, having already cost them precious time. If she had been but a moment later, they would have suffered a great loss. So, in the time it took her to drag a weary breath back into her lungs, the curse had already eaten it's way through the white flames protecting them, dissolving their mighty tendrils into smoke.

It devoured the fabric of her dress like tinder. Singing hair and flesh in its fury, determined as it was to obliterate every ounce of flesh between its caster and death. Skin melted and muscle blistered, revealing the bones of her vertebrae. The agony was unending, but she held fast to her pride with a clenched jaw. This foul being would not hear her cries, she would not give her power away to such a weak creature.

The aging wizard shook, as he fought to hold onto the conflagration with all of his might. Tendons taut with strain. Sweat pouring from his brow, as his teeth ground together in concentration. Overwhelming his magical limits in his efforts maintain his hold on the curse. But as the heir of Slytherin claimed what could very well be her last breath before she lost consciousness from the pain, the floor began to quake beneath their feet. For that last moment, it was almost as if time stood still. Vera could barely feel anything other than Bella's heart thundering through her chest as the heat consumed them. The pulse grounded her as the storm raged anew all around them. The flames roared with fury.

Only, it was not the flames that voiced their wrath.

"Obscurio Imperium!" Hissed a furious voice, as a deathly shadow lashed through the air between their bodies and the Dark magic surrounding the flames to do his bidding instead, in the way only a true Master of the Dark would be able to. The smoke he stepped from taking the shape of robes in the deepest of pitch. Light and sound leaching from the room, until only the devastating screams of the man covered in flames could be heard. A wand of yew resting beneath long deft fingertips.

Flames licked their way through the Auror's clothes and up the wall behind him, until he moved no more. But even after his victim stopped screaming, the robed figure remained to watch his skin blister and melt into nothingness. The feral snarl resting upon the Dark Lord's face, cutting a vicious portrait in the moonlight as he stepped forth from the shadows to face those he felt approaching.

Following his lead one by one, the faces of his Death Eaters slowly appeared from the edging ink that engulfed all sides of the room. Answering their Lord's silent call once more. The Dark Lord's magic suddenly ate away at the moon's fading light, leaving them lit only by the flashes of lightning overhead. Its glow dancing off each one of the unmasked brutal features, as they raised their wands over their hearts and lowered their heads in deference. Their gnarled fingers clenching around the knobby wands with murderess hunger. The room weighed heavy with words unspoken between the Death Eaters and their Lord. His loyal followers swearing a solemn vow to repay a debt that could never be paid for. A debt, they would each die trying to settle.

Vera could scarcely feel a thing along her back, but she knew her ruined flesh would be stitching itself back together. Soon, there would be neither a blemish nor scar marring her smooth shoulders. The ivory material wrapped around her was nearly as indestructible and untouched by time as she was, having been crafted by the monster who'd done such unthinkable things to her. The fine material repulsed her, and knowing that she had no other option than to wear such a thing filled her with more disgust than anything she'd worn at the orphanage as a child. No, this had been crafted around her naked flesh without her permission, after he'd tortured her, and stripped her away from everything she cared for in this world.

But just as she caught herself pitying her situation, she looked into the worried dark eyes of the witch who'd remained close at her side. Vera looked down to realize it was her own elbow resting in the other woman's grip, leaning against her for support so as not to fall. So, carefully she flexed her shoulders back and held her chin up. Meeting the scarred woman's eyes before nodding in thanks.

Over her shoulder she sensed movement, as a heavily shadowed man stepped forth behind Bella. Feeling that her moment was slipping through her fingers, she leaned closer to tell her brother's lieutenant something she knew would be important before this was all said and done. Knowing that when the time was right, she'd know what to do. She ignored the other woman's furrowed brow with a mysterious quirk of her lips, before leaning forward to kiss the other woman's cheek. The tips of her fingers barely caressing her injured cheek before turning away. Giving the black haired witch no time to inquire further about what strange ramblings she spoke.

The hair on the back of Bella's neck soon rose with awareness, and she was urged to look behind her. Only to turn and discover Barty standing there with a heavy gaze as he looked her over. He came back for me. Grazing his lips across her nape in a possessive gesture, the fellow Death Eater placed in her hand a smooth textured wand whose nature was almost as unyielding as her very own. The wand was different that any of those that she had seen, the curved in design like that of a magnificent dragon's talon. Stroking it's length under her fingertips in a loving gesture, Bellatrix admired the wand of Walnut and dragon heartstring anew.

Feeling Barty's gaze burning into her skull, Bella raised her eyes slowly from her prized possession to the predatory gleam in her past lovers' dark eyes. With a smirk curling on her lips, Bella swiftly turned her body to face him, placing little space between the two of them. She reached her right hand up, drawing her wand down the left side of his face to urge him in even closer. Chest to chest, she stared into those dark glittering eyes that she'd yearned so fiercely through the years for.

His warm body seeming to set her very blood ablaze. Bellatrix loved the madness reflecting within his eyes and only lasted a moment of staring heated at them before licking his cheek mutinously. The tip of her tongue danced against the curve of his left cheek, her saliva wet and turning cool when she purposely blew on the spot she claimed. Bellatrix smiled when she noticed him shiver at her proximity, making no move to stop her. Only wiping the blood from her unmarred cheek, as his eyes inspected her with nothing but tender respect.

So caught up in the moment, Bella didn't even feel her wounds having been healed from beneath the fresh blood splatter. There was only the distance between them and the sand running out. So, once more, they held their silence and neither spoke of the deeper connection buried between them. Her lips curved in reverence at his absolute worthiness. Whispering battle plans and dark promises for they would do to their enemies.

After all, he had always been hers. Built for her, just as she was for him. Complimenting each other's strengths and minimizing weaknesses. Even before she, herself had known it; they were one. So when the resounding cracks of the Anti-Apparition Ward failing ripped through the island, her eyes turned to the only two figures emanating more power than Merlin, himself. Her Lord, silently commanding their attention, and the female stepping forward to join him.

The charred flesh across her shoulders and down her spine, mending itself back together much the same as the bespelled fabric of her finely made dress. A dress that was old enough in style to have been considered vintage, even before she was incarcerated. Down her back her fair locks cascaded. Lengthening and weaving themselves into a wild tangle that seemed to dance in the breeze as she stared up at the Dark Lord. Iridescent eyes as beautiful as they were frightening met crimson, as he watched her with a covetous gleam.

Their warring robes billowing out around them, while their magic sung a Dark melody she knew all too well. A thrum of furiously raw energy filled the room, as their Lord glared down at his companion's wounds, before snarling out a command to her in parseltongue. His tone seeming to convey displeasure, but his eyes still told another story.

Moments before…

In death, she was magnificent. A pale flame in the pitch darkened cell. Her body wrenching itself back from the abyss little by little, as he kept vigil. Light pulsed from beneath her flesh as her small wrists and agile fingers grew anew. Healthy and whole, unlike the poisoned limbs she had once bore.

Leaning against the stone table she used as a bed, he cast his eyes around the remnants of her cell; taking in the ashen debris that continued to fall around her body. Reminding him of the dust settling after the bombings of London when he was a boy. He could remember the staccato of his heart beating then, just as fervently as it did now. All other noise seemingly swept from the cell, as he remembered the still bodies of the Muggles lined up for identification in the streets. The gut-wrenching knowledge that he could've been killed by some filthy Muggle's weapon, in the depth of the night when he had been forced to return to London over winter break. The mere possibility only further bolstering his need to escape that wretched place; to make them all choke on the very thing that they dared call power.

Lost in the vitriol of his own mind, he visibly flinched when she suddenly gasped for breath. Her back arching off the dais as Vera greedily drew oxygen into her lungs. He watched mutely as her fine boned limbs lengthened and contracted in pleasure; as though, she'd only just woke from a quick slumber. She hummed out her satisfaction, a lazy grin perched upon her lips. Her eyes fluttered slowly in the beginning, but quickened when she realized the watchful gaze upon her. At first, she was confused toward his proximity. In her disorientation, she wondered if she'd slipped into a vision without realizing. But staring into his eyes, as their magic pulsed so erratically between them, felt like a string pulled taut. The very air vibrated with tension, and she knew him to be well and truly here. It was as if his magic's otherworldly force had pulled her violently from her daze.

