Thank you so much for all the love & support throughout the last year. I just wanted to make a quick note (that has appear on all WIP updates, so everyone has the chance to read it) about how I'd organized the updates. Aside from Love Like Blood (which I'd finished & completed posting before moving onto the other updates so the story is complete & out of the way), the updates were posted in the order of furthest back date of 'last update' to most recent.
This is officially the last of my 'come back' posts. I can't say updates will resume 'regularly', as you all know I was never good at that before I went on hiatus, but I will promise that I'll TRY to post updates to all my fics every two months.
A reminder that this is an AU fic; the dynamic between pure-bloods & Muggles is not the same. Yes, there are some prejudices between them, but it is not the stark hate from one side, little-to-no awareness the other group even exists outside of fiction on the other side that we know from canon.
Chapter Sixteen
"I must say, I am quite … surprised by your visit," Andromeda said, smiling genteelly as she poured the tea.
Bellatrix refrained from letting her dark-eyed gaze roam about her sister's modest abode. To think she'd turned her back on the Death Eaters for … this. A man practically destitute and a rebellious child with very dramatic hair issue.
Not like her Hermione. No, Hermione was a good girl!
Clearing her throat, Bellatrix dismissed her judgmental thoughts and forced a smile of her own. She'd come here to seek aid, not to be petty.
"You can speak plainly, Rommie, it's just you and I here." Bella reached for her cup, hoping that without servants, her sister had learned to make a proper cup of tea. "You never thought I'd come here."
Andromeda Black-Tonks held her sister's gaze steadily over the rim of her own teacup before snorting a giggle and deigning to take a sip. "Well," she said, pursing her lips as she gave a shake of her head, "to be honest, I wasn't even sure you knew where I lived!"
Feeling a bit of her unease slip away at the other witch's teasing, Bella allowed herself a laugh. The tension draining from her rigid frame just a little, she took a sip as well. Oh, look at that! The tea was fabulous.
"I read about what's happened." Andromeda took a biscuit from the tray she'd set between them, but seemed more content to pick at it between her fingers than eat it at the moment. "Your daughter has come back to you. That's wonderful news!"
Bellatrix smiled, no hesitation in her expression just now as she nodded. She missed Hermione so much her heart ached with it, but just a little more time, Rodolphus had assured her, a little more time and Hermione would be back home again, where she belonged.
But it made her heart ache for another reason, as well.
Lowering her gaze to the tablecloth that looked quite fancy, but didn't feel as soft to the touch as it appeared, Bellatrix's smile lost some of its brightness. "Have you heard from Narcissa at all?"
"I'm sorry," Andromeda said, her own smile fading in favor of a pensive frown. "I was about to ask the same of you."
"Where were they the last time she reached out to you?"
Andromeda's eyes roved in recollection. "Sri Lanka, I think. That was … three years ago. You?"
"Same." Bella took another sip of tea. "I believe they were in Poland before that? Or was it … no, Bel—"
"Belgium," Andromeda agreed. "Poland was before Belgium."
It felt only sadder to consider that for all of how it sounded as though their estranged sister was on some wonderful, globe-hopping adventure, the tragic truth of it was that Narcissa Black-Malfoy and her husband Lucius were on a desperate quest to find their son, Draco. A quest that had consumed their lives for nearly the entirety of their marriage.
As had happened with Hermione, the poor boy had been stolen away. Unlike Hermione, he was still very much missing. Unlike Bellatrix and Rodolphus, Narcissa and Lucius were still receiving letters and leads and what might possibly even be taunts of sightings of the fair-haired pure-blood heir.
So very determined to find their child, they treated every single one as a serious prospect.
"In a way," Bella started, a gulp going down her throat while her gaze lingered on the liquid in her cup, "I am glad Narcissa has not been home for this."
Setting down the biscuit—oh, her tea should be in record books, but she was terrible at baking no matter how she tried—Andromeda reached out, gently catching her sister's hand in hers. "Because your daughter returning to you would only sharpen the pain of her son still being lost to us."
Nodding, Bella tried not to flinch at the warmth of that touch. She wasn't certain she deserved understanding or sympathy.
"You've not told your daughter about her cousin, I take it."
"Hermione?" Now it was Bellatrix's turn to snort a laugh. It seemed overly fortunate that no one among the Death Eaters had shown the poor taste of bringing up Draco in front of Hermione. "You must be joking. She'd probably try to head up the search herself."
Andromeda's brow furrowed. "Hermione? I thought you named her—"
"I did." Bellatrix winced and shook her head. "But she had grown so accustomed to the name those Muggles gave her that she asked that we call her that instead. I wasn't exactly pleased with the request, but … but I was so happy to have her back. I'd have turned the bloody sky green if she'd asked."
