Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 4—Round 8

Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Captain
Task: Write about a Voldemort!Wins AU (specifically, how and when he 'wins' or rises to power)

Word Count: 2,983

Shout-out to AnnieBrodieSangster for helping inspire the concept for this story, and for beta-ing!

*This is an AU, so it obviously compromises canon*

The Final Horcrux

What if, during the Battle of Hogwarts, in Harry Potter's final duel with Lord Voldemort, having discovered and destroyed all seven Horcruxes (including the unintentional one contained within himself), ready to face down his enemy, now a mere man as mortal as any other, something went wrong?

What if, instead of finishing his enemy off once and for all, it was Harry who was defeated, and Voldemort who triumphed, rising to power once and for all?

What if Voldemort was still not completely mortal—as Harry so readily assumed?

What if there was another, secret Horcrux?

"My Lord, are you sure this is even possible?"

"Do you dare question me, Bella? Do you doubt me?"

"N-no, of course not, my Lord. Never. It's just… this is unheard of. This isn't something you—nor any wizard—has ever attempted before. I was just wondering h-how you expected to—"

"What you are doing is not wondering, Bella. It is doubting. And I expected more of you. I expected more of the one who claims to be my most faithful servant."

"My Lord," Bellatrix protested, aghast that he could ever doubt her, "please, believe me, there is no servant more faithful than I. Haven't I proved that?" she asked in a weak, breathy voice. There was no one's approval she sought more—no one whose validation she so desired. She wanted nothing more than to serve him.

"No one knows of this room?" Voldemort asked in his unnaturally cold and high-pitched voice, ignoring the lingering question.

Bellatrix gulped, relaxing slightly. The question of her loyalty seemed to have passed, but she was still eager to impress. "Myself and my husband, my Lord. But no one else."

Voldemort didn't look fully reassured—something of doubt flickered within his red eyes—and Bellatrix could already feel her palms starting to sweat.

"Lucius?"

"L-Lucius? Lucius Malfoy?" Bellatrix asked, unsure what Voldemort was asking.

"He knows?"

Bellatrix felt herself relax again, though not completely. "No, not at all. My sister—Narcissa—she knows nothing of it, either. She never has done. She couldn't possibly even suspect."

If Voldemort was reassured in any way, he didn't show it. Bellatrix tried not to feel discouraged. She was doing something immensely worthwhile for her master, she reminded herself; she was giving him something no other servant would. He had chosen her. Did that mean he trusted her above all the others? He valued her above all the others?

Bellatrix's heart seemed to skip a beat.

"Severus Snape?"

Bellatrix felt aggravated by the mention of the Hogwarts Potion Master. She had never liked him, of course, and less so now that he seemed to be her biggest competition for the esteemed title of Voldemort's most valued and loyal servant. She despised him, knowing of the Dark Lord's admiration for him, and was immensely jealous.

"Snape knows nothing," Bellatrix answered.

"You're quite sure," Voldemort said slowly, "that the sole person who knows of this room's existence, is yourself?"

Bellatrix was beginning to tire of his scepticism (though she'd rather die than voice it). She forced herself to remain calm, respectful, and as trustworthy as possible. "Myself and my husband," she corrected.

It was clear that Rodolphus' knowledge of the room in addition to Bellatrix's unsettled the Dark Lord. A slight look of irritability flickered into his eyes, and the edges of his mouth seemed to tighten. It obviously proved an inconvenience, and Bellatrix felt disheartened and annoyed that she hadn't succeeded in fully pleasing the Dark Lord. Voldemort had never favoured Rodolphus as much as his other followers, and Bellatrix didn't blame him. She herself didn't favour him much, and she was married to him!

The circumstances of Bellatrix Black's marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange were complex, though—for status, honour, connections, and respect rather than ridiculous sentiments of genuine affection. Bella's family approved of Rodolphus as her husband, as did the Dark Lord, and that's all that mattered to Bellatrix. She rarely did anything for herself that didn't also hugely benefit her master, and he had deemed the pairing not only appropriate, but useful.

