The judge he smiled as he picked up his pen….

With the other patients, Bellatrix Lestrange spent her nights in the Ministry’s sick ward, often dubbed Bedlam, which they had set up to treat defendants, officials, and witnesses when going to St. Mungo’s would not suffice. She knew days after the encounter with her mentor what she carried. She knew it from feeling sick in the morning, from her slowly distending stomach, and from her voracious appetite. Though it had been barely three months, her excitement had grown each day with the ball inside her. She had never felt prouder of herself as she had the day before her arrest; how happy her mentor would be, and trusting he had been to bestow her with such a responsibility.

Her sister Cissy had been so willing to help too, visiting often with her infant son so Bellatrix would know how to care for a child. The more she played with little Draco, the more she wondered if the Dark Lord would let her keep the child instead of using it for his own purposes. Perhaps he’d grow fond of the little creature and be kind, the way he had shown kindness to Lily and her baby. Although she did not wish to disobey her master, a voice within her mind often urged her to make excuses for not using his precious white powder. He seemed to understand why she shouldn’t be as reckless as he with the drug. And since Rodolpus cared so little about his wife’s business, it didn’t matter to him why his sister-in-law visited. If his wife was making him a cuckold under his nose, Bellatrix knew that he wouldn’t have the spine to reprimand her.

The aurors picked the lock on her door, and in hindsight she was so happy that Cissy hadn’t been visiting that day. Two of them rushed in unaware of her condition because winter allowed her to always wear large, concealing clothes. She cried out as they grabbed her, trying to warn her husband so he could help kill them. Something about her new condition slowed her down, and she couldn’t conjure up spells like before. When they pushed her to the ground, it was over; she had felt her stomach give under her body weight.

Insistent on keeping them from humiliating her, she held back all tears. Her moans of agony were impossible to keep in. They saw the blood on her carpet when they pulled her up, realizing what they had done. Naturally for Rodolphus, all he could do was stand in the parlour where she had been assaulted and stupidly ask what they had done to her. One of them bagged him while the other took care of her.

In the infirmary, she was a wild animal. She shrieked at anyone who came near her, constantly asking for her wand even though these people meant to help her. For them to see her so vulnerable made her feel powerless and irate. When the pain overtook her will to push them off, nurses swept in. She delivered in the early morning before sunrise, a deformed human-like little monster pulled from her womb. Rather than letting her keep the thing for herself, they threw it away. They sedated her with something strong when she tried to claw off the midwife’s nose.

She kept a dry eye throughout, certain that her master would reward her for persevering through all the hardships and staying such a devoted follower. At her trial, she wasted no time shouting down his opponents and defending her actions; she freely proclaimed to torturing the Longbottoms as something she knew would bring the Dark Lord joy. When not in the court, they always kept her bound up because she’d thrash about. Only when she saw her master cooperating did she change her temperament toward the orderlies.

Now she stared at the white ceiling, painfully aware of her sterile bed-sheets that smelled the way she imagined a muggle house would smell. People groaned quietly, but she couldn’t see anyone because they had drawn curtains around all of the beds for privacy. It was good because she didn’t want anyone seeing her now. She knew that she looked a mess although they let her bathe often enough. She was weak and they kept tending to her, but otherwise she was in very good health. From the orderlies she heard rumors of how her master looked, but she wrote it all off as lies. They were purposely saying those things to turn her against him. Though she had seen him with a trimmed beard and looking unusually humble, Bellatrix insisted to herself that it was just a guise. He was just as healthy as she was, if not more.

Footsteps traveled toward her, more than one pair and she imagined they came from a few orderlies or maybe an orderly and a patient. She assumed that the patient would be some sniveling official for the Ministry. However, she longed for visitors. They allowed none in the ward, but she held out hope that her master might visit and give a good word of praise.

“I will eat what I please, when I please.” Her heart leapt at the snarling voice in the bed at her left. Bellatrix held her breath so she could hear every word.

“You should feel grateful that we feed you at all.” There was clinking as the nurse put out some things on a tray. “And this is even better than what they give other patients.”

“I’d rather starve.”

“I can arrange that.” The nurse in question sounded exasperated or perhaps just impatient all the time. There was more scraping and clinking as she withdrew the meal.

“No! Give it here!”

An audible sigh. “I thought just as much. I’ll be back in an hour, and that plate better be clean.” Footfalls traveled past Bellatrix’s bed and away.

Caught between elation and anxiety, she listened to her master chewing on his humble meal. He muttered in Parsletongue between bites, and she could only decode a few words because the language reminded her of all the times she had spent in his pleasure. To hear it brought a smile to her lips at a time when she wondered if she would ever wear a true smile again. Bed sheets pulled up to her eyes, she didn’t understand why he took so long with his meal. At her home, she remembered his appetite being normal; but here, it seemed to take great energy just to push a little food down his throat.

