There Is Always A Meaning
'Please try to understand... there is always a meaning towards the things I do... Bellatrix... My Bella...'
"Liar! I was never yours!" The growl that erupted from Bellatrix in that moment was full of nothing but blinding rage that had twisted itself into darkness and hatred. Throwing herself from the chair by the dancing flames of the fire the Pureblood witch took refuge by leaning against one of the glass cabinets filled with trinkets that spun on the spot or made soft humming noises when someone got near to them, silly little objects of nothing note worthy that Dumbledore crammed into his office space. They hadn't been moved for a long time, Bellatrix remembered some of them so clearly from previous trips to the headmasters desk after being sent there by teachers or prefects above herself during her own Hogwarts years all that time ago.
Bellatrix remembered it all. The hauntings of her past would never leave, it merely festered and boiled within her stomach till nothing by acid pounded through her veins.
Bellatrix remembered as she closed her eyes, breathed a sigh of deepest frustration, and let the back of her head fall tap repeatedly against the glass.
"Are you not always fed up of pretending to be perfect all the time? Isn't there ever the urge to you know.. let loose?"
"Let loose? How vulgar! I don't pretend to be anything that I'm not Beaufort and it's about time you got that in your head. Maybe you're the one that needs to let loose, are you not bored of following me around like a little lost puppy with every waking hour?"
The memory was crystal clear, like the sun hitting the purest water on that autumn day as two female students sat a metre apart from one another on the very tip of the boat house wall, the lakes ripples splashing gently just underneath their feet. Everything was crisp, the wind still warm as it ruffled Bellatrix's black locks around her cloaked shoulders. She welcomed the change in the weather for it seemed to change her whole demeanour, something Hermione took great advantage of.
"I do not follow you anywhere! How could - that's not -" Bellatrix smirked that wickedly seductive smirk as she looked over to Lyra with a flash in her dark eyes. "I don't! Perhaps being so perfect all the time has made you gone loopy."
"I already am, isn't that what everyone says after all? Bellatrix Black has gone insane, she's loopy and ruthless! No one could ever stop her and no on ever will! Maybe they are right... who knows what may happen to me, but I'm ready to find out."
Lyra saw through it all of course, even when Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed that wicked little laugh, she understood where all the hurt came from.
And as the wind still coursed though black hair, as the silence fell back down to nothing but the rippling of the waters edge and the gentle beat of birds wings flying above them Bellatrix still remembered how Lyra silently leant forward and gripped onto the cold fingertips of the witch next to her. They said nothing for there was nothing left to say. Instead they sat and watched the sun fade away.
A second exhale, an exhausted breath, left Bellatrix Lestrange's chest as she tilted her head up towards Dumbledore's ceiling and watched how the sunlight beat down through the tower as it glistened and danced around the stone pillars above. Every time there was sunlight there was also Lyra Beaufort and that stupidly big grin that had once held a place within young Bella's heart. There was always sunlight when their voices could be heard above everyone elses, even as the sun faded away beneath the clouds and left eery glittering shadows along the corridors of Hogwarts. Bellatrix's veins pumped within her wrists as both hands tightened against the skirts of her deepest black dress. Such corridors! Corridors of hate, passion and divided rights. And Lyra was there for she always was. Lyra. Lyra fucking Beaufort!
"Do you not see what he has done to you again Bella?! How can you of all people keep allowing this to happen?"
The corridors echoed with the crashing sounds of rushed footsteps as Lyra all but chased Bellatrix down the stone pathway. Her hands could never quite reach for the dark witch, they never got close enough for Beaufort's attempt to sooth and comfort as she watched the Slytherin Prefect hold her white school shirt together, the buttons ripped without care or thought.
Back in the real world things had not much changed when it came to matters of him, but Bellatrix threw herself into her duties demanded by her Master, The Dark Lord, for it allowed her to stay away from Lestrange Manor and the boy she was once almost proud to call husband. Now she paced the office back and forth, her fingertips drumming against upper thighs as Lyra's voice echoed all around.