There was nothing Bellatrix wouldn't have done for Lord Voldemort, even if that meant marrying a man she cared very little for. And that was exactly what she had done. It wasn't a huge sacrifice anyway, not really. It wasn't like Bellatrix would ever have had the option of marrying the one person she genuinely would have married for something deeper than mere status…

She averted her gaze, ashamed of the look of irritation that lingered in Voldemort's eyes. "Rodolphus is loyal," Bellatrix assured him in a quiet voice. "He can be trusted. And if he can't, I'll personally see to his… removal. I'll kill him myself, my Lord, I can assure you."

"I can't take that risk," Voldemort said coldly. "If there is any question of his loyalty—"

"There isn't."

"But there is," he interrupted, shooting a glare at her. "It's not enough that you assure me of his removal if he slips up," he sneered. "There cannot be even the opportunity to slip up. If there is any question of his loyalty—which you just as much admitted there was—Rodolphus can't be involved."

Bellatrix was unswayed. "Then he shan't," she said firmly. "It matters not to me, my Lord, what part—if any—my husband plays in this. It is your safety and your movement that matters to me. You alone," she said, her throat feeling suddenly dry, "are all that matters to me."

Voldemort wasn't even looking at her anymore; he was looking, with apparent satisfaction, at the room they were in. It wasn't big—fairly standard, and perfectly square in shape—with a dusty wooden floor, little furniture save for a huge ornate cracked mirror and some broken dark artefacts, and no windows. The only light source came from the tip of Voldemort's wand. It made him look even more foreboding, but it sent a pleasurable sort of chill through Bellatrix's body.

Bellatrix looked away from the mirror, thinking, with great distaste, about her husband. "Kill him," she said in a calm, monotonous voice. "I'd rather have him dead than with the potentiality to become a traitor. If he threatens your safety, my Lord—if there is any chance he might betray you—he should be eradicated."

At this declaration, Voldemort actually appeared to be impressed. Bellatrix almost smiled.

"You would be willing," Voldemort said, "to dispose of your husband so casually? Though he has been a loyal and valiant ally? Though he has done me no wrong?"

"But he could," Bellatrix went on, as uncaring as ever. "He's not vital to your uprising, my Lord. He's not a hindrance, but he's not invaluable. Even if he's uninformed of our plan here, he still knows of the room. He could still, even unintentionally, reveal its existence, or even its whereabouts. Why risk it?"

"And rather than modifying his memory, say, or enforcing the Fidelius Charm, your most valued option is to kill him?"

Bellatrix never faltered. "Yes, my Lord. It is the only way to be sure."

Voldemort actually smiled, a twisted sort of smile that made Bellatrix's stomach practically flip. She knew she'd given the right answer.

"Bella," Voldemort said, almost fondly, "it's remarkable how much you've become like me."

"There's no higher compliment," Bellatrix breathed, wonder and awe buzzing in every fibre of her being.

"You're right. For the sake of our little operation," Voldemort said with a certain delicateness, "Rodolphus must be silenced. For good. And you're sure," he asked for the umpteenth time, "no one else knows of this room's existence?"

Bellatrix tried to steady her body, still buzzing with awe at his compliment. "Positive, my Lord. Once Rodolphus is gone, I will be the sole person with knowledge of this room. Apart from you, of course," she added as an afterthought.

The room—a simple storage room in the Lestrange's house—had been invaluable to Bellatrix and her husband over the years. Some powerful dark magic meant the room was inaccessible, unplottable, and completely hidden from others. For years they had used it to store their most valuable dark objects, and had even hidden in it before their capture. It had since been vacated, with only a few broken objects remaining, but it was suddenly of great value to Lord Voldemort, and when he'd come to Bellatrix seeking valuable assistance, she had eagerly offered it up.

