Chapter 10: Sinking Beyond the Abyss

She was exploring her room at Hogwarts. It was filled with only a scarce amount of furniture. To be more precise, the new chamber only entertained a bed, a desk, a loveseat, and a large bookcase. Near the middle of the room, within one of the dusty brick walls, was a timeworn fireplace. It was not kindled and fired as of yet, but if need ever arose, it would warm up the room to a near perfect temperature during the colder months.

In short, the furniture was mediocre, all in all the room was unexceptional. Upon scanning the room, Bellatrix's mind had evoked to her the elaborate and elegant furniture at her father's manor, and at Rodolphus'– her second prison. Both abodes had been equally sophisticated, furnished with the most expensive and luxuries objects in almost all of Europe, but they both had been merely well-decorated prisons: What could one do with riches if they were shackled?

As her eyes continued to scan the room, she pondered over all the other professors who may have lived and breathed in her surroundings – some were dead, while a few others were still alive. Slughorn, the Potions professor when she had been a pupil at Hogwarts, would have also possibly resided in this chamber.

Remembering Slughorn caused Bellatrix to remember her years at Hogwarts; she had been a student, hiking through the corridors of Hogwarts with textbooks in her then small hands. Her eyes had sometimes been glazed with anticipation and optimism for her future, but more often than not, she had been apathetic – apathetic, but the brightest and smartest female pupil in Slytherin, or perhaps from all four houses of her time…

And the loneliest too.

She let out a hoarse sigh, and abruptly turned around, finding herself in front of a mirrored closet door. For a riven second, she was stunned as she glared at herself in the mirror. And then, for another split second, she was shocked once more, as she perceived a young girl with dark hair settled in a braid, staring back at her with precipitous and defiant black eyes through the mirror. Abruptly, Bellatrix realized she had seen her before, she had seen her in the Great Hall while the first years were being sorted, just a meagre amount of hours ago…

oOo

A few hours earlier…

Hermione strode down a spacey hallway alongside Ron and various other prefects. A large door loomed in the distance, leading to the great hall, and her, Ron and the other prefects lead the first years towards the magnificently large door. Looking back, she found anxiety washing over their juvenile faces. "It'll all go fine," she said to them, grasping their attention."I promise," she comforted, when they appeared skeptical. A few of the first years then smiled back in response, but she noted that most were still nervous. Suddenly, a thin witch wearing a pointed hat and long red robes appeared before Hermione and Ron; she had walked out of the large door that lead to the Great Hall. The stern looking woman with green eyes glanced around coolly at the other prefects, Hermione and Ron, and then at the nervous first years stationed behind them. "I'll take over now," Professor McGonagall said with a brisk nod. Hermione and Ron bobbed their heads, as did the other prefect, then she and Ron headed towards the large door, entering the Great Hall while leaving a weary McGonagall with the first years.

As Hermione walked alongside Ron to the Gryffindor table, where red and gold flags hung above, she scanned the table, and looked with incisive eyes for any traces of Harry. However, to her dismay, she could not find him with the other Gryffindors. Her brows instantly puckered in worry, and she turned around to Ron. "Ron," she said. The ginger whirled around to face her, and Hermione noticed his gaze had been glued on a female Ravenclaw prefect. Her jaws tightened for a few seconds at this, but she was far too concerned over Harry's whereabouts to really care. "Have you seen Harry?" asked Hermione.

Ron shrugged. "Last time we saw him he was with Neville."

Hermione sighed. 'I know that,' she thought to herself before she scanned the Gryffindor table once more for a head of disheveled dark hair.

Ron looked at the fretted look plastered across Hermione's face. "Hey, don't worry," he said, trying best to comfort her. Hermione tore her eyes away from the table, and turned her attention to him. Once their eyes met, he said: "He's probably somewhere around here..."

"No, it's quite evident that he's not, Ron." Hermione huffed in response. " Just... shut up, will you?" she spluttered, clearly enraged.

Ron cooped up his eyebrows, confused at her rude retort. He followed Hermione in a jumbled state, as she haughtily joined the seated Gryffindors. Neville was sitting before her next to Dean, and the two were conversing animatedly with one another.

