I simply couldn't bear to be next to my daughter's body anymore. It hurt too much. I know that I should have stayed, that I should have braved the night next to my child. Molly hasn't left Fred since the end of the battle, why can't I be brave like her?
People often say that I'm very brave to have left behind my family. They are wrong. I didn't leave them, I was kicked out. The last time I spoke to my parents I was begging for them to accept me once more. I'd never give up Ted of course but I wanted to go back to them. If I was truely brave I would have left Ted and married Rabastan. I would have faced the world alone without Ted. So maybe I did the right thing (if it's even possible to affix a title such as "right" or "wrong" to something like this), but I definitely wasn't brave. It was so easy to simply run off with Ted. It hurt of course, but my family's hatred and violent threats gave us an extra push to get going. Once you're running it's so hard to stop.
People say I should have been sorted into Gryffindor, but they are wrong once again. A Gryffindor wouldn't have run away everytime they saw their parents, their sisters, an old friend, or even a distant relative. A Gryffindor wouldn't have quietly and quickly scurried off everytime they overheard someone talking about the crazed Black girl who ran off with a Mudblood. A Gryffindor wouldn't have let Ted leave to protect her. A Gryffindor wouldn't have stayed at home while their daughter and son-in-law fought and died.
A Gryffindor would have confronted their family and friends and demanded to not be forgotten, demanded to be heard, demanded to be respected. A Gryffindor would would have proudly and loudly defended their honor when people whispered about them. A Gryffindor would have insisted that Ted stay or would have run off into hiding with him. A Gryffindor would have forced Nymphadora and Remus to stay home with Teddy and then gone to battle themselves. A Gryffindor would have protected their honor and their family.
But a Gryffindor would most likely have been dead by now.
I let out a sharp laugh. Yes, I am a Slytherin through and through no matter how much I may regret it.
I'm so lost in my thoughts, I almost trip over a body lying on the ground. I recognize it in an instant. My breath hitches and my legs collapse as I sink to the floor.
Bellatrix.
Her dark corkscrew hair, so akin to mine, is splayed haphazardly around her head. Her startlingly dark red lips, have lost their color in death. She wears her usual,dark, revealing robes but they are covered in blood and grit. Lying flat on her back, her heavy-lidded eyes are closed. At a quick glance she could seem asleep.
Nymphadora and Remus looked almost at peace in death. Bellatrix does not. I guess I never should have expected her to. She still retained her haughty demenour yet there was a trace of a smile on her face, as though she died laughing. Knowing her, that could very well be true.
On most a smile in death would have been comforting. Her smile, however, was quite the opposite. It was a cruel and mocking smile. Even in death she taunted those around her. I felt anger inside me grow as I stared at her cruel smile. She killed Nymphadora. She murdered my beloved child. Knowing her, she probably sought out Dora specically. She could both "purify the family tree" and hurt me all at once.
She must have been thrilled.
I felt the strange urge to both laugh and scream in frustration. How could she do this to me? We're sisters, but more than that, we were the best of friends once, practically inseparable. It wasn't a perfect friendship, of course. We both had our quirks; we could be bitingly cruel, she was often violent, and I was a backstabbing tattle-taler. We were far from perfect, but we still managed to get along famously. However, her quirks only grew with time. It seemed that in only a blink of my eyes, the occasional dissected frog or squirrel I found in her room morphed into the image of a dead muggle tortured beyond belief blazing across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Everything changed in a few short years.
I still feel anger burning in my veins but I can't help feeling a sense of sadness for her too as I'm filled with memories of our past. Despite how much I hate it, I still mourn for her and there's nothing I can Do to change that.
I start when I see someone kneel next to me. I hadn't realized I was crying, but I could barely make out who it was due to my tears. I wipe them away and the face and body of Narcissa came into view. Her robes are ripped in several places and covered in dirt and blood. More than that, she looks almost broken, her perfect pureblood facade has cracked. To my surprise, Narcissa has tears in her eyes as well. I haven't seen her cry since she was six or seven, let alone be as disheveled as she is now.
"You still miss her, after all she's done." I state.
"So do you." She says almost accusingly.
"Why?" I ask her almost pleadingly. I need to know. I need to justify why I'm crying over the body of my daughter's killer.
"I don't know why you're crying Andromeda. Merlin, I don't even know why I'm crying! She hurt my family and me too! So, yes. There's a slight relief that she's gone and will never hurt us or anyone else ever again, but I still am sitting here crying. Why am I crying over a monster?" She took a deep breath, beginning to compose herself. "I'll probably never know for sure." She admitted after a moment. "The only answer I can come up with, no matter how pathetic it may sound, is that she was my sister. She cared for me, I could always tell that she did. I guess that'll have to be good enough for me." She stood up and rearranged her features into a mask of indifference. "I have to meet with Draco and Lucius. Don't worry, I'll arrange what will be done with the body. I'm sorry for your losses. Good day." Narcissa had returned to her normal self. The proper and perfect aristocratic facade was pieced back together. She turned around and I heard her footsteps fade away.
Narcissa may have been content with that answer but I wasn't. Yes Bellatrix was my sister, but there was more to this than that. She killed my daughter for goodness sakes! Bellatrix hated me from the moment I ran off with Ted so I couldn't use Narcissa's "she cared for me" excuse. I'm certain Bellatrix would have killed me if given the chance.
If so, why do I mourn her?
A saying I had heard once popped into my head: "No one mourns the wicked". Suddenly I realized that I wasn't mourning the wicked. I was mourning the side of Bellatrix that few knew. I was mourning the Bella who was a talented and powerful witch with so much potential, who would do anything for what she believed in, who comforted me during thunderstorms, who protected me from bullies at hogwarts although they towered over her, who made me laugh till my stomach ached, who loved me and Narcissa. I was mourning a Bella who died long ago, killed by a more violent, animalistic side.
Of course the other Bellatrix that I used to know wasn't perfect either. She still could be bitingly cruel and very selfish. That was simply Bellatrix and that would never change. But what's important is that there was so much more to this Bellatrix.
That Bella was not blinded by her prejudices. That Bella would never have killed her own niece. That Bella would never have allowed herself to be subordinate to anyone at all, let alone a crazed tyrant bent on world domination. That Bella would never have fallen into a dark and deep obsession which ruined her.
But that Bella was killed by the other one who did all these things and many more. A semblance of her remained, Naricssa surely saw that, but it was only a whisper and nothing more. Bella Black was dead and Bellatrix Lestrange took her place. My Bella was dead and Lord Voldemort's Bellatrix took her place.
I wasn't mourning the wicked.
I was mourning what the wicked could have been.
I was mourning what the wicked should have been.
Please review, constructive criticism is more than welcome and if you see any spelling or grammar issues that I missed, please mention it.
*edited*