Bella spent most of September and October at her writing desk. Her new habit was so uncharacteristic that even her mother-in-law lifted her ugly head and decided to snoop around her business. Bella wouldn't allow the old woman to peek at even one of the letters she had sent and received during those months – she was the last person she would have revealed the purpose of the letters to. She was so good at hiding the letters from her mother-in-law and her house-elves that the angry old woman gave up on spying and moved on to a new approach, which was an attempt to convince her son that his wife was having an affair.
"You certainly don't believe her," Bella said to her husband one evening at dinner, after his mother had finished explaining exactly how long his wife spent writing letters to her mysterious lover that day.
"No, I'm don't," Rodolphus said, "Yet I'm curious to know who you're writing to so eagerly. And don't tell it's your sister, I know it's a lie."
"They're not for my sister," said Bella, who had abandoned that lie long ago. She speared a piece of meat on her fork and studied it before putting it in her mouth. "They are for a number of influential people who would like to remain anonymous."
"And what exactly is the content of these letters?" Demanded the old woman, who filled her plate with food and didn't touch it at all.
"The Dark Lord."
Rodolphus almost choked. Bella watched him resume chewing and breathing to their proper order behind his napkin, then take a sip of wine.
"Bella," he said finally, as if taking to a child. "The Lord said – "
"That I may prove myself. And besides, I'm tired of sitting at home doing nothing. I'm just using my time for a good cause."
Old Mrs. Lestrange looked at her doubtfully. Her husband looked suspicious. "You are gathering diplomatic contacts for the Lord? That's what you're doing?"
"Exactly." Bella smiled at her husband over her goblet. He didn't seem completely convinced, but dropped the subject.
As she suspected Rodolphus knew, that story was only half the truth. And as his mother suspected, her theory was also true, even if only partly.
The Masked Witch hadn't appeared in public since the ball at the end of August. The Daily Prophet stopped discussing her because of the lack of development in her case, and the gossip about how she had suddenly appeared at the ball had already lost its juiciness. Perhaps even the Dark Lord had forgotten about her. But she was still there, waiting patiently for her reappearance in public. Meanwhile, from her hiding place deep in the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange, she wrote long love letters to a young wizard named Bartimaeus Crouch.
For several weeks Bella had she spent her days wondering incessantly how to prove herself to the Dark Lord. His words to her before he took revenge on Fleamont Potter for his speech at the ball inspired her, burning in her like a magical flame. The flame burned day and night, consuming her to the point of frustration.
She was a young, attractive, intelligent and cunning young woman. Her name alone was enough to move heavy weights in the high windows of the Ministry, and what her previous last name couldn't achieve, her husband's name did for her. Still, she could think of nothing she could do to show the Dark Lord that it would be the worst mistake he had ever made if he didn't make her his. She had always got what she wanted. The thought that she might not be able to get what she wanted more than anything was almost enough to keep her awake at night, like a hungry, angry baby writhing uncomfortably in his cradle.
Then, after three weeks of agitation and frustration, Bella got an idea. As soon as it came to her, she knew it would be perfect, and even enjoyable.
Barty Crouch had walked around Theos Avery's party like a man swimming in a lake full of snakes. He didn't eat or drink anything, while he wiped his sweating hands over his robe again and again. Looking at the freckled, childish face, she knew she had found the perfect tool.
"Does your father know you're here, Barty?" She had asked him, concealing the mockery behind a laughing smile.
The last drop of color had run out of Crouch's face at that remark. He began to stammer, wiping his hands over his robe. Even if she hadn't been looking for a way to impress the Dark Lord, Crouch was too good to be left alone; Since childhood she had had a tremendous weakness for manipulating weak people.
She could barely wait to implement her new plan for more than a few hours into the night. Once she was certain that Rodolphus was asleep, she slipped out of bed and into her private parlor, locking the door behind her in silence. Then, in the light of a single candle, she began writing a letter to Barty Crouch, from a young anonymous witch who had noticed him that day, but was too shy to approach him. By the time she had decided the letter was perfect, the sun was almost up. She had was too excited to sleep, even after she had sent the owl. She spent the whole day waiting. That evening the answer came, and she locked herself in the parlor once again to read it.
As the correspondence continued, the letters became longer and longer. Bella could see the boy's excitement in his imprecise handwriting, that hastened to reveal to her all his feelings and thoughts. After dropping some clues about her support of the Dark Lord, he shared his views even more freely. It was almost too easy.
