Hermione

Narcissa and I meticulously went about restoring the rooms of the estate, always breaking for tea and conversation. She listened avidly as I told stories from my childhood and never probed anything about my parents that I didn't offer. It was hard to avoid talking about them seeing as I'm an only child with few friends. She enjoyed hearing about the non-war related things that happened at Hogwarts, surprising laughing her sides sore when I retold the story of how I punched Draco.

It was odd, really. To be forming some sort of friendship with Narcissa Malfoy of all people, especially since I'd seemed to make the much smaller and exclusive hit list of her sister. It was a juxtaposition that had my head swimming.

"I plan to start working the garden next week. They were always my favorite escape when I was a girl. If you would have seen them in their glory you would just fall in love, I'm sure. They gave this place life and personality, despite whatever went on inside." She took a cheerful sip from her tea as she looked out the window of one of the several parlors we had restored over the past week. She was genuinely excited which was nice, but I couldn't help but to be curious about what being a child in the Black estate was like. She always dropped vague and ominous comments that hinted that it was less than cheerful. However, I never had the courage to ask. Although Narcissa was much more pleasant than her older sister, it seemed that part of the Black history was a universally guarded secret.

"You know, I've noticed you make a face when you want to ask something you know you shouldn't. Would you like to share?" She asked, smirking amiably over the brim of her cup.

I blushed at having been caught, I really should work on my poker face. "I don't think I'll get a satisfactory answer either way, so I'd rather keep it to myself for now."

"Very well, then let me take the opportunity to ask you a question. Your parents, you never properly explained what happened. I understand if it is still too painful to speak of, I know some wounds fester longer than others."

I felt the color drain from my face. We hadn't spoken of them since the first time and I was more than happy to keep my sorrow to myself, even if she did have good intentions. Still, it felt freeing to share with her even the most trivial things. Maybe it would help more than hurt.

"They are still alive as I'm sure you've gathered. They live somewhere in Australia under new identities with no memories of ever having a daughter. No memories of me. Just before I ran away with Harry to hunt Horcruxes I thought removing their memories would be the safest way to keep them from any harm in the war. It worked, a small miracle I suppose. I wanted to go after them and see if there were any way to give them their memories back, though I know there isn't. It's just wishful thinking. Nothing I can do now, though. I'm here and will probably never see them again." As I spoke I felt myself grow cold as a deep sadness and longing settled into my bones. I ached for my parents, but knew that it was a wish I would never be granted again.

"Damn everything to hell. The bloody wars and the ideas that started them that should have been condemned long before now. Old families hold on to their archaic bigotries as if they were their namesake and we pay the price for their ignorance in the blood of our loved ones." I could do nothing but agree as an uncharacteristically dark look crossed her face.

"I will admit that I fell victim to their brainwashing myself, but there aren't many options in a family like mine. An example of that would be my late cousin Sirius. For all his rebelliousness all it got him was ostracized by the family and ignored as if he never were a Black in the first place. Harsher still, my beloved Sister. At the time I thought my father made the right choice in denouncing her status, but as the years passed and I grew older I knew better. There is no excuse for such foolishness when people are dying left and right. We should avoid pushing our loved ones away so that we have less regrets in death."

I was surprised. I didn't expect her to open up so freely, but I was grateful. It was her way of saying she understood, even if the circumstances were different. To know that you will never see your family again, even if they still walked this Earth, was like a never-ending heartache. Of course, she understood, loss was something she was intimately aware of. Losing a cousin and sister to stupid family ideals and another sister and her husband to Azkaban. She knew what I was experiencing even if from a different perspective.

"Mrs. Malfoy-"

"Please, call me Narcissa. I think at this point you've earned as much." She interrupted, waving dismissively.

"Okay, but only if you call me Hermione. I feel as though Professor McGonagall is chastising me when you call me 'Ms. Granger'." She nodded, smiling softly. It was overwhelming having even an inkling of this woman's respect. I took a deep breath before continuing, "Do you plan to reconcile with Mrs. Tonks?"

Her smile turned soft and sad, "I would like to try. I want nothing more than to get to know my sister again. I would have liked to get to know my niece as well, but sadly I'll ever have the chance. I can know her son, though, and that would be enough."

