Chapter 3: 20-21 October

The news that Katie Bell had been cursed seemed to have spread all over the school by Sunday morning, after Katie herself was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The details had become so convoluted with each student's pass along of the information that Harry and Ron were grateful for the opportunity to dodge the gossip by meeting Hermione and Bellatrix after breakfast. They stopped by the kitchens on the way up, where Dobby and the other house elves were glad to prepare a sizable package of breakfast foods to take up with them, as the one thing the Room of Requirement was not able to provide for its visitors was food due to some magical rule Hermione probably knew by heart.

"There you are! I've been waiting for ages!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw them pass through the invisible barrier into Bellatrix's little space within the larger room of lost and hidden things. She anxiously wrenched the food parcel out of Ron's hands and helped herself to a glazed danish. Harry noticed that Bellatrix looked much better than she had the day before. She was sitting up in bed with wet hair like she'd recently showered. The dark circles were fading from under her eyes and while her injuries still had a raw, red appearance to them, all of the congealed blood from before was gone.

"Anything to eat, Bellatrix?" Hermione offered, but the Death Eater shook her head. "She won't talk to me at all," she said in an undertone to Harry and Ron. "If I ask her how she's feeling, she shrugs. If I ask her if she remembers anything, she shakes her head no."

"Do you think she's playing you?" Ron asked with a slightly fearful glance at Bellatrix.

"No, but I do think she's in some sort of shock...I mean how would you like it if you woke up somewhere unfamiliar and didn't remember hardly anything at all?"

"...Sounds like me every time I fall asleep in Potions class."

"Honestly, Ronald…"

Unable to stand even another moment of their bickering, Harry selected a plump sugar brioche from Dobby's package and held it out to Bellatrix the way Lupin used to do when Harry was recovering from a dementor attack.

"Eat, you'll feel better," he said. Her dark eyes flashed down to the pastry and then up at Harry before she reached out a hand and snatched it from him. As she did so, the side of her hand brushed against his own and Harry felt like a jolt of electricity had pierced him through.

She killed him. You hate her. She deserves to suffer for what she did. In his conscious thoughts, he was repulsed by her. But a little deeper, there was something else. Despite all that he knew she had done and all that he was sure she was capable of, he had to admit that she did seem very harmless and pathetic this way...albeit very pretty...in a way he would have never noticed before when the only Bellatrix he'd ever seen was a murderer.

"Harry what is it?" Hermione asked. She'd been watching the exchange between Harry and Bellatrix curiously, wondering what it was about Harry that made the Death Eater willing to trust him a little bit...at least enough to take food from him and be close to him without recoiling.

"It's just...looking at her like this...so vulnerable and weak and scared...makes you wonder how she could have done any of the other stuff-even though we know she did. I saw her, she killed him, she laughed about it, she-"

"Harry, no! You've got to be careful what you say in front of her. You could trigger something and she could get violent-"said Hermione anxiously.

"What's she going to do? We've got her wand," Ron cut in, for it was true they'd confiscated Bellatrix's wand and locked it in the bottom of Harry's trunk for safe-keeping.

"Ahem." All three of them looked up from their chairs at once to find Bellatrix Lestrange staring pointedly at them, a frightening determination in her eyes that wasn't there before.

"Harry. That girl. She called you Harry," said Bellatrix in a voice that sent a shiver down his spine. He knows how to play! Itty. Bitty. Baby.

"Yes. Do...do you know me from somewhere?" he asked hesitantly, already afraid of her answer.

"No," she replied, to his relief. "But you know me. You know what happened to me. I know you do."

Harry glanced back and forth from Ron to Hermione, hoping one of them would be able to tell him how to proceed. When neither one of them spoke, he turned back to the Death Eater.

"Bellatrix, what do you remember about how you got here?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," she said and then averted her eyes and retreated back into her silence for the remainder of their visit.

Ron's night of watch over Bellatrix that night went much as uneventfully Hermione's, so by the time Monday rolled around, they all agreed that she was harmless enough to not be an immediate threat to everyone's safety and that they could probably stand to wait and see what, if anything, they could get out of her before turning her over to the Order.

