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Insanity and Light
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The halls of Riddle Manor were filthy beyond belief, though to look at them, one would see spotless corridors and gleaming gold fixtures. The war was long over, and the final headquarters of the most vile Dark Lord in history had been turned into a tourist trap for the rest of the wizarding world. But no amount of cleansing spells and no elbow grease from an army of house elves could remove the taint of horror lurking beneath the fresh white paint.
She moved down to the Master Bedroom, shuddering with the images called forth in her mind. A tiny fragment that had once consumed her revelled in those images, but the rest of her was so apalled she had to pause a moment and fight down the nausea. Instinctively, she rubbed the inside of her left forearm, where an oddly shaped patch of scar tissue provided the only defect in her otherwise flawless beauty.
Her name was Bellatrix Black, formerly Lestrange, and she had once been a Death Eater.
Glancing up, she saw that the tour had already left her, but she could not follow, as the memories washed over her.
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"Sweet Merlin, what have you done?" she gasped, looking at her boyfriend, Rodolphus Lestrange.
"I have taken the final step, my dear," came his sneering voice. "I have pledged myself whole-heartedly to the Dark Lord!" He shook the arm he held up, proudly displaying the Dark Mark.
She spat at him. "You are a fool, Rodolphus. And I was a fool for even thinking you were worth my time. A Slytherin seeks his own path, his own power. He does not enslave himself to a psychotic fool!"
Pain exploded and her vision swam as he backhanded her with a clenched fist. "Speak not of the Dark Lord, wench! You are worthy only to be my concubine and slut, so your opinions mean nothing!"
She tried to fight it, but the pain was too much. As his fists slammed into her over and over, darkness claimed her.
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"And over here is the Drawing Room, site of the now legendary duel between Ronald Weasley and Lucius Malfoy," the guide was saying. Bellatrix had caught up with the tour, and remembered the fight the ministry employee was referring to. It truly was an awesome sight, and the duel that broke the resolve of more than one of her former compatriots.
Ronald Weasley had long been dismissed by the followers of Voldemort, even though he was the only Pureblood in the famous Golden Trio. Potter was the Chosen One, and Granger far more intelligent, while he was little more to them than a sidekick. To see him trading spell for spell with Lucius Malfoy, second only to Voldemort himself and rivalled only by herself and Serverus Snape, made the rest realize how much more powerful Granger and Potter must be, and acknowledge at last that, indeed, the Chosen One might just win.
It was sparked by a single spell, from Lucius' wand. The Killing Curse. But the curse was not aimed at any of the Trio, but at the one person whose loss would hit them all the hardest - Ginevra Weasley. The girl had joined the Trio on their quest, and she and Ron had been separated from Hermione and Harry during the furious fighting. Hermione and Harry... she wondered when she had begun to think of them all by their first names.
At the sight of his sister's death, Ron had let out an anguished cry, and begun hurling spells with inhuman speed and frightening power. Though all of the walls were shielded and reinforced to turn the mansion into a fortress, he blew holes in them as easily as if they were mere pine. Only Lucius' superior reflexes allowed him to last as long as he did, but the outcome was inevitable - the platinum haired man lay dead on the floor, with the redheaded wizard standing above him like a colossus of vengeance.
She followed the tour into the next room, the room Ginny had actually been in when she died; the spell had been aimed through an open doorway. At the spot she fell, a crystal statue of inhuman beauty had been erected, shining like the sun and bedecked in a representation of the finest robes. Angel's wings sprouted from her back, and she was looking to the heavens - perhaps to rejoin the family she had lost in the preceeding months. Bellatrix had to admit to herself under her breath that the likeness (though obviously idealized) was staggering.
"Why, thank you," came a whisper near her head. Startled, the older witch looked over, and saw a transparent figure. Nearly as pretty as her statue, it was the ghost of Ginny Weasley.
"No... no..." Bellatrix was terrified, though she knew the spirit could do her no harm. She once again was left behind by the tour, as the diaphanous figure sat down on a sofa, and patted the seat next to her.
