Thanks to all who reviewed! I was really losing my motivation with this story and reading your comments helped me get back on track.

This chapter wraps up what I think of as the "groundwork" for this fic, and the remainder will focus more on the interactions between our heroines. Don't worry, all questions will be answered in time!


Bellatrix Lestrange had devoted an awful lot of time in her life to pondering the question of whether one would realize it if they were going mad. All the lunatics she'd ever met seemed blissfully unaware of the fact, and yet there were many times when she was certain she was losing grips on her sanity. And one of those times was now.

Had she really just witnessed three people vanish into thin air? Was Rockwood really gone for good? Could it be that the girl was just a figment of her imagination, as Bellatrix had always believed her to be? Her mind refused to leave these questions, even as she woke Rodolphus and dragged him back to find the others.

Hearing shouting up ahead, they met up with Lucius and the lot, who seemed to have the Potter boy cornered in a sort of shadowy amphitheater. Looking around at her compatriots, Bellatrix was amused to see that many were bruised and bleeding; apparently the children were not as helpless as first appearances would suggest.

"Give me the Prophecy!" Malfoy commanded Potter, for perhaps the tenth time that night.

The boy scrambled backwards onto the dais, where an empty stone archway towered over them all like the wreckage of some fabled gothic monument. But it was not quite empty, for somewhere inside Bellatrix could just make out the murmur of indistinct voices.

"Let the others go, and I'll give it to you!" the boy declared, scanning the hateful faces before him and trying unsuccessfully to mask his fear.

A round of laughter greeted this pronouncement. "You are not in a position to bargain, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "You see," he waved airily at his fellow Death-Eaters, "There are ten of us, and only one of you!"

Though her brother-in-law was practically glowing in triumph, his words had rather the opposite effect on Bellatrix. Here they all stood in full battle regalia, the old guard and new recruits alike, come to face down a few teenage wizards - and for what? A little glass bauble? Wasn't it all a bit...overdone?

But before she could fully consider the thought, something drew her attention.

"He's dot alone!" a cry from the corner rang out, as a lumbering boy with a bloody nose climbed down the steps to meet them. "He's still god be!"

"Stubefy!" the boy cast uselessly, pointing to each of them in turn. "STUBEFY! STUBEFY!"

"It's Longbottom isn't it?" Malfoy casually interrupted. "Well your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause... Your death will not come as a great shock…"

There was a tremor in the ranks as Malfoy spoke, of recognition perhaps, but also of discomfort. Rodolphus, she well knew, drew the line at killing children, and he was not the only one; it was undeniable that many cast to stun tonight, and not to kill. But there were those like Dolohov who took great pleasure in it, and others like Lucius who lived to issue empty threats.

And then there's me, she thought with a smirk. "Longbottom?"

The boy turned toward her, his eyes growing wide in absolute terror. He'd looked familiar before, but only now did she notice the extent of the resemblance: he had that same daft, gullible expression Frank always used to wear - and none of Alice's good sense.

"Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy," she hissed at him, surprised by the intensity of her own loathing. Bellatrix had never laid a finger on him as a baby, but now, when he looked so much like his idiot father, she was just itching to rip his stupid face off. She never wanted to have to look at it again.

"I DOE YOU HAB!" the boy shrieked, practically spitting at her as he fought against Avery's strong grasp.

"Someone stun him!" Avery grunted, struggling to restrain the boy.

"No, no, no…" she countered, "No, let's see how long Longbottom can last before he cracks like his parents...unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy…"

The boy struggled harder, if that was possible. "Don'd gib id do dem, Harry!"

Fury pumping like fire in her veins, Bellatrix raised her wand - just as Rodolphus gave a quiet sigh - and cast: "Crucio."

His scream was high, long, agonizing - and it brought a shiver of joy to Bellatrix, who ended the curse in just moments, panting hard. Merlin, she hadn't actually enjoyed it in so, so long…Not since…since...

Well, that didn't bear thinking about. Deliberately crushing the memory, Bellatrix took a steadying breath. "That was just a taster," she warned the boy. "Now Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way."

And, looking helplessly between her and Longbottom, Potter was just about to hand it over when the door burst open.

It was the Order of the Phoenix, arriving for a somewhat-belated rescue mission. Before Bellatrix could fully understand what was going on, some strange girl had leapt to the fore, clearly intending to duel her. And she was really quite good for her age, Bellatrix thought, deflecting a stream of hexes and following up with some underhand shots that forced the girl to duck out of the way. But it seemed to be a raging hatred, more than anything else, that was driving her onward.

