Ravenclaw
27 MAY 2002—Belle continued to keep her head down at work, wordlessly doing exactly what was required of her and nothing more. Though she didn't support the Dark Lord's politics, she wasn't passionately anti-Voldemort either, so she could justify her continued employment at the Ministry.
She read the newspaper every day, despite it largely being a waste of time. Now run by Death Eaters, the Daily Prophet mostly contained Pureblood propaganda pieces, with an occasional smattering of sensationalist stories, like an article reporting on an unmarried Hufflepuff who had recently delivered a huge, twenty-two-pound baby boy. Belle was just thankful that her relationship with Harry remained secret, or she would have been catapulted into the spotlight. She doubted she would have the same level on anonymity after the wedding. Was it really only two weeks away now?
The event was going to be a small one, planned by the fashionable organizer Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Belle was just inviting her parents and a few girls from her time back at Hogwarts, while Harry invited Hermione Granger and the Weasley clan. Serving as a metaphor for Belle and Harry's relationship, it wouldn't be a dream wedding, but it was functional, cementing them as friends with tax benefits.
They had already moved into a small flat together, to reduce individual cost of rent. There was one bedroom, and Belle ended up sleeping on a mattress in the living room, so she wouldn't disturb Harry's sleep with her coming and going: Belle left before Harry was awake, returned to eat supper with him, then left for her evening shift, and by the time she got back, he had gone to bed. Harry handled most of domestic chores since Belle was rarely home, and because hiding from Voldemort was boring.
Belle appreciated the routine, but Harry was getting restless. Occasionally he would disappear for days on end.
And then there was the time that he showed up at the Ministry, sobbing.
Belle made the proper excuses and hurried Harry home before Voldemort could hear that the Boy-Who-Just-Kept-Living had been spotted. She sat her fiancé on the couch, put on a pot of water to boil, and waited. Sure enough, the story came tumbling out.
Remus Lupin was dead.
Professor Dumbledore killed him; evidently, the Headmaster wasn't strong enough to fend of the Imperious Curse.
Belle tried to be sympathetic, really she did, but all she could think about was publicity. This story would make headlines, it was too juicy to hide, and it could be misconstrued in so many damaging ways that would discredit the Headmaster. If the reporter felt like being honest, Dumbledore would be painted as a feeble old man, too weak to fight off mind-control. If the reporter was Rita Skeeter, Dumbledore would likely morph into a Dark Wizard who had been pretending to be a kindly fool, only to reveal his true colors by murdering a half-breed who was stupid enough to trust him.
Needless to say, Voldemort optimized on the murder and used it as an excuse to imprison Albus Dumbledore in Azkaban. It broke Harry to learn that two of his mentors had been taken from him in such a short time.
By the day of the funeral—which Harry insisted on attending, even if he had to drink Polyjuice Potion—Belle had perfected the image of a supportive girlfriend. She physically held Harry up when tears overwhelmed him. She sat calmly through the service that Fleur Delacour-Weasley had coordinated—evidently the French Girl was in the business of organizing events—successfully ignored Lavender Brown's uncontrollable sobbing, and barely jumped when Bellatrix interrupted the solemn event by screeching, "He's alive! He's alive! Look, he's moving!" and then laughing hysterically when the attendees looked around in horrified confusion.
No, Belle didn't lose her cool, but she did sigh frequently.