Rising from the perverse thing that had passed as a 'bed' here in Azkaban, she twisted her body. Her legs swinging to the side, as she rose to her feet. Her brother, having stepped back to allow her ample room to move, suddenly surged forth to steady her when she swayed dangerously. His fingers curling around her waist a little too tightly to be polite, as she found her balance.

"Thank you," she murmured breathlessly. Seeming to mean several things at once, by the way she placed her left hand upon where his rested, skin to skin. Her wrist, bare of both shackle and mutilation, from where the barbs had once sunk into her flesh, looked so soft and breakable. It would be so easy to slip and crush her bones beneath his grip. People didn't just touch him like this. He did not like touching others.

As it was, he tried to pretend those two words meant nothing to him. Told himself, they were meaningless. His heart had long since been cold to the kind of warmth her tone suggested. No matter what sort of betrayal his body insinuated with his quickened pulse and sudden impulses. But Morgana help me! He wanted to breathe her in. Smell and taste nothing but her. To utterly and completely consume her. Even something so foreign as the cadence of her voice, sent vibrations trilling right through him. He was hot with desire and glaringly aroused by this exotic creature.

The moment seemed to pass over several life spans, for them both. Vera felt her magic roar with life for the first time in what felt like centuries. Warmth blossomed in her chest. The feeling of her veins thrumming with self-awareness caused her mouth to parch in awe. She recognized the glorious warmth flowing down her form, as her magic breathing in rhythm with her heart once more. Her vision was brighter and her instincts, sharper than ever before. Magic popped and snapped as it bubbled to the surface across her fingertips.

But it was the altogether, different currents simultaneously running over her skin that brought the enlivened flush to her cheeks. The feel of it like warm breath gliding down her skin. She shivered at the sensation. Tom's magic reacting just as she remembered. How invigorating the feeling was to feel this again. The perfect syncopation of one another's magical ebb and flow, had Vera releasing a sibilant hiss of pleasure.

Their magical cores, flaring like the phoenix's feathers as they caught fire, intertwined with harmonious ease. His own magical core encapsulated her completely; threading into her magic's song, with it's near deafening thrum. The intensity that she had always associated with her brother, keenly danced across her flesh; laying claim upon her in a way that no mark ever could. Feeling, for all the world as tangible as hands would, protectively stroking down her extremities. Warmth flooded through Vera's veins, spiraling throughout to settle within her very core.

It took everything the pale blonde had in her, not to moan in euphoria as the gooseflesh appeared. Vera wondered if he truly had knowledge of the effect he had upon her, or if this too was lost to him. Was he aware that despite all of what separated them throughout the years, he still had such a powerful hold over her? He would always have this, even if he knew so little of it's boundless extent.

But while reveling in the familiar sensation of his magic sheltering her from the night's blistering chill, Vera trembled for an entirely different reason. For just as this bond of blood, bone, and power had once wrapped itself protectively around them during some of the cruelest of nights spent in Muggle London; it had now matured into a deep burning blaze. For they were not the same children, they once were. It felt all the more physical now, as it carried with it the weight of their oppressors. Where once there had been a tentative spark, now burned an inferno. No longer were they so demure in their reactions. Passion drove their magic to heightened levels, and they both understood that. Her breasts grew heavy with desire to be touched. She was swollen, needy, and desperate for her male's attentions.

Voldemort's blood red eyes seemed captivated by the curvature of her lips. His eyes chasing mere wisps of a life long forgotten, as his magic ripped through his false memories. Now that he knew of her existence, had felt the full effect of Vera's magic thrumming against his own, Voldemort chased the phantom sensation of her lips pressing against his own. The full bodied memory of just moments before played behind his eyes. He wanted to feel it again, here with no illusions. Only now, with her magic pulsing in the air like some kind of exotic pheromone, he could only imagine what the feeling could become. He would never feel this and forget. This, he would spend the rest of his life chasing.

Vera's magic danced across his skin, in her careful critique. Allowing her to see his new features flare to life with greater detail than ever before. She felt the same impulse warming her from the inside out, as she inched near. Her magically altered orbs never leaving his, even as he stared back at her with that intensity she knew made others uncomfortable. The height difference between them was slight, but just enough to cause her to incline her gaze. Peering deeply into the river of fluctuating crimson, she raised her palm to cup his cheek. Her fingers trembled while his jaw released its tension, as they were overtaken by a sudden weightless sensation. Sliding her hand down below his ear and around, she clutched the back of his neck firmly. Coaxing his forehead down to rest against her own, while they breathed each other in.

His senses were on absolute fire from just a graze of her skin against his. He could feel Vera all around him, branding him with her whole being. He likened the sensation to the discovery of his true bloodline, aware as he now was that he wasn't truly the last Slytherin descendant. A fact which made Vera special in her own right. Their shared heritage meant genetically, she was his equal. The very instant that Parseltongue flowed from her lips, she was his. A Queen above all others, one he never thought he's find, but revelled in all the same. He had no recollection of ever sharing something so innocent with another. But the coals he felt low in his belly, stoked to life at the mere smell of her. She had all of his attention; man, monster, and the serpentine creature that gave him these new senses. The desire he felt for this exquisite female was anything but innocent.

Would she taste the same, now that he knew once more she was just as much his as he was hers? His chest rumbled in acknowledgment, the beast within him humming with lively content. Yes. Mine. He vibrated with anticipation to press down onto her with a hard burning need, completely oblivious to anything that wasn't her. His desire to possess every inch of her surged within him, daring him to act impulsively upon his thoughts now. To stroke his hands down her bare spine, and see if she'd undulate like his Nagini did under his gentle caresses. He was at odds. He needed to take her before any other being could claim such a desirable mate. But he also wanted to savor her. To worship her. Even if he knew that it wasn't the time or the place for such things, the beast within him cared naught.

"Yes," she replied. Causing him to pause, while he worked to discover what she meant. "Yours," she affirmed in parseltongue. Her acknowledgment of being his, nearly did him in. Should he be standing before her as a King Cobra, his hood would be flared with undeniable hubris. He felt feral with pride. He suddenly wanted to destroy every single thing standing around them. To wrap his body around her and never release. To force her to feel as desperate as he felt. He didn't even fully understand what was happening inside him at that moment.

But as malignant as he was inside this horcrux and as terrifying as he was to look at now, he felt no shame in capturing her lips with his. Quick as a lightning strike, in his movements. In this moment, she was his and he needed to claim her as she'd claimed him. He feasted on her flesh as she purred with pleasure. Tongues chased and devoured each other, as he lifted her back up onto the dais. Her legs spread wide, dress hitching further up a smooth expanse of lean flesh, making room for him to lean into her. Limbs wrapped around his neck and waist like a vise, as he pressed ever closer.

Her nails impaling his shoulders like some feral creature in heat. Denying him escape. The Dark Lord growled lowly as he ground his length just where she needed it most, pelvis thrusting back and forth with tightly bound control. "More my Darkness!" She cried out in parseltongue as he latched onto her neck. His hand sliding up her thigh with an approving stroke. The head of his cock on fire, as he stroked what so distinctly made her female. The slick heat of his chosen female desperately seeking release against his clothed length made him positively wild. The friction was unendurable.

So caught up in their own world, clouded as they were, they didn't hear the resounding crack that seemed to shake the entire prison from its impact. But Voldemort felt his Death Eaters' rising panic through their connection. Lifting his face from her flesh, he realized just whose Mark flared with pain and exertion. His Bella, was under attack. Jolting away from the female before him, he felt the air tremble around them. His predatory senses flared, as he licked the air. Tasting Dark Magic all around them. Which would not be cause for such alarm, had it been theirs.