"Neville," said Hermione and interrupted their conversation, while she noticed Ron had seated himself next to her. Ignoring Ron, she watched Neville turn his head around from Dean to her., and raise his neck, waiting for her to continue. "Have you seen Harry?" she then asked.

Neville gaped at Hermione with broadened eyes for a few seconds before replying: "I- I thought he was with you," he stammered. "Oh – Oh – he's right there!" He suddenly exclaimed in relief while the Sorting Hat had commenced to sing.

Hermione could not concentrate on the Sorting Hat's new song. "Where?" she asked.

"Hermione," she heard a voice, startling her out of her thoughts. She turned around to her left, where she found a young male with jet-black hair and green eyes. It was Harry: His face was rigid and tight, red veins spoiling his otherwise stunning eyes. "Harry?" she whispered, slightly surprised by his abrupt entrance. After gathering herself, her eyebrows rutted, this time not out of anxiety, but out of fury. "Now where in Merlin's saggy pants were you?!" she barked.

Harry was about to respond, but noted Hermione's mouth had plummeted open.

Hermione was viewing a woman sporting slim-fitted green robes, with hair as dark as ebony, sauntering through the Great Hall towards the lean rectangular table where all the other professors were seated. "Harry," she whispered in disbelief and confusion. "Look…" her voice trailed off, her attention being completely absorbed by Bellatrix.

He very well knew where she was looking, as he smacked himself on seat next to Hermione. Ron was sitting to her other side, talking enthusiastically with Seamus Finnegan, unaware of the ebony-haired woman who had just walked into the Great Hall. While watching the placid expression on Ron's face, and wishing he too could be in a tranquil state like him, Harry heard Hermione again – "Harry, look!" she exclaimed in frustration. Hermione's voice had thundered into the Great Hall, drawing the attention of every student. Red-faced, Hermione gulped as she stared inelegantly around the Hall, before the other pupils turned around and recommenced to ogle at the dark-haired witch with their complete attention; their faces were bearing an expression in stark likeliness to the one Hermione was harboring at her sight.

Former Death Eater Found Innocent in Trial – titles such as this had travelled across the Wizarding world in newspaper stands of all sorts, from the Daily Prophet – even to the Quibbler. All had been startled and stunned at the decision the Wizengamot had arrived at concerning Bellatrix – Hermione too had been surprised. In fact, the word 'surprise' was too unfilled of a word to explain what she had experienced when she had seen Bellatrix's face in the cover of the Daily Prophet with Remus Lupin, and none other than Dumbledore by her side. The details of her trial were held private and clandestine to the world, nobody as of yet knew the reasons for why Bellatrix had been found innocent, other than of course that the Wizengamot had been 'shocked', 'saddened' and 'grieved' over the experiences Bellatrix had gone through in her life, and thus, they all had arrived to clearing the wrongs she had done in the eyes of the law – mandating that she had done her crimes under exceptional circumstances and extreme mental unfitness.

But, the Wizarding world still despised her. Bellatrix was still a criminal – a murderer before their eyes, even if the Wizengamot had said otherwise.

And, Hermione deplored her too.

Abruptly, the bushy-haired witch turned around to Harry, and began to nudge at his arm frenziedly. Harry quickly turned his head around to his right, where she was seated. "I know – I know – it's her," Harry said, his voice containing slight irritation that he tried best to conceal, but Ron had caught it. Turning away from Seamus to Harry, Ron exclaimed, "Hey, what's wrong with you?" haughtily, before his eyes settled on a certain raven-haired witch. Instantly, Ron's face turned into an alarmed manifestation – "Ha – Ha – Harry," he stuttered, "It's – It's –"

While Hermione stared dumbfounded at Harry for his simple and impassionate reaction to Bellatrix's unexpected appearance, Harry's hands were changing into fists, and his eyebrows were scrunching, all while Ron continued to stammer, "It's – It's – It's – " Not being able to stand the reactions of everyone around him, Harry finally bellowed, "I KNOW!"

oOo

"I KNOW!"

