On the dilemma of Bellatrix

Spinner’s end was dark and sombre, for Narcissa and Severus had just gone out for a walk after the latter made the unbreakable vow. Bellatrix was alone in the house. She lit a candle with her wand, and let her long, birch bark like nails slither over the mantlepiece. Azkaban had drained most of the youthful zeal in her. She longed for company at this moment, contemplating over how Narcissa was lucky enough to have someone like Lucius in her life; and how much she loved her son Draco. Would she ever even have offspring? Bellatrix was in a pensive mood. She crouched over in front of the mantlepiece, dejected. Her eyes had a lifeless, melancholic look to them as a single tear rolled down her scarred and wounded, dusty cheek that was once soft and rose-coloured; before all this had begun. She laid her wand on her lap, and kept her palms together as though she was praying. She looked at her Dark Mark with a glimmer of both enthusiasm and regret; regret for the fact that it was due to the battles she’d picked that she had lost so much in life. She pondered over the life of Harry Potter, the boy she hated so much. Were they right, after all, about him being protected by his mother’s loving sacrifice? Was love indeed such a powerful thing in this universe? Or, in the first place, was there even such a thing called love? She let out a soft sigh; as she softly rubbed her curly, dishiveled hair; wondering if such a thing called love did indeed exist.

The Dark Lord would laugh at such a thought, she thought as she jumped in a moment of enthusiasm, swatting away this particular thought that had come into her mind as though it were an insignificant fruitfly. Then, her eyes had a dreamy look to them as she wondered about the Dark Lord. Was he really happy inside after all this time? Did he ever experience love in his life? There were so many questions that she needed answers to. Her hands trembling in bewilderment, she pressed her wand almost reluctantly upon the Dark Mark on her arm. Her long, luscious eyelashes withdrew from each other to behold the sight of him before her. “What is it that requires my presence, Bellatrix?“, he asked in his usual raspy, snake-like voice; complemented by his everlasting calm, composed demeanour. Being the most powerful Legillimens in this world, he could sense his most loyal and faithful servant Bellatrix was troubled. “What’s bothering you, Ms Lestrange?” he asked calmly, placing his reptilian hand on her shoulder, as he moved closer to her. “My Lord.. I.. I have.. umm...something to ask you”, Bellatrix mustered the courage to ask something she had always wanted the answer to. “Tell me, please”, the Dark Lord whispered softly into her ear, gently pushing her curly locks away with his fingers. “Do you believe that love exists? Have you ever felt love in your life? Do you truly believe that Harry Potter was protected by his mother’s loving sacrifice?” she ejaculated vehemently, overcome by her emotions of loss.

She could sense, for the first time, an alteration in the Dark Lord’s usual composure. His slit-like eyes widened with profound emotion as he crouched over to sit beside her on the wooden floor. He held both her shoulders tenderly, and looked straight into her beautiful jet black eyes veiled by her long, black eyelashes. “Yes, I do” he answered softly, as though he didn’t want anyone but her to know about this. For the first time, she saw tears in the Dark Lord’s eyes. He too looked just as dejected as she was, and just like her, as if he had just lost something that meant the world to him. “Bella,” he beckoned her with a tenderness that was never seen in him before. “Bella, I’m speaking to you now as Tom Marvolo Riddle to his best friend; rather than as the Dark Lord to his servant.” he softly whispered, his voice faltering with the same profound sense of loss. “You’re aware that nobody loved me. Throughout my life. I’ve never felt lonelier than I did at Wool’s orphanage”, his voice faltered even more as he recounted his painful memories from the muggle orphanage.

The muggle kids often hid his belongings, and laughed at him when he tripped over the petty traps they’d set for him. He remembered how he used to initially forgive them, believing in the virtue of kindness and empathy. Sadly, they never displayed a shred of humanity towards him. They drew with markers on his face, his limbs tied to the bed posts. They’d carved “MENTAL” with a fork on his forehead; after the muggle doctors had decided he’d lost it and experimented the then-new ‘shock treatment’, as they called it, upon him. They spat in his food, and often starved him by locking him in his room for the sake of their cruel entertainment. Throughout all this, little Tom always believed that they too, like him, were kind; and would one day accept him as their own. He never wanted an apology from anyone, just a moment of acceptance. The orphanage keepers always treated him differently from the other kids, with pure derision in their eyes whenever they glanced towards him; as opposed to the nurturing care that seemed to overflow for the other kids.

