A/N – chapter 3. Think we may be aiming for about 8-9 chapters in this so nearly halfway there. If anyone has any ideas of how's it going to add let me know – it'd be nice to see what you make of it so far. Don't forget to review when you reach the end.

Disclaimer – Harry Potter not mine.

Blue fabric and pins

Bellatrix Lestrange whirled around the massive chamber like a demon, hurling spells left and right. Around her the aurors were winning, the Deatheaters falling one by one; a spell glanced off her shoulder and she stopped abruptly, spinning on her heel to face her cousin. Black laughed as she sent a spell towards him, parried, sent one back. She danced aside, loosed another. He cackled madly as the red light passed harmlessly to his left.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" he called. And she hit him. Dead centre. Perfect kill.

And someone screamed.

Bellatrix Black woke up with her heart hammering. The dream was new, and she didn't understand it. Her cousin Sirius had died years ago, unmourned, wasted away in Azkaban after killing his best friend and his wife. They'd never been close and none of the Black family had lamented his passing. An oddball with no loyalty or sense of his own history. Besides Sirius had never particularly liked her, and so she'd never seen any reason to like him. So it was odd. Bellatrix Black had certainly had no hand in Sirius' Black's death. And yet somehow she'd just dreamt in startling detail his murder.

And deep down she'd known that Harry was hurt.

Harry. Her Harry. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as she threw off the covers, stood up and pulled on a silk dressing gown.

"Lumos!" she whispered, and her wand flared into life. The same wand she'd dreamt she'd killed her cousin with. Padding softly out of her room she crossed the corridor to Harry's door and hesitated there. The whole house was silent, the House Elves probably slumbering deeply in their attic, and not a sound came from Harry's room. Carefully she turned the handle of his door and peeped in. He was sound asleep, bless him, lying with his hair ruffled over his forehead and the blankets thrown casually over his shoulders. She was about to leave when he tossed uneasily and muttered in his sleep.

"Cedric…No. Cedric. Mum!"

Normally she'd have left him to it, but his voice was strange, frightened and hunted. The urgency with which he'd called the last word compelled her to swiftly cross the floor and kneel on his bed. She wrapped her arms around his narrow shoulders and held him to her.

"I'm here," she crooned. "I'm here, Harry." His eyes flew open and for a second he stared at her as if she was a monster. Bellatrix's heart stopped. The look of horror, of pure loathing in his eyes terrified her. Thankfully it dropped away in a second, to be replaced with sleepy confusion.

"Mother? What? I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?" Shaken, Bellatrix stroked his forehead and he winced as her fingers touched the baffling scar. It was hot under their cool tips.

"It's all right. You were talking. A nightmare?" He shrugged, squinting in the wandlight.

"I suppose. I can't really remember." Could he really not? she wondered. Instantly she chastised herself. Harry had no reason to lie to her! No reason… except that he had looked at her as if he truly hated her. It was just the dream, she told herself as she left him to go back to her own room. His dream confused him, he didn't know what he was seeing. Still, she had a hard time getting to sleep again that night.

In the morning Bellatrix clung to her tisane like a drowning man, and was only able to manage a weak smile when Harry entered. He looked pale and wan. She laughed a little.

"Bad night?"

"Look who's talking," he countered. She took another sip of the sweet liquid, savouring the feeling as the warmth slid down her throat.

"Retail therapy?" He pulled a face.

"Must we, mother?" She brightened a little.

"Yes! You could do with some new robes so we'll go to Madame Malkins, and I need some more gold from Gringrotts and then we'll see what else Diagon Alley has to offer." Harry perked up a little.

"Not Knockturn Alley then?" She sighed.

"No, you wimp. Just because you had one bad experience..."

"I'd say it was enough to be described as 'very bad'" he interrupted. She laughed, feeling the tired tension subdue a little.

"Not to Knockturn Alley. We'll go as we always do. Narcissa and her nephew Harry Black. Be ready in two hours." He nodded.

"Gotcha."

Narcissa was slimmer than Bellatrix, so she kept a few dresses for whenever she used polyjuice to disguise herself as her sister. That day she chose one of a soft shimmering green which fell in silky swathes off Narcissa's lean frame. The colour would have looked awful against Bellatrix's dark hair but suited her sister's blonde hair and pale blue eyes beautifully. As a known Deatheater Bellatrix could not be seen in public, but her son had escaped the notice of the Ministry thus far and the Aurors wouldn't be after him. The attack the previous night had been on an anonymous masked Deatheater. He would be safe as himself.

Harry went through the Floo-network first, pronouncing the destination very carefully. Bellatrix smiled tightly. He'd never truly trusted the network since his little adventure alone in Knockturn Alley at the age of twelve. She followed him to Diagon Alley, emerging from the green flames into the fireplace of Madame Malkins. Harry was already being attended to by the owner of the shop, who bustled around him exclaiming excitedly.

"Mr Black! My how you've grown! You'll be needing new school robes soon, won't you? Or are you after something special?" Harry gestured at Bellatrix.

"Better ask my aunt." Madame Malkin dashed forwards, producing a cloths brush, and dusted Bellatrix off.

"Mrs Malfoy! A pleasure! Is Draco with you?" Bellatrix shook her head, her long blonde hair shimmering against her elbows.

"Alas, just my nephew. He needs a new set of dress robes, I feel, and perhaps something to wear in the evenings. All those Autumn parties you know." Madame Malkin nodded understandingly.

"I have just what you want, I am sure! A deep green to match his eyes," (she produced a tape measure which whisked around Harry, recording his measurements) "or maybe this new midnight blue. I loved it so much I ordered five rolls of it!" Harry nodded noncommittally.

