Love's Odyssey in Death's Design

XI

Time had a way of passing in the most peculiar manner. It could speed by like a Snitch released before the start of a Quidditch match. Or it could drag listlessly like a slug in the dirt. During her bid in Azkaban, time had gone so slowly it had eventually lost its meaning. An hour could have been a day, a month, a year for all she knew. She had passed it trying not to succumb to the venemous tendrils of insanity. Though of course, no one had ever given her credit for it. But that was no matter. It made the role of a deranged murderer such a convincing one to play. Even she began to believe it after a while. At present, ironically enough with her clearly imminent demise looming in the near future, ever fickle time seemed to have sprouted wings.

It had been a month since Bellatrix had arrived in the safe house. Only eleven more to go.

For someone that had literally sentenced herself to death, she was getting along quite well. She appreciated the solitude, which was not at all like the bone chillingly dark isolation she had experienced in Azkaban. She had an elf, a descendent of the one she had left behind, who was more than eager to serve Mistress Bella even though 'Mistress Bella is not looking like herself'. It had been unnecessary to have to convince the creature of who she really was. She would not have been able to breach the premises otherwise and that was all the proof that had been needed.

There was food. There were clothes. And of the spare wands that had been stashed away all those years ago, she had found one that was tolerable. Ebony wood and dragon heartstring. It did not feel at all like her walnut wand. The core, though of the same material, did not sing to her magic the way her own did. Everytime she cast a spell, she was overcome with the reminder that it was not hers, it had not chosen her. There were no years of familiarity in the wood, no loyalty. It was like wearing a pair of shoes that had been deliberately put on the wrong foot. Still, it was capable enough for comfort. It had managed to help her demolish the room in which the Dark Lord had held his last meeting on that fateful Halloween night. Reduced it to rubble and smiled triumphantly at her work, she had, declining the house elf's nearly beseeching offer to put it back to rights. Perhaps she might allow it, eventually, just to destroy it again. For now, Bellatrix thoroughly enjoyed it the way it was and the smell of scorched wallpaper and furnishings that lingered throughout the house.

The Horcrux had been blessedly silent thus far, though in its wake had left an odd though subtle buzzing sensation, just under her skin, she noticed shortly after waking this morning. It had happened before and was easy enough to ignore as she went about her day. The repetition of her temporary existence was not nearly as cumbersome as she had thought it would become. The Elf, Kritter, prepared her breakfast -if taking one's first meal of the day well after noon could be considered breakfast - after which, if the weather allowed, she walked along the shore of the lake. After being locked away for so long, the freedom to stretch her legs and take in the freshly crisp air, to feel her wild curls blowing unbound in the wind was the epitome of freedom. It was a luxury too many took for granted. When the sun was due to set or rain clouds rolled in -whichever happened first - she retired into the house's remarkably large and well stocked library until Kritter brought her a light supper and it was time to adjourn to bed to repeat it all over again in a few hours.

It was doing wonders for her health. Too bad it would eventually go to waste.

Thunderous clouds hung low in the sky, crackling with the electric promise of a storm. Bellatrix sat curled upon a dusty threadbare armchair in the library, her bare feet tucked warmly beneath her black skirts as she unfolded the latest copy of the Daily Prophet, absentmindedly indulging in a box of chocolate truffles courtesy of Kritter.

Amusement danced merrily across her face as her eyes roved greedily over the blaring headline on the front page. 'Tarnished Gold: War Heroine Missing'. It appeared the Mudblood had garnered quite a bit of negative attention, and as the dark witch read on, she could not help but utter a snicker of mirth.

'She was never the same after my brother's tragic death,' good friend Ginny Weasley stated yesterday afternoom, the crushing weight of sadness burdening her features, 'They would have been engaged, like Harry and I. We were planning a double wedding.'

Lifelong friend and Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter seen clutching the hand of his betrothed also shared a few words of concern, 'We are all really worried about 'Mione. No one has seen or heard from her in weeks. We just want her to come home so she can get the help she needs'

Some friends they were, the former Death Eater thought with a sniff of disdain. Even if it was just the Mudblood whose personal affairs were being being made public by those that were closest to her, she still found it rather foul. Discretion was one of the first rules most proper Purebloods had drilled into their heads from infancy, right after the rule that stated under no circumstance should one have relations with Mudbloods or their disgustingly inferior parents.

Regardless of whether one of those said Mudbloods literally held one's life in their hand.

Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix's continued to skim the page. The next few lines caused a deep frown to crease her dark brows. 'Narcissa Malfoy has confirmed that her sister, one Bellatrix Lestrange, was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. She has declined an interview for the time being'

"Never you worry your pretty blonde head Cissy," she muttered to herself with a bitter chuckle, "I shall be six feet under soon enough."

The article went on and on, brimming with more exclusive interviews from former Hogwarts students and 'friends' broadcasting their concern for the girl and her month long disappearance.

'We wanted to believe her, we truly did. Encountering Bellatrix Lestrange, her scar burning, there was just not enough proof...'

The dark witch's eyes narrowed and she unconsciously leaned forward to reread that last line. Burning scar? Realization was about as strange as time. It could occur as subtle as the illuminating tip of a wand at the mutter of 'Lumos' or in a relentless rush like an avalanche of jagged rocks and ice. As was the case now. Bellatrix burst out of the chair with such force, it was nearly knocked over. Like they were bequeathed with a mind of their own, her hands grabbed at several books and heavy tomes filled with pages dedicated to the dark arts and ancient magic, yanking them from the shelves, her breath coming out in short, harsh pants as her heartrate exponentially increased.

Images flashed rapidly before her mind's eye, a memory of the Mudblood pinned beneath her. Terror and pain filled screams that rent the cool air of her sister's home. Tears falling from eyes of the deepest brown that pleaded, that begged her captor to stop. She, ever unyielding, her own mad cackles merging with the high pitched screams to create a horrifically harmonic cacophony. The glint of a silver blade. The raw, unadulterated hatred that seeped into the crevices of her heart, poisoning the already damaged organ, hardening it, erecting an impenetrable fortress against any sympathy that dared manifest itself. The cursed dagger steady in her grip as she carved into tender, unblemished flesh. Flawed justification as she made each cut, the perverse pleasure that drew a wanton groan from her lips at the end result.

When she found what she had not even been aware she was searching for, Bellatrix swayed on the spot. This was not right. Well, no, it was right. What she was reading was most certainly correct. But how, how could she have missed it?

"Did you summon me here?" The words the girl had spoken on the side of the road came back to her in a rush. Oh, this was wrong. So wrong. And it was with humorless laughter that dangerously bordered on hysteria that Bellatrix realized this was all her fault. The Horcrux had been right. This connection -Merlin's balls she could not even think it - that she evidently shared with the Mudblood, this 'second chance' she had been given had been put into motion the very moment she had decided to mark that girl's skin. There was nothing that could be done to counteract it. Even the petulantly defiant decision she had made to die was rendered null and void. She had no say in it all whatsoever. This was old magic that surpassed will alone. She had no choice. It was only a matter of time before -

A low hiss escaped Bellatrix's lips as the subtle buzzing within her suddenly intensified to a thrumming pulse. Rocking back on her heels, the large book tumbled from her hands as she gripped the edges of the shelf tightly, anticipating another episode from the volatile piece of her soul contained within the pendant chain around her neck. But nothing came. Just the unbearable throbbing buzz that rivaled a nest of angry bees. It pitched her forward violently, as if someone had struck her hard in the back to urge her to walk. Verily she had no control over the jerky movements, had not a clue as to where she was being lured.

Her replacement wand was in her hand the next moment as she submitted to the force that was propelling her to the foyer of the safe house. There were no protests in her mind, or on her tongue; she did not try to stop it. The sensation was growing painful now, like millions of pinpricks all over her skin and the only thing that seemed to promise a respite was going wherever her body was hellbent on taking her.

But she knew. Deep down, under the iron grip of compulsion, she knew exactly where she was going. There was nothing to ponder, no confusion. Just the need to go. To get there.

To her.

The sharp crack of Disapparation was as loud as the rumbling thunder that rolled across the sky, forboding as it melded together with the crash of the lake's murky waves against the shore.

Author's Note: This is a noticeably shorter installment to be sure, but honestly I don't aim for any particular word count, I just write until the chapter contains everything it's supposed to. I was so excited to write this chapter. Now that you've read it, I'm sure you can guess why. It is starting. This is not a drill. The Bellamione aspect is starting! Granted, it'll be some time before we get that far up in it, but clearly a line is about to be crossed, yes? Let me know your thoughts and speculations of course. Thanks again so much for all the views, reviews, follows, and favorites. Thoughts and prayers up to anyone who has been effected by the storms. Until next time loves -bellanoire, over and out!