CHAPTER 3: HOURGLASS OF TEDIUM
The preceding week had been an arduous exercise in the endurance of patience. Bellatrix, teetering on the edge of instability, would erupt into a tantrum at the slightest provocation. It struck Harry as peculiar to witness her moments of apparent normalcy, considering the slight age difference that now existed between them; nevertheless, they were still eerily close in age.
Harry's physical strength had undergone a remarkable recovery over the past few days, instigating a restlessness that grew with each passing moment spent confined within the claustrophobic walls of the diminutive cell. As the days dragged on, he found himself yearning for the freedom that seemed like a distant memory.
However, amidst the confines of Azkaban, Harry stumbled upon a revelation. Contrary to the grim tales that had circulated about the notorious wizarding prison, the living conditions were not as abysmal as the rumors suggested. Three meals punctuated each day, a meager respite from the monotony of incarceration. The cell, though small, provided essential amenities—a loo and a sink—that became the lifelines in this stifling environment. Periodic reprieves came in the form of guards escorting inmates to the communal showers once a week, a semblance of hygiene in an otherwise desolate existence.
One evening, as the muted sounds of the prison reverberated through the cold stone walls, Harry found himself in a rare moment of quiet reflection. "Bellatrix, there has to be a way out of here," he remarked, breaking the silence that had become a constant companion.
Bellatrix, her eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and determination, shot him a glance. "Escape, Potter? In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly residing in a five-star hotel. And, in case you've forgotten, you're the Chosen One. They're not going to let you waltz out of here."
Harry leaned against the unforgiving wall, his gaze fixed on the narrow window that offered a glimpse of the moonlit sky. "There's always a way," he replied, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "We just need to find it." The determination in his voice echoed through the confines of the cell, planting a seed of hope in the midst of their desolation.
The predominant cause behind the gradual descent into madness among most prisoners was the relentless influence of the dementors. Their ceaseless feeding on the prisoners' emotions rendered them indifferent to sustenance, made sleep an elusive refuge plagued by nightmares, and slowly drained away the will to live. The prison echoed with the tormented screams of those driven to the brink by the haunting memories the dementors forced them to relive.
However, within the confines of their cell, an unusual sanctuary emerged. The dementors, for reasons unknown, seemed to avoid their space. Harry marveled at the absence of the familiar effects associated with these soul-draining creatures since his arrival, sparing both him and Bellatrix from the haunting specter of their influence.
"Feeling better today?" Bellatrix inquired, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.
"A bit," Harry replied, his voice a mere whisper against the prison's oppressive stillness.
"Good, it's nice to have someone to talk to," Bellatrix admitted, her tone revealing a subtle vulnerability.
"I am not much of a conversationalist," Harry confessed.
"I know, I read your mind," Bellatrix retorted, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"And you have no idea how much that pisses me off," Harry muttered, his irritation evident.
"Yes, I do. I read your mind," Bellatrix declared with a smirk, relishing the playful banter.
"You were a brat growing up, weren't you?" Harry teased, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Was not!" Bellatrix protested, adopting a playful pout that belied her stoic exterior. The unexpected exchange revealed a nuanced layer to their interactions, a temporary respite from the harsh reality of their confinement.
"Right, so if you want to talk, tell me why you did it?" Harry asked, aiming to steer the conversation away from a potentially childish argument.
"Did what?" Bellatrix inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
"Became a Death Eater," Harry clarified, his gaze fixed on her.
"I wanted to save our world from Mudbloods and restore the purebloods to their rightful place," Bellatrix replied, her conviction unwavering.
"By serving one?" Harry questioned, incredulity lacing his words.
"Don't you speak of my master in that way!" Bellatrix shrieked in a sudden surge of rage, launching herself at him.
Harry deftly sidestepped her attempt to strike him, responding with a firm shove that sent her sprawling back onto her cot.
"You really have an anger management problem," Harry remarked, shaking his head at the outburst.
"My sisters always said I had two personalities," Bellatrix admitted, her tone taking on a more childlike quality once again.