"Honest to Merlin Bella -"
"That is not my name! You can keep it out of your mouth till I say otherwise Beaufort, for this has nothing to do with you at all."
"It has everything to do with me when I see a girl being taken advantage of, this isn't right at all Bella -"
" - Trix! Bellatrix you incompetent little fo-"
"Will you stop acting like this is the completely normal when it isn't at all, don't you see what power he thinks he has over you? This person I'm next to right now isn't the Bellatrix I know, she wouldn't let a stupid little boy run his hands all over her like she was nothing but a hunk of meat! Please Bellatrix, please! Just listen to me - would you, oh please Bella, just stop and listen to me! STOP!"
Bellatrix came to a sudden holt in the middle of Dumbledore's office, the dying murmurs of Lyra's pleading voice rippled through her mind. No longer did her fingers drum against her soft skirts and it seemed like the witch had stopped breathing all together as she held on tightly to the air trapped within screaming lungs. Slowly she turned her head over her shoulder to find the tiny teenage figure of Lyra Beaufort standing before her, a ghost of her childhood past, with tears bubbling along lower lashes. A cruel trick of her own twisted mind.
"You're not real.. you're not there.. you never were.." Bellatrix whispered, her lips moving at a million miles an hour as the ghostly memory of Lyra still took her place only a few steps away from the witch that stood in the middle office. "You don't get to tell me right from wrong when all you did was lie!"
"Bellatrix.. please, I beg you to listen to me, to understand that this game that the two of you play with one another is not right at all. I know that he is to become your future husband ,though I do not agree with it at all, but that doesn't mean that you can just.."
With locked eyes and quiet footsteps Lyra started to close the empty void between them. Her hand outstretched as Bellatrix kept her own clutched to the broken seams of her school shirt.
"You played the game, not him or me, but you! You are not there anymore! You left, so go now and leave me like you did back then.. you are nothing but a thief and a liar."
As hands touched Bellatrix shivered and set free the air seized in her lungs. The warmth could always be felt if she focused really, really hard and let her soul take flight for just the purest little moment. Lyra's fingers were wrapped around her own, trailing along the backs of her hands, fingertips gliding over the skin like they had fallen into a dance, a waltz.
"Rodolphus does not deserve you. No one does. You're too much for this world Bellatrix, and there is no man out there that should ever get the thoughts of trying to tame you into his silly little head because you're... you're perfect."
Eyes locked. Everything became intense.
Bellatrix could hear the ripples of the water against the boat house walls once more.
"Rodolphus is a fool and does not know what is to become of him once you both become -" A deep, uncomfortable swallow of realisation was forced down Lyra's throat, her fingertips digging themselves ever so slightly to Bellatrix's hands as reality started to hit. Her mission was to gather information after all, not to try change the future of Bellatrix Black's lifestyle all together! Could she do such a thing even if she wanted to? Would time itself been torn apart by her own selfishness?
The ripples went splash, splash, splash..
"When you become husband and wife - but oh Bellatrix, that doesn't ever give him the right to do this to you.. you are more than that. I can't bare the thought of what could happen to you when you leave this castle and move into Lestrange Manor! He could do such vile things and no one would ever know.. I - oh god - Bellatrix he could really hurt you and what if.. no, you would ever allow that to - but what if he did! I'll kill him myself! If he ever, ever dared to touch you and force you into it I swear of Merlin's grave Bella-"
Lyra was not allowed to finish her panicked speech that she had clearly been rehearsing over and over again in that clever little mind. For as her words became more rushed and the dawning fear turned her bright eyes into cloudy darkness, she would find herself push back against the nearest wall of the old stone corridors they had both called their home to be gifted with a blood red mouth pushed firmly against her own, the words of horror stolen from between rose bud lips as Bellatrix soothed her daunting ache with forceful kisses and gentle sighs, whilst entwined fingertips became trapped between two warm bodies. Neither one of them dared to stop for air as wet lips locked and danced as the suns final warmth ran down Bellatrix's back.
