ꪻꫝꫀ ᦓꫝꪖᦔꪮ᭙ ꪖρρ᥅ꫀꪀꪻᥴꫀ
Harry Potter thought he was no longer an Obscurial until a meeting with Voldemort ripped open old wounds. Turns out, he thought wrong, and the Obscurus's power has only grown with his.
Ruby finally embraces her Seer abilities and T. M. Riddle finds himself nearing the conclusion of a journey that begun more than fifty years ago. Hogwarts becomes more dangerous than ever as dark forces threaten to penetrate it once again. Meanwhile, Lily Evans may have one last card to play from the afterlife...
Lord Voldemort makes a last push to defeat his old teacher and decide the fate of the wizarding world. Both the Order and the Death Eaters prepare themselves for the incoming chaos, but beware… not everyone can be trusted; regardless of what side you're on.
"ʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏᴛᴘʀɪɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ, ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰʀᴇꜱʜᴄᴜᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ."
― ꜱᴏᴘʜᴏᴄʟᴇꜱ, ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀᴀ
Chapter One: Seven for a Secret Never to Be Told
"Why did Dumbledore insist on us bringing him here?" hissed Minerva McGonagall, as they moved down the narrow, dusty hallway.
T.M. Riddle would comment, but he was used to these types of aspersions by now. He kept his mouth shut; even when Severus Snape offered his opinion:
"It is beyond me, Minerva… then again, us mere mortals should not deign to question his reasoning."
There was a very pinched expression on Snape's face. Tee did not feel comfortable either. He had been to the cottage at Godric's Hollow once before, and he could not say it had been a pleasant experience.
Being July, it wasn't cold like last time, even with the warm breeze blowing in through the ruined roof and making all of the curtains flutter, but something chilly seemed to cling to the walls of the house. A yawning emptiness. A silent scream.
Nonetheless, here they were, tomb-raiding.
Just then, Minerva came to a stop in what used to be the living-room, with a crumbling blue sofa, a small bookshelf, and a fireplace full of ashes. A vase on the coffee table held a few flowers, dried stiff and brown.
"I can't help but think about it sometimes," said Minerva. Tee could not see her face, but her voice shook. "How unfair it all was."
Snape's face twisted, but the expression was gone as quickly as it came. Guilt, perhaps? But why? Minerva turned around to face both of them, seeming to compose herself, though she shuddered a little. Her eyes lingered on Tee with an accusing look.
"Well, we ought to look for what we came for; if it is even here. She might have destroyed them. It's more likely than not."
"She wouldn't," said Snape, sounding very confident.
Why does he think he knows what this Lily Evans would do?
It didn't seem to disturb Minerva, however; or perhaps she wasn't paying attention. Minerva and Snape started strolling around the room with a sort of careful reverence, peering in crevasses and behind furniture without touching anything, as if they couldn't bring themselves to disturb anything in the cottage. Tee had no such qualms, moving towards the stairs and swiping dust off the bannister.
"One of us should keep an eye on him," Minerva muttered, and Tee felt a hot spike of resentment.
What, the Unbreakable Vow's not enough for her?
Another set of feet on the stairs told him that one of them had in fact decided to be his babysitter. Tee tried to pay it no mind, but he couldn't help the simmering resentment.
You think I want to betray you.
Don't you?
Who was Ruby Potter to look at him with her wide, red-rimmed Seer's eyes, her forehead furrowed in accusing lines? Who was she to act high and mighty? He might have blood on his hands, but so did she. He was loath to admit it — in fact, perish the thought — but Albus Dumbledore seemed to be his most steadfast supporter at the moment.
Tee went past the ruined nursery, in which he and Ruby had first met Sirius Black more than two years ago (now that was a strange thing to consider, the nature of time and fleetingness of existence), which seemed to surprise his pursuer, and continued on to the comparatively undamaged bedroom. The door whined on its hinges when he eased it open, stepping inside. The roof and ceiling here were mostly intact, though some water damage, leaves, and other debris had floated down from a crumbling section closest to the nursery.
