Hermione watched tenderly as her fingertips grazed the transparent lids of the vials. She had been in this timeless room, here, in the bowels of the Ministry, for what felt like an age. She didn't know what time it was, or indeed if time was still passing. All day she had been reliving Bellatrix's memories. Watching those chosen moments from outside her own body. From outside all bodies, as if floating in the surrounding air. Some time ago, Hermione couldn't recall exactly how long, she had ordered the vessels. Now they belonged to two groups: those she had already seen and the ones she was saving for last. There was one glass body, however, that Hermione didn't know just where to put. Once again she lifted it from its wooden cradle and read its label. Had Bellatrix included this one by accident? The contents of it were private, and unfamiliar. Perhaps its memories might illuminate the dark witch, make clear the obscure and whisper to her everything she longed to know about Bellatrix Black. Things that she was always too afraid to ask. No, she thought to herself, there were no accidents when it came to the dark witch. Carefully she opened the vial and watched a fine mist of luminescent blue effervesce from the liquid's surface. She watched, while pouring, the memories slip from that cup as if bound by honey, or molten glass. The other vials had contained a substance akin to water, but this one, perhaps richer or more dense than the others, dripped and pulled. Stretching into a single luminescent strand. The waters of the Pensive churned and bubbled with the new memory. Hermione exhaled and closed her eyes, before immersing her vision within the pool.
A soft voice made itself known at her door. Bellatrix could hear the anxious touch of fingertips against wood. "…Bella?" It was Narcissa.
She wasn't about to answer her sister and instead turned her back on the disturbance. Turning again to face the window. Granger had escaped and the dark witch was furious. Though, both the Black sisters knew that the insanity Bellatrix had grown into was second only in strength to their bond through blood.
Again the voice called, this time a little louder, "Bella?"
Not wanting to face anyone, not even her sister, Bellatrix snatched her wand out of her pocket and hurled a ball of fire at the door. She watched as the wood smoked for a moment as the paint flaked off it. Quickly the smoke subsided and the entire structure began to droop and sag, trails of charred wood dripped off the surface as the door began to look like melted rubber. Bellatrix wondered then, as quick as lightning and as uncontrollable, what Hermione might have thought of that. Her own clothes had been turned to sticky black tar that night in the Three Broomsticks. Not to be discouraged, again Narcissa knocked. And again, Bellatrix didn't answer. The door, which was once again solid, opened slowly on its hinges. The dark witch turned to face out the window, her eyes scanning over the withered garden for nothing in particular.
"Bella?" Came Narcissa's voice again. Though this time it was clearer, as she stepped into the bedroom cautiously, like a scared child.
There were few people brave enough, or stupid enough, to enter the den of the dark witch. It was only with Narcissa when Bellatrix was as gentle as a lamb.
"What are we going to do now?" The calm and gentle rasp of Narcissa laved over the silence in the room. Bellatrix stayed silent. Grinding her teeth, replaying Granger's escape again and again in her head.
Narcissa stepped into the room further. Under her feet fragments of glass creaked and groaned beneath her feet. Puddles of spilled wine grabbed at her heels and made quiet noises as she walked. This was the discarded body of an unfortunate victim of the dark witch.
Again she called, this time a little more hesitant, "…Bella?"
Quickly, and without warning, Bellatrix snapped like a trap that had been sprung. She turned like a storm to face her sister, rage and fury bubbling in her eyes, and in the muscles in her jaw that clenched paroxsmally. With bared teeth, like an animal, she speaks, "what are we going to do?" Here she took quick steps closer to Narcissa. "What are we going to do?!" The anger in her voice rose as she spoke. Bellatrix was blinded with rage. Here her voice came as an acidic whisper, spat out with incredible force. "As if I should be grouped together with that display of utter incompetence downstairs. As if that fool you call a husband has the conviction to be in the same league as me. You need to deal with him…" now her voice flickered and shifted suddenly, it sounded both innocent and menacing when she spoke again, "…or I'm nor sure what will happen to him."
"Bella it wasn't-"
Bellatrix cut her off, again returning to her voice like acid, "If you even think of telling me that Potter's escape doesn't rest solely on the shoulders of your disgraceful husband, I will not be held responsible for my actions."