Voldemort grasped his fingers around her wrists, ripping them off his body. Forcing them down on either sides of her head as though punishing her for distracting him; for dulling his senses from the putrid smell of Dark Magic now seeping its way in through the wards around her cell. As if she was solely to blame for his loss of control. For in his mind, she had been. Since before he had laid his eyes upon her, Voldemort didn't know love or family, at least not that he remembered. To invoke such emotions from within a man whom had no previous knowledge of them as Tom Marvolo Riddle had, to take someone who grew accustomed to being cold and unfeeling, to bring forth something 'greater' within him… there had to be some kind of bewitchment that she cast upon him without his notice.

He wasn't sure he minded however, for either way he would claim what he wanted the most - her. Voldemort set his sights upon her and anyone that was stupid enough to stand in his way, he almost anticipated the blood that would be shed in the process. He wondered just how beautiful she would look painted with the spilled blood of their enemies. He would take her then, he decided; claim her when she was as slick with blood as she was arousal.

After finally releasing her from the rough treatment his hands rendered unto her, Vera rose to her feet. Stepping around his form, she began to maneuver towards the ripped wall that spilled out onto the rocks. Thinking their interlude here was over for now, Vera had leaned forward; instantly preparing to take flight toward the resounding booms that could now be heard across the island. Both enjoying how the cool air forced her thoughts back on track and hating winter's harsh bite. His hand clasped her wrist, making no move to follow her. Suddenly she was violently twisted back behind him with utter confusion dancing across her features. Her dress, whipping around her form like a sheet caught in a sudden gust of wind. Breath having been ripped from her lungs, before any protest could be voiced as he forcibly shoved her in the far corner of rubble.

Positioning himself directly in front of her, Voldemort refused her attempt to stand beside him. A battle still raged within him, his analytical mind grudgingly attempting to come to terms with what his very being harbored for her after such little time. And yet he chose to stand before her, like some kind of Dark Prince that would slaughter whole armies - to keep her safe. Such things that he would have scoffed at, were she to speak them.

What is this hold that she has over me, he wondered. It feels, he paused as he assessed himself, addictive, this high. In that moment, Voldemort felt he could not be challenged in his claim of her. For there was no such creature so fiercely determined to have her; nor so capable to keep her.

Moving without thought, he magically restrained her feet in place with his wand clenched in his other palm. Safely at his back, as though to keep her pulsing light hidden away behind his dark robes. From within, he heard fallen Death Eaters' last thoughts echoing through the air. His connection to them vanishing as their souls departed from this plane and into the tight grasp of Death, himself. The only entity capable of filling him with something close to fear, as he knew he'd evaded his true death many times over now.

His magic was licking through the air around them in hungry waves of vicious crimson. Vera was livid, he could not help but to taste the spice warm the air. Her body betrayed her feelings of outrage.

As if I wasn't just as starved for the taste of fresh blood, as he, Vera thought with distaste snapping her teeth together furiously. Cocking her head in his direction, as he refused to allow her to move about freely, Vera's blood felt aflame from within her veins.

"Why do you deny me passage? Do you think to keep me here, brother?" Her indignant words punctuated by her hiss of disbelief, unable to comprehend why he stood in her way now; especially when he now knew the full truth. Had she misjudged his character so? She sneered at his actions and swallowed back the urge to fight his restraints on her legs. Vera knew she was fully capable of freeing herself, but also that she wouldn't get far; if that was truly his design.

"I will feel the life leave his rotted corpse. He is just as much mine to end, as yours!" Finally rasping out in their shared tongue, the hiss flowing easily from her lips. "Release me," she cried as she tried to pull her wrist free from his talon-like grip.

"Silence vipress. He is already here." His voice, like a whip cracking through the air, effectively stealing any further protest from her lips. For while he agreed she had earned her right to desecrate his corpse a thousand times over, the beast within him fought and staunchly refused to allow her any closer to the monster. As much as his blood heated and swiftly moved south at the thought of how breathtaking Vera would look shedding the blood of their enemy. To allow him such a chance to harm her; to take her from him, he could not abide by it.

For if he were to truly follow his desires to their source, she'd have no part in the upcoming war. After he killed Albus Dumbledore, any form this creature took was a threat to him and his. And while he could claim his opinion lay solely in the benefits her foresight offered, in the wars against Grindelwald and the Light's preservation of the Muggle World, he knew it to be a falsity. Battle plans could be attained through other means, spies could be planted, and raids would carry on without fail. But this connection between them was not so easily attained, and he knew if it were lost, he would not go back to being who he was before. He would be left much more hollow than he'd ever felt before.

He almost wished that she would agree to stay hidden in the safety of the manor. His home, guarded by more than just Nagini and any Death Eaters he decided were worthy to guard. Slytherin Manor would not be sieged by any army, their ancestor did not build carelessly nor without heavy safeguards. With his faithful pet to keep her company and more literature than he'd ever had enough time to read, she would know comfort. He could already imagine watching his familiar slithering her cool scales up the leather chair, like she was want to do when he returned home. Except instead of him stroking her scales, as she lounged across his shoulders and the high backed chair, he saw a familiar blonde reading by the fire.

Wouldn't she want that, after being denied even the simplest of luxuries for countless years?

Something told him it would not be so simple. For as short a time as he had spent with this strange creature, he instinctively knew that if he demanded it of her, the response she gave would come with more than simply a vicious look. The clench of her jaw and fists told him she'd deliver him pain, in return. The burning desire for retribution she felt, Voldemort knew well. The tantalizing sting that went hand in hand with the thirst for death - for blood. He would help her slaughter every single shell capable of hosting Gellert Grindelwald's soul, until they found his true form. Destroying any hint of his existence from the world. But he could not do so with her directly in harm's way, it would rip him in two if he tried; for he could not be two places at once.

Shortly after having processed the words Voldemort had uttered, Vera heard his voice in her head. It was difficult at first to understand what he was saying, through the guttural rasp of his words, but it felt possessive of her. Dominant in the way it purred her name, as though to soothe her rising fear. 'Veeera.' It whispered dark promises of what the shadow inside him wished to do to the one who approached, beseeching her to be calm all the while. He, his more primal side, derived from this horcrux wanted her to feel protected. 'Mate. Safe. Darkness protect. Cherish.'

The last word was uttered with such feeling, she wondered if she heard correctly. Questioning how she could hear his innermost thoughts, she glanced down toward their skin-to-skin contact; realizing at once it was just as when they were little, before they spoke aloud. She tried to adhere to his words, but she already felt half mad with need to escape the tight enclosure around them. It seemed everything within her, down to her very soul, urged Vera to flee. It wasn't a feeling that she had ever gotten used to, but it seemed as if the walls around her were closing in. To combat such a feeling, Vera focused on the taut muscles of her brother's back. Focusing on what his body language silently gave away, rigid and unforgiving; ready to strike.

When he finally released her, she was too distracted to properly encourage blood flow back to the numb extremity. The Dark Lord held his wand in an unyielding grip now, feet spaced evenly apart in a defensive stance before her. Vera's moonlit sagacious eyes affixed to the front corner near the barred wall and it was only then that the witch discerned the subtle distortion in the wards woven in between the bars by the door. Subtle variances in the spellwork that sent ice down her spine as it twitched. Through the darkness that shrouded them, Vera unleashed her senses to their maximum capabilities. Her magic licking through the runes running throughout the interlocking wards. Feeling the power weakening as the taste bittered, until she found the contaminated magic's source.

There, Vera thought as her orbs widened a fraction in response to what she discovered, and then her insides seemed to twist. To revolt for allowing her guard down for even a moment. Whether caused by her disorientation after her revival or his proximity, the reasoning mattered naught. He had finally arrived. It was within that one fragile second, when her mind recalled with relative ease just who's magical signature was behind the door, that the inside of Vera's body flooded with that same childlike terror she had not experienced roughly in fifty years.

And try as she might to forget, the sensation was almost too familiar to her for it was all she harbored to her enemy's name. It was similar to that of a poisonous spider crawling down her spine, stiffening her body in preparation for it's bite. It still revealed goosebumps across her skin and while her heart pounded against her ribcage, Vera remembered that this time would be different. This time Grindelwald didn't have just one enemy that had knowledge of his treachery, the fair haired beauty chanced another look at her brother's coiled form before her, he had two.

