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XXXVI
Disorder
[London | April 1995]
"Oh don't look so glum." Bellatrix Lestrange sing-songs, skipping into the sitting room, her wild curls bouncing manically. Lord Voldemort doesn't look at her, but continues to focus on the book in his hands, the weird old French childrens book V left. "What'cha reading? Is it any good?" Bellatrix perches herself on the arm of the chair, leaning over with feigned interest, her hair falling in his face. He remains silent, still, and completely ignores her. "Come on, quit acting like it was me. She did it herself. I always knew she was one of those…you know…those suicidals who need like a big audience, all the drama…"
"You're wrong." He says coldly.
"She's dead! Get over it! You know who's not dead?" She smiles to herself.
"Don't test me." He slams the book shut, making her jump.
"My Lord, excuse me but, this just came for you…" Lucius Malfoy cautiously enters the room, and pauses after receiving a sharp glance from Bellatrix.
"Bring it here, Lucius." He orders, in an icy monotone. Lucius approaches and hands Lord Voldemort the envelope.
"My deepest sympathies, My Lord." Lucius says, bowing slightly. "If I lost my wife I would be devastated…"
"Do not speak of things you don't understand, Lucius." Voldemort says harshly. "It was much more than…I will never…" Suddenly, his voice becomes quieter, as though speaking to himself. "What's the point of living forever if…With people like this…." Lucius and Bellatrix exchange looks of extreme unease.
"My Lord, I didn't mean to…" Lucius stammers. Voldemort looks up at him as though he's surprised Lucius is still there.
"I know you don't value the notion of privacy, Lucius, but I suggest you familiarize yourself with the concept as soon as you find convenient." He then turns his attention to the envelope, and Lucius quickly exits the room, taking Bellatrix with him. The paper is thick and crisp white, sealed with wax imprinted with an inverted pentagram circumscribed with a snake biting its own tail. He hesitates, knowing the symbol, but unsure of what sort of news awaits him inside. Hell has never contacted him directly. But what if…
He breaks the seal and withdraws a single sheet of parchment with a crude drawing of a left hand with six fingers. Affixed to the palm of the hand is a key. Voldemort stares at this for a long time, contemplating the likelihood that this is a trap. Perhaps it is. But he has to know, one way or another. What if…
"Lucius!" He shouts, and Lucius comes stumbling forward hastily. "How did you receive this? Where's the owl that delivered this?"
"It wasn't delivered by an owl." Lucius says. "It was on the table in the foyer."
"Under the mirror?"
"Yes."
That was all he needed. He rises from the armchair, places the book on the side table, and vanishes with a crack.
A small group of people stand in a circle with their heads bowed, each holding a candle. Thick silence blankets them all, and 12 Grimmauld Place as a whole. Dumbledore is the first to speak.
"We are gathered here today to pay tribute to Sirius Black, a brave and intrepid soul who gave his life for our noble cause." Dumbledore says.
"He was a treasured friend." Remus sniffles. "Loyal and true to the end. I'll never forget when he…" They all fall silent again. Something's stirring in the hallway. Kreacher perhaps? All eyes are on the door when, who else but Sirius Black enters, followed by that horrible woman, Victoria Spektor.
"It appears you're late to your funeral." V whispers to Sirius. "How embarrassing."
"This is for me?" Sirius says, tears springing from his eyes.
"What is this magic?" Dumbledore demands, his tone harsh, his face contorted in anger, stepping forward and drawing his wand.
"No magic." V says, "There was a mistake, and I corrected it. That's all."
"You can't bring someone back from the dead!" Dumbledore shouts.
"You're absolutely right. You can't." V smiles.
"Everyone, just, stand back. Sirius, stay there. Don't move." Dumbledore aims his wand at V.
"Albus, it's ok. I'm alive. I was trapped in Hell for a bit but she rescued me." Sirius says, stepping forward.
"Don't move!" Dumbledore orders. Sirius halts, frowning. "She's gotten to you. She's not to be trusted, Sirius, you know this!"
"You trusted her." Sirius says.
"I was wrong!" Dumbledore roars. Nobody's ever seen the man this angry before.
"Were you? You're rarely ever wrong, Albus." V says. Dumbledore casts a stunning spell on her, but she raises her hand and blocks it, deflecting it aside. "Maybe you're just confused. I can explain, if you want."
"Not another word from you." Dumbledore tries again, but she blocks his spell.
"I'm afraid I don't have time to stay, but I trust you'll take good care of Sirius. He'll need plenty of rest after what he's just been through." V says, and backs towards the door.
