Fall into Darkness

by Useful Oxymoron

Almost twelve years after the end of the second war, Bellatrix is well on the path of healing her mental instabilities with more than a little help of a very determined Hermione. When during a holiday getaway to a magnificent caldera lake in the lovely woods of the Pacific West her beloved Hermione is taken from her, Bellatrix will have to rely on her lingering inner darkness to co

24. Ascendance

Fall Into Darkness

Chapter 24: Ascendance

For the first time in ages, Trixie actually felt like she was doing better.

The last few months at Cauldron Lake Lodge were months without any form of episodes whatsoever and it felt like a great weight had finally fallen off her shoulders. These days, she'd spend a lot of time doing exercises, cooking in the kitchen, painting, writing and playing music. Or simply lie on the sofa in the common room cuddling up against Max, the lodge's very popular emotional support dog. He was such a good boy.

Today was looking to be a very beautiful day again. The weather had turned from summer to winter. Leaves had left the trees and snow was a more common occurrence now. She loved to sit by the window and merely stare at the lake while stroking a dog's head in her lap. She didn't dare express it yet, but she had hopes of actually going home soon. But first it was time for her daily session. After a short trek into the lodge, she found herself lying on the sofa in Hartman's office, the man sat in his leather chair with a smile on his face.

"You have made amazing progress, Trixie," said Hartman with his usual calm demeanour. "You've been doing so much better."

"I feel much better," Trixie confirmed. And she did. "No more… dreams. No more delusions. Both feet squarely on the ground. I have an overactive imagination. My situation was bad enough without being exacerbated by the untreated head-trauma from the car-crash I was in."

"Quite," said Hartman. "Psychological and physiological ailments often go hand in hand. And then, of course, let's not disregard untreated traumas from your youth."

Trixie cast her eyes down until Hartman patted her on the shoulder. "Let me reassure you once more, Trixie. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. What is wrong is that misplaced guilt and self-doubt led you down a dark path of self-delusions and elaborate fantasy-worlds you created in your own head."

Trixie nodded briefly, slightly angry with herself for wasting so many years of her life living in a fantasy-lie. There was no magic. Witches didn't exist. She hadn't been soldier in a magical war. All she had ever been was a washed-up artist and a waitress in a seedy truck-stop. There'd been no love of her life, no girl who believed in her, no woman to sweep her off her feet. It was almost… sobering.

"What's on your mind, Trixie?" asked Hartman. "Be honest."

Trixie sighed heavily. She regarded the office, let her eye rove around the books, the diplomas and the oaken desk. Memories of her fantasy-life came back to her for a moment, but she cast them out just as quickly. They weren't real, after all. "I was just thinking… it's stupid, I…"

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering if there's an Hermione out there for me. Not… Hermione as my imaginary girlfriend, just… someone to love and hold and… share my life with."

Hartman sat back. "Trixie, that's not a stupid thing at all! You are a kind and gentle creative soul with a tortured past through no fault of her own. But now that you're stable and well under way to recovery, I see no reason why you would not be able to find a woman who will love you for who you are."

"Thank you," Trixie muttered. Though a bit embarrassing it helped her look forward to a positive future.

Hartman smiled. "I have a message from your father. His health is improving and looks forward to seeing you. He is… anxious."

"He shouldn't be," said Trixie. "He sent me to a place to get better."

"Forgiveness is a powerful thing," said Hartman. "He struggles with what he put you through. It will do him a world of good to see you recovering."

Today's session ended and Trixie found herself in the kitchen sorting through some of the available ingredients. She was in a muffin-mood today and it looked like there were just enough raisins left for a single batch. Rather diligently, Trixie started digging her hands into the freshly made dough. These muffins would have to be perfect. Oven time, now. Once the muffins were in the oven, she decided to work on some other treats. Hm, what was left to work with. There was oatmeal, whipped cream, brown sugar and some biscuits. She could work that into an oatmeal crumble pie without much effort using some custard and left-over flour. While the muffins were in the oven, she worked on the crumble pie. Putting on an oven-glove, she pulled the muffins out of the oven when they were down and left them on the counter to cool. While she put the crumple pie into the oven, she noticed something from the corner of her eye. Something which almost made her heart stop.

Clad in a leather corset and twirling a finger through her hair, a smirking version of herself stood far closer to her than she felt comfortable with.

No. No! She was doing to well! Why her? Why now?!

Trixie almost started to hyperventilate, closed her eyes and muttered softly. "No. Go away. You're not real. You're just a figment."

"A figment am I?" said the delusion. "Too good to remember your old friend Miss Scratch?"

