A/N: Two Harry chapters in a row… I spoil you all sometimes.
I do not own Harry Potter unlike J.K.
AU Changes: Ravenclaw's backstory & Ghosts
The Tragedy of Harry Potter
By. Momento Virtuoso
Edited By: Menaka
Chapter 17
Judgements of the Dead
Shrouded in the castle's darkness, Harry moved quietly through the halls, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, his newly transformed Marauder's Map and birch wand in hand. Tonight's operation was the result of a week's meticulous preparation.
The light of the flaming torches reflected shadows across the surfaces of sleeping portraits, idle suits of armor, and statues of stone whose eyes seemingly followed Harry lifelessly as he tip-toed by their pedestals. The castle was silent, save for the occasional ghost or professor patrolling the halls after the prefects had finished their rounds. Professor McGonagall remained in her study, Filch skulked around the fifth-floor, and Professor Renault lingered in the second-floor bathroom with Moaning Myrtle.
As Harry passed by a statue of a one-eyed witch, he tapped it gently with his wand. A rune appeared on the stone, glowing bright blue before fading like a mirage. Though the surface showed no mark, Harry could feel the magic radiating faintly beneath.
'Only a few more to go. Much better than shadowing Slytherins all day,' Harry thought, ticking the passage off in his mind as his eyes flicked to the map for the next closest one. He moved steadily, marking each hidden entrance and exit in the castle's winding network of passages.
It had taken a few days of harassing the Sayre Journal in Parseltongue but he had finally unveiled the runes needed to tether the passages to his magic alone. He had debated on sealing them all off entirely but doing such a thing would have raised too much suspicion across the castle and perhaps they'd all be of use to him still. The only two left untouched by his magic was the opening to the Chamber and the hidden passageway beneath the Walloping-Willow.
Finally, Harry came to the second floor, which he had deliberately left for because of the professor's unsettling proximity. Still, he was determined to mark the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, unwilling to skip the entrance. It was a near certainty that the basilisk within wouldn't be stirred until the Diary surfaced again, but the artifact's whereabouts remained uncertain. Was Voldemort still pouring his soul into the book in his downtime? Had he already given it to Lucius Malfoy? The only certainty Harry had was that Voldemort, himself, wouldn't stroll into the school and release the tyrant-serpent. However, Harry still wanted to know if anything ever came out of the Chamber regardless.
An early warning system was an invaluable advantage against Slytherin's pet.
Harry was down the hall from the haunted bathroom when the door opened. Freezing on the spot, Harry held his breath, praying that his disillusionment held in the darkness and distance.
Professor Renault stepped out, his expression brooding and distant. The man looked like he hadn't slept restfully in a fortnight. He looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks, his disheveled appearance akin to someone roughing it in the Forbidden Forest.
Renault turned away, heading in the direction of the Defense Classroom. He had crossed several paces when he halted abruptly. Creon's head dipped downwards, for what, Harry could not see.
Then, with an almost unnatural precision, Renault spun on his heel, staring intently down the corridor.
For a moment, Creon's gaze appeared to meet Harry's, but the sensation was unnerving, like being looked through rather than truly seen.
Harry's ears picked up the faint muttering of the man down the hall as if in conversation with something.
"... probably just Peeves mucking about …" Creon turned back and continued his way down the corridor, disappearing around a bend.
Harry stood still until he could no longer hear the man's footsteps. He quickly glanced at the map, his eyes darting to track the Professor's name as it drifted deeper into the castle, heading toward the first floor.
The bathroom was empty; even Myrtle had wandered off from her usual the Professor gone, Harry exhaled slowly, moving silently as he edged toward the bathroom door and nudged it open slightly. His hand hovered briefly before he pushed the door further, wincing as its hinges let out a soft, protesting squeak. He quickly silenced the door, heart pounding, sweeping his eyes around the room. His breath hitched as he stood frozen, straining to hear even the faintest sound.
The silence was unnerving. Harry waited, expecting at any moment to be startled by the familiar, echoing howling of Moaning Myrtle. But the spectral schoolgirl did not return.
The room was undisturbed, every stall and faucet precisely where it should be.
'What the hell was he doing in here then?' Harry wondered about Professor Renault's presence in the room. Anyone aware of what lay in the school's depths was a potential threat. Harry approached the snake-shaped faucet handle, considering whether to descend into the Chamber and face the beast, even though he knew he wasn't ready for such a task.
'Think—what would Hermione do?' The thought wasn't comforting; he could almost hear an irate, bushy-haired Hermione lecturing him for another reckless decision. Harry gritted his teeth at the dilemma before him.
'Do or don't, I'll have to go down there eventually, might as well not be reckless about it,' Harry concluded. Recklessness and carelessness had brought him here: killed in a forest, nearly murdered in the Department of Mysteries, healed by Bellatrix Black of all witches, and finally stunned in a school hallway like a fool.
Harry resolved to kill the gigantic serpent another evening, where he wouldn't be bitten this time. He couldn't rely on Fawkes to bail him out the same since the phoenix barely knew him.
With a tap of his wand, Harry etched the final rune onto the silver handle. He frowned at the rune, it was complex and intricate but also lacking, he wouldn't be alerted the moment the beast slithered up, but rather the moment a malicious soul decided to descend to the Chamber. 'It'll have to do,' he decided.
Shaking his head, Harry glanced around. The bathroom was unexpectedly pristine for a space often avoided due its ghostly resident. Harry knew the house-elves cleaned everything spotless, but the Defense Professor's presence still lingered in his thoughts.
Creon Renault didn't strike him to be the kind of man to clean a school lavatory for fun on his late evening strolls.
With his task completed, Harry left the bathroom and made his way upward through the castle, tracking a specific resident whose name appeared in the script of Remus Lupin.
After several close calls with wandering ghosts and a very disgruntled Mrs. Norris, whom Harry narrowly evaded, he arrived at the towering framework of the Astronomy Tower.
As Harry ascended the stone steps with their curved archways, echoes of a long-ago battle rang in his mind, transporting him nearly twenty years into the future. It all played out like yesterday for him, returning with a dying Dumbledore and clutching a useless fake Horcrux. The events of that night were seared into his brain. Harry had vowed to save some of those who had died and redeem others, but he often wondered whether Dumbledore counted himself among them when they spoke in the cathedral after his death.
'Cross the bridge when I come to it… just make sure he doesn't wear another bloody Horcrux,' Harry thought grimly, wondering if he could even overcome the ego of the man who pursued the Hallows so callously in his life.
At the tower's peak, Harry's feet creaked on the wooden boards supporting the large bronze and goblin silver telescope pointed at the heavens. In the center of the room was a bronze astrolabe, taller than three men. The center was a copy of the Earth with several other celestial bodies cast in bronze, hovering inert around its frame. The sight was breathtaking, but Harry couldn't enjoy it. The room was steeped in painful memories, overshadowing everything else.
Despite it being October, the night sky looked the same as that fateful June night when Dumbledore was toppled from the Tower's side.
Harry's quiet reflections hadn't gone unnoticed by his intended target. At the sound of the wood creaking, the other occupant of the tower turned suddenly, her ghostly frame scrutinizing the place where Harry stood.
With a ripple of magic, Harry canceled his disillusionment spell, revealing himself to the Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw. He had expected the Bloody Baron to frequent the spot most but it seemed the Grey Lady always ventured up after the Baron descended into the dungeons of Slytherin.
"You shouldn't be here," Helena sternly stated, her ethereal dress flowing in the air around her.
"My lady, I apologize for the disturbance. I wouldn't be out past curfew unless it was important. I was delivering something to Professor Renault but I seem to be misplaced—lost," Harry said, his breath forming mist as he spoke.
The cold wind of the waxing moon chilled Harry's bones but left the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower unaffected. It was a force of nature at this height. Drawing his wand, Harry cast a warming charm on his clothes, but even the magically produced heat offered little protection from the air's bite.
Helena regarded the student before her coldly, her eyes sweeping over him in a single, measured glance. "That is not what I meant, young Gryffindor," she said, her glaze lingering on Harry's side. "You are neither lost nor misplaced; you are something else entirely, caught between two worlds."
"I'm not sure what you mean, ma'am," Harry said nervously, under Helena's gaze.
