What if Bellatrix isn't really killed and she resurects Lord Voldemort?
Molly Weasley hadn’t felt well all day. Something was in the air, something dark — but that couldn’t be, could it?
“Molly, dear,” Arthur, her husband, had said as kindly as he could earlier on, “you’re just still stressed from the war. It’s ok, it’s over. They’re gone. Voldemort is gone.”
“Don’t-" Molly flinched at the name, “please, don’t say that name.”
Arthur smiled sadly at his wife and nodded his assurance he wouldn’t say the name again, leaving Molly to tend to her herb garden. The Burrow was slowly getting there, half of it still in ruins, but Arthur had been working on it tirelessly.
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Molly turned her attention to the sky where dark clouds began to roll in. A storm was coming, a heavy, dangerous storm.
Slowly she gathered her gardening tools and stood, old knees aching as she pushed herself from the ground. A sudden breeze touched the back of her neck and spent a chill down her spine. Molly turned and almost collapsed, behind her stood Bellatrix Lestrange in the flesh.
“Hello Molly.” Bellatrix greeted calmly, though her gaze was as dangerous as a tiger stalking a gazelle.
Molly fumbled fast for her wand but Bellatrix was too quick, she dissarmed her entirely too fast.
“W—what— what is this??” her voice shook with fear as the thin, tall figure of the dark witch slowly came closer. Bellatrix’s head tilt only slightly, long, black hair billowing in the heaviness of the wind that was suddenly hitting Molly so hard she was shivering — either that or her fear was taking control of her body. Bellatrix Lestrange was shining with vibrance as dark as the most vengeful of storms, her hair, thick, black and full of life, her skin, pearly white, renewed and smooth, her lips full but her eyes eyes— she was a woman beyond gone. Molly protested with a wild scream as Bellatrix snatched a hand forward and took hold of the older witch, disapparating without a noise.
An echo of a scream suddenly drew Arthur from his slumber. It was almost dark and Molly wasn’t in? Where was she? It was pouring rain outside, there was no chance she was still out there — yet something had woken him, and the feeling still remained.
The echo of apparition into the small house was immediate. Harry Potter, exhausted from only having finished the war three months ago, stood in the doorway.
It was all he needed to say for their worst fears to be confirmed. Immediately, what was left of the Weasley family, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Minerva Mcgonagle, Horace Slughorn, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Rubeus Hagrid — everyone that was left of the Order of the Phoenix, were summoned to the Weasley home.
“Molly’s gone — something isn’t right,” Arthur began, “Harry said—"
“My scar—" Harry repeated panic striking his voice, “my scar began to hurt again a few days ago but… I didn’t think anything of it, but today it was almost unbearable and I know I just know he’s—"
“Harry, please that isn’t possible.” Kingsley interjected calmly, “his corpse is buried in an unmarked grave only three people know of.”
“Including mum.” Ron snapped from beside Hermione who looked as concerned as everyone else.
Kingsley finally nodded his assent, “we should split up—"
“And start where??” Harry asked a little too harshly.
“We’ll find her.” Minerva said definitively, “We’ve done this before, we can do it again.”
“Think you’d kill me, did you Prewett?” Bellatrix Lestrange crooned as she slammed Molly Weasley’s small, plump frame against a nearby tree.
“No, no no, this is a bad dream— please wake up—" Molly begged herself, groaning in pain from the torture she’d been inflicted under, squeezing her eyes shut. But every time she opened them, the tall, thin witch was still before her.
“Aww poor thing, look how 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 you are.” Bellatrix crooned sarcastically, pouting her lower lip.
Molly looked up at the tall witch just in time to receive a hard slam to her face with the back of Bellatrix’s hand. She hit and attacked harder than any woman she’d ever met, no wonder they had called her the most dangerous witch alive.
“What do you want with me?!” Molly screamed at the witch, blood pooling in her mouth from the force of the repeated blows, “if you’re going to kill me get it over with!”
“Yes, your life will do but not yet.” Bellatrix answered carelessly, “you tried to take everything from me. A blood pact, wasn't it? It would've worked, I admit, but my magic is darker and stronger than yours could ever hope to be. I taunted you, I know, but we mother's would do anything for our children, wouldn't we?"
We mothers. Her gaze shot up in terror but before she could utter a word, the suddenness of a cool, sharp blade pressed to Molly’s neck.
“Did you really think, Harry Potter, that you would win?” The sultry croon Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice woke him slowly. “He 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓.”
He was still immobilised and stunned, unable to make any use of his limbs, his wand snapped, his body useless, stuck in his mind watching and listening with rapt horror.
“I can 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 your fear, Harry Potter.” Bellatrix’s said. She leant slowly to him, sharp talon like nails atop strong digits sudden in grabbing at his face, digging into the soft flesh as her tongue reached out to drag slowly across his lower lip where his blood had split.
“His soul is strong Master.” Bellatrix murmured as she let go of Harry, who was unable to spit onto the floor in disgust. She was sudden in grasping his hair, bringing tears to his eyes from the force by which she held onto him. “He will do.”
However they were communicating — if they were — or if it was merely her deluded mind, Harry didn’t know, he didn’t care. He tried to scream but the choke force of her magic had rendered him useless.
“This time will be done right.” Bellatrix said as she withdrew a dagger from her sheath around her slim hips. Harry’s gaze fell onto where Bellatrix was walking towards, a huge cauldron. This was the graveyard with Cedric all over again.
She lit the fire beneath it with little more than a simple flick of her fingers, the water immediately began boiling and bubbling. Suddenly, Bellatrix thrust Harry forward and pushed his head over the edge of the cauldron. He struggled uselessly against heavy limbs, “this won’t work! He was defeated before and he will be defeated aga—“
Bellatrix ignored him as she began stringing a series of words Harry didn’t recognise together, clearly casting an incantation. It went on forever Harry thought, though she was beginning to wear out after long. Eventually, she had stopped, but now she was doing something else. Without so much as a hesitation, Bellatrix pointed her wand at Harry, her final words simple and clear, a mockery Lord Voldemort had sneered out of sheer disgust towards the boy, “Goodbye Harry Potter, the boy who lived.”
Then, Harry Potter was no more.
Bellatrix grasped carefully at the soul and sank into the potion boiling within the cauldron. For a long moment, nothing happened, until Bellatrix felt the most agonising pain she had ever felt, as if her entire being was on fire. Her flesh bubbled and burned and tore from her bones, peeling back until she was sure she was screaming, the hissing and searing she heard in her ears dragging her under the surface of the water.
“Bella. . .”
She woke with a start, her hair drenched and stuck down to her back, her clothes stuck to her skin. Her eyes were blurred but soon came into focus in the dimly lit room. Then they came into focus on him. A spectre in the night, not nearly as monstrous as he had been but still wraithlike and tall. Scarlet eyes shone and a clinging shroud of a cloak made of smoke had clung to his form.
Dulcet tones met his ears and her fingers trailing his jaw and his chest, touching every part of him she had so missed these last few months of being without him, able only to utter one word,
“Master.”
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
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