The Vault of Memories

A seventeen-year-old Bellatrix Black made her way through the unfamiliar streets of Georgian London as briskly as she could. "You there!" she yelled out to a passing traveller. He walked past without a single glance at her.

Fire burned through Bellatrix's body. How dare he ignore her? How dare he pretend as though he had not heard her!

The street she was on was busy. People were bustling to and fro, a confusing sea of energy, and she was caught in the middle. Nobody glanced at her, despite the fact she was stood in the centre of the street and was most likely in everybody's way. She was infuriated by the way they flowed past her, like a stream of water diverging around a rock.

As the man hurried from her sight, just as the continuous crowd did, Bellatrix stayed rooted to the spot. She had never experienced this kind of phenomenon, and though she would never admit it, she was almost scared. But Bellatrix Black did not feel fear. She was bold and ambitious, not pathetically vulnerable like her sisters were. They knew fear. They knew weakness. But not she.

The feeling that persisted was one of deep intrigue. This street, those shops... somehow they seemed familiar, though Bellatrix was sure she'd never been there before. She knew it was London. She had lived in London her whole life, just like generations of her family. The Blacks had always been based in London. The smells, the sounds, the general atmosphere—all of it screamed London. She knew she was not wrong. And still she could not shake the impossible feeling that somehow she had been there before.

Bellatrix whipped her head around to the rude passerby who had refused to acknowledge her. She was of age now. She could use magic, and she would. Nobody disrespected Miss Bellatrix Black and got away with it. But as she was scouring the crowds for her victim, something caught her eye that made the breath leave her body. Towering before her, at the end of the street, was a building she knew well—a building she had visited on many occasions.

It was Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. It had to be. The crooked pillars, the shiny white marble, the gold lettering... Bellatrix felt her pulse quicken. Gringotts was an ancient establishment; she knew that, at least, built by Goblins—Merlin knows when? And if that building was indeed Gringotts (and really how could it be anything else) then that meant the street she was currently stood in could only be...

Diagon Alley!

Of course. It was different, obviously, but some things hadn't changed at all—the fast pace of travellers for one. The shops were different to what Bellatrix had known, but the layout was eerily similar. She saw it now—the distinct traces of the Diagon Alley she knew well—yet it was wrong, distorted.

"What year is it?" Bellatrix demanded of the person who next passed her by. Again, she was ignored. The fire reignited. "I said," she hissed, "What. Year. Is. It!?" She lunged towards the man, intent on gripping his shoulder so he couldn't walk away, but to her horror, her hand slipped straight through, like he was merely made of smoke. What was he then—a ghost? An illusion? But she understood now. She had pieced the puzzle together.

He was a memory. They were all memories. This entire scenario was a memory.

With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Bellatrix hurried forwards, hoping that in however many years had passed, what she was set on finding had not changed. Her body relaxed when, to her great relief, the familiar Daily Prophet stand came into view. She only briefly glanced at the headlines. Nothing interesting—Nicolas Flamel and his wife had been spotted at the opera again, dragons had been sighted in Scotland, the Chudley Cannons were still bottom of the League.

And there it was, printed near the top: Tuesday 1st January 1771

1771? But just minutes ago she had been in 1968!

With no understanding of what was happening, and no way to communicate with any of these people, how would she ever return? Would she be trapped here permanently, forced to live a life of isolation and loneliness forever? There had to be someone who could help her, someone who would be able to see or hear her. Magic was a complex thing, and there was always a loophole.

Turning away from the newspaper stand to search for any sign of recognition from any of the passing shoppers, Bellatrix's eyes fell on the most peculiar sight. A young woman was making her way through the crowd, with her hood pulled down tightly, fighting against the flow. But that wasn't why Bellatrix was drawn to her. No, what drew her attention was that this girl was... her. She broke out into a run.

Winding through alleys, Bellatrix managed to catch up to the girl—a perfect imitation of herself—until, at last, she stopped, looked both ways and removed her hood. From beneath, there tumbled a mane of wild curls that framed her elegant face and her lightly pointed chin. She was Bellatrix through and through, the only differences being the light shade of brown that her hair was (as opposed to Bellatrix's piercing black), the soft hazelnut eyes, and the faint blush of pinkness in her cheeks. But still, the similarities were shocking.