Dumbledore fires another spell at her, which she reflects back at him with a quick wave of her hand. He doges it, but just barely. The hem of his robe starts to burn, and he stamps it out angrily. When he looks back up, she's gone.
"You all look so happy to see me." Sirius says, frowning. Harry rushes forward to embrace his godfather but Dumbledore blocks him, standing between Sirius and the rest of the Order.
"As a precaution, I will take Sirius upstairs and question him. I don't want any of you speaking with him until I've deemed it safe." Dumbledore orders. Nobody says a word. And with that, he leads Sirius out of the living room and up the stairs to his old childhood bedroom.
V steps through the mirror into her grandfather's living room to see a very familiar figure seated on the couch, helping himself to a bottle of wine. He stands immediately, dropping the bottle on the floor, which breaks into shards and leaks thick red wine all over the carpet, and rushes to her, his hands on her within seconds.
"It's you. It's you." He stammers frantically.
"It's me." She beams. He sweeps her up in his arms and kisses her deeply.
"I knew you didn't…You couldn't…" He says breathlessly, holding her tightly, but still not tight enough.
"To be honest, this was not the sort of reception I was expecting." She says, "But I'll take it." She wraps her arms around his shoulders.
"I…couldn't…" He struggles to put the feeling into words. "When I thought you were…dead…I couldn't….what would I do?"
"The same thing you did while you let me rot in Azkaban for fifty years." She says, shrugging.
"I always intended to come for you. I was just waiting for the right time." He says. "You were safer in there than you would have been with me."
"That is true…That's why I didn't bother to escape..." She says, remaining cool despite the fact that he's just said the one thing she's always wanted to hear him say — the one thing she'd been doubting all these years…
"I don't want to live forever if I can't live with you." He says. And in that moment she sees the boy he used to be, the boy she fell in love with at Hogwarts all those years ago.
"You know I will never let you forget you just said that." She says, grinning from ear to ear, placing a bony finger on his chest just over his heart, as if to say, see you do actually have one. "I love you, Tom."
"And I love you." He says, placing her back down, her feet sinking into the moldy, wine-stained carpet. Drawing her close, his body pressed against hers, he kisses her lips, her cheek, the tender patch just below her ear, then down her neck, her collarbone… She cups his face in her hand, giving him pause.
"Why don't I give you the tour?" She says, "Let's start in the bedroom." She laces her fingers through his and tugs him towards the hallway.
"You're going to have to do something about the state of this place." He props himself up against the headboard of the ancient brass bed, the candle on the nightstand the only light in the windowless room.
"Sorry it's not up to the Malfoys' standards." V says, leaning her head on his shoulder. "But they have a house elf, and I…am a mess."
"To put it mildly." He laughs. "I could get you one. A house elf."
"I don't know…" She sighs, waving her hand as if to dismiss the thought.
"What happened to your grandfather?" He asks, already assuming the answer.
"We made a deal." She says simply. "I have something to ask you."
"Yes?"
"This Harry Potter business…"
"You heard the prophecy. I have no more to say about it." He says firmly.
"I understand. I just want to be clear that I will absolutely not be a part of it."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. Whatever you have to sort out is between you two. I refuse to be involved."
"You do understand that the 'business' is one of us killing the other?" He sits up further, narrowing his eyes. V sits up as well, squaring off.
"And I believe you will be successful. And, in the off chance you're not…" She holds up her finger, and rises from the bed. He watches her lithe figure as it slithers from the room, to return moments later with a roll of parchment. "I have devised a plan."
"Ah." He says, regaining interest. "Lets see…" He unfurls the scroll and his eyes dart back and forth over the surface. "A contract?"
"Yes. For me to be your official representative in the afterlife." She says, settling back down next to him. "I mean, you are going to Hell. I hope you've come to terms with that by now."
"But you've been ostracized. Blacklisted…" He says skeptically, glancing back over the provisions.
"You underestimate the extreme, binding power contracts have in Hell." She says, grinning at her own cleverness. "Devils value a signed piece of paper more than any other fact or circumstance or piece of evidence you could present them with."
"I see." He grins as well. "And this would mean…"
"Even if Harry Potter kills you, arrangements can be made…"
"Have I told you how much I love you?" He lowers the parchment and locks eyes with her.
"Several times already, yes." She says as he descends upon her. "You have to sign it though." She hands the parchment back to him, and offers him a quill. He takes it and signs his name, his given name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. There's a sharp pain on the back of his hand, and upon closer examination, the ink does appear to be the same color as his blood.
"Nicked it from Umbridge." V says, taking the quill back and rolling up the parchment. "Clever little thing…"