"No, no, no, no," Trixie squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth. "I was doing so well. I am doing so well. I don't need you in my life! I don't need delusions! It's all in my head."

Miss Scratch let out a heavy sigh. "Good Merlin, if I had known how fragile you are, I wouldn't have pushed on you so hard," said Miss Scratch as she started pacing around her through the kitchen. She heard every step she took, every click of her heeled boots on the tiles, but didn't dare to look at her. "You think you've been here for months, but in reality it's only been a few minutes at most. It's ironic, really. You're so convinced you've been living a delusion that you dove head-first into one."

"NO!" Trixie hissed. "I am getting better! I am healing! You are NOT REAL!"

"Just when I think you can't get any more pathetic, you exceed expectations!" snorted Miss Scratch. "Poor little witch. Can't handle a little madness anymore. All that therapy made you too rigid, too compliant. You know reality is different here or has your age dulled your wits too, hm? It's sink or swim now, hm?"

The doors to the kitchen swung open and in strolled Hartman. The doctor, clad in his usual sweater, stepped up to her. "Are you alright, Trixie? I thought I heard commotion in here."

Trixie forced herself to calm down. She took a few deep breaths. "I'm fine," Trixie lied. "I… I think I might be developing a migraine."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," said Hartman. "Why don't you go to bed earlier tonight, hm? And stop by the nurses station for a prescription. I'll go write up one in the bit."

Trixie nodded while she tried her best to ignore the eye-rolling Miss Scratch.

"Though," said Hartman. "I would be remiss if I would deny you an opportunity to finish your work here first. Your muffins are to die for, after all."

It was then that Miss Scratch dropped the bombshell. "Hermione is real," she hissed in her ear, stood next to her. "That smile you love to see, that voice you love to hear, those soft brown locks you love to run your hands through, those lips you love to kiss, that body you love to press against you at night. All real. And he is keeping you from her!"

Trixie swallowed hard as memories came flowing back. Memories of Bright Falls, of fighting darkness, of life spent with Hermione, her dark past, her magic, her redemption and her new life. All of it. But foremost, the memory that Hartman had lied to her before. How he had tried to twist her into something she was not. Trying to get her to live a lie by claiming her real life was a delusion. Hartman had his own agenda. Hartman was the liar. Hartman, who was now bent over the cooling muffins examining her handiwork. Almost instinctively, her hand reached for the block of kitchen knives.

"Do it," hissed Miss Scratch. "DO IT!"

There was no hesitation. No remorse. The kitchen knife was plunged into Hartman's back with the expert aim and force of a trained killer. There was hardly a sound as he exhaled before he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. As he lay face-down in a quickly expanding puddle of blood, all light drained from the lodge, replaced by a greenish tint of living darkness all around them. It was then and there that Trixie White ceased to be and Bellatrix Black regained her dominance.

Bellatrix Black was a witch. A soldier. A killer. And she was still in the Dark Place.

Miss Scratch clapped her hands like a little girl before letting out a whoop of joy. "Aced that, killer! You're getting back to your baseline insanity, just the way I like it! Murder is in that lovely pure blood of ours, hm?"

Bellatrix shot her a look. "I actually feel rather rational, all things considered."

"Oh, poo, don't ruin the moment. Besides, insane people don't know they're insane," said Miss Scratch. The darkness was piercing by a blinding light. Though she couldn't see from the kitchen, Bellatrix guessed it had come from outside, on the side of the platform." Look over there. Zane's light. The tosser's back, so you're done sinking for now. You'd better get over there, I suppose."

Bellatrix crossed her arms, giving her a suspicious glare. "What's your game? Why are you suddenly so helpful?"

"Me?" Miss Scratch gave her a pouty look. "Oh, just looking out for number one. Which is me. Not you. Me. Though I am you and you are me!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Unlikely. I've moved on from you!"

Miss Scratch motioned to the body of Hartman on the floor. "Yes… I can see that," she cackled. "That rather looks like something I would do, wouldn't you agree? And this isn't the first time either, biscuit! You carved up a man with a kitchen knife… cut his ear off too, that was creative. And the way you sliced through those monsters in the woods. Pure artistry. Nothing wrong with admitting you've enjoyed indulging your true nature."

"Are you trying to help me or harm me?" Asked Bellatrix. Then she remembered: at that point in her life, she had been quite insane. Her younger reflection might not even have realized the difference. She might be an obnoxious twat, but she was also right: Bellatrix was a soldier, a killer, capable of terrible things. She could feel the pressure mounting. Everything she was seeing was a twisted reality from within her own mind. Of her memories and thoughts. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage. She had to accept it, if all of this happening was her own doing then she was literally fighting herself. It was a moment of clarity.

