Chapter 4: That Familiar Cackle

Tonks was walking frantically back and forth across the living room at the Burrow. "What if she doesn't come back?" Tonks bawled. The Metamorphmagus huffed in – her heart was drenched in worry and concern. "We should've never let her run out of Gringotts alone—she's unpredictable!" Then, with a smack, she splatted herself down on one of the run-down sofas in the Weasley's living room, and shoved her face into her hands. Her hair was no longer the bright pink colour that it usually was— it was now a mousey-brown. "She could be anywhere—what if they've taken her?" Her muffled voice came through the cracks between her fingers. A sighing Lupin neared her, and began to comfort her with words, but she remained panic-stricken.

As all this transpired, Harry remained still— seated down on another sofa beside Tonks— void of any expression other than pure glee on his face. He didn't care if something horrible had happened to Bellatrix. He supposed he could care less if she died this very day. After they had arrived at the Burrow, Dumbledore had commenced to explain Sirius's wish of keeping Bellatrix safe and well, privately in a room to Harry. Upon hearing Sirius's wish, Harry had screamed out, "Lies! Lies!" repeatedly in a furious tone. After being calmed down, he was then taken back into the living room—and so here he was now.

Dumbledore was currently sitting serenely, and munching on some quite flavoursome food that Mrs. Weasley had prepared. "This tastes very good, Molly. You must give me the recipe!" he beamed, but she retorted light-heartedly by saying that she couldn't, for the recipe was a family secret. The headmaster chuckled back— he didn't seem an ounce disturbed over the fact that Bellatrix was lost— this caused Tonks to squirm in exasperation and anger.

The now mousy-haired Metamorphmagus hadn't told anyone that she had gradually grown familial feelings for Bellatrix. For all her years alive, she had never had the delight of calling anyone her Aunt or Uncle, since her Muggle father had been an only child and well, her mother had been disowned by her family.

When Dumbledore had told Tonks about Sirius's wish of keeping Bellatrix well and safe— she didn't know how she felt at first— she had simply stared at the headmaster with wide eyes, and a half-open mouth. However, when she had entered his office and had spotted a woman with dark-hair—strikingly resembling her own mother— sitting down on a chair, quiet and still, not exactly what she had been expecting from the renowned, and presumably deranged Bellatrix Black— she felt a spur of platonic love rumble through her heart.

This woman was her Aunt.

Tonks knew that Bellatrix had committed great acts of wickedness—had turned the Longbottoms insane—was a notorious murderer. However, when Dumbledore had informed Tonks of Sirius's wish, she knew instantly there was a story— and perhaps a tragic one at that— behind why her aunt had turned so malevolent.

So, when she had entered Dumbledore's office—she couldn't help but think 'Aunt Bellatrix' upon gazing at her aunt. It was, of course, quite irrational of her. Bellatrix didn't seem a bit affectionate in any way, but nevertheless, she felt hope—she felt that perhaps a day would come when she would have the pleasure of referring to her as 'Aunt Bellatrix', and when that thought had popped into her mind, she felt herself care for Bellatrix ever since.

And so right now Tonks was royally livid.

How could Dumbledore be so calm when her aunt (most probably in a very unstable state) was lost? Perhaps, even Voldemort's prisoner, for after all the Daily Prophet had made her trial the prime headline in its papers for weeks.

Tonks moved her face away from her hands and stared at the headmaster, who was nibbling the last bits off his plate. "Dumbledore," she said tranquilly, not revealing the heavy mount of anger she felt for him in her voice, "why aren't we looking for her?"

Dumbledore lifted his gaze from his plate, and then smiled warmly at the Metamorphmagus. "I have already told you—I have the situation under full control, Tonks. You mustn't worry," he responded. He then checked the watch banded across his wrist. "Harry?" he said, in an inquiring tone.

Harry, who had been drifting in his own thoughts, completely spaced-out and unaware of the going-ons in his surroundings, was startled to hear Dumbledore call him. He immediately flickered his green eyes towards him with a slightly gaping mouth. "Er—yes, Professor?" he mumbled – Harry had tried hard to hide his delight at Bellatrix's disappearance in his voice, but it had still been exposed, and Dumbledore had heard it.

