Copyrights where applicable. Storyline is mine. Characters are not. Ideas are mine. The Rasmus is not. Etc, etc, let's think of something better to do other than trying to sue the author, etc, etc, that's the end of that.
.x.
DEAD LETTER
dedicated to Jessi, who will love this; and VeeTee, who will appreciate it. And, of course, any other fangirl out there who likes Severus/Regulus.
".a dead letter is a.
.letter that has.
.never been.
.delivered because.
.the person to whom.
.it was written.
.cannot be found,.
.and it also cannot be.
.returned to the.
.person who wrote it."
--Dead Letters, The Rasmus
The Written Word
My beloved Bellatrix,
I have one last gift to give to you, to repay all that you have given to me. Never have I been in debt; never do I plan to.
Bella, you have made me come to a realisation, and for that I am and will be forever grateful. To one such as I, who has never been loved, your affection has been… a blessing for which I have a profound appreciation for.
Perhaps I love you, my disciple. Perhaps not. But the end is near; I leave this letter and this token among your possessions before I meet my beginning, and you your renewal.
With a certain key I will have achieved what I have desired, after all these years; the key is you. And so I give you my gift to repay what you have given and what you, and your bloodline, shall give in future. And forever will I pay for what I take, in a never-ending cycle.
You will not understand for many years, until you venture into what is Forbidden, but know this, my Bella. It is thanks to you, and you alone, that I have achieved my immortality.
--Tom
.x.
"So," Alex McDougall was saying, sifting through the contents of a cardboard box. A woman sat across from her, her long black hair twisted into a messy plait. "We have… your Gringotts key, a copy of Mansfield Park, a few sets of robes, your wand…"
Mrs Lestrange listened attentively, her ankles crossed. Very few people had the ability to make a pair of old, snug jeans and a worn out tank top look incredibly attractive, but Lestrange managed it. She had a gaunt, stringy look that suggested that she was quite healthy at one point; but now her beauty was faded, to something similar to that of a model on cocaine.
Alex shuffled through the objects in the box. Quite a few books - Lestrange had placed importance on the written word, it seemed. Alex dislodged a worn copy that had 'Marquis de Sade' stamped along the spine, and raised one of her chestnut eyebrows.
"Gift from the brother-in-law," Lestrange said. "He thought it would be funny. Of course, he was mad as a hatter."
Alex laughed and continued with the inventory. "Alright, well… A boxed set of Beatrix Potter?"
Lestrange hid her surprise. "From when I was a kid." She lied.
"Some more clothes, family jewellery, and a makeup case. And that's it." Alex was surprised. "Not a lot."
"Well, a lot was confiscated and they haven't given it back," Lestrange said, with a bit of a grimace. "They may have been destroyed. Well, I don't… need them, anymore. So it's okay."
Alex wondered; she wondered what had actually been ripped from Lestrange's person as the aurors had closed in. Before treatment, Bellatrix Lestrange had been as mad and murderous as the Dark Lord - the sort of person covered in poisons and murder weapons, and with a hands-on knowledge on how to use them all effectively.
"Well," Alex said, "that will be all. You have somewhere to stay until you get back on your feet?"
"I think so," Lestrange said, standing up. She had a lean, rangy manner, like a starved coyote. "If not, I can take care of myself."
"Okay." Alex leaned over the desk and shook hands with Lestrange. "Perhaps I'll see you some other time. But hopefully not during treatment."
"That would be nice," Lestrange said. And, picking up her box of personal possessions, she left Longbottom's Institute For Special Cases, trying not to break into a dead run.
.x.
She knocked sharply on the door, her thin, hard knuckles rapping on the solid wood. She was in a particularly posh, spacious district, which brought back small moments of nostalgia. Years ago, when she had still been young, and beautiful, she'd walked down these streets in the dead of night, laughing raucously with her companions, back from a party, or perhaps a raid.
