Black Magic

She stood in the courtroom as though she owned it, and Kingsley couldn't help but admire her. No prisoner should have that much confidence, that much presence. She should be cowed before the dementors, but instead she gazed through them coolly, proudly.

Long black hair flowing down her broom-straight back, dark eyes calmly watching her guards, hands folded before her: she looked like a queen.

Of course, the majority of the court was watching either Bartemius Crouch or his son. Very few were appreciating Bellatrix Lestrange in all her glory. That was ok. Kingsley felt he could make up for that single-handed.

He hadn't been an Auror for long: no more than a year. He knew why he had been assigned this job and it certainly wasn't due to his experience. All the Aurors here were big men, for "protection of the public". Looking at the crowd, he couldn't help wondering whether he would need to protect the prisoners instead.

Bellatrix looked around the crowd as she sat down. Her eyes rested on Kingsley for just a moment... but it was enough. His heart didn't leap: Kingsley didn't do emotions like that. He wasn't a silly teenage girl, after all. But he might have felt a little loosening in his stomach, and perhaps a little tightening further down.

He watched her all through the trial.

She watched him all through the trial.

He was young and impressionable: she could use that.

Bellatrix knew she was beautiful: she was a Black, after all. She knew her assets and how to use them. If her name was not enough, her eyes would be.

She gazed at him through her hooded eyes. She watched him throughout the trial. He did not look away: she knew she had him.

Bella had always had a horde of young men running after her. At school she worked on the prefects and teachers – House points were a pleasant side-effect of making useful connections for adulthood. After school Rodolphus had followed her to the Dark Lord's side where she collected yet more admirers. She had instigated the search for her master following his Fall, and the men had followed her. They always did.

This one would be no exception.

The trial was soon over. Bellatrix and her companions were chained together and marched out of the courtroom. The young Auror was by her side. She half-smiled at him, hiding her disdain. He was smitten. He would never know exactly what had happened.

He never knew exactly what had happened.

Bellatrix had been chained beside him – and then- she was gone. He must have released her: no-one else could have. But why? She had no wand: she could not have cast the Imperius Curse. Kingsley was a sensible man: he would not have simply let her go. And yet...

The longer he spent in Azkaban, the less certain he became. At first, he had remembered the brush of her lips, the feeling of her breath on his ear, the thrill as he unlocked her chains. But gradually the dementors had taken that away, and now he was only left with the confusion... and a vague sense of guilt.

Why had he done... whatever he had done?

How long had it been now?

Why did he feel guilty?

Would he ever be free?