Entangled
Chapter One: The Longest Year
October 31st, 1981.
The darkest night approached rapidly, and yet, as Rita stepped over the bodies of the deceased, she searched in hopes that her husband and child survived the rampage that the Death Eaters led through Godric's Hollow, in parade for the Dark Lord.
"Andrew!" Rita called out into the empty village. Her voice echoed throughout the neighborhood, met with the emptiness that she felt in her stomach. "Bethany!" She called for her daughter even louder.
A quick hand around her mouth silenced her echoing cries—Rita jabbed her elbow into the ribs of her assailant. A small utterance of pain, in the low tone of a female's voice, made Rita apologize quickly, where she turned around to meet the dark eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"What are you doing here?" Rita hissed, pulling Bellatrix to an alleyway, out of sight from anyone who could see them.
"Looking for you," Bellatrix hissed back. She jerked her arm out of Rita's grip. "You're letting any Auror know exactly where you are, yelling and screaming about. Have I taught you nothing?"
Rita waved a dismissive hand at her.
"I'm looking for my husband."
"You won't find him," said Bellatrix.
"And my daughter."
"You won't find her either."
Rita frowned, but she pushed pass the idea that Bellatrix might be right, and grit her teeth irritably, "I'll find them."
"You're being reckless," warned Bellatrix. "Best leave them where they are at and come with me. Like always, Rita. Remember?" She excused the pertinent situation that Rita wanted to continue to search for her missing family by placing her hand along Rita's neck suggestively. "We do everything together, remember? That's what you promised."
"Not now, Bella,"Rita snapped. She began to leave the alley, but Bellatrix snatched Rita's arm and pulled her back to her. "Let me go."
"You won't find them, Rita, they're gone."
"What?"
"You're not going to find them, they're dead." Bellatrix said quickly.
"You're lying."
"Rita, look at me." Bellatrix stopped her stubborn mate, trapping her between the building behind Rita's back and her own body, to bring her out of denial and to keep her from giving away their position. "It's going to hurt, the truth hurts. But I know a way for it to stop hurting—"
"You're a filthy liar!"
"Shh!" Bellatrix shoved a hand over Rita's mouth. She shook her head, glanced beside them where the alley opened up to a death-ridden cal-de-sac. There were people crowding around the dead bodies in the street.
Aurors.
Death Eaters followed orders; the orders were to not get caught while trying to search for the Potter Boy that the Dark Lord so desparately needed to find. Bellatrix met Rita's eyes, but they weren't angry anymore. Instead, small tears slowly leaked out of her eyes; Bellatrix more or less could feel the warm water on her hand clasped around Rita's mouth more than actually see that her dear friend was crying.
"It's okay," said Bellatrix calmly. "It's all right. I know a way to make you feel better, Rita. I know a way."
Rita nodded. When Bellatrix removed her hand from her mouth, she uttered a small, grieving sigh, trying to restrain any more bereavement for the alleged deaths of her family.
"We both knew," whispered Bellatrix reassuringly, "that there were going to be consequences and people were going to die." Her voice went cold. "And we know which side your family was on. Not yours, remember?"
Rita stared at Bellatrix coldly, but her stare softened when she felt Bellatrix clasp Rita's one hand in both of hers. How did Bellatrix always manage to find the words to almost instantly numb the negative emotions, to inspire something more intimate. Rita vaguely felt that she was being manipulated; but when the mind wants to believe a more reasonable explanation for a devastating truth, doesn't it make easier to rely on that to keep going?
"I," Bellatrix interrupted Rita's racing thoughts, "am on your side. I always have been."
Rita pursed her lips, considering the fact that Bellatrix had never cast her out, even when she agreed to take the Dark Mark. And it was Bellatrix after all who shared that common love of the Dark Arts, rather than shun her interests as her husband had. Even when Bellatrix and Rita had become intimate, no Death Eater had pointed out that they both were married to other partners and shouldn't be together—but Andrew and Bethany both disclaimed that Bellatrix was not to be trusted.
