Chapter 1: Becoming Human

One minute Bellatrix had had the upper hand, and in the next she was cowering. Her eyes, dark like coal, were now wide with fear while her body was in a pathetic form, as she begged the Dark Lord to forgive her for her failure. Then, she watched the Dark Lord as he narrowed his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes, and spoke: "Be quiet, Bella," he said dangerously, and though his tone had been full of spite, his composure had been utterly calm. "I shall deal with you in a moment," he continued. "Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?"

Her ebony eyes slowly downcasted in humiliation, and she viewed the marble floor; it was so cold, cold and icy like her every bone. Then, through the freight that shackled her five senses, she managed to somehow recall a fact of vital importance. Almost instantly, her gaze was lifted off the ground, and a thin voice, amazingly hers, managed to escape from her parched lips: But Master—he is here—he is below—"

And her warning was left ignored.

Bellatrix immediately felt a fool, for the Dark Lord was the cleverest man she knew; and thusly, she should have not assumed he was not aware of Dumbledore's presence. Oh, what a great mistake she had made! Bursts of self-criticism rolled through her mind—they always did when she erred. Clenching her tattered gown with her pale—once soft but now calloused—fingers, she wished to drown into the ground below, turn into oblivion, for never before had she failed her Lord so greatly. Her chest felt heavy—so heavy—and most startlingly, she yearned to cry but could not, as it was a human reaction she had forgotten long ago—

Thump… Thump… Thump…

She glanced up, and her pupils focused as she watched the spectacle before her: Horrified, she found the once still statue of the witch heading towards her. Hastily, she grasped her wand, lifted herself off the ground, and began to incant curse after curse, spell after spell, but all her efforts bounced off the statue. Hence, she arrived to the blatant conclusion that all her exertions had died in vain, and so she took a step back, another, and finally let out a gasp when the statue dived towards her. In just a flash, her head had thudded against the cold ground, and was now pounding with pain, while the statue of the witch persisted to pin her down, unrelenting. A wet substance then dribbled down her forehead – blood—while from the corner of her eyes she viewed the Dark Lord experience defeat… it seemed Dumbledore had won the duel.

"Master!' she sobbed, and her voice had not at all sounded like hers.

She then blinked. Blinked again. Her surroundings were beginning to blur. Upon realizing she was floating from consciousness to unconsciousness, Bellatrix tried best to remain aware, but her efforts were futile, for unconsciousness soon won.

Meanwhile, a certain young man, Harry Potter to be precise, found a worried and frightened look settle over his headmaster's face. He was unaware that the bearded man was not only frightened for him, but also for the unconscious witch pinned against the ground. Before Harry could further ponder over the headmaster's expression, excruciable pain strangled him – pain so crushing he yearned for death, as long as it halted…

Then, the pain suddenly fleeted…

Perspiration had lathered on his forehead while he now tried best to hold onto his strength, but though no longer in agony, though he had succeeded against succumbing to Voldemort's possession, Harry was far too exhausted to win against unconsciousness, and so he embraced it, blanking out like the infamous witch who lay flaccidly on the same cold, marble ground.

oOo

Bellatrix fluttered her dark lashes, opening her ebony eyes, and presently found herself in a completely white room. Four white walls encased her, and as most junctures like these were, there was no door and as a result, no escape.

Looking below, she inspected herself, finding no bruises or wounds. Well, at least her captors were not the sadistic kind… or maybe they were. Nonetheless, she found herself on a cozy mattress, and thought: Surely, this could not be hell—hell couldn't be this comfortable.

Her usual black robes had vanished and had been replaced by an attire much similar to those worn by patients submitted in St. Mungo's. Wait— Was she at—?

Suddenly she whimpered, and it wasn't often that Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black whimpered. A figure had Apparated into her room, and this certain individual sported a long white beard, had equally long white hair, and his eyes were the bluest of blues, and they were sparkling as they looked through crescent-mooned lenses.

Dumbledore.

Comprehension of what had happened abruptly dawned on her. The pain of the sudden thrust to the ground seemed to rekindle like a tendril of a ghost, to remind her that it had not at all been a dream. Consequently, she sneered as she watched the man bring a chair into existence from thin air, then place it by her bedside.