Bellatrix's eyes darted away from the glass of hot tea she had just flavored with some sugar, and was now lethargically mixing with a teaspoon. Aware that each student was gazing at her in disgust, (well except for one, namely Draco – his face was more of an expression that articulated fright and anxiety), she turned to where the quite familiar voice she had just heard had ignited: In the Gryffindor table, beside the 'Muggleborn' as Bellatrix referred to Hermione, she spotted a young male with ruffled jet-black hair, and a face expressing nothing more or less than anger. Knowing his fury had something to do with her, her lips curled faintly at the sight, while she heard the quite mind-numbing voice of the Sorting Hat shouting a name of the four houses periodically.

Still gazing at the Gryffindor table, Bellatrix suddenly spotted a round-faced boy sitting near Harry. This boy's eyes were glued on her – they were brewing with the craving for vengeance…

'No. No. No. No,' she muttered frantically in her head, as she felt the marks of entering the onset of insanity.

She was marching there – memories were riling through her head.

Her fingers curled on her teaspoon – power – power – she needed power to stop the memories.

She gasped: Pain.

Her fingers burned. Peering down with her dark eyes to the table, she noticed that her cup of tea had tipped, for she had unconsciously been mixing her tea with too much force.

It felt good.

For a while, she couldn't think while she felt the burning sensation sweltering her fingers. Then, sudden flashes of unwanted recollections floated into her mind. Her dark eyes travelled from the cup that had rolled to her wrist. On her wrists, she found faint silver scars, evidence of those memories.

The silver scars were proof that she had once been weak, and was feeling weak again.

Her eyes bolted shut. She was clutching her eyelids together firmly, until she could only see blurry flashes that seemed like fireworks. Then, as she breathed in deeply, she slowly managed to open her eyes, finding herself in the Great Hall again. She felt relieved, feeling she had managed to walk away from the edge of madness.

Then, she caught those green eyes probing her soul from the Gryffindor table.

'Potter.'

Immediately, she flung her head away from them, and glanced at McGonagall who finished placing the Sorting Hat on the last first year; the Sorting Hat screamed out, "SLYTHERIN!" and with it, applause immediately erupted from the table where students were wearing green and silver neckties.

The first year consumed Bellatrix's attention: Bellatrix wondered what the future beheld for the young girl that nervously plopped herself off the chair, and ambled slowly towards the Slytherin table. The young, dark-haired girl seated herself beside a few other students—

Bellatrix suddenly blinked, blinked and blinked.

There was no girl.

It was a boy – a young boy with dull brown hair.

And she realized she had been hallucinating.

Immediately, her chest rose and deflated madly, for it seemed she hadn't been successful at walking away from the threshold of insanity.

Hastily, she gazed away from the first year boy, but as her eyes accidently glided across the Gryffindor table, she found those green eyes again – still watching – trying to decipher her.

'Never. He will never find out.'

"Napkins?" she heard a voice. Revolving her head to where she had heard the voice, Bellatrix found herself blankly staring at Professor Flitwick. She realized she had forgotten that her tea had tipped over. Dazedly, she grabbed the napkins from Flitwick's hands, then began to wipe the puddle of her now cold tea off the smooth and polished wooden table. As she mopped the drink, she found herself regarding her reflection in the liquid…

And she felt as though was staring at a stranger.

oOo

Presently…

'Mad.'

Insanity had once given her freedom and liberty – had driven her away from her conscience. When insane, she could do anything without feeling guilt – and she felt alive when delirious... funny how lunacy could occasionally make one feel alive…

Bellatrix was now emptily staring at herself at the mirrored closet – the young girl with dark hair had vanished, and Bellatrix was now gawking at a woman with dark curls framing an ivory face. This woman's eyebrows were rutted, and though her eyes were shaped in such likeliness to the young girl's – they were not defiant – they were weary and vacant.

She heard her feet stroll towards the mirror, gliding across the marble floor of her chamber. For a few seconds that felt more like hours, she was just staring at herself in wonderment. 'Is this me?' she questioned, never feeling such disassociation from herself before. Then, her fingers rubbed across the mirror; she felt the smooth surface of the mirror – her fingers had left grubby marks, as she had skated them towards the reflection of her eyes. Suddenly, she shuddered out of surprise – her hand sharply fell to her side, as an owl's hoots seeped into her surroundings. She lurched herself around to where the sound had issued, and found a snowy owl with a parchment tied to its leg, resting on top of the cedar-wood desk.