Harry had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented himself outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter. The office looked much the same as it had the last time he was inside it. The former headmasters of Hogwarts snoozed away in their ornate portrait frames on the wall, the Sorting Hat rested atop the highest bookshelf, and the unknown silver instruments whirred and buzzed away on their respective stands. Only the Headmaster himself looked different. He appeared unusually tired and his hand was as black and burned as ever, but he smiled when he gestured to Harry to sit down. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.

"You have had a busy time while I have been away," Dumbledore said, instantly putting Harry on high alert. How much did he know?

"I believe you witnessed Katie's accident."

"No, sir. Actually that was my friend Ron. But err...how is she?"

"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin: There was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she

even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse —"

"Why him?" asked Harry quickly. "Why not Madam Pomfrey?"

"Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery

in time."

"Professor," said Harry, after a short pause, "did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?"

"She told me of your suspicions, yes," said Dumbledore.

"And do you — ?"

"I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident," said Dumbledore. "But what concerns me now, Harry, is our lesson."

Just as before, Dumbledore had prepared memories about Voldemort's past for them to view through the Pensieve. In the first, one of the founders of the Knockturn Alley shop Borgin&Burkes told Dumbledore about the day Merope Gaunt, pregnant and dressed in rags, came to sell a locket she said was Slytherin's and even though he knew she wasn't lying, he also knew she was desperate enough to only take ten Galleons for it. Merope Gaunt had stopped using magic after the love of her life, Tom Riddle Sr, left her and felt like she had nothing to live for, not even her son, so she succumbed to Muggle poverty.

In the second, more detailed memory, Harry and Dumbledore viewed a memory of Dumbledore's own-one in which a younger version of himself called upon an eleven-year-old Voldemort at the orphanage where he lived, to tell him that he was a wizard.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?" a younger Dumbledore asked the orphanage matron, Mrs. Cole. She told him that the young Tom Riddle who would become Voldemort was born in the snow outside of the orphanage and his mother died almost immediately afterwards, saying only that Tom was to be named after his father.

"There have been incidents. . . . Nasty things," Mrs. Cole said. "Billy Stubbs's rabbit . . . well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself

from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no."

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then...on the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of

things, funny things. . . ."

When Dumbledore finally went to see Tom, Harry was reminded strongly of the day Hagrid came to fetch him from the Dursleys. Although unlike Harry, Tom's reaction to his invitation to Hogwarts was aggressive-accusing Dumbledore of being a doctor from an asylum come to take him away and commit him...until Dumbledore said that Hogwarts was a school for magic and that he, Tom, was a wizard...something he accepted a lot faster than Harry had when Hagrid told him. They learned a little more about Voldemort from the memory-how he used to collect and steal trinkets from other children, how he didn't want Dumbledore's help buying his school supplies in Diagon Alley (nor the help of any adult with anything), how he could speak to snakes, and how he did not like having the common name 'Tom.'

"Time is making fools of us again," said Dumbledore. "But I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry — the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later. In addition, I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded."

"Sir?" asked Harry uncertainly, for his mind was swirling with thoughts.

"Yes?"

"You said Voldemort always operates alone...that he's never gotten close to anyone...but what about Bellatrix, sir? Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"What about her?" Harry found himself suddenly desperate to know more, but he didn't want to alert Dumbledore's already highly astute sense of suspicion.

"It's just that...she's always been the closest Death Eater to him, hasn't she? I mean...last year...at the Ministry...he even saved her life." Harry said all this very slowly and awkwardly given that he rarely ever talked about what happened in the Department of Mysteries at the end of last term. "You know he could have just apparated away and still no one would have known he was back-but he wasted all that time saving her when she was pinned under that statue after-" He broke off and Dumbledore responded with a knowing look like he understood Harry had been about to say something along the lines of "after she killed Sirius."

"It is curious, isn't it, Harry? But I'm sure you can see why he would be drawn to her."

"I'm sorry; no."

"I believe that for a long time, Bellatrix represented everything Voldemort wished his life and childhood had been. Think about it, she was born a pureblood witch into a wealthy, prominent family. She was very attractive and possessed a unique, uncommon, and memorable name. All qualities he prized. She was a talented witch who wielded a lot of influence from a very young age, even during her time here at Hogwarts in Slytherin house…" Dumbledore trailed off.

"But sir, if you don't mind my asking, what changed? You said it like she used to represent everything he wanted."

