A / N : It's been a long time since I updated this, I know. I'm sorry about that. For anyone I haven't already explained this to – my computer crashed, I lost all my notes (for 3 fics . . . I really should have been backing up) and had to save up for a new laptop, rewrite 6 months worth of notes, and catch up on all the reviewing and writing I missed when I lost my computer. On top of the rest of my life. LRTR has been the worst to sort out because there was simply so much already written in my notes and I'm terrified of forgetting something important. If anything does seem to contradict something else here, or if you spot any typos, please tell me . . .. I do my best but a lot of the time I edit (and write) when I should be sleeping, and as a result I miss things.

This chapter and the next were originally intended as one, but my chapters seem to be getting longer and longer these days . . . . so I'll have to split it. I'll try and write the next one soon.

Oh – thank you to heliumxballoons and "Then Use Me, Tom" for their anon reviews, before I forget. XD

Chapter title is from the song by Snow Patrol. Enjoy!

Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking

It was half-past four, and Bellatrix couldn't sleep. Her heart was conspiring against her, beating just a little too quickly. It made her legs twitch and her fingers tap impatiently, and somehow she just couldn't get comfortable.

So she sat in the abandoned common room, staring into space. Staring at her shoes, staring at the dying embers of the fire . . .. staring at the words of Rosier's letter, until the ink began to blur.

He says he'll see her. He says he'll see her. He says he'll see her.

Any sensible person would have realized hours ago that there was nothing of great importance hidden in the letter. Any sensible person would have gone to bed, to avoid looking like the undead the following morning, when appearances mattered. But it was Bella's personal belief that a person would only describe her as "sensible" under the influence of the Imperius Curse. She scowled, annoyed at herself. Sitting here, doing nothing, wasn't going to accelerate the dawn, and staring at a veiled reference to her master wasn't going to transport her into his presence. The only thing she could possibly do to hasten the passage of time was to become oblivious to it – to sleep. But she couldn't, not when her every nerve edge was humming and her eyes refused to close.

"Sleep," she growled, curling into a ball and flinging her cloak over her head, to block out what little light there was at this hour. A moment later she threw it to the floor, frustrated again. Sleep, it seemed, took offence at being summoned.

So Bella sat up, yawning, and pushed her feet back into her shoes, so that she could creep upstairs without getting frostbite. (Slytherin sleeping quarters were never truly warm, even in summer. Bellatrix could only suppose that was the intention of whoever had originally chosen to consign her entire House to the dungeons.)

She had rifled through three of the boy's bedside drawers before she found what she was looking for – oddly enough, by Lucius' bed.

"Thank you, Lucius!" Bella whispered gleefully, tucking the flask safely under her arm and wondering, briefly, what Malfoy of all people was doing with Firewhiskey. It wasn't as if he ever really drank. She could only assume it was some strange experiment in self-control - an exercise in denial, maybe.

She gave a contemptuous snort, coughing as the alcohol burned the back of her throat. Self-control for its own sake. Well, that certainly sounded like Malfoy.

Lucius' forehead creased in his sleep, as though he could hear her, and someone in a bed to the left – either Goyle or his identikit cronie – coughed. Taking the hint, Bella backed swiftly out of the room, retreating to the common room to drink in peace. The last thing she needed was for Lucius to wake up and start lecturing her, especially if she didn't have the option of falling asleep halfway through.

Twenty minutes later, Bella was forced to conclude that even this last brilliant plan had failed. She had consumed most of the alcohol in the flask, and she wasn't even drowsy.

Reluctantly abandoning the idea of assisted sleep, she resorted to new tactic, finishing two overdue Transfiguration essays and reorganizing her entire Potions kit, in the hope these monumentally boring tasks would lull her into unconsciousness. Eventually, her Potions ingredients lay before her in alphabetical order and her essays had been completed, measured, and put away. It was when she seriously considered memorizing them that Bella realized this was no longer remotely amusing – the situation had become dire.

"I'm going for a walk," she muttered.

Unsurprisingly, no-one answered.