In the office there was no gentle sighs, no waltz of fingertips or the exciting thoughts of what could happen next. Only the fire crackled and the paintings snored their way through one of Bellatrix's complete meltdowns of the past. Hands gripped painfully tight at oynx locks, fingernails piercing deep into a skull filled with such torment and destruction. Everything was too much, too raw and too powerful in a way that Bellatrix never seemed to fully understand.. how did this girl have such hold of her? How did Lyra bewitch her so?
After the sun set and the corridor vanished behind thick darkness the two girls entwined themselves into their own world, one where no one else could touch them. Bellatrix's prefect bedroom echoed with the feminine sounds of moans, whispers and gasps of wonderment. To Hermione the witch towering above her tasted of paradise, a drug that she knew as soon as their lips had first met she would never be able to get enough of. Now the girl was addicted, veins pulsing and lungs screaming for more and more.. eyes rolled, thighs slipped, hands gripped and teeth tore.
"Bella... oh, oh, Bellatrix!"
"Look at me Lyra."
Brown eyes locked with black.
"You're mine. All mine. Remember that when someone else dares to touch you, kiss you, taste you like I do. Understand? Mine. All fucking mine."
"All yours Bella. I promise. Always. Please..."
Twisted fingers covered Bellatrix Lestrange's deathly pale face as a scream threatened to erupted from deep within. Under her breath came the chants, a curse on the girl who had promised it all and taken it away just as easily.
"Fuck you, dirty little liar! Filthy scum! You lied, you left.. I'll kill you!"
Velvety soft fingertips rubbed into those large tired eyes before trailing down past sharp cheek bones and plump lips. Lyra's hands had once touched here, over her bottom lip, thumb pulling it down, before snaking its way along an elegant throat to a perfectly shaped collarbone. This was where Bellatrix's nails snagged on a dark, thick string hanging around her neck, that sat elegantly upon an ample cleavage. Before her stood a well worn mirror upon the wall in Dumbledore's office, sat at a slight angle between two dark oak bookshelves, reflecting back the image of a woman driven wild by years of heaviness upon her regal shoulders... and there was it was, that glistening silver metal head of a raven staring back with hollow eyes.
Thumbing at the cold metal the dark witch tilted her head back and closed both eyes, sighing an almighty sigh, as Lyra once again came crashing through her mind like an unwanted guest. There was nothing Bellatrix could ever do to keep her out. Every door, walls or barrier she built within her mind, body and soul never stopped the young witch, who had once stolen the only raw emotion Bellatrix Black had ever felt from crashing back through. No matter what, Lyra always won.
Bellatrix remembered it all. The most purest memory, the one held closest to her tar filled heart. The witch replayed it over and over again, wishing it to be real just once more. One last taste of what she had.
"Bellatrix?"
"Mhm?"
"Are you not cold?"
"Wickedly so, darling."
"Oh stop it, I'm being serious! You could catch a cold, or some sort of flu. You should've worn your furs."
A wicked chuckle caught on an icy cold breeze as two girls walked side by side, feet crunching in thick snow that covered the earth for miles and miles in each direction.
"You mean the furs that you threaten to burn each time you see them because they are - oh, what's the word you use?"
"Barbaric."
"Barbaric! Yes, that's the one. Poor Beaufort, you're such an amusing little thing. I could almost swear to it that you've practically banned me from wearing them."
"Well, yes... even if it was another layer on you, it's freezing out here. Perhaps a jumper? Stop laughing Bella, it's not funny!"
Yet Lyra could never get enough of every note of laughter that sprung from between those red lips once in a blue moon. Bellatrix was beautiful when she threw her head back slightly, white fangs flashing in the light as her mouth curled upwards, it was one of those things that always made the dark witch seem more human. She wasn't the monster everyone else believed her to be.