Bella had always liked to be the bad girl. She always did the opposite of what had been expected of her, and loved being caught. But since wearing the mask for the first time, she realized that there was even greater pleasure in careful planning, in committing the perfect crime, and in the knowledge that she would never be caught. Perhaps she had matured as a result of her marriage, or maybe it was her new and challenging goal that gave her the patience to stand weeks of correspondence as she paved her way to her goal with caution.
As October rolled along the nights became unbearably cold. She made sure that a house elf would light the fireplace in the parlor before she sat down to work, and by the hot, flickering light of the flames she began to send her fingers to the prize. What was he currently working on at the Ministry? What was his father working on? How is the bill of the capture of dark wizards coming along? How does the Department of Magical Law Enforcement function?
Crouch answered all the questions with precision, even adding details and explanations on his own behalf, letter after letter, and closing his explanations and stories, time after time, with a request to meet her. Bella didn't let it phase her. She asked him gently to be patient. Her father forbids her to meet men, she wrote: They have to wait for a moment when she could get away, and then they could have their long-awaited meeting. Crouch swallowed all the lies with starvation, and even wrote whole parchments about how similar they were. His own father holds him on a short leash, too, he wrote. Bella wrote that she thought a man like him shouldn't let others humiliate him, encouraged him to stand up for himself, and signed the letter with a red imprint of her own lips.
She waited for the week before Halloween to send Crouch an emotional letter telling him that her father had to go on an unexpected journey and that tomorrow night she could slip away to meet him. The replay arrived that very night, confirming that he would arrive to their meeting.
The next evening she lied and said she had been invited to dinner at her parents', Bella slipped away from the Lestrange Estate. But instead of Appearting to her parents' house, she appeared in a back alley behind a small corner inn on Knockturn Alley. She covered her head with the hood of her cloak, and as the last rays of the sun died over the roofs, she stepped inside The Owl's Eye Inn.
It was a dingy, gloomy place, nearly empty at that time of evening. She approached the innkeeper and asked him for the room she had ordered in advance under a false name. He took her upstairs without questions, and without asking her to reveal her face.
In the neglected room, after the innkeeper had left, she charmed the door to lock on its own after being shut. Then she dragged an armchair to face the single window and sat in it, her back to the door and the hood still covering her head. Then she waited, waited more patiently that she had ever done anything in her life. It was getting dark, but she didn't turn on the light, nor did she light the fireplace to chase away the chill. She didn't want to admit it, but the truth was she was nervous. One miscalculated step and her plan could go terribly wrong...
As expected of someone like him, Barty Crouch was precisely on time. Bella knew it was him when she head someone lingering behind the door before knocking lightly.
"Come in," she called as softly as she could.
He entered with uncertainty. She watched him through her pocket mirror. He was wearing a very ugly formal gray-green robe with fine yellow stripes, and his mousy hair was sleeked back with a shiny ointment. To lapel attached to a white, wind-blown flower, and in his hand held a bouquet of red roses.
As soon as he noticed her in the gloom he closed the door, which locked with a click. He glanced at it in confusion and Bella sprang into action; she jumped to her feet and disarmed the very bewildered Crouch.
Even as his wand jumped into her hand, he didn't seem to realized what was going on. He just stood there, holding the stupid flowers, as Bella commanded a fire in the fireplace and pushed back her hood.
"Hello, Barty," she said.
"You?..." He stammered, eyes wide. The situation was almost comic. "Are you... Is this a prank or – ?"
"I'm afraid not, Barty," she said casually, knowing better than to spook him. She summoned two crystal glasses. "Whisky? Or are you more of a wine person?"
"Y-you wrote the letters?" He was still warping his head around the situation. "W-why – ?"
She poured fine whisky into two glasses, delaying her answer. When she went to give him one he stepped back in fright, as if attacked. Not phased by his reaction, she handed him the glass at arm's length.
"I'll be candid with you, Barty," she said as he took the glass in hesitation. "I wrote you these letters because I wanted to gain your trust. I know you're frightened of me."
"I'm... I'm not..."
"It's alright, Barty. Everyone is."
She was astonishing herself with her gentleness and patience. Maybe she didn't need the mask to be someone else – maybe she really could play any part she wanted.