Though her form was opaque and transparent, her eyes were lightly colored, a muted orange. They seemed to draw something within him like water from a well. Harry felt the purple scar along his ribs pulse and burn. The wound always ached and its memory of darkness weighed heavily on him. The "and" was powerful: as if he had been hurt by a wound, but also by a memory. Harry feared it would never fully heal; the scar of his past life.
"There is a foul magic clinging to you. It is… necrotic," the ghost said, her gaze fixed on Harry's side where the wound lay. Finally, as if snapping out of a reverie, her piercing gaze focused on Harry. "Students are not allowed out of their Common Rooms at this hour. Return to your bed, Gryffindor. Before I fetch someone to detain you," Helena commanded, beginning to float away, descending the tower.
"NO—WAIT! It's about your mother's diadem! I know what he did!" Harry called out, his purpose laid bare.
Helena froze mid-glide, then turned back, her searing glare fixed on Harry as she floated closer, her presence radiating menace.
"I know about the diadem… I know who you told and what he did," Harry repeated, his words casting ripples of displeasure across the Grey Lady's spectral face.
"OF COURSE YOU WOULD! YOU WHO WOULD CONSORT WITH DARK MAGIC OF THE SOUL!" the ghost screeched as if she was possessed by another violent spirit.
Harry hoped their voices were drowned out by the wind swirling around them. He held his hands before him, gesturing for peace from the spirit. "I don't know what you're talking about—but please. I need to find it. I know it was once in your mother's room, the Come-And-Go-Room of Requirement, but it isn't there anymore. Please, I need to destroy it."
Helena frowned, her face eerily still, as though she had died a second time. "Many have sought my mother's jewel of knowledge… all with different reasons than the last for their quests… and each has lied in turn," the ghost said, circling Harry with a judgmental gaze, as though weighing his soul. "You say that you would destroy it? I believe not… every soul it has come across has faltered. Many would ask to borrow it with promises of returning it to my mother but she would deny them as they were not of her blood. Many times over her life, it was stolen by thieves in the night. They would don it upon their heads and drink from a well which could quench no thirst. For that is what true wisdom bestows. No answers but only questions you have not yet thought of. Like Narcissus of old, you would crown yourself and pine for the knowledge you lacked, until Death claimed your husk—and my mother would pluck the diadem from your empty skull."
Harry balked at the power behind the object. It was never discussed just exactly what the Diadem did but it seemed to be a blood-cursed object. Harry was reminded of the Gaunt family ring. Perhaps it too held a bloodline curse that made it lethal to anyone not of Slytherin's descent. He shook his head adamantly.
"I don't want to use it… it's beyond use. It's been corrupted," Harry assured Rowena's daughter.
"Yes, indeed. Foul magic… 'Wit Beyond Measure Is Man's Greatest Treasure,' but another sought to enrich themselves differently. He came to me… on a night much like this, just as you have done. He whispered sweet words… unlike you," Helena confessed. "I fell for his charm. He offered to retrieve the Diadem from where it lay buried near my grave, claiming it would bring me peace by righting a wrong from my mortal life. But he had no intention of returning it. I thought he was different, that perhaps he could resist the allure of the knowledge it granted," Helena said, freezing mid sentence to stare through Harry as if he were glass.
"Could you do such a thing?"
Harry hesitated, considering her question deeply. He knew the item was doomed, there was no way to preserve an object that housed a Horcrux after its destruction. The damage was two-fold upon the soul and its container. Neither could live while the other survived. While the knowledge of the Diadem would be a boon, he couldn't help but draw a breath in fear at Helena's description of the Diadem's power to those who were not her mother or kin. He knew the dangers of bloodline curses. He saw first-hand what happened to Dumbledore in another life if it had truly been such. The descriptions of Gormlaith's work had also left him queasy and weak-kneed after only a few pages.
"I have to destroy it," Harry re-confirmed, not backing from his original stance. He shook his head at the spectral witch. "I don't know if I could resist it—but I have to. If you know what he turned it into, truly. Then you know the item is too far gone and if I'm to kill him, it must go."
Helena hummed softly, the sound like music despite her lack of vocal cords.
"A third person sought it, a witch with raven-hair. She took it from my mother's room. Where she brought it to, I do not know. She found it without my aid… but I watched her collect it. I had prayed she would have put it on before me so I could bear witness to the fury my mother often reserved for me upon another," Helena softly said, her voice doused in guilt.
"What—who was it? When was this?" Harry questioned rapidly, flinging each without a breath behind them.
Helena floated around Harry eerily, "Decades ago… one of my own Ravens. What she did with the Diadem I do not know. I am bound to this castle in perpetuity, I stood guard over it since its return. I approached and warned her, as I now warn you, before she took the diadem beyond the bounds of my afterlife. Whatever quest you seek with it, it will kill you in the end, Gryffindor," The ghost's words were unrepentant, as if she had lost the ability to be comforting or all social cues in the millennia since her passing.
Harry swallowed hard, his mind reverting to the prophecy handed down to him in another life. He still wasn't sure if it applied but he still had to act accordingly to it. "Perhaps… but some things are worth dying for," Harry stated, his words steeled with determination.
Helena inclined her head, "You speak with wisdom born of experience. But are you not already haunted by the questions you've unearthed? How many more lie submerged, waiting to drag you under?"
Harry shrugged, his voice tight with grief. "I've been marked by death my whole life. Nothing's changed that, and nothing ever will." Harry wished, more than anything, that none of this had happened to him, but it had. Acceptance was a bitter pill, but it went down easier with each passing day.
Helena floated by silently for a moment, her gaze heavily as though she were reading the pages of his soul, "Indeed, Gryffindor… indeed."
Harry sighed, casting a bitter glance at the moonlight as another dead end loomed before him. This was supposed to be the easiest Horcrux to retrieve. The damned thing had sat here for decades right under everyone's nose, so when it had been moved, and why had it returned? Harry shook his head at the logistics of it all. His perception was skewed and biased.
"My lady, the first wizard, Tom Riddle… What did you tell him?" Harry asked, wondering if he could make use of the same information.
The ghost seemed unsettled by the question. Harry couldn't tell if she was about to flee or vanish entirely to avoid his inquiry.
"I told him about my mother. He was enthralled by the Founders and the legends that had grown around them over the centuries. The wisdom my mother embodied, the loyalty Aunt Helga inspired, the prowess Godric wielded, and the unyielding ambition of Salazar. He hungered for their stories, but like all legends, time had twisted the truth. He learned this, so he came to one who had seen them firsthand. When I was but a child, I saw the first stone of this institution set into the Earth. I watched as my mother held my father's hand, with pride in her eyes… more pride than she ever held for me in life. So, I told him what I knew but this displeased him. He said, "The legends were better," as if they were each anything but human at their cores," Helena whispered, her eyes lost in a millennium of memories.
"And the second? The witch with the raven-hair?"
"She too, hungered for the story of another. She asked only of another witch, one who the first wizard reminded me deeply of," Helena confessed.
Harry froze, the weight of her words sinking in. When he turned to ask another question, the spirit was already drifting away.
"Return to your dorm, Gryffindor. Forget your quest for the diadem, it lies beyond both our reach," Helena's form dissolved into the wind, only to reappear briefly on a rooftop below before vanishing beneath the tiles.
Harry muttered a curse under his breath, reapplying his disillusionment charm before heading to the Room of Requirement. Sleep would elude him tonight.
Tension hung thick in the Great Hall, palpable in every glance and hushed whisper. Students cast wary looks at one another, their murmurs carrying an undercurrent of unease. Much of the murmuration centered on the latest editions of the Daily Prophet. Earlier in the week, the paper had published a grim list of the dead and missing, alongside reports of a record-breaking wave of violent terrorist attacks.
Each new edition brought new lists with more names, extending the pall of despair that hung over them all.
The staff at the head table were just as tense, though their unease seemed directed at one another. Professor Renault shot Dumbledore a dark look, while McGonagall shook her head in exasperation at the Defense Professor.
Meanwhile, Professor Sprout ate quietly, her sharp eyes darting around the hall. Beside her, Flitwick fidgeted in his seat, his usual cheer dampened in midst of the scenario. Professor Kettleburn, seemingly was unaffected by it all, attempting to hold his spoon in the only two remaining fingers of his one hand, a struggle he battled with daily.
Dumbledore sat at the center of the table, his usual spark dimmed. He tapped a slow, rhythmic beat on the wood, his gaze distant and unfocused.
