Bellatrix Lestrange

A tall, slim figure in a dark hooded cloak stood in Snape's doorway. In a quiet whisper and with an unusual amount of restraint, Snape heard the familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange ask: "May I come in, Severus?"

"Bella," Snape replied with a frown. "You shouldn't be here."

She lowered her hood, and for the first time ever, Snape could see the faintest hint of weakness in her normally wild, degenerate gaze. There was fear in her dark eyes and her thin lips trembled nearly imperceptibly with doubt and loss. Her time in Azkaban had done her looks no favors. She appeared gaunt with malnutrition and dressed in barely more than tattered robes, clearly spending a month or more on the run had affected her. "Please, Severus."

Snape sneered, masking his surprise at Bella's pleading tone. He stepped aside, allowing the willowy, defeated witch to enter. In the aftermath of the Battle of the Burrow, Bellatrix had gone half mad with rage at the loss of the Dark Lord. Snape had heard rumors of her attacking Order members and Ministry Officials on the street in broad daylight. Then, a week ago, the talk was that she'd been captured and sent back to Azkaban to await trial. "Make it quick, Bella. I have no desire to follow you to Azkaban when the aurors arrive to haul you back to prison."

Bellatrix hurried inside, casting a wary glance over her shoulder as she did. Moving past Snape, she entered his living room and leaned against the mantle of his fireplace. Snape looked past her into the street to ensure that she hadn't been followed, then joined her in the small room. "What is it you want, Bella? I have no interest in pursuing a war that cannot be won. However, I'm sure you know this, so I assume there is some other reason you are here?"

The thin facade of self control fell away and Bellatrix stumbled, her legs trembling. She caught herself on a nearby couch, but the damage was done. Instead of haughtily demanding what it was she wanted from Snape, her desperation was laid bare and, left with it as her only recourse, was **** to beg. "Severus, you have to help me. Rodolphus, he's been captured, sent back to Azkaban... The aurors, they caught up with us a week ago. We fought them... I lost my wand... I barely escaped..." She collapsed to his floor, buried her face in her hands and wept.

Snape's eyebrow raised, a thin grin spread from the scowl on his face. It was a strange sight on one normally so serious and was gone nearly as quickly as it appeared. "So," he said dispassionately, "within the span of a month, you lost the Dark Lord, his war on the Ministry, your wand, and saw your husband returned to the hell of Azkaban." He crossed the short distance between them, towering over the form of the normally fierce witch. "You feel as if you've lost everything." Snape placed a gentle hand on Bellatrix's shoulder. "I — understand your pain. It — is a feeling I — am — quite familiar with." He pulled his hand free when she looked up at him, tears staining her pale cheeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope that he would help her. "I too have felt the sting of loss..."

Snape turned away from Bellatrix, moving to stand before his mantle piece. "I — want to help you, Bella." He wiped an imaginary spec of dust from the cold marble surface, it as insignificant as his sympathy for the weeping witch. "But — before I do, you, must do something for me..." Snape's words hung in the air, a vague, nearly imperceptible threat.

Bellatrix, unaware of the menace in Snape's words stumbled forward in relief. "Thank you, Severus! Anything."