The walls began to move fluidly, like gazing into a life-sized pensieve. His magic leached out, tainting the wards around her cell with his vile magic. The ripples of his fingers running along its walls, made her feel like her cell was nothing more than a toy to be opened in the palm of his hand all along. As though she was the most curious figurine dancing inside his music box.

Vera, while unable to move forward to stand at her brother's side, had her arms free of restraints. Reaching her palm out to rest between her twin's shoulder blades, she pushed her thoughts directly toward him. Opening her mind once more for him to peer within, as he had instinctively just done to her. Thinking only of him and what she wished to say, she pushed. 'Something's happening,' Her voice forewarned within his mind's eye, yet not a sound left her lips.'This is not where I see Albus Dumbledore die, nor the creature inside him.' The room in her vision had been filled with columns and rubble, surrounding their fight with him. Death Eaters surrounded them, as members of the Order fought their way closer. 'We kill him out in the open, strike down this husk where it will hurt him the most. Let them see who he really is before we kill him. Let him know, he will not have their forces to hide behind.'

Understanding settled in his features as he looked back at her, knowing she didn't speak of his followers. Pushing his thoughts back, 'You believe him reckless enough to have already summoned The Order, before he has reclaimed you.'

'They are coming, we must position him to where we want him to fall. Force his hand into showing them exactly who lies beneath his skin.' Vera responded back with an element of contemplation in the words. He would appear in the hall she'd seen in her vision to try to kill Voldemort. Wearing Dumbledore's skin, he would think himself exalted beyond reproach among his 'allies.' Before the Order of the Phoenix, he would be hailed a savior of their people. The Magical Community would never see it coming when he struck. He would have it all within his grasp; Minister of Magic, Hogwarts' Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, and Grand Sorcerer.

Her brother hissed in acknowledgement, having followed her train of thought, as he shook her hand free from his spine. She wondered if her touch unnerved him, or if he was simply distracted by their intermingled thoughts. She felt at a loss, knowing how mutilated their bond had become. They used to exist solely for such sensations. Gritting her teeth in anger, she abhorred to be in such a position as to be cast aside or thought feeble. Her palm ached to feel the familiar smooth wand that he had destroyed. If only to feel somewhat comforted when she felt so exposed. Vera held the hope in her heart that the two of them would get there once again; but now that he stood beside her, the temptation that he represented skyrocketed.

Voldemort strengthened his shields, until they practically hummed with life but still she felt amiss. Perhaps, it was only her sixth sense sending her a foreboding warning before battle; as the abrasive sound of his voice began to resonate from within the walls not one moment later.

"Ah, Tom." A voice that had haunted her every nightmare slithered from the murkiness that assaulted their sight. Blood began to spill from in between the stones in the wall, as the wards were offered life force in exchange for passage. Her silvery orbs hardening as soon as the monster dared to speak her brother's true name, shedding her fright in place of a more useful emotion. After everything that he has done! After mutilating our bond, body and soul! How dare he. Wrath surged from within her; and a part of the monster within the depths of her body demanded that she knock her twin aside in favor of sinking her nails into flesh, to rip his skin from his face with her bare hands. She then would present him to his followers, the blind sheep that foolishly trusted the carefully constructed mask, to witness for herself if they could catch sight of the warped soul cradled within the shell.

Vera's body coiled as she concentrated heavily on the heat signature protruding forth from the wall, her blank orbs easily able to descry where exactly he was before the newcomer decided to take physical form. His voice, enlaced with both grandfatherly pride and amusement, made both descendants of Salazar Slytherin clench their teeth together in open hostility. Frigid and closed off, just as their ancestor would advise.

Vera's beautiful face fought not to break into the most ferocious snarl she could manage, as eager as she was to unleash her disgust. She yearned for nothing more than to rip out his vocal cords from their seams. But Vera's eyes seemed to have disregarded her commands entirely however, for even as pale as they gleamed, one could not misconstrue her feelings in any way. She gazed upon him murderously with his utter annihilation in her thoughts. The object of her hate parted confidently from the shadows that had previously concealed him.

"I see you've been... busy, touching what doesn't belong to you." His eyes running along her visage, seeing how swollen and dark her lips were and the healing love bites running down her neck. Eyes cutting back to Voldemort like a child whose favorite toy was just given to another.

"And I see that you've just gotten more decrepit, than when I last saw you 'Dumbledore.'" Voldemort mockingly replied as he stared daggers into the crystallized blue orbs. Eyes, that he would have done anything to witness that damned twinkle leave them; and when he continued his voice was just as venomous. "Tell me, does it bring you great pleasure to wear the skin of your once friend? Perhaps it makes you feel some measure of your once powerful position, before you let it slip through your thieving hands?"

Grinning eagerly that little Tommy Boy figured out who he was, the true wizard who wore Dumbledore's flesh as his own. To be invisible for so many years, with no outside sense of acknowledgment for what he'd done, ate at his pride. For inside Gellert Grindelwald was quite a vain man.

"Tell me boy, did you finally tie together those loose ends I left you? Was it after you foolishly attempted to steal the Sorcerer's Stone? Or perhaps while you were traipsing through the castle in a lovesick girl's journal and body? Tsk tsk. A Muggle-loving Weasley, no less."

Grindelwald's dark chuckle causing Voldemort's wand arm to throb in restraint. But he forced himself to remain calm, for he'd seen just how close to the surface, the monster was within the other man. One could almost miss the tightening around his eyes, for joviality. But he knew exactly how much he thirsted for just a taste of the power and influence he once had. It was the call of the Dark. It called to you, whispered in the night. His own chest vibrated from the need to release.

"Mm, I thought not." Grindelwald continued condescendingly with a demented grin curving upon his lips. "No, this has her influence written all over it. Still weak to the desires of the flesh, I see. Letting a female push and pull your strings. Always the foolish boy, like one I used to know. Though, I can certainly see the attraction. I do remember how soft her skin felt under my fingertips. How delicate her bones felt, like a baby bird's, as I snapped them. She would've made a fine Mother of my child, if only your filthy Muggle father's blood didn't taint her."

A sense of pride bloomed from within the older wizard's chest as Grindelwald watched the wizard before him coil dangerously at his words. How truly amusing it was that the boy was still so protective of her, yet he didn't even know who the woman truly was. I really am remarkable at my craft, he declared to himself. It truly takes a masterful touch to alter such integral parts of the mind. Fifty years, and not one soul had come sniffing after her whereabouts. Sensational.

There were so many complicated plans spiraling into motion within Grindelwald's mind, sending him into a frenzy. But before his great reckoning began, he would desire nothing more but to witness the great Voldemort lose everything. To have the lives of the few Tom cared for slip right through his fingers, before death. He continued on after a mere moment, attempting to push Tom further into the madness that the older wizard knew for a fact was within him. That temper of his could lead him to do almost as many foolish things as his pride.

"But nonetheless boy, I've been working on something you see, and it will prove quite useful in clipping her strings. Quite permanent too, I'm afraid." After all, what was the point of it all if he didn't have an audience that entertained him and not the other way around? He lashed out waspishly, almost sorrowful that this little game between them was about to come to an end.

"You see, that little healing factor has already begun shutting down. Death will claim her, boy. It's only a matter of time." His eyes positively glimmering with joy at his own cruelty, as he watched the desperate flicker in his adversary's eyes. "And as long as I possess my harvested parts of her, my research will live on long after she has finally perished. She may even have a part to play in my illustrious future." Chuckling at the irony.

"But now I hope you don't think either of you will be leaving here alive." Grindelwald cast his husk's blue eyes over Voldemort's shoulder meaningfully, lips curling further at the sight of her. Oh, how he had plans for her; and knew by the time he was done, sweet Vera would be begging for death to claim her soul. "Especially not with my property."

