Ch. 11: In Which Independence is Established

Bellatrix sat upon the dusty floorboards of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, her legs pulled close to her side. One was wooden, made of two long rods with a ball connecting them and a clunky, round base where her foot had once been. The other lay pale and hairless, its sensitive flesh aching where it pressed against the floor.

Losing a leg had been easier than she'd expected. The wood was enchanted, and, after a few very frustrating months, it responded as easily as before the injury. If anything, it had a greater range of motion, since she didn't have to worry about hurting it.

Most of her frustration stemmed from keeping the other leg. Of course, her not-quite-joking suggestions for the healers to cut them both off and give her a matching set had not gone over terribly well, and Molly's reaction had encouraged her to back down.

The brunette leaned forward, ignoring her leg's complaints, to stare at the tapestry draped across the wall. Her hand hovered over a name near its bottom. Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced at Corvus Black's portrait, where Walburga had pushed inside. Corvus grumbled in protest, attempting to elbow his niece back out of the frame.

Walburga sneered. "She is downstairs."

"Molly?" Bellatrix asked.

Walburga looked offended. "I have no intention of learning the whor…her name."

"Would you mind telling her I'm upstairs?"

Walburga glared. Bellatrix laughed. "No, of course not. Pardon me for asking. MOLLY, COME ON UP, AND AVOID THE FOURTH STEP!"

"Couldn't even be bothered to use a Sonorous," Walburga said, "had to shout like a commoner."

"You know I've had trouble with magic ever since I got my new wand," Bellatrix grumbled.

She took a moment to stroke her new beech and unicorn hair wand, scowling as it bucked under her touch. It was the only one Ollivander would sell her, insisting that it was "Just what she needed."

Of course, an untrustworthy wand with a hatred of combat spells was perfect for war. Bellatrix shoved the wand back into her pocket. She desperately missed her walnut, which was probably still sitting in her sister's pocket. Or, knowing Andromeda, snapped, burned, and buried under six feet of corpses.

"And since when are you against shouting?" Corvus said.

The hideous woman glared at her ancestor. He yelped, and Walburga haughtily left the portrait. Corvus said, "She kicked me in the shin."

Bellatrix looked at the man, who was painted in brilliant hues from the waist up. "You don't have a shin."

"I have more shins than you do," he huffed, waving at her wooden leg, and stalked out of frame.

"Touchy," she muttered.

"Who's touchy?" Molly asked, bustling into the room.

"One of the portraits," Bellatrix said, tapping his name on the tapestry.

"Oh," Molly said. "What are you doing up here, anyway? It's so empty. There aren't even any chairs; that can't possibly be good for your leg."

"I'm fine. I was just looking at the family tree, the one Sirius used to complain about all the time. See, this soot patch is him, and this one is me. My sisters are here, of course, and cousin Regulus."

Bellatrix traced the line between herself and her sisters, and then jumped across the page to Regulus and Sirius's blasted off name. Trailing upward, she rested on the name Arcturus.

"This," Bellatrix said, "is my Great Uncle Rus, head of the family for about forty years. He's the only reason I inherited this place."

Molly twisted her lips thoughtfully. "But I thought you got it from Sirius."

"No, the family has been very finicky about proper inheritance ever since one of our ancestors declared his children idiots and tried to leave the fortune to a horse."

Molly laughed. "A horse?"

"A fine stallion" – she smirked – "We don't use wills. It's all about whoever has the closest blood tie, is still recognized as a Black, and hasn't been married into another line. The rest of the family wanted to disown us, but Arcturus never did. I'd like to think it was some great gesture on his part, but, honestly, he was always a little senile. Now, here are his children – Sirius's father Orion, and your mother."

Molly blinked. "Sorry?"

"We're second cousins," Bellatrix said. "You didn't know?"

"What, no!" Molly narrowed her eyes and, in the no-nonsense tone honed by years of telling off Fred and George, said, "You're joking."

"No, it's right here on the family tree. Lucretia Black, married to Ignatius Prewett."