Despite her typically rabid natural curiosity, Andromeda didn't pry about the specifics of how or why the Lestrange heir had found her way home. All she knew was that this was genuine, and her sister was happy. That was all the information she needed on the matter.
She only wished the same would happen for Narcissa.
Narcissa who'd been part of that … society Father and Mother had tried to nurture them all toward joining. Andromeda had gone along with all of it in the early days, too, when they'd been young, but when she fell in love with a man without means, or power, or a storied bloodline, she didn't bother to ask, she had known Lady Merope Gaunt would not permit him to join—would possibly have even forced Andromeda to choose between their collective and the man she loved.
The very idea of that had made Andromeda's decision for her.
Merope Gaunt had also refused Narcissa's plea that the Death Eater's vast resources be used for finding her son. There had been some division on that—not only amongst the Black family, but also the Death Eaters, themselves.
Merope had insisted they were already funding investigations into the disappearances and using what magical means were at their disposal to try and locate the children. To ask for more was tantamount to assuming a right to special treatment. All the children deserved to be found, Merope had stated, in a tone almost cold—as though unable to sympathize with their blight, the fact that she was a mother herself notwithstanding—not just the Malfoy's son.
And so Narcissa and Lucius had left, intent on using their own influence and resources to find their son themselves. Bellatrix had of course supported her sister's decision, but in the end she'd remained loyal to the Death Eaters, and that had caused a rift between them when they'd once been so close.
Yes, Andromeda thought then, Merope Gaunt had seemed indifferent toward the case at the time ….
"Bella?" she began, her tone gentle.
"Hmm?"
"When that … discussion occurred between Narcissa and Lady Gaunt—" oh, it did set her teeth on edge a little to refer to that woman so formally, but she didn't want to ruffle her sister's proudly pure-blooded feathers— "did you ever question the truthfulness?" Well, seeing as she was likely about to ruffle them quite enough with her inquiry.
"The truthfulness of what?"
"Lady Merope claimed she was using the Death Eaters' resources to fund investigations and exhausting herself performing rites in hopes of finding answers, but … did you, did anyone, ever see any actual proof of this?"
Bellatrix opened her mouth to respond, but whatever thoughtless, automatic brush off would've fallen from her lips before did not come this time. Her features pinched in consideration. She hadn't dared think it when Lady Merope had been alive, but ….
But now ….
"I don't think so. I think … we all took her at her word." Bellatrix laughed, the sound tinny and awkward with her sudden discomfort. "Why would she have lied about such a thing?"
Andromeda shrugged. "I've no idea, just … a gut instinct, I suppose. Now, after all this time looking back, some things about it do not feel right."
"Oh!" Bellatrix waved dismissively, not liking the considerations her sister was foisting upon her. She was entirely ignoring that when the issue had been brought up to Lord Riddle after Lady Merope's passing, he'd seemed confused. Insistent that of course if there'd been any clues, his mother's many efforts would've turned them up! Yet seeming equally uncertain of why he felt so sure of that. "I think that's just the … the mystery hound in you!"
After a moment of feeling ill at ease, Andromeda plastered on a grin and nodded. "Of course, you're probably right. But I think perhaps it's time we get to the actual reason for your visit." She would show the good grace not to mention that it was clearly something very troublesome, as Bella had not so much as sent a letter about her daughter's return.
She'd hold it against her, but Andromeda knew well it wasn't in her nature to hold grudges. She was also perfectly aware that as the middle daughter, mother and father had quite spoiled Bellatrix in an attempt to circumvent the dreaded 'middle child syndrome' Muggles were always on about. With that, as the Black sisters had matured, Bellatrix had not developed the same ability to empathize.
She didn't understand that her reluctance to reach out might cause pain to the party left ignored.
Bellatrix hung her head a moment before nodding. "All right. Rodolphus is the only other person who knows what I'm about to tell you. You must promise this conversation stays between us."
Andromeda frowned darkly. "You should know better than to have to say that to me."
"Please?" Bellatrix's voice trembled, alarming her sister in how very much that was unlike her. "I need to hear the words."
Nodding, Andromeda took her sister's hand once more. "I promise, whatever you are about to say will go no further than me."
"All right," Bella said again, nodding in return. "Recently, there have been some … things happening that are, well, frankly a bit terrifying."
"What sort of things?"
Bellatrix's teeth worried at her lower lip as she dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. "Things … in my mind, I—I think. Thoughts I don't recognize, things I seem to remember but I know did not happen. Things I've done that would never have crossed my mind to do, and later I ... I can't recall what I was even thinking when I did it. Almost like ... like someone else was doing them!"