The attack on Hogwarts was planned for a month or so later. Dumbledore was dead, Harry Potter was weak, and all the power lay with the Dark Side. They were going to win. They were going to kill Potter, finally, and the Dark Lord would triumph once and for all. And Bellatrix, his loyal servant, she thought with a frantically beating heart, would be right by his side when it happened. And Voldemort, brilliant, brilliant man that he was, had taken certain precautions to ensure his death was, though not impossible, highly unlikely—as he had just confided to Bellatrix.

Seven Horcruxes. Seven parts of his soul ingeniously concealed in various objects: a diary, a locket, a ring, a diadem, a cup, his prized snake, and, of course, his own body. But the diary was gone, and the Dark Lord feared that others suspected how he had so ingeniously split his soul in order to evade death—Dumbledore, most certainly, and perhaps even Potter himself. Voldemort had voiced this all to Bellatrix, knowing he could trust her unquestioningly, and expressed desire to create a new Horcrux to replace the diary—one Dumbledore couldn't possibly have anticipated (being dead and all before its creation) and that no one would ever hope to find.

Bellatrix had eagerly told her master of the hidden room in her house, ensuring he could hide his final, secret Horcrux there. But Voldemort had been far more intrigued by the room itself. Bellatrix had been deeply hesitant (unsure how serious he was) when he'd suggested he turn the room itself into a Horcrux. Who would ever think of a dusty old room (especially considering no one even knew of its existence)? It had no significance to Lord Voldemort, and it had no discernible connections to the other Horcruxes—all of them small, somewhat extravagant, and all bearing some sentiment.

And though she remained doubtful that converting an entire room into a Horcrux was even possible, Bellatrix couldn't deny that something deep in her core longed for the idea that something of hers, if only an old storage room in her house, inhabited a part of the Dark Lord himself—part of his very soul. It would be like he was living, breathing, constantly with her, even in the times he wasn't physically. It was too good an honour to bypass, and it wasn't like she'd ever refuse him anyway.

"I know it is perhaps not as, ah, luxurious as the other objects you've chosen to encase your soul in but—"

"It's perfect. The dwelling of my most loyal servant."

Bellatrix nearly verbally gasped, but managed to restrain herself, heart racing so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest. "Thank you, my Lord," she breathed. "It is truly, truly an honour that—"

"Will you kill your husband or shall I?" Voldemort interrupted as casually as though he was asking who should put the kettle on.

"My husband isn't worth your time, my Lord. I can take care of it myself."

Voldemort looked thoughtful, and something flickered in his eyes once more—something that made Bellatrix feel deeply uneasy. And not in a good way (for the Dark Lord always made her uneasy, after all). Something seemed to have occurred to him.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix queried, hands trembling. "Is something the matter?"

"You would be willing to do anything for me, Bella?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I—"

"You understand how the Fidelius Charm works?"

Bellatrix hesitated. It wasn't what she'd expected him to say. "I-I think so, my Lord. A secret is contained within a living person's very soul? The secret can never be discovered unless the Secret-Keeper voluntarily reveals it. Are you suggesting," she asked timidly, "you make me a Secret-Keeper for this room?"

"You would be willing?"

"I can assure you I'd never breathe a word to anybody anyway, my Lord, but yes, of course. Anything."

This seemed to please Voldemort, and so too, Bellatrix was pleased. But that wasn't all, and she could sense it. The Dark Lord was eyeing her up, something deeply weighing on his mind.

"You can trust me," Bellatrix practically whispered.

"I know, Bella, I don't doubt it."

"Then what—"

"If the Secret-Keeper dies, the secret dies with them. That is to say, if you were to die, no living soul, other than myself, would ever be able to discover this room exists, much less destroy the Horcrux concealed within it. I would be ensuring my immortality."

Bellatrix's entire body flooded with a chill much less pleasurable than the one she'd felt before. It almost sounded like Voldemort was suggesting her death would be in his best interests.

"Y-yes, my Lord," Bellatrix stuttered, eyes wide. "And it will make my death even more valiant when it comes about. To die for you"—she gulped—"it would be the greatest honour. The greatest sacrifice: my life for yours."

"I'm glad you see it like that."