Her thoughts flew over her head, as she sauntered towards the owl, relieving it of the parchment with her slender hands. Then, she watched the owl as it flew out of the window with the glass-stained panels. She hadn't noticed she had opened the window – perhaps she had or perhaps she hadn't. She didn't remember much of what she did lately…

She was half here and half there, wherever that was.

Once the owl had disappeared, she felt a breeze wafting in through the window, hitting her face gently – as it hit her face, she forgot it all for a few minutes.

She was just alive, breathing and alive, but just as the breeze hit her face, she was herself again.

She let out an unaware sigh, and her eyes then stroked down to the parchment she had just collected. She rolled the parchment out, quickly comprehending that it was merely a list containing the names of all the students that she would be teaching to this year. She scanned the parchment. Some surnames she knew of, but other surnames were unknown to her – 'Muggleborns.' Then, suddenly – one name, though written just the same as the others, appeared as though it had been written in bold...

Harry Potter.

'Harry. Bloody. Fucking. Potter.'

Unexpectedly, she desired to run – run, run and run until she stopped thinking, just like she had after Sirius's will had been read at Gringotts. She didn't know why she wanted to run – but she did, for once her mind had evoked to her those green eyes, peering into her soul when she had been seated with the other staff members in the Great Hall.

She didn't know why those green eyes made her feel so unsettled.

But, she hated it.

She hated him.

She knew he was taking up an endeavor none had dared to take.

'He'll fail, though' – she was sure of it – 'He'll fail.'

'He has to.'

She scanned the parchment once more, and felt a bit content once she found out that a name had not been inked on the rough texture of the material. 'Longbottom' – she wouldn't be teaching Potions to him.

The last time she had had the pleasure of personally meeting Neville was in the Hall of Prophecies, where she had tortured him briefly with the Cruciatus Curse – to see how long he would hold out before cracking like his parents.

Torturing others had turned into a game. Just a game to see how long they would last before turning insane – 'like me.' She hadn't care if she killed, tortured or turned someone mad. In her mind, they had all deserved it – 'After all, nobody's innocent.' Morality was non-existent – the world was grey. People were either predators or preys…

'We might as well be the predators.'

But Sirius was different. He cared – he would kill for her – die for her.

He did die for her.

He hadn't deserved... death.

She winced.

They were too many thoughts for one day; she couldn't handle them all at once, and so she let the parchment, still grasped in her slim hand, fall to the cedar-wood desk she was standing against. Then, she strode towards the mirrored closet door once more, sliding it with a push with her hand, and glancing at the contents within it. The clothes she had packed were already well organized in her closet – somehow. She didn't remember organizing them, but then again – she was at Hogwarts, where things tended to happen on their own. To the very left of the rack, she found her nightgown and grabbed it, throwing it on her bed.

She then took her robes off, and noticed how she was just wearing her jeans and a lacy black bra beneath them. Bellatrix recalled the incident that had taken place in her compartment, and remembered how Harry had just seen her in her brassiere and jeans. This made her unconsciously bite her lips, as she threw her robe and jeans to the ground, and made her way to her bed, grabbing her nightgown and yanking it over her head.

Once redressed, she turned around for a split second to steal a glimpse of herself from the mirrored closet door: Her hair was silken black, and her frame, though slender, was curvaceous. Although in her thirties, Bellatrix realized she appeared no more than twenty. Raising an eyebrow, Bellatrix suddenly wondered why she was staring at the mirror. Shaking her head, her black curls swaying, she jumped onto her bed, shortly pulling a smooth and soft blanket over her tired form. She closed her eyes, falling asleep – almost sinking beyond the abyss.

When she was in a deep state of slumber, too asleep to reign over her thoughts, she had muddled imageries of those green eyes stamped in her somnolent dreams.

oOo

Green eyes shot open in the dark. A burning sensation had awakened Harry. Immediately, Harry's fingers drew up to his forehead from below his bed-sheets. He rubbed his forehead, hissing at the burning sensation that continued to grow in throbbing. The darkness around him loomed over him, sinking him into a hazy fog, until he was not only somewhere else, but someone else…

A woman with long and thick blonde hair was kneeling on the floor, gazing up with eyes soaked with fear. Narcissa. "Mi- milord, the la - last time I have se - seen her was in Diagon Alley," she stammered, her voice just a level above a faint breath, too diminutive and pathetic to even be considered a whisper.