No use standing here and taking in the scenery. Tee went over to the bedside table and pulled out a drawer, and then looked up to see Minerva by the still-open door, glowering at his hand still wrapped around the pull. He jumped.
"I thought you were Professor Snape."
"You know you don't have to call him 'Professor,' stop attempting to ingratiate yourself." Minerva's eyes flashed.
Tee shrugged it off, staring down at the contents of the drawer. Dust, an old paperback, and a glasses case. On top of it were a few pictures covered in films of dust. He picked one up and rubbed his sleeve across it; there were a few figures moving within it, a man in dress robes who looked like Harry, and a red-headed woman wearing a white dress in the foreground. She was the only one looking directly into the camera, seeming to stare right back at him. A wedding. He recognised some of the other figures, too — a much-younger Sirius throwing his head back and laughing at something the man next to him had said, the werewolf librarian, Remus Lupin, before any of his grey hairs. Between them stood Peter Pettigrew, jovial and pink-cheeked, the picture of innocence. Placing it back on the bedside table, he picked up another picture frame. This one was just of a baby, extending a pudgy hand towards the person behind the camera. He couldn't tell whether it was Ruby or Harry—
"Now, just wait a minute before you start touching everything," said Minerva, drawing her wand. "Revelio."
Something made a soft, thumping sound, and they both turned towards it.
"The rug," said Tee. It looked like it had once been cream-white, but it was stained grey with dust, brown with debris, and the fibres were all matted together. With a flick of Minerva's wand, the rug rolled itself up, sending up a plume of dust. At first, he did not see it in the cloud that lingered, but there was a plank of wood still shuddering under the remnants of Minerva's Revealing Charm.
A bit cliché, thought Tee, as he pulled the loose plank aside, and held his lit wand to the dark space beneath.
"Careful," murmured Minerva, standing on the opposite side. "It may be cursed."
It was too late for a warning, because Tee's fingers had already brushed the damp stack of papers, tied together hastily with a length of twine, and he heaved them up and onto the floor. He reached down into the hidden space, patting the sawdust-covered bottom until he found the cold, hard ridges of a spiral-bound notebook.
"So Severus was right," said Minerva. She knelt down to pick up the notebook gingerly, turning it to the first page. Tee peered at it; the page was covered from top to bottom in a neat, but very loopy script. "Lily didn't destroy her notes."
"She didn't hide them very well, either." Tee replaced the plank, finding nothing else inside. "Maybe this isn't all of it."
Minerva was smoothing her hand over the surface of the notebook. "Perhaps she wanted these to be found. Besides…"
To Tee's surprise, she opened the notebook and turned it towards him. He squinted, but even in the bright afternoon light, could not make out a single word. Not English, not Ogham, not Elder nor Younger Futhark, not Latin nor Arabic nor Greek, not even Sanskrit nor Mandarin. Half of him wanted to venture back into the nursery to compare the lettering with the runes under the crib.
He admitted defeat. "What is it?"
"I don't know," said Minerva, closing the notebook. She pressed her lips together. "Some kind of cipher, perhaps. Sirius or Remus may know what it is."
Could that really be everything that had thwarted Voldemort that Halloween night? A few scraps of paper and the contents of a dusty old notebook — cipher or no cipher? Tee didn't know whether to feel awed or insulted.
He drew himself up to his full height. "Well, if you've decided that's everything—"
"I have."
"Then we can go."
Tee, after all, had no desire to linger in this crumbling house, this sepulchre with the dust of death and despair settling on every surface like a protective layer. He had already learnt of the guise of Death who smelt of dust, and he despised it.
They went back down the stairs in silence. To Tee's surprise, Snape was still standing in more or less the same spot they'd left him in, his usual surly demeanour nowhere to be seen. He set the ornament he had been holding back on the shelf, and turned his head away when he saw them approaching.
"We've found the notes — are you alright, Severus?" asked Minerva, hurrying towards him. Tee lingered on the stairs. Comforting others had never been a strong suit of his.
"Just— just a moment," said Snape, still with his black-cloaked back to them, his voice unusually choked.