Bellatrix definitely felt more than a little unsettled. She had never denied nor pretended that dying for Voldemort wouldn't be the utmost honour, and if she were to die, it would only ever be for him. But the way he was still looking at her… eyeing her up… speaking in a way that suggested…

"Someone must die to create a Horcrux," Voldemort said. "Must be murdered by myself."

"I will happily collect a Muggle for you, my Lord. A mudblood, a half-blood, a Squib—any scum I can find—and bring them here immediately. Or—or if you prefer," she said hesitantly, "if it would be more of an honour to murder someone of notable blood in order to further sever your soul, there would be no shame in killing a pure-blooded wizard. An enemy—a traitor. My husband!" she said, suddenly excited. "Of course, my Lord, if you are intending to murder my husband in any case, it would be his honour to use his death to create your final Horcrux—a loyal but no longer necessary servant."

But Voldemort looked neither swayed nor remotely as excited as Bellatrix was by her spontaneous idea. He continued to smile, a sort of twisted grimace.

"I think you know what I'm suggesting, Bella. I think you know what needs to be done."

"M-my Lord?"

"You said you would die for me, Bella. You said it would be an honour—the greatest sacrifice—to give your life for mine."

It was dark enough in that room, and cold beyond belief, but it was suddenly colder and darker than anything Bellatrix had ever experienced in her life. She was frozen, taken by complete and utter shock. "B-but—"

"Was that a lie, Bella? An empty promise?"

"No! Of course not, my Lord, of course not. It's just that I—I had thought I might be by your side in battle. It's my desire to see you triumph—to kill the boy and rise to power—and to serve at your side so long as you rule."

"It's ingenious," Voldemort went on unforgivingly, not at all unsettled by Bellatrix's desperation, nor by the fact that he was implying he was not only willing to, but was going to kill who he'd just deemed 'his most loyal servant.' "I need someone to die to create my final Horcrux, I need my Secret-Keeper to die in order to bury my secret and therefore ensure my immortality. And you," he said, smiling that same twisted smile, "are prepared to be my Secret-Keeper and to die for me. Is the solution not simple, clear, and easy?"

Bellatrix was completely stunned. As much as she wanted to die for her master, she had not expected it to be so abrupt. But what could she do? She was willing to die for him; she was willing to do whatever it took to honour him and make him happy—but her death? Right there, right then? In that dingy little room?

"I wanted to serve you, though," she said in a strangled whisper. "I—I wanted—"

"There would be no greater honour," Voldemort said impatiently, like he wanted nothing more than to get it all over with. Like Bellatrix didn't even remotely matter to him. "It would be due to your sacrifice that I'm able to achieve what I've always desired. It would be your sacrifice that ensured I live forever, Bella. That I and the Dark Arts triumph."

Bellatrix knew what she needed to do. She sank down to the floor, head bowed, like she was worshipping at Voldemort's feet. She dropped her gaze, refusing to let him see the tears that threatened to spill from her heavily-lidded eyes. "Remember me, my Lord," she whispered.

Voldemort was not a sentimental being, and Bellatrix expected no sympathy nor emotion from him, but was stirred and honoured by the almost tender way in which he so softly said, "You will be honoured most highly. By myself and all who follow me."

The Fidelius Charm was complex but completed fairly quickly. And it was with steady hands, wide eyes, and a pounding heart that Bellatrix Lestrange sank down to her knees once more, Lord Voldemort's most valued servant—the reason for his ensured immortality. She saw red eyes, bearing a hint of what she thought might have actually been appreciation—and respect. She saw a blinding green light.

And then she saw nothing at all.

The Valentine-Making Station Challenge (by TheNextFolchart):

Sun – Write about a leader
Green – Write about a Slytherin
Purple – Write about Bellatrix Lestrange

Conversation Hearts:
Be Mine – Write about a possessive, unhealthy relationship
You Rule – Write about any Death Eater

Cinema Competition II (by TheNextFolchart):

The Perfect Storm – Write about incredible stubbornness, or alternatively, a death. / "There are no goodbyes—there's only love."