The Narrator

April 1998

The ominous clouds hanging low in the sky gave the indication of a dark and perhaps even stormy night. The air was heavy with tension, but the silence, the silence was quite terrifying. The heavy branches of impressive trees swung low in a breeze that was barely perceptible. Perhaps they were influenced by the portentous magic quivering in the distance.

Tom Marvolo Riddle paced the length of Malfoy Manor, which was quite impressive considering its size. His thin white lips were tightly compressed as he attempted to process the happenings in his absence. His long bony fingers twirled the smooth wood of his wand, as he contemplated the proper punishments.

Lord Voldemort, as he referred to himself, was cognizant of harsh whispers, which pleased him greatly. He thrived off the fear of others, for only with fear could he maintain power. Power was addictive, and if he had ever been accused of love, it would be for the love of power.

"I told you not to call him."

Ah yes, Voldemort was quite familiar with the sound of Lucius Malfoy's insipid whining. He had judged the wizard poorly. Despite his best efforts, Lucius allowed pesky emotions to cloud his judgement. He allowed a bit of revolting affection and love, interfere with being beside the Greatest Wizard to Ever Live.

"Shut up you fools."

He was pleased, as pleased as he was capable, upon hearing Bellatrix Lestrange reprimand the sallow Malfoy. She was his favourite pet. Her devotion to him would have been titillating if he had been a different sort of wizard. Bellatrix was a vapid witch, who thirsted for violence and blood, which warmed his cold, nearly non-existent heart.

Voldemort toyed with her, the way he toyed with most people. He knew the easiest way to maintain her excitability was to reward her, and reward her he did. Bellatrix was pleased with so little, nearly begging on her knees for his scraps, just the way it should be.

However, the Malfoys were his biggest issue. Yes, he had commandeered their ancestral home, yet it had not secured their loyalty. It was a shame really, but for the moment, their fear of him kept them in line.

There was something incredibly empowering when it came to entering a room filled with loyal Death Eaters. Voldemort nearly preened, but it was beneath him. His long dark robes billowed out behind him, and the mutterings ceased as his shiny black shoes clipped across the black marble floor.

Bellatrix Lestrange was quick to cross the Malfoy Drawing Room and nearly slid across the floor on her knees, in her haste to serve him. The Dark Lord did not reprimand her, instead, he brushed his hand across the top of the wiry black curls sticking out from her head. He surveyed the nervous collection of Death Eaters with shrewd eyes, before landing on the youngest Malfoy.

"Come." Voldemort enjoyed the silent shiver that rippled through his followers, his voice barely a hiss. "Oh my dear Draco, do not make me repeat myself. It would be most…unpleasant for you."

Lucius Malfoy's sunken grey eyes and haggard expression never altered, however, it was painfully obvious to his wife, and Lucius stiffened. Narcissa fervently hoped her husband did not do anything rash. Her lips moved in silent prayer, while Bellatrix sneered at her youngest sister.

Bellatrix hauled herself to her feet, sticking close to her Master, her obsidian eyes filled with reverence. Her skin tingled in delight simply being in close proximity to the Dark Lord, and she would have gladly given her life, if he had requested it of her. She was near salivating as her nephew stepped forward, in his achingly slow manner.

She resisted the urge to clap her hands with glee. Bellatrix had always enjoyed observing the punishments of others. She knew her nephew deserved it, more than most. He was an arrogant boy, but he was malleable. She had trained him well, and he was still a disappointment.

It irked her really. Bellatrix Lestrange had put forth her best efforts as far as instructing her nephew was concerned, and how was she repaid? With falsehoods! She was practically salivating as she watched her Dark Lord's wand point toward young Draco Malfoy.

"My Inner Circle is clamouring for your death." Tom Riddle's hissing whisper filled the Malfoy Drawing Room, as no one dared to breathe. "At first, I was inclined to agree with them, however, I do not appreciate manipulation."

Voldemort's wand flick was artistry at it's finest. Draco's red-rimmed eyes refused to meet the soulless pools staring down at him. From his peripheral vision, Draco saw a handful of Death Eaters fall, and took a slow shuddered breath, hoping his parents were not amongst the fallen.

"Greyback, tend to them."

Draco shivered, understanding the less than subtle implications. He kept his eyes trained on the bony, pale fingers twirling a wand, rather than to watch Greyback drag the now deceased Death Eaters outside. He had witnessed more than enough and hoped it wouldn't be his corpse following suit.

"I have been informed…" Voldemort paused, sucking his breath through his teeth as he placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, "We had guests. Is this correct?"

"Y-yes, Milord." Draco Malfoy's knees knocked together, and the sound of his bones smashing together was audible in the din.

