disclaimer:: believe me, i don't own it. if i did, well, the fifth book would have ended more like this.
a/n:: thank you to my fabulous readers. next time, it'd be really cool if a couple of you could review. also, if you haven't read my new-and-improved prologue, i strongly advise it. i kept my two original scenes, but added others so that they make more sense, so... yeah, you should definately read it.
::brightest in the sky::
::iii::
::tell the sweetest storyline::
the opening of a door. a cry of: "bloody hell!" calm footsteps enter the office once more. "sirius will be here in a moment," dumbledore assures the spy, "he is changing his shirt."
severus coughs harshly. "spare me the details, professor," he insists, with a hint of fear and trauma in his tone.
"albus," the headmaster corrects him, almost fatherly. bella is disgusted.
more steps, these padding lightly, most likely barefoot. "well, i'm here," announces sirius's voice, with an unforgiving quality to it, most likely directed at his archenemy.
"we were just discussing the disappearance of your darling cousin, bellatrix lestrange," snape drawls coldly.
there is a silence during which she is sure he is going to spill. then: "disappearance?" questions sirius.
"yes. as in, gone. nowhere to be found. vanished. missing."
"well, that's a surprise," says sirius, in perfectly contrived bewilderment. "never thought she would leave her precious master."
"let me be blunt," says snape. "you spent nearly twelve years listening to her scream in her sleep. do you have any leads on where she might have gone?"
"i dunno," says sirius, most likely shrugging. "if i were her, i suppose i'd head for the caribbean. she could use a tan."
"be serious, black!" barks severus.
"iam sirius black," comes the answer, and bella holds her hand over her mouth to stifle a chortle. that one never gets old.
"what was that?" snape asks abruptly, and she cannot move or breathe, because she knows he is most likely staring straight at her closet.
"what?" asks dumbledore lightly. bellatrix imagines that sirius has clammed up; he was never one to keep secrets.
"that noise," breathes snape, and maybe it's just her but he sounds suspicious.
dumbledore replies airily, "a portrait must have sneezed, that's all."
"it was coming from your closet, professor."
"oh! i had quite forgotten about those. a new creation of hagrid's. he's bred pixies and garden gnomes. i made them a nest on the floor of the closet. would you like to see?"
she hears him back up a step. "no, that's really…"
"aw, come on, snivellus, they're quite cute, and their fangs aren't nearly done growing," sirius perseveres brightly.
snape scoffs. "i will pass, thank you. this meeting had a purpose. we must locate mrs. lestrange before she becomes a hazard to the general public. and you, black, need to assist us."
there is a pause. "well," sirius says at last, and bella can tell he's having fun with this, "i know she always loved madam puddifoot's, in hogsmeade. one of her old haunts. you might ask the management there." this time, bella more carefully masks her snigger.
"i?" questions severus snidely. "you're a free man, remember? your days of staying at home and letting us do the work are over. you have to learn to pull your own in this world again."
"you are mistaken," sirius informs him, flat out. "until further notice, i am unbalanced and not allowed to mingle with the general population. fudge's orders. have fun at puddifoot's, snivelly."
luckily – or not so much – there comes a knock on the door, and someone strides across the room to answer it. "potter," snape greets coldly. he then addresses dumbledore. "i take my leave, headmaster. perhaps you and black may discuss other… leads."
"of course, severus. take care." the door slams. "harry, why don't you take a seat?"
there is no sound to imply that he follows these orders.
::might be my only right::
"harry? have you had a vision?"
vision? the dark lord would not be foolish enough to allow the boy to enter his mind again. it is out of the question.
"no," says the boy, and bellatrix relaxes before she realizes how tense the thought made her. "i…" she can sense his nervousness. "i wanted to see sirius." she can hear those soft, barefoot steps as her cousin approaches his godson.
"harry?" the ex-convict questions. "what…?" bella scorns the caring in his tone.
"i was just thinking about you." his voice is far too timid for his fifteen years. it seems he has no concept of how to show affection at all. "they're coming to test you soon, aren't they?"
"yeah, kiddo, they are," says sirius, forced excitement in his tone. "and when they're all done, me and you are gonna move into remus's cottage, and he and i are going to get proper jobs to support ourselves and you, and you can invite ron and hermione over anytime you like. it's gonna be a great summer. and no more dursleys, ever. alright, kid?"
bella thinks she can actually hear him pat his godson on the head, and it disgusts her; the boy is a strong adversary of her master, not a dog. but then, her cousin was always more comfortable with dogs than humans.