Bellatrix Lestrange knocked again. She belonged here more than at her sister's manor; here, in this rich but not extravagant house, with the memories in the walls - and they were good memories, and so were rare.
The door opened and she looked up slightly to see a tall, thin man, whose surprise was quickly overtaken by his habitual acidity. "It's called a doorbell."
"Can I come in?" Bella asked. She had her cardboard box under her arm and balanced on her hip. "I need somewhere to stay. Narcissa said I was always welcome but, you know… I… can I come in?"
He stepped aside and let her enter. "Need help?"
"I've got it," Bella assured him, and went straight past the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen. He shut the door behind her and followed.
"So they let you out?" He asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. She deposited her box on the table and began to go through its contents.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Just this morning."
Severus Snape had a look on his face that suggested letting Bellatrix out of eyesight, let alone an entire facility, was a grave mistake. "You'd think they'd know by now."
"Excuse me, but the treatment helped," Bella protested, looking a little indignant. "Do you see me bursting into uncontrollable laughter? Stabbing things with pointy objects? Forgetting what I was talking about after five minutes of ranting?"
"I can't be sure, you haven't been here for five minutes yet." Severus replied.
Bella bristled. "Don't start with me."
"I've started nothing," Severus said. He was not cowed by her; Severus possessed within him a sort of rigid, dignified sophistication that was utterly immune to such a lowly threat as Bellatrix's flashing eyes. Give him a Dark Lord and he'd be on his knees without thinking, but Bellatrix had nothing to offer. "Would you like some tea?"
"You are crazy." Bella said, calming down somewhat. "It is unfair. They locked me away and let you frolic about frightening small children. Yes. I would like some tea."
Severus looked as if he might roll his eyes, or look to the heavens and ask for help, but Severus controlled himself by habit, so instead he started to boil some water.
"I've got some odd things in here," Bellatrix mused, "And aha, they let me keep The Mystified Magistrate."
Severus looked at her expectantly and Bella found herself grudgingly handing the volume over, and watched Severus turn the worn book around in his thin, dextrous hands.
"Lucius gave this to you?"
"Yeah. Nineteenth birthday, remember?"
Severus opened it.
Bella felt a burst of protection enflame her. "Don't read it!" she snapped. "It's.. er… explicit."
Severus looked amused. "Bellatrix, I am forty-five years old, and have been reading for forty-three of them. A book is not going to scar me. Even one by the Marquis de Sade"
"Yeah, well," Bella said, feeling slightly embarrassed. She was a naturally motherly sort; it came from being the eldest of three sisters and two cousins. "It's still such a torrid book."
"I know. I've read it." Severus said rather unblushingly, giving the book back before attending to the tea.
"You've read everything, and you've copies of them to boot," Bella muttered, shifting aside her clothing. "Bet you've got the Kama Sutra."
"It's upstairs."
"And I bet you keep it under your pillow too, you dirty old man."
"Dirty I may be, but at least I'm flexible."
"You know," Bella said, waving The Tailor of Gloucester at him, as if brandishing a disciplinary finger, "I can never tell when you're joking or not."
"Why do you have a book by Beatrix Potter?" Severus asked.
Bella looked down at the boxed set, all thirteen books - save for the one she held - arranged in order of publication. It made her a little sad. "I guess, you know, he left them for me."
"The Dark Lord had a set of Beatrix Potter all to himself?"
"Only thing he read as a kid, told me so himself," Bella said, sliding The Tailor of Gloucester back into its spot. "I guess it would be, I don't know… sacrilegious to throw them out, you know?"
"The Dark Lord was a complicated man." Severus said, setting the tea on the table by the books. It was a complication Severus had never bothered to understand, for his own safety; Bella, however, had pursued it with a passion. "Still, you were his favourite, so he would rather you keep it."
"I know." Bella said. Then she dug deep down into the box and unearthed a set of black robes.
