Note (April 9, 2013): I haven't given up on this story. I'm currently editing the past chapters, and plotting the future ones. I'm sorry for the slow updates. I know, it's been a month or two since the last update, but life gets in the way. Again, I'm sorry.

Chapter 12: The Longbottoms

There was stiffening silence though there was noise all around. Breathe. Breathe. Her chest felt constricted, and her feet were moving aimlessly, wandering the hallways like a ghost searching for long-lost life. Soon, her pace began to mimic her rising pulse. Run. Run. Run. Escape. She had always run. And was running away again. Somewhere, she found the sun's rays dancing on her skin, warming her, coercing her to stop, to breathe, to still, to feel and yet not to feel.

Rubbing her forehead, she gazed upwards at the bright sun. Leaning against an ancient brick wall of one of the towers, Bellatrix slowly slumped down, sitting in a fetal position, her head jamming against her knees. Breathe. Breathe. After a long deep breath, she hugged herself tightly. Thoughts poured in. One by one, skinning her inside out.

What was she doing here at Hogwarts? What a laughable thought: Bellatrix Black teaching at Hogwarts! Why was she here when the Dark Mark on her arm was glowing more vibrant with everyday – when Voldemort was gaining more strength with each passing night? She was one of them.

A killer.

She danced in blood. She swam in blood, feeling euphoric when she would perceive the very liquid of life pouring out of a being; the life dwindling away from their eyes, until they were left dead, impaled on the ground, their chests stilled.

Oh, how terribly she missed the sight!

Crunching her hair, rubbing her forehead, she let out a sigh while Sirius's frivolous eyes swirled into her thoughts.

His smile.

Memories long forgotten were now swinging into her mind in full force. 'Go away,' she mentally hissed at them. It was easier a few months ago. Life was easier at Azkaban. The thought of living was all that had mattered. The thought of re-tasting that force once Voldemort had re-emerged, that ineffable force though referred to as power – of seeing people drop to their knees, kissing the hems of your robes, pleading for dear life – was all that had mattered.

A faint, small, almost fictional croak left her pink lips.

Narcissa would be gone. Gone. Gone. Vanished, if Draco's life ended. 'Cissy… Oh, 'Meda…. What happened?' Bellatrix thought, as memories of what had once been – of three sisters – dark, fair and lovely – pirouetted through her mind. Draco had been given a life sentence – in turn, Narcissa had been given one too. This was Voldemort's revenge; his retaliation was always the taciturn but most potent kind, and Bellatrix had once revered it. And more often than not, Bellatrix had been the tool used to carry it out. Weakly, she chuckled at the irony of the situation.

Meanwhile, a large shadow was nearing her. "Are yeh alright?" the man to whom the shadow belonged to asked. In a matter of a few seconds, a hawthorn wand was pointed directly at him. His eyebrows quickly furrowed and his lips shut; his expression turning grim.

Bellatrix gazed deeply at him, her mien and gaze being empty, customary of her: 'Hagrid the Giant,' she remembered. His name was Hagrid. She evoked to mind the time her ankle had been accidently broken when she had tripped over and fallen after Sirius had chased her down through the Qudditch fields at Hogwarts. Hagrid had then carried her away, and taken her to Madam Pomfrey; Sirius and his friends had always been very close with the giant gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Upon further inspection of the giant, she noticed he looked no different than he did decades ago; he was still as tall as ever, and just as large.

Meanwhile, Hagrid was about to turn around when he noticed the 'A.F' carved on her wand. "Alice… Alice's wand," he muttered. The veins in his neck began to tighten while Bellatrix took a few steps back, startled by how he had known the wand had belonged to her. "I reckon yeh won it when yeh turned her unstable," the giant snarled before turning away, marching through the green fields, heading to his hut further off...

Moments had now passed.

Bellatrix still stood rigid on the grassy field, her back inclining against the cool and ancient brick wall of the tower behind her. Perspiration had lathered on her forehead. "I reckon yeh won it when yeh turned her unstable," Hagrid had said. Her hold on the wand began to falter; her slender hand began to tremor, soon releasing its grip on the magical instrument.

The wand crashed to the ground; she had heard the slight thud, though almost nonexistent, when it had landed.

And she knew the memory could no longer be halted.

So she started once more.

Run. Run.

October 31st, 1981 – Halloween

The emblem of death had not as of yet been shone in the sky, above this dwelling, although two had died unquestionably, as she had heard the cry of death escape from their lips, as after all, it was a tune her ears could catch from miles away.

