1 November 1992
Black Home, Egypt
By the time Sirius woke, it was mid-afternoon—or so the timepiece hanging opposite his bed told him; living inside a cliff, Sirius had no other way of knowing the exact time. Most days, he disregarded the concept altogether, researching and scheming until his eyelids began to droop and sleeping until he naturally awakened. Sometimes he would go the entire night deep in sleep; more often, his nightmares roused him from sleep and sent him into anxiety-driven fits of work that hindered his study more than help it. It was hard, he discovered, to pay attention to the words when his mind was constantly demanding he check every corner and noise.
Fortunately, he had survived the last night without any incident. His luck must be improving. As he rose from his bed, Sirius dressed himself with the basic linens thrown at the foot of his bed, only casting a quick scourgify to clean them, before exiting his bedroom.
On his way out, he grabbed a supply of nutrient potions he'd brewed the week before and downed their contents without aplomb. The potions went down easily but left his mouth feeling dry. The risk of traveling to the magical district of Egypt for something more satisfactory, however, was too great. It would only take one slip-up, one lucky guess from an ambitious bystander, and the jig would be up. Sirius had survived off nutrient potions for twelve years. He could weather the supplements for a while longer.
As he entered the main entryway, Sirius checked his delivery ward—a feature he had only discovered after hours of evaluating the home's defenses—and, seeing his expected mail, reached into one of the paintings that hung on the wall to collect them. His hand withdrew a parcel from the local apothecary, addressed to a Mr. Reggie James, and the newest edition of the Daily Prophet.
Sirius leered at the rolled-up newspaper, keenly aware of its duplicity, before reminding himself of the necessity of keeping up with the news of Wizarding Britain. It was his only connection to Harry at the moment and, if something went wrong, the only way he'd know that Harry was in danger. Any amount of bigotry was worth the morsel of truth buried underneath.
He didn't even have to unroll the paper to see their incompetence. The article on the last page of the paper, which was the only one displayed due to the paper's current shape, was written by a wizard Sirius had never heard of before, a Ryan Almeidus, and detailed the seeming absence of werewolves in Great Britain, declaring that it had been two months since the last werewolf attack. As Sirius disinterestedly skimmed the article, he realized that the writer claimed the British winter as the reason for this and was hopeful that the dangerous pack, led by Fenrir Greyback, had migrated to the continent in the face of such brutal conditions.
Sirius snorted at the news, finding sardonic amusement at the idiocy allowed to spread throughout the Wizarding World. How they could ever conceive of such a notion was beyond him. A werewolf afraid of the cold? Preposterous! And migration! A part of Sirius, the part most intrinsically reflected in Padfoot, took offense at the notion. Wolves didn't migrate; they were tireless hunters and stubborn survivors. Whatever had caused Greyback to stop his raids had nothing to do with the weather but, as usual with Wizarding Britain, the witches and wizards in charge of distributing such information buried the obvious threat under so many excuses and suppositions that any reader was too beguiled to think things through logically.
The horrendous article almost made Sirius want to throw the edition of the newspaper away, but he unfurled it anyway to see if there was anything else of interest in the worthless rag.
Opening it up, Sirius almost fell over from shock. His package of potion ingredients smashed onto the floor with a thud as he staggered forward, throwing a hand out to steady himself against the wall. In bold words, the front page of the Daily Prophet mocked him with a title that brought to mind a surge of forgotten memories.
SLYTHERIN'S HEIR PETRIFIES IN RETURN ACT!
He didn't even need to read the article to know what had happened; the image on the front page was evidence enough. 'How could I be so forgetful!' He raged, rolling up the newspaper and swatting his hand with it as he began to pace the length of the room. 'Of all the bloody dangers to Harry's life, I just had to forget about the millennia-old basilisk!'
Sirius suddenly turned and hurled the newspaper at the opposite wall, shouting in fury.
Only one thing was on his mind now. He had to leave this place. Harry needed him. Sirius made to step into the painting connecting his home to Gringotts but suddenly stopped himself, not a meter away from the tempting image.
Wasn't this exactly how his first escape went? Sirius forced himself to calm down and actually think things over in his mind rather than leap ignorantly at the nearest problem at hand, uncaring for the consequences such actions would have. Harry didn't need a reckless stranger getting involved in his affairs; he needed an adult mature enough to be responsible. The realization that Sirius, even after having died for Harry's sake, still wasn't capable of fill the role only added to his already considerable self-loathing.
"What would I even do to help?" He questioned himself. "Infiltrate Hogwarts? To what end? Harry's the only one able to open the Chamber of Secrets and I don't fancy myself wandering around deserted corridors in search of a hungry basilisk.