"Well, now she's spent the past decade in Azkaban and it has taken its toll on her as you saw at the Ministry. Now he's the influential one. I don't know for certain, but I could guess that perhaps he blasted that statue away from her to preserve what was left of that idyllic past he reinvented for himself." Harry frowned, his mind racing. So Voldemort must have recruited her when she was very young...and then he'd used her all along...though he didn't know why any of this made him angry. It didn't make any difference. It didn't absolve her of any of her actions...even if she fell in line with Voldemort when she was his, Harry's, own age, how was it that he, Ron and Hermione knew right from wrong?

"But, Harry," said Dumbledore, interrupting his thoughts. "Bellatrix Lestrange is not our focus here...but just know this: Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one. And now, it really is time for bed." He waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.

After the meeting, it was well past midnight, but when Harry headed up to the seventh floor, he turned not left towards the Gryffindor common room, but right towards Barnabus the Barmy and the Room of Requirement.

Bellatrix was sleeping when he settled himself in one of the black armchairs, and as he was not in any state of mind to do homework, he pulled out his well-read copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and began to read. Some time later, he had just gotten to the chapter on Changes in Quidditch Since the 14th Century when the sound of rustling blankets made him pause. He shut the book and saw Bellatrix sitting up awake and looking curiously at him from her bed.

"Do you play?" she asked, gesturing to his book with her bandaged hand. If Harry had expected her to say anything at all, it wasn't that.

"Err..yeah, I do actually. I'm Seeker. And Captain of my house team." He couldn't even see Hermione finding harm in telling her that much and before he could stop himself, he find himself asking "what about you?"

Again, she surprised him by offering him a small smile and laughing in a way that was significantly different than when she was teasing him about Sirius. This laughter was softer, lighter, almost musical.

"I played Chaser second through seventh year...although you wouldn't believe it if I told you how hard I tried to get on the team as a first year," said Bellatrix. Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing-the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange (though she would have still been a Black then) a...Quidditch player?

"Ha, well you can't have been because when I made the team as a first year I was told I was the youngest in a century to do it," said Harry and Bellatrix's jaw dropped.

"Dumbledore let you play? As a first year?"

"Well, only because Professor McGonagall was pretty desperate for a good season. We hadn't won the cup in seven years." Surely he still wasn't giving too much away...she had to have picked up on the fact that he, Ron and Hermione were Gryffindors by now. After all, she'd worn Harry's own Gryffindor scarf back up to the castle from Hogsmeade.

"McGonagall, really? Never would have expected such rule-bending from her," said Bellatrix who was again laughing. "I didn't even think to ask Slughorn-he was my head of house-if you weren't one of his pre-chosen 'favorite students' he didn't have eyes for you at all."

"So you weren't in the Slug Club, then?" Harry heard himself ask.

"The Slug Club? So he's STILL got that going?"

Harry nodded. He was finding it so easy to talk to Bellatrix-just as easy as talking to Ron and Hermione, in fact-that he hardly noticed the hours passing by. They joked about the Slug Club, traded stories about teachers and talked about Quidditch with such ease that before he knew it, the first rays of dawn sunlight were peeking through the high cathedral-like windows, bathing Bellatrix's pale skin in balmy lilac.

It was like talking to someone with the humor of Ron and the wit of Hermione, but without any bickering or petty arguing. From what he could gather, she remembered a great deal about her school days, just not too much after that...but he didn't press her on it. Right now, the Bellatrix that owned those gaping holes in her memory did not exist, and this new model in her place was far more pleasant than the surly vindictive model he'd endured at the Ministry.

Just after six, Harry gathered his things to leave and get ready for class. He was tired, but at the same time he didn't think he'd wasted the evening...and the notion that he had so much to tell Ron and Hermione acted a bit like adrenaline propelling him into motion.

"Your friends...a different one of you comes to see me every night. Why is that?" Bellatrix caught him off guard just as he was about to leave through the barrier of protective enchantments. What could he tell her? He decided on the truth...well, a partial truth at any rate.

"It's to...keep you safe," said Harry.

"Safe from what? Please. No one will tell me what's going on and you know, I'm sure of it." Her eyes were wide and her head tilted to one side in her own pleading sort of way.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say (why was he apologizing to a Death Eater?!). "It's just not...time...for you to know yet."

"But you will tell me, right, Harry?"

"I'll see what I can do," he said, before heading out through the barrier of enchantments and leaving Bellatrix, he knew, more confused than ever.