The Thirty-ninth
"This can't go on any longer."
Molly knew Arthur was right. She had refused to let Bellatrix leave again and had pulled herself together, despite Narcissa's protest. But she had not seen her friend's sister even once during the last six months, and had, if possible, not mentioned her, making the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable.
Even Harry had laid aside his hate at some point and had visited Bellatrix. Afterwards, he had tired talking her into doing the same. It would help her find peace, he'd said.
She took a deep breath. "All right. But don't expect too much immediately."
The Fortieth
Molly had lain down for a nap after tea, just before Arthur had come home. It was hard on her to see Bellatrix every day, even for an hour.
"Why is it so much easier for you?" Narcissa had been wondering about this for some time.
"I didn't always work where I'm now. Before that, I had to do with people who'd been kissed." Arthur's voice was soft, his expression sad as he watched her making Bellatrix drink tiny sips from a feeding cup. "I can't hate them, no matter what they did."
Narcissa knew better than to ask more.
The Forty-first
With every passing day, Molly found her feelings change. She didn't like it, and maybe it was for this reason that she had refused to face Bellatrix for so long.
She'd hated a Death Eater, the murderer of her child, but that person did no longer exist. What was left was a frail woman slumped in a wheelchair, her stick-thin legs wrapped in a blanket, the fisted hands pressed tightly against her chest, the eyes sunken and lifeless.
The hate was slowly fading away. But it left a hole in Molly's heart, and she didn't know how to fill it.
The Forty-second
"Good, and now another one."
For the last hour, Molly had been patiently coaxing Bellatrix into eating spoonful after spoonful of pureed food. Narcissa was too sick with the flu to leave her bed.
When the bowl was empty, she set it aside and absently ran her fingers over the black hair. All of this reminded her of taking care of Ginny during the weeks before she'd died at home. She'd been so thin, so weak, so helpless. So like her.
When she finally realised what she was doing, her hand began to tremble – but she didn't take it away.
The Forty-third
Narcissa's first instinct had been to turn and run, but she had fought it. After so long, he'd come to talk to her.
Now they were sitting in the kitchen, Molly and Arthur being there to make her feel safe.
"I won't discuss my marriage with them listening," Lucius finally said disdainfully.
Narcissa took a deep breath. "Things have changed," she replied firmly. "If you want your family back, you'll have to do the same."
Lucius didn't answer. Only now did she notice how tired and unhappy he was looking.
When Molly handed him a cup of tea, he drank.
- The End -