A man appeared from the shadows, making both of them jump. Bellatrix scrutinised him. He was young, tall, broad-shouldered, thoroughly attractive, but dressed in an attire that suggested he didn't come from money.

"Cassie," he said breathlessly, clasping the girl's hands in his. "I didn't think you would come." A sheepish, but no doubt ecstatic smile broke out onto his face.

The young girl looked hesitant. Guarding a secret, Bellatrix recognised. "Of course I came. I said I would, didn't I? But I fear it's not on terms you're going to be too content with..."

"I don't understand."

She pulled her hands away from his. She was not a tall girl, just as Bellatrix wasn't, but it was clear she held power over him. Bellatrix was beginning to dread why.

"Last time we met, you... you asked me something." He didn't say anything, holding his breath, and so she went on. "And I—I just can't."

The boy released the breath he'd been holding with a defeated sigh. A look of disbelief had flitted into his eyes. "But, Cass," he pleaded, his voice pitchy.

Bellatrix was both sickened and fascinated.

"But, Cassie," he tried again, "I want you to marry me."

Bellatrix's blood went cold.

Bella, I want you to marry me.

"Raleigh, please don't... I won't marry you."

Rodolphus, please don't... I won't marry you.

"But I—"

"Don't say it. Don't say it!"

"—I love you."

Cassie forced her eyes shut, like the words had caused her great pain. Well, Bellatrix could sympathise with that. She'd be disgusted if anybody ever told her they loved her.

"I know you do."

"Well, don't you love me?"

"Of course I do..."

Bellatrix gagged. That was where she drew the line. That was where the similarities ended. The boy, Raleigh, didn't seem reassured. There wasn't even a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. At least he was smart, Bellatrix thought. It had been clear in the girl's tone that his attempts were futile. Yet he persisted, this time sinking down onto one knee.

"Cassiopeia Black, please, please, won't you marry me? I know I don't have a lot to offer, but I can offer you my heart now and forever. Not a day will pass when I will not love you and treat you how you deserve to be treated."

Cassie looked away, embarrassed, checking they were well and truly alone in the alley. She looked straight through Bellatrix.

Don't be a fool, Bella. You know you have no choice. I'm going to be the best offer you have, whether you like it or not. If you don't marry me then you'll be cast out of the Black family like your pathetic cousin, Sirius, and like your traitor sister's bound to. At least Narcissa has some sense. It's only a matter of time before Lucius Malfoy proposes. As soon as she completes her time at Hogwarts, I guarantee it.

"You know why I can't marry you, Raleigh," Cassie hissed. "My parents would never approve. You're a—a Muggle-born. They've a husband lined up for me since birth. A good, pure-blood man—a Lestrange, actually."

Bellatrix nearly choked on the air.

Raleigh slowly got to his feet, looking hurt now. "But do you love him?"

"Of course not."

"Then why—"

"Because of this," Cassie snarled, thrusting her hand out. Bellatrix felt a leap of joy in her heart as she wrongly assumed Cassie was going to slap this irritating boy. Instead, she was showing the ring on her finger—a thick, silver band, branded with the Black family crest. Bellatrix's hand absentmindedly stroked the one on her own hand, presented to every Black woman when they became of age. "I am of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. We have a reputation, a status to uphold, and no boy of dirty blood is going to be accepted into our family. I'll be cast out!"

"Then run away with me. Who cares what your parents or your family think? You love me. It's a new year, Cassie—1771. You're of age; you don't need them; you're not a child anymore. We'll start our own life together. 1771... it could be our year—the year everything changes."

It's already been discussed with your parents. Don't you understand the benefits of uniting our families? The Blacks and the Lestranges—both of pure blood, wealth, status... we have it all. We'll only get stronger. There are only advantages here. I'm a respectable man, Bella. You won't get better than me. So what's holding you back? You don't believe in love, do you? You're not one of those pathetic, spineless girls who cling to the idea of finding true love? I always thought you would have known better...

Bellatrix clenched her hands into fists. If he weren't a memory, she would punch this Raleigh. Make the right choice, Cassie, she begged internally. Love doesn't exist, and if it does then it's a poison. Love will make you weak. Eventually it will kill you.