They were unlike normal robes in the sense that they were not styled to any fashion, old or current, nor were they plain; they were cut strangely, so as to flow easily in certain parts and restrict in others, and the cuff designs were simple, triangular, done in blacker silk thread. They were undoubtedly finely made, if a bit wrinkled, and there was a bolt of cloth stuffed haphazardly into the hood.
Severus looked tense. "Put those away."
"Oh, they must not have seen these," Bella breathed. An expression of delight and nostalgia suffused her angular face as she rubbed the soft, whispery fabric against her cheek. "Why else would they let me keep them? They must look like any other robes all folded up…"
"Put them away, Bella," Severus demanded again, in a slightly strained voice. Bellatrix shot him a look, angry at him interrupting her moment, and went back to admiring the clothing, laying it down flat on the table and spreading it flat with the lightness of a mother's touch. She then pulled out the wrinkled piece of cloth stuffed in the hood and flattened it out between her hands; when tied about her head the material, unblemished except for two eye slits, covered her the top of her face but divided at the nose, trailing down on either side of her cheek into two points.
She wanted to put it on; she wanted to slide the robes over her head and tie on the mask, and maybe for a second - just one, glimmering second - she'd feel like herself again, without the medications and the therapy and the imprisonment, and the doctors who asked her prodding questions and diagnosed her as stark raving mad.
Then Severus was there, pulling the material out of her grasp and carefully folding it up. "You don't belong in these anymore." he said quietly. "That age has passed."
"Where's your set?" She asked, a little dazedly.
"I put it under a copy of the Holy Bible. That way I'll never have need to uncover them."
"Very amusing," Bella said dryly. She smoothed the robes along the tabletop again; her forehead wrinkled a little when her palm ran over a bump.
Severus was back to reading The Mystified Magistrate, so Bella didn't have an audience when she pulled out a somewhat crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her Death Eater robes. It wasn't on parchment, nor was it written with a quill; it was merely a piece of lined paper, the sort torn out of a cheap notebook, and the note within was penned hastily in blue ink.
But even without the sharp, swooping lines of quill and calligraphy, Bellatrix easily recognised the writing of that of the Dark Lord. The style depended largely on Voldemort's mood - slow and soft when he was at ease, sharp and pointed when angry - but no matter what, his letters were usually cramped, and the spaces between words larger than usual.
And he signed it with Tom.
It didn't take long for her to read it all; once she was done her hand started to spasm, and she almost crushed the fragile paper between her long, bony fingers.
Token…
Strangely, Bellatrix didn't feel nervous, or uneasy, or overjoyed. She felt an excited satisfaction. She could still hear Andromeda's voice in her ear, warning her. Don't throw your life away. Don't follow when you can lead. Don't give it all away.
Andromeda had always tried to control her older sister; to tell her what was right or wrong. But Bella saw the world with crystalline clarity, and her mind was sharp and her wits were quick, and when she believed in Lord Voldemort, she had been the strongest believer of all.
Now what had he left her in return…?
She drew from the pocket of her long unused robes, robes that had inspired such fear and respect and hatred in the common man, a ring.
It was quite a large piece of jewellery, and thick, and heavy with gold. It was stamped with a complicated design that was wearing away, and had the grubby look of an object long buried. Her blunt nail pushed away the dirt caked into the grooves of the design, and a scratched-looking toujurs pur glinted dully in the afternoon sunlight.
"Severus," she said. He made no notice, too embroiled in the book. She ran the pad of her thumb thoughtfully along the silver band, and picked more dirt out of it.
I have one last gift to give to you…
"Severus," she said again, sharply this time. He looked up, faintly annoyed, as she shoved the ring under his hooked nose.
"Recognise this?" she demanded.
"I can't see it, you idiot," he snapped back, and seized her wrist with one hand and forced it back so he could give the ring a proper look.
He paled.
"Where the hell did you get that?" he growled.
"My pocket," she said numbly, and pointed at the tabletop. "It was… in my pocket."
"It's not his," Severus said sharply.
