Harry: Voldemort is my twin, my equal, my past, my present, my future. He’s me. I am him.
Bellatrix: Your Horcrux is malfunctioning, my Lord.
Raising his head from a dusty grimoire, Voldemort: You went a bit too hard with your Cruciatus. His brain is fucked.
Bellatrix: We have to find a way to extract your poor soul from this worthless piece—
Harry: AHAHAH. Only through remorse, Tom. Remorse for my mum. AHAHAHAHAH.
Voldemort: Cut off his tongue.
Bellatrix: Wait. Remorse? What nonsense is this monkey babbling about?
Voldemort: Dumbledore’s bullshit.
Bellatrix: Only remorse for his mudblood mother? Or remorse for… anything else?
Voldemort: For what? I have no remorse. At all. I’m happy.
Bellatrix: No remorse for me?
Voldemort: Why on Earth would I feel remorse for you?
Bellatrix: You ignored me, you humiliated me in front of everybody.
Voldemort: You lost my prophecy!
Bellatrix: Oh right, so Snape can do mistakes…
Bellatrix: Lucius destroys your diary, but—
Voldemort: I tortured him! I left him in Azkaban for a year, gave his son an impossible mission, took his wand! Humiliated him for two years. I made fun of you for… what… five minutes?
Bellatrix: Five minutes too long.
Voldemort: You failed to kill the werewolf lover, and yet I trusted you with my cup. You lost it and I still forgave you. I even gave you a baby. What are you complaining about you ungrateful wench!
Bellatrix: You’re right. I’m being ridiculous.
Slamming the grimoire shut, Voldemort: It’s hopeless. That boy will live forever. Or I’ll lose my own soul.
Bellatrix: Don’t say it too loudly, the boy might think it’s a declaration of love.
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