"We must talk, Bellatrix."
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After her torment at the hands of Rodolphus, she had woken strapped to some sort of wooden frame. She was gagged by a wad of dragonhide shoved between her teeth and strapped around her head, and she had been stripped completely. Not even silent magic could save her now.
The room was dark and foreboding, lit only by a torch on either side of her, and barely lit an area ten feet around her; she could not see thewalls or the door. The stench of blood and other substances filled the air, and she would have retched had it not been for the gag in her mouth.
It seemed that she hung there forever, strapped to that frame. She shivered in the cold, and the movements rubbed her wrists raw. She was very thirsty, and had no clue how long she had been hanging there.
Eventually, a figure slowly entered the circle of firelight, and her eyes widened in terror. It was tall and slender, wearing incredibly rich robes of black with pale green edging. His skin was so pale it was nearly white, and no nose adorned his face, merely a pair of slits. And his hands... his hands were skeletal and his fingers far too long. He wasn't human, he could not be human, and yet he was. For this was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, scourge of the Wizarding World.
"Are you familiar with the Cruciatus curse, my dear?" he began conversationally. His voice was surprisingly high pitched, and she felt her shivers begin anew just from the sound of it. "It is an extremely useful spell, of course.
"I have begun an experiment in you, young Bellatrix. It is known that repeated use of the Cruciatus can cause insanity. But, my question is, can that insanity be guided? If exposed to other stimuli while under the curse, can I break you, and mold you into the perfect Death Eather?"
Her heart froze, and she felt herself so frightened that she nearly went into shock. The Dark Lord stepped closer on whisper-silent feet, and leaned in to her. "Can I mold you... into my queen?"
The next several hours, or perhaps days, would forever be a blur to her. All she knew was pain, and that pain was associated with all of the muggle-born students she had ever known, including a few she respected and genuinely liked. She had always considered purebloods superior, but the occasional mudblood could come close to matching them. Now... now all muggleborns and halfbloods meant nothing but pain and hate in her fractured mind.
When the curse would end, a soothing charm as placed upon her. After the horrific torment, it was pure ecstasy. And every time, it was either Rodolphus's face, or more commonly Voldemort's, that she saw. Though revolted by the Dark Lord, and disappointed in Rodolphus, they began to be associated with pleasure and relief. All too soon, something broke inside. And that was when the horror truly began.
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"Are... are you bound here?" stammered Bellatrix, as she gingerly took the proffered seat.
The ghost shook her head. "I'm not following the normal rules." For some reason, she smiled. "They figured that I deserved the chance to do this."
The phrase filled Bellatrix's heart with fear. 'Deserved to do this'? Did that mean that the ghost was more than a ghost?
"Now, I want you to look me in the eye, Bellatrix. This is something you have to hear."
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The new and recently married Bellatrix Lestrange became the Amazon Goddess among the Death Eaters. Her taste for torment and blood were matched only by the lust she held for her husband and her Dark Lord, though they were different sorts of lust. The touch of Rodolphus' hand would send her into a frenzy of passion, while the approval of Voldemort would send her into paroxysms of delight.
Whether they were adults or children, halfblood, muggleborn, muggle, or blood traiter, she tormented them all. She preferred to slay with terror, and feasted on the fear she generated. All of her wildest dreams stemmed from chaos and horror, while a tiny, almost forgotten part of her mind screamed.
When Voldemort was cast down by an infant, she was distraught. She took her husband, brother in law, and a few others, and tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. The paralell was not obvious, for she used only the cruciatus; she merely broke them, she did not remake them. Her frenzy of fear left no room for subtlety.
This proved nearly to be her downfall. She was caught, and cast into that hellish realm known as Azkaban. And while there, discovered something that was both her salvation and her damnation. She was damned even further, for the dark shroud of her soul was shredded and remade countless times by the dementors, her madness drawn into fine threads and woven into a robe of utter evil beyond anything she could concieve. But it was her salvation, for that tiny part of her soul that remained untouched could rest, the darkness an armor for it, hiding it from the fell beasts. And no new deeds added to its monumental weight, no new horrors were compounded on the tally of her soul.
