If you have stuck with this twisted comedy all this time, there is no need to repeat myself and disclaim these characters, as they are not mine, and you, as the reader, should be rather thankful that you have the option of reading canon, as a couple of Starbucks (also not mine) and the pursuit of those Muggle Aurors has done nothing to make me consider the wants and feelings of the readers.
Roughly a week had passed, and Harry still had fleeting moments of blankness or deranged anger float through his mind. Bellatrix had told him the after effects of her torture would wear off in time, but until then, he struggled to get a firm grasp on his train of thought. Nevertheless, his skill in the Dark Arts continued to flourish; he was now a master of Sectumsempra, a curse causing its victim's skin to rip apart, leaving scarring and disfigurement, which they'd practiced on mice. He dreaded the day when he would have to use it on humans, but Bellatrix had insisted it was useful, and, as she hadn't done anything to hurt him since their first lesson, he felt obliged to accept her teachings. Granted, she was by far no Dumbledore, but, as he couldn't leave her alone to be destructive, he might as well have made use of her.
That morning, as Harry exited his bedroom, he noticed something very odd...extremely odd...there were no sounds of Bellatrix stirring and causing a general havoc. In fact, it didn't seem as though she was in the house. Surely she couldn't have left--for one thing, rain was pouring down hard outside, but rain would do nothing to stop her compared with the Ministry on her tail.
A few moments later, however, Harry discovered that Bellatrix had indeed risked a venture into the outsideonce again, not only endangering herself but putting Harry at risk for exposing him of harboring her, an escaped convict, in his house. So, the natural reaction on his part was to scream at her when she stormed through the front door seconds after he'd descended the stairs. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "You could have got yourself killed! You could have got me convicted!"
Bellatrix was not paying attention to his warnings, being occupied with some persuers and a large cardboard box. "Sectumsempra! Crucio!" she called behind her, slamming the door and setting down the wet and flimsy box. Her hair was plastered to her skin my water, and Harry was surprised to see mascara dripping down her rain-soaked face and onto her pajamas. "Oh, hush up," she snapped, "It was only those Muggle Aurors, I took care of them pretty easily."
"YOU TORTURED THE POLICE?" Harry furiously asked. "What were you thinking? Why were they after you in the first place?"
"I'm in the Muggle news," she snapped impatiently. "Geez, I can't even buy groceries!"
"Why are you wearing make-up?" Harry asked, having gotten into the habit of asking her irritating questions in between lessons.
"Am I allowed to make myself look nice?" Bellatrix asked, not realizing the irony that with black streaks running down her face, she looked rather ridiculous. "Or do you live to be so arrogant and disagreeable?" For a moment, she almost reminded him of Snape. "Well, what are you standing around for?"
Harry paused in thought. "Well, I just thought we were going to have another lesson," he said. He had begun to grow quite fond of them, especially after Bellatrix had demonstrated curses on rats and insects instead of him. Every now and then, they would even stop to have a conversation, and Harry savored each moment of these times, as every second Bellatrix spent reminiscing about old times was a second she didn't spend acting psychotic. Evidently, at the moment, it was not one of those times.
"No, not today. Leave me alone," Bellatrix muttered coldly, dragging her cardboard box into the kitchen. "Don't you have anything else to do?"
Harry sighed as he watched her walk out of view. He trudged up the stairs, contemplating his surroundings with boredom and disgust. The floor was covered in an irregular film of decaying insects and Doxy eggs, despite last summer's efforts to clean it up. To add to the mess, Bellatrix had been dropping her rubbish anywhere and everywhere throughout the house.
The heads of House Elves stared blankly at him from where they were mounted on the wall. Kreacher, muttering darkly to himself, took a second to pause and gaze longingly at them. "Kreacher, would you mind helping me tidy up?" Harry asked.
"If Mistress Bella wants Kreacher to do something, she will ask Kreacher. Kreacher will not take orders from the Blood Traitor." Harry swore under his breath, as did Kreacher. Guess I'll have to clean up myself, he thought, deciding to start with Sirius's bedroom, the one Bellatrix had been sleeping in. Too easy, he thought, This is exactly what she wants me to do. Perhaps she's placed Dark enchantments in there, then ordered Kreacher not to clean anything, knowing I'd want to get rid of all the filth, so I'd be forced to use what I've learned to defend myself...smart.
Or perhaps the Cruciatus Curse had driven him as mad as Mad-Eye Moody.