Awaiting her master, she stood still behind one of the large pine trees, her dark hood casted over her head while she began to grow impatient, but her Lord had ordered her to stay put, as Bellatrix was here in case of any inconveniences, and the Dark Lord would call on her when in need of her presence. The Dark Mark on her arm had not stung her veins below where it was etched as of yet, and so she remained still, watching the house with her dark pools, awaiting for her master's return or call with eagerness.

It was she who had been chosen, secretly, without anyone's awareness, to accompany the Dark Lord to the Potter's cottage – she was after all, his most trusted lieutenant – the thought elated her.

Bellatrix had arrived minutes prior to her Lord's coming; standing still behind the large tree, gazing with livid eyes at the home – the home which kept within it the child that would bring the Dark Lord's death – as Snape had said it had been prophesied.

Speaking of Snape, lately he had been acting quite odd, and Bellatrix had noted – with her great acute observations – that his eyes seemed to lower whenever the mentioning of the Potter boy occurred, as though he was deeply remorseful for telling the Lord he had overheard the prophecy in the Leaky Cauldron. However, Bellatrix wasn't keen on sharing her observation as of yet to anyone, as the Dark Lord was appreciative, at least as thankful as he could be to Snape.

Barks fell on the ground; her fingers touched her palms and pricked slightly. Gazing down, she noticed she had been holding firmly onto the pine tree's trunk. As she brushed her hands on her black robe to get rid of the remnants of the barks, she suddenly heard the cry of a child – a deep and distressed cry – her heart thumped and she gazed immediately upwards, away from her robe, at the cottage where it had issued. So, it was being done… the menace would soon be rid of—

But the cry of the child loitered onwards—

The cry rumbled and thundered through her mind, but the Dark Mark had not stung once. The Dark Lord had not called upon her, and yet the child had not been slain either.

Perplexed, Bellatrix was about to stomp forwards, to see what was occurring within the house when – "No stop, Bella," she whispered and halted in her tracks, reminding herself that the Dark Lord would be vexed if she were to disobey his orders.

Then suddenly, in the shadows a man appeared, Apparating before the house. Immediately, her slim hand entered the pocket of her sleek robe, but it could not grasp her walnut wand, could not take it out of there, as she was far too startled, far too alarmed when the moonlight revealed the man's identity…

It was Snape.

Severus Snape.

She intently watched him as he entered the dwelling; now back behind the pine tree. Then, after a short few minutes, she heard a man's cry – it was etched with absolute sorrow – with absolute grief, all while the child's cry grew louder, and began to mingle with his until it was one mournful ballad.

Her assumption had turned to be correct, but that was the least of what concerned her. Two had died within the house, but one was still alive. The one intended to die still breathed…

And the Dark Mark did not dawdle over the Potter's cottage.

Dead.

The Dark Lord was gone.

Nothing.

She would be nothing.

Nothing.

"No," Bellatrix hissed. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.

Looking down at her arm, the Dark Mark was slowly diminishing; the vibrant green of the serpent dying until it was just a small faint mark.

But the small, faint mark did not vanish.

He was alive.

"And how are you sure that the Longbottoms are aware of the whereabouts of our Lord?" Rodolphus inquired, raising an eyebrow, giving her a questionable look.

'Do not question me.'

Bellatrix glared at him with her dark pools, her face emotionally vacant of the rousing rage beneath her calm mask, as she sipped on the red wine and placed it back on the deep mahogany table at the Lestrange Manor. "They're the most top-ranked Aurors and closest to Dumbledore," she whispered, her lips thinned. "They will know, if there is anything to know, Lestrange." She had not once called Rodolphus with his first name since the Dark Mark had been imprinted on her arm.

Her husband tensed and nodded faintly, rising up from his seat and directing one of the house-elves to clear the ornate dinner table of their grimy dishes. "When shall we go?" he questioned, waiting for his wife's order after turning around from one of the house-elves.

Her lips faintly turned upwards at the sight of her husband waiting for her command.

Of him being so pathetic.

"Now," she tersely replied, sipping on her glass of red wine while the table before them was being cleared of their plates. "And inform the most loyal to accompany us," she quickly added.

A swift dismal look fell on Rodolphus's face – he was hesitant. To her, this was an act of disobedience, an act that had become more frequent since the Dark Lord's disappearance. Her hand curled tightly around her glass of wine, shattering it into pieces; blood oozed from her porcelain skin, but she took no note. A small second of silence commenced, before she shattered it: "What is it? Spout your views, Lestrange!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Deranged.