"Harry wouldn't trust me either." Sirius admitted, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a bitter, broken laugh. "I'd probably end up getting caught like last time!
"Face it, Sirius. You rushing in there would only make matters worse for Harry."
It was a frustrated Sirius Black that pulled himself together and entered the Black study with a renewed purpose. He heaved the countless tomes covering his ancestry off the desk and promptly opened the index of the study's available sources. He skimmed by the countless marks indicating his prior research and jumped straight towards any mentions of magical beasts, venoms, and known methods of dealing with such threats.
From there, he spent countless days, perhaps even weeks—Sirius didn't bother checking the dates, only rousing himself from dogged study to choke down enough nutrients to continue surviving and read the headlines of every new installment from the Daily Prophet in the hopes of learning more about the happenings at Hogwarts—passed as Sirius continued delving into his research while ruminating on possible solutions or contributions he could make to ease Harry's troubles.
He would not rush into this as he had in the past. Nevertheless, even as he held himself back, Sirius's own ignorance had rearranged his priorities and pushed his scheduled return to England ahead.
1 November 1992
Malfoy Manor
"Lucius!"
Bellatrix blearily opened her eyes at the shrill sound of Narcissa's voice, piercing through the floorboards that separated them as the shout alerted her to her sister's panic. She briefly considered leaving her room to see what the fuss was about but decided against it. Narcissa was a capable witch, if a little too conforming for Bellatrix's tastes. She was sure that, whatever had caused the reaction, Narcissa would be fine without her stepping in to help. Besides, it was probably only a spider or something. Merlin knows how many times her little sister had come running to her for help getting rid of the pests in their youth.
Just as Bellatrix was about to return to slumber, she heard her sister's voice again resound throughout the manor.
"The Heir of Slytherin, Lucius! At Hogwarts!"
Suddenly, Bellatrix wasn't drowsy any longer. Straining her ears, she tried to distinguish the conversation taking place below her room but could only make out an incomprehensible murmur as her sister and Lucius continued debating with one another. That wouldn't do. Not at all.
Bellatrix didn't like when others left her in ignorance. She rolled off the bed, snatched her wand from the nightstand, and made her way toward the voices. However, as she was descending the stairs to demand answers, she heard the telltale whoosh of floo travel and knew she was alone in the manor.
Nonetheless, Bellatrix was determined to find answers and, if Narcissa's reaction was any indication, there had to be evidence laying around somewhere that would enlighten her. Moving into the parlor, Bellatrix didn't have to search very hard. Hastily spread across the coffee table was an edition of the Daily Prophet and, as Bellatrix peered at the front page, she finally gained her answer.
"Enemies of the heir, beware!" She read, giggling to herself at the message. "Now this does sound interesting!"
Bellatrix collected the newspaper and sat herself down on a nearby sofa, absentmindedly placing her feet on the coffee table as she spread the paper before her and began to read in earnest.
13 November 1992, Morning
Potions Classroom, Hogwarts
"Class dismissed."
Harry sighed in relief as Snape's acerbic tone cut through his doldrum musings. Removing his cauldron from the burner, he poured a sample of his and Ron's potion into a vial and handed it off to his partner while he went about tidying their workstation. As he went about his work, Harry's mind once again drifted to the subject that held his thoughts captive for the last few weeks.
He'd done nothing but think about the recent petrification. First it was Mrs. Norris two weeks ago then, just a few days ago, Colin Creevey, the very kid who'd been following him around at every hour of the day, had fallen victim to the mysterious Heir of Slytherin. Harry felt a shiver crawl down his spine at the thought. It had struck twice now and, Harry couldn't help but notice, both had happened around him. Could he be the target? He wanted to say it was impossible; that he was only being paranoid. But stranger things had happened. Danger seemed attracted to him.
"Potter." He heard Snape drawl. "Stay after class. Your effort today has been unsatisfactory… more than even I would expect from one as incompetent as you."
He saw Ron frown as he returned to their station but didn't otherwise comment. It wasn't unusual for Snape to dedicate a little time after class to berate him. By now, everyone knew that the professor's scorn was too great to exhaust itself over the span of a regular class.
Still, Harry shook his head at Ron and patted him on the shoulder, ushering him to join Hermione at the door. "It's fine." He consoled. "I'll see you in DADA. Besides," Harry shrugged in an attempt to ease Ron's mood, "Lockhart won't care if I'm late. He'd probably enjoy stopping class to talk about me."
"Pretentious prat." Ron mumbled but nevertheless collected his items. "You sure?" He asked again before leaving. "Me and Hermione can wait for you."