"Mrs. Lestrange," said Dumbledore in a warm voice, seating himself securely on the only object other than the bed in the room—in other words, the chair.

Bellatrix, naturally, did not respond and, naturally, tried to force as much disgust as she could into her eyes. Yet, Dumbledore continued to smile warmly at her, and so she stopped staring at him with revulsion, for she knew her efforts to offend him would be fruitless.

She grimaced.

Dumbledore did not utter a word, and during this quite elongated silence, he continued to smile cordially at her. Bellatrix, not one for waiting, hissed, "Well? Are we both dead? Did my Lord, at long last, get rid of you?"

The Headmaster began to chuckle, triggering even more ire to thunder through Bellatrix. "No child," he said. "We are not dead. I've kept you here, away from the Ministry for the time being,"—he paused, smiled again, then continued—"and I know this place is quite dreary, for that I apologize; nevertheless, you see, I've encapsulated you into this little cube-like object, using a spell few know of, in order to hide you from the Ministry. Meanwhile, they believe you have Disapparated from the scene with Voldemort."

It was odd hearing someone utter the Dark Lord's name, other than the Dark Lord himself.

She cringed internally at that.

Bellatrix then lifted an eyebrow after gaining some equilibrium, and asked, "Why? Why would you wish to keep me away from the Ministry?"

Dumbledore frowned at this. "It is not my wish."

Of course.

"Then whose?" Bellatrix probed, further baffled.

"Sirius," he answered after a moment's silence. "Sirius informed me that no matter what happened, I was to make sure you were not harmed. This is why he dueled with you, preventing any other member of the Order to duel you at the Ministry—so that, of course, no harm would come your way." A frown flashed on Dumbledore's face before he continued, "Naturally, when he went through the veil"—he chose his words cautiously—"other members of the Order who were unaware of Sirius's wish fought with you."

Sirius?

The last man she had killed had wanted her alive.

But... why?

Accordingly, she looked at Dumbledore's warm blue eyes with her contrastingly, cold dark ones, and asked the aforementioned question: "Why?"

The Headmaster paused, then faintly smiled while sighing in. "Only you know the answer to that, child," he said—and him, referring to her as 'child' was most irritating, but Bellatrix had no time to linger on such thoughts…

She frowned at the fact that her confusion wasn't going to be subsided by him — a man who apparently knew all the answers. The perplexing situation was irking her. Why had Sirius wanted her alive—

"I must leave," she heard the headmaster.

She watched him, staring at him fixedly as he rose up from his seat. "Will I be here forever?" she asked. "The animagus Black wanted me alive and well. I will become"—she paused—" disturbed if I'm isolated like this for long." Ha! Disturbed, she internally laughed at herself ... as if she hadn't become disturbed enough by her stay at Azkaban–

Her thoughts were intruded by Dumbledore's warm voice: "No, Mrs. Lestrange. I'm keeping you here briefly, until I am convinced that the time is ripe to reveal you to other members of the Order."

An elegant brow was raised. "And when exactly shall that be?"

"Ah, child... that is up to you," he responded with a grin, and then slightly surprised her as he vanished before her eyes with the chair that had derived out of nothingness.

Minutes passed.

Bellatrix inhaled deeply before sliding off her bed. Glancing about her surroundings, she came to comprehend that there was nothing she could kill time with. Perhaps this was a new for of torture set up by the ministry? Since, after all, they no longer kept dementors in Azkaban. She groaned, knowing that if she lingered here for long she would lose her sanity—well, at least lost the faint remnants of sanity she had somehow been able to protect in all her years alive—

It hadn't started in Azkaban. No, she had not begun to become deranged in Azkaban, it had occurred much before that—

Memories suddenly swept into her mind. Memories she had fought to keep locked, stored away, and never to evoke again.

A moan left her lips, as she suddenly collapsed onto the ground.

Sirius had wished for her to be alive...

"No," she mumbled, croaking. "No—Bella," she soothed herself with the nickname Narcissa and Andromeda had placed on her when they all had been naïve youngsters; and upon recalling the origin of her name she came to remember her disowned sister as well. It was as if, all those memories she had tried her best to store away and forget, came crashing down all at once...