Together they rounded the corner, stepping carefully over icy puddles and massive piles of snow that had been shovelled carelessly out of people's front gardens or pathways. Lyra was almost invisible under the several layers she wore. A cotton cream jumper was zipped up underneath a thick brown coat and a cream scarf that covered her chin and most of her frozen mouth. A beanie hat and gloves added to the eskimo look that caused Bellatrix to snort with amusement the first time she saw Lyra coming out of the castle to join her in the courtyard. Snow boats and thick soaks kept her feet cosy as white snow fell from the heaven and sat upon the ends of her frizzy hair.
Bellatrix on the other hand looked as if she was merely going out for a midday stroll, not battling against the devilish elements of winter. Long black dress, mid-waisted black corset, black boots, black leather gloves, all black everything. The only saving grace was a long black coat that hung off Bellatrix's shoulders for added warmth, but even then the front was unbuttoned and flying back like a deathly cape in the wind. Bellatrix was at home in this weather, deep into her own element of comfort and easiness. Everything was calm. Everything was peaceful and still. She walked like a queen, chin raised and tilted to the harsh weather as if it was beneath her. A little snow could never harm her, even as it settled upon beautiful black locks of hair.
Bellatrix remembered how they passed several houses before Hogsmeade came to view where groups of Hogwarts students ran around, threw snowballs or came in and out of the several stores that sold anything from sweets, to owl treats, parchment and butter beer. Laughter filled the air and the world around them seemed to stand still. Silently they made their way into Tomes and Scrolls, an old rickety book shops situated in a small alleyway off the beaten track, at the request of Lyra. No matter what time zone Hermione found herself in she still couldn't get enough of books.
The bell above the door rung loudly as they made their way in, Lyra stomping her boots to rid herself of snow whilst Bellatrix merely waltzed in like she owned the place, dragging the storm in with her.
"Pray tell, why in Merlin's name are we in this dump?"
The remark didn't go unnoticed by the store owner, a middle aged man who wrinkled his nose and glared at Bellatrix. Lyra whispered an apology to him, grabbing Bellatrix by the wrist and pulling her to the back end of the store.
"You always have to cause trouble! We are here because I've heard rumour of some books that are being sold here. They're very rare and - oh! Oh! There they are!"
Dropping Bellatrix's wrist the young girl rushed to the window display, snow and ice had frozen itself solid to the iron leaded window. Everything around here looked like a perfect Christmas card. Sat upon a wooden arm was a heavy leather bound purple book with gleaming gold lettering upon the front which read 'The Memoirs Of Merlin' and underneath '1st Edition'. Hermione cradled it to her chest like a newborn child, fearful of ever letting it go. Overhearing her joy the owner came out from behind the desk with a gleeful look upon his face.
"It's the only one in the country, Miss. We fought long and hard to get it, I've been saving for months just to get in to this store! Turn to chapter twenty seven, you'll see why."
Bored coal eyes watched from the other side of the shop as Lyra's hands hurried to open the cover and race to the chapter the shop keeper suggested. All this excitement, joy and eagerness just from a book? Bellatrix had never seen someone handle pages before, like they were golden leaves that threatened to break as soon as one touched them.
"The Readings Of Morgana Le Fey! But I thought that they were all destroyed when Merlin became King Arthurs most loyal comrade - this is - surely not!"
"Now you can see why I saved up so much of my own money, Miss! I had a flick through of the chapter myself, it blew me away. And for just ten Galleons it can be all yours!"
All the excitement vanished in the blink of an eye and the room became empty. Bellatrix remembered it all. She too felt empty as disappointment spread across Lyra's face and the rosiness left her cheeks. How did it affect her so? Why did she feel rotten to the core, like a piece of herself had suddenly died.
"Ten Galleons? That's too much.. I don't have..."
"Ah. Well, I'll just take the book back then. Sorry Miss, but I need to make a profit. Perhaps next time?"
No longer could she hold back, it erupted from deep within and before she could stop herself her pale hand reached forward and plucked the book from the greedy hands of the shop owner. Bellatrix couldn't stand to see the hurt any longer.