"No, Raleigh," Cassie said firmly. "It's a new year, but it will be the year I make my family proud. And the only way to do that is to marry the man they've chosen for me. I'm sorry, but it's for the best."

"But what does your heart say?" Raleigh pleaded.

"It doesn't matter. The Black blood is stronger than any desires of the heart. I have no choice.

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course you do."

Don't be ridiculous, Bella. If you don't marry me then you won't marry at all. And even if you did, you'd never find someone better for you than me. You know you don't have a choice. For Merlin's sake, don't run!

Bellatrix knew she needed to get back, fearing she'd be trapped there forever. Perhaps if she replayed how she'd gotten in to that situation, she could then figure out how to get out.

Rodolphus Lestrange had called on her at Black Manor. There had been rumours floating around that he intended to marry her for a while now, she'd just never thought it would be so soon. She thought he'd at least let her finish Hogwarts before he asked.

It took Bellatrix by surprise to then find herself in that position so soon. Despite what he'd implied, her resistance to marry him had nothing to do with love. Unlike her ancestor, she knew love was for the weak and foolish, and she had dismissed the idea long ago. It was just that the very thought of being married disgusted her. She did not want a man in her life. She did not want a man to control her. She would not kneel, she would not serve... except for one.

Bellatrix had clear plans for what she wanted to do when she left Hogwarts. Lucius, Regulus, Severus, and plenty of others had all expressed particular interest—maybe even her goody goody sister Narcissa, as well. A husband, especially one as dull and irritating as Rodolphus, would only interfere in her desire to get involved in what she'd longed for over the past few years. He would only hold her back.

So yes, she had fled when he wouldn't give up, to the only place she knew he would not come: the room nobody in Black Manor was permitted to enter.

The Vault of Memories.

A vault buried beneath the Manor, holding all the ancient family's secrets, memories stored from generations and generations of Blacks. Dusty and cryptic, Bellatrix had been deeply fascinated by the room. Glass vials lined the walls, dates scrawled on them in faded ink, dating as far back to Merlin's era. She had intended only to hide there in order to escape Rodolphus' persistence that she marry him, trying to clear her mind and think of a good enough reason for why she wouldn't marry him. But she had been drawn to the bowl in the centre—an intricately carved font. Something silver was swimming in it.

Bellatrix had not even seen the empty vial balanced on the side that read 1st January 1771, Cassiopeia Black's Decision. Something stronger than rationality had forced her to reach out. She'd just wanted to touch it...

"Goodbye, Raleigh."

"Please don't do this, Cassie, please. I can't imagine life without you! I can't imagine you being married to another man. It will kill me, okay? It will kill me. And if it doesn't then I'll kill myself, mark my words."

Bellatrix watched the anxiousness that flitted into Cassiopeia's soft brown eyes. But it was gone in an instant, hardening like steel, and she pressed her lips together tightly. "If that's your decision then so be it. But this is mine," she said firmly. Then, once again, softening her tone ever so slightly, she said, "Goodbye, Raleigh."

"I will never forget you, Cassie." Raleigh wasn't desperate now, just sad. He knew it was hopeless. "Happy New Year..."

Cassie offered a weak smile before turning to leave, drawing her hood up again. Suddenly consumed by panic, Bellatrix began to follow. She hadn't heard of Cassiopeia Black—not this one, at least. The Black family was an intricate and highly ancient family. It was believed that almost all true pure-bloods stemmed from the Black bloodline. Of course, the name Cassiopeia had spread through the generations, just like nearly all the names had done, but she had never heard of this particular one—the girl from 1771.

How long would Bellatrix have to remain trapped in the memory? Would she have to go through Cassie's whole life? Was there any way to return to 1968 or would she die there? Was it even possible to die in another's memory?

But she needn't have feared any longer, for as Cassiopeia disappeared from view and Bellatrix desperately tried to catch up to her, the world around her began to fade. The shops melted away like smoke, and soon she felt the giddy sensation of hurtling through what felt like time itself.

There were a lot of thoughts running through her mind, a lot of questions. What became of Cassiopeia Black? What became of the boy, Raleigh? Why had this particular memory been in the font? Who had last observed it? What was its significance?

About one thing and one thing only was she certain:

She would marry Rodolphus Lestrange.

Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 2—Round 11

Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Captain
Task: Write about the New Year (in 1771)