As the roomed became warmer, she took off her cloak, remaining in a simple low- cut dark green dress, and sat down by the fire. The gesture seemed to make Crouch easier, and he stepped forward from the door.
"What do you want?" he asked in a steadier voice.
"I want us to be partners," she said, "I think there's a lot we can do for each other."
"L-like what?" Crouch asked with a blush.
Bella smirked, knowing what was going on in his head. All men were the same. Making her next move, she said, "My letters weren't fiction, you know. I do think there is more to you than meets the eye. And I really do think you should stick it to your father."
Crouch shook his head, finally putting down the flowers. "No. You lied. You pretended to be in love with me."
Bella rolled her eyes. "Really, Barty – you're locked in a room with a witch who disarmed you and all you can think about is that she doesn't love you? You won't get anywhere with that set of mind, love."
Crouch was taken aback by the nickname. He wasn't falling in her net as easily as she thought he would.
"Drink, and let's talk business," she tried a different angle. "The drink isn't poisoned."
Crouch took a long swing from his drink, appearing distressed. "You're going to blackmail me, aren't you?" He then said in a shaky voice, "You're going to tell my father everything."
"It doesn't have to get to that," she said earnestly. "You would be more valuable to the Dark Lord if – "
"The Dark Lord?" Crouch turned completely white. "He sent you?"
"You could say that," she lied.
But it didn't have the effect she hoped it would. Crouch spilled his drink as he placed it by the flowers and went to the door, trying to open it hoplessly. Rolling her eyes, Bella stepped towards him and pulled him away from the door.
"Please!" he called pathetically. "I don't want anything to do with him!"
"You should have thought of that before you started running around with his little fans," she said in a low voice, her face very close to his.
She shouldn't have lost her temper – he panicked even more, pushing her hard and running to the window. He manged to open it and take one look at the street three stories down – light snow was falling amidst dusk – before she grabbed him again, pinning him hard to the window pane, her wand at his throat.
"Are you that scared, that you would jump out of the window and not join him?" She asked with genuine curiosity, the cold air stinging her face.
Crouch didn't answer, his eyes on the floor. Bella grabbed his sweaty chin and made him look into her eyes.
"As I see it, you have two choices," she said softly. "Either you leave here and live the rest of your miserable life in your father's shadow, or you join me to do things that would make you great. Don't you want to be great?"
He licked his lips, staring as if hypnotized by her gaze. She saw it in his eyes – he wanted to be great.
"The Dark Lord is going to rule everything, soon. If you work with me I will make sure he takes us with him. I have a plan."
"How do I know I can trust you?" He almost whispered.
"You don't," she said. "You know me – you know my reputation, anyway. But I can give you a guaranty."
"What – ?"
She crushed his mouth with hers. At first he was too shocked to do anything but let her kiss him, until she reached for his fly; He tensed, then gave up as he fingers closed around his cock, starting to kiss her back with unexperienced lips. He came very quickly, with almost no effort on her behalf.
Glad for the turn of events, Bella stepped back, letting her slump against the windowsill. She vanished the mess from her hand, and then pressed the tip of her wand to her forehead. Crouch watched her with glazed eyes as she pulled a silver strand of a memory and placed it in a small vale she had brought with her. She sealed it and handed it to him.
"Now nether of us can betray the other," she said. "If you cross me I'll show your father the letters, and if I cross you, you can show that memory to my husband. It's mine, so no one could claim it was tempered with. My mother in law would make a celebration out of it..."
She waited for him to say something, but he was still shocked.
"Still want to jump out of the window?" She joked.
He shook his head sharply, mute. His face was red, his hair wild and the white flower on his breast was crumpled. Bella plucked a rose from the bouquet and replaced it with the white one. Crouch's eyes followed her with a glazed, fascinated look, and she know she gain herself an ally.
"Are you with me, Barty?"
He hesitated, then nodded.
She gave him back his whisky. She sipped from her own glass, and it suddenly accrued to her that she never used to drink whisky before she married Rodolphus. Odd that she should think of him now, just when she had won this small victory on the way to her independence. And then she thought – what if Crouch would decide to show him the memory?...
She can't bother with that now, she told herself. She would just have to make sure that Crouch would be so deep under her spell that he would never think to betray her. Right now, she had a great plan to get under way before Halloween.
Pushing her husband out of her mind, she clinked their glasses together and looked into Crouch's eyes as she said, "To great deeds."