"So, all those times that I mentioned incest…"

"I assumed you were poking fun at me and Gideon."

"Oh," Molly said, "well, I guess that means we really are family."

Bellatrix laughed. "I suppose we are. How exactly did you miss your mother's maiden name, all these years, anyway?"

Molly shrugged. "She never talked about it. Although she was always so sweet to you that maybe I should have guessed. You'd think she'd have said something, though. I mean, Gideon proposed to you plenty of times when she was in the room."

Bellatrix said, "It's not that big of a deal, Molls. We were only second cousins, after all."

The brunette moved to get up, but her injured leg flared with pain and the wooden one buckled slightly as her whole weight fell on it. The brunette hissed.

Molly hurried over, offering a hand. "Oh, Bella, you shouldn't be living alone right now. If you can't even get up –"

"Kreacher helps," Bellatrix said. She quickly dropped Molly's hand upon standing.

"He hates you," Molly said.

Bellatrix shook her head, leading the way down the hall. "More like dislike, and he's calmed down somewhat since Walburga accepted me. He's a perfectly adequate house elf."

"Still, you should be around family. We'd love to have you, really," Molly insisted, not for the first time that year…or month…or week, for that matter. Bellatrix sometimes wondered if stubbornness was just another unspoken prerequisite to joining Hufflepuff.

"That's very nice," she snapped, "but I'm not leaving my house."

"It's just not healthy, though. It's such a dreary, dangerous place, and the only company you have are portraits and that terrible house elf."

"And the Order members," Bellatrix said. She entered the dining room, weaving around a pile of junk which possessed at least one pair of eyes, and settled at the head of the table.

"It would be better if you came to the Burrow," Molly said, her lip set stubbornly.

"I'm not moving, Molly."

"You didn't mind moving from your flat to here."

"That was different. This is the family home, it was Sirius's, and now it's mine. I'm not a guest, here. I'm the mistress, and I like the feeling. I know it was touch and go for a while there, but I really am alright on my own. Besides, I caught Mundungus rifling through the cabinets, last week, and I refuse to leave him here unsupervised."

Molly pouted. "If you're sure."

Bellatrix nodded. "I really am."

She cut short any of Molly's further objections with a soft, "Kreacher."

The house elf popped in. His tone begrudging, he asked, "What is mistress wanting?"

"Tea" – she glanced at Molly – "and bring a plate of cookies. Chocolate chip."

Watching the redhead's face light up, Bellatrix smiled. She wasn't sure how much of Molly's insistence was her usual over-protectiveness, wartime stress, or unhappiness with the unnerving quiet of her nearly-empty nest, but she seemed to have accepted Bellatrix's decision, at least until the next visit. Besides, the dessert had sweetened her refusal, somewhat.

The feud between Molly Weasley and Kreacher became legendary among the Order. He would never forgive her for invading his kitchen, and she would never forgive him for stealing every knife she found, brought, or conjured. The discovery of Kreacher's knife stash, some years later, spawned a whole new legend.

"Do you really think that'll work?" Bellatrix asked.

Molly sniffed, not looking up from the salad she was preparing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bellatrix sighed, picking up a knife to chop the cucumbers. "Keeping Ron and his friends apart. You don't really think that will stop them?"

"Why not?" she challenged.

Bellatrix laughed. "They're Gryffindors. If you wanted a child who'd stay home and tend the fire…"

"I should have had a Hufflepuff. Yes, yes, I know," Molly muttered.

"It's just how they're built."

"Arthur isn't like that…aside from his occasional accident with all that Muggle nonsense. He doesn't look for danger the way they do."

"He's more sensible," the brunette agreed, "but he hasn't faced the same things your kids have. Britain needs them."

"I need them." Molly shredded the lettuce a bit more forcefully than necessary. "They're just children…"

Bellatrix spoke softly. "They're of age. How old is old enough, do you think, to face life-threatening situations? To kill? How old, Molly? Sirius and his friends were about Ron's age. I was nineteen. Gideon and Fabian weren't much older."

