Well hello again, lovelies! I appreciate the support from all of you; I couldn't have hoped for a better reception of my return! I'll be uploading from now on about once a week. Surprisingly, I don't think I have any long-winded explanation or tirade to go on, so I'll see all of you at the bottom!
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Narcissa Malfoy sat in her garden, staring out at the vast sea of beautiful, exotic flowers that stretched happily towards the shining sun.
A sense of numb had washed over her, something she'd become familiar with over the years since the war. It wasn't necessarily a lack of emotion, but an overwhelming amalgamation of them that the blond witch fought on a daily basis.
The woman had lost everything.
Her husband was serving a fifteen-year sentence in Azkaban after the ministry ruled that, while Narcissa had done something to stop Voldemort, Lucius had not.
The bitterness she felt towards the ministry, characterized by the bile that rose in her chest, gave way to sorrow at the thought of her son.
Draco. Her sweet boy.
He was the only one she could truly confide in, and she could see him slipping away with every passing moment.
Her son had gotten an entry-level job within the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and spent his days pouring over the width of broom bristles or the circumference of game-regulation quaffles.
She knew he hated it, as he was being treated as an assistant when he was more than good enough to play professionally (in her opinion, at least), but he didn't speak a word of his trials. He had to work twice as hard for half the credit, and if his mother could, she'd go back to the very moment he'd accepted the dark mark and take her son far, far away from that accursed man.
Narcissa knew she couldn't; not without altering the outcome of the world itself, anyways. So instead, she watched as her bright, spry little boy became a broken, world weary, shell of a man.
The youngest Black felt the weight of the world resting on her shoulders, but she had to keep it together for the sake of her son. It became hard and harder with each passing day, when she couldn't even walk the streets of Diagon Alley without fear of assault.
The house elves had noticed their mistress's distress, as well. She wasn't eating nearly enough to keep herself properly nourished, but they still sent her meals every day at the same times. She wasn't sleeping, so they took turns brewing pepper up potions (and punishing themselves for using mages' items) to leave by her bed.
Could the blond witch feel anything through the storm of her own creation, she'd be touched. These creatures suffered years of abuse at her husband's, and if she were being honest, her own hands. Yet, these same creatures cared enough for her that they genuinely tried to make things somewhat manageable.
The flapping of wings momentarily broke up the uneasy quiet that had settled across the garden.
An owl, one that held itself in such a proud and royal posture that only came with being a ministry owl, landed gracefully on the arm of the chair she currently occupied. Narcissa broke off a piece of the untouched sandwich that had somehow appeared whilst she was lost within herself and fed the creature.
The owl in turn offered its leg, a regal looking letter tied to it.
She mentally cursed. Hadn't they put her through enough? Constant unscheduled "house visits" over the years, coupled with the rather unceremonious raid of her library and the interrogation that followed, left her with more than a few negative emotions, to say the least.
She took the letter, and her new feathered friend waited patiently for her response.
Dearest Cissy,
I know I've been away for some time; five years, I'm told. I am back, and I would love to see you and answer some questions, if you'll have me.
Should the mood strike you, I shall be at McSweeney's at 9 o' clock.
It would mean a lot if you could make it.
I love you, sister dear.
Yours,
Bella
"Pipin!" She called as she conjured a quill and some parchment. Narcissa quickly penned her response. The house elf appeared just as the ministry owl took its leave.
"What can Pipin do for mistress?" The small elf asked almost excitedly, her large eyes looking up lovingly at the witch.
"Ready my travelling cloak. I'm going out tonight."
There was no denying that the handwriting on the note was her sister's. But if this was an elaborate stunt meant to further taunt Narcissa, they would think Voldemort was a gnome infestation compared to her.
!
The bar in question, McSweeney's, sat right at the edge of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was a sort of upscale dive bar, one who's patrons quickly made their exit when the dozen or so aurors walked through the doors.
The aurors surrounded Kingsley, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, while the quartet encased one recently revived dark witch.
Bellatrix, nonetheless, walked with a sort of confidence only she possessed, and sat down in a vacant booth near the back.
Kingsley and the head auror, an unassuming man whose name escaped the woman, sat next to her, while the Golden Trio placed themselves in front of her.
An auror showed up a few moments later with the table's requests, and Bellatrix took the firewhiskey readily.
