Chapter V

THE DARK THAT DEVOURS

- Part 1 -

oOo

Bellatrix Lestrange knows darkness. Yet when Snape's own kind of obscurity swallows her whole, she finds she's not ready; not ready at all. Chilled to the bone, she curses herself for being the one who asked for it.

I shouldn't have trusted him. Her every newborn thought is tinged with dread, every sensation spoiled by the realization of what she's done. Why did I trust him? He's never going to let me out.

Darkness is darkness, right? Wrong. This blackness she does not know.

There was a time she used to steer the shadows she herself had pulled from the corners of her victims' minds. She was the one in control then, and Merlin, did she relish bathing in that feeling of boundless power. She could break down every door, crush every single shield. She was the strongest of them all, unstoppable. She strode proudly among the endless hallways unrolling inside their poor little weak heads, leaving only madness behind to haunt the ruins. The memory alone can almost get her high again. She isn't surprised to find she regrets nothing.

She doesn't get to call the shots inside Snape's mind, though.

Tongues of shadow swirl around her, whipping her skin with their coldness. The way they slice through the air seems to whisper every kind of untold things. Pure, undiluted pain. A thirst for vengeance that can never be quenched. Deep exhaustion.

The blows come so fast she is barely aware of what's going on. Shadows plunge violently straight into her chest, they clench tightly around her heart, they come out of her throat. She screams.

When darkness releases its hold on her at last, she falls to the ground in a heap of ill-fitting clothes and unruly raven curls. She growls, struggling to get back on her feet.

Under thundering skies of ink, Snape's walls are being raised, doors are being locked and paths cut off.

Words of blistering light stand out against the dark: I REMAIN THE SOLE MASTER OF MY MIND. Snape's message for her, the only condition on which he'll grant her limited access to his memories.

A giggle almost escapes Bella's chapped lips as she rolls her eyes; nothing better than one of Snape's well-renowned dramatic displays of authority to dissipate her fear. Whatever, Snape. Just lead the way already, she snorts.

Drops of ink fall from above and rise again as silhouettes once they've hit the ground.

And suddenly, Bellatrix finds herself striding down one of Malfoy Manor's long, spacious hallways. She never liked this house. It is a beautiful household, granted, but too big and oh, so cold. As rich and opulent on the outside as dear Lucius is, and yet so utterly devoid of everything that truly matters; it always leaves a bad taste in her mouth. She felt sorry for her sister when she had to move here, it may be a house worthy of her name but it is most certainly not worthy of her.

Bellatrix stops in front of a door identical in every detail to the others along the hallway, except for the fact that this one is slightly ajar and giving off the now familiar stench of death.

She doesn't want to get in. She doesn't want to see. But Snape is the one who's running the game, and he steps into the room.

When is it that you've become such a coward, Bella?

Warily, she allows her eyes to adjust to the absence of light in the room. Her breath gets caught in her throat when she sees her.

Sitting cross-legged on the windowsill, slender arms wrapped tightly around her upper body as if her life depends on it, moonlight filtering through the curtain of her long, smooth blond hair; Narcissa truly is a sight for sore eyes. Any creature, kissed by the light or cursed by the darkness alike, would be jealous of her ethereal beauty.

She looks so much younger, sitting like that. Bellatrix remembers a night of many years ago when her sister looked almost exactly the same. That night their father had told Narcissa she would have married Lucius. She didn't object. She never did. Unlike Bella, she knew her place. Later on, Bellatrix woke up to find Narcissa in her room, sitting on the windowsill, staring at the moon as if it were her last chance to bathe in its glow.

"Cissy? What are you doing here?" She asked in a sleepy slur, rubbing her eyes.

Narcissa turned to face her sister, with pale blue eyes afire with rage and a need she still couldn't quite understand. Oh, such fury; carefully and diligently smothered, year after year.

She should have known. Does she hate me, I wonder? Bellatrix asks herself. For not stopping her? For not saving her?

"It's nothing, Bella," Narcissa said in her usual calm tone, walking over to her bed and slipping underneath the covers. She spooned her raven-haired sister, she placed a long, soft kiss on the top of her head, she said: "Let's just sleep." And she prayed for the dark thoughts to die before sunrise.

Shadows and moonbeams now chase each other across Narcissa's beautiful face, painting it in Snape's memory. Fury still dwells within her eyes, as well as a sadness so deep it makes Bella's guts clench in sympathy. She follows her sister's gaze. There's a bed nearby, bathed in the moonlight seeping through a second window.

Wrapped in dirty sheets, drenched in sweat and blood, Bella's gaunt body lays as motionless as a corpse. Uncared-for. Forgotten.

Bellatrix gasps. Is this what I looked like when they first brought me here? She cannot help but avert her eyes. Her heart hammering against her ribcage, she focuses on Narcissa's silhouette once again. Unlike her, the blond witch is not looking away. Pity lingers in those icy blue irises of hers, and grief lies deep down within.