"I don't know," Molly sniffled. "They shouldn't have to. It isn't right."

"But they're still going to."

"Because they're Gryffindors…" Molly sighed.

Bellatrix smiled, wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders. "Also because they're stubborn, determined and very loyal…They would have made great Puffs."

Molly didn't really think her meddling would make her children (blood and otherwise) change their minds, but what sort of mother would she be if she didn't even try?

Bellatrix hadn't fought a proper battle in over a year. Dumbledore had refused to send an injured woman on missions, and the Order had gone into chaos after his death. As the war heated up, Bellatrix had grown tired of limping around the house and feeling sorry of herself.

First, Bill's wedding had emerged to break up the monotony. They'd spent weeks preparing, and it was impossible to be bored at the Burrow. The reception had ended with a Death Eater attack, yet – after some threats and demands as to the whereabouts of Harry Potter – they'd left without casting a single spell.

Bellatrix had to admit that it was probably for the best. Her wand still trembled every time she pointed it at someone, and the evening was tainted enough without another person being maimed or killed.

Afterwards, Bellatrix flooed home. She didn't care that her black dress was coated in soot as she fell to bed, only stirring when someone opened the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Though it was still under the Fidelius, every member of the Order could share the secret, including the traitorous Severus Snape.

Bellatrix's heart beat wildly as she crept down the stairs, her new wand in hand. She followed the sound of conversation into the hall, sizing up the three shadowy figures arguing by the door.

In the first war, the inhabitants of targeted houses had rarely survived the night, and Bellatrix was badly outnumbered. Still, she couldn't run. Apparition was easy to follow, presuming they hadn't already placed anti-apparition wards, and she'd so far been unable to do so without losing her wooden leg. Also, the only fireplace connected to the floo network was across the house. Bellatrix would have to go right past them to reach it.

A silent breath steeled her, and Bellatrix snapped off an Entrail-Expelling Curse at the tallest figure. Her wand let out sparks, instead.

The shadows whirled around, and one of them cried, "Aunt Bella!?"

She laughed a touch hysterically as the sparks revealed the bedraggled forms of her godson and his two friends. "Oh, just you three."

"What are you doing here?" Ron blurted out.

"I live here," Bellatrix said.

"But Mum said you were moving to the Burrow, for a while."

Bellatrix huffed. "Your mother sometimes forgets that she isn't the only person with opinions. I made it very clear that I would only be staying for two weeks."

"What happened at the wedding?" Harry asked. "Is everyone alright?"

"The guests are shaken, but fine. A good night's sleep should do them wonders," she said, looking pointedly at the stairs.

Ron blushed, the distinct hue of his face visible even in the dim light. He said, "Yeah, sorry about waking you up."

Bellatrix shook her head. "It's fine. Knock next time, though; I could have taken your head off. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Hermione said, "We were hoping to hide here, for a while, if that's alright with you, professor."

"It's more than alright," Bellatrix said. "Kreacher!"

The sullen house elf popped into the hallway. "Yes, blood traitor mistress?"

"Prepare three bedrooms for my guests."

Kreacher slumped, his nose twisted in disgust. "A Mudblood sleeping under Mistress's roof, in the beds Kreacher just cleaned…"

Bellatrix sighed. "Kreacher, what have I told you about insulting guests when they're in earshot?"

Looking pained, Kreacher spat, "Kreacher is saying sorry."

The elf quickly popped away. While Hermione looked on with disapproval, Ron laughed. "Yeah, you better be…Wait, what do you mean 'when we're in earshot?'"

Bellatrix smirked. "I have to give the poor thing something to live for."

The Lestrange house elves were quickly trained not to punish themselves, as Bellatrix was quite happy to do so for them.

A/N: A closer look at the Black family tree reveals that they're related to a disturbingly large number of characters, including the Prewetts. There was no way I could just ignore that, so a new scene was born. One more chapter to go. Remember to review!