I'd almost forgotten about Tonks and Lupin. I immediately felt guilty for not having properly mourned them. With everything happening so quickly I barely had the time to properly mourn anyone. Come to think of it I needed to write to Ron to see if they'd decided on a date for Fred's funeral. I felt choked by the enormous lump in my throat and suddenly wanted nothing more than to lock myself away in my room and cry. I hadn't felt comfortable enough to let my emotions go unchecked since my encounter with Bellatrix. Deciding it was much safer for my psyche if she never caught me that vulnerable again. But the weight of the conversation and the realization of everyone that was lost finally caught up with me and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

Narcissa sat in silence for a moment not sure if I wanted comfort I guess. I didn't blame her. What would I have done if an almost stranger burst into tears right in front of me. Then the unexpected happened. As I cried into my palms wishing that I could just fade from this world and never have to experience any of this sorrow, I felt the strong yet comforting arms of Narcissa wrap around me and engulf me in a motherly embrace. She smelled pleasant like a garden in Spring and didn't force any words of comfort, just held me with strong arms that almost seemed to promise that I would make it through this moment and the next. It reminded me so much of my own mother that I could only cry harder. I spluttered trying to explain to her everything I was feeling in that moment only to be gently hushed.

"It's alright, it's alright." I cried harder, feeling awful to be staining her elegant dress. How she found the energy to dress so impeccably still must also be a secret of the Black family. Or more likely a habit built up from years of pureblood expectations. Pureblood society was almost too twisted to reconcile in my book. Damn everything to hell, indeed.

Bellatrix

Curiosity was a damnable thing. Solitude was lovely, but one could only read so many books before needing a break and quick stroll through reality. I wanted to seek out my sister, but had no desire to be sucked into whatever futile effort she was putting forth today. I think I made it quite clear I cared nothing at all for this house. It could rot and fall to dust for all I cared. Deciding then to let boredom and sleep overcome me instead I made my way to the room I claimed as my own. Refusing to let Narcissa touch a single aspect of it and keeping the curtains drawn to keep it in perpetual darkness. A state I was used to and comfortable with at this point. It also made it much easier to fall asleep at any time of day.

I lay restless in bed for unending minutes thinking, begrudgingly, of the Mudbaby and what she said in our last encounter. The notion that she and I or any of my family were equal to each other. We, descendants of the noble house of Black, having anything in common with a Mudblood was absolutely absurd. But she didn't draw that particular comparison. She didn't try to draw herself up to the likes of us, rather bring me down to the mud. I knew what choice I made, that doesn't mean that I loved the circumstances it forced upon me in the aftermath. Truthfully, I hadn't thought this far ahead thinking for sure that the boy would fail, and all my double-crossing would be for not. Now that the unlikely had truly happened I felt as though I were being suspended upside indefinitely. I refused to admit that the Mudbaby were right, but even Cissy thought it was appropriate for me to make a change. I don't know what they expected of me. I couldn't just change decades worth of prejudices and habits overnight. Even the decision to betray My Lord took months to finally come to. This was completely unchartered territory for me.

I rolled over fitfully and annoyed. This shouldn't bother me so much. It shouldn't bother me at all. So, why couldn't I just push the damned thoughts away? I forced a pillow over my head and screamed in frustration. As a matter of fact, I could let it go and I will. Determinedly, I forced all thoughts from my mind and lay as still as possible until, finally, a very fitful and unsatisfactory sleep found me.

The stone underneath my feet was unmistakably cold and wet sending an even deeper chill through my aching bones. Why was I so bloody cold? I'd just been comfortably warm in bed. There was very little light to speak of and the faint sound of ghostly moans and pained and woeful wails. The sound of crashing waves almost overpowered everything else, accompanied by the suffocating smell of sea water. That shouldn't be, the manor was quiet.

I turned and saw a small, barred window, but as I stepped to it to try and get a glimpse of my surroundings all that met my eyes was painfully salty mist. Turning back around I moved to soothe them and felt heavy weights around my wrists. I felt dread run through me as my eyes snapped open to see heavy black shackles around both of my wrist following the chain down to where it connected to similar shackles on my ankles. Recognizing the faded stripes of the Azkaban uniform I felt my throat closing and my heart was prepared to beat right out of my chest.

