Chapter 3: The Revelation

She had to get away...

She had to get away...

Her feet glided against the ground as she stormed out of Gringotts. From the corner of her eyes, she could see wizards and witches alike staring at her with disgust. Although the Wizengamot had proclaimed her as innocent, most citizens of the Wizarding world hadn't.

At last, she had run far away from Diagon Alley, and had reached the perimeters of Knockturn Alley. She was utterly unaware that she had done so until she looked about for a brief second as she caught her breath, and found perplexed stares set upon her from various witches and wizard whom had come here for needs that concerned the Dark Arts. It seemed she was not in a friendly place, for as she gawked around, she found many faces squirmed in revulsion. So, she thought, it seems I am no longer one of them. Nevertheless, Bellatrix was feeling far too overwhelmed to be bothered—all she knew was she had to get away, though she didn't know from what, but by running... it—it helped her forget.

So she sprinted again, and her feet recommenced to glide against the ground, while her creamy, white robe bellowed and rustled with the wind — running, it seemed to halt her from thinking. Thus, she ran and ran until she no longer could run anymore. Panting, she staggered and fell down to the ground, her knees bruising as they brushed against the pavement. Her creamy-white robe was stained red with a few droplets of blood that had trickled out of her knees. Lifting her head up, Bellatrix searched around and observed her surroundings, comprehending she had been here before—she was in the depths of Knockturn Alley, a place few dared to go. Nonetheless, for now she was safe, for she found herself completely isolated in a dark and empty alleyway.

As her breathing returned to its normal frequency, thoughts began to budge their way into her mind (that appeared to be happening quite often lately); and instantly, she knew her efforts to avoid this moment had died in vain. Deliriously, she shook her head, and her dark locks twisted into the wild mess they had once been during her imprisonment at Azkaban, and the months following it, until she had fallen under Dumbledore's care. Dumbledore had ushered Madam Promfrey to take care of her. Consequently, she had been given rejuvenation potions, had been forced to bathe and wash herself, and slowly had been restored to maximum physical health, while internally... she was in turmoil—

A gasp escaped from her lips.

It was happening.

Memories flew into her mind—buried memories. Bellatrix shrieked and pleaded for them to stop. No, she didn't want to remember—she didn't want to remember them. But she already had — already had at Gringotts — and it was why she had run in the first place — to stop remembering them.

It seemed like centuries ago:

Her mother had called her down with her usual cold, and emotionally void voice. "Bellatrix! Sirius is here, and he wishes to speak to you. Be quick," she had said. Bellatrix's heart had thumped furiously as she heard Sirius's name – they had been close friends since their days in their cradle. However, what she hadn't known then was that their friendship would deteriorate into oblivion that very day.

Bellatrix marched down the stairs quickly, still in her nightgown, and looked down at the door with a friendly smile. Her mother grunted when she viewed her apparel, but Bellatrix paid no attention to her disapproval. Before the door, she found her closest companion; his dark hair was a ruffled mess, and his equally dark eyes were gleaming at her with fondness. "Bella!" Sirius beamed.

"Siri! Come—come up to my room!" she responded, still smiling warmly at him, while she continued to avoid her mother's glare that fired with criticism. Sirius had become the black sheep of the family ever since the day he had been sorted into Gryffindor, but that hadn't stopped Bellatrix from speaking to him.

He nodded and followed her up to her room. Bellatrix signalled for him to sit down on her ornate and almost century old bed. "Well," she said as she clumsily plopped down on one of the sofas in her room. "How's Hogwarts?"

Sirius didn't respond, and as she observed him further, she realized he didn't seem too cheerful; he was staring down at the ground, his black eyes avoiding her equally dark ones.

"Sirius?" she whispered, her voice tender. "Is something wrong?"

He slowly lifted his gaze from the ground, and she was instantly shocked to find that his eyes were rimmed red.

He had been crying.

In less than a flash, she jolted out of her chair, stormed towards him, and sat by his side. Upon picking up his hand gently, she asked, "Sirius?" and her voice had shaken, for never had she seen him so disoriented before.

Sirius was not a crying man.

"I heard," he croaked. "I heard about your engagement to Lestrange."

"Oh," Bellatrix mumbled, her voice faltering. "But—you knew—you knew it was coming... there was nothing neither I nor you could've done."

"No," he said at first, and his eyes seemed to gaze off into the distance. "No,' he said again, and his eyes snapped back to Bellatrix, staring into her dark pools. "… But we can run way!" he exclaimed. "Run away from it all!"

Bellatrix considered his proposal. By running away, she would be removing herself from all the responsibilities and burdens that came with being the first-child of Lord Black… but running away also meant she would not be able to take care of her two younger sisters— they would be subjected to her father's wrath—no—no— she could not let that happen. A shot of pain rustled through her as she recalled her father's beatings a few nights ago — he would vent his anger only on her, and so long as she was here, her sisters would be kept away from their father's acrimony…

Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't, Siri. You've got a year left at Hogwarts, and I've got to take care of my sisters. I can't – if we run away," she whispered, hoping he'd understand.