"Have we met?" Bellatrix called to her, struggling to be heard over the din of the surrounding battle.

"Oh yeah," the girl snarled back. "You tried to kill me when I was a kid. Or don't you remember, Aunt Bella?"

Shocked, the Death Eater paused, mid-spell, and squinted hard. It was true; once you got past the bright pink hair and garish clothes, the face was quite the same as it had been when she was eight years old. It was Andy's face. It surprised Bellatrix - for nowadays her mind was like a dark abyss - but she remembered the last time she saw her niece exceptionally well. Her sister threw the girl a birthday party in that shack her Muggle husband called a house, and she'd demanded a purple Hippogriff, a talking Kneazle, a pet giant, and a hundred other ridiculous things.

"N-Nymphadora?"

A spasm of anger passed over the girl's now-familiar features. "Don't you call me that, you heartless bitch!"

The words brought an indescribable pang of emotion, and to conceal it, Bellatrix fired a string of curses. "Your fool of a mother never had any respect either!" she sneered.

And you used to love that about her, a little voice reminded mournfully, Didn't you?

"How dare you talk about Mum! You know she hates you!" her niece burst out, more cold and vicious that Bellatrix could ever have imagined, knowing the sweet girl she'd been. "And now I see why!"

"Don't speak of things you don't understand," Bellatrix snarled, unwilling to hear more. She'd been indulgent at first, but now she went on the offensive, quickly overcoming the girl's predictable method and sending her flying down the steps, where she landed in an unmoving heap. And Bellatrix may have considered going down there to check her pulse, but a wizard in a ratty overcoat descended on the body almost instantly, trying to revive the girl.

"Can't say that freedom suits you, cousin," a voice called her attention, and turning, she saw that it was Sirius, prepared in dueling-stance. "But I suppose that nothing really suits you, does it?"

"Tell your werewolf to get his filthy paws off my niece!" she growled in response, deflecting his spell with a flick of the wrist.

Sirius just smirked, sending a blasting curse her way. "As a matter of fact, she likes his 'filthy paws'. It's better than laying down with a reanimated corpse, at any rate -"

"Master is not a reanimated corpse!" she cut in furiously, but he ignored her.

"They say he smells like rancid meat - is that true, Bella?" he taunted. "I bet that really gets you going."

"You're disgusting!" she cried, sending forth a stunning spell that missed him by inches.

"Losing our touch, are we?" Sirius laughed loud - transported, exhilarated, almost joyful in the heat of battle - reminding her forcefully of the boy he'd been before prison claimed them both. She'd never seen him all those years in Azkaban, though the rumor-mill was forever awhirl with stories of his foiled escape attempts. Until the very last, successful bid.

"I taught you everything you know, you wretched little mutt!" Bellatrix snarled, though secretly she winced to hear that even her wastrel of a cousin had picked up on her impairment in a matter of minutes.

Sirius made a show of his casual shrug. "Age gets the better of everyone, I suppose."

A come-back was already on the tip of her tongue, but Bellatrix stopped short as she caught sight of a familiar glimmer across the room. It seemed to glide almost casually across the battlefield, miraculously untouched by streaming spells, unseen by all but her - and, she noticed with apprehension, by Dolohov. He'd seen it too, probably guessing it was another Order member under disillusionment, and raised his wand to bring it down.

Before she even registered what she was doing, a stunning spell burst from her wand and flew across the room, zeroing in on her long-time comrade. It hit the distracted Death-Eater in the back, and he slumped down where he stood.

But Bellatrix couldn't waste time searching for the girl, if indeed it hadn't all been just a trick of the light. Her own duel was not yet over, and it was only her lightning-quick reflexes that saved her from her cousin's hex, which she deflected with a rather shoddy shield charm. It rebounded upon the caster, hitting him square in the chest, and he fell - time seemed to stand still as he moved slowly through the air - back into the veiled arc.

A piercing scream rang in her ears. "NO! SIRIUS! SIRIUS!" someone was shouting, sobbing, pleading...but Bellatrix was too disoriented to see who it could be. All she could think was, I'm going to get killed for this.