His words had the desired effect. Voldemort's eyes flashed maliciously crimson at Gellert for calling Vera his, once more. His insatiable appetite for death overtook all conscious thought. His body coiled dangerously, just like his ancestor's prized Basilisk. But where her deathly gaze would have offered mercy, he sought only pain. Sweet, tantalizing pain. The type that caused a man to scream until his mind collapsed from the pressure. Oh, how Voldemort ached to wrap his hands around the former Dark Lord's throat for daring to lay claim upon that which was solely his. Possessiveness surged within him, as the corners of his lips curled into a mere shadow of the true beast that lay within.

"Shut your mouth, you insolent cur. The world celebrated your fall, you were nothing to them. When I rose to power, they knew I had what you lacked, the means to lead us into a new age; not to ferret my way into filthy Muggle politics. You muddied your hands with them. You should have just killed them. The Purebloods will not follow such a weak Master."

Madness crackling within as he spoke with an underlying serpentine element, his magic boiling with the strength of a raging Obscurus beneath of his pale skin. His eyes took on a glint of challenge, daring the other man to make a move against them, as Voldemort raised his yew wand of thirteen and a half inches to hover it at Gellert's chest.

"They will follow me, whether they wish to or not, boy." His rough voice taking on a slight accent in his agitation. "Their wants on the matter do not concern me. Now hand over my property, before you die."

"You are not worthy to lick the mudblood from my boots," he enunciated clearly, as though speaking to a simple minded fool. "And now, you dare to speak of things that aren't yours? You have never had my Vera because she has always been MINE! Blood calls to blood, after all."

His voice thundered, echoing from the stoned walls that surrounded them. Voldemort was amused by how those blue eyes sparked with anger, so much so that he didn't need much to emit a faux calm; staring at the older man like a teacher that had to explain something yet again to insolent child.

"Though, if you insist on having her so badly Gellert, then I implore you..." His eyes darkening to pure flint; teeth gnashing together in what might've been a smile, had it not been rife with feral contempt. "Try to take her. If you think you can."

Life began and ended in the same breath within the crumbling room.

Where there had once been derision and thinly veiled threats, silence rang clear. Both Dark Lords well capable to strike and defend in such a nonverbal manner. Their magic had shed their ominously calm facades; having no more use for such meager games. Amidst the thrum of her heart pounding in her ears, the battle for the true title of 'The Dark Lord' deafened all on this side of the island. The torrential waves of Grindelwald's sickly green magic met her brother's viciously in the space between them; ripping and tearing into each other like primordial beasts battling to the death.

Wave after wave collided. Their residual magic rolling back and crashing against the walls like the ocean's tides. To and fro, it could've ripped ships to pieces; swallowing all who drew too close to death's mighty hand.

Grindelwald forced his will unto the earth on which Azkaban was built, but as the walls shook and the ceiling fell, neither Voldemort nor his companion could be touched. His shields remained impenetrable to such elementary attacks. Vera's unmoving and solid, while his own was a far more fluid creation. It fed off the remnants of his own magic ricocheting off the walls, circling back around and weaving itself into his protections. Reinforcing his shield with every spell cast, his magical core flaring sharply in an effort to protect itself. His focus solely centered toward the older wizard. Voldemort scrutinized every gesture and idiosyncrasy of his opponent's form.

He searched for any hint of weakness, any warning to a future attack that could cripple his defenses. But when Grindelwald attacked, he did so openly in powerful strikes using spells of his own creation; complex, dark curses that responded violently to neutralizing magic. So Voldemort sought to lure him into the open by lashing out consecutive frenzied attacks, each one precisely aimed to split Gellert's attention on either defending himself or retaliating.

However, the older wizard seemed to instinctively know when to twist and when to strike. Quickly switching his focus toward Vera's shields than her brother's. Realizing the weaker of the two, was the more stagnant. Her brother's quickly fashioned shield around her quaked at the onslaught, struggling to keep her tightly bound; to keep her protected.

No words lashed out as their magic spoke a language all its own; venomous sneers as perilous as the deadly curses flying through the air, painted their visages. Her otherworldly vision all but deafened, due to all but the bright flashes. Spells of great and terrible beauty saturated her vision, as all natural light seemed to have left the cell in the war for her life. Only explosions of their battling magic could be seen. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Magic ripped through the prison, whipping her hair around her like coiling snakes, biting her cheeks. A screamed curse came flying in her direction, as the shield illuminated. Eruptions of shrapnel and light went everywhere.

Then, nothing.

Blinding light filtered into her vision first, easily penetrating the darkness that shrouded her world. Only after processing the scene before her, did she become aware of the absolute lack of sound. Still, her mind focused once more on her life's first and only love; Tom. He was just standing at her side.

Brother, where are you? Her mind raced out of control as she felt the sickening crawl of insecurities and fear sliding up her spine. Feeling once more like the drifting soul that had been cut from its attachments. He was the guiding hand in the dark. Without him by her side, how would she find her way?

She released her aura once more, scanning the room to sense what her eyes could not and her suspicions were confirmed. She stood alone. Her dreams and her visions always held this same sense of dread and helplessness. She wished someone would come for her. She ached for the sound of soft breaths or footsteps. Anything to put an end to this smothering nothingness! She felt as though she was lost at sea, with no hope in sight. Yet, even as her heart raced with terror, she steeled her nerves. Biting back her screams, she noticed the light had begun moving. Streaming in from the corners of her vision all around her, as though the room was made of solar flares. Magic had begun clouding her senses until it felt like breathing underwater. A vision, now?

The iridescence burning in this otherworldly place, made her want to squint to protect her eyes. It was the magic, so heavily concentrated in this almost liquid atmosphere. Making it difficult to move or turn your cheek to watch a different scene. And once one captured your eye, you were possessed to see it unfold. She could only describe it as what it felt like when looking directly into the Sun, something she could only vaguely remember doing as a little girl. So bright it hurt, but it was a hypnotizing force.

Staring into the oil-like liquid, she could see the images playing atop of its moving surface in the light. But it was the images themselves, that brought a certain sense of unease sliding down her spine. Images of war flashed by like the pages of a book being turned too fast. The first held a black haired witch falling to the ground as Aurors attacked her mercilessly from behind. Seizing her and shackling her body to the ground. Her surprise and exhaustion apparent from her expression.

The next, she recognized as the image of Dumbledore being slain by her brother, as she had seen it before, but the events after had never been more clear.

This was a defining moment, to be so solid. She saw new life, and death. An announcement alerting the Wizarding World of massive exposure, brought upon by the Dark Lord named Grindelwald. Thousands of Muggles had been killed and they were proclaiming it to be the end of Prophet was shutting down. Magical hubs, bombed.

The stream ran through events without pause until it came to a stopping point in a field. Absolute exposure was what awaited them in this future. The Muggles had rained weapons of destruction onto them. Children had been rounded up and killed. Radioactive material was everywhere, those remaining couldn't apparate. Choking on the toxic fumes, thousands died around her. Death awaited them all here. Dark, it was so dark now. As if there was no more life left on the planet. This, she had never encountered before.

In the last vision, a robed shadow stood beside her as tears fell down her dirtied cheeks with abandon. She looked ill, like she fought to keep her feet beneath her. Bodies lined the wet ground around them, but when she tried to make out their faces, she was unable to tell who any of them once were. Blood and mud covered their features horrifically. They were the last of wizardkind. Body parts littered the ground, in the midst of the fires. Through the smoke, she could just scarcely make out a head of blonde hair bloodied beyond any means up ahead. Grindelwald's fallen form, the only cause for celebration in the entire scene.

Blood soaked her other self's clothes and poured from her nose and ears. No matter how much her brother tried to staunch the bleeding, she could tell it was futile. His magic wasn't coming forth, like it should. Terror filled his eyes, and she didn't see his snake-like features anymore. She saw the boy who held her heart. The one who kept her safe and warm through the solemn nights at Wool's. Her own features seemed set in a pained grimace.

Trembling as she whimpered his name, sounding little more than a frightened little girl who was being left behind. The wound in her chest wasn't healing. She knew what was coming, death awaited her. Her brother was heavily shadowed as he bowed over her collapsing body. Following her to the ground, where she took on last shuddering breath and didn't move again.

