My Hero

My Hero


LadyVoldemort87


Don't the best of them, bleed it out, while the rest of them, Peter out - My Hero, Paramore


The rain was pouring as Bellatrix Lestrange looked up at the night sky; her vision obscured by her swollen broken cheekbone. Last night had been the worst beating she had had ever received at the hands of the guards, the supposed guardians of the Wizarding World. An errant shiver ran through her as she remembered the screams of her husband, as her pure blood spilled onto the cold stone floor, the sight providing a slight comfort. Rodolphus’ manic cries were enough to pull her from her reverie as a crash of thunder echoed around them. The sea was angry tonight; Bella wondered if it would ever be peaceful again.

She absentmindedly scratched at the distinctive tattoo on her left forearm, it had been itching something fierce for the last few days; but she did not hope, it would only be stolen from her. She closed her eyes as she ran her fingers soothing down her Dark Mark, feeling the power thrum underneath her fingertips. The tattoo had started to move again, but again she did not hope. The joy of his return would be sucked from her before she had time to even bask in its warmth; she was always cold, like the fire had gone out in her soul.

She turned away from the door to her cell and looked at her hands. Once jewelled and soft, she was aged and dirty now, her hair a mess of wiry curls that had hung to her back, glorious in their exquisite exuberance. He had always liked her hair; he would often run his fingers through it as they sat together, plotting, planning. She missed him; without him, she was cold.

The tattoo burned like raging fire and Bellatrix heard the roars of her fellow Death Eater’s as their Marks glowed to life. Bella’s heart thrummed, her emotions spiking, and she tried in vain to quash it, yet it wouldn’t die. The emotion bubbled up out of her chest and the hot unfamiliar sensation of tears trickled down her face. Bellatrix was startled as it dripped down onto her knees and she touched the moisture with her finger; rubbing away the dirt that lingered on her fingertips. She touched her tender cheekbone, and felt the wetness on her face, and still she wept; wept for her salvation, her sanity, but most of all she wept for him.


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The Dementor’s had abandoned Azkaban; yet the coldness remained. The cries of her husband had subsided, she often wondered if he was still there; wishing and hoping just as she was. Her Mark burned every day, yet still she did not believe he was back. She could hope now, and she wished for proof that he had never really left her. He always promised her he wouldn’t, and she believed him; at least, she hoped she did.

An almighty boom pulled Bellatrix from her slumber; she was huddled under a threadbare blanket, cocooning herself from the cold. The wind whipped her hair around her face as she sat up, the blanket falling to the floor. Her cell door was open, the lock melted. She stepped hesitantly out of the door; the stone harsh underneath the bare soles of her feet. She found Rabastan clinging to the bars of his cell, his hands reaching out to touch her, and she shied away.

She felt the rumbling under her feet as she stepped out into the hallway, a mass of people in turned to look at her, yet she only recognised one. Lucius Malfoy, still proud as a peacock, held a robe out for her; a black long wool robe, which smelt so familiar Bellatrix struggled under the fabric as she covered herself with it. She brought the robe close to her face and inhaled deeply. Surprising even her when a whimper escaped from her throat.

Lucius pulled a long thing piece of wood from his pocket and Bellatrix snatched it from his hand before he had even offered it to her. Green sparks shot out of the end of her wand, and Bella gave a triumphant shriek of glee as she waved her wand over herself, clearing the dirt from her skin. Lucius chuckled haughtily, raising his eyebrow as she twirled her wand betwixt her fingers.

“You should go, Bella. The wards have been lifted, you may apparate to The Manor; He is waiting for you,” revealed Lucius.

Bella shifted, hesitant as she looked at herself. Thirteen years of beatings had taken its toll on her body, and she knew she was no longer as beautiful or as young as she once was. However, the ache within her chest was becoming so overwhelming it was nearly painful. Her mark thrummed as she thought of him, her Lord and Master.

Without a second thought, she apparated to Malfoy Manor.