Bella turned on every tap she could reach, drained the last of the Firewhiskey, and then took a deep breath, sinking slowly into the bathtub. The water closed over her head and her heartrate acclerated painfully. She closed her eyes - urging herself to relax - and leant back, so that the jet from the taps broke upon her wrists and forehead, drumming a new pattern into her pulse.

Relax, she commanded herself. Relax.

The alcohol was burning in her stomach and the lack of oxygen was a mirror ache, burning in her lungs. And still the water fell, swift against her skull, surging against her skin, both pushing her down and keeping her afloat.

Hands, cold against her throat, pulling her tie free with almost clinical precision. (A hangman's noose, removed at the whim of a monarch.)

Her hair, wound around one cold finger, cold words whispered in her ear. (A toy, a test.)

Her heart, skittish and straying, for the first time, into truly dangerous terrain.

Lucius' white face.

Rosier's agonized scream.

Dolohov's wry smile.

The images were coming thick and fast now, as her air supply began to expire and the hazy impatience of the past few hours, the creeping confusion of recent weeks, started to coalesce into something solid.

Scales, cool against her collarbone. Silver, warm in her palm as she sat waiting. An answer she couldn't bring herself to provide, trapped in her throat.

A smirk, a shiver, an unformed, fearful urgency, and a dread of disappointment.

Bella broke the surface with a gasp.

It was as the clock struck six, as dawn broke, that Bellatrix finally abandoned her attempts to sleep. The school corridors were empty this early in the morning, so she could walk the path back to the dungeons in peace, footsteps echoing on flagstones tinted gold by the rising sun.

Dawn.

She paused, raising her hand so the light could fall upon it.

Had she always been so pale? Bella frowned. It was only when she positioned her hand at a direct angle to the rising sun that it took on a healthy pink glow – when she lowered it into shadow again, it looked almost ghostly white. Disturbed, she stepped into the nearest room, which seemed to be an empty, general-purpose sort of classroom. Ignoring for the moment the obvious distraction the room had just presented, she reached instead for the grimy mirror hanging on the back of the door.

It wasn't just a trick of the light, she realized, tilting the mirror this way and that as she studied her reflection. She had become abnormally pale. She looked, in fact, like Cissy – white and distracted and somehow far, far away. Bella scowled at her own image, gently prodding the dark circles under her eyes. How had she come to look like this?

Setting the mirror down, she considered the situation. When was the last time she had been outside? A week? Two weeks? She honestly couldn't remember. She seemed to spend every waking hour in the castle, doing detention or dragging Cissy to meals or cobbling essays together in the dungeons . . . or dwelling on the many ways she could prove herself to her master, and win his respect. Bella knew many things about herself, but the thing she was most certain of was that she was not a fool. Her master would look at her differently, she'd make sure of it, because more than anything now Bella wanted to feel . . .

"Worthy," she whispered, searching her own eyes for confirmation of the word which had fallen so readily from her lips.

"Worthy?" she repeated, suddenly uncertain. She shivered a little.

"Worthy," she said firmly, fiercely, unable to decide if she was trying the word out or hammering it home. She wished her eyes could carry the same conviction as her voice. But they didn't appear convinced of anything – they made her look lonely, and longing, and lost. Bella scowled at herself, disgusted. She was Bellatrix Black. She was beautiful, and dangerous, and ambitious and cruel . . . or so she hoped. She wasn't supposed to look like that, not for anyone.

But he isn't anyone, is he? A soft, mocking voice whispered. You mean nothing to him, and doesn't it just burn? Silly, boring, disappointing little girl . . . .

"Stop it," she hissed. "Stop it!"

She felt her fists clench instincively, a lump swelling in her throat, and then her hands were trembling, weak but beyond her control, and before she could catch it the mirror had fallen - and then it was broken, shattered like the spell it had cast upon her.

There was wicked laughter bubbling up in her throat, but she couldn't help it. It felt so good to break something. Crash, bang! So decisive. It was almost worth having to put up with -

"What the . . . ?!"

Lucius.