"Don't bother." Harry dismissed, inwardly thinking about the danger of lingering in the hallways. "Who knows how long Snape's going to complain about my existence." Briefly glancing to where Hermione stood by the door, Harry added the final incentive to get his friend to class. "And we both know how Hermione gets when she's late for class."
"She'd wait for you." Ron staunchly defended, but Harry saw that his friend had realized what he was getting at.
"She would," He affirmed, "and then she'd spend the day complaining about it as well as being late to class."
Ron's shoulders slumped at the prospect, and he finally allowed Harry to push him towards the door. He watched as his two friends gave him one last look of support before they left him alone with the irritable professor.
"Done wasting my time with inane gossip, Potter?" Snape leered at him from behind his desk. "Was your dreadful performance in class not enough to flout your contempt for the standards of Hogwarts?"
Harry swallowed the insult that hung from the tip of his tongue. Snape wanted to lecture him on wasting time? He wasn't the one that had been held back and delayed.
"No, sir." He instead bit out. "Sorry, sir."
"Really," Snape's derisive tone continued, not even acknowledging Harry's response, "you'd think that after spending the last few days in the hospital wing due to your reckless arrogance over the weekend that you'd have spent even a modicum of time trying to improve your studies." He sighed dramatically. "It seems even that was too big an expectation for one such as you. You probably spent the entire time drooling over your antics and garnering sympathy from your classmates."
Harry couldn't see how Snape came to that conclusion. Anyone with a functioning brain would have been able to tell that the bludger that had been chasing him was enchanted to target him specifically.
"It was a tad difficult to hold a book or do my homework with only one working arm, professor." He responded, letting an undercurrent of sarcasm lace his words. Of all his professors, Snape was the only one to penalize him for not turning his assigned work in on time.
"Yes, I'm sure your feeble mind gave only the most precursory attempts at actually exercising itself before giving up." Snape rebutted. "And I suppose everyone else ate up your pathetic situation, too. It's no wonder you've grown to believe yourself better than everyone else when the entire school seems committed to fueling your delusions."
'If everyone else does it, it's not really a delusion, is it?' He mentally replied. Of course, Harry didn't say that aloud, doing such would only worsen Snape's inevitable punishment of him. If Harry's childhood had taught him anything about bullies, especially those in positions of authority, it was that you couldn't argue with them. Harry simply nodded his head in acceptance and tried to keep hold of his temper. He found it was easier when he tuned out the man's voice and only pretended to pay attention to the words leaving his mouth.
When Snape had fallen silent, presumably expecting an answer from Harry. Letting the silence stretch a moment longer, he eventually spoke in the most neutral tone he could muster. "Is there anything else, sir?"
He saw Snape's face tighten in anger, but before the man could speak, the creaking of the door alerted them of a new presence. Turning around to face the new arrival, Harry saw an older student had entered the room. Harry didn't recognize her but thought she must have been a sixth or seventh year. She wore the robes of a Slytherin but, in contrast to that House's usually pristine standards, the clothes appeared completely disheveled—as if she'd uncaringly thrown them on over a separate set of clothes. Her hair, too, was completely untamed as it flowed behind her in chaotic swirls.
Most striking, however, was her face. Harry couldn't quite place what it was, but something seemed off about it, as if someone had created the visage in a mirror instead of growing into it. In passing, the girl's face appeared normal, but now that Harry was paying attention, he noticed how every feature seemed to have been added individually, giving it an artificial, doll-like aspect. He imagined it was what one would get if the Wizarding World ever tried its hand at plastic surgery. The only thing that seemed genuine was her eyes, which had locked onto Snape with unerring intensity. On second thought, Harry had trouble seeing this person as a student at all. She seemed much too… altered to be a teenager.
"Where is he?" She demanded.
The student's tone caught Harry off guard. He'd never heard anyone talk to the bitter man like that, much less a Slytherin. Snape's reaction was even more shocking.
"Leave, Potter." He said tersely, almost hissing the words. As he turned to face the student. "Now."
Suddenly, the girl's attention switched to him. "It's ickle Potter!" She cooed in delight.
Before Harry even realized she'd moved, he felt her cold fingers clamp onto his cheek in a pinch. "He's so scrawny!" She continued to murmur. "And you're telling me this brat was the one responsible for the Dark Lord's fall?"
Harry didn't know whether to be offended or intimidated by this new presence. On the one hand, she had just called—and treated—him like a child. On the other, her mind was clearly more off-kilter than was usual for witches and he was wary of doing anything that would garner a more violent reaction.