"Nothing pet," he hastily mumbled back, his head bowing just slightly while his eyes widened and enlarged at the sight of the red substance staining her slender, ivory hands.

A smirk played on her exquisite face. "It is merely my blood, Lestrange," she murmured. "Why are you so troubled, m'love, when you were once so rapt to see it drench me whole?"

Rodolphus remained silent; his gaze was settled on the Persian rug on the ground, his hands were clenched together in hidden anger behind his back. He had seen what she had done to her victims in her spouts of fury, and so he persisted to stand hushed before her while she smirked once more, her plump lips twitching upwards just slightly at their ends. Oh, she was beautiful – like a sheet of luxurious silk covering a piercing, deadly dagger. He heard her purr with scathe, "Leave now … m'love."

And Rodolphus did as she commanded – their roles reversed ever since the symbol of death had adorned his wife's smooth skin.

A child's cry could be heard from upstairs while a young couple were straddled onto two wooden chairs, their hands clasped tightly behind their backs, open wounds garnishing their skin. A faint cackle was heard and then a low whisper: "Tell me now, where is the Dark Lord?" the woman spoke, the leader of the pack. The woman's dark curls framed her face, as her livid eyes bore into Alice Longbottom's. Meanwhile, Alice gazed deeply at the woman's dark, large ones.

"Mrs. Lestrange," Alice whispered while her son's cries began to grow louder. "Please,'' she begged, "we do not know."

Another cackle escaped from the woman's lips. "Crucio," she whispered, this time verbally; though she was proficient at casting them non-verbally, it delighted her to see the twisting of muscles and the clenching of lips when she slowly drawled the world to the Cruciatus curse.

"They do not know, Bellatrix," Rodolphus whispered in his wife's ear. "It's apparent––"

"Crucio," Bellatrix hissed, cutting Rodolphus. Alice Longbottom writhed, her head slamming back and forth against the chair, blood flowing through her nostrils, tainting the lower portion of her pixie-like face. "Shut it Lestrange and do as I say," Bellatrix commanded. 'Crucio,' she said mentally, and Alice Longbottom began to dance to the song of the Cruciatus curse once more.

Rodolphus obliged and did as she said – his elm wand twirling with hers in harmony while the two other Death Eaters commenced to torment the young couple as well. Bellatrix lips flicked upwards as she viewed her husband's wand swishing this way and that like hers in unison - for once, they were together in accord, even if in the most wicked of evils... oh morality was long lost, all that now mattered was to stop recalling it.

'Crucio.'

The hearth was burning wood, the interior of their dwelling was calm and warm – a sardonic joke of the gods aimed at the young couple's plight; Bellatrix faintly chuckled at the thought, while her wand's tip continued to ignite one of the most painful of the Unforgivables. Alice Longbottom was about to give her final implore. "Please — I have a son — a baby!" she pleaded, and as if on note, her son's cries began to deepen.

"Crucio," Bellatrix slowly whispered, her slender hand elegantly whirling her walnut wand before Alice's agonized form. Her victim began to toss back and forth again, her very essence jerking.

They had been useless, and it was best for them to be rid of when Aurors came to the scene. "Avada Kedav–" Bellatrix began when suddenly, Frank Longbottom managed to say from a deep state of unconsciousness: "Please," he whispered. "I love her... "

"Please," he whispered. "I love her... "

Feet pounding against the ground. Her robe bellowing as she ran. Bellatrix found herself running aimlessly in the corridors again, with nobody there to see her running from life, from herself, from her thoughts, from it all. So pathetic. So pathetic. She had always run. She had never found a way out. The Dark Mark had just given her a temporary escape, only to be plunged into stiffening reality once more. Run. Run. That's all she had ever done.

There was light at the end of this corridor, unlike the rest she had stormed through. She was somewhere in the large great castle, perhaps a place few had been... Hogwarts like life could never be fully explored. The window at the end of the corridor was large. Sunlight was peering in through it, glistening the ancient laminate flooring her feet were thumping against. Time was irreversible, but it had seemed to still for just a second, as she gazed at the sun's rays against the ground.

All around her were knights standing still, next to each other, portraits of them hanging against the walls. Their long, shimmering swords were held firmly in their hands, and they almost seemed alive, though they were just armours of dead, righteous men of long ago.