"Yeah, I noticed," Harry responded, a touch of sardonic humor coloring his words. The ebb and flow of their conversation had become a peculiar dance, with Harry learning to navigate the unpredictable currents of Bellatrix's temperament.
In Harry's astute observation, it seemed that Bellatrix possessed not just two, but three distinct personalities. The first, the childish and immature facet, proved to be somewhat manageable, albeit occasionally annoying. This side of her, although vexing, had a certain charm that even Harry found entertaining at times.
Then there was the second personality, an irrational and angry side that lurked beneath the surface. This aspect of Bellatrix emerged in bursts of rage, prompting her to lash out and attempt to attack Harry when provoked. While not as frequent, these episodes were far more challenging to navigate, each eruption leaving an unsettling residue in the air. Fortunately, they tended to be short-lived.
However, it was the third personality that Harry deemed the most dangerous — the cold, calculated, and intelligent side. Despite the borderline madness that seemed to envelop her, there was no denying the razor-sharp edge of her intellect. It was a facet that demanded respect, a reminder that beneath the erratic emotions and impulsive outbursts, Bellatrix possessed a cunning mind capable of navigating the intricate webs of strategy and deceit. This intelligence, Harry understood, was a potent force, perhaps even more formidable than the unpredictable storm of her other personas.
When conversations veered into more serious territory, it was as if a switch had been flipped, transforming Bellatrix into someone who belonged in the esteemed House of Serpents. Harry couldn't help but sense that this was the side of her that had earned the notorious distinction of being Voldemort's most feared Death Eater.
"I'm sorry; don't be mad at Bella," she said, attempting to soften the atmosphere with what Harry supposed passed for puppy dog eyes.
"I'm not mad. Annoyed, sure, but not mad. And stop trying to touch that," Harry admonished, redirecting her wandering hand before it could reach an inappropriate destination.
"It's bigger than Rudy's; I was only curious," she defended with a pout, attempting to justify her actions.
"I don't try and fondle you without permission," Harry retorted wearily, his patience wearing thin.
"Yes, and I have already forgiven you for that," Bellatrix said, a nonchalant dismissal of the past.
"Well, just stop it. In case you didn't notice from your trip in my mind, I don't have fond memories of you," Harry declared flatly, his frustration surfacing.
"That wasn't me; I would never kill my cousin," Bellatrix protested, her voice carrying a note of indignation.
"You will, I saw it," Harry countered, the heat rising in his tone as he confronted the unsettling visions he had glimpsed in her mind. The tension in the air intensified, lingering between them as the weight of their shared history bore down on the confines of the prison cell.
"Perhaps you should've scrutinized more closely," she retorted. "I distinctly recall the spell I used on him embedded in your memory—it was a stunner."
Harry, his frustration escalating, retorted, "A stunner that propelled him through the veil of death!"
Bellatrix, appearing wearied by the ongoing conversation, retorted, "How was I supposed to foresee that? I'm not an Unspeakable! Besides, he's three cells over and very much alive."
"Damn it! Looks like I'll have to bring him along when I make my exit," Harry mused, his brow furrowed in thought.
"You're in the lifer wing, Harry. Nobody gets out," Bellatrix pointed out matter-of-factly.
Harry, a smug grin on his face, countered, "Oh, but Barty Crouch will be strolling out in a month. Daddy dearest will orchestrate a grand escape."
Bellatrix, her tone dripping with sarcasm, quipped, "And how, pray tell, do you plan on making your great escape?"
"Simple," Harry replied, frustration evident in his voice. "I still have my emergency pack, but I can't access it until I regain control of my magic." His eyes glared at the silver bracelets restraining his abilities, intensifying the weight of his predicament.
"I could retrieve it for you; I'm quite adept at wandless magic," Bella offered, a hint of determination in her eyes.
Harry, however, responded smugly, "It only works for me. That's why Rookwood couldn't remove it when he searched me."
Undeterred, Bellatrix declared firmly, "Well, you're taking me with you."
"No way. You're not coming with me," Harry exclaimed, rejecting the idea outright.
