I have written over ten thousand words for this in less than a week. I think that's a new personal best ahaha I'm not sorry.


The next week, Bella spent almost all of her waking hours in the Lestrange library.

The answer she needed must've been there somewhere. All she needed to do, was find it.

The first course of action she considered was the possibility of tracing the Dark Lord himself. It was the most direct solution to her predicament, so it stood to reason that it would be the best way forward. But upon further investigation, she soon discovered that the spell was dependent on the caster having either a personal item or a sample of the person himself.

That ruled that one out.

She next entertained the notion of tracking Rodolphus or Rabastan, but quickly tossed that idea, too. Though she hated to admit it, Rodolphus had been probably been right about the consequences of such a thing. Her father would never forgive her if she lost both Houses of Black and Lestrange their favour with the Dark Lord.

Wherever her solution was hiding, she knew it had to be something she could do entirely on her own.

She strongly considered taking a trip to Knockturn Alley to visit the address the Dark Lord had written in his letter to Rabastan. She decided there was no harm in passing by, but visiting the actual property probably wasn't the best idea. For all she knew, the room at the keep had been rented room for a single night's stay.

And so, in the meanwhile she read. She read each day until her eyes burned, after which, she'd instruct the elves to fetch her a cup of coffee, and then she'd read some more. She read over breakfast and she read over dinner. She read into all hours of the night, crawling into bed long after Rodolphus had fallen deeply asleep.

He didn't ask her what she was up to, but she was fairly certain it was only because he already knew. Rabastan, on the other hand, seemed to have absolutely no qualms with bothering her.

"Whatever are you doing in here?" He asked after a week of her reclusive behaviour, finding her spread out in the sitting area of the library.

"Tell me, brother; what does it look like I'm doing?" She said, her eyes not moving from her current book.

"It looks like you're making a fine old mess of father's library."

She glanced up. "I don't suppose he'll know the difference."

Rabastan scoffed as she went on with her reading. He eyed the mountain of books she'd thrown carelessly across the floor, his lips thinning.

"I've been meaning to ask you," he said after a pause, stepping over the books towards where she sat, his shoes thunking on the hollow wooden floor with each step. "Have you had any visitors over this past week?"

"No."

"Huh," he sounded, bending over to pick up and old one. He dusted its cover. "Funny you should say that. As I'm sure you know, I am a man who very much appreciates my privacy. And if it is as you say, and you haven't had any visitors, then that means that it could only have been you who saw fit to tamper with my wards."

That drew her attention.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

It became abundantly clear as he sent her an icy glare that Rabastan inherited none of the soft features his brother had.

He looked almost menacing.

No wonder the Dark Lord had come for Rabastan.

"Mess with my things again, sister, and I will make sharing a bed with my brother the very least of your problems."

He continued to glare until she broke their eye contact, raising her eyebrows as if to say, 'noted'. He stormed off without another word, disappearing in the aisles of books. Bella only relaxed once she could no longer hear his footsteps.

Damn.

She'd thought her wards impeccable.

Perhaps Rabastan wasn't as simple-minded as she'd taken him to be.

She went back to her reading, comforted by the fact that he didn't seem to realise that she hadn't just messed with his wards, but had completely shattered them.


It took Bella another full week before she found what might've been her answer.

It was written offhandedly in an oversized, modern runic textbook that she'd initially overlooked. It went into absolutely no detail, but when she came across the line, 'useful for summoning individuals', she knew it was the way to go.

Summoning an individual was exactly what she was trying to do and would remove the chance of Rodolphus or Rabastan suffering from her actions.

It was the same idea she'd had in asking Rodolphus and her father, but without the need for the cooperation of the middleman.

It was perfect.

Once she knew what she was looking for, it took her no time at all to track down what she deduced to be the spell itself in a much older book. She was almost giddy upon the finding that she didn't need anything of his to summon him.

Just his name, a series of complex runes, and her willpower.

The first two, she had. The last, she had in excess.

It was perfect.

After studying the procedure until she knew each step back to front, Bella could hardly contain herself. She was much too cheery the next day when she said goodbye to Rodolphus that morning, but she hardly had it in her to care.

The time had come at last. The day she would pledge herself and be free of the confines of the manor was finally upon her.

And she would see him again.

