Bellatrix Lestrange stared at the hem of her master's robes, panting with the aftermath of the Cruciatus. It was no matter, it was just, it was fair - she had failed him, failed the Dark Lord, and she knew she must be punished. She shuddered as phantom needles swept across her body, the aftershocks painful but nowhere near the soul-destroying agony of her Lord's Cruciatus. She would endure. He would punish her, but she was his most faithful servant - he would forgive her. She waited patiently, feeling her Lord's gaze heavy upon her as she knelt before him.

He spoke, the high, commanding voice icy with disdain. Bella shivered under the weight of her Lord's disapproval.

"You failed, Bellatrix." She saw the robes swirl as her Lord paced back and forth. "A ragtag band of puling children," he hissed, "And my battle-hardened Death Eaters could not overcome them."

"Please, my Lord," she begged, desperate for some way to deflect his terrible anger. "It was Malfoy, it was Lucius who dealt with Potter-"

"And later, Bella?" Her Lord cut her off, voice sharp with contempt. "In the atrium? You could not subdue Potter, a schoolchild snivelling over the death of his faithful hound?" Bella quivered with fear and shame. She had failed her Lord so terribly! A tiny corner of her mind whispered treacherous thoughts, about how many times Potter had escaped her Lord, but she drove it away. It was not her place to question her Lord, not in the smallest thing.

"No, Bellatrix, you were useless," her Lord continued, now affecting a conversational tone that she knew hid a growing rage. "You could not defeat even the least of my enemies, a half-blood sick with grief and impotent rage. He had you, Bella! If you cannot best Potter," he spat the name out as if it befouled his thin lips, "Then you are worthless. No more skill than a mudblood, not ready to be sent against the most worthless of Muggles. Crucio!" She writhed in agony, the pain crashing over he in waves that fell only to rise once more, every nerve alight with a fire that burnt and chilled and stabbed. Eventually the pain subsided, and Bella found herself surprisingly still upright on her knees, swaying as sparks shot across her vision and her muscles spasmed wildly. Again the tiny voice whispered in defiance, but Bella quashed it under her loyalty, sworn years ago and set by the chill of Azkaban. She was her Lord's, body and soul. She threw herself forward onto her hands, reaching out blindly for her Lord's robes.

"Please, my Lord, grant me another chance. I am your most faithful servant, I shall not fail again. My Lord, please!" Her voice had risen to a shirek that echoed around the room, and she thought she saw other servants shifting, but she did not care. She cared only for her Lord, and she stretched out her hand once more, questing for his robes; a touch as a sign of his favour. "Please, my Lord," she whispered brokenly. "Please."

Her hand found nothing. Bella tilted her face upwards just enough to see that her Lord had taken a step backwards. His voice came again, firm with decision and an anticipation she did not fully understand.

"No." Bella did not understand, could not understand what her Lord was saying. "No more failures, Bella. You have always been loyal, but I must also have competence!" On the last word his voice rose to a ringing shout, then dropped away to an icy whisper. "And you have shown me none of that. Enough failures from you, enough and too much. Lord Voldemort does not suffer the worthless, Bellatrix. Not to serve. Not to live." She could not grasp what he was saying.

"Please, my Lord, give me a task - something, anything! Let me prove myself anew!" Her voice was a despairing keen, and tears wet her face unnoticed as she begged for mercy from the Lord she loved more than life. He ignored her, speaking over her to his assembled servants, standing near the back of the stone chamber in a black-robed mass.

"Hear me, my faithful ones." She was the faithful one, Bella thought furiously, but did not say it. "My favour falls upon the strong, the skilled, the triumphant. I have no use for the weak. See the reward for failure, and remember - success is everything." Bella felt a great emptiness inside her. Her Lord thought she was weak! When this punishment was complete, she would prove him wrong. With her Lord showing himself in the Ministry, there was no longer a need for secrecy - when he released her to hunt, Bella would remind the mudbloods and the weaklings to fear the Dark Lord's name.

Her Lord was speaking again.

"Severus." There was the rustling sound of a man bowing, and then Bella heard the sneering voice of her Lord's odious brewer and spy.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Bellatrix has served me long and well, before this night." Yes, Bella exulted, yes she had! "She has earnt a quick death. Give it to her." Bella could not believe her ears. Her Lord had condemned her to death? No, it must be a test of loyalty - he often used those, though never with her before. She rose to her knees and dared to look at her Lord's face, peering through a veil of matted hair. Her Lord was not quietly unreadable as he was during tests, he was wearing the tiny smile with which he watched punishments. Executions. Bella heard Snape's voice again, through a haze of disbelief.

"My Lord?" Snape said quietly, and Bella thought hysterically that it was the first time she had heard him sound unsettled.