Bellatrix, not one to back down easily, issued a veiled threat, "Then I won't help you get those shackles off."
Unfazed, Harry retorted, "I can fashion a shiv out of a toothbrush and take care of Rookwood myself."
Bellatrix, with a knowing glint in her eyes, countered, "You wouldn't get within ten feet before Travers and Dolohov beat you to a pulp."
Harry, considering the grim reality of his situation, argued, "I can get you his blood without him even noticing, but I want a vow right now that you will come with me."
"Fine," Harry sighed, realizing the inevitability of their alliance. The weight of the impending vow hung in the air, sealing their fates together.
He might be well-versed in muggle fighting, but a wizard adept at channeling magic through his body would move with a swiftness that he couldn't possibly defend against, and Dolohov happened to be one of those wizards.
"Good," Bellatrix remarked matter-of-factly. "I'm still beautiful. If I were to emerge resembling the version of me in your memories, I might go a little insane too."
Harry, struggling to suppress a snort, couldn't help but acknowledge that she was already a little insane, though not quite reaching the level of the Bellatrix he remembered.
He refrained from admitting it aloud, but he couldn't deny that she retained a certain beauty. Despite the unflattering prison robes, the wild and untamed hair, and the dirt smudges on her face, there was an undeniable allure to the woman before him.
She stood tall for a woman, perhaps five foot eight or so, with skin as fair as cream that accentuated the contrast with her long ebony hair. Her heavily lidded violet eyes were striking, leading Harry's mind to wander to places it shouldn't, considering she was the killer of his godfather. Adding to the mix was her hourglass figure, hips curving up to an ample chest, and Harry couldn't deny that she possessed a magnetic attractiveness.
"Fine, I'll get you out of here, but then we part ways," Harry asserted with determination.
"No, I'm staying with you," Bella countered, her resolve unwavering.
"I can't trust you; you're still loyal to him," Harry replied, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.
Bellatrix's voice took on a vulnerable tone as she insisted, "I'll take a vow that I won't betray you. I don't want to be alone."
"But you bear the mark; you've already sworn your allegiance to him," Harry pointed out, skeptical of her sudden change of heart.
"Cissa can remove it if that makes you happy," Bellatrix pleaded, desperation evident in her words.
"Why would you want to do that? You barely know me," Harry asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.
"I sense an extraordinary aura about you; there's an undeniable potency that resonates within. Staying by your side presents a more promising prospect than retracing the steps embedded in your memories," Bellatrix responded, her voice surprisingly clear and composed.
Harry, taken aback by her articulate response, replied cautiously, "I'll give it some consideration."
The realization struck him that Bellatrix held a key role in thwarting Voldemort's resurgence, especially before he could manifest a physical form. She stood as Harry's sole conduit to one of Tom's anchors, an essential link that he could not overlook. Despite the undeniable utility she brought to the table, there lingered the undeniable fact of their shared history—albeit a history that unfolded in the future.
As the weight of their complex connection lingered in the air, Harry found himself grappling with the intricacies of alliances forged in unconventional circumstances. The significance of their intertwined fates was undeniable, and the gravity of their mission hung heavily over their conversation.
"I understand the reservations, Harry. But destiny has an uncanny way of intertwining lives, and perhaps our shared past is the very force that binds us to a pivotal role in this battle against darkness," Bellatrix remarked, her gaze penetrating Harry's contemplative expression.
The room fell silent for a moment, allowing the weight of their decisions to settle in. Harry knew that each word and gesture held profound implications for the path that lay ahead. The unfolding dialogue between them became not just a negotiation of allegiance but a dance between past and present, fate and free will.
"I've seen the future, and our destinies are irrevocably linked. We can shape it together, Harry, and rewrite the narrative that once was," Bellatrix added, her eyes reflecting a strange mix of determination and vulnerability.
Harry, caught between the urgency of the present and the echoes of a future he had glimpsed, felt the burden of responsibility settling on his shoulders. The choice before him was not merely about forging an alliance; it was about reshaping the very fabric of time itself.