"It is," Bellatrix insisted, "I recognise it. He got it for Christmas the year after Sirius left. It was our Grandfather's."
Severus looked like he was about to protest, but she grabbed the note and forced it roughly into his face, and said in an unnaturally high voice, desperate to convince him, "There's no other explanation."
Severus looked angry. It wasn't the angry look he had always given her when they disagreed; it was a look of offended disbelief, an expression that clearly stated 'I don't know why you're doing this to me, but it's pissing me off.'
"Read the note," Bellatrix demanded.
"Why the hell would I want to read a goddamned note?" Severus spat.
"Read it!"
"Go to hell."
"I'm your superior!"
"Not anymore."
"Severus," Bella said, starting to become seriously irritated, "Read. The fucking. Note."
He stared at her.
Something in her head clicked, as she stared into those depthless eyes. Something long buried; an heirloom from her teenage years, when she had drifted through the student body and commanded - controlled - every aspect of it.
Bellatrix's mouth twisted in a parody of a grin. "You want to read it," she whispered.
Severus frowned slightly.
"You do," Bellatrix murmured smugly, her eyes glinting a little. "It's in your nature. You're curious. You'll never admit it, but you are. You have to know things; all you ever wanted in life was knowledge, and you seek it without care of the consequences. You want to read this note. Go ahead. Take it."
"They claimed you were sane, did they?" Severus breathed, eyes slightly narrowed. "Were they fools, Bellatrix? I think they were; nothing and no one can cure you, and they'll never take away your twisted way of seeing things, or the nature in which you think, or the way you smile like that…"
"Take the note," Bellatrix said.
There was a pause.
Then he took it.
Her smile was calmer this time. "It's not very long," she said.
Severus was a quicker reader than she was; he raised his black eyes to her shortly and said, as if it were plain to see, "It's a trick."
"No," Bella said. "It's really a note from him."
Severus looked like he was about to roll his eyes again. "I didn't say it wasn't. I said it was a trick."
Bellatrix glowered. "How?"
"He foresaw his doom and took steps for another resurrection. And he wants you to set events in motion. Obviously."
She frowned. Then, decisively, tore the note away from him before he decided to do away with it. Severus was like that. "He wouldn't do that to me!" She snarled, incredibly offended. I was his only heir and he would never, ever trick me…
"He would," Severus said.
"No." She growled, looking more and more like an angry cat as the seconds ticked by. "No. This… he's alive…"
"Regulus is dead." Severus said.
There was a silence. Severus didn't like to say the name; loathed hearing it from another's lips. So he stood there for a moment, trying to block the feelings the name inspired out, while Bella battled with herself not to strike him.
"He's not," Bella insisted quietly. "He's not dead. The Dark Lord left him for me, and I am going to go get him, and you will come with me."
"Perhaps he is alive, then?" Severus growled. "what next? You trigger the Third Rise? You bring back to life the largest homicidal maniac to ever come from England?"
"Personally, I think Lucius was a tad more… homicidal…"
"Bellatrix," Severus said, "Stop thinking of the Cause. It's over. The Dark Lord himself knew it was over. No one will accept his ideas. No one is left to rally under his banner. And nobody else will."
"It's not just about the Master," she snapped. "This is about my little cousin, Severus."
"And he's dead."
"No."
"He is."
"Prove it!" Bella yelled, looking somewhat hysterical. "Come with me. I know who can tell me where to go, he told me, so come with me and prove he's dead."
"I am not going to help you raise the Dark Lord," Severus hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. He was wrapped around many fingers, but not Bellatrix's; so in her hysteria, in her desperation, she played her final card, and hit him where it hurt.
"Then you never loved us," she said. "Not one of us. You never loved me, and you never loved my sisters, and you never loved the ones who protected you when no one else would. You never loved Regulus. You never loved us, or anyone, and so goodbye. I'll get Regulus back myself."
And she turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen, heading towards the front door.