"I must say," she started, taking a swig of the drink and sighing with content at the burning sensation it gave, "It is lovely to drink on the ministry's dime."
"Why are we allowing this to happen, again?" Ron asked the minister, not acknowledging the murderess that sat to his left.
Bellatrix cut the dark-skinned man of before her could respond. "Perhaps because I no longer fear death, and I'm the only hope to save your worthless hides from the horrors you yourselves caused?"
He closed his mouth at that, but she saw how badly he'd wanted to respond. She had to smirk at that; she might be the ministry's pet, but the threesome seemed to be just as bound as she.
"Minister." Another faceless auror approached the booth, his features hard and unreadable.
"Yes, Auror Hughes?"
"Narcissa Malfoy requests to be let in. Says she was invited."
Bellatrix lit up at that, a childlike grin spreading across her face. "She most certainly was!"
The dark witch nearly pushed the two men blocking her in her haste to be let out, and began to look for her baby sister.
At the booth, Hermione had fallen silent. She was on the end, wanting to distance herself from where Bellatrix sat. Harry, sensing the tension, had struck up a conversation with her husband about the Chudley Cannons to try to calm his best friend, and she tuned out the quidditch talk. Her hand was covering the mark the witch had given her, and she rubbed it as she bore holes into the table with her eyes.
It was almost as if the younger witch were trying to remind herself of what a monster Bellatrix was, and not the lover she was before.
"What troubles you, dove?"
"Nothing, Bella, don't worry."
"No, I know that look. You try to be strong, but your face always gives you away."
"…what is going to happen when the war reaches its apex? When we're forced to look across each other from the battlefield?"
A heavy sigh. "Well, pet, I can't make you any promises. To do so would be unfair. But as a woman who has lived my life preplanned, why not take it one day at a time?"
She was so much like when she was alive, in the moments the two got together away from the war.
Sarcastic, but not sadistic.
She knew it was all an act.
It had to be.
Meanwhile, Bellatrix had finally spotted her sister, and the two made a beeline for one another.
"Cissy!" Her smile threatened to split her face, and went to hug the other witch, only to be rebuffed. Her face fell with her arms.
"Make no mistake, Bellatrix," Narcissa began coldly, "I am angry with you. Five years you've been alive, and you only tell me once you've become a puppet for the ministry? You are a far cry from the woman I knew."
"Let me explain, Narcissa." She motioned for the two to sit at a small table in the middle of the room. Kingsley looked as if her were going to protest, but upon surveying how attentive his men all around the room were, allowed the two their reprieve.
Bellatrix signaled the bartender for two drinks, and waited for them before she began.
"I was dead, Narcissa." She said, watching her sister's features.
"Dead? You're sitting right in front of me!"
"I know. They brought me back. Why, I do not know. They say it's because the goblins have begun to rebel, but I do not believe them. I think they may have brought me back to torture me, and maybe you by association."
Narcissa's brows furrowed, and she leaned forward, her voice a whisper.
"They came to the manor the other day, searching for something. The aurors wouldn't tell me what, but they interrogated me afterwards. Some sort of book of spells we're supposedly rumored to have."
Bellatrix straightened up as an auror brought them two tall glasses of firewhiskey. The blond witch's lips curled in distaste, but took it just the same.
The Dark Lord's former First Lieutenant took a long drink before she spoke. "Father had many dark books hidden away. They must be after them. They told me that there was a goblin rebellion in the works, sure, but they're daft if they think I believe that. No, they want something, and they'll do anything to get it. They've already threatened death and Azkaban if I do not comply."
A flash of pain ran across her sister's features at the mention of the mage prison, and Bellatrix instinctively covered her sister's hand with her own.
"They sent Lucius to Azkaban. He won't be released for another ten years." Narcissa's voice was void of emotion, but the eldest sister could tell how badly she hurt.
She loved Lucius, and while Bellatrix thought the little rat wasn't good enough for her sister, he made her happy.
"They said he contributed too much to the Dark Lord, and never made up for his actions."
"They made an example out of him." Bellatrix grit her teeth, her sister's pain fueling The Voices.
Normally, they were a soft hum, but at her outrage they grew louder.
They hurt her.
They broke her.
Avenger her.
Destroy them.