Luck, it seemed, was not her friend tonight. A shining rope whipped out towards her, wrapped around her middle, and tried to pull her to the floor - where all her colleagues, she now saw, were already captured and chained. Presiding over it all was the newly-arrived Albus Dumbledore, incandescent with rage.

Bellatrix was many things, but not a fool: she knew when she was overcome. Deciding a strategic retreat was in order, she struggled to sever his spell, and when it finally broke, she turned and ran. Dashing blindly through the corridors, her own breathing harsh in her ears, it took Bellatrix a while to realize that there was someone in pursuit.

The footsteps chased her out of the Department of Mysteries, up the stairs, and into the Atrium. Catching a glimpse of a shaggy black head hiding behind the fountain, she was happy to realize that it was none more threatening than Potter. Part of her had always been convinced that in the end, it would be Dumbledore, or even Moody, who would come to collect their pound of flesh. But the boy was just a sentimental little idiot, crying for his godfather as if dying in battle was not the best possible outcome any of them could hope for. She was ready for it every day, and no doubt her cousin had been ready too.

Walburga must be rolling in her grave, she though, not altogether without regret; the fall of the last male of the Most Moble House was truly the end of an era. At least she'd made him a hero and a martyr - a legacy worthy of a Black.

Potter tried his best to get the upper hand, but he was hardly the prodigy he'd been made out to be by the others. It was difficult to see how he'd managed to escape the Dark Lord, not once, but twice - and more difficult still to comprehend her Lord's persistent fascination.

"You question me, Bellatrix?" that sibilant voice echoed in her mind as though he'd heard her very thoughts, and she gasped in horror, immediately sinking to her knees.

"No my Lord! Never!" Bellatrix nearly sobbed, feeling his furious presence descend upon her like black-winged death upon the starving, and it was almost a relief to think that he would take away the bitter taste of failure, ease the agony of his disappointment, grant her his last and sweetest gift - oblivion.

But, not tonight, his mirthless chuckle seemed to say.

"No, not tonight, my dear," he whispered to her, dragging her up by the hair and pushing her aside as he turned to deal with Potter.


As a testament to how truly dire the circumstances were, Narcissa broke all precedent by waiting up for her return. She rushed into the drawing room mere moments after the Dark Lord rematerialized with Bellatrix, robe askew over a silken night-dress, worry carving furrows in a countenance so often polished smooth. Wormtail, too, crept in behind her, sending the Lady Malfoy a single, daring, lecherous glance - before he turned upon the new arrivals.

"Oh, My Lord!" he simpered, keeping his eyes glued firmly at his Master's feet, "Our plans were successful, I hope?"

It was, quite possibly, the worst thing he could have said. Rage - pure, electrifying, white hot rage - so thinly veiled in other moments, burst from the Dark Lord's fingertips, sweeping the room in blinding waves and leaving wreckage in its wake. Bellatrix watched in wonder as the windows, the furniture, the tapestries, even the floor they stood on turned to dust before her eyes.

"Hope is for sentimental fools," the Dark Lord spoke softly after the storm had passed, his measured tones more terrifying than the primal scream of fury they replaced. "What I demand is loyalty. Loyalty, and competence." His withering glare settled on Bellatrix, who looked away, and then on Wormtail, who couldn't suppress a squeal of terror. "Is that too much to ask?"

Finally, he turned upon his last attendant, who was a statue in the darkened corner - still, silent, and heretofore perpetually ornamental. "Is it, Narcissa?"

Bellatrix could see the helpless quiver, could see her sister fight to keep her poise as he addressed her directly for the very first time. "No, My Lord," she whispered, wisely keeping her head bowed low.

"Then you will understand why your husband has forfeit my protection tonight. Along with Bella's better half, and the rest of the useless rabble I call my Inner Circle." His meandering footsteps seemed aimless as he spoke, but experience had taught Bellatrix that he was never aimless; the Dark Lord made the world his chess board, and now he was evaluating a potential pawn. And the pawn - poor, sheltered, innocent Narcissa - did not even know it.

Say nothing! Bellatrix warned her with a burning look. Don't move, don't breathe, don't even THINK.

"What will…" Narcissa began tentatively, meeting Bella's gaze but choosing to ignore its unspoken command. "What will happen to Lucius?"

"Azkaban, I suspect," the Dark Lord sighed, offering condolences with a skeletal touch upon Narcissa's shoulder, as though the matter were entirely out of his hands. "But given the changing loyalties of our new friends, I think he'll have a decent time of it."