Bella sighed, and then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smirked. The shards of glass on the floor sent her reflection back at her in pieces, distorted. A flash of sharp white tooth, a soft, coal-black curl, an eyelash settling feather-light upon her cheek . . . and a last, fading bruise, hidden from her until now, colouring the pale hollow of her throat. It was strange, the details thrown up when she looked at herself from this angle.

"Consider it . . . an exercise in defiance, Lucius," she declared with a twisted smile. She turned around. "Hello."

Lucius groaned. "What are you talking about?" he said blearily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

There was broken glass confettied across her shoes. Bella shook it off, smiling, and stepped out of the mess.

"Nothing. What are you doing in here?" she demanded. It was a valid question, given that Lucius was currently sitting propped against a desk, wearing his pyjamas and using a scroll of parchment for a pillow. At her words he groaned again, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I was trying to sleep," he said pointedly, smothering a yawn.

Bella grinned. "Please don't tell me you sleepwalk. I might die laughing."

Lucius grimaced. "Of course not," he said impatiently. "That would be ludicrous." He frowned. "I'm here because Goyle has become convinced I sleeptalk."

Bella laughed. "What?"

Another grimace. "Goyle woke me," Lucius said carefully, "to inform me that I was giving orders in my sleep. I, of course, told him I'd never heard anything so preposterous in my life, but he was annoyingly persistant." He yawned. "I left before he could call Crabbe as a character witness."

Bella settled herself on top of the nearest desk, still smirking. "You look revolting," she said companionably.

Lucius blinked. "What are you talking about?" His gaze flickered towards the ruins of the mirror, and he raised a hand self-consciously to his hair. Bella rolled her eyes.

"Not that," she said impatiently. "Though I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear your resemblence to my thirteen year old sister grows with every day you refuse to cut your hair." She wound a portion of it around her finger and tugged sharply, pleased when Lucius groaned. (He was so unbearably wooden that she had come to consider any response at all from Malfoy a victory.) "I was actually referring to this." She curled her fingers around the lapel of Lucius' dressing gown and gave that a corresponding yank, pleased when he gave a strangled sort of yelp.

Lucius prised her hand away with a scowl. He had turned a mildly interesting shade of pink.

"I don't see what's so wrong with it," he retorted, trying to regain his composure. (Bella made a mental note to prod him in the chest more often.) He settled back in his seat, examining the fabric with interest. "What is wrong with it?" he asked cautiously.

Bella stared. "Lucius, it's silk."

"Your point?"

"Quilted silk."

"Mmm. I know."

"Er . . . purple quilted silk."

Lucius smoothed the crease in his lapel, indifferent again. "I had noticed. I still don't see your point."

Bella gaped at him. "It's foul," she managed at last. "It – it makes my eyes want to vomit. It's . . . .visual vomit!" She laughed.

Lucius frowned. "You're drunk," he said disgustedly.

"I'm hardly even tipsy," Bella objected. "But you're right. If I was completely sober, I would have realized -" - she paused, considering - "that that's actually lilac. Ugh." She giggled, though it wasn't really funny. "You've outdone yourself."

Lucius' scowl became more pronounced than ever. "As have you," he said coldly. "It's not even nine a.m and already you're drunk."

Bella turned the flask over in her hand, offended. "Don't be so dramatic," she snapped. "I'll buy you more Firewhiskey, if it matters so much. Not that you'll actually drink it. And I'm not drunk." That much was true. Dragged into the light and forced to make conversation, the alcohol had briefly warmed her and begun to loosen her tongue. But the effect had already worn off. She was starting to feel cold and nervous again, apprehension gnawing at her stomach. "I was just – I was -"

Shut up, she ordered herself.

Lucius watched her for a long, silent minute. "Just what?" When Bella did not reply, he sighed heavily, as though steeling himself for something unpleasant. "Are we going to discuss this?" he muttered, avoiding her eye.

Bella swallowed. Was she that transparent? If even Malfoy could pick up on what she was feeling, she didn't have a hope her master wouldn't notice. Then again, maybe he wanted her to feel like this. Hadn't he been trying to confuse her? Didn't he want . . . ? No. That was . . . . that was . . . . surely . . . she was doing it again.

