A Mother's grief
The grave was set in the small cemetery reserved for the convent, under the buttresses of the nearby cathedral. Even though the air was damp and cold and the day cloudy, the walled cemetery held a soft light, reflected from the blocks of pale limestone that sheltered the small plot from wind. In the winter, there were no shrubs or flowers growing, but leafless aspens and larches spread a delicate tracery against the sky and a deep green moss cradled the stones, thriving despite the cold. The winter day reflected the coldness in her heart perfectly.
It was a small stone, made of a soft white marble. A pair of cherub's wings spread out across the top, sheltering the single word that was the stone's only other decoration. "Medea" it read.
Bellatrix stood looking down at it until her vision blurred. She had brought a flower; a pink tulip – not the easiest thing to find in December. She knelt down and laid it on the stone, stroking the soft curve of the petal with a finger, as though it were a baby's cheek.
"I thought I wouldn't cry", she said a little later.
She felt the weight of her sister's hand on her head.
"Perhaps it was for the best that she didn't live", Narcissa said softly. "We will never know."
Bellatrix took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks with a corner of her cloak.
"It was some time ago, anyway."
She rose slowly to her feet and turned to find Narcissa watching her with an expression of deep sympathy and interest.
"I have found out", Narcissa said slowly, "that time does not really exist for us mothers, with regard to our children. It does not matter greatly how old the child is – in the blink of an eye, I can see Draco again as he was when he was born, when he learned to walk, as he was at any age – and I always will, even when he is fully grown and a parent himself. Especially when they're asleep", she went on, looking down at the little white stone herself. "You can always see the baby then."
Bellatrix blew her nose and they turned back along the path to the convent. As they walked slowly back, she noticed all the other small stones set here and there among the larger ones. It was heartbreaking to think of all the lives which had been stomped out before they could really begin. Then she saw another visitor to the cemetery. A small, plump woman knelt in front of two identical larger stones. She cried silently and stroked the weather-beaten stones gently. Bellatrix would have walked by, had not the wind changed and blown the faint scent of homespun and cooking in her nose. She turned around back to the kneeling woman and saw red tendrils escaping from the confines of the woman's hood. The red head lifted her face skywards in prayer and the hood slid off her head. Molly Weasley knelt there on the bare earth.
Bellatrix felt her devastation and grief turn into anger. This woman had seven children at home while she had none to hold to her bosom. She would show this spoilt brat what real grief was.