I am the eldest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black. Emanating from a long line of purebloods, my family motto,"Toujours Pur" -"Always Pure"- reflects my inherent elitism.

Educated at Hogwarts, naturally, my allegiance is to Slytherin, my cohorts included Severus Snape, Avery, Rodolphus Lestrange, Evan Rosier and Wilkes. Although I married Rodolphus, my life's devotion has been to The Dark Lord, my love for him knew no bounds and I bore my Death Eater status with great pride. A prodigious witch with no conscience. His last, best lieutenant, That's what they called me. It was no less than the truth.

Ah, that moment when the blood-traitor Weasel woman’s curse struck home. As I was ripped from my body I heard my Lord’s scream of rage. In that fleeting eternity of seeming death I knew what I had long craved – he needed me.

The Dark Lord had trusted me more than any other. It was I, and I alone, to whom he gave his secret of cheating Death. He wished me, I think, a similar level of protection as he had once enjoyed. Under his deliciously brutal tutelage – it is a shame that that Muggle loving fool Albus Dumbledore refused the Dark Lord a teaching position – I learned, in a fashion, of the Horcrux. Enough, at least, to create one. He did not truly reveal its identity; I think in order to test my devotion. It would be easy to give one’s life, knowing that resurrection was to follow.

He knew that I would most willingly give up my life in his service, but I think much as he enjoyed that level of devotion – far in excess of those who would only take the lives of others for him – he still had need of my faithful service.

Would that I had known the true power of the Horcrux! I would have gladly forfeited the entirety of my soul that he may survive.

Finally, I was ready to proceed. Amelia Bones was to be my target. The Dark Lord indicated that in order to achieve the task he had set me, a death of significance was required. How fitting it seems now, that we respect them enough in life to kill personally and what greater reward than to be accorded the honour of aiding our preservation?

The thrill of her death would have been greatly magnified with the cheating of mine, had I but known what I held after completing the spell as directed by the Dark Lord. He bade me keep my tongue regarding this occasion, lest anyone even begin to penetrate his secret. Strong were his binding enchantments, but I wore them with pride. It was only with his death that they lifted and I could speak.

I knew, even before I was aware, that the Dark Lord had fallen. How else could I speak of what the Dark Lord had bade me do, and so gain the help of others? As the story of his Fall came to light, it became clear to me, to what was left of me, that I, too, had created a Horcrux.

When I fell – the pain! Oh, the pain beyond all and yet it was as naught compared to hearing the Dark Lord’s rage in that moment. I knew then that he coveted my service, but worse, far worse than any pain was the realisation that I had failed him when victory was so close.

Much as I wished to flee, far, and slowly lower myself to eternal decay that I might die in the shame of failure, I was bound. My spirit – less than that – was held captive. I could not move on. Death’s clutch on me was stayed by the grief of my family. Not the Death Eaters, but my blood. It was the anguish of dear Cissy and Draco that held me close, thought as yet, they knew it not.

I, if I could even be considered to have had a self at that time, returned to Malfoy Manor, where the Horcrux had previously been hidden. The whispers and rumours of the Dark Lords downfall came to me as I lurked in shadows and I began to wonder – could this be what I had created also?

But how to proceed, I was at a loss. The Dark Lord had never revealed that part of his secret. He had not even revealed the true nature of the Horcrux; never mind how to go about returning one to life. Only he and that fool Wormtail, who was honoured with the Dark Lord’s return, far above his own pathetic loyalty and power, had any idea. And the Dark Lord was gone, and Wormtail’s corpse lay rotting in the dungeons. I think that the Dark Lord himself had intended that were I to die in his service, he himself would return me to life.

It was Draco who first had an inkling of what might be occurring. Having been the one who taught him Occlumency, I had a better idea than most on how to penetrate his mind. But even then, I feared I may have taught him too well, such was the difficulty I had. It was only in his sleep that I could approach him and yet it still took weeks before I could convince him that I was more than a mere dream.

Night time dream communication, advantageous as it was, was slow and most draining for the both of us, me especially. I needed something more.