Make them pay make them pay MAKE THEM PAY MAKETHEMPA-
"Bellatrix, look at me." Narcissa commanded, and the other woman's eyes found hers. She recognized the look in her eldest sister's eyes, the crazed animal clawing its way out.
She delved into her mind, and put the strongest block on The Voices that she could without hurting her.
Bellatrix visibly relaxed, and shot her a shaky smile.
"They plague you still." It wasn't a question.
"I had thought death would stop them." She laughed bitterly, "I was a fool to think so. Seems they're imprinted onto my very magical core. At least in The Veil they couldn't bother me."
Narcissa's eyes shone with worry. "How can I help, Bella? I can brew you up a calming draught, or get a soul healer, or-"
"I need to die, Cissy." Black orbs met steel gray, and the younger witch leaned back in her seat at the impact of the words.
"I am nothing without that potion. My magic is useless, I am to be used as a pawn for the ministry, and they'll use me to hurt you more. Maybe I can evade them if I know what to avoid beyond. I need to be dead. But not by their hands."
Narcissa's neutral mask fell into place. "If you've decided. What do you need me to do?"
!
Hermione watched as the two Black sisters conversed. She couldn't help the jealousy she felt, but chalked it up to missing her parents.
After she'd obliviated them, she'd realized that there was no counter to the spell. After the war, she spent all of the time she could researching its effects, and hoped to find a way to fix them.
So far, there was no such luck, and the fact that the monster of a woman sitting a few yards away had family, someone who she could lean on no matter what, made Hermione hurt.
She wouldn't think too hard on it, however. She had Ron, and Harry, and that was enough.
The two older witches stood abruptly, and Hermione's eyes snapped to them.
Bellatrix was pulled into a tight embrace by her younger sister, who buried her face into the slightly shorter woman's neck. Their hug spoke of sadness, of goodbye, and Hermione found herself walking towards them.
"Madam Malfoy," she began, forcing the two to part, "If you are finished, I must escort Madam Black back to her table. Another auror will show you out, and check you at the door."
Unbeknownst to the aurors, Narcissa slipped Bellatrix her wand. The aurors thought they'd taken it upon her arrival, but since the war she'd always carried a backup.
As she walked to the door, she surreptitiously started a magical fire under one of the barstools.
The aurors went into action, thinking they were under attack. As smoke, magically thicker and fast spreading, poured into the bar, spells and hexes went flying.
Bellatrix, in the midst of this, was still in Hermione's line of sight. The dark witch grabbed a stunned Granger by her collar and pulled her closer.
Then she kissed her.
Hermione felt herself crumbling, the Hermione before the Manor at war with the Hermione after. Bellatrix held her just as she had before, soft, yet sturdy. It was a sight for no one: a dazed ministry worker held up by a former death eater, while aurors fought themselves amidst smoke and colorful pain.
But all Hermione could focus on was Bellatrix. Nearly six years had passed since she'd felt the effects of the woman, and she gasped as sparks flew across her skin. She was clutching the woman's robes like a lifeline, and Bella's iron grip wouldn't let her fall. Plump lips, that had been a part of both her dreams and nightmares, crashed against her own. The slight pain, she found in the moment, was more than welcome.
She tasted of happiness, of heartache, of love, of what could have been, and the younger witch felt overloaded at the same time she craved more.
"I like to think, in another life, perhaps we would've been happy." All too soon the kiss was over, and Bellatrix gently pried her off.
Hermione opened her eyes, not realizing they'd fallen shut, and saw Bellatrix with a wand.
Pointed not at the brunette, but at her own temple.
"Goodbye, my dove." She spoke, a bittersweet smile on her lips.
"Avada…"
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Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm gonna end it there. I couldn't see Bellatrix just believing the ministry, especially after they'd shown nothing but distrust to her, but she would know she could be used to hurt her only remaining relative that would want anything to do with her.
ALSO: I think I touched on it in an earlier chapter, but I'd like to reiterate that Bellatrix DOES NOT have her dark mark anymore. I figured dying and getting your body remade from ashes would probably cancel out any body marks, so.
But yeah! Hope you all enjoyed, and I'll see you next week!
ALSO PT. 2: Special shoutout to TaylorMade on Ao3. One of my steadfast reviewers, I didn't realize until recently I could reply to comments there, but I really appreciate the words of encouragement
