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But Bellatrix couldn't have known Snape's plan as she sat, very alone, on the front step of Grimmauld Place. Leaving the house was strictly against "the rules", but it would be at least an hour before Snape arrived. Three months of nothingness had taken their toll on her, and she loathed feeling powerless, useless. But there was no foreseeable end to the madness. She was confined to boredom and loneness for six days a week, ever since what was now sarcastically referred to as "the Mundungus incident".
Mundungus was not a particularity bright wizard, nor Bellatrix a patient one. In each other they had each found a bitter enemy, Mundungus hating his obligation to visit her, and Bellatrix hating her obligation not to kill him. But beyond those terms of agreement, there were no rules. Bellatrix, constantly bored, found a source of enjoyment in Mundungus. Sometimes she would spend hours devising elaborate plans on how to best terrorize or injure him, or a combination of the two. Mundungus, on the other hand, lived his life in constant fear of returning to Grimmauld Place, the setting of his most graphic nightmares. The name was enough to send shivers down his spine, and once he had been unfortunate enough to be within earshot of the Auror headquarters during a delicate job. One mention of Bellatrix's name by Kingsley Shacklebolt was enough to make him abandon the heist and promise to never return.
But still, he was obligated by his Vow to continue to come. To Bellatrix's great delight. All the time in the world couldn't have foiled some of her more ingenious plans, and all without magic! This particular day, she had covered herself in blood – donated most unwillingly by Mundungus at various points the preceding week—and laid very still, waiting. An hour passed before the door handle finally turned and the front door creaked open, revealing a cowering Mundungus. Tip-toeing into the house, he waited for her next attack, determined to stop her this time. He had come prepared with a knife of his own. Slinking down the hallway (the very, very long hallway), he poked his head into Harry's room to make sure he was still alive. All was well. In fact, though Mundungus hadn't known it at the time, Bellatrix had been quite pleasant to Harry that day, as she had been eagerly anticipating the perfect execution of her scheme.
"Bellatrix?" he called out nervously. No response. Never a good sign. He inched into the living room and stopped dead. There, in the middle of the floor, lay Bellatrix, clearly dead, covered in blood. Though not too disheartened by the loss, he hesitated. Suppose Snape should blame him somehow? Approaching the corpse, he decided to at least clean her up before Snape arrived. Ease the loss. Wondering vaguely who it was that he had to thank, Mundungus leaned over to shut her eyes, happily contemplating a life without Bellatrix. That was when her eyes moved. They looked right at him. And a smile spread over her pale face. The knife flashed out, glinting in triumph….
Mundungus was not happy. And this time, Snape would know. He Disapparated for Hogwarts that very night. Requesting Snape in person, he had stood in the Great Hall for over an hour, concerned looks following him everywhere. After forty-five minutes, word had spread, and a small crowd had gathered, staring at him, wondering. Perhaps it was the large, ragged hole where his eye should have been. Snape, blessed as he was with extraordinary intelligence, gathered immediately what the problem was. Mundungus was released from his Vow and his eye was tended to by Madame Pompfrey, who had never in her life seen magic inflict a wound like that—for Snape had not seen fit to tell her that a small black dagger was probably the source of the damage.
Enjoying the last beams of sunlight before she was again confined to the house, Bellatrix breathed in deeply –and froze. There was a slight disturbance in the air. Magic. Not Snape; by now, she knew his style. Someone else. Getting quickly to her feet, she turned to the door –but instinctively knew she would be too late. She could hide no longer. Someone had finally come. Out of the shadows stepped a cloaked figure. But he knew nothing, yet. She would have to bluff. Bellatrix retook her seat.
"I see you haven't lost your intuition, Bellatrix," said a short man, with a slight incline of his head
"Yaxley." Bellatrix mimed stifling a yawn. "What brings you here?"
He smiled rather sinisterly. "You, I'm afraid. We thought perhaps the Aurors…"
She laughed derisively. "Me?! You thought me in Azkaban, or perhaps worse? Things must be bad if your informants couldn't even provide you with that much."
