Trembling as the cold December air whistled through the forest penetrating her even through her clothes and warming spell she took a step forwards, the snow crunching beneath her feet. Only now the mausoleum was becoming visible, its facade aged and darkened with the years that had passed by, the coming darkness making it seem even more forbidding and unwelcoming.
Turning to look over her shoulder at the forest behind her, shivering as she did. The trees, naked now in the winter, stood out against the fog that was rolling in and were seeming as if from some hell place with the trunks twisted and gnarled, black where the waning sunshine failed to penetrate the treetops to the floor below it. Swallowing again, her eyes still turned back to the forest, to where home and warmth was she resolutely turned back and moved closer to where she was going. Her mother, she would hate it here, it was too dark and cold, there was no life here, not even the fae moved among the trees and the leaf litter. In life Bellatrix Lestrange had needed someone around her like she needed the air to breathe, yet where her aunt had laid her mother's body was a desolate area, the gates heavy and chained, enchanted to open only for those who were a Black by birth. Not even her guardian, Rodolphus, was allowed to visit his late wife's resting place, Aunt Narcissa had taken care of that when she blamed him for her death.
Pushing open the door and entering the sepulchre she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, straining her eyes to see anything in the dark then crying out in shock and fer as something had touched her,something wispy and freezing against her porcelain skin. Turning on the spot she used wandless magic to light the wall sconces she assumed was there then sagged against the grey stones behind her as in the light she saw it was just a long abandoned cobweb she'd stumbled into. Looking around she gritted her teeth, a wave of anger washing over her; no one had been here for years. After all that her mother had sacrificed, even her freedom and her sanity and her life, only to be forgotten by everyone. But not her. Never her, though she had been only two when her mother had gone home she had sought out her mother's things and kept the treasures as she called them; from the scruffy teddy bear she slept with at night to the raven skull necklace she always wore to the wedding ring she now wore on her right hand, the old spell that was on it broken the moment her mother had died. She knew why her aunt had done this of course, they all did, it was the only way for aunt Cissy to keep her sanity; to believe her sister was simply away on a mission and would be coming back, that she would no more be alone now that her uncle and cousin were both locked away with the rest of the death eaters in Azkaban.
It had been her guardian who had finally revealed where her mother's last resting place was. After her aunt had laid her in it every mention of the plane had been obliterated to leave no shred of evidence that Bellatrix was dead. Rodolphus though had promised her whole life he would find her, and finally the night before he had old her exactly where it was before he had again drowned himself at the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey, leaving her to do as she pleased. Though she was seventeen and of age now he still treated her like she was five and made of glass or else he treated her like she did not exist
. Moving through the antechamber where she was she glanced up as she saw the painting of her mother. It wasn't moving, but it caught her eye. It had been years since she had seen her, yet looking on it now she smiled, a vague memory coming back to her of her mother when she had been alive still. Moving on she pressed her hands flat against the double doors leading to the main room and pushed, revealing the flickering of everlasting candles that were surrounding the white marble coffin with it's stone figure looking she was simply asleep and would wake at any moment.
Picking up a candle she circled around the room before finally sinking to her knees by the side of the coffin, tears in her eyes. She could barely remember her mother; not her voice or the songs they would sing, nor the scent of the shampoo she used either. All she had was the treasured things she had made her own, but they didn't give much comfort. Not when she was longing to be held again by her mother, to be told she was loved and wanted, that she was not just a tool or a nuisance as Rodolphus had said to her for all of the last fifteen years since he had raised her. It was the sound of a song being sung that had her looking up and around the room. She couldn't see anyone else, or anything that could be doing it, yet the more she focused the more she could hear that voice. Shivering, though not from the cold, she glanced around again as she got to her feet and about to leave the sepulchre for now and come back when it was during the daytime she stopped as she noticed a portrait of her mother. It was empty, yet she could've sworn that it was moving just now. Not really thinking she reached and took it from the wall then hurried out and into the snow again.