Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and characters belong to J.K. Rowling, only original characters belong to us. We do not earn any profit from this story.
It was cold. Every day, every hour, every moment in this Circe forsaken cell on this Circe forsaken island was bitterly, bitingly, achingly cold. Bellatrix hated the cold, had always preferred the warmer months and defended herself with an armada of warming spells in winter. There were no warming spells in Azkaban. The cold seeped into your skin and bones and your very mind and soul.
The dementors patrolled this part, the high security ward religiously – Bellatrix was proud to have been placed here though, amongst other of her Lord's most loyal, and not in some less secure women's facility. Finally acknowledged as being just as dangerous, if not more so, as any wizard. This thought kept the dementor cold at bay. That and her memories, which she clung to and guarded viciously with behind her occlumency walls.
She treasured her memories of a childhood spent in luxury, amongst nobles and geniuses. She treasured her sister, Narcissa, ruthlessly cutting her other sister from the happy childhood. She treasured Datura, her sharp, clever, ruthless friend, who had been her best friend since she was introduced to her, at the Malfoy yule ball, when they were both four years old. Most of all she treasured her Lord, and how he had made her more than just breeding stock, as her mother had tried to make her, by marrying her to that fool Rodolphus. Well, she shouldn't be too harsh. At least he followed orders. Poor, foolish Rodolphus, who would bend over backwards to please her. He easily followed were she lead him. Be it to the ranks of the Dark Lord's most trusted, or an attack on an auror's family to find information on their Lord's disappearance, he would follow. And if that auror filth had been the one to cut down her Datura, well. All the more reason to be ruthless.
Datura had been magnificent. Bellatrix remembers that. Not violent, or particularly powerful – certainly not weak either, never that! But not strong in the usual way. Datura was a Slytherin. She was particularly clever, able to weasel out a person's weakness with just a few well-chosen words and her face twisted into just the right grimace of sympathy. Datura wielded her wits like a dagger and struck her enemies down before they even knew they had an enemy. Rarely did they ever even know who struck them down. Datura ruined lives without taking them. She destroyed reputations, sowed rumours and caused scandals, all with a perfectly practiced smile on her face. Bellatrix had loved her for it. Possibly more than she loved her own sister.
The warmest memory in her mind, one she clung to desperately when the dementors came to dine, was of her and Datura. It had been hot that day. They had been having tea in the gardens of Burke manor, Datura's husband absent as usual, Bellatrix's off on a mission for their Lord. Datura had looked at her with a glowing smile, eyes sparkling with joy, and placed her cup gently on its saucer. "I'm pregnant. You're going to be a godmother." she had said, leaving Bellatrix stunned for several seconds. Datura had kept a perfectly pleasant smile on her face, right up until Bellatrix had launched herself from her seat to wrap her in a hug. She had laughed then. Datura had the best laugh. Clear and warm and better than any thing Bellatrix had ever heard. They'd both cried happy tears that day, and discussed the future of Datura's child. "It's going to be a girl," Datura had said, "I just know it".
Datura was right. She always was. Her child was beautiful, with pale eyes, and Malfoy pale hair, which Datura claimed would darken to Burke brown later. Bellatrix had thought she was the most perfect child in the world. Rodolphus had started to wheedle her for a child again after seeing her with Datura's daughter. Bellatrix had considered it. Her own child and Datura's, growing up together, being friends, just like them. Rodolphus occasionally managed to talk her into his bed in the years after that, to try for their own child, but they had not been successful. No wonder, with a sire like that.
Datura named her Belladonna, after Bellatrix. Bellatrix had cried and laughed when she told her. Her Moonflower could be so terribly sweet at times. In the three years since Belladonna's birth, the child had been almost like a daughter to her.
So really, was it any wonder she had gone and tortured the auror filth who cut down sweet, sharp, clever, ruthless Datura? She didn't think so. Really, if his twit wife didn't want to be tortured with him, she should have married a smarter wizard. Honestly, it's not like it's the worst thing Bellatrix had ever done – they'd been caught before she could make it so. The judge had made it sound like such a terrible crime. Bellatrix thought Longbottom had gotten off too easy.
When the dementors came near her, as they often did, Bellatrix would mostly think of perfect Belladonna. She didn't know what had happened to her three year old godchild after her incarceration. She had been in her custody for just a few days (three? Four? Why was it so hard to remember this?). Datura had been killed by auror Frank Longbottom, while on a mission for the Dark Lord. He had told her of Datura's demise personally, and let her rage and weep, comforting her through her loss. He had helped her retrieve Belladonna from her mother's home – a villa bought for her by her brother Abraxas Malfoy, when her marriage to Phineas Burke had been dissolved.
Belladonna had been as great a comfort as she had been a sorrow in those days. The three year old's endless questions of where her mother was, and when she was coming home, broke Bellatrix's heart all over again. It was right in the middle of a question-fuelled tantrum, Belladonna desperate for her mother, that Crouch Jr. had come in with the news of their Lord's defeat. Bellatrix had refused to believe he was gone. He couldn't be.
Something in Bellatrix broke then. She usually kept the Black madness at bay with her occlumency. In that moment the walls had crumbled. Datura was dead. Her Lord was missing. Auror Longbottom had killed her Moonflower. Longbottom was a high-ranking auror. He'd know where her Lord was.
It was easy to get Rabastan and Rodolphus to join their hunt. Little Barty had been as eager as her. She couldn't remember what she did with Belladonna.