At the Gryffindor table, the tension was just palpable, though its source was more personal.
James held Lily's hand across the table, his grip alternating between loose and tight. Lily's irritation grew as his eyes flicked anxiously between Harry and Sirius.
All the while, Remus and Peter each snuck glances in between spoonful's of their evening meals. Even Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, who sat next to the Marauders in their own grouping, felt the air shifting around their house table.
Ignoring the tension around him, Harry sat engrossed in something entirely different. His eyes roved over a large piece of parchment, its surface covered in scribbles that, to everyone else, resembled a child's chaotic attempt at an essay. Every so often, Harry glanced toward the Slytherin table, as if cross-referencing something unseen. For days, Harry had buried his nose in the parchment, refusing to divulge just what exactly it was to any of them at their multiple inquiries of interest.
Across from the table, Sirius' eyes glared holes at Harry, creating the uncomfortable atmosphere around them all.
"Alright! Enough!" Lily snapped, yanking her hand free from James. "Whatever the fuck this is," she gestured between Sirius and Harry, the former looking up and scrunching his eyes in worry from the witch. "It needs to stop now," Lily growled.
Sirius narrowed his eyes at Lily, before turning his head to James and Remus in seemingly disbelief.
"Lily—I don't think—" James started but was silenced with a stern glare from Lily.
"Don't defend him, James! Sirius has been unreasonable since the beginning of term! Just the other day, he pulled you all the way upstairs to stare at a wall while spouting nonsense about Harry again! A wall, really boys?!" Lily cast her ire towards a sheepish James, Remus and Peter.
"Well about that, you see the bricks were rather… odd?" James said, anxiously scratching the back of his head.
Harry sat in silence, his gaze sweeping over the other three Marauders, each of whom avoided his eyes in turn. The idea of them thinking Sirius had finally lost marbles was hilariously amusing to him.
"Lily, it's fine," Harry said, his voice calm but firm. "I don't know why Sirius has been acting this way, but it's been a stressful time. We were both attacked, after all. Jennings had aftereffects, and we've all heard the rumors about Wilkes. Maybe Sirius is dealing with something similar?"
A piece of him felt terrible for using their shared ordeal to throw Sirius off his scent, but he couldn't fault the doubt it would cast on the man.
"What—me?! My head's not screwed up like Jennings! You're the one sneaking around! Leaving bed before dawn, disappearing all night—yesterday, you weren't even in bed at all!" Sirius shot back, his voice rising. His accusations drew startled glances from the group.
Harry froze for a moment, then casually rolled up the Marauder's Map right under the noses of its creators. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face—Sirius might be watching him, but he hadn't caught everything.
'Need to be more careful,' Harry concluded. He didn't want to think of what would have occurred if Sirius walked in on his conversation with the Grey Lady, or sold him out to one of the professors in his path like Renault. "And? I don't think it matters if I was or wasn't, Black." Harry asserted.
"Fuck you, Evans!" Sirius cursed. He pushed his hands against the wood of the table to rise up, but Remus quickly held him down by shoulder. "It does matter! You were nice enough when you came here… but Bellatrix's interest in you? Being alone conveniently with Jennings when she was attacked? Looking over at the Slytherins every other moment like you're expecting something—you've gone fucking dark haven't you? What the fuck even are you? Muggle-born, half-blood or pureblood? Raised by muggles until a short time ago, and now you're here just magically keeping up with the rest of us?"
Each of Sirius' questions were launched like arrows into Harry who internally grimaced at each one. He had thought of potentially tanking himself grade-wise and even in a lot of his performances. Despite the necessity of it with his spell repertoire, He didn't like holding back. It felt like a lie to him. He didn't want to lie anymore than he needed to. Already so many were packing themselves around him like bricks as if he was being immured.
"Half-blood," Harry whispered softly, giving Sirius an answer in a hope he'd end his interrogation. Harry's voice was hollow as if disconnected from his emotions. "My mother was a muggle-born and my father was pureblood."
Each person in their vicinity shared looks of interest and shock amongst them, but Sirius smiled coldly as if he had caught a trout in his animagus form.
"So you're a bastard, then," Sirius sneered, his tone dripping with the aristocratic disdain of his mother. "Fitting, isn't it?"
"Careful, Black," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous. "Keep poking around, and something might jab you back." He had known his godfather to be arrogant, pigheaded, and irrational at times, but this was a new level to anything he had seen before. Harry wondered if he was more fanatical about him at the moment than Snape.
"Is that the latest slogan for aspiring dark lords, Evans?" Sirius mocked, leaning forward with a grin. "From that scar on your forehead to your wand—those marks scream dark magic gone wrong. What were you dabbling in, Evans? Something twisted enough to catch my cousin's demented eye?" Sirius jabbed, jerking a thumb toward the Slytherin table.
"Sirius Orion Black! Stop this behaviour right this moment," Lily hissed, leaning across the table with a hand raised, ready to swat him. James caught her wrist just in time, holding her back to keep her from escalating the confrontation. "Who are you to claim that Harry is a dark wizard?! And one would think that out of all people, you would know better than to throw around soundless know how dangerous such assumptions could be!"
"Lily, I know we've talked about this, but maybe Pads has a point? Harry's been sneaking out—he's not wrong about that. I haven't said anything, but—" James stopped abruptly as Lily turned her glare on him.
"Potter! You hypocritical toe-rag!" Lily spat. "Let me guess—you're not pinning things on Harry this time because you've found a better scapegoat?" She used James' words against him like a vice. "Listen, closely you two!" Lily pointed harshly at both James and Sirius. "Harry isn't dark. Sure, his wand is weird. But what he does in his spare time is up to him! You lot can't judge him," Lily stated.
"No, Lily. He's dark—I can feel it!" Sirius snarled. "My family's neck-deep in that kind of magic, and I know the signs. Just because he's not cozy with the Slytherins doesn't make him good. You weren't there in the hospital when Bellatrix showed up the next morning. The way Evans looks at her... I don't like it one bit."
Lily scoffed. "Harry looks at her? So what, Black?! For all you know, he might have a crush on her!" Lily shot back, her words hitting like a slap. Both Harry and Sirius froze, each for very different reasons.
Harry wasn't sure if Sirius was going to draw his wand against him at that moment or make a lunge with one of the dining knives. The dark-haired Gryffindor was incised by whatever perceived wrong he had committed.
"Everyone, maybe this isn't the time or place?" Remus suggested tensely, his eyes flickering to the many faces whose attention they were attracting from their own house, the other tables, and even a few of the more curious staff members across the hall. Finally, Remus' eyes came to rest on his fellow marauders.
"Oh, shove it, Moony! He's been slinking around like a worm, and I don't care what excuses he has! I don't care if Lily's fallen for whatever story he's spinning, or if he saved my cousin from an inbred Lestrange. I don't care if he's a victim! His story doesn't add up, and I don't trust him," Sirius snarled, his face reddening with mounting fury. "Dark wand… and always with that fucking book at first no one can bloody read and now some parchment? What's the text, Evans? Pulled scrap from Magick Moste Evile?" Sirius questioned.
Harry reached over to his goblet, taking a long draft of the pumpkin juice. It helped to buy time for his thoughts and words. In truth, he didn't know what to make of any of this. 'So this is the cold shoulder… he thinks I've gone darker than his cousin. And that I like her, Harry felt sickened by both of his accusations. He wondered what he could do to disprove Sirius' claims, but unfortunately the man was on the mark in one of his accusations.
"What evidence do you have, Black?" Harry asked, his tone sharp and direct. He needed to know exactly what Sirius had been distilling in his mind and with the others potentially. "I've been out of bounds, sure. Practicing dark magic? You have nothing on me except my wand. And even that's subjective—any wand can be used for dark deeds." Harry thought about Gregorovitch's warnings and history for the gorgon-birch wand.
Lily arched an eyebrow. "Good point. I'd like to hear that too, what proof do you have?" she asked, her tone sharp with intrigue.
Sirius bit his lip in panic at the two. "Well—I had some documentation pulled but it got …" Sirius sat down, scratching the back of his head. He didn't dare to let Peter's sniggering beside him and Remus' smirk rattle him off.
Even across the table, James hid the ghost of a smile, making sure to lean backwards to avoid the explosion of Lily Evans. They all knew that the redhead was about to fully implode now.