Bella had decided upon performing the spell in the basement of the manor in the middle of the day while Rodolphus and Rabastan were at work. Should they return home early, or should the spell take longer than she planned for, she knew for a fact that neither of the brothers would ever think to look for her in the elves' quarters, which made the small space perfect.

Book in hand and her heart thumping with excitement, Bella trudged down the damp, stone stairs and barged in through the small wooden door. The small elves all turned to look at her with wide eyes, some of them squeaking in surprise at her sudden appearance.

"Out," she instructed sternly. "Now."

The elves immediately put their things down, the room echoing in soft murmurs of, 'yes, Mistress', before they vanished with a series of cracks.

Disgusting creatures.

With her nose turned up, Bellatrix set up the small rickety table in the corner of the room and banished the elves' beds to clear the space. She turned to the page she'd marked and immediately set to work.

The spell required the right combination of runes drawn out in a perfectly round circle, four feet in diameter. Using her wand, she began to carve the runes into the stone, one by one.

Othila, for the separation of the intended from their current location.

Uruz, for powering the spell, for terminating and for a new beginning.

Thurisaz, for the gateway, for allowing the intended's entrance.

Ehwaz, for the intended's movement, for allowing the intended's passage and relocation through space to the gateway.

Eihwaz, for defence, for the safe arrival of the intended.

The physical act of carving the runes took far more time and effort than she'd anticipated. By the time she had the runes repeated sequentially, completing the circle, she'd lost close half of her guaranteed time.

No matter.

She would make quick work of the spell, of that she was sure. No spell was beyond Bellatrix Black.

Bella located the northernmost Othila and sat On the stone in front of it, outside of the circle with her legs crossed. Wand in hand, she held it out in front, the tip of the wood aligning vertically with the innermost point of the rune.

"Othila, uruz, thurisaz, ehwaz, eihwaz," she chanted softly, circling her wand as the book described. "Lord Voldemort. Veni."

A second time, she chanted.

And a third.

She pulled her wand in at the final 'veni', feeling a warm thrum through the wood. It felt just as the book described. She closed her eyes, her nerves building.

Any moment now.

She held her breath and waited and waited, and-

Nothing.

Silence.

"Damn it!" She spat to herself a full minute later, opening her eyes to scan the layout of the runes. She was sure she had done it right, she had felt it, she was fucking positive! She rose to her feet and crossed over to the book to reread the instructions.

She'd done it. She was sure of it. She'd done everything right, exactly as the book said, it should have worked!

"Damn it to hell-"

A loud crack, one that was almost deafening, echoed in the enclosed space, washing out her words.

She turned on the spot to see robes appearing before her, resembling a cloud of black smoke. But they were not from where she expected it, not from inside the circle.

Seeing his form materialise, Bella threw herself to the ground at once, her palms and knees hitting on the cold stone painfully.

She didn't have the chance to consider that perhaps her spell actually did work after all, because at the next instant, the tip of his wand was under her jaw, pushing upward hard enough that it threatened to break through the skin. The pressure forced her chin up, and for the first time in months, Bella's eyes laid upon him.

But she did not see the man she had seen on her wedding day.

The man before her was not the charming one of her memory. His lips were not playful, his eyes were not curious. His magic was not calm. No longer was it only a subtly detectable hum of power.

Instead, it was raging. It was a storm, wild and angry, poised to strike down anything and everything in its path.

Bella had the sudden feeling she'd made a grave mistake.

He stared down at her, red eyes wide and threatening. They drifted over her face and as his magic seemed to hiss, she feared he wouldn't recognise her.

But then she saw his lips twitch, and the fury in his magic seemed to settle, ever so slightly.

"You are the Black girl." His words were accusatory. "Bellatrix."

"Yes." The word was pushed out of her lips by her excitement, without her meaning for it. He remembered her name. But then she remembered her place, and added, "yes, My Lord."

His upper lip shifted into a sneer and a sound with a mocking edge came from his throat. "You tried to summon me."

She lowered her head but was stopped by the wand tip.

"Get up."

She obeyed, rising as fast as she could. Back on her feet, she was reminded of how tall he was. It was only less than a foot between them, but this time, in such an enclosed space, it seemed like more.

"I apologise. I didn't mean... I only wanted- I only want to offer myself. I want to serve you. Like my father before me."

He ignored her, his wand digging deeper into her skin to force her to meet his eyes. "I should kill you for your nerve."