After finishing the story, she felt like she herself had been finished. All she had wanted to do was to save Hermione. Sacrificing herself for her love had felt like a good end to her own story. A part of her had been ready to leave it end on that. Zane had reached her. She had run across a nightmarish landscape to follow a signal from him. He kept telling her she was sinking, going to deep. The dark place? Or... insanity? Perhaps they were the same. Human minds were not built to comprehend things like the Dark Place, after all.

Bellatrix walked through the darkened lodge, leaving Miss Scratch behind in the kitchen. The light from the diving helmet shone through the windows and Bellatrix found herself stood outside on the platform next to the sundial. Cauldron Lake was ahead of her, its dark waters beckoning while Zane floated in the air before her. A thick dark fog hanging over obscured anything further than a few yards away.

"Thomas," greeted Bellatrix.

"You have done well, Bellatrix. Now I can accompany you. You are trapped in your own dream. You have to wake yourself up, but first you have to reach yourself," said Zane.

"I'm starting to understand now," said Bellatrix. "I am separated from my body. My body is still in the cabin!"

"Yes," said Zane. "My cabin. On the other side of the lake. It won't be easy, but remember that creativity has power here, for good or for ill. Use it to your advantage. And be careful of Miss Scratch!"

Bellatrix glanced back to the lodge. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"Bellatrix, I can only give you the tools you need," he said. "You have to be the one to use them."

Bellatrix gave him a sideways glance. "Just how real are you?" she asked.

Silence. "In this part of the Dark Place? Not nearly as much as I'd like."

She could sense more ideal shapes floating nearby. Zane's doing, no doubt. She closed her eyes and focused. The ideal shapes didn't really make much sense to her. There was no clear indication what they could be, but she focused on making them real nonetheless. When she opened her eyes again, the fog was clearing. Nestled among the mountains on the other side of the lake, was a lighthouse. But not just any lighthouse. This was the stark-white lighthouse from Southwold, the one often featured in her nightmares. It had absolutely no reason to be here. A lake had no need for a lighthouse to begin with, but this was also a building she knew was in the UK and not plopped down on the side of a mountain of a caldera lake in the middle of Oregon.

"Is that?" Bellatrix muttered.

"I see," said Zane. "Very appropriate. A beacon, of a sort. I can help you reach it. But after that, you will be on your own. I can't enter the cabin now. The Dark Presence made sure of that at our last encounter. This is not a fight anyone else can win for you."

She sensed more ideal forms above the lake and, after bringing them to reality, she was faced with a series of floating islands. Literal rocks and pieces of road in mid-air, high above the lake. Bellatrix looked down again and could swear that the lodge was far higher above the lake then it should be. She would have to pull off some dangerous stunts to get to the lighthouse, far in the distance. Still, now that the end was in sight, it gave her hope.

The first leap over such a tremendous height filled the pit of her stomach. Of course none of these ideal forms were the ideal forms of 'flying brooms'. That would have been far too easy. At least the rocks underneath her feet were quite stable. Less could be said from the boat that was spawned, floating in midair as it did. The moment she jumped in, her heart skipped a beat when she found out rather quickly that the boat was quite tippy. Capsizing a flying boat from this high in the sky would be quite a bit less harmless than capsizing one floating in water. Still, the boat did the thing boats do and silently floated along an unseen current in the air. The lighthouse was a little closer now and Bellatrix had some time to reflect. About Zane. About Miss Scratch.

Was Zane even human anymore after so many years in this place? A chilling thought came over her: was Miss Scratch? Has she ever been human or just an ideal form given life? Zane had alluded to her being one of his biggest mistakes and Miss Scratch had revealed herself as a prisoner. But what about herself? Would she get out of his place unchanged? And how had this affected Hermione. She'd been here for two weeks. Had she experienced the same thing she had? Had Hermione been forced to run through an ever-changing maze made from her own nightmares while an alternate version of herself had been tormenting her along the way? God, would her beloved Hermione even gotten out of the Dark Place with her sanity intact? Or had she freed her only for Hermione to end up in an insane asylum for the rest of her days?

The boat 'docked' at another floating jerry. She was about halfway to the lighthouse now and it looked as if there was more jumping to do.

"The world was tilted," sounded the last voice she had wanted to hear right now. "It was turning upside down, Bellatrix Black was lost! She couldn't tell which way was up or down! The whirlwind came to tear her apart! The boat started to spin! Bellatrix was too high. TOO HIGH! At this height, the water would be like hitting concrete! The storm was coming! It would throw her off!"

As the wind started to whip through her hair, Bellatrix cursed under her breath. It seemed like Miss Scratch was up to her old tricks again.

