Hey there.
This collection is set in a world where Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband survived. Everything else, however, is just the way JKR left it.
Speaking of which, I am not JKR and I never will be. She owns everything. I'm just playing with some of her creations.
It's cold at night. It's especially cold in the dark corners of the Leaky Cauldron, and it's especially cold for Bellatrix Lestrange. She shivers, rubs her arms in her thin purple robes, wishes she had worn something warmer. Then again, after fourteen years in Azkaban, its hard for her to ever feel anything but cold. She wants to go home, but she isn't exactly sure where home is. She lives with her Dolphy in a tiny flat in Diagon Alley, but that's not home. She isn't sure, but Bellatrix thinks that she lost her home a long time ago.
Bellatrix looks around, at the clock, at the copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her, at the dirty windows. Time sees to drag on, and yet at the same time fly past Bellatrix before she can acknowledge it. For Bellatrix, every second is a 'thank you' and a 'goodbye'. One more moment alive, one more moment here, one moment less, one moment farther. It's ten o'clock. Her shift ends at midnight, but she could leave now if she really wanted. No one comes at night. She thinks that might be why she is always given this shift to work. The court, right after they decided that she was 'menatally unstable', decided that she and Dolphy needed to forfeit every piece of gold the owned, sell their manor, and start again. It wasn't too bad, Bellatrix thinks to herself. The flat the Ministry gave them is small, but surprisingly cozy. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a minuscule kitchen. Their old home had a million rooms and a million ways to be lost. In their new home, they were always together. After Azkaban, they swore that they would never be alone like that again.
Its been good, their new beginning, but hard in ways that Bellatrix would never imagine. Walking down the street, feeling those coldcold eyes on her, feeling like she was drowning, like Azkaban, the coldcold eyes of people who didn't know her. Icy cold looks that burn holes in Bellatrix's heart. Maybe they are right, Bellatrix thinks.
Half an hour has passed. In an hour and half, she will go home to Dolphy. He gets home late, too, from his new job working in the ministry, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Bellatrix smiles when she thinks of the love of her life. The ministry gave him a low-level job-after all, who would trust an evil, terrible death-eater with an important job in the ministry- but he makes enough and slowly, slowly, is gaining trust back.
Trust is an important word, according to Healer Kane, Emma, Bellatrix's therapist at St. Mungo's. That was another court-order- Bellatrix must go to see a therapist twice a week. "Trust people. Put yourself in their shoes." That was Emma's mantra. Trust. Trust. Trust. Trust. The word beats in time with Bellatrix's heart as she scans the Daily Prophet. Trust. Trust. Trust.
"Excuse me, Ms. Lestrange, can I get a butterbeer?"
Bellatrix looks up from her reading. Trust. Trust. Trust. A slender girl with red hair and sad eyes stands in front of the counter. Her face is kind. No dirty looks. No anger. No judging. Trust. Trust. Trust.
"Sure, Ms. Weasley. Sit where you want."
So, what did you think?
Tell me in a review or a PM or both, I'm not fussy.