I've been trying to update faster these past few weeks. Also, I've altered Diotrix's age slightly. Nothing drastic at all.

Bellatrix POV

How could I accurately describe Patrick Diotrix?

For one thing, he was very kind to me. Even as an Azkaban escapee, he was very mannerly. He would use kind words to me, push in chairs for me whenever I sat down, say sorry when he would accidentally brush passed me. It quite surprised me truthfully. Although I was his "captive," I was kept in oddly spacious living quarters. Where we stayed looked much like a Muggle hotel suite made out of stone. The ceilings, floor and walls made out rock. We were underground in some unnamed place. There was a kitchen with cupboards and a table with chairs, a lavatory, a room, and what looked like the common rooms at Hogwarts. Everything was very tolerable and truthfully quite comfortable. However, I did miss looking out of windows, seeing as there were none. There were doors for the bedroom and the bathroom, but none that lead out. He had stayed with me for two days after taking me from my home and family. Every day passed by engaging conversations. Each day, I found myself staring at him longer and longer, more appreciative, and more appreciative of everything that made him Patrick: his hair, his eyes, and his angelic voice.

In his natural form, Patrick was very handsome. I could tell he tried to keep his hair constantly one color, but at times I saw it turn a shocking green, much like his brother. Or other times it was a deep violet, even a rich gold; I saw other colors too, but not as frequently. I learned that they all corresponded to his emotion. When he broke out into large, happy, grins his locks turned green. When he rested his chin on his fist and tapped his fingers against a table very concentrated it was purple because he was thinking hard. I was never quite sure why his hair would turn gold. It became this color when he would break any conversation we had had and would stare at me for a few moments, then continue. I would stare back, unable to know what lie behind those large rings of silver.

We would talk a lot, about his life and mine. I found out much about his life before Azkaban and Dark Magic. He was the same age as me, only thirteen, but looked much older for his age, just like I did. Patrick was born into a wealthy family of Aurors. He told me they taught him the ways of dark wizardry, all the best methods. I thought this to be very devious, using others proud stories of their acts of good to make himself better in dark ways.

Patrick told me the secrets to his escapes. Those two years in Azkaban, he perfected his disappearing. "It's quite intricate really," he had told me once. "Takes a lot of concentration. It's practically the same as regular morphing, which is second nature to me. You have to picture everything around you. Everything that's being looked at around you, and you have to become it. Took me very long to perfect all the angles and everything, I eventually got it down."

"But what about the body-binds and the stunning? How do you get out of those?" He grinned.

"Now that was what took up the other year in Azkaban when I was ready with my morphing." He paused to clench his jaw to turn the gold hair spilt into his eyes a platinum color; it reminded me of Ivy, Dromeda's quiet friend. Patrick chuckled, shaking his head and letting it change back to dark brown. "I knew the Ministry would be after me once I escaped, and I figured they would use body-binds to hold me up and stunning to stop me. Their body-binds are not actually as strong as you would think, you can still talk. As for the stunning, I'm still young so it isn't too bad." He laughed heartily, and I joined him. "So, I made protective counter curses. Very, complicated."

I was very impressed now. His magic was so amazingly complex, and advanced. He may even be a more powerful wizard than Tom.

Tom.

He was probably still at home. Enjoying the holiday. I wanted to think about him, about his well-kept dark hair, his black eyes that sparkled so dangerously. I wanted to think about Tom Riddle, but couldn't, for his face was always clouded with the image of Patrick Diotrix.

Later that night, I had retired to my bedroom that was adorned with a large bed, and a dresser filled with wizard robes and Muggle clothing. I stared up at the ceiling until finally my mind wondered off to a world of slumber and dreams.

"Bella!" I turned towards the voice to my right.

I couldn't see him, but I knew he was there hiding amongst the many trees. My head turned, my eyes took in the dark looming trees before me, and the brilliant white moon against the black sky. I was standing in a lonely clearing, surrounded only by trees and whatever lurked within them.

"Bella!" he called again, playful but impatient. I giggled, imagining the emotions play on his features. Smiling, I took a few steps into the protection of the trees. They seemed grey in the lighting. With long strides, I ventured farther into the trees touching the rough bark as I walked past them. I stopped, seeing the small clearing not far ahead.

I was able to see him clearly. His back was turned to me, but I could feel his overwhelming presence in the cold air that touched my bare arms. I thought about his hands caressing my arms instead of the wind. "Bella," he said in a whisper. I ran to him, as if it was impossible to get to him quick enough. He turned around with a broad smile on his face, engulfing me in his long arms as I finally reach him. I hid my face in his chest and mumble against the red shirt he wore,

"Patrick."

I woke up to see Patrick so close to me that could feel his breath, his gold hair brushing against my face as he gently stroked my black curls.

He pulled back a bit. "Bella! I was j-just… um," he spluttered for a moment. He was so very handsome. Then, it came to me. I smiled inwardly, knowing what I was about to do next.

I tangled my hands into the golden locks and pulled him down to me until our lips were touching.