"Release the boy." Snape ground out, visibly tense. Harry saw a dangerous intent in the professor's eyes that he'd never before seen directed at him and internally quailed at the gaze. Similarly, Snape held his wand in a white-knuckled grip as it shook by his side. "I'm sure we can discuss the purpose of your… visit without his continued presence."
"Spoilsport." She replied, sticking her tongue out childishly. "Always so dour and boring. It's no wonder your pretty little flower went off to find a new bed to lay itself in!"
Harry was astonished at the blatant disrespect on display. He fully expected Snape to lash out in rage, could even see the man's anger as it flushed across his pale skin. Then, in a single calming breath, the emotion drained back below the surface and Snape went back to resembling a stony gargoyle, emotionless and as unmoving as stone.
"Why are you here." He asked again, absently firing a silent stinging hex at the hand still holding Harry's face. The girl didn't even grunt as the spell forced her to release her grip, not even the red welt that began to bloom across the back of her hand garnered a reaction from her.
'He could have hit me!' Harry thought in astonishment, glaring at his professor. Who knows what would have happened had that spell impacted his eye? He could have gone blind! And for what? Because Snape was annoyed enough at this person to risk seriously hurting a student?
"He's here, isn't he?" She asked fervently, turning to face Snape fully. Harry saw as the man looked at him, then to the door in an obvious signal, ignoring his glare entirely. Harry wanted to ignore the message, if only to spite the man, but, having experienced the girl's bizarre behavior, reluctantly obeyed, and began to backpedal away from the two. The last thing he heard before closing the door was the girl's voice: "The Heir of Slytherin, you know who," she spoke, "he's returned! And he's in Hogwarts, too!"
Harry paused outside the doorway in shock. Could it be? Did they know who the Heir was? It seemed ludicrous; there was no way Dumbledore would allow someone to go around petrifying students and pets if he could stop it. That type of danger exceeded any sort of acceptable prank. But the girl seemed so assured as to the identity of the Heir…
Harry shook himself from his thoughts and began walking to the DADA classroom. For as certain as the girl seemed to be about the Heir's identity, her mentality was clearly dubious. It could be as much her coming to Snape with a guess as to the Heir's identity, pieced together entirely in her mind, as it could be a statement of fact. She hadn't even named the Heir, only indicating that Snape would know who she was referring to!
Nor did the rest of her statement make much sense to Harry. Returned? From where? And, more importantly, if this person had returned, why hadn't Harry seen them anywhere. He'd think that one labeled as the Heir of Slytherin would attract a certain amount of attention wherever they went yet Harry had only heard of the person in hushed whispers while referring to the recent petrifications. He'd even asked Hermione if she knew anything about the Heir of Slytherin after they'd first discovered Mrs. Norris hanging from that torch, but she had claimed that Hogwarts: A History made no mention of any of the founders' descendants. Harry couldn't fathom a scenario in which there was information available that Hermione didn't already know about.
With that comforting thought in mind, Harry dismissed the older girl's words as nonsensical rambling and continued on his way to class. As he did so, his worries drifted away from the unusual experience that just occurred and instead focused on the tedium of having to endure another one of Lockhart's classes. Harry almost decided to skip the class entirely but hesitated at the last moment due to the worry his absence might cause Ron and Hermione. They were as stressed as he was about the recent petrifications. He couldn't rightly worry them any more than necessary simply because it would be convenient for him.
14 November 1992
Great Hall, Hogwarts
THE EVENING PROPHET
14 NOVEMBER 1992
BACK FROM THE DEAD! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE SEEN IN HOGWARTS!
BY: RITA SKEETER
"The Daily Prophet has recently discovered that the convicted witch Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, believed dead in the Azkaban Massacre, was seen in none other than Hogwarts itself! Learned readers will know that the Ministry of Magic had sentenced Bellatrix Black to Azkaban, alongside her husband Rodolphus Lestrange, his brother Rabastan, and Bartemius Crouch Jr., due to the prolonged torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, who have never recovered from the injuries (pictured below).
"As unlikely as it sounds, and this reporter wishes as much as everyone else that it were not true, the minister himself has confirmed the appearance of Bellatrix Black! He reports that, while paying Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump, a visit to discuss the latest bills circulating the Wizengamot, Severus Snape, Hogwarts' potions professor (see page 2 for the complete list of his accomplishments), interrupted them, and did not even wait for either man to address him before declaring Ms. Black's presence in the esteemed castle!
"However, and most chilling of all, is that, when the three wizards investigated the area Professor Snape claimed she'd gone, they found no trace of her. Not even Albus Dumbledore had been able to track the whereabouts of the darkest witch in over a century!