They were wrong.
Anyone who thought that Bellatrix wasn't a good friend was wrong.
"I have been on your side," reminded Bellatrix. She placed a soft hand underneath Rita's chin, and raised her head so that she could meet her eyes. "I taught you everything you know. And now, I need you to trust me." She glanced anxiously at the Aurors. "And you need to follow me away from this place."
"You don't expect," Rita said slowly, dangerously, "for me to just be okay with them dying. They were my family. My baby—"
"Of course not," Bellatrix said incredulously. "But I know a way to avenge their deaths. Oh, I know exactly who killed them, and I know where they are."
Rita breathed heavily. That seemed to signify to her mate that she was on board with revenge.
"But we've got to move, or they"—Bellatrix pointed beside them as the Aurors started to check houses—"will find us. You know what awaits us if they catch us."
"Azkaban."
"Yes, Darling. Azkaban." Bellatrix sounded mildly annoyed. "So if your pretty face doesn't want to spend the next few years in a prison cell, we've got to move."
Bellatrix grabbed Rita's hand and pulled her down the alley, further and further away from the massacre in the cal-de-sac.
Halloween night founded the lot of Death Eaters in the middle of the forest with two people, bound and gagged, in the middle of the circle formed by Death Eaters.
"You know the word, Rita." Bellatrix whispered at the nape of Rita's neck. She placed a wand in Rita's shaking hand; momentarily, her fingers lingered around Rita's wrist until Rita's hand tightened around the wand.
"She won't do it," said Antonin Dolohov, standing beside Rita. "My sister has never had the stomach for this sort of thing."
"Shut up," Bellatrix hissed at him. She cast an agitated glare toward Dolohov, then returned her eyes to Rita. "Look at that traitor down there. They are the ones who killed your husband, Darling. Your little girl."
There were two people cowering with bound hands and feet. The man, Frank Longbottom, stared up into the eyes of Rita Dolohov pleadingly. He muffled words through his gag, though they weren't quite coherent. But Rita had the idea that the things he tried to say were denials, that he wasn't the Auror who mistakenly murdered two innocent non-Dark Wizards.
Rita's face darkened.
"Why kill them?" Rita asked Frank Longbottom, pointing her wand at him. "They weren't like us."
Bellatrix scoffed, "Don't ask him questions, he'll only tell you what you want to hear. We tried asking him some questions of our own, all he had to say for his crimes against the Dark Lord was 'I didn't do anything'," she mimicked the pathetic cry that her hostage uttered.
Frank shook his head.
Bellatrix placed her mouth inches away from the shell of Rita's ear.
"He's a killer, Rita. He took your family away; he has tried to take your brother away too. He, and his Auror buddies would take all of us away from you." Her voice dropped to a very decadent, soft tone. "Even me, Rita. He'd have me rot in a prison cell before he admits what he's done. You know the word, Rita. The one word that will help salvage whatever heart you have left that isn't broken into pieces. So say it."
Rita's eyes started to well up, and she thought of how it would feel if her family—this band of Death Eaters—were to be hauled away to Azkaban and leave her feeling alone. How hard would it feel if the Dementors were presented to Bellatrix, her closest and loyal ally, and take away the last thing that made life worth living. She remembered the words Bellatrix said to her, "You have to mean it. You have to want to cause pain. To make them feel exactly how you feel."
"Crucio." Rita hissed the word at Frank, wand pointed directly at him.
1981. Following the death of Lily and James Potter. Following the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Following the arrests of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and several others.
Rita stared at herself in the mirror.
It had been Bella who had seen Rita's heart for what it was. Bellatrix, who had provided a solution for the wretched pain—but also it had been Bellatrix who had shown Rita her deepest fear. That she, herself, would be alone in the world. A drug in the form of a woman with dark locks and an endless gaze, Bellatrix had conjured a world where love conquered all—even if the person that Rita had fallen in love with didn't have the intention of loving her back.