"Let's see it then," Bellatrix said. Madame Malkin snapped her fingers and a swathe of deep blue material flew out from the back of the shop and unrolled itself around Harry.

"Nice," Bellatrix said appreciatively as pins flew through the air and started attaching folds together, forming the outlines of a set of robes around Harry. He looked intensely bored, but turned to the mirror when she ordered him to and smiled obediently.

"I like it Aunt. Do you think –" He was cut off by the ringing of the shop bell as the door was pushed open and two figures entered the shop. For some reason Harry smiled, a genuine smile and took a step towards them as Bellatrix simultaneously fought not to reach for her wand.

"Hermione, Ron!" he said happily. The two of them stopped and stared at him. Bellatrix stared also, confused. He'd addressed them as equals.

"Black," the mudblood girl said frostily. "Since when do you use our first names?" Bellatrix stepped forwards.

"Harry! I didn't know you were on speaking terms with a mudblood." The girl flinched a little whilst the boy reddened.

"How dare you!" he shouted, reaching for his wand.

"Really, there is no need for that language!" Madame Malkin cried. Harry frowned.

"Granger. Mudblood." He didn't actually seem to be talking to her, more testing the concept out in his mouth as his brow furrowed and then cleared again. "Filthy mudblood!" The vehemence with which he spat the words startled all of them, including himself it seemed, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. The Weasley boy raised his wand, his lips forming the spell, but the girl slapped it down.

"Leave it Ron. We'll come back when the air is clean in here. I can barely breathe."

"Funny," Bellatrix murmured. "It was fine when only purebloods were in the shop." She showed her teeth at the pair of them. Madame Malkin coughed.

"Mrs Malfoy I am afraid if you continue using that language I will have to ask you to leave."

"Fine then," Bellatrix snapped, annoyed. "Come Harry. I wouldn't have brought you here if I knew what common muck shopped here. We'll go to Twilfitt and Tatting's!" She made as if to sweep out angrily, green dress swishing dramatically, but stopped because Harry didn't even seem to have heard her. He was staring at the Weasley boy, and again that strange frown hovered over his eyes.

"Weasley," he murmured. "Blood traitor. Ron." He glanced up confused. "Why do you wear pyjamas which are too short for you?" Bellatrix stared at him in horror. He's losing his wits! The Weasley boy flushed unattractively.

"You spying on me Black?" Harry shook his head puzzled.

"It's wrong, I think. I'm not sure though." Bellatrix seized his arm and he cried out at the pressure of her nails through the pinned blue material.

"I am sure that we are leaving Harry. Come now." He nodded obediently and the material and pins leapt off him. She dragged him out of the shop and down a small side alley. Checking that there was no one to watch, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him as vigorously as she could, cursing the lack of strength in her sister's slim arms.

"What on earth is wrong with you Harry? You're acting…" What? How was he acting? He'd certainly evinced Deatheater sentiments but it was if they were detached, as if someone else was speaking them for him. His gaze was a little unfocused too… Concerned she felt his forehead with the back of her wrist. A little damp, but it was a warm day. His eyes slid into focus.

"I'm sorry mother. What did you say?" She fought the urge to shake him again.

"Harry. Listen to me. Are you feeling all right?" Maybe someone was bewitching him. Maybe he was being possessed. Had the dream last night been a symptom of some spell? He shrugged.

"A little tired mother. I am sorry to worry you."

"What happened in the shop?" she demanded. He shook his head as if to clear it, and raised his hands to his temples.

"I don't know. Mother…it's as if I know those people. I mean there's a part of me which thinks 'mudblood. Yuck.'"

"As you should," Bellatrix said approvingly.

"But there's another part," he continued, wistfully. "I don't know why, but I felt like smiling when they walked in the shop. I felt… friendly." Bellatrix shivered and took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"It was just tiredness, Harry. It confused you. You're all right now?" He nodded muzzily.

"Yes. Tired is all. Thank you mother." She smiled.

"Right. Now how about a giant sundae?" He squirmed in her grasp.

"Mother! I'm not five!"

"Oh but you love them so much," she wheedled. He smiled and gave in, and she led him off to the haven of sugar and cream.

As he unconcernedly licked his spoon Bellatrix watched him like a cat, fighting her increasing anxiety. Perhaps if she went to the Dark Lord… But he didn't like to be bothered about trivial matters. And she didn't know what to say, because she didn't know what had happened. Was it tiredness? Or something more sinister. Why were there so many questions over Harry, questions which she knew she had the answers to but couldn't quite answer at the moment?

He was her son. He had her dark hair and… his father's eyes and build.

His father. Somehow her mind always shied away from that idea. She'd try and think who Harry's father had been and she'd meet a solid wall of assurance which said I am Harry's mother and then she felt satisfied.

Only it wasn't an answer was it?

Deep in the night she'd imagine that Harry's father was someone thrillingly important. Clearly a forgetful spell had been cast to hide his identity (yet she'd never bothered to try and get rid of it…). Someone powerful. Was it the Dark Lord himself? Is that why he'd always charged her to look after Harry so carefully? Was that why Harry could share his dreams? If so then she could understand why her Lord chose to make her forget. A little. Somehow she didn't mind not knowing.

And that was wrong too, wasn't it? She didn't know where this child of hers, nearly a man, with a blob of whipped cream on his nose had come from. All she knew was that she loved him fiercely, powerfully, dangerously. And she'd never let anyone hurt him. So if someone was…if someone was giving him nightmares and confusing him. Then she had to find out the truth. For his sake. To protect him.

And when she found out who it was she'd kill them so dead they'd need to be buried twice.