"While the headmaster had assured Minister Fudge that she was no longer on the grounds of Hogwarts, that will do little to assuage our minds as she continues to lurk in the shadows left by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!
"The return of Bellatrix Black to the wizarding world must also make us question her possible ties to the mysterious force behind the Azkaban Massacre. What we had written off as an upstart dark lord seeking to prove themselves through the slaughter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's faithful, must now face reevaluation within our minds. Bellatrix Black, as early readers of the Daily Prophet are aware, famously pledged her loyalty to the Dark Lord during her trial. How, then, are the two connected?
Could it be that the mysterious dark wizard had sought Bellatrix Black for her lineage? Before marrying Rodolphus Lestrange, she was part of the Black family. Moreover, the only bodies missing from Azkaban were hers and her cousin Sirius Black. Has a new force, one attempting to claim the Black line as their own, arrived on our soil? Only time will tell, but this reporter hopes at lea—"
The letters after that became incomprehensible to Neville as tears began streaming down his face and the thin pages of parchment began to tear in his grip. All the while, the mocking face of Bellatrix Lestrange taunted him, laughing maniacally from the center of the page.
'Why?!' He screamed to himself, barely holding back a sob. It remained stuck in his throat, refusing to go down as he continued to shake in repressed fury. 'Why does she get to live?'
The day that the news of what the Daily Prophet called the Azkaban Massacre first broke was one of the greatest days of Neville's life. His parents had finally gotten retribution. He had finally gotten retribution. The bitch responsible for his parents' permanent stay in St. Mungo's died alone, almost certainly frightened, and realizing how helpless she was as someone else tore the breath from her lungs and left her a despondent corpse.
But that didn't happen.
Like a cockroach or some other vermin, the damned bitch refused to die and leave him alone. Neville had spent the first decade of his life paranoid that she'd waltz out of Azkaban like the demon she was and continue to wreak havoc on his loved ones. This Summer had been the first time Neville allowed himself to breathe. All his worries had died, and he could finally move on from his past.
And then they clawed their way back into his life—she crawled her way back—unconcerned that everyone wanted them—her—to stay buried. Suddenly, Neville pushed himself away from the table. It was too much; he couldn't handle the news, not in public.
As he stormed down the hall, blearily wiping away the tears that kept falling from his eyes, Neville paid no attention to anyone. He knew they'd laugh at him. He was always the butt of the joke, the useless fool that made everyone seem more competent by simply existing. He didn't have the mental space to feel self-conscious about that right now. Thoughts of that woman clouded his mind like a swarm of rats at the scent of food, streaming in from every orifice of the house until they completely overwhelmed their prey and began to devour it.
Peter Pettigrew was so stiff, one could excuse Ron for thinking he'd been petrified. He'd misheard what the students had just said, right? It couldn't be possible that Bellatrix Lestrange, a psychopath of the highest level, had managed to escape Azkaban. Right?
"She tortured Neville's parents?" Harry asked, horrified.
'No.' Peter moaned. 'This can't be happening!' What next? Was Sirius going to vault through the window and attempt to hunt him down? Maybe James would return as well, exposing Peter for the fraud he was! He shuddered at the thought; it wasn't that farfetched when considering the absurdity that Bellatrix herself had apparently been in the castle only hours earlier.
Thoughts of escape began to fill his head. However, just as when he'd first heard the news of his fellow Death Eaters' early demise, he held back on the impulse and attempted to look at the situation logically.
If he ran, where would he go? Especially when the destination would inevitably take him away from Hogwarts. Peter doubted he'd be able to survive a walk through the Forbidden Forest, filled as it was with dangerous beasts. Meanwhile, the Weasleys offered him protection. Why would anyone ever suspect the poor, ignorant Weasleys to be harboring someone like him, even unknowingly?
He forced himself to relax, slowly calming down as he thought everything over. Not only would staying with the Weasley children give him shelter, but Hogwarts would also surely tighten its security as well. This article alone would send alarm bells ringing in the head of every parent with a child or relative in the school. Not even Dumbledore would be able to stem the demand for increased protection of the youth—if he would even resist the notion in the first place.
'Yes,' he finally relaxed, 'I'm safe here. There's nothing to worry about. Peter Pettigrew died in 1981, hours after the Potters. Nobody suspects otherwise.'
14 November 1992
2nd Year Boys Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts
Harry lay on his bed that evening, wide awake. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the girl from before cooing at him and squeezing his cheek between her fingers. Then he saw as she stood up, older, more worn, and dispassionately raised her wand so that it poked between his eyes. He saw her mouth move, saw the glow of her wand as it prepared to launch a spell. And then Harry wasn't looking at her any longer but at the face of a wizard.
