Chapter 56: Mixed Feelings, Part 2 - Bellatrix
Bellatrix slammed closed the door to her bedroom.
Narcissa with her worried expression was left behind it. And so was the girl with her terrified empty eyes, with her entitled demands, with her unreasonable accusations.
The place was dark and cold. Unused while she laid recovering in the guest room.
She appreciated the girl's decision to keep the strangers, healers and aurors alike, from her private space.
Bellatrix scowled.
That was the only thing the younger witch did right that day.
She went to light the fireplace, and the chandeliers.
The magic barely acknowledged the attempts. Faint sparks flashed and died over the casting hand.
The dark witch screamed.
This was August all over again. She was barely a witch once more. Weak. Stuck on an island with her enemy. Only now, the girl feared her much less. And, clearly, resented her even more.
This was infinitely worse than August!
Lighting charms were cast a few more times. Silent or aloud, the result was the same.
Bellatrix had enough.
Diffindo!
The magic might have refused to light the chandeliers. It had no problem cutting them down.
Bellatrix cackled delightedly at the sound of shattering crystals, ripping materials, breaking items.
Eventually, the exhaustion from the long day, and even longer recovery week, caught up to the witch.
Bellatrix didn't bother with Reparo. Even on good days the results were rather approximate.
The elves were called.
The fireplace was lit.
The bath was filled.
Broken things were put to rights.
Food and wine were left on the coffee table.
Bellatrix stood slightly rocking in the middle of the room. Her ire was rising anew.
Just yesterday she could have run her own bath; set fire in her own fireplace; fixed her own destruction. But yesterday wasn't even yesterday. Yesterday was days ago.
Bellatrix rubbed the gifted ring. The dragon stone was cracked; its vibrant color was dull; the moving starburst pattern was forever frozen.
The girl didn't leave. The girl chose to defend her. She didn't kill Rab in the heat of a duel. She killed him because he was killing Bellatrix.
And then she healed Bellatrix.
Bellatrix winced. She didn't remember. Narcissa's description told her enough to dread the knowledge.
Bellatrix nail caught on the corner of the cracked ring stone trying to force the pieces apart.
The girl knew too much, saw too much, and demanded to know even more.
Bellatrix had to find a way to deal with that.
Bellatrix had strong doubts she could do so.
Instead, in equal measures, Bellatrix wished to disappear or to make Hermione disappear; to obliviate herself of the knowledge or to obliviate Hermione of the desire to learn what she hadn't figured out already.
Yet, neither was a real option in her confined wandless state.
Before the tired witch could gather enough ire for an new tantrum a rather obvious item on her desk attracted her attention.
Bellatrix peeked cautiously inside the large open box.
Black eyes widened.
'I… ah… I've given the elves anything DMLE might have gotten interested in. For safe-keeping. From your room too. I've asked them to return everything after Harry and Kingsley leave...'
In the morning, freshly conscious, and kissed, torn between the aches of her own healing body, the news of the Ministry's visit, and echoes of Narcissa's despair... The words didn't register.
With the alarmed yelp the box was flipped and shaken.
Neat stack of documents, carefully cross-wrapped in twine to keep intact, landed on top of books, scrolls, journals.
Reluctantly, fingers pulled at the twine.
Narcissa's Initial Complaint... St. Mungo's Intake Form... Evidence of Records-tempering... Independent Medical Evaluations... Veritaserum Interrogations... Findings... Settlement...
And pictures. So many pictures. Of rotting infected wounds. Of body parts those wounds belong to. Of a mangled skeleton those parts composed.
Of an unrecognizable barely alive... thing... that the documents insisted was her.
Neat stack. In chronological order.
The papers were thrown haphazardly under her bed, in no order at all, the last time Bellatrix saw them.
And, as far as Hermione Granger was concerned, those papers were supposedly burned months ago, in front of her very eyes.
A broken cackle broke the silence of the room.
As if the girl hadn't witnessed enough of her misery.
Weak morning light lit the only black-walled room of the Grotto.
Bellatrix observed the light creep over the walls' new decorations.
No matter how mortifyingly much Bellatrix wanted to go back to the time when the only thing she dreaded was the MIC questionnaire discussions, it was not possible. The girl would never see her the same.
Hence, the new decor.
A reminder, a caution, a warning.
Her gaze dropped to the paper on the empty pillow. The close-ups of her forearm displayed the aurors' tattoo removal approach in all its beauty. Happy magi-maggot family lived and multiplied in the open wound. The buggers liked to travel too according to St. Mungo's treatment papers.
Bellatrix set the paper back down.
Even if she never slept, today would never be as yesterday. And yesterday was not even yesterday.
She pulled the blankets around herself tighter.
End of Chapter 56