This couldn't be. I was not back here, I would never go back. I'd made sure to avoid it!

I looked around in a panic and found the very familiar disgusting walls of my cell in Azkaban. Running to the door I pressed my face to the bars hoping to something other than the moldy halls only to be disappointed. Nothing but cells as far as I could see, even if I could only see very little. The haunting facelessness of a dementor suddenly appeared, stealing the little warmth I didn't know I still from me. It began to feed and though there was little happiness to start with I began to cry as it was drinking from me. Not the pitiful cries like those unknown souls around me, but gut wrenching, throat aching screams into the night.

I screamed until my stomach pained me, until my voice was sure to leave. I clawed at the fabric of my gown, at my scalp, at the stone walls, at anything within reach until my fingers bled. Still the dementor kept feeding and feeding. I saw my father's face as he rebuked me over something nameless. The situation always varied, the words mixed until they were no longer needed, and his disappointment and resentment were evident on his tone alone. My mother's dissatisfaction at the tendencies that she deemed less than becoming of a lady of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. The lack of compassion in her eyes. The word of My Lord's downfall in Godric's Hollow and the retribution I took on the Longbottom's in return. My desperation.

I screamed my throat raw until my lungs ached with lack of breath. When it stopped feeding finally there was only a small respite. Instead of just finishing me off with the Kiss, it left a part of my soul untouched as it flew down further down the hall, slowly blending into the dark shadows. I howled for it to come back and finish job knowing that it would not heed me. It continued on in disinterest to my anguish reminding me that I was just fodder, something to come back to.

The howling continued, and my head swelled with each new inhale hoping to either succumb to the blackness of fainting or death, whichever reached me first.

I awoke to a panicked exclamation of someone that did not belong. These were not the bony fingers of a dementor shaking me awake, nor the cold hands of a guard.

"Bellatrix? Bellatrix! Bellatrix, wake up you're having a nightmare! Please stop screaming."

Finally opening my eyes, I found that I was still safely tucked away in my room at Black Manor as ironic as that was. Settling finally on the unnerved expression of the mudblood who, upon seeing me awake finally, swept me up in an uncomfortably tight and familiar hug before remembering herself it would seem.

"I'm sorry I just-. Are you alright? I heard you screaming and thought something terrible was happening. You sounded like you were in pain. I thought-."

"Get out." I felt hollow and exposed and this little nosy brat was the last person I wanted to see. Wanted to break in and try to pacify me.

"I-.'

"Get out. Get out! GET OUT!" I pushed her away as forcefully as I could and didn't feel any empathy when she fell rather hard to the floor. To my displeasure the commotion brought my well-meaning sister into the room who took in the sight with disbelieving yet unsurprised eyes.

"Bella? What is-?" She tentatively reached for me while simultaneously gathering the stricken girl in her arms. The sight angered me more. So, they were a united front then? Keeping an eye on poor, mad Bellatrix. Keeping me in check. I didn't want their pity! I hated them for it.

"OUT! OUT! OUT! Get OUT and leave me ALONE!"

Narcissa hurried out with the girl and only just missed a book I didn't remember throwing. I yelled after them incoherently until I felt my voice break. When I felt hot angry tears on my cheeks I refused to acknowledge them, letting them run freely as I clutched at the sheets in an effort to keep what little control I had left.

It was just a dream, it wasn't real. It wasn't real. Even as I said it I felt the cold of the damp cell, the despair of the dementors still lingering in my bones. Could still hear the wails of the others and feel the damp mist from the ocean. What a great time for the nightmares to come back, absolutely blank night's sleep for months on end and now that I was safe they decide to rear their ugly heads again. I thought I'd locked them away for good, hidden them in the deepest recesses of my mind where even the Dark Lord couldn't reach them. Why would they come back now when all I wanted to do was move on and forget.

You don't deserve to forget.

I believed the thought as soon as it was created. I would never be free from the torment of the memories no matter how much I tried to hide from them. They were my burdens and they would follow me to the grave. It was ingenuous to think otherwise. Even when I was outside of the forever weeping walls of Azkaban I was imprisoned. Every day, no matter the circumstances, was a prison.