Sirius didn't respond for a while. In its place, he merely stared at her while his expression altered from despair with a shard of hope into complete and utter anger. All of a sudden, he shot out of her bed. "Don't lie to me, Bellatrix!" he bellowed. "I know it's something else—there's—there's something else— I know it."

Bellatrix stared at him with a perplexed expression set on her face, completely taken aback. After regaining her equanimity, she whispered softly while looking into his equally dark pools, "No Sirius, I... I said nothing but the truth."

"No!" he immediately shot back. "I saw you with him — with Lestrange. I know it. I can see it. You love him don't you? You told me you could never love me. I'm just a—a brother," he spluttered, "... but him...you love him! And I can see it in your eyes!"

"Siri—" Bellatrix implored, stunned and shocked at the foolish explanation he had given. "I do love you. Don't be rash, you are aware of that, but I cannot love you in the manner you wish... Sirius. I can't. I-I don't know why... but my heart... but my heart cannot—"

He began to storm out of her room, but jolted to a stop at her door's threshold. He turned around, and spoke to her for what would be the very last time. "You are nothing to me!" he screamed, and then thundered out, leaving her utterly confused and perplexed.

That day, she had assumed it had just been one of Sirius's outbursts, as he was quite impetuous—but days passed, months passed, and she never heard from him again.

She gasped as the memory departed…

Sirius had apologized in his will for what he had done to her years ago…

"Oh," she croaked.

Suddenly, another memory replaced the one she had witnessed a moment ago, and this one floated into her mind so vividly she ceased to exist in the present moment:

She had never dreamed of a love marriage—it was utterly foolish to do so. She had prepared herself to be married to a 'good pureblood boy', and when the day had arrived and her mother had told her that 'good pureblood boy' would be Rodolphus, she was not shocked nor was she stunned – she had simply nodded and forced a smile on her delicate lips, and had then gone up to her room— hadn't even shed a tear. She had merely dumped herself on her bed and slept in attempt to forget her dreary reality for just a few hours.

Sirius hadn't spoken to her since that day. He had left Hogwarts at sixteen, the very year of their quarrel, and had then run away from his parents, never setting his eyes on his past again; and therefore, never setting his eyes on her as well. She was now just a remnant of his past… perhaps, just a shady memory in the folds of his mind. Bellatrix had wondered if he ever thought of her—thought of the memories they had shared while drifting off to sleep in his bed— like she had—every night. But a part of her felt he had moved on.

However, a day had arrived when she had no one to turn to but him. That day, she had been crouched low beside her bed on the cold marble floor in Lestrange Manor — each bone in her body had been aching with pain. Rodolphus had beaten her, more violently than ever before, for he had been terribly angry that day when he had arrived from the Healer.

"Rod?" she had asked when she had heard someone Apparate into the living room while she prepared dinner, rather than having the house-elves cook. The smell of food and pastries of all sorts filled the atmosphere, and she thought of children, perhaps a daughter or a son (though the former Rodolphus would not want—oh, but she'd brush her hair everyday, and buy her the most beautiful dolls…), and how she or he would be nudging her gown, asking when dinner would be ready when—

"YOU BITCH!"

She had been utterly defenceless – Rodolphus had taken her wand. She remembered his face – it was stern and bursting red with fury. His hands had been morphed into knuckles, as he fully grasped and came to terms with the fact that it wasn't Bellatrix who was infertile, but him. And so, he had vented it on her— she had to suffer through a harsh beating that day — she had been beaten so hard, she had passed out for hours and hours, lying like a lifeless corpse in her pool of blood. And then, after she had woken up, croaking and trembling, she feared that he would come and blast through the door any second and she would writhe under his wrath again. Thus, she had decided she had had enough — she needed help.

Three years ago, her father had died, and hadn't left a single sickle to anyone. Her father hadn't written a will, for he had been too prideful — so prideful he thought he would live forever – and the thought of dying had never crossed his mind. The day her father had died, she had waited in Gringotts, waiting and waiting to hear what her father had left her — perhaps she could flee and run away with her inheritance. But only dreadful news had come— he had left nothing for her or Narcissa. Narcissa, of course, hadn't been too troubled by this, her husband treated her well — she had a good life… at least, as good as it got for a trophy wife.

Sitting crouched beside her bed, Bellatrix thought of whom to ask for help. She thought of her sister — Narcissa — but, she crossed her out of her mind, not wishing to burden her sister, for Bellatrix knew Narcissa would never be able to deal with such troubles.

Sighing as tears lashed down her cheeks, she thought of every face she had met in her life— suddenly—Sirius's image flickered before her.