"you don't have to lie to me, sirius," harry says quietly, and bella feels a newfound esteem for the child. "i'm not a kid. i know they're not going to let you have me."
quick footsteps and the gentle closing of a door signify the headmaster's exit, leaving the other two to their privacy. he neglects, however, to put up a charm to keep her from eavesdropping; on purpose, she suspects.
"hey," sirius say sincerely, "none of that talk, alright? everything's going to work out just fine. it has to. the rat got caught. we've been waiting for this. the rat got caught so we're going to be fine," he explains, as though it is the most logical thing in the world.
bluntly, harry tells him, "i want to say goodbye. just – just in case."
sirius sighs. she can tell he is getting upset. the child must not know his godfather very well, or he would know not to cause any sentimental scene; the man was never good with such circumstances. "harry…"
"my parents never said it." he plays his cards well. "they left and didn't say goodbye or give me anything to remember them by. they were just gone."
"hey," her cousin repeats. bella guesses that the two are hugging, as it seems something her cousin would do in such a situation. she can picture it in her mind's eye, two heads of dark hair pressed together, arms around torsos and silent tears soaking robes. "they're not going to lock me anywhere, no matter what happens. dumbledore's going to ensure that i make a quick escape, and then it'll be just like last time i was on the run. we'll write each other all the time; we'll find some way to meet up every once and a while. it's not ideal, but at least now there aren't any dementors after my soul. cheer up. i love you to pieces, okay, har?
it's not the most eloquent of speeches, and it's not the one that either she or harry wants, but sirius has always been a bit of an adolescent, not ready to deal with big grownup ideas like 'love' and 'forever.' at least he said it, in one way or another.
"okay," says harry.
there is another tapping on the door, signifying a newcomer, then the sound of harry and sirius separating, and that of dumbledore reentering the room. "come in," the headmaster calls.
at least two people enter.
"ah, healer." dumbledore greets the woman by name. "and you've brought friends."
"colleagues." the healer is female with a slightly raspy quality to her voice.
"of course," dumbledore agrees lightly.
"what is the boy doing here?" one of the colleagues inquires imperially. "fudge expressly ordered him to be kept away from black."
"yes, yes, potter's head of house simply sent him up for a quick talk with me." there is the sound of him patting harry's shoulder. "on your way now, young man, and no more snogging in broom closets!"
"yes, sir."
::and then i tripped::
"can we lock the door, professor dumbledore?" questions the leader of the healers. "wouldn't want any more students interrupting us."
"but of course." bellatrix can hear the headmaster's phony smile. she appreciates his scheming ways more with each passing moment.
"and you won't mind if i check around quickly for eavesdroppers?" this must have been met with raised eyebrows, because the speaker, one of the lesser healers, begins to stutter. "f-fudge, i mean, th-the minister, ah, ordered that, ah, see, that i…"
"there are no death eaters in my closets, i assure you," dumbledore guarantees the man smoothly.
relieved, bella begins to breathe easily again. she does not know what to think of dumbledore anymore; but then again, it hardly matters; he hates her, and she the same to him.
"just l-let me check in, in here," stammers a voice altogether too close for her liking. the door to her hideaway swings open, and she freezes in place beneath her stifling piles of blankets.
"you don't seriously think i am hiding voldemort in my linen closet, do you?" dumbledore asks, coming up behind the healer and closing the door with a snap, at the same time casting a soundless silencing charm, leaving in bella lost in oppressive blackness and quiet.
that was too close.
her master would scold her for being so careless, so dim-witted as to end up in albus dumbledore's closet with a crowd of ministry supporters just feet away. her situation is ridiculous, when she considers it. life was never ridiculous with the dark lord, the dark lord with whom, two decades ago, she had sat in the sitting room of her family's mansion – "bella has a guest," her mother had informed her sisters, after her master had flattered and charmed his way into her parents' respect.
the two of them are seated side-by-side, on an uncomfortable couch in front of a coffee table. on the table your family have assembled a variety of family treasures for show, as well as a dish of chocolates so perfect they look almost unreal.
all of this becomes irrelevant, however, when her fascinating and charismatic master announces softly: "you are the first of my followers, bellatrix. there will be more.
"of course," she agrees graciously.
"and you shall need a name. my army, my lovers… what shall i call you?"
"deathly angels."
the back of his hand brushes your cheek. "we aren't all angels like you, bella. i was hoping for something more… delicious." her lord smirks. he lifts a chocolate and feeds it to her delicately, with perfect ease.
"death sweets," she suggests; it is a silly name, and she knows it, but she has to keep talking because the other alternatives are hardly permissible in her family's sitting room.
"butpowerful," he insists, "i want something powerful. like death… eaters."
"very nice, my lord," she states respectfully.
she doesn't like the title much, and it never grows on her; but not once has she let him know the truth.
