Straining her back weakly against the hardness of the hospital bed, Bellatrix Lestrange slowly opened her heavy lidded eyes, her gaze moving blankly on the tiled ceiling above. A thin hospital sheet lay over top of her, covering almost her entire body; only her head revealed. Her facial complexion had fallen paler then death itself and her structure had become more gaunt then ever. Her hair was thin and wispy; feeling dry to the touch and unattractive to see. All of her had become unattractive.
Through the thin layer of sheet, she could feel the wind as it blew in the open window and slid around the empty room, singing it’s words against the photos that were framed on the walls. The words told a sad story much like her own, as it blew her hair from her face, moving it in a waving dance. And the air was so cold. It was always so cold.
A paper holding the current news floated from the bedside table, landing on the white floor, the words across the headline facing floor. But, she didn’t need to read, for she knew what said already; she’d read it enough times to have the words stamped across her mind for the rest of eternity. She’d read it enough times to know that he was gone.
In the small connecting bathroom, the faucet was dripping water in an eerie tapity-tap, adding to the song of the wind. The music the two made driving a beat into Bellatrix’s head, one that would be with her long after it had ended.
Things had become so idle. The nights lasted longer then the days and the days dragged on in a repetitive manner; one that seemed to pass by quicker if she slept her way through it. And no one minded. She wasn’t a patient that ever needed more then a morning check-up. No one came to visit her in this dreary world she’d placed herself in. No one cared if she was going crazy any longer. No one would ever care again.
On the window sill sat a single rose, wrapped in a spell that would keep it alive forever. It’s petals were still as red as the day she’d received it; as the day that Rodolphus had laid it on the very sill. Ever since that day, her condition had become worse, the end of her life sooner. It had been the day he’d told her goodbye; the day she’d lost the only man that had ever loved her.
She lost the only one she’d ever loved long before that.
Moving her gaze over to the rose now, her heart ached lightly, the same way it always did when she saw the way the rose lived on. So unlike the way everything else did. Her eyes ran over the petals, brushing along the stem and around the thorns. That rose was the symbol of her life now; the only thing that gave her any hope that things could still change. She just wished there was something for her to change for.
Her whole life has been about one person. She had lived to please only one person. He had been her life for so long, so very long. Every goal, every dream she’d ever held, had been one he’d voiced and she’d taken as her own. And she’d strived so hard to show him that in his world, dreams came true…his dreams came true.
He was to her what God is to many. He was her savior, her lord and her master. To her, the sun set on him and rose for him. The world turned because he needed it too. And now, things were different; now, things had changed completely. And they would never be the same.
For Lord Voldemort was gone, and this time, he wouldn’t be coming back.
When her eyes went back to the ceiling, they no longer held the same blank stare they had so many times before now. If you looked closer, a single emotion was shining brightly from her dark eyes. The emotion hid behind the misty look that had clouded her gaze and was only noticeable by the tear that slowly slid from the corner of her eye. It’s path was fast, as it moved down her temple and brushed her hair, making its imprint on the pillow where it had fallen. That single tear said so much…so much more then Bellatrix had said herself.
It told of her longing for him, her want, her need and her undeniable love for a man who lost the ability to love before he had it. A man who had never been able to show her the kind of affection she’d doted on him with, the kind of affection she’d longed for from him, only him. And he’d known it, she knew he had, and he’d used it against her. He got whatever he wanted from her because of it. And she had let him, because she couldn’t have stopped him if she’d wanted to.
She had loved Lord Voldemort and she always would.
Rodolphus had known it too, even though he never asked or spoke about it. She saw it in his eyes when they were with him, when she talked about him. But still, the affection Bellatrix held for another, Rodolphus had held for her. And he’d tried everything to make her love him the way she couldn’t. He made things passionate, he made his touches gentler…but he couldn’t see that she didn’t want that. She didn’t want softness and caring. He could have never given her what he wanted, even if she let him try.
Maybe it was selfish, letting him continue to try and woe her to loving him. She’d liked the attention, loved to know that she was loved, and even though she knew it was breaking Rodolphus’ heart to think he was finally gaining her affection and then the result always being the same, she knew that she couldn’t stop. She’d become addicted to being loved in the ways she wasn’t by the one she did love.
But, Bellatrix had never cared about being selfish. She had to be selfish to survive in this world. Caring about others would only get her hurt. Without caring for other, nothing would go wrong…nothing could. At least, that’s what she’d always thought; that’s what he’d always led her to believe.
And now, the paper at the floor of her bed led her to believe otherwise. That paper confirmed everything.
Her left hand lifted slowly, so weak from not having moved in a long time, and reached over her stomach to lay against her right forearm. Her fingers brushed over the skin where her scar used to be, as another tear drifted down to join the other on her pillow. This told her the truth. This told her he was gone. This told her that the world was now a better place and that her life…that her life was dead.
It's said that your life flashes before your eyes before you die, and Bellatrix knew she was dying. And she could only see him. She could feel him, hear him…he was in the wind, along the rose and with the coldness. He was in the room, and waiting for her in a place different then this. She was going to be with him once again, and then she’d be something again, she’d be more than a lifeless being. She would be with him.
On the bedside table lay her wand and she used what she could manage to reach over and take it, holding it in her loose grasp as her eyes focused on the rose across the room. It’s beauty, she’d have that again. She’d have its softness and its hope. She’d have its life.
Using every power she had in her, Bellatrix Lestrange preformed her last killing, casting the death spell over to the rose, which instantly wilted and died…as did the small part of her heart that held that last shred of hope.
And as she shut her eyes for the final time, she didn’t look sad, despite the third and last tear that fell. She looked complete, whole and full of life. Once again, she was going to meet with the one she loved, even if it was only in her dreams and with her death. Still holding the wand that had preformed the many tasks of her life, Bellatrix used her last bit of strength to whisper into the wind, interrupting the song and the coldness. She whispered words that would be heard by no one, but spoken with life.
“Goodbye Rose.”