"My instructions are simple, Severus," her Lord said silkily. "You have killed before, have you not?"

"Yes, my Lord. Of course." Bella stared at the amused countenance of her Lord, the man she held as more than a man and had sworn to follow unto death. Now he had denigrated her service, called her worthless, and he was sending her into death.

She turned away from her Lord, unable to bear the uncaring smile, and turned to Snape. The half-blood was walking from the front rank of the servants towards her, moving slowly as he carefully drew out his wand. He seemed to take forever to walk only a dozen steps, and Bella's minds raced with shock and humiliation. Her Lord called her worthless? She had served him loyally since she took his Mark! Who had tracked and ambushed the Prewett brothers, who had sabotaged the Floo and diverted countless Aurors away from raids, who had taken revenge for her Lord's fall and never repudiated him, not even in the stark cold of Azkaban? Her, her, all her! And now he mocked her? He sent her to the grave with a few haughty words, dispatched by a mangy traitor half-blood with some skill at brewing? Bella's shock bloomed into anger, the first time she had ever been angry at her Lord. Her service had come to this?

Snape came to a halt close to her, not even a pace away, and Bella's mind was full of a sudden fury as she glared up at his emotionless face. She would not be killed by a worthless half-blood! She would not lay down and die on command! If her Lord valued her loyalty so little, then so be it! She tensed her muscles under her robes, preparing to lunge. Something passed across Snape's face as he raised his wand, a twitch of muscle that anyone further away would not have seen. Bella held her breath. Did he know what she was about to do?

"Avada," Snape began, and his wandtip glowed sickly green as he went on to the next word, steady as a chant. Before he could finish the incantation that she knew so well, Bella exploded upwards from her kneeling position, twisting Snape's wand around and loosing a flash of verdant lightning into the assembled Death Eaters; they threw themselves away from it with shouted curses. In the same movement she slammed her other hand, balled into a fist, into Snape's wrist. His grip popped open, and she snatched away his wand. A silent blasting hex threw Snape away from her, and she would have cast again save for the voice of her Lord.

"Bellatrix," he rasped, the smooth voice now rough with rage. "Accept my--"

It was too much, the anger of the Lord that had betrayed her, and Bella threw a curse at her Lord. It was a nasty thing, complex and many-layered, and though her Lord brushed it aside with a flick of his wand the crackling thrumm of the block knocked him back a step. There was a moment of total silence in the chamber, none more shocked at her attack than Bella herself. She had attacked her Lord, she was forsworm - but he had broken loyalty first, had he not? He had offered her up for execution! He was no worthy master! As Snape came at her with a knife gleaming in his hand, as her mind trembled under the weight of this decision, Bella apparated away to the only place that could offer her sanctuary now.

*

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had lived for more than a century and a half, but he had never felt as old as he now did. The war that he had known was inevitable had arrived, and by luck and a boy's foolhardy ingenuity it had begun on the best possible terms. Tom had revealed himself to the Ministry, his most influential lieutenant had been captured, and Tom had no more knowledge of the prophecy than before. But the war had been triggered by a night gone horribly wrong, and Albus' new advantage in the conflict was ashes in his mouth. Sirius Black was dead, a reckless young man who had been savaged by the world he fought to protect. Sirius had died for nothing, and young Harry had lost another part of his family. And it was Albus' fault.

He had sought to spare Harry from the reality of the boy's fate - Albus still kept back the worst of his suspicions - and it had led to ruin. Another life torn apart by Albus Dumbledore's monumental arrogance, throwing the weight of his knowledge and skill against the wheel of Fate and then weeping when it rolled on regardless. Albus let out a long, slow breath, and watched the infant Fawkes preening on his perch. Yes. There was still hope. Harry had proven himself to be stronger than any normal child; he would come through the grief, given time. But he would probably never trust Albus again. Probably just as well. He had proven himself untrustworthy tonight. Unable to make the right decisions, unable to teach Harry, unable to protect him or those he loved.

There was a chime, and Albus wrapped himself in Occlumency, flinging away what he knew was a dark and self-destructive mood. The tone of the chime indicated a presence on the periphery of the wards, the three quick tones signalled the main gate. Albus could not imagine Tom making an assault on Hogwarts, not with his forces in disarray and the wards as impenetrable as ever. More likely it was a message from Tom in the form of a dead body, some wizard delivered half-dead or mad. Tom had been fond of such terror tactics in the first war. Albus concentrated, commanding Hogwarts to lift the wards on his office and the front gate, and then he vanished to investigate.