"You had evidence—and now it's just gone? How convenient" Lily sniped, causing Sirius to flinch underneath her glare. "Well that's convenient then! You're an arse, Black, but I'm amazed even yours grew the ability to speak."
"It's not like that, Lils! I swear, I had it—but it vanished! Right around the time of…" Sirius' voice trailed off as realization dawned, his expression darkening.
"What did you do with it?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing at Harry.
Harry blinked like an owl in shock at Sirius. "Me? You think I destroyed evidence on you? We were on opposite sides of the castle! In the Hospital Wing, we were beds apart and awake at the same time. You're barking madness now," Harry reprimanded the delusional wizard, put off by his new accusation.
'This is just like the Shrieking Shack,' Harry thought, recalling Sirius' wild theories about Peter Pettigrew—and how they turned out to be true. Often the Sirius of his time overreached, speculated, and accused others, but nearly every time, the man had been right in some sort of deranged and enlightened way.
"Don't play dumb, Evans. You're a smart wizard—nothing below an Acceptable on your O.W.L.s, and you took them weeks before term even started," Sirius pressed, his eyes gleaming with suspicion. His eyes watched intently for any truths from Harry's body, and then he noted how the boy's shoulders tensed slightly. Like a wolf smelling injured prey, the Black scion lunged.
"Aha! So you don't deny that then?" Sirius cackled, smiling wildly. All eyes shifted to Harry, whispers rippled through the group, questioning how a transfer student from a Muggle upbringing could achieve such results.
Harry gritted his teeth. He expected someone else other than Bellatrix to go digging for information on him again but he wasn't appreciating how it was being represented. With a clenched jaw, he nodded to Sirius.
"I took them after I saved your cousin, Andromeda, from Rabastan Lestrange, and meeting Bellatrix," Harry admitted, the words leaving his mouth reluctantly.
Had he always been this guarded? Every word felt like peeling off a layer of skin, exposing too much to the group around him. 'Am I becoming like Dumbledore?' Harry wondered.
"So what? Harry's smart—we all know that. He gets good marks and actually raises his hand in class," Lily said, her gaze flicking briefly to Peter, who shrank into his seat. "Can you just drop it now, Sirius?" The Head Girl urged.
Sirius shook his head in aggravation for Lily's defense. "No, not with what I've seen. I don't trust him, Lily. Nothing adds up," Sirius insisted, locking eyes with her.
Sirius couldn't help but think of Lily's and Harry's shared eye color. his gaze lingering on the uncanny resemblance. They were identical to Harry's. Down to the last imperfect detail and not just color.
Looking between his girlfriend and best friend, James sighed, scratching the back of his head as he wrangled with himself about it all. "Lily, we see your point… Harry's business is his own and perhaps he isn't dark. We all don't think Harry is fully evil. After all, he was sorted into Gryffindor. But Sirius has a point… what he says doesn't add up and Harry is often missing at very odd hours."
Peter, who had remained silent, shifted nervously. If Sirius kept sniffing around, it was only a matter of time before he uncovered something Peter didn't want him to find. He couldn't help but wonder if a confrontation like this was in his future as well with Sirius.
"I agree with Sirius," Peter said quietly, earning a dark look from Harry for the first time. The newest member of Gryffindor lowered his hands, setting them on his knees underneath the table.
Peter glanced between James, Sirius, Remus, Lily, and Harry. Under their scrutiny, he felt exposed, even though his secret was safe—for now.
"Sirius is right… Bellatrix is interested in him. So are the Lestranges and a lot of the other Slytherins… for good and bad reasons. I—just, I don't think Harry's story adds up either. His wand is scary. However, I do think Lily has merit too. It really isn't our business but that doesn't mean we should ignore Harry either," Peter said, shifting his beady eyes to Harry nervously.
"See! Even Wormtail agrees—" Sirius began, but Harry's hand slammed down on the table, the sharp crack silencing the hall and drawing startled glances from students and staff alike.
Harry leaned forward, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. He was angry at Sirius' behavior, but now he was enraged at being targeted by Pettigrew, who Harry knew for a fact was going to turn dark one day. "This is rich coming from all of you. Especially you lot." Harry spat at the four Marauders, including the silent Remus in his venom. "It's laughable how hypocritical you are. Sniffing around like dogs, pointing fingers like antlers and fangs, while you sneak around like rats after curfew." Harry's gaze swept over the Marauders, each one paling under the weight of his words.
As Harry's piercing glare locked onto Remus, the usual calm in the werewolf's eyes dissolved into sheer panic. His breath quickened, and his hands fidgeted as though he were ready to bolt.
James noticed immediately, shooting Remus a reassuring glance, while Sirius leaned in, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. The gesture seemed to soothe him if only slightly.
Lily, however, looked utterly bewildered, glancing between the boys and Harry with a furrowed brow, trying to make sense of the tension.
Harry wasn't sure if he was burning bridges, but at this point, he didn't care. He was tired of being accused of crimes he hadn't committed in this life or the last. He hadn't opened the Chamber. He didn't lie about Voldemort's return. He didn't run or cower from the Dark Lord either.
"You want to know if I'm a dark wizard? None of you have ever seen me cast a dark spell, hold a cursed grimoire, or exploit my magic against someone else." Harry's voice deepened with each statement. "The only thing Black has is speculation, assumption, and hearsay. If I were a dark wizard, Sirius wouldn't be sitting here, I'd have wiped the floor with him already and done Filch a favor," he snarled.
"You couldn't even knock away my wand, Evans. let alone take me down in a duel. I'm no Lestrange," Sirius boasted, his challenge clear.
Harry fumed in frustration at Sirius. He didn't like being goaded into a duel, but perhaps this one was needed. He needed to knock some truth into Sirius' head, or at least get him into a state willing to work things out. "Don't worry, Black. Your feet are safe. I wouldn't have to go past disarming you," Harry bragged, leaning back on his old tried and true spell of a past life.
A loud ringing echoed from the staff table, cutting through the tension and signaling that their argument had gone too far.
Dumbledore rose and made his way to the golden owl podium, which gave an annoyed hoot and shook its metal feathers as if roused from sleep.
The Headmaster held up a hand, beckoning for silence from the murmuring and grumbling students. Soon every eye and ear in the hall were tuned to Dumbledore's preferred liking.
"Good evening, students. I trust you are all well rested and ready to tackle the days ahead. However, before you all go off to your beds, I have a few announcements," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands with a spark of excitement. "I am pleased to announce that after much discourse with the staff, it has been decided that with the repeal of wand regulations, it is up to us to teach you proper etiquette on its use. Dueling instruction is normally reserved for seven-years but in three weeks time, a tournament shall be held here in the Great Hall. Those in their years will be pitted against others, this is to be a friendly contest between houses and classmates. If you do not possess an unregulated wand, do not fret. You can still participate and have fun," Dumbledore paused, as if waiting for an outburst from his staff. "Now, I must express the reason for this event with you all now… so many days of these recent few weeks have brought words darker than the day's before. It is a turbulent time we have found ourselves within… hence it is our duty to ensure you can wield the magic being granted to you, confidently, properly, and with responsibility. It is my intention that each of you are capable of defending yourselves outside of these grounds upon your graduations," Dumbledore claimed, ignoring the unspoken statement of threats inside the castle as well.
Sirius turned to Harry, a smug grin. "A dueling tournament, Evans! Care to put a galleon where your wand is?" His eyes locked onto Harry's, full of challenge.
"Will you two just give it up?!" Lily pleaded, turning to James in frustration. He only shrugged, unsure how to support either side.
"It's fine, Lils. I won't hurt Evans," Sirius said with a wolfish grin. "But I won't be the one holding back their nastier spells."
"If you hold back Sirius, You'll just end up in another bed in the Hospital Wing again," Harry shot back, his tone cutting.
Sirius grunted unimpressed. "Try not to get stunned right away, Evans. Bellatrix might like slime, but not the kind you have to scrape off the floor."
Harry rose from his seat, unwilling to discuss Bellatrix or his own conflicting thoughts on her. He swiftly exited the Great Hall. He blew past students meandering the halls, leaving from dinner and those who were rushing to catch the last moments of the meal time.
He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to get away—from Sirius and anything that reminded him of him.