Few had entered this place. Dirt had swathed the floor below, and the sun amplified how greatly it covered every item and thing in the corridor. Bellatrix's heart beat against her chest, as she glared at the portraits on the walls: they were knights, dressed in their armour, the very armour in this room, and were sitting around a round table with a large and handsome man, a crown perched on top his fair head. Perplexed, she gazed at them as they stared back, a thin smile peering across all their faces. "It has happened!" one of them whispered, putting down a playing card.

"A joker!" one frowned. "That is not just!"

Bellatrix walked nearer towards the portrait. "Not all is just," one whispered, consoling his friend. "Not all is fair," the other knight murmured. "With darkness there is light," another added.

"Where am I?" Bellatrix asked the miniature knights in the portrait.

The king was the one to answer. He smiled serenely, his handsome face turning even more picturesque. "Where few have been, milady," he explained.

Bellatrix huffed in exasperation. "How do I go back?" she asked.

"Retrieve your steps and find where you went lost," he responded. Taking in another sigh, Bellatrix turned around, knowing they would speak in rhymes and equivocations all day. "But wait milady!" the king screamed out to her through the portrait.

She quickly turned around, rubbing her forehead. "What?!" she hissed at him in frustration.

The king smiled as he shuffled the deck of cards, placed them on the round table, and began to hand them over to his knights. Still smiling, he said: "There is always help when one is lost," before he recommenced to play a game of cards with his knights.

Bellatrix took in a deep breath, and turned around, beginning to look out through the window...

Help had never once been there when she was lost.

oOo

Heart racing, sweat lathered on every inch of his skin, Harry's knees finally buckled and he gave in to his exhaustion, pivoting down to the floor in an unfamiliar area at Hogwarts. Everywhere he had seen black curls, black silken curls that had haunted his sight, causing him to lose his way, but the woman to whom the curls belonged to had not been found. Hallucinations, they had been. Most of the time, anyway. Just once, he was sure he had heard her, heard her heels tapping furiously against the ground – but she had disappeared, vanished just when he had presumed he had found her at last.

Panting, his hands firm on the ground, his jade green eyes rose from the laminate floor to the walls in the large corridor he had now found himself in. There were portraits hanging on the walls, within them were wizards and witches from the Renaissance period, with their large, grandiose wigs, and extravagant attires. There was stillness and silence within every inch of where he now was. An old wizard within the portrait, with a crooked nose, and one lens perched upon it, queried: "Are you okay, young man?"

Harry nodded mildly, and with all the energy he had left, pushed himself off the ground, turning around to face the portrait that had spoken to him. Rubbing away perspiration from his forehead, he inquired: "Where am I?"

"Are you looking for her, young chap?" a plump witch asked from an adjacent portrait. "If so, she went that way," she said, pointing to her right.

A small smile creeped up on Harry's face; he bobbed his head. "Thank you," he whispered, and began to storm to his right. Running and running until the corridors began to seem as though a portal, taking him from the renaissance period all the way to the medieval times. And at last, he found himself at a dead end, in a stillness that expressed he was the first being to enter the area after a prolonged period of time.

Only he was wrong, he wasn't the first being. Someone else had already broken in.

Before a large window, there was a woman standing hushed, with her arms wrapped around her chest. Her head was tilted slightly down and she was staring at nothingness with her large, dark eyes. The sun's rays that were peering in through the window were glistening on her raven curls, making her silken hair give off a slight blue hue.

''She's hurting Harry,'' Luna's voice revolved into his attention.

'She should be,' Harry mentally grumbled, as an image of Sirius falling through the veil began to whirl through his mind, around and around, until his hands began to turn into fists. Far too much in rage, he didn't notice when she began to turn around from the window. Her lips parted faintly open.

Dark and green eyes interlocked.

Harry took a few steps back, and a knight from one of the portraits shrieked: "It has surely happened!"

Minutes passed. "It's you," Bellatrix hissed, her eyebrows crunching, but her voice did not carry its usual scorn.

"So it is," Harry slurred back.

There was hushed, cold silence between them for moments until she whispered, "What are you doing here?"

'Looking for you,' he thought, inadvertently. They had been playing a game of cat and mouse ever since they had arrived at Hogwarts.

Bellatrix huffed in and turned her attention away from him, her hair swaying as her heels tapped against the ground. She haughtily began to walk, moving into one of the four doors in the corridor. Only the door remained open, her feet stopped in their tracks. From the portraits, a knight chuckled. Harry wrinkled his eyebrows, both in anger and confusion, and began to walk forwards.