With a pang of sympathy, Bellatrix realized that Rodolphus was probably back in his old cell by now, right next door to his brother. Should she have returned to save them at the Ministry? It was futile to challenge Dumbledore, she knew - and yet, for her, he would have tried.

"Our...new friends?" Narcissa repeated fearfully, her wide eyes darting to and fro in the darkness.

He didn't speak, but merely motioned to the windows, now gutted by his burst of magic to reveal the grounds beyond. All looked as one, but Bellatrix felt it long before the others: that almost-imperceptible chill that crept along her skin and settled in the marrow of her bones, that bottomless abyss of misery she'd never quite climbed out of. For fourteen years they shadowed every step, so closely that their presence was imprinted in her mind; and now she conjured phantoms to torment herself, she heard their silent whispers everywhere, and felt their ghost-like fingers grasping for her last remaining joys.

But these were not the figments of her tattered mind. They were real - dozens, maybe hundreds, of Dementors swarming down upon the Manor, blocking out the moonlight. Wormtail drew back against the wall in terror and tried to hide behind Narcissa, who herself looked on the verge of fainting.

"I have been very grateful for your hospitality, Lady Malfoy," the Dark Lord said, "I hope you can accommodate my guests as well?"

It was a rhetorical question, and everyone knew it. Still, Narcissa stared at her as though she expected her to do something - but what could she possibly do?

Bellatrix struggled to bite back a sigh. It wasn't enough that these creatures had made her mind a living hell. No - they had to follow her home from Azkaban. They had devoured the meal, and now they wanted to lick the bowl completely clean.

I just can't catch a break, can I? she thought, fighting a sudden desperate desire to laugh. Only, she feared that if she started, she'd never be able to stop.

"The grounds should suit them fine for now," the Dark Lord went on lightly, before he turned his gaze upon his first lieutenant. "I won't punish you tonight, Bellatrix," he announced, falling back into his favored role of the benevolent patriarch. "Instead, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you of the fate you would have suffered, had I not risked so much to win your freedom."

As though they had been waiting for his cue, the Dementors flocked in through the windows, tearing at each other in their haste to reach the promised meal. Bellatrix would have endured anything - gladly given her right hand like Wormtail - rather than face their ravenous maws again, but there was no choice. It was useless to beg for mercy.

"Forgive me, My Lord," she whispered in resignation, coming forth to face her fate, even as every cell of her being protested it.

Voldemort looked almost regretful, like a parent pitying an unruly child he had to discipline. "I hope you learn this lesson, Bellatrix...and learn it well."

And with a wave of his hand they were on her, almost suffocating her in their eagerness, clouding her vision with swirling shadows as she plunged into the depths of her most painful memories. The visions rushed past her eyes, frantic and dizzying, as too many creatures tried to suck them out at once.

It was interminable, excruciating, vile...

Eventually she must have passed out, for the next thing she remembered was waking in her room. Someone - her sister, she assumed - must have carried her upstairs and placed her in her favorite armchair by the fireplace. The house was dark and silent; the Dark Lord must have gone.

"Narcissa," she croaked out, her voice hoarse from screaming. Though it was hardly more than a whisper, the sound seemed to echo through her chambers, and a moment later Narcissa rushed in with a small bundle. Usually the picture of composure and efficiency, tonight the Lady of the Manor was an utter wreck; her hair had fallen piecemeal from her neat chignon and there were streaks across her face where tears had dried.

"I brought some chocolate - I didn't know what else to do - You just fainted - " she stammered, urgently pressing a candy bar into Bellatrix's hands. Though Narcissa had already faced the aftermath of Bellatrix's imprisonment - even helped her through those first agonizing weeks after Azkaban - that night's events had tested even her formidable self-control.

Bellatrix snatched the chocolate eagerly, fingers clumsy in their haste to peel back the wrapper. "Thanks," she mumbled around a mouthful, gobbling up the candy like a five-year old on Christmas morning, probably looking ridiculous but not caring in the slightest.

Narcissa worried her lip as she watched her, a pained look in her eyes. "Bella, I...I had no idea what those monsters were like! Having to live with them for more than a decade... it's beyond words! If I'd known… if I'd suspected- "

"There's nothing you could have done," Bellatrix cut in, her tone strained. She licked the candy wrapper clean, and then her fingers, trying to look anywhere but her sister's pitying eyes.