Using Polyjuice Potion, Draco took on my form and, using the Cruciatus Curse – another of my lessons well spent - tortured a Confounded house elf. It had to believe that it was the true Bellatrix inflicting the pain.

The elf, naturally, came to view me, Bellatrix with fear and revulsion. And so it was that I could appear to the wretch in a foe-glass. With a little more torture and some Veritaserum, it was possible for Draco to learn my secret. My tongue loosed by the demise of the Dark Lord.

But even though I could communicate with my nephew, the means for my return eluded us. The magic the Dark Lord had commanded was far in excess of ours, skilled though I was.

It was by pure chance our breakthrough came. An associate of the family heard that sycophantic goon, Ron Weasley reminiscing over the one family holiday his traitorous family had taken when he was a child – to Egypt – mentioning, in particular, the curses found within pyramids and the embalming of the mummies within. How ironic that the offspring of my killer would be so helpful in my return.

Further research indicated that the earliest dynasties’ embalming was an attempt to cheat Death itself, undertaken before the end of life. It was only as the centuries passed that it had been bastardised by foolish Muggles into a meaningless post-death ritual.

Quickly, Draco was sent to Egypt with what we now both knew to be my Horcrux, under the pretense of escaping some fool of a witch who had pretensions to marrying my nephew. Thankfully, there are so many gullible idiots in the world, the story was accepted without question.

After months of searching, of false starts, of dead ends and numerous Muggle guides – either dead, deformed or insane – Draco managed to locate a pristine 2nd Dynasty Book of the Dead.

But then, another obstacle. While the Dark Lord had been able to return his own body to life, that magic was denied us. Alas, had I only served him more faithfully, perhaps he would have rewarded me with that knowledge. And so, although through our own studies and aided by the Book, we, Draco and I, still with the foe-glass for communication, felt we could return my spirit, my soul, we still needed a body.

The stipulations, both of the Book and of myself, were stringent. We required a magical body, yet one dead by non magical means. I, naturally, demanded a pure blood. I was not to debase myself with some foul Mudblood rubbish.

Eventually, after yet more searching and waiting, Draco decided that we could wait no longer. Finding a suitably dim and convenient Muggle, Draco placed him under the Imperius Curse and used him to murder a local witch – having Disarmed and Stunned her first of course. How else could a Muggle hope to overcome a pureblood, but with magical aid?

But the death blow itself was non magical and so the body’s magic was not damaged. Returning to our makeshift base – an old tomb – with the body, Draco, under my instruction, set to work. It was but the work of an instant to repair the damage by the Muggle weapon, but far greater travails lay ahead.

This was not just to be mere possession of an Inferius. That would have left me with powers greatly weakened, inhabiting a rotting corpse. With the proper spells, which the Book provided, Draco would be able to bind my soul locked in the Horcrux, to the body, rendering it fully mine, in both magic and flesh.

Although my own corpse was too far decayed for use, some hair, along with my heart was salvaged, in order to strengthen the bind and make it truly my body, strong, beautiful once more - and as powerful as ever.

Draco has not spoken of exactly what happened the night he returned me. It may be that he truly does not know, or that he was rendered too fearful by the events to reveal what secrets he may have glimpsed. But, he is yet young… I awoke; oh such sweet breath drove the scream from my lungs – the scream I had waited for years to release – that for my departed Dark Lord and my own failure’s role in his demise. I returned to life to find the foe-glass shattered, with pools of glass around, as though some great heat had melted it. The Book, that ancient repository of knowledge and magic was gone also. The metal leaves appeared gouged as though by great talon. Ripped and rent, the pages now were blank its power had all gone into my resurrection.

But there was one more instrument of my return. Draco. He was unconscious on the floor, seemingly unharmed, although clutched in his arms, tight against his chest was what at first seemed a single page from the Book. But was a small slab of black marble. How he came to clutch it…again, he either does not know, or will not reveal.

And so I nursed Draco back to health as he had returned me to life. The knowledge that those who had brought about the fall of the Dark Lord went still unpunished drove me.

But for then, I embraced my nephew as I embraced my future.

Death’s embrace could wait.