It was after an incident where he was made to lick one of the muggle kids’ shoes, in their show of hostility towards him, that he took them to the cave. That was the moment he decided the only way to survive in this cruel, corrupted world was by becoming the most powerful, the most fearsome being to have ever walked on this planet. Virtue was seen as a weakness, he strongly felt. That was why he viewed Dumbledore with contempt; for even though he appeared to accept him as his own, Dumbledore couldn’t resist himself from setting his wardrobe on fire so as to intimidate him. No one had indeed ever loved him. Everyone only desired to showcase their power before him. How could he not decide, at that tender age, that power - and not love - was the most important thing in this world? He quietly withdrew his memories, in the form of a sky blue string that looked like it was composed of something ethereal, with his wand; and uttered “Projecto Mentatum”.. his voice still faltering. A thorough stream of tears now rolled down both his hollow cheeks, soaking his cloak. Bellatrix looked worried, for even though she didn’t know what exactly the Dark Lord was contemplating upon, she knew for sure that it was something that upset him greatly. She couldn’t bear to see him like this.

The Dark Lord now brought his memories, contained in the form of an ethereal sky blue ball, closer to her eyes. She then entered Wool’s orphanage, and witnessed every torment he had gone through. She came out of it, even more dejected, letting out a steady stream of tears just like him. She gently placed her long, slender fingers upon the back of the Dark Lord; moving forward to embrace him; seeking to be the one person that ever loved him, in this ocean of corruption and sadism that is the world. She uttered, “Reverso Aetasum”, kissing both his slit-like eyes that were letting out tears. She witnessed his slit-like eyes transform into bright green ones, with thick black eyelashes, and straight eyebrows above him. He began to grow jet black hair; as his hollow serpentine face transformed itself into that of a sallow teenaged boy. His body slowly transformed itself from its macabre, reptilian form - into that of a teenager. She now looked at him with the very emotion whose existence she was questioning - love.

“Bella, do you really...” He asked softly, almost weeping. “Yes Tom, I love you. I love you more than absolutely anyone in this world” she said reassuringly; with a slight, comforting smile on her face; as she brooded over towards him so as to loosen his necktie. He had never seen her smile with such deep and profound emotion before. He couldn’t bear to see her cry like this; and softly kissed her wounded, scarred cheek. “All these wounds, for me, Bella?” He asked tearfully, caressing her face gently. “Yes, my dearest Tom. For you, I may turn into the most monstrous Dark witch to have ever walked on this planet. That is how much you mean to me. All these scars don’t matter to me because it is you that I place above my own self; as I have done always, my dear Tom”, Bellatrix muttered with conviction, softly kissing his earlobe and neck.

She held both his shoulders with deep affection in her eyes, and said “Now be a good boy and stop crying, wash your face”. Tom couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. He didn’t want to disobey her instructions, yet he fell; almost involuntarily; into her lap, sobbing. “There, there” Bellatrix strived to maintain her composure as she too began to weep, kissing Tom’s eye and cheek; while he sobbed uncontrollably on her lap. She took out a piece of chocolate that she had hidden in her robes, and held it close to Tom’s frowning face. “Have this, dear. You’ll feel better” she said, kissing his eyes and forehead intermittently; running her slender fingers through his straight, jet black hair. She watched Tom help himself to the chocolate, as she began to unbutton his shirt and further loosen his necktie.

“But.. won’t it be disrespectful? I’m much younger”, Tom muttered.. looking at Bellatrix with love and a sense of despair in his eyes, still weeping. “Love doesn’t see age my dear Tom. I love you as a young teenager just as much as I love you in your macabre, serpentine form. It’s our souls that are connected, not our bodies my dear” she said calmly, kissing Tom’s collarbones. Tom gently kissed every scar and wound on her face and neck; almost hoping to heal them with his kisses. He held her shoulders lovingly and brought her closer; her soft bosom now pressing against his shirt and cloak. They looked longingly into each other’s eyes; and almost explosively, Bellatrix began to suck on Tom’s lower lip, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Now, she’d gotten all the answers she had wanted, she believed. Love did indeed exist, and the Dark Lord did believe in it; in fact, there was no one who deserved love more than him in this world.