It was autumn, and almost Halloween. Bellatrix Lestrange was still new to being Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But her newness was not the reason for the absolutely shoddy job she was doing of it.

"And here's how you curse someone so that boogers come out of their ears," Bellatrix Lestrange was explaining haughtily. "Nasamucusi-"

"But Professor," Hermione Granger interrupted loudly, "aren't you supposed to be teaching us how to defend against the Dark Arts, not promulgate them?"

"The best offense is a good offense, Miss Granger!" Bellatrix snapped. "Yes, that's right! The best offense is a good offense! Thirty points from Gryffindor for asking stupid questions! Alright, I've demonstrated what you're supposed to be doing in today's lesson. Any questions?"

She glared around the room. Harry and Ron were each holding down one of Hermione's arms so she couldn't ask another question. Her nephew Draco already had his wand out, and was quivering half out of his chair in his excitement. "Very good," said Bellatrix. "Practice for the rest of class. On each other." She flounced out of the room, and was pleased to already hear the sound of boogers splattering on the floor as she left. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, and she was an inspiring pedagogue!

Dumbledore had wanted to speak with her. Rather than give up her precious free time, she had simply scheduled the meeting during her class periods. "And teachers complain they have too much to do," she scoffed. All they needed were proper time management skills!

Bellatrix strode towards Dumbledore's office, still congratulating herself on her outstanding talent for scheduling. A giant stone wing nearly swiped her head, as she came too close to the stone gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. Bella agilely leaped out of the way, and snarled a spell in the general direction of the staircase.

"Confringo!"

As the stone gargoyle began to glow an ominous pulsating red, Bellatrix ducked back around the corner, waiting...

BANG! The gargoyle exploded and small chunks of stone rained stone dust was getting in her hair, but Bellatrix didn't care. She was above trivial matters such as dust allergies.

"Dumblydorrrrre," purred Bella, as she glided into the Headmaster's office. "How is my favourite Headmaster today?"

"Bella!" gasped Dumbledore. "What was that bang? Wh-wh-why are you covered in dust?"

"Oh Dumblydore! As I was trying to get into your office, I was attacked by a giant stone thingy! So I blew it up!"

"You-you blew… up… Snugglesby…" whispered Dumbledore, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

Bellatrix stared at Dumbledore as he slowly began to sob great heaving sobs. Dumbledore slid off his chair, under his desk, and continued to cry. A thin pale hand snaked up from under the table and grabbed a half-opened bag of lemon sherbets.

"They were his favourite," came a small sob from under the table.

"I'll have one, then, since he can't anymore," Bellatrix said logically. "Now, Albus, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Choking on his sobs, Dumbledore snuffled, "I wanted to see how the Halloween planning committee was going."

Bellatrix tossed her long black hair back, scattering Snugglesby's remains all over Dumbledore's pristinely manicured desk. (You wouldn't think a desk could be described as manicured, but as Bellatrix surveyed the meticulously polished paperweights, neatly trimmed quills, and carefully arranged stacks of paper that she was continuing to shower with stone dust, she concluded that there was no more suitable word.) "Oh, that old thing?"

It was in their contracts that all the Hogwarts professors had to serve on committees. Bellatrix was disgusted, until she realized that if she volunteered to chair the Halloween planning committee, she could control the budget.

"It's quite ambitious for a new teacher to ask to chair a committee, but I was sure you would be up to the task. The programme is settled?"

"Certainly, Headmaster," Bellatrix said smoothly.

"And the food?"

"Yes, I've handled it."

"And the decorations?"

"All taken care of."

"And the - "

"Don't fret, Headmaster," Bellatrix said, squeezing Dumbledore's arm. Since she had spent the entire budget on alcohol, planning the festivities had become so much simpler. Most importantly, she felt that she would have a decent time.

As a reward for all her hard work, on the day of the Halloween party Bellatrix decided she would let herself have a little lunchtime cocktail as a treat. Perhaps she could even have it as brunch - which people had at ten in the morning, did they not? Nine thirty, even, for the truly dedicated? "Ah, what the hell," Bellatrix said out loud, as she leaned over the side of her bed at 9:29am and groped around for the bottle of Lobe-Blaster she kept on her bedside table, knocking over a few empty bottles in the process. She had tried Lobe-Blaster in America as an exchange student during her fifth year and found it quite to her liking.