And then came the release. She and many other followers of Voldemort were broken free many years later, to discover their master was reborn. They rampaged through the wizarding world, and the only foes that could stop them were that old fool, Dumbledore... and Harry Potter, the boy who had cast down the Dark Lord so many years ago.
The final battle came at the end of the boy's seventh year. Without entering the rooms of Riddle Manor, she found she could remember little of that day. Little, that is, save the sight of Lucius Malfoy, dead by Ron's hand... Draco Malfoy taking a Killing Curse meant for Potter, giving him the opening to drive the Sword of Gryffindor through the now mortal Voldemort's heart... and the frightening face of Hermione Granger, striding through the battle like a Valkyrie come to Earth, wand out and pointing at her.
Something broke inside Bellatrix when she saw her Lord and Master die. Something made brittle by years in Azkaban, and weakened by the constant successes of the light. She had grabbed a portkey, and fled.
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"Why... why me?" asked Bellatrix, turning nearly as white as the phantom beside her. "Why not him?"
"Because he already knows what I'm going to say."
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Neville Longbottom became famous nearly a year later. He had discovered a technique where two legilmancers could enter a mind snapped by the Cruciatus, and ease its pains, make it whole again. but the only legilmancers strong enough to do so were himself, and the inimitable Harry Potter.
Their first two patients were, of course, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville's parents. The story not only made the front page of the Daily Prophet for weeks running, it also earned the lad the Order of Merlin Second Class. Potter refused any reward for his own actions, of course, laying the credit squarely on his friend's shoulders.
That was about the time they caught her, too.
She had been holed up in an unplottable safehouse with only her brother-in-law Rabastan as a link to the outside. She was a twisted, gibbering wreck, babbling a stream of consciousness under her breath, and only eating when her brother in law could force her to.
Eventually, the stress grew too much for him, and he did the last decent thing he could. He turned himself in to the Ministry with a full confession, including telling them about what had been done to her so many years ago. After verifying his tale with Veritaserum, he was sent to Azkaban - and given the Dementor's Kiss. The tales from the Aurors say that he looked almost relieved when the hood lowered, and that hideous mockery of a face placed itself against his.
She was found a day later, and taken to St Mungo's long-term spell damage ward. Now fed by spell intravenously, she did not even acknowledge the outside world. She stayed curled up on her bed, rocking, and hugging her knees.
She would learn later that she would often have visitors. There were those that did not surprise her, such as Narcissa Malfoy, her beloved sister, or Serverus Snape. Snape's role as a spy, and the fact that Dumbledore had practically forced the potions master to kill him, had come to light, and even his most hated rivals, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, spoke out in his favor. He would never again be fully trusted by the public, though, and had retired to a lesurely life of research.
Two of the visitors that had surprised her were Harry Potter and Nymphadora Tonks. Her niece she could almost understand, for they were family, but she did not know why the Chosen One, the Boy who Lived, the Saviour, would visit a madwoman who had slain his beloved godfather, her own cousin, Sirius Black.
At first, it had probably been to vent. He was too good-hearted to take that rage out on her in any meaningful way, but he probably shouted himself hoarse. But he kept coming, once a week; surely his rage was gone by then?
And most surprising of all were the Longbottoms. Frank, Alice, and Neville stopped by once a month according to the nurses. She would not learn why until months later, and the reason would astound her.
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"She's not the only one that needs to talk to you," came a voice beside her.
Turning, she nearly fell out of the couch. The form was white, but there was no mistaking that cocky smile, or long wavy hair. Sirius Black sat on her other side, smiling. "You... I... but I..."
"Yep, I did. Yep, you did. And yep we are." He tilted his head to one side. "Now, I beleive it's ladies first, Ginevra?"