She lowered her eyelids in the hopes he'd understand that if not for his wand, she'd be bowing. As if he'd heard her, his wand moved out from under her chin suddenly and Bella did exactly that, hunching her back as she saw his shadow migrating across the stone floor. She didn't dare look back up, but she felt it when he took his eyes off of her.

Moments passed, and the air seemed to grow thicker with each one. She yearned to speak, to explain, to beg him to accept her, to tell him she'd only summoned him out of desperation, out of loyalty, but-

"Who taught you this?"

At the unexpected question, she looked up to see him close enough to touch, brushing a hand over her book on the rickety desk.

"I- no one," she said, unable to keep the pride from her tone. "I taught myself."

"Truly?"

His eyes were back on her then. The limbal rings of his eyes were dark - black, even - leeching into the rich shade of red of his irises. Blood-like. In the centres, she thought she could see a hint of brown.

But only a hint.

They were beautiful.

Special.

"Yes."

A slight touch of what might've been curiosity slowly made its way onto his features. "Summoning organic matter is advanced, let alone the summoning a specific individual. Far beyond what you would have been taught in school."

Holding his eye contact was hard. Her instincts told her to look away. Pleaded her to look away.

She ignored them.

"There is no magic that has yet challenged me."

There was no doubt the second time he hummed. He was mocking her.

"Such pride. So very much like your father."

He didn't say anything more as he slowly stepped back to cross the enclosed space, circling the circle of runes. She watched him rake his eyes over them, inspecting them one by one.

"You want to serve, you say?" He asked eventually.

"With every fibre in my being, My Lord."

He tore his eyes from the runes to pass them over her figure appraisingly, slowing as they passed over her hips. His sneer returned. "I don't usually take applicants."

She stepped forward without meaning to. "Please... I beg of you, allow me to show you my worth. Allow me to represent the House of Black."

His jaw twitched as he watched her.

"You want to prove yourself..." he started, slowly stepping back around the circle. "All right then. I will humour you."

"Thank you, My Lord," she breathed. "Thank you. I will do anything you ask of me. Anything-"

"Abraxas Malfoy's wand," he stated, a touch of amusement in his words. "I want it. Get it. Bring it to me."

"But-"

"Ah, ah," he silenced her with a raised hand. "If you are to serve me, you will quickly learn not to ask questions."

She bit into her lip, hard enough that it stung, to keep herself from speaking.

He watched her internal struggle, his eyes falling to her lips. The corners of his own slowly turned upward.

"Better," he said at last. "I will give you a week- no. A month. I won't have anyone saying that I am not generous. You have a month to get the wand."

"Yes," she accepted. "Thank you, My Lord. I won't fail you."

He hummed again, the same mocking sound. "We will see."

He slowly began to step backward toward the dark corner of the room, and Bella knew. Her time was up. He was about to leave her–

"How am I to find you?" She asked, unable to keep the question contained.

He continued to move back toward the stairs until she could barely see him, his eyes almost glowing in the dark. His lips turned upward, and he grinned.

It didn't suit him.

"If you are half the witch you claim to be, you'll figure it out."

And with another crack, he was gone.


She lay in her bed that night, tossing the remembrall her uncle Orion had given her for her thirteenth birthday.

It was filled with red.

Just like his eyes.

Her lips thinned as she continued to toss it, throwing it higher after each catch.

What was he playing at? Abraxas Malfoy's wand?

She thought of his words, of his hums, over and over, how they'd mocked her. She'd worked night and day to find him, for weeks and weeks, and he'd mocked her. Mocked her, like the stupid remembrall was mocking her.

He didn't need another wizard's wand, she knew that. If her father was right about him, then he hardly needed his own wand!

He just didn't think she could do it. He'd assigned her to thieving his right-hand man's wand as a game, because he – just like every other man she'd ever met in her life – didn't think she could do it.

The remembrall hit the ceiling with a dull thud before it came back down, falling into her awaiting palms.

But this was not a silly little game to her. She was not a silly little girl, and she had a plan.

In two weeks' time, she knew it was to be Rodolphus and Rabastan's turn to host the Boy's Club at the manor.

Abraxas Malfoy was a member of the Boy's Club.

She threw the remembrall with enough force that when it collided with the ceiling, it smashed. Shards of glass and red ash fell down from the sky, clouding the air of her room like flecks of dried, shining blood.

She didn't flinch as the shards came back down, falling on her skin.

Abraxas Malfoy wouldn't know what hit him.