The final curse and clatter of his utensil signaled that he had eaten as much of his meal as he could possibly choke down. When he exhaled, he sounded despondent. It was a moment of vulnerability he allowed no one, not even the medical staff, to see.

“My lord?” she dared meekly, pulling the sheets closer out of some notion that they would protect her.

“Who is that?” he answered sharply, rustling from his bed suggesting that he had bolted up. “Tell me who you are.”

“Bellatrix, my lord.” How close were their beds? Could she reach out to him past the curtain to take his hand? “I have done as you have done, cooperate with the nurses.”

“Mm, smart girl.” He didn’t sound impressed or happy. “Why are you here?”

She had never decided whether or not to tell him, and she still couldn’t decide now. “I am ill. They keep me here because they have nowhere else to keep me.”

“Then we are of the same condition. They kennel me like a dog during the day, and at night I’m brought here for certain treatments. Otherwise, they have no one to look after me.” And they always kept the curtains around his bed open.

“My lord.” She wanted to ask about what they were doing to him. Maybe he would volunteer that information on his own; she had grown so used to him divulging his emotions to her that she saw no reason why he wouldn’t do that now. “I have done my best to stay loyal. The court—I told them that you would rise again as I know you will. You were right about Lucius; I saw him deny you just as you said he would. But I promise that I have stayed your devoted, unwavering servant no matter what the cost.” To Bellatrix, the words “I love you” were tawdry and meant for sentimental fools. She had always done things in her own manner, and the same applied when expressing deep affection. In her opinion, her pledges had said more than three words ever could.

“You have not told me why you are here, Bella. Pull back the curtain so I can see you.”

Free to get out of her bed, she did as he asked. She gasped to see him, partially from happiness and partially from disbelief at how much he had changed. When had his eyes become so sunken in? Were those even his teeth? He was on a long white table; if he had been lying down, she might’ve thought he was dead from how cold and fair he appeared. She wanted to embrace and comfort him for all the hardship, but she restrained her impulses. He was older and wiser, and she was still a young woman who had much to learn about the world.

He kept his sickly arm carefully hidden under the sheets since they had forced him to change into a hospital gown. “Answer me, Bella. Why are you ill?”

The question left her speechless. Intense shame came over her. After fumbling over her words, she pressed her hands to her now-flat stomach. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she murmured, “I lost what you gave me.”

He didn’t seem to comprehend her news. “What did you do?” he asked incredulously.

What more could she say to her master? “I was supposed to give you a new body.” Never would she shed a tear before her master lest he think her weak. “The aurors. I tried to stop them. Rodolphus wouldn’t help me.” For that, she didn’t know if she could ever forgive him.

“He let them arrest you?” He was already growling.

His aggravation made her pain worthwhile; the Dark Lord cared what happened to her. “He did. He stood there stupidly while they overpowered me. It was his job to ensure that we did not get caught, but he didn’t do that! He let me suffer!”

“And what about you?” he snapped as he seethed. “You know how much of an incompetent buffoon he is! What in the name of Christendom made you believe you could trust him?” Impulse drove him to hop out of bed, but the cutting in his ankles was a reminder of the strong shackles that kept him down.

She stepped back, arms protectively around her abdomen. “I thought it would be something simple enough for him,” she protested weakly.

“Your duty was to never be caught! I thought that I could trust you, Bellatrix.”

That was a hard blow to her heart. “You can still trust me! Please, I will do whatever you wish! There is still time!”

He was talking before she finished her words. “There is nothing we can do!” Though he raised his voice, the usual asthma crept into his body. This time, he remembered to take deep breaths before growing too upset.  “You were my light. Where is that light now?” He pulled back his gown just enough to show how his sickness had ravaged him. “Do you see what has happened to me? Do you understand why I need a new body?”

“Yes, yes, my lord.” She bowed her head to hide the bright red of her face. “Please, we can make another one together.”

“No, that is a terrible idea.” His eyes were steely. “Just close the curtain, Bellatrix. After how you’ve broken your word, I can barely stand the sight of you.”

With a trembling hand, she pulled back the white curtain. After everything she had tried, how had she still managed to betray him? And to see how far both of them had fallen only added to her anguish. Her dark eyes stung terribly, and she could feel her last ounce of strength crumbling away.

The Dark Lord, worn out as always, had quickly fallen into slumber. He slept soundly despite the handful of orderlies rushing to and from the bed next to him. The patient had become a maniacally screaming mess, but no matter how many times they asked she couldn’t articulate what caused her hysteria.

Ninety-nine years underneath high ground….