His face was handsome and well-shaven, but Harry could hardly pay attention to that. Not when his eyes were blank and emotionless. In horror, Harry was unable to tear his gaze away from the dead eyes rolling around the still-living face. He felt that he'd never forget the picture of Frank Longbottom for as long as he lived.
And especially not when he saw that face reflected in Neville.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to relax, to think of anything other than the revelation that he'd been feet away from a murderer, someone so demented that they willingly—enthusiastically—tortured another human being into a coma. Not even Voldemort had been so cruel, and it made Harry feel sorry for the pain Neville must have gone through. They'd both lost their parents, but at least Harry had been able to leave their deaths in the past. Neville couldn't do that. Bellatrix hadn't finished the job and now that single strand of hope connecting Neville to his parents serves more as a noose constantly hanging over him.
Hope was the cruelest thing imaginable. It makes you hold onto the impossible and bear the pain just for the chance of future happiness. It's a siren's song, tempting unwitting sailors closer and closer to their own self-destructive deaths.
Because of Bellatrix Lestrange's cruelty, Neville had hope. His parents weren't dead; they weren't gone. Harry pitied the boy. He remembered living in the Dursley's cupboard, hoping day after day for a chance at reprieve. Nobody deserved the burden of hope. It taunted everyone, lingering in view of them yet always hovering just out of reach. It gave people the strength to continue only to break them later in life—after they'd suffered the price.
Harry did not sleep that night. Twin orbs of violet, glinting with detached, mercurial curiosity, stole him from its grasp.
14 November 1992
Malfoy Manor
Bellatrix speared her fork into the meal in front of her. The metal prongs sank into the meat without a sound. She wiggled the fork in place to assess whether the roast would fall apart on its own. When it did not, she brought a knife to bear on the meal and sliced her supper open, bringing the freed piece of meat to her mouth with relish.
Across from her, Lucius sat primly, eating his food in small, calculated bites. His movement was robotic in its tranquility. Beside him sat Narcissa and she too restricted herself to embodying propriety as she ate—though Bellatrix personally thought her sister looked more natural in her movements than Lucius. Occasionally the two of them would converse with each other, asking mundane questions about things Bellatrix didn't care enough about to pay attention to.
They never talked to her. Nobody ever wanted to talk to her.
Eyeing the two from her end of the table, Bellatrix shrugged. She didn't want to talk to them either. Not when they've proven useless in helping her find her Lord.
A tapping at the window drew her attention away from the couple. A common barn owl perched itself on the windowsill. When it saw that the manor's occupants had noticed it, the bird raised its leg to display the roll of paper tied to it. Even from her spot across the room, Bellatrix could make out the distinguishable characters that made up the Daily Prophet's typeface.
"The Prophet?" Narcissa questioned, absently raising her wand to let the owl inside. "Do you know anything about this, Lucius?"
"No." He replied. "The Ministry was as dull as Asphodel today. I haven't a clue what this could be about."
The owl hopped into the manor, seemingly knowing that it would be improper to simply fly through the room. The crack of apparition signaled the arrival of Dobby, who appeared in front of the creature and hastily untied the newspaper from its binding before delivering it to Lucius himself.
"Master." He spoke, deferentially offering the rolled-up parchment as if he were presenting an award to the man. Bellatrix scoffed at the blatant display of subordination.
Lucius, unimpressed with her reaction, raised an eyebrow at her before taking the paper from the house elf. The moment he had, Dobby vanished, returning to his unseen duties.
Unfortunately for Bellatrix, Lucius raised the paper in front of his face, preventing her from gleaning any information from his features. The news must have been notable too if the man's sudden gasp and clenching fingers were any indication. Bellatrix briefly considered summoning the paper to herself but decided she could be patient and let Lucius read the article first.
"What does it say?" Of course, her sister had no such patience. Bellatrix was sure the trait came from a life of always getting what she wanted. From birth, Narcissa had their parents wrapped around her finger and her time in Malfoy Manor only highlighted that the same had happened with Lucius.
Well, so long as her impatience continued to benefit Bellatrix, who was she to stop her? Cracking a grin Bellatrix added her voice to the conversation.
"Yes, Lucius." She began. "What does it say? Don't keep us waiting."
He rolled the paper back into its original form, passing it off to Narcissa with shaking hands. Now that Bellatrix could see his face, she noticed how much paler he looked than just minutes earlier. Yet, beneath the surface was a stony resistance beginning to form. When he spoke, it was with a confidence Bellatrix had found lacking in him ever since her arrival.