The wind made moving and navigating the floating bits of world harder than it already was. Flashes of the lake even further below her didn't do much for her sense of vertigo. Especially not since the floating debris she was hopping over were getting smaller and narrower. She was almost blasted off a log or a piece of road by a gust of wind more than once.

"The storm had come. It was made from darkness! She'd seen what it could do! It would swallow her whole."

The storm whirling around her became darker and wilder, obscuring her vision and making it harder to keep standing. The winds whipping around her reminded her of the Dark Presence. It was just a memory, but it could still kill her. She thankfully found herself on a significantly larger piece of floating land. She recognized it as a piece of the Elderwood National Park. More specifically, the visitor's center. Buck-tooth Charlie stood proudly displayed in the middle of this nightmare land, braving the wild winds. While her long hair whipping in her face, Bellatrix pressed her back against the building to keep herself from being blown off the platform to her doom below. She managed to dive into the visitor's center and pushed the door shut behind her, giving her a little reprieve. The wind howled as the building creaked, but she seemed to be safe for now.

The bright light indicated that Zane was there, floating above her in that diving suit of his. "Stay focused on the lighthouse. If you can reach it, you will find the cabin."

"It's getting barmy out there," Bellatrix hissed. "I can't even see the bloody lighthouse, let alone get to it!"

"You are fighting to reclaim yourself," said Zane. "The landscape reflects that strain. If you can reach the cabin, you can claim the lucidity that fends off the darkness."

Now that she knew what was happening, the environment became even stranger. Like it didn't even bother to pretend that things were normal.

"I can help you," said Zane and pointed a gloved hand to the broom closet. "Prepare yourself and step through the door. You will give Miss Scratch the slip for a moment."

Right. Bellatrix was ready to continue. To escape the storm, this Dark Place and anything in it. She reached for the knob of the door and pulled it open. The moment she did, she was sucked inside a void, tumbling through a dark tunnel. Memories flashed in front of her as she fell and tumbled painlessly through this emptiness. Hermione, being stuck in that Swedish prison, developing herself through creativity, learning to paint, learning to cook, learning music, falling in love, being freed, illicit sex in a Swedish apartment, reconnecting with her sisters, Nymphadora being a twat to her about everything, moving to Montana, starting a new life, finding a job, her setback, then Bright Falls. The cabin. Losing Hermione to the Dark Presence. Nymphadora helping her. Max helping her. Freeing Hermione by sacrificing herself. It had been real. It had all been real. Her resolve became stronger than ever before. Hermione was waiting for her. Max was waiting for her. Nymphadora was waiting for her.

Time to end this.

Bellatrix was roughly tossed into what looked to be some kind of… elevator. The moment she tumbled inside the thing started moving up.

"You're doing well," sounded the disembodied voice of Zane. "You're past the storm."

"An elevator?" Bellatrix muttered. "This place is way past making any sort of sense."

"It is a dream," said Zane. "This is a vast place between worlds, home to forces and beings that are completely alien."

"Such as the Dark Presence?"

"Yes. I know what happened to it after your final encounter."

Right now, Bellatrix didn't even want to know where that bloody thing was or what it was doing. "Tell me the truth, Zane. Is there actually any way out of here?"

"Sometimes transmissions can be sent between worlds. You've done this yourself. But to actually leave the Dark Place after having sunk this deep? I haven't found a way," said Zane.

A horrible thought came over it. "Did I ever actually leave the Dark Place that night?" asked Bellatrix. "Or was all of it fake?"

"You were never fully in it until the end," said Zane. "When the Dark Presence imprisoned you, it was not here, but in a far shallower part of the Dark Place. It needed you as a part of our world."

Bellatrix chuckled. "I love a challenge. And I promise you, Thomas, that I will be the first one to escape this Dark Place. I have a good reason to."

"I have no doubt," said Zane.

The elevator let out a pleasant ting. The doors parted and she stepped into… Stucky's petrol station of all places. Not a somewhere she particularly wanted to be, but obviously she was not the one deciding this. Or was she? The place didn't seem to be much different than the last time she'd been there. A sizable chunk of floating island could be seen through the store's windows beyond the gas pumps. The lighthouse was quite close now. Her escape was at hand.

"Oh, poo!" sounded a familiar voice. "You escaped my storm! Tommy-boy has been helping you, hasn't he? Tsk, tsk. Well, let me all to the story one more hurdle. Ahum, another monster made real! Black would never make it. The insanity of herself was already part of it! She couldn't possibly win. She didn't even want to!"