"Our informant was…mistaken. By a Memory Charm. Quite a strong one, I might add." He looked at her suspiciously.
Bellatrix had to admire Snape's thoroughness. "Well, you've found me, hiding out in the Swiss Alps," she said sarcastically.
Yaxley did not laugh. "I must admit, I'm surprised to find you staying here. I would have thought that you would have at least left the country after the Longbottoms." He gave her a small smile of appreciation.
It was now time to take a gamble. If Bellatrix told the truth, or at least part of it, she could gain herself a wand, and perhaps even information. On the other hand…
Bellatrix proceeded with false hesitancy. This would require some delicacy. "The truth is that I'm not here by choice. The Longbottoms put up a fight. My wand was broken. With half of the Wizarding community out to arrest me and the other half prepared to kill me on the spot, I came to the only place I could think of. I've been here for three months, sitting around all day, doing nothing." The bitterness with which she said that last part did not have to be faked.
Yaxley's laugh this time was genuine. "To think that the great Bellatrix Lestrange, sitting at home for three months, didn't even trust her friends to procure a wand for her!" He scrutinized her for a reply.
"You know as well as I do that something went wrong at the Potters. I thought a snitch. I couldn't trust anyone." He seemed satisfied by her response.
"Well, as I have been one of the blessed few able to secure a job at the Ministry, I will certainly see to it that you get a wand. In the meantime, this uneventful little chat is the result of two days of searching, much of which I personally headed. If you wouldn't mind, a Butterbeer, or Firewhiskey if you have it, would be quite welcome."
"You know, the funny thing about being a prisoner in your own house for three months is that you have very few opportunities to stock up on Butterbeer. You get one once I have a wand and can safely enter the Three Broomsticks looking like someone other than myself."
"Well, in that case, I would be curious to see where you have spent the last three months." Yaxley threw wide the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and strode in. Bellatrix had no choice but to follow.
The interior showed clear signs of abuse that Bellatrix hadn't noticed before. The floor, once so pristine, was now littered with crumpled up sheets of paper and broken quills. Bellatrix winced as Yaxley noticed the bloodstain on the rug where Mundungus had lost his eye. "Keeping busy, I see," he commented, but let the subject drop.
Entering the kitchen, Yaxley took a seat at the table, an expectant look on his face, and Bellatrix heated the kettle for tea. She despised tea. She hated the confounded teapot, and had never made tea for anyone in her life. She would have sooner killed her guest. But now she didn't have much of a choice. She needed Yaxley to be happily occupied, and not curiously snooping around her house, where he might find things more objectionable to him than an old bloodstain.
"Tea, Bellatrix? How… civil." With a rather severe look, Bellatrix swept out of the kitchen and into Harry's room. She stopped. The child was sitting up, staring straight at her with wide, intelligent eyes, unaware of the danger that lurked around the corner. She considered killing him. A whisper across his throat. She could not risk Yaxley finding him. But instead, she held a finger to her lips, her eyes pleading with him not move, not to breathe, lest Yaxley hear. Crossing the room, she found what she had been looking for. A row of knives, sharp and polished, lay neatly in a small black box. She took them all, and hoped she wouldn't need them.
Returning to the table, Bellatrix cared nothing for the awkward silence that had fallen between them—she was well used to silence by now—but Yaxley was determined to fill it with pointless conversation. "I have contacts inside of Azkaban. Rodulphus will be happy to know that we've found you. I daresay he was worried." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and locked them on Yaxley, her whole body tensed and ready to spring. "Although," Yaxley continued, laughing, "I don't recall him ever saying that you made him tea."
Bellatrix reacted. The dagger cut through air and skin in half a second, too fast for Yaxley to even blink, slicing open his shoulder, an inch from his neck. It was a warning. Wordlessly, Yaxley healed his shoulder and allowed silence to engulf the table.
That was when Harry began to cry.