Evidently striking a nerve Narcissa replied quickly, a new shade of strength in her voice. "I will not have you threatening Lucius in this house. In my house."
Calmly, but still as threatening as ever, Bellatrix retorted, "Watch yourself, Cissy." She says, with more than just a glimmer of madness in her eyes, "I may have been born as your sister, but I've been called many things since then. Don't forget your place."
The sisters had the same argument, with different details, countless times. Both of them knew that it would go nowhere, though neither was willing to admit subservience. Narcissa's shoulders relaxed and her hands reached for each other and instinctively joined together. The fingers inspecting themselves a moment before her warm pink hand extended, and reached for Bellatrix's claw. The dark witch allowed herself to be gently tugged along by her sister, as if their exchange had been forgotten. Narcissa arrived at the ornate couch in front of the fire and took a seat, gesturing gently for Bellatrix to join her. The dark witch sat, though quickly allowed her posture to slump, with the attitude of a teenager.
"The Mudblood… Granger…" Narcissa spoke carefully.
Bellatrix felt herself stiffen. The muscles across her back tensed and again she began grinding her jaw. A spike of jealousy made itself known to her, nestled in the pit of her stomach. Narcissa's tone had been tender when she let the girl's name slip from her lips. It was the tenderness towards the girl, the enemy, that made Bellatrix grimace. She thought to herself then that it, perhaps, would be better to have the whole wizarding world hate the girl. Have everyone hate her as much as the dark witch should have. And then, Bellatrix thought, then Granger would confide in her alone. Then she would have no choice.
"What of her?" She grunted, not wanting to sound as if mentioning the girl had affected her so much.
"You need to stop seeing her. It's too dangerous."
Bellatrix froze. Though, she was exceptionally still to begin with. She held herself as motionless as possible, she would give no clues to Narcissa. The dark witch remained slumped on the couch and spoke nonchalantly. "What are you implying, Cissy?"
"Whatever you've got going on with Hermione, it needs to end. Now."
Quickly Bellatrix spoke, prompted by the fire of jealousy eroding away her insides. "Don't utter that name within my earshot again. Tell me, sister, what is it you think you know?" Here Bellatrix turned to face Narcissa, attempting to gauge her reaction. Dissecting her every move. The blonde witch looked uncomfortable and turned her gaze away before she spoke again.
"I saw you. Just now. Lucius didn't notice." Here Narcissa paused. Hesitant to speak again, but she did. "It takes a woman to recognise that sort of tenderness."
Bellatrix was overcome by a sinking feeling. As if her viscera were attached to a stone and that stone had been hurled into the sea. She could hardly comprehend her sister's words. She had been so careful, so calculating. But still, here she was sprung, like a delinquent. She shifted her body and rested her chin on her fist. Carefully phrasing her next question. "Tenderness? I had tenderness toward that… Mudblood?" She narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Were you watching, Cissy, did you see the blood, the way I branded her and made her howl?"
Carefully still Narcissa answers, "Yes."
Bellatrix scoffed. Believing with hubris that she had deflected the whole thing.
However, Narcissa continued. "…but I also saw the touches… and the way she looked at you. The way you let her look at you." She took a breath. A pause, to continue to Bellatrix. "It has to stop."
Caught. Found out. The girl had been brought into the house, Narcissa's house, to be tortured interrogated. But here was Bellatrix being unravelled by her sister in front of a fire. And so, she answered bluntly, "No."
Narcissa continued again, almost pleading, "It's not a question of choice, Bella, it has to stop. If the Dark Lord were to find out…"
Bellatrix snapped at her sister, wracking her mind for answers. Answers that were not the truth. "If he finds out what? That I've been gathering information off the Mudblood by any means necessary? Is that what he'll find out?"
Narcissa stopped and looked Bellatrix in the eyes. An expression of worry and concern crept across her face. She could sense that the dark witch was putting up defences. Walling her off. Any moment now she would refuse to talk about it. She knew Bellatrix well. After all, they'd grown up together. She knows the conversation is over and stands, turning toward the door and puddle of broken glass. Before she can step, like an adder, Bellatrix grips her by the wrist. Hard enough to render her motionless. Quietly, but with an immense tone of force, she spoke, "Speak of this to no one. Understand?"