The robed man's form curled over her body, shaking. Bellowing out his anguish and pain, in a distorted voice she barely recognized as her brother's. A wand was weakly raised in his direction from the ground, but no sooner had it lifted, than did someone send a curse breaking those wrinkled fingers, and cast another jagged slash across his torso. A carefully handcrafted spell, he'd not used in a great many years. It and its counter-curse were his and his alone to gift unto a worthy adversary. He was the last Death Eater this world would remember.

Continuing his assault in his Lord's place, he gave no quarter. Blood seemed to never cease flowing, as this mutilated version of Gellert Grindelwald let out another wheeze of pain. The skeletal man fumbled to raise his wand aloft, as the dark haired man sought to defend the Dark Lord's back. Redirecting his weaker arm, he aimed once more to Voldemort's back, he grunted out the only two words that would relieve her brother of his pain gasped forth.

No sooner had they expelled from the near corpse of a man, did a flash of green explode from his wand. Echoed by another flash of green and a shout as Grindelwald himself was killed. Then, it was over. The wand fell from his limp hand, as the shriveled body of a once powerful Dark Lord existed no more. The Slytherin line was gone. But more importantly, magic faded evermore, as the last few users were slaughtered. Suddenly there was no movement on the field. No sound. Only despair. Only death. Gellert Grindelwald was finally dead, but in death he had taken everything from her. Their war had killed them all. Magic was no more.

She came back to her body just as her brother began to take the upper hand. Her eyes narrowed, never leaving the aging wizard masquerading as the Lord of Light. Grindelwald was a slippery fiend, and nothing, if not determined to destroy them for undermining his careful deception.

Finally, a flash of red soared through his defenses, landing solidly against his chest. Voldemort quickly cast a binding curse over his body, before he could defend himself. Imprisoning him against the bars like a rope of steel, until the bars themselves creaked in protest. The skin of his appendages, purpled with strain; and his breath wheezed in his chest, as the cording latched around his ribs. But it was only after hearing that first sharp snick of a rib cracking, that he allowed himself a smile. Waiting patiently as another crack followed, and once more after that. The old man even tried to cough up the blood, filling his lungs, but that seemed to cause him some manner of distress.

Vera found herself clawing at the wards surrounding herself from the melee, with all her might. For not only did she realize how quickly the duel could turn from their favor, she knew not to trust his weakening facade. Her vision was still fresh in her mind as she channeled her hate for him into making an instrument by which to cleave through her shield.

As she saw her escape appear in the form of a long tear, she forced it wider allowing herself to slip through the magic. Voldemort turned to her, as she cleared her last leg from its grasp; watching his spellwork dissipate, but never completely giving her his full attention. Which was fine, because she was just as concerned with what he had planned for the treacherous man gasping for breath, like a fish out of water.

Her brother flourished his yew wand aloft in the air between he and his target. He thought back to the mockery Grindelwald made of breaking his sister's limbs. Muscles ticked in his neck as he cocked his head predatorily. He should never have spoken of his flesh and blood being anything weak or easily broken. Saying her bones broke like a fragile bird's, only added fuel to his fires. Sneering sadistically as he spoke an incantation he'd never used before. Thankful to have been paying careful attention when the real Albus Dumbledore had spoken of the spell to his class of wondrous first years.

"Artus Avifors," he spoke. Whisking his wand into a spiral of movement, as he pointed the tip of his wand toward the now convulsing man's wand arm. He transfigured his limb from flesh and blood, into a perfectly scaled vision of a crow's sleek black wing. He watched with a near clinical gaze as those cold blue eyes widened; his facial features flinching in agony. His cries sounded feeble, to Voldemort's ears but that didn't deter him from forcing his wing to extend its span of nearly six feet with his wand, and holding it in place with a deft maneuver of wandless magic form his other hand. As he drew his wand back to break the bones in his wing one by one, he was startled by a piercing shriek from behind him.

The ground beneath her feet shook. Distractions, she realized too late, as she suddenly felt white hot pain shoot through her lower limbs. The rock had slyly parted; tiny cracks now cleaved themselves into gaping maws, and talons of molten magma reached up from the ground to lock around each one of her legs. Starting from her ankles and twisting up until burned flesh was all she could smell. The searing burns blossomed instantly, as her flesh melted from the bone all the way up her thighs. Her dress was nearly on fire when her blood curdling cry jerked Voldemort from his daze. Twisting around, he could only watch her collapse, he felt claws of pure steel tighten inside his chest at the sight of her fallen form.

He took a halting step closer to her. Gut twisting as his eyes scanned the depth of her injuries, before he finally registered the gasped chants leaving her in a near silent tone. Her bloodied fingertips had been feverishly clawing runes into the debris-ridden floor; the once artful designs now a testament of her desperation to end her suffering. The crimson runes stacked and locked upon one another, building off the components of her previous layers flawlessly. She amazed him once more in that moment, for not many would have been able to pull through the pain and concentrate enough to mount any magical defense. Nonetheless, advanced runic arithmancy, like she was doing. She was perfect.

His thoughts wondered, if perhaps she was capable because she was simply used to living in such pain for so long. A thought that urged him to truly mutilate Grindelwald's guise, then track down the original and begin again. No matter how he wished to showcase his strength before his Death Eaters and the Order.

"Nexum penitus abrumpatur." She growled; the vibration of it humming from within her throat as Voldemort translated the words, though he remained silent in the wake of her power. The warmth of her magic chasing away the chill that had danced at his spine when he first began to analyze the damage. Sever the connection.

Percutio, she carved with her blood ridden hands. Kill. Limbs shaking from the pain, she repeated the action violently. PERCUTIO. Feeding more power behind her motions, Vera quaked with life despite the acidic feeling burning within her blood. The repetition, magnifying the rune's strength. By using her blood as the medium, as the ancient ones would, she provided a deeper connection for herself and her magic to once she felt the maelstrom that was Gellert's magic slacken from the curse for merely a moment, but that was all it took for her to be able to cast her magic over the monstrous claws. Throttling the very life from them.

"Hiems exhalant," She spit out with wrath, moonlit eyes watching with bitter satisfaction as the bestial scarlet claws hardened into molten rock under the Dark curse. Freezing both herself and the demonic claws in place.

Voldemort knew of the spell only from one of the journals kept by Salazar Slytherin during his time at Hogwarts. Stowed away deep inside the Chamber of Secrets, in one of the rooms adjacent to Sashir's tomb. This spell, like many of Salazar's creation, was crafted to cause immense pain; to critically injure the body beyond repair. Winter's Breath, his ancestor named it.

Unlike previous freezing spells, this one had the potential to be used in concentrated doses to cause severe damage unto one sole part of the body so as to allow your victim to live longer before death. If handled incorrectly, it could shut down the organs and backfire onto the wielder just as easily. It was a temperamental spell that he had found interesting at best, but more inconvenient than others of Salazar's design. His work twisting the mind called his attention to studying the Mind Arts, toward Unforgivables.

"Deletrius." He barely heard the exhausted whisper leave her lips, as she collapsed. Ridding the remnants from sight, as the ritual ended abruptly. The unnatural moorings dissipated into loose ash around her bare feet, allowing life to return to her sore, deadened limbs. However, channelling that much raw power without a conduit seemed to take everything out of her; as her arms refusing to bear her weight any longer, collapsed. Rushing forth, Voldemort stopped only at her heed.

"Bind him. Quickly. Bellatrix is in imminent danger."

Turning back toward the wizard stretched out across the bars, he snarled a curse at the sleekly extended wing. The spell rippling through the bones, annihilating every brittle bone as it passed its way down to the tip, until nothing but a feathered drapery hung from the joint. The gagging sounds of pain meant nothing to the Slytherin heirs in that moment, but confirmation that he indeed felt his punishment truly begin.

"Reditus Avifors," fell from the towering wizard's lips. Mutating the appendage back to its original form, only now a much more grotesque display. The dark bruising colored his aged skin peeking out from beneath the ripped robes. That along with the bone spurs ripping through the flesh, made for quite a sight. The Dark Lord was very pleased with the way the other man's every muscle seized up from the agony.

