Warning: AU for all the books, whilst it will follow them in key events. May later contain slash, albeit much, much later.

AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE

By

SilverSkies

CHAPTER THREE: My Best Friend, the Psychopath

Unfortunately as Bellatrix soon explained – it was unwise to use magic on a child, studies having proven it could lead to said child becoming a Squib. A Squib, Harry learnt was a person born to magical parents but had no magic themselves. The restrictions against magic being used on children also extended to the children practicing magic. Accidental magic was a different matter – it only occurred in times of stress, and was truly more of a survival trait than anything else. Over-use could lead to the child losing the ability to tap into their magic, but in cases where accidental magic was warranted – immediate survival of the witch or wizard took higher priority than the ability to cast spells later in life.

This didn't stop Harry from wanting to know all the theory behind the magic, and he promised to not use it until he was old enough. This said, he was quick to realise that even though Bellatrix was a witch, and magic did exist, she wasn't entirely sane. Further conversations would lead him to realise it was due to her imprisonment in Azkaban. She wavered between bouts of lucidity and complete insanity. He was just lucky to have met her during her more lucid periods. The first time he'd been seen her in the grip of her madness, he'd been… well… horrified.

She'd been at the abandoned council flat, where she was staying. It was dark, dank and so filthy that Harry had been physically repulsed the first time he entered. Littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts, he wasn't happy about her staying there – he wouldn't have been happy with anyone staying there.

Her madness though, had been far more worrying than any thoughts of hygiene. The way she'd screamed, arching her back and writhing across the floor – scratching at her skin as if trying to flee from it. Then she stopped, collapsed – the silence eerie after her screams, until he became aware of her whispering chant – getting louder and faster as she rocked back and forth. "Master, please forgive me, don't want to, didn't mean to, had to, yes had to, no, no, no. NO!" Her further mumbles had been about a baby, apologising to the baby for hurting the parents.

Even these fits didn't bother him as much as the other times. The times when she'd speak in a mocking baby voice and say such things as 'Aww, do you miss your parents baby Potter? But you should know that they were vewy foolish to think they could defy the Dark Lord, and he'll be back and he's going to kill you.' The singsong way she said the words and the utter belief he saw in her eyes as she said them, truly scared him. But she was his first introduction to magic, and she was the first to want to defend him; even if she was crazy and occasionally talked about him dying.

Bellatrix, Harry had decided, was his friend, or at least as close to a friend as he would get, with the Dursleys spreading lies about him and Dudley threatening any child who even entertained the notion of playing with him. Bellatrix was his friend, his psychopathic, insane, magical friend.

As the days passed, Harry slipped into a routine; he would go to school and then afterwards meet Bellatrix in small alleyway and they would chat, occasionally it would result in him trying to hold her back as she described some of the hexes and curses she wanted to use on Dudley's gang, or the Dursleys. Occasionally she wouldn't turn up – in which case Harry would sneak over to the flat and comfort her through the aftermath of her convulsions, but the weeks passed and Bellatrix was slowly experiencing fewer relapses and was gaining a firmer grip on reality. This, Harry mused, was a good thing, but he couldn't help but wince at what she'd say or try to do once she was her former self. He'd gathered that she didn't like Muggles, or non-magical people. She was torn over how to feel about him, since he'd somehow brought down her Lord, but also wanted to protect a fellow wizard against the Muggles and yet he wasn't a Pureblood, but she thought he must be powerful and he could help get her Lord back. Frankly he would be happy if he had some guarantee that she wouldn't just grab some large knives and start on Dursley-torture.

He needn't have worried though; Bellatrix had similar thoughts in her lucid periods. She knew rationally, that the Dark Lord was dead. It was something to do with the Potter boy, Harry. Yet, the mere idea was ridiculous – how did a baby defeat the Dark Lord? Unless the baby were really powerful, yet Harry didn't seem that exceptional, other than those striking green eyes and his seeming lack of ability to tell a lie. The last thing was useful in her dealings with him, but she did notice how he was learning to deflect questions, and answering them cryptically, or in ways that answered the question yet didn't tell her what she wanted to know. It was pure Slytherin and left her feeling oddly proud. This pride in him had her confused and worried. She was beginning to feel for the boy, and previously she'd only cared for her sisters, and one of her cousins – Sirius Black. Her cousin and one of her sisters had abandoned the Dark side, upon which they'd been raised – although she had doubts about her cousin, since he'd joined her in Azkaban – as a traitor to the Potters. She couldn't have children – she knew this, one too many Dark Curses during the war; and now she was concerned that she was beginning to feel maternal over a brat that wasn't hers and would probably hate her once he learnt more about both his history and hers.

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Their worries soon came to end. Christmas was approaching and it brought a few problems as well. The constant cold weather combined with the wet left Bellatrix with an awful cold. Her sleeping in the ratty old flat, meant she was rarely warm, despite Harry's efforts in getting her a couple of old blankets. It was only because she was a powerful witch that she'd held of illness for so long, but Azkaban had taken it's toll and her magic was weakened – combined with the poor food and her lack of adequate shelter – she was getting very ill.

Harry had taken to visiting as often as he could and bringing as much food and water as he could take without it being missed. Water wasn't a problem, but the weight of carrying a few litres made it harder for him to dodge Dudley's gang and he'd been caught a couple of times, resulting in numerous bruises.

"Bella? Bella, are you okay?" Harry called out as he entered the flat. Bellatrix, looked up from where she lay swaddled in blankets, smiling weakly and as she opened her mouth to reply – burst into a sudden fit of coughs. Harry was by her side in seconds, scrambling for her glass of water, he helped her sit and pressed the glass to her lips. Her lips were flecked with blood, which alarmed him.

"How long have you been coughing up blood?" his question was frantic, emerald eyes on fire.

Another weak smile as she replied, "Since last night I think. Damned Ministry, if I had my wand, or a potion…but it doesn't matter, at least I will have died free – away from Azkaban." The look of outrage on Harry's face stopped her from continuing.

"Die! You aren't going to die. You are going to get better and continue to tell me stories about Hogwarts and magic."

"Why do you care?" She hadn't meant to say that, but she figured it didn't matter much since she was dying, no one would have to know about her weakness in caring.

Harry was flabbergasted. Why did he care? She was his friend. His best friend, granted she was his only friend, but he doubted he could find a friend as good as her – at least for as long as he stayed at the Dursleys. He told her so. He expected derision or scepticism, he certainly didn't expect her to burst into sobs and wrap in a smothering hug.

"I care about you too! The way you've learnt to deflect questions without lying – it's so Slytherin and I'm so proud of you!"

That was it. Bellatrix had obviously become delirious; because there was no other way she would be saying such things. She was very ill, and Harry knew only one way to possibly help her. It was risky though, terribly so. Having made up his mind, he shut his eyes, still clinging to her skinny form as tight as he could, wishing desperately that she would get better – get better now. The words seemed to reverberate in his mind as he slowly sunk into unconsciousness. Bellatrix soon followed suit, but it was a healing sleep this time, one not filled with painful memories and interspersed with wracking coughs. They slept, the small boy embraced in the woman's arms, peaceful, deep, until it came time to wake.

AN: So… not much conversation here, and I apologise, but I wanted to set the scene for how they could get along. Bellatrix is torn and maybe she's still insane with wanting to be nice to Harry… who knows? Will Harry still be a wizard? Some pretty powerful 'accidental' magic there I guess… but I figure it's powered by emotion, and love would do it… The coughing up of blood? Pneumonia. Thanks to all reviewers! May be a slightly more than week before the next update...Sorry.