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The first thing she remembered was a pair of beautiful, green eyes staring into hers. She wondered where Rodolphus had run off to after striking her like that, then the memories and the realities came crashing back. Wailing in terror, she flung herself away, and curled up, holding herself to keep from flying apart.
"Crap, it didn't work," said a voice.
"No, it did," said another. "But I think this means there was more damage than we thought. Not from what actually happened back then, but from what she did since."
The first voice spoke again, and she glanced up. He was a young man, and rather tall. He was slightly stocky, and his face still had a boyish look. His eyes were not the ones that woke her, though. "Should we try again? Or do they use the normal means, now?"
The second individual made a noncommittal sound, which caught her attention, she looked up, and saw those eyes. Eyes that made her begin to cry, made her feel tears trickle down her cheeks. "I... I'm sorry," she whispered, then wailed again and held herself, rocking back and forth.
Harry Potter steeled himself at the sight, but his 'saving people thing' just wouldn't let him go. Turning to Neville Longbottom, he simply said, "We try again."
Slowly, over repeated sessions, the two young men managed to repress the horrific memories, and then slowly release them one by one while removing the emotional attachment to those memories. They no longer felt like things she, herself had done, but rather like scenes from a performance, or something she had read in a book.
In between those sessions, she was the teenage Bellatrix once more. She began to put on weight, and regained much of her former beauty. She developed an easy camaraderie with her Gryffindor helpers, and a healthy dose of respect for them.
As time went on, their steadfastness in helping her, despite what they all saw her do in the memories of her madness, impressed her deeply. She also got the chance to meet Neville's lovely, if slightly odd, wife, Luna Longbottom. The girl seemed to accept her right away, despite knowing her history, and Bellatrix would later find out that her job with the Daily Prophet and connections to the Quibbler would go a very long way towards her own future public acceptance.
It seems she was portrayed as one of the ultimate victims of Voldemort's rise, someone to be respected for having survived one of the worst torments imaginable. Words from the Trio, and Neville (now a celebrity himself), added to public sentiment, swaying them in her favor.
It took nearly two years for them to finally reach a point where she could deal with the totality of her memories, and that's when it struck her. Though she was more than twice his age, the forty four year old Bellatrix Lestrange had fallen in love with twenty year old Harry Potter.
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"No, sorry. You first," said Ginny's ghost.
"Right. Well, then, where to start." The ghost of her cousin rubbed his hands, then looked at her. "It's... it's about the one memory you haven't fully accepted, even with their help."
Flashes of that night rushed through her mind. 'Is that the best you've got?' he had taunted, and she had cast a bludgeoning curse, knocking him into the Veil of Death. Her cousin, Sirius Black. The man whose spirit now sat beside her. The one dark act she would never forgive her maddened self for. Tears welled up, and she began to cry to herself.
Seeing her face, the gost sighed. "Look, Bella. It wasn't you, it was the madness. Besides, you cast a bludgeoning curse at me, not the Killing Curse, right?" She could only nod, trying to wipe away the tears but finding they flowed faster than she could act. "Then you didnt want to kill me, not deep in your heart. Yes, I died, but it was because I was clumsy, and I was stupid enough to maneuver into a bad position. You didn't kill me, Bella. My own stupidity, and the torment of the Dark Lord, killed me."
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When she realized the place Harry Potter held in her heart, Bellatrix Black (she had resumed the use of her maiden name the year before) quailed. She felt like she should run and hide, because there would be no way either the public, or Harry Potter himself would be able to accept her.
On the day she was released from St Mungo's, she was presented with a certificate by the Minister of Magic. Somehow, the Wizengamot had ruled that her previous time in Azkaban, coupled with the torment of the madness Voldemort had inflicted on her, was punishment enough for the crimes she had committed. In short, she was a free woman.
This meant very little at first, because she had absolutely no place to go. Technically she owned the sum total of the Lestrange assets, but she could not even think of living on any of their properties; just being there brought back the memories of the horrors she had endured and caused, and the more disgusting nights of depravity she had shared with Rodolphus, and sometimes others as well. So in the end, she used her wealth to get a simple flat in muggle London.