"Oh, Bella …." Andromeda breathed the words.
"You are the 'family historian,' after all, so … I thought you could tell me …." Bellatrix shook her head. "That is, we all know there's a touch of eccentricity in most pure-blood families, and so I was wondering is there a chance this could be something—" she cut herself off as a gulp went down her throat— "something of that sort?"
Andromeda tried for an encouraging smile, she wasn't certain how well she pulled it off, but Bellatrix didn't appear put off by the resulting expression, so she would assume she succeeded on some level at least. "Well, of course there is. It's as you said, in most of the families, ours just happens to be one among many. If need be, we'll find a healer to help you—we can even keep it our secret if you like. But … perhaps you could tell me a bit more so I can look into what we're dealing with. When did these unrecognizable thoughts and false memories start?"
"I'm not entirely certain." Bellatrix took a generous gulp of her tea, her throat rather dry suddenly. She was perfectly lucid now, had been since that moment Rodolphus had found her the other day, when she'd been so terribly lost and confused.
That day she'd tried to seek out Hermione to make amends.
"It comes and goes." Bella sighed. "Sometimes I am myself for days …." Her face went troublingly blank as she continued, "And sometimes, I've no idea of the passing of time. One days slips into the next and I'm … I'm not even sure if an hour's gone by."
"I'm so sorry, that sounds awful." Andromeda laid her free hand over their clasped fingers. Bellatrix'd not actually answered the question. "When did this start?" she asked again.
Bella closed her eyes. She had to think back for that …. "When …." Yes, she recalled going to see Lord Riddle with Rodolphus to inquire about the cure.
He'd greeted them kindly, wearing the usual smarmy grin of any man who knows how attractive he is. She could see it clearly now. There had been nothing special toward her in that look. Nothing secretive and suggestive whatsoever.
Why on earth had she thought … ?
"I'm ashamed to say, but shortly after Hermione returned to us."
Andromeda's spine stiffened. That sounded familiar.
Her sister recognized the shift in her expression. "Rommie? What is it?"
"I'm not sure, but …. I have a suspicion about this. I'm reluctant to speak further on it until I can confirm a few things. Will you give me some time to do that?"
"Of course I will. Rodolphus is worried for me, I know. When you have what you're looking for, you'll come to the estate, yes? You can formally meet your niece!"
Andromeda smiled, small but sad. She'd seen the girl—Hermione—all of once or twice before her disappearance. She supposed that was the true tragedy of estrangement. Entire decades could go by before you saw someone again.
Before you let yourself realize how much you missed them.
"I'd like that very much."
After seeing Bellatrix off, Andromeda Tonks retreated into the attic—the place her daughter Nymphadora always teasingly referred to as Mummy's Archive Room. Bellatrix had not been exaggerating to call Andromeda a mystery hound.
Her natural curiosity led her to follow cases of murder and disappearances that made the news with deep interest. And with that interest in mind, she had held onto any periodicals that mentioned the cases with caught her imagination.
And of course, with a niece and nephew both missing and so little information turning up, the vanishings, the eventual story that broke about the Black Market Magic Babies—ridiculous title the Muggle press had come up with, but it had captured the public's attention, and that was what mattered!—had been on her mind more than any other mystery.
Through her shelves she went, digging for all the articles attached not to the initial disappearances, but to the aftermath. To rare subsequent stories in which some of the children had been found, reunited happily with their families.
Until ….
Chewing at her lower lip, Andromeda took the small armload of newspapers and trooped over to her desk. Setting them down as she took a seat, she opened them before her, one after the other ….
There it was. Few and far between, since the returns occurred so far apart, but a pattern definitely emerged.
Letting out a weighted sigh, Andromeda closed her eyes. "Oh, Bellatrix," she said softly. "I don't know if I can help you."
Every mother whose child had returned …. Every one had, in the months to follow, gone insane. Every one currently institutionalized, and possibly would be for the rest of their lives.
This went beyond the press' assertion that the joyous return had in fact created an unexpected stress, causing too much strain to bear after years of assuming they'd never see their child again. Years of believing they might even be dead. Some nonsense about the shock of what should be such a happy occasion instead being the catalyst to a psychotic break.
No. Andromeda read the articles over a second time. A third.
There was no way. This was too much of a coincidence. Andromeda closed the papers, patiently smoothing her hands across them—it was that or she'd ended up rending them to bits with her fingers out of sudden frustration.
Not a single mother whose child had returned was sane and free right now? So far, Bellatrix was the only one … but not for long.
Not unless Andromeda could prove there was something more at work here.
Something quite sinister, indeed.