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With a crack, she appeared on the steps of The Manor; pulling the cloak tighter around her. She was scared, and for the life of her, she did not know why. She had never been scared of him; he had given her no reason to ever be afraid of him. Would he be angry with her? Would he curse her for her mistakes? Would he even want to look twice at her? What would he do when he found out about the Longbottom’s? The questions raced through her mind, she didn’t know of she really wanted the answers; it was giving her a headache.

The door creaked open and a small elf that Bella didn’t recognise stood before her.

“Master Voldemort is expecting Missy Bella, in the drawing room,” it croaked before shuffling off. The door slammed shut behind Bella and as she took one shaky step toward the drawing room, her breath caught in her throat. She looked down at her issue Azkaban uniform and shuddered, the only thing of worth was his robe. She sniffed, knowing she had to hold her head up high and forget about her fear.

No weakness.

She knocked hesitantly on the door, and it was opened from the inside. Antonin Dolohov stood, his head bowed in greeting. She smiled hesitantly at him, and he looked down once more. His features were schooled, and she remembered his stance from the old days; he was ready for conflict.

She felt his presence even before she saw him.

A voice called out, “Leave us,” and Antonin bowed and grimaced at her.

“My Bella,” cooed Voldemort, and Bellatrix fell at his knees.

She felt a warm hand touch her cheek and she hissed in pain, as Voldemort’s fingers skimmed over her broken cheekbone.

“Who did this to you,” he asked his voice calm.

“The guard’s at Azkaban, My Lord.” she said, not daring to look him in the face.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Bellatrix looked into the vivid red eyes that she remembered from her dreams, and fought the tears of joy that burst from her heart, as she looked Voldemort in the face. She felt the tell tale probing in her mind as Voldemort searched through her memories, forcing Bellatrix to relive some of the worst memories of her life.

Voldemort hissed as he watched Bella being viciously attacked; left broken and bleeding as Rodolphus screamed with rage. She flinched; she felt his rage as he withdrew from her mind, the snarl ripped from his throat as he cradled her face in his hands. He touched his wand and muttered a healing spell, and Bellatrix sighed in relief as the pain faded.

“No one will ever touch you again,” he vowed.

Bellatrix sobbed; her head resting on his knees, his fingers running through her wild curls. He said nothing, as she cried, not a word about weakness. He never chastised her, just sat with his hands in her hair, just like before.

“Their blood will yours, Bellatrix,” he said as slipped his fingers under chin, “Have you missed me, loyal one?”

“More than you will ever know, My Lord.”


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Azkaban was a mess of bricks as Voldemort stood upon the rubble, staring out over the raging waters. Bellatrix was at his side, her presence was calming. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm.

“When the war is over, I shall honour you above all others,” he said as he cleaned the blood from her face with his wand. She had been glorious to watch as she extracted the last ounce of exquisite torture from the guard who had beaten her senseless.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she whispered.

“She, who wept in mourning, shall rejoice in vengeance,” he said he pulled her close.

“I do not what I would do without you,” she confessed.

“You will never have to guess,” he said, “We will always be together,”

She didn’t feel the cold anymore.



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She felt the curse hit her, just below her breast and the wind was knocked out of her as she stumbled backward.

She heard her beloved Master scream in agony as she fell, her sight dimming as death stole her away from the living. She felt the anguish leave her heart as she fell through darkness, feeling nothing other than light.

A scream rent through the air and Bellatrix opened her eyes, closing them hastily as the sunlight blinded her. She was lying on what felt like grass; it was warm and damp underneath her back. She placed her arms over her eyes as she opened them, she looked around and frowned.

She was in the garden of the Black Manor, her childhood home. She stood gingerly to her feet and looked around. The garden was deserted. She turned as she heard someone calling her name, a rough, rich voice that brought shivers to her spine.

A man moved toward her, his arms outstretched. His wavy raven hair was pushed back off his handsome face, and his forest green eyes glowed. Her heart pounded.

“My Bella,” he sang, and she sank into his arms, “I told you I would never leave you.”

She didn’t know what had happened, or how they had come to be in this place. But she was safe, she was with him.

Her Lord, her master; her hero.

There goes my hero, watch him as he goes...

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Thanks go to ScaryBearHair for her encoragement, and Labib for inspiring me.