With three months stretching ahead of him to ponder the weighty decision, there was no need to hastily arrive at a conclusion. Harry had a plethora of other pressing issues to grapple with—chief among them, the recurrent challenge of Bellatrix's wandering hand inching dangerously close to his crotch.
"Enough of that," Harry exclaimed, jolted from his contemplation by her persistent advances.
"I'm bored," she pouted, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
As Harry sighed with resignation, he couldn't help but think, 'This is going to be a long three months.' The interplay between serious deliberations and Bellatrix's playful distractions painted a surreal picture of the challenges he faced.
Meanwhile, at the Department of Mysteries in London.
"Any progress in tracking down that Chrono disturbance?" inquired Head Unspeakable Kramer with a furrowed brow.
"No sir, the point of origin appears to be shielded by formidable wards," Saul Croaker responded wearily.
"That explains our inability to pinpoint it," Kramer conceded, frustration evident in his tone.
"Yes sir, our only recourse is to methodically search all warded properties in Northern England and Scotland," Croaker explained.
"That's a logistical nightmare. The larger estates will take months to secure clearance, and as for the private ones, obtaining permission to search them is nearly impossible," Kramer remarked, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.
As the clock ticked away, both inside the Department of Mysteries and in the realm where Harry pondered his alliance with Bellatrix, the challenges seemed to multiply, weaving a tapestry of complexity that demanded both strategic planning and decisive action. The impending choices carried consequences that resonated beyond the present moment, shaping the destiny of characters entwined in a dance between magic, time, and the unknown.
"Yes sir, Crouch is unlikely to grant us clearance to search the prison, and the chances of Dumbledore allowing us access to the school are even slimmer," Croaker concurred.
"Very well. Return to your regular duties for now; we'll revisit this when an opportune moment arises," Kramer ordered, his tone carrying a hint of frustration.
"Yes sir," Croaker responded, resuming his work with the calculations laid out before him.
In truth, Croaker had set aside his investigation into the temporal disturbance about a week after their sensors initially detected it. While the prospect of a time traveler entering the current timeline raised concerns, Croaker's true passion lay in the refinement of the time turner he had conceived over a decade ago.
An inventor more than an investigator, Croaker had fulfilled the mandatory checks on the anomaly and then redirected his focus back to his groundbreaking project. The allure of unlocking the secrets of time manipulation fueled his determination.
"I am so close," Croaker thought, his mind fully immersed in the intricate calculations sprawled across his desk. The delicate dance of numbers and equations held the promise of a breakthrough, a leap forward in magical innovation that could reshape the very fabric of time itself.
As the Department of Mysteries continued its routine operations, unbeknownst to its occupants, the convergence of Harry's dilemmas and Croaker's ambitious pursuits hinted at a future where the threads of destiny would intertwine in unexpected ways. The countdown to crucial decisions and revelations had begun, and the tapestry of their interconnected stories unfolded against the backdrop of uncertainty and discovery.
Led back to their cells after enduring the frigid prison shower rooms, Harry and Bellatrix found solace in the small victories of personal cleanliness. Despite the icy water and subpar soap, Harry couldn't deny that he felt somewhat refreshed, having, at last, secured a prisoner's robe.
"Those showers are dreadful, but I do feel a bit cleaner now. Managed to snag a robe too," Harry remarked as he settled onto a seat.
Bellatrix, sharing the sentiment, chimed in, "Same here. The guard finally let me shave my legs. It's a relief."
"That's great," Harry replied, a touch awkwardly, unsure of how to navigate the intricacies of such conversations in their confined environment.
"Yes, they're all smooth now... Where did you get that robe?" Bellatrix demanded, her attention abruptly shifting to Harry's attire.
"I asked the guard about it last week, and he had it ready for me today," Harry answered with a note of satisfaction.
"I liked the way you were dressed before," Bellatrix pouted, her tone revealing a hint of nostalgia or perhaps a desire for familiarity.
Harry, caught off guard by her unexpected comment, stammered slightly before responding, "Well, this is more practical in here. Besides, it's not like we're attending a fashion show."