Dust had still not settled down. The door had been locked for ages, if not centuries. Bellatrix's hands were wrapped around the handle, her eyes enlarged, as she perceived the room before her. She felt a presence behind her, a warm body emitting heat, as it pressed to her left and tried to peer in as well. Far too startled by the sight before her, she cared not for Harry's form pressing onto hers.

Within the room, there was darkness, but one object sparkled.

A chest-box.

Slow footsteps by two pairs of feet were taken forth. Both of their chests rising and deflating – their eyes curious as they scanned the object. It was made out of pure gold; there were engravings on it, made in the language of wizards of yore, and odd symbols too. Harry's hands began to move forwards, yearning to touch the glimmering surface of the chest-box when Bellatrix's hand clutched his tightly, halting it from reaching the object's surface. The touch startled him, and he snatched his hand away from hers. "Don't touch it," she snarled, her back slightly bent, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders, hiding most of her face.

Harry took a few steps back, and observed the enigmatic object. It was placed atop a wooden stool in a dreary room, and the door to the room hadn't been locked. "What is it?" Harry inquired.

Bellatrix tensed, her eyes turning furious for a brief second. "Does it seem like I know?" she hissed.

The door suddenly swung shut.

Harry jumped while Bellatrix stiffened and erected from her bent position, her hair flinging around. She viewed the now closed door, and then took in a small breath, as she began to move towards it. Harry watched intently as her hand clasped the doorknob, twirling it around, but within seconds, she tried to jam the door free with her shoulder blades. Growling, her hands soon entered the sides of her robe, as she commenced to look for her wand, only they were empty once she removed them from the pockets of her robe. Harry perceived her gulp slightly as she turned around. "Your wand, Potter," she said, deliberately not enlightening him on why she wasn't in possession of hers.

Harry handed over his wand to her. She placed its tip against the door's keyhole. "Alohomora," she whispered. "Alohomora," she whispered again. The lock did not click open. "ALOHOMORA!" Bellatrix roared. Instantly, Harry grabbed his wand out of her hold, terrified that in her spout of fury she would break it. She had already destroyed his wand once. A second time, and he was sure he would break her.

He placed the tip of the wand against the doorknob while soon hearing a commotion behind him. "Alohomora," he whispered. He did not hear a click. After many tries, he huffed in and turned around, viewing Bellatrix who was now thumping her fists against the four aged brick walls in their surroundings, trying to look for any hidden exits.

Then Harry suddenly noticed one; beneath the wooden stool was an opening. "There!" he yelled, pointing at the exit beneath the stool with his wand, making her swiftly turn around from the wall she was slamming her fists against, her hands abruptly falling to her sides.

Bellatrix silently stared at the opening beneath the wooden stool, and started to tread towards it. She tried to push it aside, but it remained fixed to the ground. Hissing, she then kicked the wooden stool several times, but soon slumped down to the ground in defeat. "If it wasn't for you," she groused, "I wouldn't have opened the door to – " she paused, looking at their surroundings, "wherever the hell we are right now."

Harry ignored her and walked towards the wooden stool, about to touch the chest-box. "Don't!" Bellatrix called. "It could be cursed … there could be a trap, you fool!"

It was too late.

The walls around them began to shake.

Harry's hands held the chest-box while the ceiling began to crumble, and tumble down upon them. Bellatrix pounced towards Harry, and smacked him outright with her fists. As Harry plunged down to the ground, the chest-box fell from his hands, rolling against the ground. "Bloody idiot!" she hissed, now lying atop him, her fists flying across his face and chest. "You idiot!" she repeated while the walls were crashing down upon them. Harry quickly pushed her away and grabbed the chest-box. Bellatrix flung towards him once more, but he grabbed her by the waist.

"Stay put," he bellowed, releasing Bellatrix. As Bellatrix toppled to the ground to his side by the sudden release, Harry kicked the stool, and it alarmingly moved once the chest-box was no longer placed above it. Bellatrix stared open-mouthed at him as he unbolted the opening; a small set of stairs revealed beneath it.

Turning his attention to an astonished Bellatrix, Harry grabbed her by her wrist and pushed her down the stairs, then plunging himself in as well, all while the corridor and room continued to tumble into nothingness, the armour and portraits shattering.

Minutes later, and they could still feel the ground slightly shaking as they stormed side-by-side as far as they could, until the floor was stilled and they arrived at a familiar, quiet area at Hogwarts. Bellatrix slumped down against a wall, sitting down, and brushing her hands against her knees. Meanwhile, Harry glared at the chest-box with open eyes. "We better hide it somewhere," Bellatrix commented through her panting; both had completely forgotten their respective attitudes towards each other as adrenaline rushed through their veins.