She had trouble adapting, at first, mainly because she had no wand. Her own wand had been lost in the year she spent in hiding, and she didn't feel ready to get a new one, not until she was absolutely certain her shadowed self would not return. So she learned how to do things the muggle way, from cooking and cleaning to even taking care of the occasional injury she would accidentally inflict on herself, such as burning herself on her iron on her tenth day in the flat.
It was this burn that nearly sent her into a different form of madness. The Dark Mark was gone, but had left a red patch behind in its place. Every time she saw it, she would remember she was broken, and that whoever she could have been had been stolen by Voldemort. So one day, she decided to do it.
Steeling herself, she dook the iron, and repeatedly pressed it against her forearm. The pain was intense, but nothing compared to the pain of the Cruciatus. Biting her tongue and tasting blood, she pressed it one last time, sick from the stench of burning flesh and the sound of it sizzling against her skin.
Suddenly, the iron was yanked from her hands, and she was pulled away from the ironing board. "Merlin, what do you think you're doing?" demanded a voice that was at once angry, and also strangely concerned.
Her eyes were blurry from the pain, but she looked at the blistered and charred flesh. "It's gone, it's truly gone, now," she murmured.
Strong arms lifted her, and she felt almost weightless. "I'm taking you to a hospital. A muggle hospital. It'll keep the press from hearing about this."
She felt herself moving, and began to rouse from her state of shock. She was in a muggle automobile, and headed through London. She looked over, and saw none other than Harry Potter. "Why... why are you doing this for me?" she asked, tears once more welling up. "I'm a hateful thing, a former Death Eater. I... I..."
"Enough, bella," he said, cutting her off. "I'm doing this because... well, because you've become my friend."
His firend? Her soul leapt with joy. It wasn't what she truly wanted, but it was far closer than she ever had let herself hope she would be. A spark of hope fluttered to life. If he let her in this close, as a friend... was there a chance she could be something more, some day? She knew she was beautiful, she turned heads everywhere she went. But she also knew beauty was one thing that would never sway the heart of Harry Potter. he had remained single and unattached for years, ever since the death of Ginny Weasley.
At the Emergency Room, the doctor demanded to know what had happened. Harry started to make up some wild tale, but she knew the former Gryffindor was a horrible liar. "Ignore him," she said. "I... I lost my head, and tried to remove... a tattoo... with a laundry iron. He came in and stopped me, and brought me here."
The doctor looked grim, and Harry sighed. "It's a good thing your husband stopped you, amdam. You could have done some serious damage. You'll have a nasty scar there for life, but you didn't go deep enough to damage the muscle tissue."
"He's not my husband," she interrupted. "He's my friend."
The doctor looked at her for half a second, then looked at Harry. "Then it's lucky for you that you have such good friends," he said, never taking his eyes off the Boy Who Lived.
They returned from the hospital hours later, and her arm was packed with bandages. They would need to be changed twice a day for the next several weeks, and an ointment placed on the burn to help it heal. She invited him in for some tea, and they sat down on the couch to talk for a while.
"Are you sorry you did it?" he asked, nodding towards her arm. "The iron, I mean."
She looked him in the eye, then looked down at her burn. It still ached, but the muggle pain relievers were quite effective. "To be honest... no. I'm not sorry." She took a sip of her tea, then smiled. "I just wish i stopped after it was gone. I kinda lost my head, you know."
He smiled back. "You do know," he said, "it's not good to live alone. You may be out of St Mungo's, but you're still healing. Your mind may be whole, but your emotions are still a little fragile."
What was he offering? No, it couldn't be... no, he probably wasn't. "So you think I should get a roommate?" she asked.
He nodded. "And I know just the person."
Was he... no, he wouldn't.
"Her name is Susan Bones. She's an old friend of mine from school, and she's level headed and sensible." He grinned. "She's also just finished her run as a Healer Trainee, and is looking for a place to stay. If something happened she'd be able to help you out."