A moment of silence settled between them, the contrast of their current circumstances against the memories of a different time lingering in the air. In the confined space of their prison cells, where every interaction held a peculiar weight, the mundane details of daily life became amplified, and the threads of connection between Harry and Bellatrix wove a complex tapestry of emotions and shared experiences.
"It was cold," Harry said with a casual shrug, attempting to downplay the discomfort of their prison conditions.
"But Bella was keeping you warm at night," Bellatrix argued with a playful glint in her eyes.
"Yes, you were," Harry conceded, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Well, I had more good news, but I don't want to tell you now," Bellatrix declared, her tone taking on a petulant note.
"What news?" Harry inquired, curiosity piqued.
"I'm not telling," Bellatrix repeated, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.
"Please," Harry implored, having learned through trial and error how to navigate Bellatrix's whims.
"Why should I?" Bellatrix asked haughtily, reveling in the teasing exchange.
"Because I'm getting us both out of here, and I will let you have my biscuit tonight," Harry offered, his attempt at bribery laced with a hint of amusement.
"Okay then," Bellatrix agreed happily, her resistance crumbling under the promise of a treat.
"So, what is your news?" Harry pressed eagerly, eager to uncover the mystery.
"I was able to swipe this," Bellatrix revealed, lifting the right side of her ankle-length prison robes to unveil a hidden compartment.
Intrigued, Harry's eyes widened as he awaited the revelation, the confined space of their prison cells suddenly brimming with anticipation. The exchange between them took on a whimsical quality, a momentary respite from the grim reality of their surroundings. The subtle dance of secrets and camaraderie continued, forging a peculiar bond between Harry and Bellatrix amid the challenges that loomed ahead.
Harry observed with a mix of surprise and curiosity as Bellatrix skillfully maneuvered her prison robes, sliding the hem up her legs until it reached her hip. In a seemingly clandestine fashion, she retrieved a folded-up straight razor tucked into the waistband of her knickers.
Caught off guard, Harry found his gaze involuntarily drawn to the unexpected sight. Her legs, flawless and soft, captivated his attention. Since his abduction in '99, he hadn't had much exposure to women, and the unexpected display left him somewhat mesmerized by the expanse of skin before him.
"Oh, Harry likes how Bella looks under her robes," Bellatrix cooed playfully as she let the fabric slide down her legs.
"I apologize for staring," Harry stammered, a blush creeping up his cheeks.
"I wanted you to see, or I wouldn't have hidden it there," Bellatrix remarked, a satisfied expression gracing her features.
The atmosphere between them shifted, teetering between the peculiar camaraderie they had forged and the underlying tension of their confined circumstances. In the small, shared space of their prison cells, the boundaries between personal privacy and shared experiences blurred, creating moments of unexpected intimacy. As Harry grappled with the complexities of their connection, Bellatrix reveled in the subtle power of revealing a hidden facet of herself, weaving a tapestry of connection in the midst of their uncertain fate.
"So that's how we can get the blood from Rookwood?" Harry redirected the conversation, steering it back to their primary objective.
"Yes, but I need to enchant it so he doesn't notice me cut him," Bellatrix explained, her focus returning to the task at hand.
"Without a wand?" Harry inquired, a note of surprise coloring his tone.
"I just need my blood for a simple enchantment," Bellatrix stated confidently, her trust in her magical abilities evident.
"Huh," Harry responded, realizing he had to take her word for it, considering it was a realm of magic he wasn't familiar with.
"I can also use this to keep my legs silky smooth," Bellatrix whispered into Harry's ear, her sudden shift in topic catching him off guard.
"O... okay," Harry replied, a slight shiver running down his spine at the warmth of her breath near his ear.
"So, you're still giving me your biscuit," Bellatrix asked hopefully, steering the conversation back to their earlier deal.
"Yes, it's all yours," Harry assured her, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. The peculiar exchange between them continued, the interplay of practical planning and unexpected tangents creating a dynamic that transcended the confines of their prison cells. In the midst of their unconventional alliance, the shared moments of humor and vulnerability became threads weaving a connection that defied the challenges surrounding them.
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