Bellatrix was still sprawled in the corner when Harry returned to his dwelling. He prepared to give Hermione a speech of gratitude, but it appeared she was too busy crying to listen or respond to what he might have said. Harry put his arm around her as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. If there was one thing that had been certain all day, it was that it is very, very difficult to speak to someone when they are experiencing what seems to be an emotional breakdown, and, whilst Bellatrix muttered darkly to herself, Hermione took several minutes to quiet down, finally allotting Harry the opportunity to ask, "What did she do to you?"

"Nothing!" Hermione sobbed, "She's just been lying th-there, telling the most h-horrible stories..." Hermione sniffled softly as Harry led her towards the door. "Disturbing images...I don't know if I can ever forget..."

"Thank you for keeping her here," Harry rushed out, slightly perturbed, but relieved that Bellatrix hadn't tried to curse his friend. "I hope it went better than my trip to Hogwarts. If there's anything I can do to repay you--"

"IT DIDN'T!" Hermione snapped irritably. She threw down her hankerchief and turned the doorknob shakily. "And if you'd like to repay me, NEVER expect me to babysit your pet Death Eaters again!" She wrenched open the door and stormed out, and even though she was still crying, the clinking of her shoes on the pavement was somehow more authorative, and she carried herself with a hint of Bella-esque formidability, as if everyone Bellatrix came in contact with was tainted with psychosis.

"I'm sorry," he quietly called out the window. He'd give her a call later, but, at the moment, he felt the need to rush to Bellatrix's side. She smiled weakly as he approached, nodding vacantly at his presence. "What was this?" he asked, in reference to the memory he now held in front of her.

Her head lolled to the side, a small wave of laughter erupting from her parted lips. "I didn't kill Roddy for nothing," she said. She wasn't answering his question, but, since as long as she ranted, she wasn't dangerous, Harry listened. "I wanted to be free, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." She seemed on the brink of tears, and Harry couldn't help but put his arms around her gaunt figure and rock her back and forth. "Sirius was free," she whispered. "That's what I want. I want everything he and I wanted so long ago...it took me until he died to realize it. I'll answer to no one. Just like him. But not Andromeda, she was a prat." Her head continued to wobble as she cackled maniacally to herself.

"Let's get you off the ground," Harry said, lifting her and setting her down on the sofa, where she continued to giggle and mutter. He shook his head comically, looking upon her with a mixture of pity and something else. "Bella, what is it about you?" he asked.

"I don't want to go back to Voldemort," she admitted. "I felt the Mark burn and had a moment of weakness. It won't happen again." She let her head roll to the side, causing her face to become obscured by her hair so that she looked ghostly. "I'd like to have people answering to me for a change."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said, though he was glad to hear it, and though Bellatrix didn't seem to have taken in anything he'd said, she seemed glad to say it. He couldn't say he supported her rather unconventional plans for world conquest, but at least she had come out of her relapse.

Over the next few weeks, Bellatrix spent her days sitting around, muttering, contemplating, and scribbling notes to herself on everything from napkins to the toilet seat. Harry couldn't say he enjoyed her more than he had when she was being spontaneous and torturing the police. The days wore on, and Harry found himself wondering if he wanted to go back to Hogwarts. Bellatrix's lessons, however infrequent they had become, were helping him excel further than he ever had in school, and he doubted he would be able to defeat Voldemort with 'Expelliarmus' or anything else he might learn at school.

"Bella, you should eat something," Harry advised, handing her a slice of apple as she lay sprawled on the sofa. At eleven o'ckock at night, her ranting was keeping him awake. "Stop trying to philosophize, or whatever you're doing." She took the apple and nibbled it halfheartedly, without lifting her head. Harry twitched in frustration, determined to bring her out of her brooding, but having no idea how. Having nothing better to do, he lugged the wax Rookwood out of the closet and positioned it in the middle of the living room. "Avada kedavra!" he shouted, moving his wand in an upward arc. He would have missed by an inch if a curse had actually flew out of his wand.

"Stop swinging your wand around like a bloody tennis racket!" Bellatrix commanded, jumping off the couch and demonstrating a more controlled motion. He should have known: nothing would get her attention more efficiently than an opportunity to point out his faults. Glad he had finally gotten Bellatrix to stand, Harry swung his wand in such an enthusiastic arc that a second later, he winced in pain. "Have you pulled something?"