Like me. Want me. Need me. What was wrong with her?

She inhaled deeply, struggling to smooth her expression and play dumb. "I don't know what you mean," she lied.

Lucius raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Your sister," he said flatly, and Bella jumped.

"What? Cissy?"

If Lucius' sudden silence was anything to go by, that hadn't been the right response. But . . . of course. He was talking about Cissy. For a brief, inexplicable instant, Bella wanted to laugh. He couldn't see it. She was safe.

Lucius was staring at her now, apparently highly uncomfortable. "Yes," he said slowly. "Your sister . What else is there to discuss?"

Bella shrugged. "Nothing," she said quickly, hoping Lucius would take her standoffishness as a desire to protect Narcissa, and not pry any further into her strange response. "There's nothing to discuss. Cissy is fine. Well, she will be. And it's none of your business even if she isn't."

Lucius scowled. When tired, he seemed more irritable than usual, and much less inclined to blindly obey orders. "You're making it my business," he snapped.

Bella ground her teeth. "Well," she growled, trying to sound sweet and failing miserably, "I won't tell anyone what you did if you don't." Checking the bile in her voice with immense effort, she spun round to face him and smiled. "It'll be our secret," she teased, putting out a hand to smooth his hair. (She might not want Lucius, but Bella still found the idea that he didn't want her nothing short of unnatural.)

Lucius, however, was apparently in no mood to indulge her vanity. He knocked her hand away, unusually roughly, and simply stared at her for a long moment.

The silence spiralled uncomfortably. Bella picked up an inkpot and held it to the light, watching the liquid swirl back and forth before she put it down again. She cleared her throat, and then straightened up, deciding to ignore Lucius.

"I'm going back to the common room," she informed him. "I'll meet you later, in the Entrance Hall. Hopefully you'll have cheered up by then . . ."

She was halfway to the door when Lucius stopped her in her tracks. "I'm not going."

Bella froze. "What?"

Lucius leant back in his chair and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table. "I'm not going to Hogsmeade," he repeated calmly.

It was Bella's turn to stare now. "W – what are you talking about?" she spluttered, trying to compose herself. "Lucius . .. . you can't not go! I have my Trace, remember? I can't apparate!"

Lucius shrugged. "I have more important things to do than hold your hand, Bellatrix."

"Don't be an idiot. There's nothing more important than -" Bella cut herself off abruptly, sucking in her breath. "For our master?" she demanded. She couldn't help it, the idea made her jealous.

Lucius' expression flickered again. "No," he said slowly. "Here. At school."

Bella dismissed this instantly. "Oh, who cares about school? Lucius, in a month's time we leave school for good. And you're Head Boy, they can't touch you without looking like idiots themselves. The worst they can possibly do is take that badge off you, and that's probably a blessing in disguise, let's face it. You polish it so often I think the fumes have started to affect your brain . . . ."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "If this is your attempt to sweet talk me," he said coldly, "I might suggest you try a little harder."

Bellatrix scowled. "Oh, come on," she protested. "You don't have anything better to do and we both know it!" When this failed to melt Malfoy's frosty exterior, she sighed. "It'll be fun," she suggested.

This rousing statement received only stony silence as a response. Bella sighed again, walking her fingers along the desk as she considered her next move. Lucius was staring at the same stretch of table top, but he didn't seem to notice her approach – he jumped as she walked her fingers into the palm of his left hand. His fingers twitched, and he made to pull away, but Bella had expected that – she gripped his hand tightly, sure to dig her nails in.

"I need your help," she threatened.

She took a deep breath, smoothing the crease in his lapel and smirking at his obvious discomfort. "You will help me, won't you?" she purred. "It's what friends do, isn't it?" Lucius opened his mouth, about to disagree, but Bella pressed a finger carefully to his lips, rendering him instantly mute. "We are . . . friends . . . aren't we?" she asked innocently.

There was a tense silence, and then, to Bella's horror, Lucius prised her hand away. "I suggest you write back to Rosier," he said blandly. "If you need someone to meet you in Hogsmeade, I'm sure he'll be only too happy to oblige."