"I believe you should visit Grimmauld Place," Dumbledore said, once having Harry's full attention. "After all, it is your property now Harry, you should get yourself well acquainted with it."

"I guess so, Professor," Harry grumbled.

"Well, let us go then! What about it, Harry?" he asked enthusiastically, his blue eyes glimmering.

Harry shrugged as he got up, while Dumbledore continued to smile as he lifted himself off his chair. "I'll see you all soon," he said to Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and Lupin. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fleur and Bill had gone upstairs to their allocated bedrooms and had fallen asleep long ago.

"Hold onto my shoulder Harry, just gently—no need to hold on so tightly," Dumbledore explained to Harry, who had been clenching too firmly onto his arm.

oOo

Harry watched 12 Grimmauld Place alongside Dumbledore, shove away its neighbouring homes, and reveal worn staircases that lead to its magnificently large front door. "I must go somewhere," Harry heard his headmaster's peaceful voice. Harry looked around and viewed Dumbledore who was gazing down at him with his typically twinkling blue eyes. Dumbledore fiddled in his pocket and then with an, "Ah," he removed a plastic bag that contained a green substance. "Here's some floo powder, Harry. So, you can return to the Burrow when you're ready." Harry grasped the plastic bag from Dumbledore's palms, and forced a faint smile on his face and thanked him. "Now, I have to get going," Dumbledore said. Harry lifted an eyebrow, for he had assumed that the headmaster would visit Grimmauld Place with him. "Don't worry, Grimmauld Place is quite safe. I assure you, Harry."

"Alright," Harry mumbled, and commenced to say his good-byes to Dumbledore. The headmaster then nodded in return and Disapparated with a smile. A grumbling Harry looked around from the empty space that Dumbledore had been occupying a second ago, back to 12 Grimmauld Place, and felt that if he were to enter it then memories of his godfather would blast through his mind. With a sigh, he hesitantly strode up the worn steps and opened the front door.

He jerked to a stop at the threshold.

Aunt Walburga's portrait was on the marble floor, and the glass encasing it had been crushed into smithereens. Harry was stunned, for he had assumed that her portrait had been stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. He took a few steps forward, and heard the front door slam shut on its own, causing him to jolt in surprise. After he calmed down, he commenced to trudge towards the portrait. Finally, he had kneeled down to view it.

Harry's green eyes were wide as he stared at the portrait for what seemed to be more than a few minutes. Aunt Walburga was nowhere to be seen, she had run away from her portrait, perhaps to another one. He was surprised, to say the least, as he erected himself back to a straighter form. Lifting an eyebrow, he glanced around his surroundings, wondering if it had been Sirius who had finally managed to remove his mother's portrait from the wall— he suddenly staggered backwards—his ears had caught a very familiar cackle rumble from what seemed to be the first floor.

Bellatrix Black was with him in the dwelling.

His fingers curled around his wand firmly as he jolted upstairs. A sneer painted over his face when he finally arrived at the first floor, nearly stumbling as he did so on the very last step. He waited to hear that cackle that he so very despised, but it never came. For a splitting second, he had assumed that he had imagined it, until he heard what seemed in likeliness to a woman whimpering vibrate towards him from the very end of the dark corridor. "Lumos," he muttered bitterly, causing his wand to flicker a beam of light at its end. A cold smile washed over his generally kind features, as he began to march forwards— very slowly and quietly.

At last, he arrived at the end of the corridor, and found a door cracked slightly open. He tiptoed near it, and peered into the room, and as he had expected—he spotted a bouquet of dark curls. His green eyes burned with anger. He opened the oak door a bit more, very gently to make sure it wouldn't creak, and then peeped in again to see more of what his godfather's murderer was up to.

oOo

An hour ago, Bellatrix had found Sirius's diary in the room he had stayed at in Grimmauld Place the previous year, until three months ago—when she had killed him. She had found it during the peak of her mental breakdown in his wardrobe, under clothes that still emitted his smell. And, she had drenched every entry within it with hot tears—each entry of his had not passed without the mentioning of her name.