Lifting his palms up in a pulling gesture, he ripped his mooring from the bars. Wand guiding the magical binds to secure their bounty tighter. Around his throat and pulling his shoulders back from their joints, he allowed for no more clever tricks. Levitating the form attempting to pass out from exhaustion, toward the opening by which he had first stood to release Bellatrix. He followed behind, pausing only to see his sister reach for something before standing tall. The chilly clouds of breath finally dissipating, as her body returned slowly to rights.

Lifting her wrist delicately, she twisted the object in her fingers toward the light wherein he could see she had gathered the fallen wizard's prized wand. Gellert Grindelwald's original wand, having been claimed by 'Dumbledore' during their duel, years before. Her milky eyes following the strange object with apprehension on her brow, as she tested it with her magic. Feeling for some strange reason this wand was not like any other. Letting her aura pass over it curiously, she felt it respond by warming pleasurably. As if in that moment, it recognized her. She, the mirror image of its now 'true owner;' the one whom won it by way of a duel. Afterall, her twin's soul magic ran just as deeply through her veins, as hers did within his own. The uniquely carved wand having found her worthy of its protection, hummed with acceptance.

Gripping her new acquisition, she met Voldemort's eyes. Stepping first one leg outside the confines of the prison, then another. Bare feet nary making a sound as she stepped out on the coal-black rock. Her fine ivory dress catching onto the fierce wind, like a ship's sail. She grinned slyly up toward the sickly looking man, then followed the flow of magic to her brother.

"I will go to your Bella. The Order's welcoming party are to arrive shortly."

"Go," he hissed. "I will be close behind." Nodding his head toward the direction of the faint sounds of battle on the breeze. "Gellert, here needs to be kept out of reach, until we have seized control." His closed off expression, leaving little room for disagreeance on her part. Nor did he tell her exactly what he had planned for the vile man.

So much as she hated to part ways so soon, she felt haste nipping at her heels. But while she felt strong enough to apparate now with a wand to assist, she decided against the notion. Having never properly seen the full view of the room she would need to apparate into, she had little choice but to fly. Getting splinched was never something she had ever looked forward to experiencing. Whispering a quick spell to secure her wand in the folds of her skirts, she threw her body up into the air.

"Nocte Volatus," she cast powerfully, thrusting her body toward the skies and around the dismally small island. Proud to be able to use such a Dark spell without the fear that if seen, she could be sent back to the hell that was the Muggle World, without her brother. This was her liberation. She was a free witch with a burning desire to prove her worth, to their cause. To find her place in the shadows.

The spell to cast her into flight, left her lips just as thunder rolled overhead once more. In forcing her form to transfigure into a weightless mist, she then used the stars to guide her journey as she shot off faster than it took lightning to strike. And if someone gazed up into the rolling clouds in the sky they probably would never have known she was there at all.

But a pair of crimson eyes did, and they greedily followed her ascent as he worked to secure the wretched body of the one he would use to gain infinite glory. No Dark Lord had ever caused such a devastating trail of bodies through the Magical and Muggle world quite like Gellert Grindelwald. But in their death came new life, for their hatred of this creature's actions and beliefs would be the fire by which he would rise.

Moments Later…

Spells left wands quicker than Vera could pinpoint exactly who all the members of The Order of the Phoenix were. Familiar faces seemed to stand at every turn. Whether by having seen glimpses them before in her visions, or simply by memory of attending school with their parents. One was a Black, she was sure of it. He was all arrogance and silver eyed fire, just like Orion and Cygnus. His long locks flew about as he spun and dove after two wiry Death Eaters, never straying too far from an auburn haired man. One assailant had quickly been disarmed and knocked out, but the other was only a hair's breadth away from joining his partner. The weak-kneed fool wouldn't last much longer as poorly as he stood in his attempts to defend himself.

The Black heir's eyes seemed to search for someone in the crowd for a moment, before hearing the grating laugh ring overhead. Narrowing his eyes in hatred toward where Voldemort's wild eyed lieutenant duelled a scrappy looking older wizard close by. Ah, family. Vera silently chuckled to herself, understanding there was some familial disputes that needed to be settled. Turning as she was want to do, toward the looming shadow at her side. Her family. His silhouette casting across the floor like a pillar of strength, as she pulled her wand from the hidden pocket she'd created along her bodice. Deciding in that moment, she'd feel more comfortable with it in hand; should any spells ricochet in their direction.

Spells shot across the room, causing the ground to shake as the walls were hit. An aging witch in green robes leaned over the bodies of the Aurors, Vera had only just dispatched. Healing the damage done to their bodies and renervating them back to the ensuing battle. A ginger haired man of no more than 25, stood apart from the group. Duelling two scraggly looking Death Eaters, she knew would likely not make it through the night. Their stances were too loose, their wand-work not quite quick enough to keep up.

Her brother's gaze panned across the room as several Death Eaters fell. Feeling no empathy for their losses. The odds were hardly fair, having so many of them locked inside Azkaban's walls, but still their lack of skill failed to inspire pride in his cruel heart. Many would need rigorous training to coaxe their bodies back on track for what he needed them for. Their bodies were weak, but their minds were far weaker. Turning his gaze to the blue lightning striking down another, he saw the grisly ex-Auror, Alastor Moody make his way closer. Immediately recognizing the wizard whose face Barty wore, in his task to get the Potter boy to touch the Triwizard Cup. The Auror who had slain Evan Rosier during the first Wizarding War, when the Ministry grew desperate in its attempts to cull his forces.

The muggle-loving sympathizer seemed ever more paranoid following the imprisonment of Crouch, instead of the Dementor's Kiss, as many insisted. Voldemort had tasked Lucius with keeping close watch on his movements in the Ministry, as he suspected him to be loyal to Dumbledore's whims. Watching his aggressive offensive movements now while he let his guard down, the Dark Lord was free to slip into his mind and see the truth. There it was, he thought, lurking under his mangy head of hair like a thick sweat. He liked killing Death Eaters. Liked hunting them down and killing them like it was the greatest challenge.

Seeming to feel a trespasser wriggling around inside his head, the Ministry's once prized goon growled out like a beast. Swivelling around, his dark eye seemed to land succinctly upon Voldemort's snake-like visage. His magical eye, however had a mind of its own, spinning off to the side. Pulling his other eye with it to rest on the female at Voldemort's side. His attentive gaze bearing down on the pale eyed witch who held herself apart from the melee at her feet. When his magical eye slid down to the wand she cradled in her hand, his jaw gritted itself violently.

The action didn't go unnoticed, nor forgotten. As Voldemort stepped forth through the crowd. Wordlessly ushering himself and the otherworldly blonde at his side through the battle. She walked at his side unhindered, as he dispersed several duels with little more than a wisp of a curse here, and an emerald blast of an Avada Kedavra there.

Vera's eyes panned across the sea of bodies in the room, admiring the fearsome duellers in the back corner. A red haired couple fighting back to back, remaining close to each other, as the battle waged on. More Death Eaters began to circle them as the individual duellers were eliminated one by one, but still they fought valiantly. They reminded her of when she and Tom were younger. Fiercely protective of the other, even when the Slytherins mistook the orphan first years for helpless prey.

I should like them to live, she wistfully thought.

Walking to the center of the room, Voldemort lifted his arm up to the ceiling. Calling forth the cage that bound the broken body of Albus Dumbledore, watching as it slowly lowered itself into the chamber. Flickers of magic dripped down the invisible casing, running along the barrier like electrical voltage. A warning to anyone seeking to release the contents.

Looking to his sister, he reached for her hand. Sensing she had something to say, having seen the contemplative look bearing down on her brow. Whispers and flashes ran behind his eyes. Blinding light that crippled his senses and a sea of horrible images. She showed him just how her visions had solidified into a truly disagreeable future for them. Death, it left a foul taste on his tongue thinking about his own. But seeing her body void of life, seemed to carve out his insides. His sister tried to comfort him with her words, attempting to calm the anger boiling up from within.