It had been a ruse to bring Rita to the darkness.
Frank Longbottom never killed her husband and daughter, not intentionally. They had been collateral damage, in search of Rita herself. Bethany, her eleven-year-old daughter, had raised her wand to protect her father. And Frank must have thought that the girl was Rita, crouched under the table, waiting for the Aurors to capture her.
It had been an accident.
Bellatrix had lied—a means to an end. And yet Rita could recall the greatest satisfaction she received while participating in the torture of the Longbottoms. Rita may not have tortured them if given the right information; but Rita couldn't deny that the Dark Arts had been so gratifying to use. She had loved—still loved—the lure and temptation that the Dark Lord presented to her. Power trip.
And Bellatrix was the epitome of all that mastery of such dark magic—lust, power, to take what you want and feel nothing negative about doing it. Instant gratification.
The Ministry of Magic considered sending Rita to the tombs, owing to the fact that 1) she bore the Dark Mark on her left arm, the patronage of living under the Dark Lord's order, 2) Rita's participation was outstanding in the torture.
And yet...
Rita stood in the office of Albus Dumbledore with such a look that one would think she would be dying on the inside. She wasn't alone, though.
Beside her stood Severus Snape, who shared the look of death on his face.
Rita and Snape glanced at each other.
Dumbledore stood before them both.
"As I understand it," said Dumbledore gently. "I believe the two of you have something in common. But you're more than willing to discuss the matter at hand when you both feel that you are ready."
"I don't want to talk." Rita said abruptly. "The one person who I really cared about is locked away. And I can't help but feel as if I put her there myself."
"You were misled," said Dumbledore.
"I knew exactly," said Rita softly, "what I was doing. And I remember that it felt good. Yet, I almost feel as if I have sobered up, even though I was sober the whole time."
"It's the lull that dark magic has on witch and wizards," explained Dumbledore. "The same of which can be said about love, Rita. Bellatrix had such a pull on you, she didn't need magic to—"
Rita held a hand up to stop him.
"I don't want to be psychoanalyzed, Albus," she said. "I know what Bella did. And in some ways, I don't regret it."
Snape glanced at Rita Dolohov mindfully.
"Love does absurd things to people," said Snape absently.
Rita and Snape glanced at each other.
"I heard about the Potters," Rita muttered. "I heard that their boy survived. The Potter boy..."
Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose the two of you will have to mull over this year with some thought. It's an odd thing to bond over, grief is. But considering the fact that Rita will work here at the school, and considering her history, Severus—It might be conducive that you make her as comfortable as possible here at Hogwarts. You both attended here, after all."
Rita awkwardly wrung her fingers in her hands.
"So I'm not going to Azkaban."
"No," said Dumbledore.
"So I'm just a traitor then," said Rita.
"Well, unless you want to go to Azkaban," said Dumbledore quietly.
"No," said Rita, shaking her head. "But...Bella is there. So is my brother."
"You want to share the same cell, or...?" Snape remarked, almost to himself.
Rita scowled.
Snape interjected, "What has happened between you and Bellatrix, I'd say that she probably doesn't want anything more from you considering the fact that you're here and she's in there."
Rita considered his blunt opinion with a scowl.
"And exactly what have you lost, Severus?"
Dumbledore remained silent. There was an extravagantly long pause, then,
"I've lost as much as you have in this war, Rita." Snape said. "Believe that."
Another pause.
Rita bit the inside of her cheek, and then shrugged her shoulders, as they both seemed to be hurting pretty hard in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's disappearance, the end of the First War.
"Want to go to the pub?" Rita suggested apologetically. "I think I'd like to get some fresh air."
"And what, Rita?" said Snape. "You show me your pain, I'll show you mine?"
"Or," said Rita, "We can just get drunk."
Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who shrugged at the two of them.
"Lead the way," Snape said tonelessly.