'Where the fuck did it all go wrong?' Harry wondered. Sirius' distrust stung, but so did the others' quiet defense of him. How had he ruined this relationship before it even began? A piece of him was dismayed that James had seemingly had a change of heart about him too, supporting Sirius. Harry wondered if the Sirius of this time would believe anything he told him, perhaps should he reveal the truth if not to disway the wizard from his current beliefs? But Harry worried what would occur if they fell on deaf ears, and or worse, Sirius took measures against him, believing he was just a dark wizard trying to change the past.
Moments like these made Harry ache for Hermione and Ron, the pang so sharp it felt like he'd left them only yesterday. If they were here, he knew they'd defend him without hesitation, standing by his side against every accusation, no matter the odds. They would have shielded him from the isolation he felt now, alone under the scrutiny of five doubtful pairs of eyes. He'd worked hard to keep thoughts of them buried, to focus on the task ahead and the mission that had become his sole purpose. But now, the memory of them was unstoppable, their absence more vivid than he'd allowed himself to feel.
Since being thrown into this strange version of the past, Harry had thrown himself into every task he could find. Each move was meant to further his mission, to weaken Voldemort, to protect the future. But the sheer loneliness of it was a weight he hadn't anticipated. With nothing left to distract himself, he could feel how much he yearned for Hermione's clear-headed determination, Ron's ready friendship, and the familiar comfort of knowing that whatever the struggle, they'd face it together. Here, in this unfamiliar time, surrounded by doubt, he realized that no amount of strategy could replace the strength he'd found in his friends.
Lost in thought, Harry collided with something or someone. Instinctively, his hand shot out, catching a wrist before they hit the ground.
"Oi, fucking watch it, Evans," a sharp angry voice called out, making Harry tense up. He had just run into the one person he didn't want to see out of everyone.
Harry barely had time to realize he was falling backwards, his skull cracking sharply against the floor. He hissed sharply in pain and a headache blossomed from the fall, sprouting behind his eyes.
Harry had collided face first into Bellatrix Black.
Over the past few days, Bellatrix's anger and spite developed and clouded her mind like a fever. Her fury toward Avery and Mulciber grew unchecked, fueled by Verona's hospitalization. Without her friend by her side, Bellatrix was uncomfortably reminded of the isolation she'd felt during her first term at Hogwarts.
Despite her longing to break her isolation, Bellatrix's visits to Verona were brief and infrequent. Madam Pomfrey always ushered her out before they'd exchanged more than a few words, insisting Verona needed rest. It was as if the woman was determined to protect Verona's health from her of all people. Perhaps the Matron feared another confrontation, especially since Bellatrix had occasionally spotted Sirius sitting quietly by Amelia Bones' bedside.
Bellatrix bit her tongue and complied, unwilling to jeopardize Verona's recovery. Yet, a small, treacherous part of her was relieved to leave quickly each time, sparing her the weight of their unspoken conversations. She didn't know what to say or even tell her best friend. Maybe, Verona didn't know what to say either.
Her visits were marked by awkward silences, broken only by brief updates on their days. The sole exception was when a new issue of The Quibbler arrived, giving them something to laugh about together. Each time she entered or left the Hospital Wing, Verona gave her a strange look, as if expecting her to demand answers about the assault. But Verona never voiced her thoughts. Bellatrix didn't know how she was going to lie to Verona's face when she finally reprimanded her and asked why she hadn't tracked down her assaulter and hanged them inside the Bell Tower like a yoke.
Bellatrix felt under siege, as though an unseen force was closing in from all sides: Dumbledore's suspicion, the staff's watchful eyes, Sirius' hostility, the whispers of the student body, Verona's probing glances—and her own conscience, torn between her loyalty to her blood traitor cousin.
She had lost count of the letters she'd written, signed and burned before sending; all desperate pleas to her grandfather for relief or guidance. She didn't know what to tell the man. She feared for Regulus' safety amongst the Pureblood Movement, and it now extended to Lord Black's judgment.
'Now I understand why Regulus kept quiet,' Bellatrix thought, a reluctant pang of sympathy for her younger cousin. 'It's all far more complicated than it's worth.'
As dusk settled over the castle, the torches along the walls flickered to life. The day had slipped away in a blur of trips to the Hospital Wing and long hours of studying in the library, her meals hastily taken in between.
The walk back to the dungeons was usually a time for quiet contemplation, but not tonight. The route was bustling with students lingering in the corridors and courtyards, enjoying their downtime before curfew.
Bellatrix turned a corner and stepped into a courtyard with a walled garden, its edges framed by the castle's towering buttresses and graceful arches.
As she rounded the bend, Bellatrix collided with someone, the impact driving the air from her chest and sending her stumbling backward. Bellatrix nearly fell; destined to crash upon her back but her collider reached out, grabbing her arm to steady her feet to the stone floor.
"What—" Bellatrix began, but her words faltered when she met a familiar pair of green eyes. Lately, it seemed those eyes were always on her—Harry Evans had a habit of watching her, often without even trying to be discreet.
"Oi, fucking watch it, Evans!" Bellatrix snapped, stepping back and shoving against his chest to free her arm from his grip.
Bellatrix sucked in a breath as Harry stumbled backward, unable to steady himself as she had moments earlier. She winced at the sharp crack of his fall, the sound echoing off the arches and drawing the attention of nearby students. Without thinking, she reached down and hoisted the groaning form of Harry Evans back to his unsteady feet.
"Morrigan-be-damned, Evans. Are you always such a klutz?" Bellatrix asked, shaking her head in irritation. She pushed aside the flicker of guilt, after all, she'd been the one to run into him.
"Ow—Merlin! I was only trying to help, Bella—Black. You didn't have to try to lobotomize me," Harry moaned, rubbing the back of his head in pain. He didn't feel any blood on his fingers or in his hair. The fall was superficial at best.
"Oh, shut up, it wouldn't have worked anyway. If you want to be helpful, then give us all a bloody miracle and watch where you're going for once. Bellatrix growled, smirking as Harry stiffened.
Harry's eyes narrowed at her, "Must you always be so malicious?" he asked suddenly, surprising her.
"Me—malicious?" Bellatrix scoffed, blinking at Harry for a moment before narrowing her brows.
"You aren't exactly a ray of grandeur, Black. You bumped into me. You knocked me over again and now—" Harry gestured between himself and Bellatrix. "This."
"This? This?!" Bellatrix growled. "Who do you think you are, Evans? You're nothing but a speck of dust in my way." Then, her lips curled into a sly, knowing grin. "But I'm important to you, aren't I? Don't play coy—I've seen you looking."
Harry's expression shifted, betraying a storm of emotions—anger, disgust, and finally, denial.
Bellatrix eyed the transformations keenly, blossoming a smirk of her own as a blush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks.
"You aren't important to me, Black. Why on earth would I even care about your existence? You're the one who hounded me the last time, if you remember." Harry said.
Bellatrix hummed, her tone mocking "Hit a nerve, did I? But I haven't pursued you since the Express. So maybe you aren't important to me," she countered.
Harry shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "No, that's a lie. You just sent your 'friend' to do your dirty work instead. I was with Verona—before our attack. She asked a lot of questions about me."
Bellatrix's face scrunched up at Harry's accusation. She knew that Verona had interrogated Harry Evans, uncovering far more than expected, but she had never asked her to do so. Bellatrix didn't know what to make of Verona's brief revelations or of the wizard standing before her now.
"Fuck off, Evans." Bellatrix moved to step around Harry but he reached out again, seizing her arm in a fierce grip. Enraged by his impudence, she struggled to free herself. "Let go of me, you twit!" she seethed, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of several passersby.
The pair's ears caught the giggles and hushed whispers of a few onlookers.
Bellatrix's gaze swept to where a group of school girls watching them with rapt attention, their faces alight with amusement. To their eyes, she and Harry Evans looked like a bickering couple straight out of a Muggle sitcom.
Harry followed her gaze, noticing the group as well. A sudden unease crept over him, a reminder of his days as a reluctant celebrity—no longer the pariah of the Daily Prophet after everyone finally believed in Voldemort's return.
Pulling Bellatrix's captive limb, Harry quickly dragged the witch into a secluded cloister off the beaten path of the main corridors. They were now alone, together. With a flick of his wand, Harry raised a privacy ward on the stone archway above their heads, he shifted his wand as if to stow it away.
Bellatrix tried to yank her arm free, but to her surprise, Harry's grip was iron-strong. The memory of their meeting in Knockturn Alley flashed through her mind. 'It's just like last time!' she thought, a flicker of fear creeping in. Would he actually draw his wand on her this time?