She had found her silver lining.

Although they had not been in touch with one another for years, she felt—perhaps— he would have a meagre amount of sympathy left. If not out of the friendship they had once shared, he would perhaps help her out of common decency and pity. She crawled towards the desk situated by her bed, and then began to rummage through its drawers, searching for some paper and a quill. After finding the tools she needed, she splatted the paper onto the ground, and commenced to write hastily with her trembling and bruised hand:

Dear Siri,

I cannot remain here any longer. I need out. Please, help me. Take me out of here.

Bella

That was all she had said. She couldn't put into words what she had suffered from at the hands of Lestrange. No, she was too shamefaced and afraid to ever mouth or write those terrible gruesome beatings.

She got up from the ground, staggering, her hands shaking while she attached the letter to her owl's foot. "For Sirius," she mumbled to the owl, her voice etched with pain and just a faint shard of hope, and she watched her owl as it hooted and flew out the window. Then, after her owl had disappeared into the darkness of the night-sky, she threw herself on her bed. One tear drivelled down her bruised cheek as she closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

He would come. She was sure.

The next day, she was woken up by her owl's hoots. She sprang out of her bed and glanced outside her window with wide and hopeful eyes. She knew her Siri would reply, after all they had been childhood friends — he would definitely help her — pull her out of the dark pit she had lived in for years. She greeted the owl with enthusiasm, and turned her lips into a hopeful smile. She hadn't smiled for so long… but the smile would be short-lived.

The smile faltered and was replaced with tears. She stood shocked, taken aback by what she perceived. The owl did not have a letter—Sirius had not written back—he had completely disregarded her plea for help.

Her one shard of hope was gone.

Without thought, she crashed down to the ground, closed her eyes and hugged her knees, as position she often had often found herself in, in her formative years.

And she waited, waited for days and days, for a letter, for a word from Sirius… but nothing arrived. It was then that she heard of Voldemort from Rodolphus. Apparently he treated his followers well, and gave those who supported his cause justice. It was then that she silently began to respect this man, whomsoever he was, and from that day and onwards, she slowly lost herself — possessed by the idea that Voldemort would finally give her freedom — she would be able to flee from her terrible existence, and then her decision resolute — she decided to meet this man for herself. And no sooner had she met him, had she had the dark mark etched on her arm — it had been her sign of liberty.

She was inhaling and exhaling heavily as she sat crouched on the ground. Her face was wet with tears — Sirius had never received her letter of desperation— and if he had, he would have most definitely come to her rescue.

He would have come.

Truth had set her free today, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth spread through her form. But as soon as she had felt so, the pleasant feeling had disappeared, for a sudden rush of chillness was had come its place—

I killed him.

She croaked and staggered forwards, and was now on all fours on the pavement, breathing heavily. Her disillusionment troubled her soul so. She wanted it to stop—it was so much easier before when all she had felt was hate—but now she felt remorse—guilt.

And it befell on her: She had turned herself precisely into what she had once despised most in her formative years, for she had turned ruthless and cold like her father and Rodolphus.

And now, although she still hated—she hated herself most of all.

Still panting harshly, she thought Grimmauld Place. Although Grimmauld Place had anti-apparition spells—being the co-owner of it now, she knew she could Apparate there. She closed her eyes and thought of the three D's: Destination, Determination and Deliberation. Grimmauld Place had been Sirius's first home, and she hoped she could find remnants of him there.

Shortly, she felt herself being condensed into a particle—everything went black—she felt like iron bands had stiffened around her chest—but no sooner had she felt that way, the feeling had vanished: She had successfully Apparated into Grimmauld Place—a place where she had shared many hours of her childhood alongside Sirius. Her eyes still closed, she hoped to see him and his lopsided and playful smirk. He would be right before her when she opened them– yes, yes – and she would draw into his embrace, smell that familiar scent of the sun and ocean and grass…

Still on all fours like she had been in the dark and dim alleyway, Bellatrix slowly fluttered her eyes open, revealing her dark irises—

He wasn't there.

And though she had been expecting this, knives stabbed repeatedly into her heart.

She had only been met with the cold, empty main corridor of Grimmauld Place, and the portraits of her mostly fanatical ancestors on its aged and worn-torn walls.

There was silence for minutes and minutes, while Bellatrix stared blankly at the vacant corridor. Slowly, a faint laugh left her lips, which then was slowly replaced by a chuckle, and then by a loud and ear deafening cackle—it was the most unnerving cackle she had ever produced.

She sprang up from the ground, her hands now wrapped around her belly, as she walked forward unsteadily, cackling louder and louder — her cackles were thundering through the corridor, and to the floors above, waking all the paintings of her ancestors in Grimmauld Place.

"I KILLED SIRIUS!" she cried and shrieked, still cackling and staggering, as she aimlessly wandered forwards.

Edited: June 18, 2013