Written for the Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful Forum, as an entry for Challenge 98. The theme was a funeral. Warning, this fic includes graphic character death, if you think it could trigger or make you uncomfortable, please read something else.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making money from this. A line is taken exactly from the Half Blood Prince. Also, the funeral of Arcturus II mentioned, is a direct reference to Azzie's (Inkfire) fic "Politics of Passing" written for the same challenge, go check some awesomeness out :) The medical knowledge comes from a variety of books and personal experience. I am not a doctor or med student.
Happy belated Birthday to Lamia :) Hope you enjoy it.
"Master! Master!"
Bellatrix' voice came cracked and desperate from under the bedcovers. Narcissa Malfoy shook her head and collected all the wet cloths without bothering to answer; no matter how many times she had tried to explain to her sister that the Dark Lord was no longer alive and that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to come to her, Bella seemed to forget that small piece of information very quickly and very conveniently. Actually, the first time she made the mistake of answering the truth, Bella had reacted so violently, she ended up coughing blood and spiking a fever that sent her into a three-day sleep that looked deeper than death. She came out of it and her health should have been better after that, but...
Narcissa wasn't brilliant at Healing Magic like Rodolphus, or sharp like her dying sister, but even she could see that Bella was doing exactly that: dying. Yet, the reason behind that was a mystery. The injuries gained from the battle were nothing too scary; bruising and a minor lung collapse, a couple of broken ribs, all fixed within a day of potions and rest. Nothing could explain what looked like a combination of persistent fever, coughing and multiple organ failure, but it was definitely there. Bella was now so pale, the veins under her skin gave her a blue shade that turned purple under her eyes and dyed her lips magenta; her breathing was shallow and laboured, and there were long pauses between breaths; her strength had abandoned her and she could barely move her fingers and toes.
"She'll be dead before dinner," a cool voice came from the corner of the room. Lucius was leaning against the bedroom door, a sly grin on his face. Her husband's mood and health had increased impressively in the week since the damned battled. He was hoping to get a pardon by her very own lie to the Dark Lord that had saved Potter's life; giving gold to support the families of the fallen and the rebuilding of Hogwarts would be a nice idea too.
"Quite a shame," he continued in the same mischievous and very unfitting tone. "I have always said it wouldn't be a tragedy if Bellatrix died, but right now, if we handed her to the Aurors for the trials, we could get a great deal with Potter, show we are all in, not letting her get away even though she's our-well, your- blood-"
"Lucius!" Narcissa hissed shocked. "Please, don't talk like that, she can hear you." She inclined her head towards her sister's limp body lying on the bed. Bellatrix' lips were moving, though no sound came out.
"Yes, I am sure I am a vital part of her hallucinations, it's because I happen to be the man for whom Bellatrix has cherished a secret, burning passion. Okay, maybe not so secret after all."
Narcissa couldn't help herself and joined her husband in a laugh. Then she got solemn again, as her sister flailed on the bed.
"Enough with the nonsense, she is in pain and we are laughing like five-year-olds."
"Well, if the roles were reversed, she would be laughing much harder than that, you are quite right," Lucius agreed. His wife eyed him angrily, but not as much as one would expect. Instead, she put the wet cloths in a bowl of water and approached her sister. She had gone quiet again and looked more peaceful than she had in at least two days. But Narcissa didn't let herself be fooled by that. Black humour or not, Lucius was right, the end was near.
"I shall go check on Draco now, his fever is going down and he says he is feeling much better, but pneumonia is not a joke, he needs to be monitored and the house-elves are not to be trusted with his care," Lucius concluded. "Call if you need me, Cissy." He leaned forward, kissed her cheek and left to watch after their son who, after the Battle, had been ill as well.
Under different circumstances Narcissa would have been freaked out, worried sick about her only child, not leaving his side for whatever reason. Right now... it wasn't that she didn't care, she did and very much indeed. Only the comparison between Draco's slight fever and Bellatrix' three minute pauses between breaths was not to be ignored.
In all honesty, she was not grieving for the upcoming death of her sister. She wasn't sure why, but she knew it wasn't just a numb feeling that often comes in times of huge loss and trial; she wasn't in denial about her sister's condition; it wasn't that "she had lost her sister a long time ago", as she had once read in a Real-Stories magazine. She just... wasn't touched. Bella was not succumbing to a cruel illness after a long and courageous battle, nor were her wounds beyond healing. She was fading away and Narcissa, deep down, was convinced Bella wanted to die. So how could she care for her, if she didn't care for herself. How could she care, when all Bella wanted was the attention of a man who wouldn't give it to her whether he was alive or dead. She would stay with her until she died and that would be it.
As if Bellatrix had read her mind, she arched her back and flexed her limps more violently than ever and this time she managed to make herself audible: "master..." For a few agonizing minutes she struggled with imaginary bonds and then she collapsed in an uncomfortable position. Eyes wide open, lips bleeding, her master's name at the tip of her tongue, she took a couple of wheezing breaths; her last ones.
Narcissa calmly stared at her eldest sister, her gaze focusing on her right hand. Even though Bella wasn't breathing any more, her left palm was open and her fingers were making a grasping motion. For some reason, that left her with a knot in the throat. Narcissa took a deep breath and left the room to inform her family it was over.
"I'm not feeling well, Mother, you know that!" Draco complained. He was sitting on an armchair with a blanket covering his legs and lower abdomen and a thermometer in his hand.
"See?" he brandished the glass tube in front of her, "38.4. That's a lot. Almost 39, you would never let me go out with that kind of fever."