"Evans! Stop—damn you! What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing, you bumbling idiot!" Bellatrix raged, stomping her foot down on Harry's, hearing a sharp intake of breath as he released her.
"I didn't want to have this out in public!" Harry explained, shaking his foot in pain. He hadn't anticipated Bellatrix's boots being quite so heavy.
"You—didn't want to harass me in public? So this was your idea!? Dragging me off like some bloody prize you won in front of everyone? Abduction? Is your head filled with stones, or are you just that thick?" Bellatrix snapped, stepping back to put space between them. "You—are perhaps the most arrogant and irrational man I've ever met, Evans!"
"I'm not—you're no better! You're the most twisted, vile woman I've ever met!" Harry shot back.
"So twisted and vile you just had to abduct me in the middle of the corridors? For someone so disgusted by me, you have a very strange way of staying away!" Bellatrix took a step back, her escape blocked by Harry, who stood firmly in front of the only exit. She felt like prey under his gaze, his eyes scanning her as if searching for something. Whatever he was looking for, she couldn't tell from his expression or body language. "Get out of the way, Evans."
"We need to talk." Harry raised his hands in a gesture of peace, shaking his head.
Bellatrix' tensed, her breathing steadying as though readying to lunge. "Fuck that. Go talk to a statue if you want undivided attention," she countered
"I need—I want to know the truth." Harry's voice was so low she almost didn't hear him, as though even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"What about?" Bellatrix asked tensely, her hand hovering near her wand as she tried to decipher what was going through his mind.
"About the other day and this morning. What happened the night of the attack? After you stormed out of the hospital wing? You looked like you could petrify a basilisk… what did you do?" Harry inquired.
Bellatrix's face twisted into a fierce glare at Harry's impudent question. She wasn't entirely surprised, though. Rumors were already flying. She'd heard whispers of Sirius leading an inquisition against the upper-year Slytherins, with his friends and housemates rallying behind him. It felt like the entire castle had chosen sides overnight, riled into a frenzy by the second wave of attacks.
Pausing for only a hair, a cat-like smile grew on Bellatrix's lips. Like a tigress feigning weakness, the prey began to hunt in turn. Bellatrix closed the distance between her and Harry.
"Asking a lady how she spends her nights, are we? That's not much of a question, is it? That's called flirting… and with me again after our little encounter on the train, Evans? Naughty, naughty wizard. Maybe when you figure out how to use your wand, I'll let you in on the secret." Bellatrix smirked, watching the blush rise in Harry's cheeks. "You really want to know how I spent my night?" she purred, as she placed a hand against his chest. She ignored the warmth radiating from beneath his school robes.
Harry raised his arm, as if to push her away, but instead his hand brushed against her lightly through the fabric of his robe.
Feeling his touch, Bellatrix pushed Harry back with a firm shove, creating space between them. "Heel, boy," she said, clicking her tongue mockingly.
Snapping out of a trance, Harry shook his head. "Stop. Stop it! You were up to something… that night, you were practically seething, and the next morning you looked more despondent than a widow. Just—just tell me the truth!" He gestured between them, frustration etched across his face. She had flirted with him several times now, each time successfully throwing him off his game. Even his mantra—'She killed Sirius. It's Bellatrix Lestrange'—lacked the power to drown out the other thoughts swirling in his mind about her.
He hadn't noticed before how Bellatrix's boots allowed her to tower over him. They gave the witch just enough height to bring his eyes level with the top of her cheeks. His stomach flipped as his gaze drifted up to her lips, twin petals of red against the alabaster canvas of her skin. Her complexion was flawless, untouched by any blemish or trace of madness, and Harry found himself staring, drinking in her image like a man dying of thirst.
With determination, Harry unlatched the Delilahian image of Bellatrix Black from his mind and forced himself to recall the worst of her. Her cackles with glee during the murders and tortures she committed—in another life. He pictured Alice and Frank Longbottom's vacant stares, unaware of their son. He pictured Sirius falling through the veil.
Bellatrix shook her head, her tone sharp. "That doesn't concern you, Evans. What I did that night—and this morning—is none of your business."
Frustration etched itself across Harry's face. "No—yes it does!" he spat. "You know something… I know Dumbledore thinks so. I was attacked alongside Verona and if—" Harry started but he was caught off by Bellatrix's fury.
"Verona?! Her name is Jennings to you. Just because you spent a morning with her—tutoring her in a subject she doesn't even need help with—and walked her back to the Main Hall, you think you can call her by her first name? In front of me?" Bellatrix stated, her tone, possessively sharp.
"If you cared about her then you would—" Harry tried again but his words only infuriated Bellatrix further.
"If I care about her?! What in the ninth circle are you insinuating, Evans?! She's my friend! Not yours!" Bellatrix roared angrily. "I have known her for years… on years. And you know us for what—months? You spend days around her and me then what? You know our histories like a seer? You know nothing, Harry Evans. Not about her or me. Do not assume such a thing."
"I know only what I've seen," Harry firmly stated.
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the wizard. "What you have seen" she parroted. "And when exactly would you have seen anything? Ever since you got to this place, you've shut yourself up in your Common Room or whatever fucking hole you hide yourself in. Doubly-so since Verona's attack. You accuse me of not caring, but if you care so much about her, why haven't you visited her since you were discharged days ago?"
Bellatrix's reply made Harry flinch. He hadn't visited Verona since waking up and leaving the Hospital wing, himself. He couldn't face the girl. Not after his failure to protect her. So he sought to investigate their attack instead, while she was still bound to the hospital wing. He threw himself into his studies and training with relentless determination, as every morning's paper delivered fresh horrors that lingered in his dreams.
Harry struggled to keep his expression neutral. He wanted to walk away, to abandon his questions and Bellatrix entirely. He didn't want to understand her. Yet he felt an invisible hook pulling him toward her, refusing to let him go.
Bellatrix misinterpreted his silence and she shook her head in disbelief. "No, no of course not. You're here to interrogate me like some self-righteous Grand Inquisitor," Bellatrix drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "What do you want from me? A sham plea? One you'll ignore anyway? You're not here for Verona—I can smell your self-righteous act from a castle away. This is about whatever vendetta you've got against me."
"That's not—" Harry began but Bellatrix held a hand up to cut him off.
"Don't lie to me, Evans. You're awful at it. You hide behind half-truths, wrapping them in lies, but if I can see through it, so can others. You've made your opinion of me crystal clear but tell me, what have I ever done to you?" Bellatrix demanded, her voice sharp.
"I don't—I don't need a reason to dislike you," Harry argued, but his voice wavered. A part of him recoiled at the thought of holding Bellatrix accountable for atrocities she hadn't yet committed.
Bellatrix shook her head in agitation. "Another half-truth. Fine, keep your secrets. But then I'll be keeping my own to myself. I'll only reveal one truth for another truth," she asserted, pushing past him and reaching for the door.
Harry looked up at the ceiling, wringing a single hand in frustration. He wanted to shove a vial of Veritaserum down Bellatrix's throat. However, he doubted that even the truth serum would pull every secret he wanted to know out of her. It was known to be a fallible brew.
Harry's eyes flickered to Bellatrix's own briefly, feeling something. "Because Sirius doesn't trust you." He said unflinchingly. "Because you knew the counter-curse for what was on Verona—something only a Black would know, and you're skilled enough to cast it. So, if you knew the counter-curse, what else do you know? Did you know about Avery and Mulciber? Do you know who their partners were?" Harry questioned, his tone firm.
He did not want to take Sirius's side and argument up since it was a wand also directed at him currently but his words scored the reaction he wanted out of Bellatrix.
Bellatrix turned, her eyebrows arching in surprise; she hadn't expected honesty from Harry. Just moments ago, she could have sworn that Gryffindor looked like he wanted to ask her to a ball. Now, his eyes were attempting to swallow her whole and drown her violently. She narrowed a threatening stare of her own.
"I didn't lie to the Headmaster. I truly hadn't seen either of them before or after their attack on Sirius and Bones. When Dumbledore said that they had fled sometime afterward, that was the first news I heard about them," Bellatrix said, truthfully. Her eyes held Harry's unflinchingly as he studied her intently. "As for the curse, If Sirius had bothered to learn his family's history, he'd know it too… or perhaps he does and simply denies it? He hates being associated with dark magic," Bellatrix suggested, her voice dripping with ridicule for her cousin and contempt for Harry's question.