"Of course." Narcissa gently bowed her head, and walked from the room.
Bellatrix remained still, slowing her breathing. Becoming motionless. Listening carefully for her, now charred, bedroom door to shut. She hears Narcissa gently pull the door closed on its hinges and listens still. Playing out in her mind her sister walking down the stairs, and walking away from her room. She rises quickly from the couch and runs her fingers through her wild hair. Feeling the strands tug at her fingers. Her eyes flair, opening wide. She drags breath deeper into her lungs while her heart pounds faster and faster in her chest. She had known consequence before, but never for tenderness. The digits still tangled in her hair press themselves firmly against the wall of her skull as the dark witch drags them down over her face. Bellatrix exhales into her palms, feeling the heat of her breath pool in front of her face. Thank Merlin, she thought to herself, she hadn't revealed the gravity of her feelings for Granger to Narcissa. She couldn't know the truth. The dark witch wasn't even sure Hermione knew the nature of her feelings for her.
At once the memory became blurry. Sensations melted together and became foggy. Where was she now? She, if indeed Hermione was sure that she still inhabited a physical body, heard voices, muffled voices all around her. They echoed off the walls of her skull. She felt hands. She felt bodies amongst the blur. Hermione didn't know which way was up and felt as if she was tumbling endlessly. The colours of Bellatrix's room swirled around her still. The heat of the fire persisted. She was somewhere and nowhere simultaneously. Suddenly, emerging out of the blur like a ship through fog, Hermione deciphered a hand. She watched, on the verge of consciousness, as it twitched and stuttered between stillness and an action. She looked carefully and discovered the limb to be writing. Scribbling something. After a time of hypnotic observation Hermione recognised the body as Bellatrix's. Writing to her memory on a piece of parchment. A candle was somewhere nearby, its flame shone all too bright for the young voyeuristic witch. If, at that precise foggy moment, she had arms she would have shielded her eyes. Bright. Too bright. The hand wrote as if it were connected to jolts of lightning. Seizing. Resting. Frantic. Was this what it was really like to be inside the mind of Bellatrix? Her recollections were perhaps flashes, blurs, sensations. Not linear, but fragmented.
Slowly, the strokes of the quill morphed into readable characters. Slowly the characters shifted into words, in Bellatrix's own hand:
FILUM LUCIDUS.
The Pensieve threw Hermione backwards. A gasp leapt from her lips as the cold air touched her dripping face. She landed with her back against the floor, and a few moments later the familiar clatter of wood on stone was heard. The young witch didn't move and simply held her eyes tightly shut, to allow her churning stomach to settle. She groaned in pain and lifted her legs from the floor, bending them at the knee. Like this she stayed for a while, letting her body catch up with her mind. Bellatrix must have tampered with the rest of the memory. It felt as if it had been a violent process, through brute force, Hermione suspected. How long ago had the dark witch done it? The contents of the vial had been so thick. Was that it?
At once Hermione remembered the parchment. While it was still fresh and ignoring her stiff and aching body, the girl reached over and picked up her wand. First she mouthed the words to be sure, and then, pointing her wand at something inanimate. In case the spell was violent.
"Filum lucidus." She whispered, hesitantly.
Instantly bright tethers of cord shot out of her wand, bathing the entire room in a bright blue light. The tethers grew longer and longer, like disembodied vessels. The strands arced back around to touch her. She watched hesitantly as the cords reached for her wrists. As soon as one of the blue, glowing tendrils touched her flesh Hermione knew the spell was not harmful. No, quite the opposite. The warm strings wrapped around her wrists and grew longer still. They circled up her arms, leaving a trail of warm skin in their wake. Up, up, up. They claimed more and more of her body. More tendrils grew from her wand. The thin arms reached around her neck, and around her body. Hermione began to feel exceptional. The whole room was illuminated in a blue light. And she is so warm. She allowed her eyes to close at the sensations. Allowed the threads their freedom. Bellatrix may have been incapable of such tenderness, but she had made a spell, for Hermione only, that was exceptionally tender. It was presence. It was exquisite. Hermione smiled to herself and lay back down against the floor, still with her eyes closed. Allowing the tethers to caress and hold her. Nobody understood magic like Bellatrix.