Bellatrix groaned inwardly, but quickly silence herself and dove to the ground. She was glad to have done so when she heard the heavy footfalls outside. Something very large moved past the petrol station and was stood near the pumps. Even from her perch, she could see the antlers wreathed in darkness.

A wendigo. Of course that cunt of a woman had summoned a shadow-infused wendigo on her. Cunt!

As silently as she could, she crawled over the floor of the store into the adjacent garage, being careful to avoid any of the loose tools Stucky had left lying about. Any noise would bring that slathering fiend upon her. The large garage door was open and she pressed her back to the side of it. When she dared to glance outside, she saw that the rotting twelve-foot tall shadow-wreathed creature was stalking the petrol station. It knew she was here somewhere. It threw its skull-like head up into the air to try to sniff her out. Bellatrix knew it was only a matter of time before it would find her and eat her. She had no wand and no convenient helicopter above to protect her with its search lights.

Think, Bella, think!

Then it came to her. Muggle petrol stations generally had something explosive about them, Those pumps outside already looked damaged and there was some sort of large plastic container near. She opened it and the oddly sweet smelling petrol inside tickled her nose. Whenever Hermione went to a petrol station, Bellatrix had always enjoyed that smell. And now it would come on handy.

As silently as she could, she turned the container over and let the contents spill out. The liquid slowly moved towards the pumps and Bellatrix waited. The Wendigo noticed something had changed and fell down on all fours, making the ground shake as it did. It sniffed the petrol from up close.

Perfect.

Bellatrix waited. And waited.

The petrol had almost reached the pumps. Almost. There!

Bellatrix snapped her fingers and magical flames appeared from her thumb. She lit the petrol just as the creature let out a roar.

Bellatrix threw herself into the garage, rolling into a ball and forming a magical shield around her as the flame raced towards the pumps. A massive fireball shot out in all directions, bathing the station in light and fire. The wendigo roared in agony as it was consumed twice over, first in light then in fire, until nothing remained. Bellatrix raced from the burning station, coughing as she escaped the searing in heat.

She ran towards the lighthouse, collapsing at the edge of the floating island. The gap was too wide to jump, she could sense no ideal forms nearby and, by Merlin, she was tired. Really, really tired.

"Good, good," sounded the encouraging voice of Zane as she caught her breath. He floated in front of her, halfway across the gap. "You are getting stronger. As your strength grows, hers wanes."

Bellatrix snorted. "I don't feel stronger."

"The part of you that is in control is the cabin, dreaming and insane."

Bellatrix made a face. "I don't think I like the sound of that."

"You represent rational thought capable of setting her right. This is why I'm talking to you. If you can regain control you have a chance of making it," Zane said. "Part of you wants to make you want to give in, part of you seeks the oblivion of dreams."

"Is that her?" asked Bellatrix. "The part of me that wants to give in?"

"Miss Scratch?" Zane replied. "No. She is... something else."

"Level with me, Zane. Am I actually real?"

"You're as real as everything else in this place."

That was the wrong answer as far as Bellatrix was concerned. "Cut the cryptic bullshit, Thomas! Are you playing some kind of game with me, Zane!?"

Zane remained resolute. "I am not the author of your story."

"Really? Because I didn't write that page in the shoebox! That was you."

"Yes, but I needed you alive and you needed a wand. But like I said, I didn't write your life, I merely wrote the outcome. I am not..." Zane paused.

"I don't understand. Am I real or am I not?! And what is that other me if she's not another me?!" Bellatrix said.

"Bellatrix, you should keep going," pressed Zane. "This is not the time for an existential crisis."

The light coming from Zane's helmet brightened significantly. A tree was ripped from the ground and floated into the air. Soon, it floated vertically and perfectly fit the gap between the island and the edge of the lake. Bellatrix tested this make-shift bridge with her foot and found it to be secure. "How did you do that?" she asked when she carefully crossed the gap. "I sensed no ideal forms near."

"It's like learning to control a dream," said Zane. "You get more adept at it the longer you are in this place."

That struck a chord within the dark witch. "You... were in my dream!" she concluded. "On the ferry. That's where the lighthouse came from!"

"Yes," said Zane. "I taught you. Warned you. It was I who sent you the dreams and memories about your life with Hermione. To give you focus, to guide your pain and loss into purpose. Though at first the Dark Presence was much stronger than I am. As you gained ground, so did I. And in the end, you fixed the foolish mistake I made with Barbara. I let it out. You put it back in its cage."