"I know, Draco, I know, but it's a special occasion and it will be only for a few minutes. Besides, an hour ago you were saying you wanted to go play Quidditch outside," his mother answered with a semi-smile.
"Now, now. Cissy, you are quite right, ten minutes wouldn't hurt him... Then again our son is old enough to make his own decisions. If he does not wish to be present at his aunt's funeral, we cannot force him to attend. Which, I have to add, is valid for more than one person in here."
"Thank you, Father, exactly that. I don't have to do anything anymore. It's all over, isn't it? I am a free adult who says attending this thing is just boring."
"Spoken like a true adult wizard now," Narcissa muttered. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face her husband and son. "Listen to me, both of you. There is no one else left. Remember when Uncle Arcturus died when we were kids, Lucius? We couldn't even remember who he was exactly, and yet, all the pureblooded community was there, we all paid our respects, sat there quietly, ate cookies and went home. And don't tell me Bella wasn't thrilled to be there! Now, it's just us, only three. Our parents are dead, our aunts and uncles are dead and our siblings and cousins were killed, I don't even know what happened to Rodolphus! It's just us! If we don't go, then no one will be there. I'm not even asking you to pay your respects, I will say a few words and we'll come back here, have our dinner and try to move on with our fucking lives!"
Lucius and Draco stared at Narcissa wide-eyed, their jaws hanging open. It was the first time Narcissa talked in such a forceful tone and used that kind of language. They both nodded sheepishly.
"Good, now go change your pajamas into normal robes and let's go."
The three blond figures stood uncomfortably in front of the black stone table where a simple blue cloth covered Bellatrix Lestrange's body. Narcissa held tightly on her shawl, Draco repositioned his feet and Lucius cleaned his throat.
"Cissy, dear, you said you would be... saying a couple of words?"
"Ehm, yes, yes, that's right," Narcissa seemed to come out of her thoughts. "So, we are here today, the 9th of May, to say good-bye to our sister, aunt and sister-in-law. Bellatrix was many things, I knew that since I was a toddler. You were... different and smart and fierce, always took care of me as a child. We had our differences, both then and now-"she stopped to eye Lucius, who had just stiffened a snigger.
"-but that does not matter anymore. I understand your thinking and your-" Narcissa paused again to ask for dignity from her husband, only to spot her son very pink-cheeked, as he, too, was struggling to keep a straight face. She opened her mouth, but changed her mind in the meantime.
"You know, what, sis? That's not true. I don't get you, I really don't. You were the last person I would have expected to die a death like yours. Greengrass, sure, she spent her days in the restrooms crying her eyes out for one boy or the other. Even Carrow had her own little boy-drama. But you- you laughed at these girls, you made fun of them for being clingy and old-fashioned and dumb. And now look at yourself. Look how many are here and tell me this is right. Anyway," she concluded quietly, "things are what they are. I have no idea if you are happy with the life you lived, and I will not spend another minute of my life worrying about that. Good-bye, sister, I don't think I'll be coming back."
Lucius and Draco remained still for a while after this peculiar speech and then, after it became obvious no one was in the mood to add anything, Narcissa took out her wand and a small flame came out of the tip, set fire to the blue blanket and the stone table gave its place to a simple black gravestone with freshly dug soil in front of it. Bellatrix was buried in the earth now, with only her name and dates of birth and death marking her grave.
Lucius put his arm around his wife and ushered her away from the new addition to the Black Family cemetery. Draco followed them, wondering loudly whether dinner would be stone-cold after all this fuss.
They hadn't walked more than a few feet, when Narcissa spoke again rather sugary: "Lucius, dear?"
"Yes, Cissy?"
"Never call me 'Cissy' again."
The night was sweet and a gentle breeze was caressing the wild flowers that had taken root between the gravestones of the Black Family. Night birds were humming a sad lament as if they knew the function of this yard was that of mourning the dead and gone. Not so far away from the cemetery, the lights in the Black Castle were switched off for the last time, their lawful owners moving out and never coming back. And, as if it had been rehearsed, when the lights went off, a tall dark silhouette appeared out of thin air close to the newest stone.
It was clearly a woman dressed in black clothes and wearing a thick veil around her face, even though there was not a single alive soul there to see and identify her. She approached the shiny marble reluctantly and, when she got close enough to be able to read the engraving, she shook her head in disbelief.
"Damn you..." she whispered barely audibly.
"Damn you, damn you, damn you!" the newcomer shrieked this time.
The birds, that hadn't felt threatened by her initial Apparition, now went silent, like they wanted to understand the sudden explosion of anger.
"Damn you, damn you!" the woman continued, trying to punch the stone, and landing on it instead. She stayd like that for a while, breathing heavily in the perfumed night, laboring almost as much as the owner of the grave had the last hours of her life. Then she stood up, unruffled her dress and looked at the name quietly. It seemed for a second like she was struggling to say something else, but, in the end, she muttered one last "damn you!" and Disapparated as soundlessly as she had appeared.
The youngest of the night birds started singing again its own lullaby and soon its older siblings and family joined in the singing, all of them mourning the past grandeur and welcoming the limbo for the next thousand years.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.
The way Bellatrix dies is the description of brain herniation, a condition where intracranial pressure is so high it squeezes the brain within the skull. In some cases the brain shifts into the spinal cord through the brain-spine barrier or can put pressure on the brain stem that control our basic functions (breathing, swallowing, heart-beating, etc). If not surgically fixed, it causes brain damage and death. Bella's flailing and arching of the back and limbs is called "posturing", a direct result of brain herniation, and is extremely uncomfortable.