She was cheerfully tipsy as she rolled into the Great Hall, which had been left unoccupied according to her instructions. She made short work of what needed to be done, and started on the Firewhiskey that had helpfully been delivered. It burned pleasantly going down, and she cackled. Everything was wonderful!

But Dumbledore, upon his arrival some time later, did not seem to agree.

"Bellatrix!" he gasped, melodramatic as always. "What's all this?"

"Dumblydore! Happy Halloween!" she declared. Obviously! He would know this if he only had a little chill.

"Where's the food? Where are the decorations?"

"I've started a bonfire," Bellatrix slurred. "And there are smozz."

"There are wot?"

"Smozz, Dumbly. Smosers. Sssssschmoressss." She waved her wand at the random piles of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers on the ground. She had simply ripped open the packages and scattered them as she stumbled around. A solitary table held paper cups with a strange green emblem on them, which were filled with a creamy liquid topped with an orange powder.

"Stop playing with your food!" Dumbledore barked at a gaggle of Muggleborn students, who were haphazardly piling chocolate and marshmallows on top of the crackers. What on earth were they doing?

"Let the night - begin!" Bellatrix declared. She waved her wand and the bonfire burst into flame. A few students who were standing too close screeched as their robes caught fire. Snape scowled as he threw a bucket of sand over them. Another perk of chairing a committee was being allowed to boss the other professors around. Snape was hence duly assigned to bonfire duty.

She threw back another deep draught of Firewhiskey. The flames danced and flickered in her deep brown eyes, and the dancing sparks swirling up into the night sky echoed another night, another fire…

Burnt out ends of smoky days,

The stale cold smell of morning.

One bonfire dies, another night is over

Another day is dawning...

FLASHBACK

"A gender what?" Bellatrix said scornfully.

"A gender reveal party!" Narcissa cooed. "They're all the rage now, Bella!"

"What in Merlin's unholy sock drawer is a gender reveal party?"

"Just an excuse for her to spend my Galleons," Lucius chimed in mournfully.

"It's when we find out if this little one will be a boy or girl," Narcissa said cheerfully, patting her belly. "We'll have a big party, and invite absolutely everyone. You will help me with the planning, won't you Bella?"

Lucius looked nervous. "Narcissa," he said in a loud whisper that nonetheless carried perfectly through the room, "I thought we talked about this. Perhaps it would be best if Bellatrix wasn't involved. She does tend to get a bit, ahem, carried away at parties. Especially when she's had, you know…" He mimed throwing back a shot.

Bellatrix was insulted. He thought she would only drink one shot? At an occasion as happy and special as her niece or nephew's gender reveal party? "Yes, Cissy, I shall help you with the planning!" she declared magnificently, wondering what the hell she would do. Babies and anything surrounding them were not in her wheelhouse. Plus, she was terribly thirsty all of a sudden. If only she could have a nice cool sip of Firewhiskey, she was sure she would think of all kinds of ideas in an instant.

Firewhiskey… Firewhiskey...

SMASH CUT

"So when it comes time for the gender reveal, the flames will turn either blue or pink!" Bellatrix said proudly as Narcissa and Lucius gaped at the roaring blaze currently sitting in the middle of Malfoy Manor's extensive grounds. Incongruous with the fairy lights, neutral colour palette and Lucius' white peacocks, the bonfire was stacked as high as the roof of the greenhouse.

"Is that- is that, a-a-an arm?" gasped Lucius. "Belonging to someone? Have you tied them to a stake?" He pointed to a suspiciously pale sliver, visible amongst the dark brown of the wood.

"What? Oh no, that's umm- ahh- this really old ugly nightgown that Rodolphus got me for Christmas last year. Yes, stupid man, I don't look good in pastel colours! So I just added it as a firestarter," said Bella airily.

Narcissa glanced at her sister. Her foot brushed against something on the ground and she bent to pick it up warily. It was a odd black rectangle, one side shiny with tempered glass. What a strange object, she thought, and then chucked it into the waiting stack of wood. She had heard of a lot of Muggle phones going missing lately. Muggles too. Uber drivers.

But really, she didn't care. She was about to have a baby, which made her more important than anyone else in the world.

"Conflagratium genderevealus!" Bellatrix yelled drunkenly, waving her wand wildly.

She missed the huge, roaring blaze. Instead, Lucius burst into flames.

"BELLA YOU BLIND BAT, I'M ON FIRE! PUT ME OUT!"