Narcissa grabbed for her wrist, desperate to make her point. "But what happened tonight...it's not right! You could have died!"

Snatching her hand away, Bellatrix growled. "Don't ever criticize the Dark Lord in front of me, Cissy."

"But, it's not right," Narcissa insisted.

"Right? Right?" she barked, the sound inescapably giving way to frenzied laughter. "I don't even know what the hell that means anymore."

The fire crackled loudly, and she stared into its blazing depths, turning the night's events over in her mind and wondering what, if anything, to tell Narcissa. Should she admit that it was ultimately her plan that put Lucius in prison? Could she explain the girl and all she'd seen without sounding like an utter lunatic? Did she dare to mention Andy's daughter? Or Sirius?

Finally, her brain settled on the most inconsequential of memories, and she spoke without thinking. "Potter says the Dark Lord is a half-blood."

Narcissa's eyes went wide with surprise, then narrowed in contemplation. "But that's...not possible," she said carefully, watching Bellatrix with the look one reserves for a once beloved, but now completely rabid animal. "Surely we would know it."

Narcissa's reaction was hardly reassuring - and why did she need reassurance at all? - so Bellatrix turned to studying the scorch marks on her robes, trying to put the subject out of mind.

"What happens now?" Narcissa asked, and seeing her sister's blank look, elaborated wearily: "My husband is gone for Merlin know she how long, and suddenly the Dark Lord is showing interest in me. I want to know what I'm supposed to do...and more importantly, I want to know how long I'm expected to play hostess to an army of soul-sucking demons."

Tonight, it seemed, even Lady Malfoy had no time for her usual delicacies and euphemisms.

"Well, the original covenant of the Knights of Walpurgis affords the the leader only one child from each family," Bellatrix explained. " I represent our House, and Lucius represents the Malfoy line. Now that he's gone...well, the Dark Lord may ask for your service as replacement." He may even ask for Draco, she thought, but didn't say.

At these words, Narcissa flinched back as though she had been struck. "But Bella…" she whispered, a tremor of desperation in her voice, "What am I supposed to do?"

Narcissa's hand was on her arm, gripping hard, demanding guidance, demanding an answer to her real question: What are you going to do? What are you going to do to help me?

But Bellatrix was no one's savior. It was infuriating to be asked when she was barely scraping by herself, when she was powerless to stop the Dark Lord branding, using, killing anyone, let alone Cissy. Let alone herself. Jumping from her chair, Bellatrix paced to the fireplace, unnecessary stoking it with her wand as she tried to stifle her irritation.

"You will do whatever he asks," she declared at last. "Or you will die."

The silence that followed this pronouncement was distinctly cold - accusing, even. When she spoke again, Narcissa had at least some of her masks back firmly in place.

"You need to rest," she said. It was the subtlest of insults, reasserting her role as her elder sister's caretaker.

Bellatrix merely snorted, still stubbornly facing the fireplace. "What I need is a drink. Be a dear and fetch the firewhiskey, would you?"

"No, Bella," came the unsurprising response. "You do what you have to do, but don't make me watch you destroy yourself."

Narcissa walked to the door, but turned back at the last moment to deliver her parting shot - one calculated to get under her skin and linger there for days like an eager parasite. "We all had enough of that from Father, I think."

And once again, Narcissa had the last word with the bang of the slamming door, leaving Bellatrix to stare blankly into the dying flames for hours after she'd gone. Eventually, need overcame vanity, and she reached into her pocket for her wand, intending to summon herself a more-than-generous nightcap. But first, her fingers found a scrap of paper, and she pulled it out wearily, wondering how it had come to be in the pockets of a robe she hadn't worn in fifteen years. There were just a handful of words on the parchment, but each was formed with a meticulous hand.

Heaven's Gate. 10 pm. Sunday, it read. It was an invitation, a command.

And just below, a name was signed: her first real introduction to a person she already knew far, far too intimately. The girl had clearly slipped this in her pocket, but Bellatrix could not imagine when she'd had the chance. Nevertheless, here was incontrovertible proof that all she'd seen that night had really happened.

Tracing a lone finger over the script, Bellatrix gave a dry chuckle, unable to suppress the barest glimmer of excitement unfurling in her chest.

"Well, Hermione Granger - you've got some bloody nerve."