"I thought as much, however, I must admit I'm quite baffled, Draco." Lord Voldemort filled the dark and dreary drawing room with a dramatic, yet ragged sigh. "I was under the assumption you of all people would be able to identify our enemies. You faltered. You disappointed me. You failed."

"I wished to be certain, Milord." Draco Malfoy's words were sure, but within, he swore his very bones were trembling with fear.

He didn't flinch when the bony, cold hand dropped onto the top of his head. He closed his eyes and willed his feet to remain still. While he clung to the last vestiges of his precarious sanity, Draco Malfoy took a precious moment to regret.

"You poor, deluded child. Did you think I would not know? I can feel your pathetic emotions rolling off you in waves of regret. My dear Bellatrix warned me of your weakness, and it seemed she was correct in her crazed assumptions. You leave me no choice, young Draco Malfoy."

For the barest hint of a nanosecond, Draco was relieved. He allowed his shoulders to relax, knowing his end was upon him. He stood tall and strong, unwilling to cower in the moment of his death. He silently prayed to whatever gods were listening, for Harry Potter to prevail. He wished he could see it. He wished he could be free…perhaps in another life.

"Wait!"

Lucius Malfoy's wail filled the Drawing Room, and even The Dark Lord paused, his wand hovering over the Malfoy heir with indecision. Lucius stumbled forward, his long, dirty, platinum blonde hair swinging to and fro, as he pushed through the throng of Death Eaters. His grey eyes were rimmed in red, nearly wild, and his hands shook significantly while he pleaded with his Master.

"You dare interfere with our Dark Lord?!" Bellatrix was quick with her wand, quite talented even, but Tom Riddle blinked, and she was flung into the nearest stonewall.

"Forgive me, Milord. I only wished to provide you with essential information." Lucius refused to glance upon his only son, his heir, in a singular quest to save the boy's life.

"Proceed." The Dark Lord's upper lip curled, and his entire grey face seemed to twist in displeasure.

"The wards of the Manor are tied to my son. We…" Lucius faltered, but Narcissa was quick to step forward and grasp his hand.

"We know we have earned your displeasure, Milord." Narcissa stared into the seemingly reddish eyes glinting from the Dark Lord. She did not waver. "We knew our days were numbered, and even so, we were, we are, more than willing to accept our fate. However, we have been faithful to you and as such, we wished nothing more than to keep you safe." Narcissa squeezed her husband's hand, and he drew his strength from her, nodding ever so slowly.

"If I were to die, the wards of the Manor would fall. The Order of the Phoenix would be able to walk through the front door without invitation. Therefore, we altered the Blood Wards and entrusted them to our son."

Voldemort snarled angrily, and thrust his long arms behind his back, clasping his hands together. He maintained a firm grip on his wand, and his followers knew better than to do nothing more than breathe. He hissed, and grumbled even, before his slitted eyes bored holes into Lucius Malfoy.

He hadn't felt true rage in so long, Tom revelled in the feel of it, very nearly titillated as it coursed through his veins and warmed his skin. He barely felt the walls of Malfoy Manor groan beneath the force of his magic. He definitely didn't feel the sting as the glass windows shattered, covering the drawing room in slivers.

As for Draco Malfoy, his grey eyes were wide with disbelief, and he braced himself for the Killing Curse that did not come. Instead, his ears were filled with the cacophony of his pounding heart and the force of his ragged breaths. He felt the forceful winds of magic swirling around him, and he covered his eyes as the glass raced across his cheek.

Voldemort wielded his wand in fiery rage, his red eyes flashing as his fingers curled protectively around his precious wand. His thin lips opened, yet his shout was lost in the storm violently encasing him.

Draco shouted as the force of the spell sent him spiralling through the air. He was barely cognizant of crashing into ragged glass and broken bits of stone before slumping to the floor. His chest rose slowly, painfully even, but his mother was grateful it rose at all.

The pain was worse than the Cruciatus, and he imagined Hermione Granger weeping in a puddle of blood on the Manor floor. Draco wondered if she had visions of her death fluttering behind closed eyes while his aunt tortured her. He didn't experience such things. In fact, he felt nothing, and he saw nothing…before he faded into darkness.

The magic faded, leaving the Manor drawing room in absolute shambles. The elder Malfoys were petrified to move, let alone see to their son. The tiny cuts littering their aristocratic features stung in the remnants of the harsh breeze, but they didn't dare tend to their wounds.

"See to this mess." The Dark Lord growled, low and ominously, before his smouldering eyes flitted toward the pale, contorted lump in the corner. "Take him to the dungeons. Heal his wounds that he may stand beside me while I destroy the last vestiges of Harry Potter."