He hastily nodded, tossing the chest-box towards her. She winced as it hit her breasts and then landed in her lap. Growling, she lifted the object off her lap, gazing at it intently while a wizard in a portrait above her commented, "First period classes have already begun." But they both took no note of the wizard's announcement.

Soon, she rose up from the ground with the chest-box held tightly in her hands, and began to walk forwards. "Where do you think you're going?!" Harry called.

Her black hair swayed as she turned around to face him. A faint chuckle left her lips while she viewed the bruises on his cheeks, but she didn't respond to his query. Turning back around, one of her heels suddenly broke, and it was Harry's time to snicker, triggering her to growl in ire. "Fuck you, Potter," she spat.

When she began to walk again, she noticed her foot had sprained, but nonetheless persisted to walk onwards, limping as she headed towards her destination – her chamber, knowing fully well Harry was trailing her, as usual.

Once in her chamber, her back was reclining against her headboard, as she inspected her foot. Meanwhile, Harry glared at the chest-box, inspecting every inch of the locked mysterious box. His fingers brushed against the edge of the keyhole, as he pondered over what it could contain within. "Do you know what these symbols denote?" he then inquired, his eyes fixated on the peculiar symbols etched into the gold exterior.

"Yes, why of course I know, Pottykins," Bellatrix said in a melodramatic sweet voice.

"How? What is this—"

"I was being sarcastic, you git!"

Harry sighed outwards, and then threw his wand at her. She grabbed it, casting a healing charm over her foot. The muscles there tightened for a brief second, the pain escalating ten-folds, before it completely vanished. She let out a breath of relief after wriggling her foot around, and being assured that it was completely healed. Revolving her attention to Harry, she pointed his wand at his face, and was about to mutter a healing charm when she decided to leave the bruises on his cheeks. She flung the wand at him, and announced, "I have a class to attend," while sliding off her soft, satin bed sheets.

Only, she had to retrieve her wand first – her wand – Alice's wand. It had befallen on her that it may have not chosen her – she may have won it. Chucking the thought away, she ordered, "Get out of my chamber, Potter!" as she sauntered towards her chamber's door.

Harry's hands began to tremble in rage, but he somewhat managed to keep his calm. Turning his attention to her cherry-wood desk, he decided it was safer to keep the chest-box here, in her room rather than his dorm – he sniggered at his thought: He was handing it over to Bellatrix for safekeeping, he had surely turned bloody insane!

As Bellatrix flung the door to her chamber open, she didn't observe or hear Harry taking two steps away in alarm after opening one of her desk's drawers.

Keeping in a gasp as to not draw Bellatrix's attention, his emerald eyes stared solemnly at a red diary. Silently, his hand slipped into the drawer, clutched the small leather-bound book, and then hastily casted a shrinking charm on it. Upon hiding it in one of the pockets of his Gryffindor robe, he heard Bellatrix roar from the threshold of her chamber, "I said get out, Potter!" Dropping the chest-box in the drawer where the diary had been, Harry turned around. A faint, wicked smile flashed across his face as he followed her command, sauntering towards her chamber's door – while feeling the firm edges of the diary nudge his hip with each step he took forwards.

Soon, he would perhaps find out why she had desired to be rid of her life... but perchance it wasn't an answer he was ready for.

Suspicious, Bellatrix's eyes followed him as he walked past her chamber's door; her dark pools shimmering with questions at the odd smirk plastered on his face. A distant cry of a child losing his parents suddenly filled her mind, making her slightly flinch. Hastily, she turned away from him, as the bell began to ring, signifying that the break between period one and two had finished, and classes had begun.

Meanwhile, a knot formed in Harry's abdomen as he realized he had missed Snape's class. 'Shit,' he thought while marching through another hallway, taking a different route than her to his class, as to not arouse suspicion amongst any onlookers and moreover Hermione if he arrived tardy to Potions, at the exact same moment as Bellatrix Black.

Author's Note: I'm so terribly sorry for the very late update! I had written and rewritten this chapter several times, and had decided that the previous ones were quite a bore. Also, I had decided on plotting this story, but I realized I'm a terrible plotter, and that I write better on whim. But I do have a vague idea of where I want to head with this story! Also, I looked through this chapter just once or twice for any errors. And I've written a few fragmented sentences in some of the paragraphs on purpose.

Anyway, again – I'm so sorry! Feedback is really appreciated. And I hope you all are doing well! :)