A voice, almost like a slither and hiss of a snake, emerged into the dark chamber – "Whom was she with?"

Narcissa's eyes dropped to the ground, her face stricken with embarrassment and shame – "She was with – Po – Potter and my sister's mud-blood." Narcissa had made sure to reveal the disgust she felt towards Andromeda and her niece in her tone.

Sudden Rage – Harry felt as though he was riding a boat in an enraged dark sea. The harsh tides were washing over him – he felt his essence boiling with anger.

He had been deceived.

He had been deceived.

He had waited, waited for her to return – but it was clear now… her deceitfulness had revealed. How. Dare. She.

Just as it the pain and burning had begun, it had disappeared. Harry was left panting in the darkness. His fingers still remained on his forehead, on top of the lightning-bolt scar that connected him with Voldemort.

Narcissa.

Her worried and pain-etched blue eyes lingered in Harry's mind. She had been fearful – fearful for her life, as she explained to the Dark Lord the last time she had seen her sister. Harry's previous assumption that Bellatrix was two-timing was proven wrong. He felt Voldemort's rage still lingering in his essence – 'How. Dare. She,' Voldemort had thought with rage and fury…

And yet, although Bellatrix was now cleared of double-crossing, Harry still hated her – no he deplored her. 'But, you saved her life,' something in his mind told him, 'You saved her when she was trying to kill herself,' the voice further whispered in his thoughts. He shook his head, his fingers dropping form his forehead, and clenching onto his bed sheets. Those silken dark curls. Those black eyes – black pools – Harry's breathing began to get ragged. He looked around his surroundings, finding Ron, Dean and Seamus deep asleep. Drawing in a sigh, Harry glanced behind his headboard and at the window. It was dark – dark, but he could see the faint outlines of the sun coming out through the night-sky: It was nearly dawn.

'Why had Bellatrix not returned to Voldemort?' Harry thought, as he gazed at the night-sky – a crescent moon hung amongst the shining stars. Bellatrix had had enough time to go back to Voldemort – return as his top-ranked Death Eater. 'But she hadn't,' Harry pondered, confused, perplexed and stunned.

Sirius. Sirius's will. Harry recalled the last part of his will:

And, Bella, if you're present at the hearing—I am sorry. I am sorry for not believing in you. I had never received your letter. Lestrange had made sure I would never receive it. I found out about this during my stay in Azkaban, when I had overheard him, rambling on about his guilty memories.

Rodolphus, Bellatrix's former husband had made sure that Sirius would not receive her letter. What had that letter contained? Why did Rodolphus make sure Sirius would not attain it? Curiosity sparked, Harry glanced around once more at Dean and Seamus Finnegan, and as he did so, he recalled Bellatrix's starry eyes when he had been sitting with her in front of the fireplace in silence…

A diary – a red diary with an 'S' engraved on it in beautiful gold calligraphy revolved into Harry's mind. Where had he seen this diary? The diary had been Sirius's, and Harry recalled where he had seen it before – he had seen it in the room at 12 Grimmauld Place, where Bellatrix had tried to kill herself. The diary had been lying deserted on the marble floor of the room, beside Bellatrix who had had her wand plunged into her bosom – about to incant the Killing Curse upon herself.

It dawned on Harry. He needed to find the diary – figure out what in it had caused Bellatrix to want to kill herself.

"Ha – Harry?" he heard a drowsy voice ignite into his surroundings. Turning around, he found his ginger friend's head slightly elevated from his pillow – Ron's sleepy eyes were staring at him. "Ha – Harry? What're you doing up?" Ron asked with a yawn.

"Nothing," Harry lied. "Nothing," he repeated, this time with a forced smile smeared across his face. "Just – just woke up – I'm not feeling sleepy," he said truthfully, for he was feeling quite alert and awake. "It's almost morning anyway," he whispered, as Dean and Seamus began to get rustled by his voice. "I'm going to go to the Common Room," Harry lied to Ron. He watched his ginger friend nod in response, and plunge his head back onto his pillow. Soon enough, Ron had begun to give off faint snores – he had quickly fallen back into his slumber. Harry slid off his bed, and began to tiptoe silently out of the dorm he shared with the three with just one thought in mind – he needed to find that diary.