Bellatrix Lestrange whimpered as she crawled across the cold marble floor. The shards of glass cut into her knees and sliced the palms of her hands, but she dared not rise in the face of her Lord's ire. Her dark eyes met the repulsive Greyback's as he slunk back into the Drawing Room after disposing of the deceased.

If she had been the sort of witch to appreciate others, Bellatrix would have been grateful to see Greyback heft the Malfoy filth over his shoulder. She scrambled to her knees, tripping over the ripped tulle of her ragged black gown.

It was a silent walk to the dungeons, but that soon ended. The tortured screams were concerto of magnificence that soothed her questionable soul. A maniacal smile broke across her plump lips, and she resisted the urge to hex the prisoners until she was weary.

Of course, Bellatrix knew she hadn't the time to dally, but the thoughts of torture pleased her greatly. Instead, she paused near the first cell at the base of the jagged, damp steps, and looked to Greyback questioningly.

"This'll do as well as any other." He snarled in a guttural manner that was his own.

Bellatrix flicked her wand, and soon Draco Malfoy was being cast into a dark, dreary cell. The wrought iron creaked, almost in objection as the Manor was forced to imprison one of its own. The newest prisoner was healer quickly, as Bellatrix the Dark Lord would wish to protect the boy, despite his fury.

Neither the werewolf nor the witch bothered to see to his baser needs. They were not the least bit interested in things such as clean clothing or even water. Draco Malfoy was alive, and as for the rest? Well, that could easily be delegated. They left in silence, just the way they came, anxious to wait for their next directive.

Nary a month later, they were gathered together to defeat Harry Potter. The excitement was high, and the Death Eaters were anxious to overtake the Light. Bellatrix Lestrange took her rightful place beside Lord Voldemort with a sparkle in her eyes that even he could appreciate.

"Give me Harry Potter," Voldemort spoke slowly and softly, almost as though he was capable of hypnotizing his adversaries with the lull of his voice. "And none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight."

Bellatrix resisted the urge to scoff at his kindness. She wouldn't have given them more than a moment to decide. She would have stormed the castle and slaughtered them all without a second thought. Instead, she waited.

"They won't do it," Greyback grunted, lashing out at Dolohov when the wizard jabbed his fist into the werewolf's ribs.

"Let them build their confidences. Let them say their goodbyes, for tonight…they shall die." Voldemort smiled, and it was a terrifying sight.

He pointed his wand and spells were being cast, carefully cracking the protections surrounding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was patient, and his magic did not falter, not with the Elder Wand between his fingers.

Lucius Malfoy squinted into the night sky, barely capable of seeing out of his swollen, puffy eyes. His punishments had been ample enough, and still, he had not fully recovered, nor been permitted to heal his wounds. He stood with The Dark Lord out of necessity, as he held no loyalty any longer.

The moment the protections were broken, he was running, running toward Hogwarts, running toward freedom. He knew his only hope of freedom laid in a boy he had learned to detest, and he fervently hoped it was not too late. If there was any hope of saving his son, it rested with Harry Potter.

Voldemort drifted through his shouting Death Eaters and slipped into the shadows. In the commotion, it was easy for him to traverse toward the Shrieking Shack, biding his time, perfecting his plan. It didn't take him long to question the wand in his hand, and his dealings with Severus Snape were less than pleasant.

He had been fond of the man, as loyal as he was, Voldemort could not look down upon him. However, power was his truest and greatest love. It wouldn't do to have the master of the Elder Wand still breathing and taking the power that should be his and his alone. With regret, he ended Severus Snape, but there was no true remorse. Such things were beneath him.

It was a simple matter to lure The Boy to the forest. The Dark Lord knew Harry Potter would come. All that insufferable courage and love? He'd never allow his loved ones to perish for him, it was his greatest weakness.

He hadn't expected his wand to baulk against him and to be locked in a seemingly never-ending frozen moment of time. The force of his spell should have ended Harry Potter quite easily, and yet he was thrown backwards from the blow.

"My Lord…my Lord…" Bellatrix crooned as though she was speaking to a lover, and she was, but it was not the time for such sentiments.

Voldemort slowly got to his feet and shook the clinging dirt from his dark robes with a sneer. He needed a moment to collect himself until he realised The Boy Who Lived…had not stirred. His pulse quickened in excitement, and he could barely contain himself, yet he managed.

"I do not require assistance." He snarled, while he wrenched his arm from Bellatrix's grasp. "The boy…is he dead?"

The bang of a Jinx and yelp was enough to rouse the dumbfounded Death Eaters, and it was Narcissa Malfoy scurrying forward. She bent over Harry Potter, her long blonde hair obscuring her lips as she pressed them to his ear.