Bella gaped at him. "Why the hell would I do that?" she snapped, her saccharine stance evaporating in an instant. "You're here, you have nothing better to do, and you as good as organized this whole thing! You can't just decide to step back all of a sudden without warning – what's wrong with you?" Panic flooded the pit of her stomach as she was struck by a sudden, nauseating realization. "Lucius, if – if I arrange a meeting with . . . him . . . . and don't show up, he'll – he'll punish me."

Lucius said nothing. He seemed unable even to look at her. Bella froze, sickened.

"You're angry with me." Her voice was shaking.

"No."

"Liar. You are, I can see it!" She gave a contemptuous snort. "Don't tell me, it's the Firewhiskey you want to punish me for."

Lucius' blank facade slipped, unexpectedly, and just for an instant he looked truly angry. "No," he said emphatically, colour creeping into his pale cheeks once more.

Bella blinked. "It's not Cissy is it?" she asked bemusedly. This was the most recent offence she could think of, though as an explanation for Lucius' odd behaviour, 'Cissy' made hardly any sense.

"I don't know what you mean," Lucius snapped.

Her own words, thrown back at her so snidely, were the final straw.

Her hands had begun to shake and the blood was rushing loudly in her ears again, giving her the unpleasant but not entirely unfamiliar sensation of being plunged underwater. "You lying little bastard!" she shrieked.

Bella wasn't quite sure how it happened, or even how she managed it, given that Lucius was taller, and (as his previous attempts to restrain her had long since proved) stronger than her. But she lashed out, jarring her wrist as her hand impacted against his chest . . . . and Lucius hit the flagstones with a crash that even sounded painful.

There was a long pause, as she stood above him breathing hard, and then, slowly, he raised his head.

There was a thin stream of blood trickling from his nose, and Bella was a long way from sorry.

For a minute or more, Malfoy didn't move. He simply lay, frozen, in the position in which he had fallen.

Bella swallowed hard. "Don't lie to me," she murmured.

She was halfway to the door when it slammed shut in front of her. "Let me out," she snarled, wheeling round to face Lucius.

He was on his feet, wand pointed at the door, and there was an odd, cold glint in his grey eyes - an emptiness she had never really seen before.

Bella shivered. She put her hands in the pocket of her cloak, but found only the empty flask. Undeterred, she flung this at Malfoy's feet. Where was her wand?

"Let me out," she said, more forcefully. Lucius watched the flask bounce against the flagstones, his face impassive, and then he brushed the dust from his dressing-gown, quite calmly, and stepped forwards. He seized her arm so suddenly Bella almost screamed.

"You're going to fail," he said savagely.

Bella struggled against him, dismayed when he merely tightened his grip on her. Tighter and tighter . . . . it was starting to hurt. "I don't know what you mean," she taunted.

Lucius' cheek twitched at the phrase, and then, unexpectedly, he smiled - and Bella suddenly understood why he rarely did so. "Then allow me to elaborate," he said softly. "You – will – fail."

It was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Let me go. Now!" Bella screamed. She tried to kick him, but Lucius neatly sidestepped her best attempt. His fingers tightened and Bella screamed again. This time, she wasn't sure if it was anger or pain that provoked it.

But even if she couldn't find her wand, she still had a free hand. Lucius seemed as immune as ever to being slapped, but she had always had more imagination that that . . . Bella took a deep breath, set her jaw, and then reached up blindly and dragged her fingers across his cheek. It wasn't a bad effort either, she reflected, as Lucius inhaled sharply, the air hissing through his teeth. She had managed both to poke him the eye and to leave four deep scratches across his cheek. They were bleeding profusely. His smile curdled.

"You're going to fail," he spat. "And this," - he shook her, hard - "is why. You have no self-control. If you want to keep secrets, you need it. But you won't ever learn."

As suddenly as he had seized her, he let go. He stared at his hands for a moment, flexing his fingers as if they had somehow disobeyed him.

And then, before Bella could even try and take aim at him, he had disappeared.