He didn't. He was just suggesting a roommate, not offering to be one. Her heart sank a little, but she was touched he was thinking of her at least. "I'd... I'd have to meet her. Just because she's sensible doesn't mean she wants to live with the infamous Bellatrix Black."
"Oh, stop it," he chided. "I can probably set you up to meet with her in a week or so. Can you change your bandages on your own until then?"
"Well, it's about time for the first change, so let's see, shall we?" She walked to the bathroom, and with the door open, began to struggle with the bandages and the tape. Eventually, she had removed the old ones, but quickly discovered that putting new ones on with only one hand was far more difficult than it seemed.
Harry chuckled at her. "Here, let me do that." Soon, his deft hands had replaced the gauze and the tape, and a fresh dressing adorned her burn. "Looks like I'm going to be stopping by more often," he joked.
"Yes... looks like it," she replied.
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Something deep inside her clicked into place. As a child, she had never been one for self-blame. In fact, the person she usually blamed for anything was sitting beside her as a phantom. "I... I think I understand. I really didn't want you dead, and I was able to make that other me not kill you. You died anyway just because of that damned veil."
"Exactly!" crowed Sirius. "Look, when you finally get here, whether it's tomorrow or a century from now, we're going to sit down and have a nice long chat. I promise, by the end, we'll be just like we were when we were ten. Okay?"
Bellatrix nodded. "O... okay."
"See ya then - hopefully not soon!" he said, his voice echoing as he vanished from sight.
"Goodbye, Sirius," she whispered.
"Now... it's my turn," intoned the ghost of Ginevra molly Weasley.
"I... I'm ready," admitted the old witch, and steeled herself for whatever the ghost might say.
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Every day for the next ten days, Harry Potter would show up at Bellatrix's flat to help her change the dressing. In the mornings he would stay for breakfast, and in the evenings he would stay for dinner. Several times either Ron or Hermione would join him, sometimes both, and they would discuss both what was going on that day in the Wizarding World, and what would happen in the future. None of them wished to discuss the past, after all.
On the tenth day, she asked Harry, "So... when am I going to meet this Susan Bones, hm?"
He grunted, and put the last of the medical tape on her dressing. "Err, not gonna," he admitted.
"Oh." She frowned. "Didn't want to room with a former madwoman, eh?"
"No, that's not it at all," he admitted. "I just... I just wondered if it would be possible if you'd like to stay somewhere else. Somewhere more... comfortable than this flat."
Her eyes widened. "Wh-where would that be?" she asked.
"P-poter Manor,' he admitted. "It's really big and i'm there by myself and Neville and I don't have any more cases to work on so it's getting kinda lonely, you see?" he continued in a rush.
"Your manor?" In truth, he had forgotten just how rich this young man was. He dressed casual all the time, and carried himself like just another man on the street. But in truth, he was heir to the combined Potter and Black estates, as well as having recieved a healthy amoung of money from the estate of Albus Dumbledore.
"Er, yeah. It's in Cornwall, near Tintagel Castle," he said. "And it's really too big for just one person. Dobby and Winky are after me all the time to find some friends to stay with me to keep me from going spare."
She smiled, and she felt her pulse race. "And you thought of me?"
He nodded. "Would you like to? Be my roommate, that is."
All she could do was smile and nod.
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"Bellatrix... it's okay. I'm here to help you, not take any sort of vengeance," said the spirit.
"How can you help me?" asked the mortal.
"By letting you understand that it's okay. He does need to move on."
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Potter Manor was as large as Malfoy Manor, but was filled with an indescribable warmth the Malfoy place lacked. The rooms and corridors were cozy, and decorated with taste and elegance. Then, of course, there were Dobby and Winky.
The two house elves had aparantly gone to work for Harry Potter shortly before the final battle, and were deeply devoted to him. Seeing how he apparantly had sn attachment of some kind to "Bellatix", they did everything they could to make her feel at home - including a hilarious little performance Dobby put on for her one night when she felt she couldn't take being so close to the man she loved, and unable to tell him.
