Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter blah blah blah
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6 months after Voldemort's final defeat
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The air was charged, nearly crackling, as it waited impatiently for the sort of Black magic that would soon feed into the darkness that was brewing.
Narcissa Malfoy was finding it hard to breathe with the uneasy lump caught in her throat, her shaky limbs interfering with her ability to cast wards around the stone room. Determined not to perform something of this nature in her own home, she had gone to the ruins of what was once a grand castle on the edges of the Malfoy properties.
This sort of magic would scar the atmosphere and Narcissa wouldn't contaminate the air her son breathed. If she was to be honest with herself, the blonde couldn't have cared less if Lucius was breathing the fumes of Black magic. The man had long ceased being family, even before the two began to sleep in separate rooms. Only in public did they force themselves to maintain the farce of a marriage. Divorce was not an option in families as ancient and proud as the Blacks and the Malfoys.
Though the barest part of the woman wished she were merely a peasant, if only so she might do as she pleased in matters that seem to hold more importance as of late. However, the thought was quickly banished as Narcissa moved about the room checking her spells to be certain that nothing and nobody would be able to find her. If they did, she could not imagine what would happen, but it would be awful.
As Narcissa ran her wand over stretches of wall, her mind wandered to the discovery of the castle ruins. Draco had been nothing more than a small and curious child and it had almost cost him dearly when he fell through a trapdoor entrance that had been hidden by branches and overgrown bushes. Recognizing how the castle served as a fair secret, Narcissa erased the event from her son's mind. The ruins proved to be a small refuge for her thoughts, though soon it would only be a place of darkness, no matter the outcome of the spell she was to attempt.
The ritual that Narcissa had decided on attempting was the only of its kind, a way to defeat death that the Dark Lord had spurned. His desire not to rely on anyone completely outside of himself explained his reasoning though that desire was his eventual destruction.
Originally, the spell was designed for a witch or wizard to bind their life force to another, generally a long living magical creature, but Narcissa's wish was darker still.
The body lying directly in the center of the floor had not been allowed to decay in the months since its demise. Even in death Bellatrix's pallid beauty remained clinging to her frail bones like a cloak.
Approaching the still form, Narcissa could feel the weariness setting into her own bones as she prayed to whatever merciful power might be listening that this process would not damn her and her sister both.
Though, after all that had passed, the blonde couldn't hold back the fear that they might be already damned.
Narcissa would have attempted the particular spell ages ago were it not for the fact that she had been searching for and painstakingly repairing each little splinter of Bellatrix's wand. Nothing had remained but the most miniscule fractured splinters, yet it had been managed.
As she prepared to actually begin the ritual and spell, Narcissa laid out her sister's wand beside the still form, she couldn't say corpse, she drew her own to begin the chant that would bind Bella's life force to her own. Doing so would effectively return her to the realm of the living and allow her to live as long as Narcissa did. The dark, ancient words flowed from her lips without pause, the ice within them chilling the blonde down to her very soul.
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Hell was bright, nothing dark within it but a lone woman. In the agonizing, blinding light, Bella couldn't hide from herself, nor from the sins committed in life. Even her screams could not survive, never making it more that mere inches from her lips and lingering about her head and shoulders like insects that seek only to sap her will, her life's blood.
The blood in question seeped from wounds crossing and marring pale flesh over nearly every centimeter, all self inflicted. There was no escape from her own hands as they tore at her, ripping scream after scream that tormented only her.
In her hell, Bella could only watch from just slightly outside a circle of light as the Dark Lord was defeated time and time again by the boy who radiated the light. It hurts as nothing has hurt before and she knew that there would be no escape, not ever.
The barest slip of darkness caressed the witch's flesh then, the only sign of relief she had felt in so long. A forever it felt like, a forever that would never end. But the darkness felt like words, sliding like silk over Bellatrix's torn flesh. Turning to it like a child to its mother, Bella sought the source.
The words were nothing, and everything, not English or any language she had ever heard, but the voice was growing more familiar by the second, by each passing forever as the darkness began to battle the light.
Suddenly engulfed in darkness, Bella realized that the voice had stopped and the light and the heat and the horrible breaking sight all vanished, leaving the witch cold and unmoving, but breathing. Still and silent, Bella felt as if her body had fallen asleep and the unbearable pins and needles were prickling through every inch and every sense. The shushing sound of fabric sliding on fabric from directly beside her sounded like a parade of noise and the flinch she could not suppress sent waves of terrible pins and needles flooding her flesh.
Her flesh. All had changed from what it was and now she could only stay as still as possible to keep from returning to the terrible suffering of the forever darkness.
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If Narcissa had not been watching for the small movements of breath entering and vacating her sister's lungs, she would say the magic had not worked. With a rush that overtook her senses, the witch could feel the cling of magic as if it were a hand around her spine, squeezing and pulling her closer to Bella's body. Soft fingers on warming flesh, Narcissa breathed out her sister's name like a prayer, a happiness welling up within her like she had not known in too long.
Brushing Bella's hair from her face, Narcissa let her fingers drift over her heart, feeling the reassuring beat that matched her own and she could not help but wonder if that would be how their hearts beat now, with each other. Pulling the cloak from her back and leaving herself clad in a prim, securely fastened dress, Narcissa spread the makeshift black over her sister to aid the warming process.
"Bellatrix..Bella..sister..can you hear me?"
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"Don't. "
Bella could not be certain what she was saying 'don't' to, don't touch, don't speak, don't move, if not all of the above. Every touch and move and sound was unbearable and Bella wished to leave the new torment and return to the one that she knew. But Cissy's voice.. just the sound of it made Bella nearly burst from missing what was, what had been until her demise at the hands of the ginger bitch. If Bella could hold Molly Weasley in her Hell, she would suffer happily until the end of creation.
The fresh torture was more unbearable than the last, until Bella realized that the movement she seemed incapable of stopping was a beating, a beating from inside. It was her heart and it wasn't stopping, nor stopped, and your voice echoes in the cold air, permeating the darkness that had been so soothing within the brightness.
Blinking was a trial, but the pins and needles had begun to recede, leaving aching and soreness in their wake, a beautiful medley of pain that became more bearable with every moment. Every real moment. Blinking again, the darkness was more friendly and she recognized a sort of flickering light. Candles. There were no candles in her Hell.
So where was she? Bella's neck protested as she worked to turn her head, aiming to face the voice she held so dear.
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