"Might've."

"This could only happen to you, Harry," Bellatrix chuckled. She didn't sound cruel, as she often did when she laughed, but cheerful and delighted. "Well, I suppose that's enough for today, even though you've only been practicing for two minutes. You start school tomorrow, don't let them fill your head with all their weak magic." She smirked and conjured some ropes and sat down in a chair.

"I don't think I'm going back," Harry decided. "I much prefer it here with--what are you doing?" Bellatrix had begun to wind the ropes around herself, securing herself to the chair.

"Making sure I'm not tempted to Apparate. But are you sure? What about your future?" Bellatrix asked, passing the rope from one hand to the other, over her head, pulling herself to the back of the chair. "Don't you want to get a job?"

"We can think about the future when it comes, right now there's a war going on! And stop skirting around the issue, untie yourself!" he ordered, grabbing and unwinding her ropes. Perhaps it was unwise to leave her without some sort of control, seeing what had happened the last time she'd tried to quit cold turkey...you're thinking of being a Death Eater like it's alcoholism, Harry thought to himself. Well, it was similar, wasn't it? Bellatrix had spoken of the addiction...but he didn't feel good leaving her tied up. "Why don't you just go and get some sleep?" he asked, "you must be under a lot of...stress..."

Bellatrix nodded gratefully as if she was being dismissed at long last, and trudged up the stairs to Sirius's old bedroom. "Finally," Harry murmured, rushing up to his own bedroom, only to find it completely trashed. The matress was disconnected from the bed to look like it was having intercourse with the closet, the walls were covered in condiments or something worse, the light fixtures previously affixed to the cieling were shattered on the ground, the grounded features having been glued to the cieling, and an overenthusiastic Kreacher was in the middle of the room, knawing on a dresser drawer. Harry felt like yelling at the unruly elf, but decided against it, reluctant to irritate Bellatrix, so he let out a long groan of distress before heading up to her room. "Bella, do you mind if I sleep in here--what are you wearing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her floor-length gold nightgown, having never seen her in something so bright and uncharacteristic. He actually rather liked it, though: it was the color of Gryffindor and Snitches and success.

"Always the comment about my appearence, eh, Mr. Disagreeable?" Bellatrix commented, looking up from The Quibbler, sporting the headline, Bellatrix Lestrange: Criminal or Singing Sensation? "It was my Auntie Walburga's. Ghastly, isn't it?" Harry shook his head, and she beckoned him with hers, sweeping the old magazines and rubbish off of the bed, turned off the light, and lay down as he took his place beside her.

"Do you find this odd at all, maybe a bit weird and crazy?" he asked, looking out the window at the full moon: anything to distract him from the woman beside him.

"Crazy is as crazy does," Bellatrix blurted groggily. Harry furrowed his brow.

"What does that mean? Did you just make that up?" he asked, nearly shouting despite the nighttime atmosphere. "What does that mean?" he repeated.

"It could mean that I ordered Kreacher to mess up your room," Bellatrix said. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to be alone." The blankets rustled as Harry struggled to find words.

"I'm glad you did," he finally said. Bellatrix sighed softly. "Bella," he continued, "We've been stuck together in this house for a long time now, and I know this seems utterly insane, seeing as our age difference is astronomical--" Bellatrix stirred ans Harry knew she was scowling "--considerable," he corrected, "but I've become rather fond of your company and--"

"Get to the point," Bellatrix groaned sleepily.

"Bella, I think I--" But his last words were lost, as Bellatrix had already fallen asleep. "In the morning, then," he muttered, turning around and trying to sleep himself. He debated himself on whether to prod her and ask about the memory, but, he supposed it could wait until the morning. He put his arm around her and stared into her features in the darkness, taking in every detail of her beauty until he finally fell asleep.

What he didn't know was that nothing could wait until morning. Perhaps if he'd taken the moon as a warning sign, he would be halfway across the city instead of holding Bella close to him, thinking about the future of the Wizarding world rather than that of just the two of them, because, as it would turn out, treachery was not as far off as he thought. To my kind readers, this is your last warning, and you should be very thankful that I do not own or make the decisions of this universe, for following with the 'roller coaster' analogy of a previous chapter, you are rapidly approaching the point at which Muggles tend to experience cardiac arrest.