Let them live, she thought to at what he thought of her merciful sentiment. I think I know what to do with Albus Dumbledore. His death is a defining moment in this new future. To alter it, we must first alter our actions. Perhaps his death divides our kind in a time better spent allied.

Releasing her hand, he turned his infuriatingly red gaze to the crumpled wizard within his grasp. Utterly disgusted to know that he would not get to kill the bain of his existence just yet. For even if he were to put this foul creature to death, as he deserved, Grindelwald would live on to succeed in other ways.

Feeling like he was drowning in the desire to rip him limb form limb, Voldemort let his control slip for only a moment. Wrenching his wand toward the cause of his anger, he roared his fury with the only spell that he thought could release the madness creeping in. The only spell he knew that could give him the satisfaction he needed in that moment. "CRUCIO!" He bellowed with every drop of magic he had at his disposal.

Shockwaves travelled through the air from impact, as the shrill screams drilled into their ears. Until one by one, wands lowered in utter silence. Duels ended and eyes widened, as they witnessed what could only be the last moments of Albus Dumbledore. Bloodied and crippled, the elderly man trembled in the throes of Voldemort's casting of the Unforgivable. Their Lord of Light would soon be dead before their eyes. It was already over. Wands quivered in hands fearfully as they stood frozen before the would be execution.

Bellatrix grinned beatifically, feeling for the moment that all would soon be right in the world.

The Dark Lord's crimson gaze seared into his near expired form, as if he could feel a great oppressive weight lift from his shoulders. Dumbledore's body suffered greatly and thus Grindelwald suffered more, with the loss of his once closest friend. Blood dripped from his eyes and ears, but still he found the strength to send out one last shrill blood curdling cry, before all sound left him. Voldemort released his spell, as he looked impatiently toward his companion. Face set in a scornful grimace, as though petulantly giving into her desires. But wishing her to know his opinion on the matter.

It was a gruesome sight to be sure, but one worthy of the wizard who had thwarted not only her Bellatrix's own family's workings at every turn in the Ministry, but her Lord's rise to power. She would have liked to merrily dance upon his corpse when he perished. But looking out over the stricken faces, she knew not every eye watched the life wane from the body with the same fervent passion.

Then, with the slow movement of someone trying not to frighten a wild beast, a glimmer of white moved into their line of sight. Shock shuttered the horror plastered on their faces, as they stood frozen with disbelief at what they were witnessing. Unable to stop what was happening, but knowing it was going to soon come to a devastating end. Bella held her breath with anticipation, eager to see what the strange woman would do. Her all-seeing eyes seemed focused on the writhing creature at her feet.

Her feet nary made a sound as they carried her closer to the cage and the near-corpse inside it. Her expression guarded, like one of someone approaching a feral creature whom was just as likely to bite her, as to accept aid. Lifting her wand as if in a daze, she sliced a cutting hex along the inside of her wrist. Fingertips dipping into the crimson ink, and lifting to mark the rune of the High Priestess on her forehead. Her body kneeling to paint runes of Reckoning, Judgement, and of Sacrifice. Circling the cage with a determined pace. Glancing up only briefly to lock eyes with the crimson orbs opposite her. Seeming to see what she interpreted as wary approval, she began chanting as she lowered herself to the floor. Focussing, once more on the prisoner confined within.

Her pale knobbed wand took off through the air, slicing through it with vicious determination. Her other bloodied hand resting in midair, seeming to hold back some undeniable force, as she assaulted with her other. Voices broke from her throat that first sounded childlike then transformed into something truly odious. It snarled and growled out syllables in a series of prehistoric grunts. Her eyes turning pitch black from inner corner to outer as the air quaked and choked them with such a concentrated dosage of Dark Magic.

Slowly she crawled forth, penetrating the warded cage as if she didn't even see it. Its wards meaning nothing to her. Leaning over the still form inside, she dragged in a breath so jagged and broken, it sounded as though she were breathing through a punctured lung. At first, nothing happened. Then a thick black mist of toxic looking particles rose like disease in its purest form, up into her mouth. Her jaws snapping down in a fierce show of animalistic mannerisms. As she seemingly devoured what looked like black ichor, that had been living inside the other magical being.

Bella, feeling suddenly uneasy with the horrific sight of something living inside another like a parasite, looked away to regain her bearings, when her senses told her to turn to her right. Eyes suddenly hunting for the source of danger, landed on the gnarled wizard, Moody, raising his wand to curse the blonde so dangerously close to his leader. Flinging her wand in a vicious slashing motion, she practically gutted him in her fury, disarming him only as an afterthought. And with Barty's keen eyes watching her from the other side of the Dark Lord, they were already two steps ahead of the Order, when they leapt forward to attack her. No one having dared to take their eyes off the scene unfolding before them, to see the half-crazed ex-Auror try to kill one of theirs.

She finally felt revived enough to apparate behind the cousin, her Aunt had so scornfully burned off the family tapestry. Barty appearing behind the russet haired wizard, and the others seemed to follow their lead. Each capturing an Order member by their jugular with their wand promising swift retribution. Cries of outrage and insults littered the air.

"SILENCE!" She roared, as she kept her eyes on her Lord.

Then, just as the scene quietened, a pair of bloodshot blue eyes opened to stare confusedly at the pale witch in the heart of the room. The cage, already having dissolved, now afforded them a clear view of his befuddled expressions. The shadow closing over her shoulder barely registering as he gasped in shock at what his mind was suddenly coming to terms with.

"Ms. Riddle, what are you…?" His eyes suddenly bulging from their sockets. Voice broken from being held under the Cruciatus for such a prolonged period. "We are under attack. We are all in great danger!" Struggling to get to his feet, as he furiously tried to consolidate his thoughts. Voldemort stepped closer to pull his female companion to her feet as well, not liking the image of Dumbledore standing over her. Blue eyes bore holes straight through the woman before him and no other, around them. Somehow sensing she and no other knew the answer to all his questions. "Where is...Where is Gellert Grindelwald?! What have you done?"

Voldemort kept his unwavering sneer on his enemy, as he signaled the exodus of his Death Eaters with his wandless hand.

The sounds of disapparation were the only immediate response to his query as one by one, the released prisoners disappeared from the island. The wards, once crumbling, had finally fallen, and every criminal strong enough to apparate was free. Voldemort wrapped his arm around his female possessively, as they prepared to disapparate into the night. Refusing to leave without getting the last word in with the once Deputy Headmaster, even as the appearance of dozens of Ministry officials surrounded them. His eyes flickering up to meet the Minister's utterly terrified look, before glaring down his nose at Dumbledore.

"He lives. And thanks to her, you do as well. Every free breath is but a gift. Remember that."

The crack of disapparation seemed to rip the spines right out of every witch and wizard on the island, from the expressions of abject horror resting upon their faces. Bloodcurdling fear choked the briney air right from the room. What exactly had they all just witnessed? Few could explain it in any number of words. But there would be a full scale inquiry, to be sure. The mass chaos unleashed earlier that night was enough to bring his closest council members to session. But now, the entire Wizengamot would need to be called to session. As well as the International Confederation of Wizards. For the mass breakout of Azkaban's worst criminals would be second page news to the definitive return of Lord Voldemort.

Fudge just knew his time serving as Minister was finished.

Author's Note: First of all, I'd like to thank XenaHime92, who after many a long night has stayed with me through these last few months when writing was tough. Ideas were plentiful but trying to make sense out of them, is nigh impossible. Alas, I have decided this shall do for now. I'm too excited to leave this Hell on Earth known as Azkaban, especially knowing where we are headed. Thoughts on Bella's redirected character work? Anyone finding her more relatable or otherwise, I'd love to know. Last but not least, Applebus Dumblesnore lives...for now... Muahahah...*chokes* But in all seriousness, EVERY REVIEW IS A GIFT FROM THE BALLS OF MERLIN. So thank you. Try not to rip me a new asshole about my tardiness, it's just who I am as a person.