"Wait wait!" Bellatrix slurred. "We have to see if the flames turn pink or blue!"

Lucius ran around trying to put the fire out, setting fire to half the garden and its occupants in the process. As wizards and witches of magical high society yelled and rolled around, some rushed into the manor in search of water and began to set the furniture ablaze.

Bellatrix cackled madly as she scampered after Lucius, yelling all the while.

"Conflagratium genderevealus! Conflagratium genderevealus! Conflagratium genderevealus!"

Everytime he managed to snuff the flames out, she would proceed to set him alight once more. The flames however, stubbornly refused to turn either pink or blue.

Hmmmm.

END FLASHBACK

Snape was exhausted and parched from putting out fires - literally, since several more students had caught on fire when Bellatrix missed the actual bonfire with her ignition spell. Merlin, but committee service was the worst. It was so pointless that professors had to serve on them when they had so many other things to do. Plus, he was sure Bellatrix had assigned him the worst duty on purpose, after he had dared make the suggestion that students would perhaps enjoy pumpkin spice lattes at the autumnal event. Snape secretly lived for pumpkin spice lattes, and was never happier than when they were back on the menu at Hogsmeade and - though he would never admit it - Muggle Starbucks.

But…! To his amazement, he caught sight of a solitary table that held paper cups with a strange green emblem on them, which were filled with a creamy liquid topped with an orange powder. His eyes actually filled with tears, which he would not have thought possible given how dehydrated the blaze was making him. Bellatrix had actually taken his suggestion! Sweet, sweet pumpkin spice lattes, his favourite! He ran to the table and guzzled the tallest beverage as fast as he could.

And choked horribly. Because it was not a pumpkin spice latte. If he was not mistaken, it was that wretched, foul, eye-watering American travesty, Lobe-Blaster. Masked with, what, shaving cream? Or something that had been milk foam several hours ago before it had turned in the heat of the fires.

Snape tried to spit the drink out, but he had already swallowed most of it. The alcohol felt like it was boxing his brains, like a cat that had gotten stuck in a grain thresher. He staggered as a memory pummeled him…

FLASHBACK / POSSIBLE HALLUCINATION

"Conflagratium genderevealus!" Bellatrix screeched yet again.

Snape ducked behind a bush that had managed to remain unscathed as Bellatrix continued her rampage, her fury at the deficient spell evident to everyone present at the gender reveal party. The smoke was really starting to irritate his delicate nostrils though, and he began to cough as he watched Bellatrix storm around setting people on fire.

"Conflagratium genderevealus! Conflagratium genderevealus! CONFLAGRATIUM GENDEREVEEEEEEEALUS! Eh, wait a minute." Bellatrix paused, then snapped her fingers. "Of course. It's GENDEREVEALUS CONFLAGRATIUM." She often reversed words when she had had a bit to drink - not terribly important in conversation, but a bit more relevant to spellcasting.

Immediately the flames turned a vivid shade of blue. "It's a boy!" Bellatrix crowed.

Narcissa hugged her husband and squealed. "It's a boy, darling!"

"Thank Merlin," Lucius muttered under his breath. "I hated the name Draquina."

But Snape barely heard. Gazing at Bellatrix surrounded by blue the flames, tossing her dark, wild curls about her, with the sapphire firelight gleaming in her obsidian eyes, Snape felt his mouth suddenly go dry, in a way that had nothing to do with impending severe dehydration.

She was beauty, she was grace, she was going to set fire to your face. Snape couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He was wheezing, gasping, clutching for air.

It's Bellatrix, he thought. She's stealing my breath away… The firelight reflected in her dark strands glowed red and gold, and Snape's last thought before he lost consciousness was that nothing and no one must get between him and Bellatrix, his true love. He would fight anyone who got in his way.

He would absolutely end them.

END FLASHBACK / POSSIBLE HALLUCINATION

"Hurry up Neville!" Draco jeered, as a group of Slytherins loafed behind him. "We want our smores!"

"I'm trying the best I can," Neville wheezed. He had been bullied into making smores for the Slytherins. But no one had given him any sticks, so he was standing directly by the bonfire, balancing the smores on his outstretched arms. At least the ones he was holding in his hands were melting a little faster.

It was so hot. Neville felt faint. He almost certainly had heatstroke. But he had to keep making these smores...