"I'll buy the book. No you keep quiet Beaufort and go brush the snow out of your hair, you look a state." Say anything to make yourself still look like the bad girl, the wicked witch that never held any emotional attachments to anything or anyone. Tease the Beaufort girl, remind her she is nothing and this is merely just a book. Never open yourself to her, at least not fully. "I have money, remember? I could buy this whole village, not that I would because it's a vile little hole in the ground and it smells like shit."
Ten Galleons fell into the shop owners open hands and in return Bellatrix was given a woven bag with the heavy book inside it. She dangled it in front of Lyra like a toy, the hand swinging from two fingers as greedy hands slowly reached up to taken the beloved package.
"Bellatrix, thank you so much.. If I can ever repay you? This is too much."
Lyra was merely waved off and Bellatrix went back to looking bored, complaining that the shop smelt damp and it was not going to do her lungs any good. They left in a hurry, leaving behind the warmth to be hit in the face with the falling snow and eery winds. Lyra never one looked up from the bag clutched to her chest as the both of them crunched back along the hidden alleyways and along the shop fronts in the main square of the town. Bellatrix would not accept her gratitude nor the chance to be prepaid, god knows why she got the bloody book in the first place, but if it kept Lyra content then that was all that mattered, right?
Just beyond the HogsHead pub there was an old wooden shack that looked as it was about to topple over at any given moment. The shutters banged against the outside walls with each gust of wind that blew by causing the aged wood to groan and rattle. The windows were covered in condensation and left little to the imagination when peering in, alas it didn't stop Bellatrix from pushing the front door wide open and letting herself in whilst Lyra kept close at all times. Their eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness for there was only one tiny fireplace crackling away near a black painted counter that was tilted at an angle where a little grey old lady sat reading the mornings newspaper, her sunken eyes never once looked up. The air was choking and thick with the smell of herbs and incense, Hermione almost had to place her scarf over her nose as it started to burn. Ornate wooden tables were placed at random around the small room, the paint peeling from their legs as they held up trinkets, jewellery, worn moving photographs of some unknown person or family, rusty mirrors and wooden keepsake boxes that had were hand carved and well used.
As Bellatrix once again toyed with the cold metal against her chest she saw her reflection once more, but this time she was seventeen years old again and her eyes had only just fallen upon the ravens skull that was hanging on a little thumb tack stuck into the old wooden walls where several misshaped earrings also hung. So cold, so lifeless. As Lyra approached the dark witch moved away, pretending as if she had never seen the necklace in the first place. Naturally she went back to complaining.
"Let's go Lyra, I'm surprised the old bat hasn't choked to death on the smoke in this place! Besides I'm getting hungry and I refuse to eat that garbage they sell in that tavern down the road, it's common people food. I'm going back to the castle, at least the elves there are trained enough to produce something edible."
"Coming! Just one second, I left my book on the back table in there."
It was on their way back to the castle, the silence thick between them, did Lyra open her palm to show Bellatrix the raven skull upon the string. A little white lie about leaving her book behind allowed the bushy haired witch to slip back inside the shack and purchase the necklace - who was Bellatrix kidding anyway, anyone could see the wanting look on her pale face when she found the necklace. Perhaps coming off her high horse once in awhile would fix at least some of that attitude!
She didn't say thank you for she didn't know how to. Instead her mouth opened and closed a few times before Lyra smiled and placed the necklace into her companions hand. Bellatrix didn't need to say thank you because Hermione could see the gratitude in those confused dark eyes she had grown to love so much. The silence followed them all the way back to the castle, but the air had grown thick in a way that made the both of them shiver. Here and there their hands would brush together as the walked, shoulders bumping as the both of them tried to avoid icy puddles or thick snow that littered the path. Lyra's cheeks grew hotter and hotter whilst Bellatrix's only seemed to grow colder. It was too much for the Gryffindor girl to bare.
There it was, the castle, then the stone corridors, twisting staircases, a painting and a hidden door. Bellatrix's room.