After offering her truth in exchange for Harry's, Bellatrix felt him probing at her Occlumency shields. She shoved him back mentally, a fire burning in her gut. She didn't need another meddling presence in her mind—Dumbledore and Sirius were more than enough.
"Hands off what's not yours, Evans." Bellatrix warned, testily.
Harry grunted, nonverbally, surrendering to Bellatrix's Occlumency defenses but his senses prickled from everything else about her. "I don't believe you," he said coldly.
"But you'd believe Sirius? Taking his word now, are we? Bold of you, Evans. You haven't been here long, so let me enlighten you about this brave new world. Sirius Black is spineless, he'd leave his own family to rot if it suited him. What makes you think you can trust his word—the word of a coward? He's a blood traitor who wouldn't hesitate to sell out his parents. Hell, he'd probably sell out his friends too," A layer of ice frosted Bellatrix's voice and coated her claim. She could not comprehend how anyone could be more loyal to anything but family.
Harry saw red at the insulation of Sirius selling out the Marauders—his own parents. It was the very crime Sirius had been accused of, the one that condemned him to Azkaban. A crime he had never been exonerated of, even in death.
"DON'T YOU DARE—WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM?!" Harry shouted, momentarily forgetting the time and place he was in. Despite just arguing and accepting a future fight with the man, he wished desperately to return to a Sirius who knew him. To a Sirius who always had his back, perhaps defending the man from his estranged cousin would pave such a road.
Bellatrix burst into a cackle that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "More than you, surely! He's my cousin, you twit. I grew up with him… and you only met him, what? A month ago?" Bellatrix shook her head, not understanding the reason why Harry was so defensive of her cousin.
"I don't understand your defense of him. He doesn't even like you, Evans."
Harry breathed tensely, trying desperately to reign in his anger before he shouted something he would deeply regret. Accusations were on the tip of his tongue. Accusations of crimes that Bellatrix hadn't committed yet. She used his godfather's name like a weapon, aiming her words to strike at Harry's most vulnerable thoughts with deliberate precision.
Harry hated the way Sirius was treating him as if he was a stranger, accusing him of foul magic. He wanted to bridge the divide between him and his future godfather. Bitterness churned in his gut, mingling with regret over revealing the Marauders' Animagus forms but the bridge had been burned already.
"What the hell do you know?!" Harry spat once again. "You're more of an outcast than he is! The only person who cares about you is Verona, and look where that got her!" He jabbed toward the Hospital Wing, his words sharp.
Bellatrix paused for a moment in her anger. She bit back the truth, that her friend was not hospitalized because of her but rather her idiotic little cousin.
"What do I know? I'm the only one in this castle who actually knows! He looks at you the same way he looks at me—like you're already a villain. And it hurts, doesn't it? Watching someone who should support you, maybe even love you, hate you with everything they've got. For what reason? What gives them the right?" Bellatrix's voice cracked as she vented her thoughts, a bitterness she had carried for years.
Harry was stunned, his words caught in his throat. Everything Bellatrix said mirrored what he had felt earlier that evening in the Great Hall. What could he say without exposing how deeply her words had struck? She had voiced every emotion he felt about Sirius now.
"You—I don't know what to say—" Harry stammered, his voice shaking as he reached out instinctively. Before he realized it, his hand was on her shoulder.
Bellatrix slapped Harry's hand away as if he was a pest, her nails grazing his skin.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Evans. Haven't you touched me enough for one day? Forget you heard any of that!" Bellatrix warned, raising her fist as if to strike. With her other arm, Bellatrix quickly brushed the tears slipping from her eyes.
Harry didn't know what to make of the sight. Bellatrix crying felt as unreal as Voldemort showing kindness. He felt something fall in his chest in time with his face as his features crunched in empathy for her. However, it was quickly dismissed as Bellatrix changed once again before his eyes.
"Damn you both!" Bellatrix snapped, her eyes wild with a familiar, unhinged intensity.
Harry's fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for his wand beneath his sleeve at the familiar sight of the craze in her eyes.
"Bellatrix—" Harry began, but she sneered sharply at the sound of her name.
"Black! Don't refer to me so casually, you common-tongued cretin!" Bellatrix rebuked.
"Black, then. For Merlin's sake, witch! I wasn't—argh! Look, I just want to say sorry. I shouldn't have pushed, and I get how you feel… I really do," Harry admitted quietly.
Bellatrix forced herself to ignore Harry's words, smothering her empathy with a sharp snarl.
"I told you to forget it!" Bellatrix warned. "What a disappointment, you are. I was hoping—blah, it isn't important now." Bellatrix shook her head, unwilling to admit that she had been interested in him. For a moment, she had considered him a potential out from Rodolphus' clutches.
"Hoping for what, Black? That I was some kind of chosen one?" Harry snarled bitterness rising as old wounds reopened. His heart hardened at the reminder of the banshee Bellatrix truly was, unable to feel a moment of weakness in fear of it hurting more than a curse. He shook his head, replacing her fleeting vulnerability with the image of the Death Eater he had always known. "So much for trying to understand," he muttered bitterly, but Bellatrix had overheard him.
"Understand? What the fuck is there to understand? You think you're so different? You, Evans? Really?" Bellatrix shoved him, making him step back. "There's nothing to understand between us! NOTHING! You look at me like everyone else—like I'm tainted by some self-destructive ideology. You don't know me!" she exclaimed.
Harry took a step in anger towards Bellatrix. "Aren't you? I know what you are—a barking mad attack dog. Despite Lestrange's curse on me, I saw what you did to Rabastan in Knockturn. I know what you're capable of, Black. But I'm not like you. You enjoyed melting the flesh off his bones. That's dark enough for me," Harry said coldly, his eyes blazing as he loomed over her.
"But I? I would never."
Bellatrix scoffed, before barking a laugh not unlike her cousins. "Another lie, Evans. Not even a half-truth? You reek of doubt. You want the truth? Fine. I saw that glint in your eye on the train when you had Rodolphus at wand point—you'd have cursed him and laughed after." Bellatrix shook her head, smirking as Harry's face reddened. "You're only fooling yourself."
"You think I'm like you, Black? We're nothing alike. Not even close." Harry claimed, his green eyes unmoving from Bellatrix's dark ones. "Here's a truth for you: you're just like every other Slytherin who thinks they are magical royalty."
Bellatrix torqued an eyebrow in question at Harry's statement.
"I look at you and all I see is just another witch gone dark," he said authoritatively, like a judge passing a sentence.
The accusation felt hypocritical on Harry's tongue. Was he not of a similar vein? Reading the diary of a long-dead witch who claimed to be the darkest witch of her age? The spells that Harry's eyes glossed over and memorized were unlike any he had ever used. He would have never considered relying on such magic before in his prior time period—but now the lure of the magic was growing larger as his knowledge of it did.
"Tread carefully, Evans." Bellatrix ground out, clenching her jaw in anger. "You don't want me as an enemy. You'll find the wizarding world is a very small place when my House is baying for your blood."
"As opposed to what? It's not like we'll ever be friends." Harry scoffed with a shake of his head. "As if I'd go so low and you'd consent to such a thing."
"Not with you on such a high-horse," Bellatrix glared down her nose at Harry. She wondered what made him so cock-sure and self-righteous in his view of her. Perhaps it was just the usual Gryffindor persona at play. "What makes you so much better than me? Just because a mangy old hat sorts you into a house with a tower doesn't mean you're above the dungeon or not living in one yourself."
Bellatrix knew plenty of ill-reputable Gryffindors without even counting her cousin amongst the lot.
Harry gnashed his teeth at Bellatrix. He wanted to pull his wand on her. He wanted to shout a litany of curses at her, magical and verbal. Something stirred within him to cause her a fraction of the pain that her future self had inflicted upon him. But he stayed silent, instead listening darkly as Bellatrix carried on.
"You think you're so noble. Yet, while you may be Gryffindor, you'll probably turn out worse than any Slytherin to pass through Hogwarts." Bellatrix criticized. "One day you'll finally snap worse than you did the day we met and kill someone at wand point."
Harry's blood heated at the recollection of what he had nearly done to her upon their first time meeting in 1977.