He took in the area with a single glance - the undisturbed gates, the watchful power of the wards, the dark figure crouched in the corner between the outside of the gate and the gatepost. Albus flicked his wand, bathing the area in light, and the crouching figure shot to its feet. Albus raised his wand, a dozen spells crowding his mind as he recognised the figure in a ragged travelling cloak, but waited for a moment for its reaction. The figure held out a hand and spoke.

"Dumbledore," Bellatrix rasped, and Albus blinked at the desperation in the girl's voice. "I have information to offer. Names, properties, account details. I can be useful."

"And what has brought about this sudden change of heart, Bellatrix?" Albus said quietly. He was entirely confused. Bellatrix had no appetite for subterfuge, and Tom's most faithful lieutenant would never abandon her master. The young witch spat on the ground.

"He cast me out," she snarled, voice choked with shock and rage. "He called me worthless. He would have had that filthy half-blood traitor kill me. I, who remained ever faithful! To die at the hands of a snivelling brewer who hid behind Dumbledore's skirts!" Bellatrix paused, tremlbing with emotion, and then seemed to come back to herself. "I could not allow it. He...my lord was not worthy of it. Hide me, Dumbledore, and I will give you all I can."

Albus' mind raced. Tom must have thought Bellatrix's failure in the Ministry inexcusable. If Severus had been assigned as her executioner, he might have let her escape as a distraction for Tom. But now here she was, seeking Albus' protection! He knew it was self-preservation and nothing more, but it was still a stunning reversal for Tom's most faithful servant.

"You will surrender your wand, and your freedom." Bellatrix started at the chill in his voice, but nodded.

"Yes. Hurry! They will trace me!" Albus swept the area before the gate for signs of a trap, but found nothing. No pattern-curses, no young wizards hidden under illusions. Just one half-mad young girl.

"I grant Bellatrix Lestrange permission to enter Hogwarts." The wards shivered, and Bellatrix pushed open the gate with a screech of metal and darted inside. Albus kept his wand ready, and extended his other hand. "Your wand, Bella." She drew it from her robes and tossed it to him. Albus snatched it out of the air and stunned her in the same moment. As she crumpled to the ground, he placed a cushioning charm under her, and rendered her mute and immobile. Albus flicked his wand again, and Severus' familiar wand whipped from Bellatrix's sleeve. Albus pocketed that as well, unsure whether it showed deceit or merely caution on Bellatrix's part.

He walked over to his former student's unconscious body, and took her in with a glance. Tom had ruined her, warped her exuberance and fierce pride into cruelty and fanaticism; twisted her, as so many had been twisted by Tom. Albus sighed, and reached down to touch her with one long finger. Headmaster and woman disappeared, back to Albus' office for what both knew came next.

*

Bella's eyes snapped open as energy rushed through her. She tried to rise to her feet, and found herself unable to move from her position on a wooden chair. She knew where she was, she had been in Dumbledore's office often during her school years. The old fool himself stared at her pensively from behind his desk; behind him stood the old tiger Moody, and the Moor, Shacklebolt. Bella frowned at the array of devices that should have been humming and whirring from the side benches; many of them were missing, and deep scratches across the empty space suggested they had not been removed gently. She raised an eyebrow at the fool, and assumed a girlish voice such as she'd adopted during her school days to weasel her way out of detention with Slughorn.

"Were you burgled, Headmaster?"

"Indeed not, Bella. But that is no concern of yours. Your thoughts should perhaps be focused on how to demonstrate the sincerity of your rather unexpected offer." Bella would have shivered if she could, at the headmaster's tone; deep and cold. Harsh. He was a trusting fool, but a powerful one. Which was what she needed.

"Words won't satisfy you, we both know that. Give me the veritaserum." Something flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, and he gestured at the Moor.

Shacklebolt extracted a small vial from his robes and came around the desk to Bella. She obediently stuck out her tongue, and the Moor carefully tipped three drops out. Bella swallowed, and immediately felt the serum take effect. Something was pressing down on her, a force pushing at her, and she knew she could no longer withhold the truth. Shacklebolt stood off to the side, and Dumbledore asked the first question.

"Why did you come to Hogwarts tonight?"

"To convince you to protect me from the Dark Lord," she said, the words not consciously chosen but drawn from her by the dreadful pressure inside her skull.

"Why?" Dumbledore's eyes were keen, and Bella knew that even without the serum a lie would not have helped her.

"Because my lord will kill me for attacking him, and you are the only force capable of standing against him."

Shacklebolt asked the next question. "You attacked your master? With what?" The serum bore down on Bella once more.

"Yes. With Revett's two-tiered withering curse, adapted to the Latvian structure and using Kemmler's oscillating focus variation."

"Did it strike him?" Shacklebolt asked curiously.

"No. He deflected it."