"Apparently, there's been an intruder at Hogwarts." He leveled her with a calculating gaze. "You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you Bellatrix?"
Drats. She'd been found out.
"Severus tattled on me." She answered, already knowing that was the only way anyone could have known about her presence. "Grimy little traitor probably ran to Dumbledore the moment I left." She spat to the side of her. "Should have just killed him for abandoning our Lord instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt."
Narcissa gasped from her place beside Lucius, lowering the paper and turning an accusing glare towards her. Bellatrix mentally applauded the venom her sister was able to muster. It had been so long since she'd shown any sign of a backbone.
"You went to Hogwarts!?" She demanded. "Do you know how dangerous that was!? Who knows what would have happened had you been caught!"
Bellatrix clicked her tongue in disappointment. "So faithless, sister." She chided. "I assure you, I can handle a pack of runts, or a few washed-up, doddering professors. The only true danger was Dumbledore and he's always been too busy sitting in his ivory tower to be anywhere else."
Peculiarly, Narcissa did not seem to take comfort in her words. If anything, she only looked more wan as Bellatrix affirmed her ability to fight a bunch of schoolchildren. Bellatrix briefly toyed with the idea of telling them she'd met Harry Potter but couldn't think of how she'd avoid revealing her oath should they dig too deeply on that subject.
"I believe what Narcissa means to say," Lucius interrupted, taking his wife's hand in his own, "is for what purpose did you decide to pay Hogwarts a visit? Surely it couldn't be for Severus himself. We could have arranged for him to meet you here, had you wanted an audience with him."
"Of course it wasn't for him." Bellatrix laughed. "It was because of the Heir!" At their panicked looks, Bellatrix leered at them. "You thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" She accused. "But that little errand the two of you went on this morning happened to pique my interest and, upon investigating the cause of your departure, what else did I find but news that our Lord has returned?"
She wagged a finger at Lucius's chalky face. "See!" She pointed to him. "You can't even deny it. I haven't seen those papers anywhere since I returned. You probably threw them out the moment I was away."
Bellatrix watched Lucius swallow, following the bob of his throat. He made to speak but closed his mouth before any words escaped. He swallowed again, this time appearing more successful in gathering enough courage to speak.
"There's been a misunderstanding." He placated, looking towards Bellatrix pleadingly. "We'd never hide anything from you, especially not anything concerning the Dark Lord."
"Lies!" Bellatrix gaily sang, laughing in the face of his deceit. "Poor Lucius, you think your words can convince me of your treachery?" She chuckled. "Be grateful that the Lord will find you useful. That is the only thing that spares you."
"You can't stay here!" Narcissa suddenly blurted out, immediately looking horrified when she realized she'd spoken aloud. Still, she weathered Bellatrix's look and repeated her words.
"It's too dangerous." She plead. "Now that everyone knows you're alive, they'll start a witch hunt for you…and this is the most obvious place for them to start!"
"She's right." Lucius affirmed, clutching Narcissa's hand in solidarity. "Not even I would be able to refuse them entrance. You must leave. Your recent escapade has painted a target on all our backs and, if they discover you here, the Dark Lord will have no followers to return to." Throughout the speech, he had grown increasingly assured in his words. By the end, Lucius conveyed nothing but conviction. "I'm sorry Bellatrix," he apologized, "but we simply can't harbor you here any longer."
She alternated looking between the two of them for any signs of weakness but, not finding any, sighed. "Fine." She reluctantly conceded. "Ickle Bella-kins caused too much trouble and now she has to go find somewhere else to stay." She dismissed the conflicted expressions of the Malfoys. "By my own sister, no less!" She clutched her heart theatrically. "Thrown to the wolves in the midst of winter by my very own blood!"
"Bella," Narcissa tried to interrupt, already reaching out a hand and making to stand. "It's not li—"
"No!" she continued to wail, spinning around the dining room in a frenzy. "I understand."
Her antics had taken her to the entryway separating the dining room from the parlor. Peeking one eye out from behind her fingers, she saw the worry in her sister's face. Bellatrix felt a brief flash of guilt for riling up such emotion in her but dismissed it immediately. Narcissa deserved it for kicking her out, no matter how necessary. Besides, the only reason for her to worry would be if she didn't trust in Bellatrix's competence. The thought soothed any lingering guilt.
Dropping the hand obscuring her features, Bellatrix let her expression fall into one of amusement, smiling at Narcissa and Lucius cheerily. "I'll be back for Yule!" She called, raising her wand in preparation to apparate. "And I expect gifts, too!" She cackled at their stupefied expressions. "Twelve years of no gifts only for you to evict me the year I finally get out! You have a lot of making up to do, Cissy!"