Winky cam storming in, and found her husband falling onto Bellatrix's bed, using an old umbrella as a cane and wearing his black uniform. He was trying to replicate a dancer he had seen on Harry's muggle DVD player, by the name of Fred Astaire, and was attempting to dance up the wall of her room like he had seen the muggle do. Bellatrix glanced at Winky, and the two females giggled at the sight.
Dobby steeled himself, and tried once again. To his joy, it worked, and he began to really cut a rug up the wall, and across the ceiling. Amazed, Bellatrix glanced to the doorway, and saw Harry. He was smiling, and his wand was being returned to his pocket. He winked at her, and she blushed, then turned to watch the rest of the performance.
But it was a month later when her world turned upside down, and everything she thought was true was proven wrong. The Weasleys, meaning Ron and Hermione, had been over to stay the night, and she and Hermione had just spent hours talking about spell theory. She enjoyed it, especially because it took her mind off Harry. But during a break in their discussion, she had passed by the den on her way to the kitchens, and overheard Harry talking to Ron.
"But... but what would Ginny say?" he asked.
"She'd say it's damn well time for you to get up off your arse and stop moping about her all day long," retorted the redhead. "And hey, she's pretty, and definitely smart."
The world crashed around her. Harry was falling for someone, she had no doubt. She would never have a chance with him now.
"Even with her history? Would Ginny understand?"
Ron grunted. "Of course she would! The dead know things, Harry. And if you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, it doesn't matter who they used to be, only who they are now."
"I... I guess. But how do I tell her? She only sees me as a friend, I think." Harry seemed downcast.
"Why not start with something like, 'Look, I know we've been friends for a while now... but I have to tell you something.' Then go on from there," replied Ron.
She couldn't take any more. Crying, she fled to her room.
The next morning found her almost in a daze. Breakfast seemed dull, despite Winky's wonderful cooking, and she dreaded the time when Harry would come to change her bandages.
"You... you ready for a new dressing?" asked Harry. She nodded, and he led her up to the medical room, on the second floor.
She stayed quiet as he carefully applied the ointment. The burn was mostly gone by now, but there were still a few sore spots that would take at least another week to heal. Then came the gauze pad, and the bandage over top of that.
As he taped the bandage in place, he cleared his throat. "Look, I... I know we've been friends for a while now... but I have to tell you something."
Her eyes flew open, and she met his gaze. A spark seemed to jump between them, and then she leaned in, and kissed him with all her heart.
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"But I was so horrible! I did so many things... You were pure, and true, and everything I'm not. How can he accept me after having loved you?" demanded Bellatrix.
She could swear the ghost blushed. "Dont sell yourself short," retorted the spirit. "Besides, I wasn't exactly innocent. You've met Fred and George, now realize that I used to frighten /them/." She shifted closer, and put one ephemeral palm on Bellatrix's shaking hands. "He can accept you because he loves you. And I'm glad, Bella. I'm very glad he's found someone else to love."
"Then..." began the older witch.
"Bellatrix Black, you have my blessing to marry Harry James Potter. And when the time comes, the three of us will probably be raising hell in the afterlife." Ginny smiled. "Now there's a young man who loves you outside this manor, waiting for you to finish exorcising your demons. Go out there and give him your answer. Goodbye, and I hope not to see you for many years to come!"
The ghost faded, leaving Bellatrix alone with the crystal statue. She stood there, lost in the interplay of light through its many facets for several long moments. Eventually, she steeled herself, and strode through the halls.
No memories assailed her as she headed for the door. She passed by another tour starting, and though she was not recognized, her striking beauty still drew many glances.
She didn't care about those glances, and rushed through the open door. Outside, Harry Potter was resting against the sign put up by the Ministry. He looked up at her with expectant eyes, and waited.
She swept into his arms, and simply said, "Yes, Harry James Potter. Yes, I'll marry you."
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The End
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