Stood at the foot of this lighthouse, Bellatrix regarded it for a moment. Above her, its light turned rhythmically and with purpose. That's where it would be. That was the way up to the cabin. "This lighthouse, that dream. It was from the first war. The botched mission to Southwold. My cousin Sirius gave chase and as much as I am loathe to admit it, we were evenly matched. I was forced to make a... tactical retreat due to my injuries. There was a nearby lighthouse I took shelter in to gather my strength to continue the fight. I spent all night in that lighthouse, but he never came. I apparently gave him a slip. But I remember being tense all night. I sat there, holed up at the top floor with wand in hand just waiting for that door to open. I don't know why that memory stuck with me for so long."

"Memories are powerful," said Zane. "And I could latch onto the most powerful memories."

"Memories of trauma… and love," Bellatrix smiled to herself. The door to the lighthouse-keeper's home at the bottom of the lighthouse beckoned. The moment she stepped through, she was bathed in darkness. She was passing through another void. Voices. Voice ahead. No other place to go but towards them.

She found herself staring in an a session at Hartman's office, literally looking through the fourth wall. On the sofa was another version of her, Trixie White, as she lay talking with Hartman. Hartman who, rather comically, still had a knife sticking out of his back.

"Since we're being frank, Trixie and just let me reiterate just how happy I am that you've had this breakthrough," said the man. "I would like to summarise your condition. And please, just let me know when you think I'm being unfair."

"Of course, doctor," said Trixie.

Bellatrix made a face. Trixie had even lost the accent and was talking like a bloody Kansas girl.

"Well, let's start with the obvious. The car-crash related untreated head-trauma. I think that the injury affected you more than you realize. This combined with your history of mental imbalance has resulted into hallucinations. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say you've been existing in a state of all-encompassing denial. Your vivid fantasy casts you as a heroic victim. This allows you to skirt responsibility for your own actions. It allows you to address your imaginary problems and dismiss the things which truly trouble you. Your self-serving delusions and your personal problems are what allow you to save Hermione and perhaps even the world. You pour so much of your imagination into this self-deception, but what good has it really done for you? And did it really help Hermione? Was this really the best thing for your girl? Why don't we find out? There's something she wanted you to hear."

Hartman moved to fetch his tape recorder and put one of those tiny tapes in his machine. He pressed a few buttons and waited. Hermione's voice sounded from the machine, but it was wrong someone. It sounded off, malicious, untrue.

"All I ever wanted to do was help you, Belle," sounded Hermione, her voice soft but harsh. "I never expected to fall in love with you, but I did. And that make it all the more harder to stay impartial. I... had to hide things from my bosses, from my parents, from my friends... Sacrifices made so we could be together, but it's been slowly eating away at me. I am starting to feel that I am living a lie and I hate myself for it. But at the same time, I love you so much that I wouldn't want to have it any other way."

"I never knew you felt that way..." Trixie muttered in a pained voice.

"And then... trapped in the darkness and all I could think of was you. I know I will probably never be the same after that horrible experience. But I knew you would come for me and you did. Belle... wherever you are, I love you and I want you to come back," but then her voice distorted, changed. "I hate you! You left me all alone in the darkness for weeks! WEEKS! While you were gallivanting about fighting monsters with Nymphadora. God, you enjoyed it. You actually fucking enjoyed it! Ten years of my life I wasted on you! Ten years! I don't know where you are now and I don't give a toss! I never want to see you again! NOT EVER!"

"Ouch," said Hartman. "Well, I'd say you'd be best off staying here, wouldn't you agree? Would really want to cause Hermione even more harm?"

Bellatrix let magic flow through her body in such a way that it blasted both Hartman and Trixie into the void. It was all a lie, and a desperate one at that.

Miss Scratch stepped from the void, cackling like mad. "Oh, you should see the look on your face! HAH!" she said before fading out of existence again.

It was nonsense, a bad joke. Bellatrix had saved Hermione and she'd succeeded at that. That was all that mattered. Miss Scratch made a mistake with her toxic mirage. Now Bellatrix was all the more determined to snap out of it. As the darkness bled away around her, she found herself in a familiar looking lighthouse. One that was etched in her memory from experience and nightmare. Old bricks, wrought-iron stairs leading up. All she had to do was climb up.

"See Bella run," sounded the disembodied voice of Miss Scratch. "RUN, BELLA! RUN!"

Behind her, the door to the lighthouse flung open as hordes and hordes of shadow-creatures all fell over themselves to get inside and at her. Once again, Bellatrix ran for dear life as she rushed up the stairs. Thankful to herself yet again to have kept in such a good shape, she barely stayed ahead of the massive horde of creatures as she ran around and around and around up the stairs until she came to the ladder. Without a second thought, she shot up it, pushed over the hatch and threw herself inside. The large light-bulb roved around predictably and she only had to wait for the massive light to turn her way to incinerated the grasping arms. The moment the creatures were blasted with light, she could finally throw close the hatch and push the bolt shot.