When the dementors came, Bellatrix would think of Belladonna. Had she just left her there? Had she been sitting alone in Lestrange manor, crying her eyes out, while Bellatrix was off avenging her mother? Had she been sent with a house elf to Narcissa in Malfoy manor? Bellatrix couldn't remember. The question ate her up from inside and she had no means of finding out. Datura had always been the clever, crafty one.
…
A guard told her she had a visitor. Her sister had come. Bellatrix could scarcely imagine prim, proper Narcissa Malfoy in Azkaban, visitor or not, and the image caused her to giggle.
Narcissa's footsteps were loud against the stone floor, the clacking sound making Bellatrix assume she was wearing heels. Who wears heels to visit a prisoner in Azkaban? Who are you trying to impress Cissa? Bellatrix giggled again at the thought. Heels were so impractical. Narcissa had decided, at a young age, that all her heels must be high enough to make her taller than Bellatrix. Datura had found it endlessly amusing.
Bellatrix was pulled from her musing by a jarring sound. She quickly realised that it had been Narcissa, now standing still in front of her cell, a guard on either side of her, who had cleared her throat. She looked as uncomfortable as Bellatrix had ever seen her. Pale and drawn, like she had neither eaten nor slept for far too long. "Cissa. You look terrible." Bellatrix said, her grin feeling too wide on her face. Narcissa shifted uncomfortably. She never allowed anyone to read her so easily. She must be quite affected indeed to be so obvious. Or maybe she was playing a game. She was a lot like Datura in that. Sharp and cunning. The likeness had always endeared her to Bellatrix, like few other things about her had.
"I would ask if you are well, but I doubt anyone could be, after nearly two months in… here" Narcissa finally said. Bellatrix couldn't help but note her inability to say the prison's name. Shame, pity, guilt? "Two months?" She asked instead, getting a curt "yes" in reply.
"How's Belladonna?" she asked, desperate for an answer to the question, which had tormented her for months – two months apparently.
"She's safe. The elves are looking after her and Draco, at Malfoy manor. She is a Malfoy after all, it is only proper that she grows up in her ancestral home." Narcissa says with a proud tilt of her head. She seemed unbearably smug about something, but Bellatrix is unsure why. It makes her angry, but she does her best to reel it in. She needs answers, and Narcissa has always closed up like a clam protecting its pearl when she's felt defensive. If she snarls at her, like she so desperately wants, she'll get nothing from her.
"How is she?" she asks instead, after swallowing down the anger and drowning it in her tattered occlumency walls. Narcissa smiles shakily at her. Perhaps she didn't hide her anger as well as she thought.
"She's quite well. Shaken and confused, but perfectly healthy. I got the custodial rights, since Lucius was being investigated and you, well…" Narcissa trailed off, her hand twitching as if it wished to gesture towards her, but had been caught by Narcissa before it could move.
Bellatrix huffed "Lucius?" She managed to ask before Narcissa cut her off with nothing but a look. Not up for discussion then. Narcissa always had the sharpest looks. She had learned them from their father, who could silence even the ever-oblivious Albus Dumbledore with nothing but his eyes.
They were both silent for a moment, battling silently with their eyes. Narcissa was more sure of herself now, having found her feet once more. Bellatrix would not be able to intimidate her into talking, she'd have to be the one to bend.
"You will keep her safe for me, dear sister?" she asks, a threat and plea all in one.
"Of course. For you and for Datura" Narcissa replies. It's a subtle attack, one an outsider would never notice, but Bellatrix hears the accusation: As you should have done.
Narcissa turns to one of the guards, probably to leave, and Bellatrix panics: "PLEASE!" and Narcissa startles, head whipping back towards her. "Please Cissy, I need your help," she pleads, reminiscent of when they were children and she needed her sister to soften their father's heart, that she wouldn't be punished too harshly for whatever misstep she had taken. Narcissa visibly softens. Everything from her eyes and the tightness around her mouth, to her too stiff shoulders soften in the face of her sister's desperation.
"I cannot get you out of here," she says.
"I know." Bellatrix replies, "It isn't that".
"My room in Lestrange manor is blood-warded. Only you can get in. There is a bookcase. Take all the books there, and give them to Belladonna, once she's old enough to understand them," not when she's old enough to read. Narcissa will understand the distinction. Some books should not be read before their time. Narcissa nods again and shifts as if to speak, but Bellatrix cuts her off before she can start.
"One more thing: under the window, there is a trunk. The password is thorn apple. Inside you will find my diaries from my Hogwarts years. I want you to give them to Belladonna on her tenth birthday. So she can know her mother, the way I knew her".
Narcissa raises an eyebrow, either impatient or annoyed with her, she always hated being cut off. "Anything else?" She asks and Bellatrix nods.
"Make sure you go to the room next to mine as well, it was Belladonna's. All her clothes, toys and other belongings are in there. Be sure you pick up Mister Fuzzy-Dragon-Head," the guards share a mystified look at that, "Belladonna will fuzz endlessly if she doesn't have him." She finishes.
Narcissa gives a small smile at this and nods once, as a promise and a sign of respect. She turns to leave then, and the guards scramble to follow.
Narcissa's footsteps are loud against the stone floor, impractical heels clacking crisply. Bellatrix listens to them fade, and tries to reorganize her mind. She and Datura were… her hand was on her belly. Wasn't it? She looked up at Bellatrix with tearing… sparkling? Eyes. She said: "You're going to be a Godmother" and Bellatrix clung to her. It was… cold.