"Constant vigilance," Harry whispered to himself humorously. He gave the door a very small push and let it slowly creak open. As it happened, there were no Dark spells waiting for him, only disorderliness and the shocking Gryffindor colors proudly covering every inch of wallspace, presumably put there by Sirius. A sock drawer lay in the middle of the room, detatched from a dismantled dresser. Various items from articles of clothing to newspaper articles were strewn about, and a bag of enchanted coffee beans had spilled in the open and unorganized closet. Accenting the red and gold decorations stuck to the walls were pictures of Muggle women wearing bathing suits and frozen smiles. The only Wizarding photo in view was one of a younger and happier Bellatrix, with a handsome Sirius at her side, his arm around her shoulders, unaware that she would one day bring about his demise. Next to the photo of the two cousins was an ebony plaque, containing a roll of parchment featuring clumsy calligraphy that, aside from minor differences, resembled that of Sirius.
My most prized possesion is a titanium box given to me by my mother, openable by a secret code that she taught me when I learned to speak. Inside this box is a key that opens another, slightly larger titanium box, given to me by a man whose ghost now haunts my shower, and within this box is the essay that Harry came across in that very plaque on the wall in Bellatrix's untidy scrawl. Even in the worst of times, retrieving and reading over her words touches me just as they had touched Harry as he first read them, for the side of Bellatrix that no one had ever known was revealed in its sentences, and it was a very surprising and touching side of her life indeed:
When I first met my cousin Sirius, I was under the foolish notion that I might one day take over the world. Eager to gain support, my first words to him were whispers of my plan. At first I thought he was too young to understand, but it soon became evident that he was not too young to reach up, delicately stroke my cheek, and say, "Of course I'll help you. Who could deny such a beautiful mistress?"
His words made my heart explode. He was only ten years old, and yet he was eager to partake in the plots of a girl he'd just met, to reach up and plant a tender kiss on her cheek. It didn't matter that our hormones weren't yet functioning, for I already knew that I never wanted to be touched by any other lips but his. Auntie Walbuga had beamed at me and congratulated Sirius, and I'd blushed and said, "Anything to save the bloodline."
It soon became apparent that he was a little Blood Traitor, and my parents frowned upon his tendencies, but I was never bothered. He took me around and showed me aspects of the Muggle world I would have thought idiotic in any other case, but as long as he was by my side, I was having a great time. Though awkward stares burned through the back of my skull when we were together in public, his gentle touch never failed to comfort me. He was wise beyond his years, and I fell victim to his charm, and we both confessed every day to each other that we were meant to be.
Our relationship blossomed over the year, and we both anticipated the day he came to Hogwarts. I watched proudly from the Slytherin table as his name was called and he was sorted, but my happiness did not last long. "GRYFFINDOR!" the hat bellowed. Sirius gave me a meaningful look as he trudged along to the Gryffindor table. We rarely saw each other face to face after that, but we continued to send love letters, I was still his, and he was still mine.
Eventually, the letters ceased to circulate. Sirius began to act more and more childish, and I was heartbroken when I saw what looked like a dirty look across his face directed at me. His Gryffindor friends had refused to accept our feelings, and Sirius used to tell me how he would refuse to listen, but, like all ideas, theirs sank into his mind with enough repetition, and he was made to believe that it was I who poisoned his thoughts.
I won't pretend it didn't drive me a bit mad to be called deranged, evil, incestuous...the list of adjectives goes on and on. That James Potter hated me the moment I'd so much as laid a hand on Sirius, and Remus Lupin...to this day it sickens me to recall what he convinced my cousin to do. When we passed each other in the hall, the three of them would call me 'man eater', or, when they were feeling particularly nasty, 'Death Eater'. Peter Pettigrew was the only one of their lot who didn't torment me.
In time I married one Rodolphus Lestrange in the hope that Sirius would notice me again and miss my touch the way I missed his. Soon, the unthinkable became the unbelievable as I became a Death Eater in a desperate attempt to grab his attention, only to fulfill the predictions of James and Remus. Not a day went by when I didn't long for Sirius's kisses, and I was completely blind to reason. I had driven the wedge even further between us, and he had erased me from his life forever, leaving a great, empty void in my dying heart.
He was my enemy now. I was his and he was mine. He was fighting to protect Harry Potter, and I was retrieving a prophecy for the Dark Lord for fear of death. I wanted him out of the battle, I wanted to stop fighting him so I wouldn't need to feel the pain anymore. Every curse I fired at him was a blow to my heart; he shouted insults at me, and my hand trembled with every new attempt to get away from him. I thought I'd forgotten our love, but after all those years, I could still feel the throbbing void in my soul. I Stunned him and he fell, he fell and fell through an unknown abyss and never got back up. What had I done? I had no earthly idea. I was half mad when I scampered through the Ministry of Magic, singing, "I killed Sirius Black!"