Bellatrix lay on her back and let out a hearty laugh. She had done it. She had reached the top of the lighthouse.

The dark witch sensed an ideal form here, bright and inviting. The concept of 'escape' screamed at her to make it real. She reached out with her mind and a ladder leading to another hatch in the ceiling appeared. She could feel it. She could feel this would lead her to the cabin.

"Well done," sounded Zane as he floated just outside the lighthouse. "Still a little further to go."

"I must take control of my own mind," muttered Bellatrix.

"Good. You are aware. The one who is bent on your self-destruction is not. The danger isn't any less real."

"I've been a fighter all my life. I will not give up now," said Bellatrix as she got to her feet. "I wish I could take you with me, Thomas."

"I cannot leave this place. I must guard the gate."

Somehow, she was expecting that answer. "I owe you, Thomas. And don't mean just for helping me get through the Dark Place."

"Coming from you that is high praise. You might have a dark past, but you have noble soul. Hermione was right to believe in you. Your future with her will be bright. I… would ask if you would do me one favour."

"Ask."

"Visit the grave of Barbara Jagger and place a single violet on her tombstone."

"I promise."

And with that, Thomas Zane faded from existence right before her eyes. She knew that was the last she would ever see of him and was left with a sadness in the pit of her stomach. It felt like she had lost a friend. She wasn't sure what the Dark Presence had done to him so he couldn't follow, but from now on she was on her own. Bellatrix was woman enough to admit that she wouldn't have gotten this far without him. The end was near, that much was clear. She reached for the ladder.

Magical chains shot out, coiling around her arms, her legs and her torso. It didn't take long for them to wrap around her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She fell to her stomach, unable to move to struggle against her bonds. As expected, Miss Scratch grinned at her from her perch on the railing. "Well, well, well," she sing-songed. "You gave it a good run, but it ends here."

It became clear now. Zane had tried to warn her but had been unable to state so directly for whatever reason. "It was you," Bellatrix struggled to speak. "All of this was you. You made me sink deeper. Deep enough to reach your level. And then you had me drag you up to the surface along with me."

Her younger self, despite all her madness, was devious. Bellatrix had underestimated her cunning and ruthlessness. A fatal error.

"Finally she understands! About bloody time!" Miss Scratch hopped off the railing and promptly kicked her in the face. Pain shot through her and she tasted blood in her mouth. "You weak, pathetic wretch! Embarrassing blood-traitor! You are nothing! You are offal! It pains me to see myself reduced to you!"

Bellatrix couldn't help but let out a strained laugh. "You are dead. You'd be dead. If Zane hadn't..."

"ZANE PLUCKED ME OUT OF REALITY AND TRAPPED ME IN THIS HELLHOLE FOR FORTY YEARS! FORTY FUCKING YEARS! IF I WASN'T ALREADY MAD, I'D BE SO NOW! This is a place of thought and creation, but nothing is real! Nothing is permanent! I am nothing but a shade! A thought made reality! I hate Zane, I HATE HIM FOR PUTTING ME HERE! And it pains me even more that it was for your benefit! But I promised myself I would find a way out, to dig and claw myself back to reality and I finally have," shrieked Miss Scratch before kicking her roughly in the side.

Bellatrix closed her eyes. This was her, alright. Herself in all her mad obsessed glory.

"That hatch leads to the cabin. Your soul. Your body. OUR body," cackled Miss Scratch. "But I'll be the one claiming that lovely body of ours, not you. YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE REAL!"

"You wanted me to reach this place. You wanted me to guide you out!" Bellatrix grit her teeth, struggling against her bonds. "That's why you suddenly helped me at the lodge! You pushed me too far, make me regress into Trixie. Then you needed to get me back on track!"

"I've been spurring you on. I know my own mind, even if it has become addled with mudblood propaganda. You love a challenge. You love to persevere against all odds. You are proud of your past as a soldier, a warrior. Used to be you turned your creative energy towards combat, killing and torture. It will be like that again. Oooh, the wonderful things I will do once I am free of this place and when I have a body again. Even if it's a bit of a ten year older hand-me down. The things I will do, the lives I will destroy," she seemed giddy in anticipation. "Potter. That Weasley woman. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Lucius, that coward. All of them. All of them will suffer! Oh, oh, and I definitely re-murder that wolf-shagging niece of ours!"

Bellatrix cringed when treated to another kick in the ribs. She kept struggling against her bonds.