She looks like she's already in mourning. But Bellatrix is not dead. She's furious.

The raven-haired sister lunges forward like a wounded animal. Blinded by pain. Feral. Desperate.

Fear doesn't come to twist Narcissa's elegant facial features; sheer terror, on the other hand, takes over Bella's eyes once again. A spark in the darkness. She blinks rapidly, trying to figure out what just happened. She's bending over, skinny legs turned to stone underneath her skirts, pale arms stretching before her, claw-like fingers curving horribly toward someone they can never reach.

Deep, blood-chilling laughter runs through her mind, loud with derision. Just a memory, remember?

"This is not funny, Snape!" She hisses menacingly. "Why did nobody fight for me? You all just left me lying there rotting like I was already bloody fucking dead! Why did I have to beg you to save me? You wouldn't even touch me!" Bella's eyes focus on her sister's once again, wishing they could acknowledge her presence even just for a second. "You wouldn't even touch me." She whispers bitter words of betrayal.

At that very moment, Narcissa's head snaps in her direction, making her flinch violently.

"I asked for my sister back." Words of fury, almost unfitting to the blond witch's cold, clear voice.

"And I am, I am back!" Bellatrix yells, bewildered. But her voice won't come out; Snape's does instead.

"Well, Azkaban didn't go easy on her, that's for sure, but you do have her back now." He says emotionlessly.

Bellatrix clutches at her throat. His throat. I want to speak to her. Let me speak to her, Snape. Give me back my voice. But a solitary echo in the back of her mind is the only answer she will ever get from him right now: Listen.

"That's a corpse, Severus! That's no sister of mine." Narcissa's voice breaks until it comes out in nothing more than a weak whisper, spoken to herself rather than to anyone else. "That's not my Bella."

And with that, every word dies within the dark-haired witch, unheard and unborn alike.

"And yet it is." Snape's deep voice states matter-of-factly. There will be no solace, not in his words. "Just be glad the Dark Lord had her body retrieved so that you can say your goodbyes."

Narcissa raises her chin in defiance, as only a Black married to a Malfoy can. "That's not the reason he sent for her and you know it. He wanted her alive so that she could die for him at some other, more favorable moment." She spats bitterly.

"It's so unlike you to speak this recklessly, Narcissa."

The blond witch stands up. Slowly, she walks past Snape towards the motionless figure lying on the soiled bed. The hem of her robes brushes lightly against the smooth ceramic floor tiles and, for a couple of seconds, that's the only sound haunting the room. Silence falls again when she stops near the bedside table.

Narcissa looks down at her sister's face. Her skin is deadly pale and covered in beads of sweat, half hidden by the dark curls plastered to it. Her long eyelashes are wet and shiny; looking at them, Narcissa cannot help but wonder how many tears she has failed to wipe away for Bellatrix, how many years they've spent apart while she cried her eyes out in her lonely cell. There's a blueness to her lips that clashes with the skin's pallor; it's almost as if Death has already kissed them.

Fury sets Narcissa's heart and mind aflame at the thought of Bella's reasons to end up like this.

"Do you know how many times she has died for him already?"

"Should I care to know now?" Snape asks, unfazed. Unreadable.

Narcissa ignores him. "I told her so many times... She wouldn't listen. She wouldn't..." The blond witch hides her face and swallows hard before speaking again. "Where is he now? Where is he when she has given up so much for him?"

Snape sighs. "He will come to see her, soon enough."

"And what will he do?" Narcissa asks from over her shoulder, too afraid to look at him and see the answer written all over his face.

"I think you know the answer to that, Narcissa."

Her eyes close, a single tear rolling down her pale cheek. Unseen.

"Save her." She breathes out the words at last.

Snape raises his eyebrow, a curious expression on his face. "Are you suggesting I defy the Dark Lord?" Amusement is now clear in his voice. "And why would I do that? Why would I wish to die tonight?"

She turns around to face him. "Please, Severus. He will listen to you."

Snape snorts. "Fool."

And everything starts to spin around Bellatrix, fading into black. And falling into the darkness to her feels like being held in the arms of an old friend, a friend who knows and understands more than she ever will. And she trusts the blackness.

AN: To those of you who were waiting for this chapter: thank you for your patience, I'm really sorry it took me sooo long. I hope this was worth the wait, at least. I absolutely loved writing it, even if it has been a tough ride. Right now I'm halfway through the second part, I already know what's going to happen next. All I have to do is write it down in between the overtime hours scheduled for this week. What could possibly get in the way, right? No, but seriously, I'll try my best to have it ready within a week or two at the most. Hope you're still enjoying this story.

Thank you for reading and for leaving your thoughts in the reviews.