In order to fight his wrist from flicking out his wand, Harry shoved his fist into the pocket of his robes. He wanted to deny her. He wanted to rebuke the claim but he felt the white lines of his scar from Umbridge burn across his skin. How could he refute Bellatrix when he didn't trust himself to not do such acts? It was a fear he possessed which she had unknowingly prodded just like she had done with Sirius.
He had become more violent since his death in the Forbidden Forest, as if passing the threshold had allowed something dark to enter and incubate within his soul. He was always mad, silently in rage. He was more prone to violent thoughts and he was worried of finally acting them out. Not even a week into his trip into the past and he had already killed a man; potentially ripped his soul. He was afraid of repeating such an act again even if it was an accident; perhaps the next one wouldn't be.
Harry had no answer to any of these fears just like he had none for Bellatrix's accusation. He wasn't sure if he was the same person anymore who had lived that other life. For a moment, Harry wondered if he hadn't been that person, if he had been more like he was now and had won the fight against Voldemort, would he still see the faces of the dead and hear their howls ricocheting off the castle's ancient stones every night?
"I would never," Harry denied again, swallowing down the bile in his throat, thickly.
"Lying to yourself again, Evans?" Bellatrix tsked, smirking darkly. "Sure you would. You may not believe it… but just like you claim to know me… I know what you are, too." She smiled coyly at Harry. Her eyes alighted at the sight of his flesh and hairs stand on end with goosebumps. "There's a darkness in you, Evans. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not. I'm not the only one who sees it."
Bellatrix's words lingered in Harry's mind, sharp and unshakable, cutting deeper than he cared to admit. They stirred within him—dark and restless like a will-o-wisp, whispering a Faustian bargain for his soul as her words unearthed an open chasm alongside his conscience. It was like he was carved from the inside out and filled anew with a hate which replaced the ichor in his veins; bubbling and spilling over with a thick viscosity as covered everything before it.
Harry couldn't recognize himself as whatever lay dormant whispered violently between his ears, simmering just beneath the surface, mimicking his breath, driving his twitches, and feeding his doubts.
He—It wanted to hurt Bellatrix. To cast against her and enact vengeance for every crime he held against her. He felt a burning on his arm as if his wand was attempting to sear its way out of his holster. Harry didn't need to look down and inspect his covered hand to feel the blood pool in his palm from his nails piercing the skin from clenching his fist so tightly.
Harry's world spun on an axis as he fiercely shook his head to dispel the intrusive thoughts. They shifted and howled beneath his flesh, searching for a reason to exist, latching onto his past, and attempting to grow strong from the nectar of his trauma.
"Didn't you say Sirius was a terrible judge of a character?" Harry bit out, finding his voice and usual sass.
Bellatrix jeered at Harry, openly ridiculing the wizard before her and the idea of her blood-traitor cousin in one fell-sneer. "Him amongst others. But how long until all your other friends and housemates see you the way he does… or worse, they see what I already have, finally?"
"I—would—never," Harry bit out one last time.
Bellatrix watched as Harry turned on his heels, and nearly plucked the door off its hinges as he opened it to escape her. She flinched as he slammed the door behind him, but her shoulders relaxed as the tension left the room with Harry.
Standing alone in the cloistered space, she absorbed the silence for a moment, basking in the quiet before looking towards the ceiling with a shaky breath as a tear of frustration cascaded down her cheek. She hadn't meant for any of this, not running into Evans or bickering with him over Sirius. She certainly hadn't meant to confess anything. But her anger had taken hold of her at his accusations of harming her friend.
In a spark of frustration, Bellatrix struck out and hit the wall with her hand, evoking a fierce cry from her at the pain in her hand and struggles she was finding herself immersed within in her soul. She was stuck amongst everything; and now without a viable candidate she could manipulate for her own gain in front of her grandfather to wrangle out her Aunt's proposal to Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix bared her teeth at the lunacy of it all.
'It's all a self-destructive taint,' she thought, agreeing with Harry on this one topic of their feud.
The Sayre Journal
Chapter 22 - Gōsts and the Afterlife
Through an interesting phenomenon of magic, the soul of a witch or wizard can be bound to the earthly plane as gōsts. They are unable to cross to the Otherside either from unfulfilled ambitions, deep seeded regrets, or other incomplete work left over from their mortal lives.
Though those who undergo this transformation seem to remain after death, do not be fooled, my Dear Niece. They are but imprints—echoes; who are only granted a pause in their deaths as the spirit's forms often resemble reflections of their final moments.
With their mortal coils untethered, a ghast can pass through many physical and magical boundaries without effect unlike the living. Only the elements register and hinder their existence.
While visible to us, gōsts are nondescript to muggles, who can only perceive their presence through a chill which lingers around them in undeath.
It cannot be said that muggles are completely oblivious. Many acknowledge the existence of spirits and venerate their dead in religious and spiritual ceremony. However, only those of us with magic in veins and attuned to the paranormal are truly capable of perceiving the shades of life.
It is unknown why muggles are incapable of remaining after death. Perhaps it is due to their un-attunement, be that magic or their own lack of will.
Curious about what awaits us beyond death, I sought to further my understanding of the dead and grave through the necromantic arts. My quest for knowledge brought me many leagues from my sister and brother. To places where the people spoke Italian and Greek where I studied in the shadow of Constantinople before moving on to lands where they spoke something else. However, nearly every stop of my 'Grand Tour' was marked by ruins beset by the lingering dead.
Inside the tombs of Pharaohs and nobles of Kemet where I stripped hieroglyphs from the stones, I found sorrowful ghosts of slaves sacrificed to serve their lords in undeath. As I deciphered magic carved into the stones of barrows in Persia, vengeful spirits stirred as the bone's of god-king's fell away to dust like those of a peasant. As I transversed the land north of the Black Sea, I found many melancholy shades of Scythian war-chiefs lost between the kurgans of their tribes. Every place I went, I saw more and more gōsts lost between the physical and magical boundaries of the world.
It was not long before I noticed a phenomenon amongst their number. Each lost soul looked upon me with disgust in their opaque eyes, flinching if I raised my hand with its necrotic touch to them.
'Tis known to those who study the blackest arts in magic that dark magic leaves traces. Yet, it seems the dead can perceive the remnants of magic which makes playthings of life and death.
However, this knowledge should have been impossible for them. A common held belief amongst the magical community is that phantoms retain the same knowledge and talent of their previous lives. Since spirits are unable to learn or grow—how could death unlock this power of sight or an understanding of the taint leftover by soul-magic? Perhaps we, living merely lack an attunement to such things.
'Tis a phenomenon which even I cannot find an answer to; as the dead would not answer me.
By the time of thou birth, I was heralded as the darkest witch of my age—the greatest necromantrix in history. I can only assume that the departed could sense a deep scar over me from my use of the magical branch.
In my rise to power, I heard and heeded one response of the dead which I am reluctant to scribe myself. Perhaps 'tis best if some things wither in my mind instead of parchment.
My dear Niece, hearken my words—I warn thou and thy descendants with this singular certainty, the dead can remember. Keep this knowledge close to mind whenever communing with magic which makes light of the natural-cycles.
A/N: This chapter was a headache to write… this final scene between Harry and Bellatrix was too long in the making (since July 2024) and I'm glad to see it published and finally out of my sight. This Sayre Journal too was difficult to pin down. Originally, had something totally different in this slot but this fit the theme better.
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
Reviews:
ImApline: Thank you! & I'll just say I don't disagree with your thoughts on the last 2 chapters... that was partially on me for experimenting with dialogue. I can empathize with that take since Ch. 15 is a whopping 17k+ words (Misadventure scenes is 3.5k of that total). As for underusing Bellatrix, you are 100% correct. Unfortunately, I had to set up Voldemort's schemes for the plot and Regulus to contrast her and Sirius. She is a staple in this upcoming arc though. You will all have consistent updates until Ch. 27 or so. After that I'm taking a posting break to finish out book 1 & complete the first arc of book 2 while I write some PJO on the side.
DirtyCat: Почему Арктур не разорвал помолвку, еще предстоит выяснить. Это сюжетный момент в дальнейшем. Надеюсь, вам понравилось это взаимодействие между Гарри и Беллатрикс.
KaidoFett: When I read your review... I cackled like Bellatrix. While it's far from happy I hope this interaction satisfied you at least.
To the multiple reviews about Journals: They will always be at the end of chapters so they are easy to come back to. This goes for anything in the extended universe subplots whether it is about Gormlaith or Creon.