"First thing I'm going to do is find the Dark Presence. Like you, I am quite creative. Granted, I'm not much of a writer, painter, musician or chef, but I am creative enough to set it free. And once I am given the power it promised, I'm going to pay that girl of yours a visit. Oh, she's going to be so happy to see me! And so surprised when I tie her down in the living room of that pathetic little ranch of yours. I will carve my name into her skull. I will bring that filthy mudblood suffering she cannot imagine! What she will endure will make the Longbottoms' suffering seem like a Sunday afternoon in comparison! And you'll be here and you'll see it all and will be POWERLESS to stop her," giggled the reflection of her younger self. "Imagine her shock. 'Oh Belle, why are you doing this?' she will say as I cut off her toes one by one. 'I thought you loved me'. Hah!"

Rage. Blinding unadulterated rage. Power radiated from her as arcs of magic shot across her body. Bellatrix literally saw red. This was anger beyond anything she had ever felt in her entire life. This… this filth was threatening her Hermione? Mocking her? MOCKING HER?! Miss Scratch was still cackling when one by one, the chains started to snap apart from the strain of keeping her rage contained. And when the last one snapped?

Well, there was barely enough time for Miss Scratch to realize what was happening before Bellatrix leapt upon her like an angry panther. The first strike, breaking her nose with the flat of her hand right to the face was satisfying enough. But when Bellatrix grabbed a clump of that messy hair and started ramming Miss Scratch's face into the metal stanchions repeatedly, well, every single clank of bone on metal was like music to her ears.

"I…"

Clank.

"HAVE HAD…"

Clank.

"ENOUGH…"

Clank.

"OF YOU!"

Clank.

"YOU PATHETIC WRETCH OF A WOMAN!"

Clank.

"I HAVE LEFT YOU BEHIND!"

Clank.

"YOU CANNOT GROW!"

Clank.

"YOU ARE STAGNANT!"

Clank.

"I HAVE OUTGROWN YOU!"

Clank.

"I AM BETTER THAN YOU!"

Clank.

By now, Miss Scratch's face was a mess of blood, broken bone and broken teeth. And with any luck, her eye-socket had been crushed as well. Miss Scratch was whimpering and shaking. It was time to end this once and for all. "FALL INTO DARKNESS! WHERE YOU BELONG!"

With one heave, Bellatrix tossed Miss Scratch over the railing. The woman screamed as she was sent hurtling down from the lighthouse. At the bottom, she bounced of a rock and went in a neat trajectory over the chasm to fall into the darkness of Cauldron Lake below. From there, she would sink so deep she would never see the light of the surface again. It was so far and so dark below, she could barely see the oh-so-satisfying splash.

"CUNT!" she shouted after her. "I don't need magic to take care of the rubbish!"

All around her, the world faded away until nothing was left but the lighthouse surrounded by an endless black void. Broken from Miss Scratch's hold, the void was slowly filling up again with the power of raw creation.

Bellatrix let out a sigh and wiped the blood from her hands. Most of it wasn't hers. Or… well… the current hers would be more appropriate to say. It was time to leave this miserable place. She quickly climbed ladder and almost immediately found herself stood in the serenity of Diver's Isle at the Cauldron Lake. It was a nice summer day and the evening was starting to fall. Just like when she and Hermione had first arrived here. There was proper sound again, sound and smell. Birds singing, water splashing against the jetty. The distinct smell of pine. Bird Leg Cabin was just across the bridge.

She was surprised by the change of scenery, but was starting to understand the symbolism. The way the Dark Place flowed.

She made her way into the cabin and headed up the stairs, to the little office. There, laying on the ground in a fetal position, she found herself. Her own self, her proper self. She was cradling herself, crying, muttering to herself, lost into the delusion and the despair. "It's too dark," she heard herself whimper. "I can't find my way. Hermione. Pet. Pet. Hermione. I love you. Where are you? I need you."

What she saw was herself in a state of complete mental breakdown. What was it that Zane said? She was the part of her that had the will to go on? Bellatrix knelt down and gently touched her own shoulder. She closed her eyes.

And just like that, her mind was clear. She opened her eyes and lay on the floor. Her eyes and face wet with tears. It took her a moment to realize what was going on before she scrambled to her feet, taking in her surroundings. What had just happened? Did she lose it? No. No, that had been real. Bellatrix saw the diary, the mad scribblings, the Lake beyond the window. The veritable ocean of possibilities.

Zane had been right. She could think clearly again. But she could not survive in this place, not like he could. It wouldn't take much for her mind to stray and it was far too easy to get lost in the Dark Place again. No, she had to focus. She had to focus completely. Her diary was on the desk along with the ending she had penned. She knew what she wanted. Her greatest desire. She would have to rewrite the ending. Change it. Make it better. All she had to do, was add a single scene.

She sat down and focused on her work.