"Can you do it? Can you kill him?" The whisper was barely audible, but Harry heard it.

"Yes." He hissed as quietly as humanly possible.

Her sharp fingernails pierced his skin as she pressed upon his chest, near his heart. Harry felt her withdraw and nearly drew a full breath, but stopped himself.

"He is dead!" Narcissa Malfoy called to the Death Eaters, and a great cheer rose from their ranks.

Of course, Harry Potter wasn't dead, and it wasn't that much later it was obvious to everyone. Voldemort was entirely too pleased with himself, and he didn't pay much attention to the obvious breaths being drawn by the wilted wizard in the giant's arms.

He was much too busy delivering his victory speech and humiliating the Light's Saviour. He wished them to bow before him, as though he was some sort of god, but to his great chagrin, they declined. Tom Riddle's fingers twitched in irritation as he dealt with the Longbottom boy, and Bellatrix's laughter fuelled his glee.

Voldemort was terribly busy duelling with witches and wizards alike to be concerned with the location of Harry Potter's body, but he should have taken the time. The cold hatred in his face as he duelled the likes of Minerva McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and even Horace Slughorn, at once was not enough to cause him to falter.

He was more than pleased to see Bellatrix still fighting, wielding her wand like the psychotic witch he knew well. She did the same as he, battling three at once, and for a moment, The Dark Lord was proud.

Molly Weasley, the filthy blood-traitor was a formidable witch, and her fiery temper had aided her well. The moment she spied the Killing Curse hurtling toward her only daughter, she was determined to end the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" Molly threw off her cloak, and she ran toward the fray. Bellatrix spun and her laughter rang out loudly over the sounds of shouts and cries as she caught sight of her new challenger.

Molly shouted to the young girls formerly duelling the Death Eater's whore, and they watched in terror and delight as Molly's wand slashed and twisted, causing Bellatrix's smile to falter. Bellatrix snarled and jets of light flew from both wands, as the ground beneath their feet became hot and cracked. This was a fight to the death, and there could be only one champion.

Students ran forward, as if to give aid, but Molly Weasley refused to yield. She snarled at them, declaring Bellatrix Lestrange hers. Bellatrix taunted Molly, speaking of the children she would leave behind upon her death.

"You will never touch our children again!" screamed Molly Weasley, and Bellatrix laughed, with a knowing smile.

"Oh love, but I shall." Bellatrix Lestrange cast a curse so curious, Harry Potter was unable to recognise it as it cut through the air.

It soared beneath Molly's outstretched arm and struck the witch squarely in the chest, directly over her heart. Molly's face was frozen, her lips parted as she realised she had been defeated. She toppled, landing with quite a thud and the watching crowd of Light roared with disbelief.

Voldemort shouted in triumph, his fuel revitalized as he finally, finally faced Harry Potter. He barely listened to the boy's soliloquy, until the Elder Wand was mentioned, and his body went cold.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

The Dark Lord searched amongst his Death Eaters and spied Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy cowering in the shadows. With a quirk of his finger, he forced them forward, their toes scraping against the ground as they valiantly attempted to resist the summons.

"Where is he?" Voldemort spat, his wand dangerously near Narcissa's throat.

"I did not bring him." Narcissa blinked slowly, and Harry did not intervene.

"You defied me." He hissed, "You shall pay for your errors in judgement."

"Take me!" Lucius Malfoy shoved his wife behind him, his arm spread as he implored his one-time master. "My life is forfeit, for my son." He embraced his wife, and Narcissa stiffened as realisation settled in her chest, but she did not stop him.

"So be it." Voldemort snarled and slashed the air. "Avada Kedavra."

Lucius Malfoy crumpled to the ground with a smile on his lips, but that wasn't the most surprising bit. Tom Riddle, The Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort crumpled with a great screech of indescribable pain. He felt as though he was being torn into pieces, and the gasps surrounding him seemed to support such thoughts.

His very body seemed to shrivel, and he struggled to even lift his hands. His eyes shirked away from the light above him, knowing it was nothing more than a closely cast Lumos. Voldemort felt as though he were sinking into the earth.

"He's dead!" Harry Potter shouted in confused triumph, though he had to admit he didn't understand how.

Voldemort wished to refute the words, but he was weakened considerably. He searched for Bellatrix Lestrange's mind in the throng of Light and Dark, pleased to feel her reaching for him as well.

How she managed to manoeuvre toward him was anyone's guess, but she had. In the midst of the commotion, while the Light was celebrating their Victory, Bellatrix was whisking away what little remained of the Dark Lord, while there was only one thought on his mind.

"Until we meet again."