Andromeda — her abusive father — her years at Hogwarts — her forced marriage to Rodolphus — the physical and emotional abuse she had suffered through because of him, and then the haven she had found under Voldemort. She was finally in control — she could do anything — her husband recoiled from her, he was afraid of her — he was her pawn just a mere few days after the Dark Mark had been etched on her arm – she was a better duelist than him, more useful to Voldemort, keener and more cunning — she was better and more useful not only from her husband, but many in Voldemort's eyes…

She was no longer valueless…

A useless trophy wife that could be discarded with.

For, she had become Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, Voldemort's closest lieutenant, synonymous with death.

But… did she really believe in Voldemort's apparent cause?

She didn't know.

No, she didn't know.

However, neither did she care, as the power she had been given due to supporting Voldemort was much more significant than believing in Voldemort's supposed cause. Besides, it was the same for many Death Eaters: Crabbe and Goyle, for example, were useless lackeys many had picked on and laughed at, but Voldemort had treated them with respect, had shown them they had their fair share of talent to contribute, and they in turn had wholeheartedly supported his cause — whatever it was, for Bellatrix didn't really know, especially after the day she had comprehended that Voldemort was in fact Tom Marvalo Riddle…

A half-blood.

Few knew of this truth, not even her fellow Death Eaters. She had stumbled on this startling discovery in Voldemort's private sanctuary, where she had come across his journal. Bellatrix had been disillusioned then and there, as from that second and onwards she knew Voldemort was a man who had nothing but hatred within his heart and a thirst for power. However, this hadn't at all disheartened her, and nor did she feel angry at the lies Voldemort had told them, as Bellatrix too was only made of hatred. The Dark Mark had given her a standing, it had given her power, and most importantly, it had helped free her from the clutches pureblood society had placed on her… Bellatrix was no longer a victim… just a—a woman, and only by supporting Voldemort could she ever attain such power. And thus, she had never mentioned her discovery of Voldemort's true identity to a single soul.

She tried to hush her thoughts, but they wouldn't come to a halt. One thought led to another — one memory led to another — until she began to feel a … peculiar and most frightening feeling creeping out from the shadows, a feeling that had laid still and dormant for years and years…

"No Bella—no stop—NO!"

And it had happened.

Guilt had come.

The memory of the pain etched on the faces of the Longbottoms, as she muttered Crucio after Crucio, had swarmed into her mind.

And she remembered the power she had felt while driving the couple into insanity, and then she recalled the guilt she had felt as well. And then, she remembered how she had completely thrown the guilt into oblivion, as the Longbottoms had finally embraced madness…

However, now the guilt had crept back, as she had remembered it — she had recovered it from the folds of her mind by mishap, and it pained her to feel it. It pained her in such a way that she could not breathe...

Pop.

A figure Apparated into her surroundings, and a smile was plastered on this man's wrinkled, lined face. He stooped down beside Bellatrix, and gently moved her dark curls away from her equally dark eyes, which were wide in distress as memories blasted through her mind.

It was Dumbledore.

"So it worked," he mumbled. "I thought it would."

"What?" she hissed.

"My plan seemed to have run well," he responded.

"You—your plan?" she stuttered, baffled, wondering what this old goat was rambling about.

"My plan to help you… to help you reclaim your humanity," he whispered, and he then caught her by surprise by incanting a spell that gently lifted her and plopped her onto her bed again.

The audacity!

However, to her surprise and to Dumbledore's, her anger had been short-lived. The rush of that human emotion she hadn't felt in so long — guilt — made her feel so alive.

Alive.

She hadn't felt that way in years.

Remarkably, a small tear dripped down her eyes, and splashed down onto her presently folded hands, and she recalled how she had forgotten how to cry.

It seemed she had remembered again.

Sirius...

Sirius had wished to keep her alive.

And she gradually began to understand...

He knew. He knew why.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze up and stared at Dumbledore who now stood before her, smiling as usual with twinkling blue eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse: "Sirius knew?" she asked.

Dumbledore nodded dimly, and then neared her. He gently held out his hand, and hesitantly, she placed hers in his. "Yes. He knew," he whispered, and her surroundings then unexpectedly began to blur, as she Disapparated with the Headmaster out of the cube-like object she had been placed in.

Edited: June 17, 2013