He had to go to 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry, however, did not know that the diary was in fact with Bellatrix at Hogwarts.

oOo

Startled out of her sleep, Bellatrix gasped for air as the Dark Mark burned on her arm. Her hands wrapped around her skin where the Dark Mark was etched. Her fingers clenched her arm – her nails dug into her skin, as the burning sensation grew. Grasping for breath, with sweat rolling down forehead, Bellatrix realized she had never felt the Dark Mark burn with such intensity before. It was painful – just painful. Not the euphoric pain she had devoured when she had been serving Voldemort. She hissed, and her jaws tightened – as the pain began to grow in amplitude. All she knew was that he was angry – furious at her. The Dark Mark was a tool used by him to call his Death Eaters – but that was only one of its uses.

She was feeling it now. She knew she was feeling it now. She was feeling Voldemort's ire.

A cry escaped her lips, which was accompanied by a tear streaming down her eye, as the pain began to waver to other parts of her body, away from its place of origin.

The Cruciatus Curse was nothing compared to this.

Bellatrix felt as though she was being dipped into hot lava – her skin burned, though nothing showed on her flesh. She was drowning in pain – too much in pain to even let out a muffled cry. Her body slumped forwards onto her bed, face-up, while sweat oozed out of her skin. Then, just as the pain had appeared, it disappeared.

Breathless, Bellatrix wrung her head around from her mattress to her ceiling. Her dark eyes stared dazedly at the white ceiling where a large chandelier hung. Lying on her bed, she clenched her eyes tightly – Voldemort now knew of her decision.

He knew she was not returning.

It had only taken Sirius's words at the will for her to unconsciously decide she did not want to return to the Dark Lord. It was a foolish, rash decision, for Bellatrix was sure she would be killed – the Dark Lord simply did not let traitors slip by. All who betrayed him had met their ends – like Regulus, Sirius's brother.

He had died.

Though Bellatrix did not know the details of his death, she had seen uncertainty in his eyes for months before his demise. She knew he wanted to abandon his Death Eater title, though Regulus had never professed it. She knew he had been meaning to turn his back on Voldemort, and then – one day he was gone.

Regulus had never gotten a funeral, for like Sirius, his body had disappeared – never to be found. The differences between the two brothers had been like night and day, but both of their deaths had been similar. Their bodies were unfound – never could a loved one go to their graves, and come to terms with their deaths – place little petty flowers on top of the dirt their corpses lay below.

Bellatrix chuckled – it was an agonizing and mirthless chuckle. Fully alert, knowing she could not fall back asleep, she jerked out of bed – nearly tripping as she slid off her mattress. She had to go out for walk. Turning around from where she stood, she viewed herself in the mirrored closet door – sweat had dried from her skin, but her eyes were ringed red from the agonizing pain she had felt. Her feet skated across the marble floor, as she pushed the closet's door aside, and grabbed one of her robes, wearing it on top of her nightgown. She felt a breeze hit her face – turning her head around from the closet to where the breeze had issued, she quickly noted that the window with the stained glass panels was still open.

Grabbing her wand, from the cedar-wood desk beside the window, she neared the window and was about to close it shut – when she noticed a figure walking across the fields, towards what seemed to be Hogsmeade – away from Hogwarts. Wondering whom at this time of day would be walking out of Hogwarts, Bellatrix squinted her eyes to get a clearer image of the figure—

Ruffled jet-black hair.

It was Harry.

'Harry. Bloody. Potter.'

Oddly, she wasn't the least bit surprised. For a sheer second, she was reminded of Sirius – he had always been breaking the rules at Hogwarts. The thought slid though, while her fingers curled around her wand, and she realized this was Harry she was viewing and not Sirius. Brusquely, she shut the window, and began to march towards her chamber's door – out to catch Harry.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed reading Chapter 10! Hmm, I'm wondering if I should start rating this as M instead of T, due to the darkish themes that have begun to arise in this story, or is T good for now? Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and if you have anything to share, please feel free to do so. Your reviews are greatly welcomed and appreciated., and well-thought-of criticisms are also welcomed! =D