Dumbledore held up a hand to stop further questions, his gaze boring through Bella's skull. It was almost nostalgic, she mused. How many times had she sat in this office, denying all knowledge of a disturbance in the Slytherin common room, or a curse afflicting some brainless mudblood?

"What are your feelings regarding Sirius' death?" Dumbledore said at last, and Bella's amusement faded.

"I regret his death. I wish he had not chosen to set himself against the traditions of his family," she heard herself say.

"Do you feel any guilt?"

"No. It was Sirius' decision to betray his family and set himself against me. And he should not have stood where he did."

Dumbledore leaned forward, hands clasping the arms of his chair tightly. "Bellatrix. Did Voldemort ever mention an…object, or antique? One which he valued more than its material worth?"

"Yes," she heard herself answer, and what was one more betrayal of her Lord after so many? She remembered how proud she had been at the time; the memory was ashes now. "My Lord gave me a cup to hide within my family vault at Gringotts, and ordered me to protect the secret with my life. He also ordered that I pay for the most powerful defences for the vault. I don't know what the cup was for."

Dumbledore's eyes flared with some fleeting – satisfaction? Triumph? And then were cold again. He considered her answer for a moment, and then leaned forward in his chair.

"Bellatrix, please look into my eyes." She held his mild blue gaze. Although she was expecting it, familiar with legilimency from her Lord's endless tests, the sudden knife-sharp pain in her skull was agonising. Bella tensed her neck muscles, refusing to break eye contact. Infuriating as it was, she could not afford for Dumbledore to consider her a threat. The ache shifted and intensified, and then it was gone. Bella let out her breath at the sudden cessation of pain, noting happily that the old man was rubbing his temples. Perhaps she had given him a headache.

Dumbledore sat up straight again, and gave Moody a nod. The twisted bastard began to ask Bella pointed questions about recruitment, and numbers, and sources of funding. She let the serum pull the answers from her, focusing her conscious mind on trying to read Dumbledore's expression. Was he going to protect her? Was she useful enough? Or would he cast her off as a distraction?

Eventually the cripple ran out of questions and Bella's hoarse answers trailed off. She took slow, shallow breaths, and ran her tongue along cracked lips. There was nothing for it but to wait for Dumbledore. The old man sat behind his desk, watching Bella over steepled fingers, and she stared back. He had already rummaged through her mind tonight, so she had nothing left to hide, and he was damned if she would look away. At last Dumbledore laid his hands flat on the desk.

"Bellatrix, I am willing to shelter you as a useful resource. You will provide information as required; I am sure you can give us valuable insight into Voldemort's—" Bella could not suppress a shudder at her Lord's name, but Dumbledore paid her no attention. "—plans and likely actions. As the Ministry seems to have some difficulty keeping you in one place, you will reside at a location of our choosing. But first," here his gaze sharpened still further. "There is the matter of, shall we say, guarantees of behaviour."

A few moments later, Bella stood on her own two feet, only a little unsteady. Her hand was clasped with Dumbledore's, the contrast between her deathly pale skin and his age-spotted digits something to distract herself with. If she looked only at that, she might escape the awful reality of what she was about to do. The cripple touched the joined hands with his wand, the azure eye flicking from side to side. After a pause, Moody began to speak, delivering questions decided upon by Bella's three captors behind the veil of a silencing spell.

"Do you, Bellatrix Lestrange, forswear all loyalty and obedience to Tom Riddle, called Voldemort?"

"I do," she said, and her throat was dry with something between grief and fury as a strand of flame slid out of Moody's wand and wrapped around their joined hands.

"Will you follow the orders of Albus Dumbledore, without delay or deceit?"

"I will." Another line of fire. It stung Bella to swear her life to a new master like this, ate at her pride in a way giving her loyalty to her Lord had not. But it was necessary for survival, and she was far too proud to die.

"Do you swear not to reveal these oaths, save with the permission of Albus Dumbledore or the head of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I do." The final twisting strand of the Vow. It was interesting that the old man was preparing for a change of leadership in his little band of troublemakers, a piece of information her Lord would prize. Bella's free hand clenched into a fist. Not that it mattered any more. The three strands of fire dancing around the clasped hands for a moment longer, then snapped tight and vanished, leaving three faint lines running across the back of hand and fingers and over Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore drew his hand back slowly, peering at it curiously. "An unusual sensation." He looked back to Bella, stern once more. "Bellatrix, here are my commands. You will not communicate with anyone outside the Order. You will not leave the safehouse in which you will be staying. You will not attack anyone, magically or physically, save in self defence, and in such a case you will use the minimum possible force. Are any of these unclear?"

"No," said Bella, aware that she sounded almost petulant but too weary to care.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore, now once again the batty old schoolteacher that so few recognised as a mask. "Now, let me show you your accommodation. I believe it will be somewhat familiar."