"Oy, Longbottom!" Draco yelled. "Catch!"

Neville felt something rubbery and slimy with a sharp pointy end hit him in the side of the head. It almost poked out his eye. He felt around on the ground for it, trying to keep as still as possible so as to not drop any of the smores. It was a raw chicken wing.

"Make us wings too while you're at it!" Draco called. "We want to eat them with ranch dressing! My aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange - and that's PROFESSOR LESTRANGE to you, Longbottom - told me she had it as an exchange student in America!"

"Right away, Draco," Neville said miserably, wanting to cry. He knew that chicken wings are the worst thing to have at a barbecue. They are never done, when everyone is hungry, and no matter what they always seem to stay raw inside, meaning food poisoning was inevitable.

He was so hot, so woozy, so thirsty. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a solitary table held paper cups with a strange green emblem on them, which were filled with a creamy liquid topped with an orange powder. Desperately, he shuffled over and dunked his face into a cup directly.

The alcohol hit him at once. Being sorely heat exhausted, and an eleven year-old child, he immediately felt the effects…

As he looked about blurrily, terribly dazed, his eyes fell on… his secret Hogwarts crush. Since the beginning, he had been deeply in love with her, deeper than his conscious mind would allow. But now, in the throes of a life threatening condition that was leaving him thoroughly uninhibited…

He would confess his love for her.

He must.

Shakily, Neville began to weave his way over the crowd of Slytherins. The s'mores were done, and the marshmallows were leaving a sticky residue on his robes.

"Where are my chicken wings?" demanded Draco, stuffing a s'more into his mouth. "And the ranch sauce, don't forget the ranch sauce! Hey! Crabbe you glutton! I was having Longbottom make that s'more 'specially for my aunt!" Draco swatted away his friend's hand and shoved Neville towards the direction of Bellatrix's shrieks. "Give that to my aunt, and carefully, Longbottom, or she might bite you instead!" He cackled weakly, in a poor imitation of Bellatrix.

Neville stumbled over towards where Bellatrix was chugging something from a bottle. The alcohol itself was nearly catching fire, it was so strong. Did you know that that is the origin of measuring alcohol by its "proof"? Something 100 proof is 100 percent going to catch on fire under certain experimental conditions. What Bellatrix was drinking looked to be about 150 proof.

"P-p-p-professor Lestrange…" Neville burbled.

Bellatrix continued gulping from her bottle. Actually, she had no idea someone was talking to her. Neville, meanwhile, had no idea she wasn't listening. So things were working out.

"I love you," Neville whispered hoarsely, with a sound like a cat being smothered with half a pillowcase.

No one should have been able to hear it over the rest of the noise of the disastrous party.

But Severus Snape heard.

He had ears of love.

And he was not in the mood to tolerate any rivals for his newly discovered true love.

Nor was he in the mood to explain himself.

Without a single word, he charged Neville and headbutted him in a flying tackle. Both were so inebriated and dehydrated that they went down like a pair of old mops with cold rubbery chicken wings stuffed in them. Snape, in a jealous fury, and Neville, in extremely confused self-defense, swatted weakly at each other with as much force as soggy toilet paper. They were lousy at fighting, like two hummingbirds that were also lousy at fighting.

Dumbledore tried to separate them, rolled his ankle, and hopped off howling and whimpering.

"Minerva!" he yowled. "MINERVA! Severus is FIGHTING A STUDENT! HELP MEEEEEEE!"

McGonagall rolled her eyes and Stupefied both Snape and Neville. God, she hated being on the professor-student conflict committee so much. They collapsed in a heap in front of the bonfire. Snape's robes began to smoke ominously.

Draco, munching on two smores at once, watched the fiery scene. He found the chaos of the flames to be strangely comforting and familiar, though he had no idea why.

And Bellatrix, also without quite knowing why, found herself beginning to sob as she tossed back drink after drink. No, she knew why she was drunkenly crying. No matter how, she found herself weeping over the same question - would true love ever find her?

"Bellatrix," a cold, sexy voice hissed. It was a voice of serpents, of green and silver, of dark arts and darker desires.

She choked. It couldn't be…

"Rodolphus?" she murmured. She had forgotten entirely about him! How silly of her!

"What?! No, Bellatrix, you idiot, it's me, Lord Voldemort."

He was back at Hogwarts. Yet again.

"Bella, my best lieutenant… I have a plan…"