Sirius hadn't stopped loving her—even for one day— through all the years that they had been estranged.

But yet, even now—with all she had read in his diary— she could not love him that way.

She could only perceive him platonically and as nothing more.

And so, minutes ago, she had come to the conclusion that her heart was cold—that it could never love. She had staggered forwards, and had her body face-down splatted next to the floor— she hadn't even cried a bit—not that she didn't want to—but she had cried enough while reading his diary, and didn't have any more tears to shed. While facedown on the floor, she had arrived at a decision. Thus, here she was now planning to execute it…

She was sitting upright on the floor with crossed legs, and had her wand's tip pushed into her bosom—right above her heart—as memories that she had shared with Sirius flicked through her mind in repeated cycles.

Her eyebrows were furrowed.

She was ready.

She began, "Avada Keda—"

"STOP!" A voice thundered into the room.

Her walnut wand fell from her hand—her head began to turn around to where the voice had issued—she yearned for the voice to belong to Sirius. Perhaps, he was here—he had survived somehow—his mischievous smirk dancing upon his face.

Her heart sank.

Rather than seeing dark and frisky eyes, she had found striking green ones staring at her with concern and distress—

Sirius was dead.

She had killed him.

The boy looking at her was Harry Potter—not her Siri.

She grimaced in irritation, and grabbed her wand again from the floor, placing the tip upon her bosom again— about to finish what she had started— when suddenly she was knocked hard onto the floor.

The back of her head began to throb with pain. Wheezing, she fluttered her long and dark eyelashes, feeling half-dazed and confused.

A crease began to form between her eyebrows.

She found the boy with the striking green eyes on top, his weight upon her body, his hands clasping her wrists—they were inches away from each other's faces, breathing heavily upon each other's skin.

Flabbergasted, she stared at his green orbs with her dark ones for a few minutes, thunderstruck as to what to do. Then she spoke, her voice flat and icy—she always accomplished every decision she made in her life, and this boy had interfered with one of them...

oOo

Dumbledore sat in his office, waiting patiently for Phineaus to come and reveal to him what was occurring at Grimmauld Place. He suddenly heard someone clearing his voice, and turned around to where he expected the voice to have issued. He was correct—the voice had transmitted from Phineaus's portrait. "Hello Phineaus," Dumbledore said, amiably. "Any good news?"

Phineaus stared at Dumbledore with a face that seemed awfully distraught. "I do not know," he responded, his head was sunk low— he wasn't staring at Dumbledore directly. "I can only hear the racket that is going on the first floor! I can't go there—I don't have a portrait there!"

The current headmaster at Hogwarts smiled warmly at the troubled one in the portrait. "All will turn out well, Phineaus. Your great-great granddaughter will not be harmed, I assure you," he comforted, instinctively knowing that Phineaus was worried for his last few living descendants, only a dwindling few remained— Bellatrix and her two sisters to be exact.

Phineaus slowly nodded, not fully believing Dumbledore's words. "I hope so," he mumbled. "I will go and stay at my portrait in Grimmauld Place."

Dumbledore nodded, letting Phineaus leave, and then began to sip on his cup of tea. He smiled, after he had a lemon drop that he had drunken down with his tea.

oOo

"Get off me, Potter," Bellatrix had said icily and flatly, looking at his face with a deadpan expression.

"No," he had said, firmly. "I won't let you kill yourself."

Harry's green eyes were penetrating into her soul, and were unintentionally filled with worry. He still had his hands clasped around her wrists, and was pinning her down to the ground— he could tell that if he continued his hold, she would end up carrying a bruise on her wrists for weeks.

He didn't know why he had done it.

Just minutes ago, back at the Burrow, he had felt elated at the notion that Bellatrix might have been captured by Voldemort—or even better—killed.

Except, when he had been staring through the crack behind the door, watching her mutter the Killing Curse— he had unexpectedly bolted forwards and had pressed her down to the ground.

He could've just let her die, he thought, while staring at dark eyes that were brewing with irritation and fury—she really wanted to die.

But, he couldn't. He couldn't let her die.