The gallery rumbled with quiet chit-chat as they waited for the council of wizards to enter and give a final sentence. They acted cautiously, but not so much as to keep silent when the Dark Lord was in their presence. In his caged and muzzled state, people had grown bolder. They could stand walking by his cell, daring to glance his way without shuddering. The last time he had been so powerless was his early years as a small child in the orphanage. It had been awful then, and it was humiliating now.

The wizards of the court took their seats, all of them wearing uncharacteristically solemn faces. To Advocate Hobbes, it looked like an act; some of them were frowning on purpose. “I argued as hard as I could for you,” he reminded the Dark Lord quietly. “This will be the best sentence they can tolerate.”

“Knowing you, I doubt you could argue hard for even yourself.” It was impossible for the prisoner to find any confidence in an advocate who had been so meek.

Warlock Crouch tapped his gavel a few times to get complete silence. A member passed him a scroll, and he unfurled it as he cleared his throat.

Requested to stand, the Dark Lord grabbed his advocate since he could not get to his feet by himself.

“Thomas Marvolo Riddle, known to this court as Mr. Voldemort, who has been charged with many crimes: the corruption of young wizards through destructive use of the Dark Arts, the use of the Unforgivable curses, the intent to murder muggles, and the murder of many citizens of the wizarding community, a list that is long and numerous but includes the names of James Potter and Lily Evans.” He met the prisoner’s eyes, the gleeful glint already betraying him. “By the power of the Wizengamot Court, I hereby sentence you in accordance with the statues and the precedents set down by our fathers and their fathers before them.” Putting down the parchment, he removed his reading spectacles to get a better look at the prisoner. “With the Wizengamot’s permission, I have been allowed to impart a few words of my own before giving the sentence.”

The prisoner glared incredulously, seething because he had hoped for a quick trial.

Warlock Crouch was savoring every word he could get in. Though he attempted an aloof tone, they knew just how much they were indulging him. “You. My son was such an accomplished boy. He had top marks in his school, and could have been even more successful than I. But none of that will ever be because of you.” He swallowed hard, idly playing with his dark bristly moustache. “It was only a few days ago I locked my Barty up. He was a wild man, completely unrecognizable. Before that, he had committed unspeakable crimes against the people he once cherished. Paraded through this courtroom have been Ministry officials, wealthy members of our community, academic prodigies, and gifted magic-users; they have all been guilty of the crimes against them. I have seen men I knew fit as fiddles reduced to bones from your so-called ‘Colombian Rum Runner.’ It is true that your crimes are too numerous for us to prosecute fully. There is simply not enough time in the day, and we cannot take care of you forever.”

The prisoner growled, baring his porcelain teeth. Everyone knew that the Ministry was caring for him like an invalid old man, but hearing Crouch acknowledge the fact was yet another jab at his pride.

“But now. We do not need to.” Quickly, he shoved on his spectacles and picked up the scroll. He spat out his words in one breath to give this trial the abrupt and dramatic ending he had always wanted. “Thomas Marvolo Riddle, I sentence you to no less than ninety-nine years imprisoned in Azkaban, and failure to comply with this sentence will result in capital punishment whereupon you will hang by the neck until you are dead.”

“Bartemius, I’ll have your head!” barked the prisoner, clawing at the air as his advocate and his handlers restrained him. “You can’t do this to me!”

Members of the Wizengamot, including Warlock Crouch, dropped their fake expressions. Smiles of sardonic glee crawled onto their faces because they could finally die knowing they had done one good thing.

“I won’t forget the day I shot that mud-bitch down! I don’t regret what I’ve become!” Four people in all hauled him down the aisle, two grabbing his legs despite how much he kicked. “For this, I’ll destroy you, Crouch!”

Outside the courtroom, orderlies were holding him down and tying him up although mindful of his damaged arm. He still shouted and demanded them to take him away, cussing about his terrible counsel.

Warlock Crouch approached since he was the first to leave the court. When the orderlies had sufficiently bound the Dark Lord, Crouch came just within reach. “Voldemort of Galilee, King of the Jews,” he sneered, the moustache moving like a caterpillar on his face. From the other prisoners, his son included, he had heard every sort of rhetoric proclaiming the Dark Lord as a savior. “I’m just sad we have no laws allowing crucifixion.”

“I am the King of the Jews!” The Dark Lord tried to rush the other wizard.  Although he had started wheezing, his unchecked rage boiled over. “I shall rise again, Crouch, and we will see who becomes lord and master of the human race!”

The orderlies hurried off, leaving Advocate Hobbes and Warlock Crouch in the large corridor. The young official looked to the older man as if asking for advice. “If I may, sir, I’d like to step down from my duties as advocate.”

“No need for that, my boy.” He pulled a cigar from his robes, lighting the tip with his wand. “You are relieved of your duties.” Breathing in deeply, he blew a few smoke rings. “This is the time to celebrate. A great empire has fallen, at last.”