Her piece said, she twisted in place and promptly vanished from the manor, unknowing of the panic she'd caused in her farewell.
15 November 1992
Great Hall, Hogwarts
"Attention, Students!" Lockhart proudly crooned during breakfast the next morning. Standing up from his seat at the table, he puffed his chest out and, seeing that the majority of students had turned towards him, began his speech. "Due to the recent fiasco that occurred yesterday, I, in an effort to bolster everyone's morale and give you all a better sense of security, have petitioned the headmaster to open a dueling club!"
He paused to allow for applause. When it didn't come, Lockhart hastily continued his speech. "Now, I know that it has been some time since Hogwarts had last taught dueling—and I'm sure many of you are unfamiliar with the details behind the discipline. Fear not! You are in capable hands!" He pressed his hand to his chest. "Starting tonight, I will begin instruction to any willing to join. All are welcome, regardless of year or house. And, if you take my lessons seriously, not even fearsome dark wizards will be able to worry you! For if I can impart even a portion of my magnificence in these lessons, you will all surely grow to become masters of the dueling arts!"
This time, his words did get a reaction. Cautious, polite applause rippled throughout the crowd and Harry even saw curious and eager expressions on some of the students' faces. Of course, interspersed with all of that were also the groans and derogatory snickers at the professor once again strutting around like a proud peacock.
Dumbledore, seeing the expressions Lockhart was too oblivious to notice, loudly cleared his throat, looking pointedly towards the DADA professor. "I believe you're forgetting something, Gilderoy."
Lockhart tilted his head in confusion, not able to understand what the headmaster was referencing. When Dumbledore nodded his head down the row of professors, however, he quickly caught on.
Giving an embarrassed tinkle of a laugh, Lockhart hopped back to his feet. "Of course!" He exclaimed. "How silly of me! Our resident potions professor has also expressed a willingness to participate in the dueling club." He leaned over the table to give a conspiratorial aside to the audience. "Obviously, we can't have a professor sitting among the students, but Severus seemed so eager to join the club, going on about his qualifications and experience in dueling that I just couldn't say no! He will be acting as my assistant and helping the more… remedial students who are new to dueling as he, too, learns from my teachings. Who knows," he shrugged, "perhaps my teachings will inspire Severus to take his studies even further. We all know education doesn't end after Hogwarts!"
Throughout his patronizing speech, Harry watched as Snape's features got progressively stonier. He could see the anger and spite swirling away in those flinty eyes as Lockhart continued speaking. It seemed to Harry that everyone except Lockhart himself had their eyes riveted to Snape, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Even the professors sitting next to him looked uncomfortable as they fidgeted in place.
Lockhart finally noticed that he'd lost the attention of the crowd. He followed their gazes to join them in looking at Snape. "Oh!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I suppose Severus wants to say some words, too." He laughed at his forgetfulness. "Yes. Go on then, Severus."
If anything, the man's features hardened even further at the encouragement. Nevertheless, he stood from his seat, looming over the table like a dark shadow. "It is a… pleasure," he drawled out, "to work with one as… renowned as you, Lockhart. I'm sure that your dueling club will lead to some truly unforgettable experiences." A cutting smile briefly carved its way onto his mouth, spilling his poison-tinted words into the open air. "I look forward to being present when they occur."
"Wonderful!" Lockhart responded in the silence that followed, completely unaware of his colleague's sarcasm. Harry didn't know who to pity more: Snape, who appeared to want nothing more than to eviscerate Lockhart, or the fool that had no idea that he was digging his own grave.
That was a lie.
After all the time he'd spent in Hogwarts, Harry was incapable of feeling pity for Snape.
'Greasy git deserves to be ridiculed for once.' He thought. 'Let him have a taste of his own medicine.'
A shame it would come at the cost of Lockhart's life but there was no better candidate on staff to make that sacrifice. It would be Lockhart's crowning achievement in Harry's eyes.
A/N:
Fun fact: this was originally going to be two chapters. One for the petrification reaction and one for the Bellatrix reaction. Then I realized that nobody would want two reaction chapters back-to-back, so I cut some stuff out and merged them together. That's why it may seem all over the place in terms of perspective.
I've also gotten comments that people thought this would be a Bellatrix redemption fic. Sorry if that was ever implied, I thought I'd left enough indications that Bellatrix is Voldemort's most trusted. This isn't some cheesy subpar cliché in which she's revealed to have been brainwashed or manipulated. Bellatrix doesn't need a savior; she doesn't need redemption. Let her be a crazy witch and enjoy the chaos. If you want a nice Black sister, go read an Andromeda fic or something.