"You know, there are other ways I can kill myself," she replied, off-putting him from his thoughts. He stared at her, befuddled as to what she would do next— her dark hair was a splendid mess as she continued to speak— her heavily hooded eyes were filled with vehemence. "For example," she said coolly, "I could just stop breathing for a few minutes." She huffed out a load of air from her chest—she was trying not to breath.

"Don't be stupid," Harry said severely, but she didn't respond as she closed her eyes, and continued her mission of death by lack of air consumption.

A few seconds or so passed by, her eyes were still closed while she tried to kill herself. Harry growled and felt irritated. However, his irritation began to be swapped with worry and dread as she continued to lay flatly below him with a still chest. Had she died? Abruptly, he began to shake her back and forth— she wobbled like a ragdoll under his hold, and her dark hair flew wildly, sometimes thrusted on Harry's face. "Breathe!" he screamed, as he continued to vibrate her. "Breathe!" he howled.

"Stop. It," Bellatrix had already sighed in exasperation the minute he had begun to shake her. Her eyes had already burst open, but Harry hadn't noticed as he continued shaking her deliriously. She huffed in, and then with all the force she could conjure, she screamed— "STOP!"

Harry jerked to a stop and stared at her blankly, dumbfounded and half-confused for half-a-second. Then, his green eyes gradually began to look relieved. "You're alive!" he exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes.

Harry's hands still grasped her shoulders tightly. "Let go of me," she growled. He didn't let go and shook his head. Scanning the room, to his right, he found her walnut wand lying deserted on the floor. Quickly, he seized it with one hand.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he screamed.

Bellatrix was speechless—her eyes widened as she plopped down to the ground and felt her body stiffen. She watched Harry in a baffled state as he held her wand in his hands. He smirked faintly, "I won't let you kill yourself," and then she watched him as he—

Crack.

He had cracked her wand in two.

"I'll get you a new one—when I'm sure you're not going to kill yourself with it," he said.

Internally, as Bellatrix began to understand what he had just done, flame-hot anger began to boil in her heart. If she hadn't been cursed by surprise, she was sure that—'the Potter boy' as she referred to Harry— would be lamenting under a very potent Cruciatus curse.

She continued to watch him with her widened dark eyes. He erected from the ground, and bent down. She wondered what he was going to do next. She was cursing in her head. And then, thunderstruck once more, she beheld him kneel down towards her and scoop her off the ground.

Bellatrix was raging inside— she loathed feeling his touch.

Her head was situated next to his chest, as he walked over to what had been Sirius's bed, holding her gently in his arms "You've had a long day," he said, dropping her down onto the tattered mattress of the bed with a big thump. Meanwhile, Bellatrix hadn't noticed where he had been striding or what he had said, for she had been grumbling in her head, cursing and cussing—

She winced as her back rubbed against a vindictive bedspring.

Confused, she watched him as he incanted a few anti-vermin and anti-insect charms over the mattress she now found herself lying on. Harry did the same with the worn pillow positioned under her head, but unseen due to her dark hair that had now frizzed wildly. He then sighed, while warily positioning a blanket over her, and soon incanting on it the same spells he had used on the mattress and pillow.

Bellatrix's lifeblood was pounding with rage.

Minutes ago, she was expecting to see the afterlife—perhaps hell or whatever the hell that came after death—but definitely not this.

"Goodnight," she heard Harry's fatigued voice, towing her out of her thoughts.

From the corner of one of her eyes, she viewed him as he marched away with a pillow held in one of his hands. He flung the pillow to the cold ground, slumped down and smacked his head on it with a huff.

She hadn't noticed, but in her head, she had huffed unerringly the same way.

Author's Note: Finally, some Bellatrix/Harry interaction! Anyway, you'll see plenty more of it in the upcoming chapters that I'm hopefully going to write (soon), for I've scrapped the chapters I've already written— deeming them not worthy for this fic. I feel that this fic is going to be terribly long, and it's gotten me a bit stumped and excited at the same time. So, yup—enough of my rambling. Hope you enjoyed this bit. As you might already know—your feedback is welcomed. Feel free to say whatever you want! I reply to every review!

So long for now! =)