Tee turned his attention to the ornament; something crudely made out of papier-mâché and an indeterminate shape. Funny, the things people leave behind, he thought. Obviously it was something that must have mattered, but now whatever the reason behind it was, it had been forgotten for fifteen years. Death was, after all, the end of meaning.
Breakfast at 12 Grimmauld Place was always an odd and uncomfortable affair. Despite their attempts to make it less so, the dining room was always too vast and cold, and though the kitchen was a shade homelier, it had the unfortunate drawback of having no windows and giving the sense of being in a cave.
Today, they had braved the dining room, with a spread of Sirius's very questionable, but improving scrambled eggs, toast, and strawberry jam that Harry had found in the back of a cupboard but thought might be starting to spoil. All topped off, of course, with a depressing-as-usual issue of the Daily Prophet, which Sirius had just disappeared behind. The front page, in big black letters, read MUGGLE-BORN HEARINGS CONTINUE and UMBRIDGE TO TALK AT ICW CONFERENCE TUESDAY.
Ruby gingerly tasted the jam, and, thinking better of it, set it aside, then sighed deeply. Harry knew the feeling. He, too, felt anxious waiting for O.W.L. results, if only for it to be something to focus his rumination on other than… that.
He surely couldn't have done well after coming back to Hogwarts not being quite sure if he was dead or alive, everything numb, surely he had gotten Emeric the Evil and Egbert the Egregious mixed up. Practicals hadn't been horrifying bad, as far as he could tell.
And Bill was still in a coma. Ron's letters were infrequent and terse, and Harry couldn't tell if Ron was angry at him, and he probably deserved it. Bill wouldn't have gotten dragged out to Malfoy Manor if not for—
"Owls!" said Ruby.
"Yeah, I know—"
"Owls, Harry, owls!"
Harry looked up. Two graceful tawny owls, which he did not recognise, had landed on the table, tucking their wings into their sides and eying him suspiciously. Sirius emerged over the top of the Prophet, but did not speak. The owl closest to Harry lifted its leg to reveal a flat brown envelope with his name written across the middle.
This was it. No going back. He reached out to untie the envelope, and his fingers were unusually clumsy. The minute it was free, the owl took off.
"I can't open it," said Ruby. She must have gotten her envelope free before him, and she had thrust it under his nose.
Harry felt much the same. "Here — swap."
It was much easier to open someone else's exam results, but that did nothing to dispel the pit in Harry's stomach as he watched Ruby open his. Harry slit the envelope open; there was only a thin sheet of letter-folded parchment inside.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius lower the Prophet a little more.
Ruby Beatrice Potter has achieved:
Astronomy A
Ancient Runes E
Care of Magical Creatures E
Charms E
Defence Against the Dark Arts E
Divination O
Herbology E
History of Magic A
Potions O
Transfiguration E
"Well, you didn't fail anything, except Divination, and you probably don't care about that," said Ruby, glancing up from his paper, "and you got an O in Defence!"
"What about Potions?" asked Harry, the last twinge of hope dying in his chest. Ruby's eyes moved down the piece of parchment once again, and Harry knew it must be all over.
"Oh, you've got an O in that, too," she said, as if she were mentioning the weather. Unable to help himself, Harry leaned over and snatched the parchment out of her hand, eliciting a yell of surprise. He just had to be sure for himself.
Smoothing out the parchment on the table, he read it over again and again, his breathing easier, the pit in his stomach melting away. There it was, unmistakable, that inky, slightly-smeary "O."
It had all been worth it, then, all his days hidden in the second-floor bathroom brewing potions with only Myrtle for company as the Obscurus ate through his magic, all the sneers and jibes as Snape bent over his shoulder to peer into his cauldron. Harry almost couldn't wait for September, to waltz into N.E.W.T. Potions and sit down in the first row, right in front of Snape, and see the expression on his face.
He felt his mouth stretch in a giddy smile, for the first time in a long while.
"Not so bad then, was it?" Sirius finally lowered the Prophet all the way, folding it and putting it to the side. The article he'd been reading said that someone called Igor Karkaroff had been found dead.
Just then, there was a ring at the doorbell. Sirius muttered something about getting it, stood, and Vanished the plates before hurrying out of the room.
Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, made a dignified descent from one of the tall windows, releasing a small bundle onto the table before swooping over to Harry to nibble his fingers, opening her beak wide in an impressive yawn and shaking herself and tucking her head into her wings.
"What's that?" he asked, as Ruby tore open one of the envelopes.
"Just some letters from Parvati and Lavender."
"Anthony doesn't write anymore?"
Her frown answered that question. Against his better nature, Harry found himself wondering when she was going to get over it. Anthony and Daphne had been practically attached at the hip since February, after all.
Then again, he'd been much the same over Cho and Cedric dating, or whatever they were doing. They weren't doing a very good impression of having broken up. Well, Cedric had graduated now, which meant Harry was probably never going to see him again — and he didn't know quite how to feel about that. It might have been a less unsettling thought if he didn't suspect that Cho only spoke to him because Cedric did.
"See you around, Harry."
"Yeah. See you around."
He probably should have said something more eloquent, seeing as he did not, in fact, see Cedric around after that. Glimpses in the Great Hall and in the hallways, yes, but they hadn't spoken since then.
Not that it mattered. The Obscurus was back, and more powerful than ever. Voldemort had stripped away his mother's protection. He probably didn't have very much time for any of this stuff. The dreaded clock was ticking once again.
"So what's going on?" he asked, because he could not stand to be in his own thoughts a second longer.
Ruby did not look up from her letter. "Lavender's written a full paragraph on Binky's untimely death — that's her rabbit. Parvati said security's gotten really tight in Diagon Alley."
Somehow, Harry doubted those were the most interesting things about the letters, but really, it wasn't his business. He wandered away from the table and up towards the drawing-room, from which voices issued. Pausing, Harry pressed his ear against the door. He had learnt it was best not to announce his presence if he was going to figure out what was going on with the Order.
"—I thought you might recognise it," someone was saying, and a second later, Harry realised it was Professor McGonagall.
What's she doing here?
The sound of turning pages followed.
"No," said Sirius. "I've never seen anything like it. Maybe Remus might—"
"I have."
Harry jumped, and then forced himself to stay still as possible, holding his breath. Hopefully, they hadn't heard. Even though he knew Snape was a member of the Order, it was hard to fully wrap his head around it.
"You've seen a cipher like this?" asked McGonagall. Harry imagined she was turning to Snape, her robes rustling around her. "Where?"
Snape hesitated before he spoke, his voice unusually heavy. "We… we used to come up with the hardest ciphers we could think of and challenge the other to decode them."
Sirius let out a short laugh. "The tolerance Lily had for your greasy presence, Snivellus, I will never understand."
"I wouldn't expect you to, Black." Harry could hear the sneer in Snape's voice. "As it happens, I do not have time for your childish insults."
This again. The library book. Then this.
Were Snape and Mum… friends?
Harry stared into the gloom of the hallway as he considered this, the conversation dimming to a low hum. He felt himself inclined to agree with Sirius. Why would Lily want to be friends with someone so horrible?
"—then surely you can decode it?' It was McGonagall again.
"I have some of my old keys," said Snape. "But I believe this is one I have not seen before."
"Of course not." Sirius snorted. "I doubt you'll be able to figure it out."
"Well, I'll just leave it with Severus for the time being," said McGonagall, standing up. Harry moved away from the door.
"Can't we make a copy?"
"I do not think that is wise."
All of a sudden, the door creaked open and Harry backed away, but didn't manage to go very far before McGonagall caught sight of him.
"Good morning, Potter." So she was choosing to ignore the fact he'd been eavesdropping.
"Good morning, Professor."
She smiled faintly. "I expect you've received your O.W.L. results by now. I thought you did very well, especially considering…"
Considering the shadow in his veins — in his chest — in his head — wherever it lived when it was dormant.
Harry settled on just stating the facts as they went down the hallway. "Yes, we've just gotten them."
The portrait of Walburga Black screamed at them as they went past, but muffled by a new set of enchanted velvet curtains courtesy of Andromeda, thankfully none of her words could be made out.
"Well, I expect to see you in my N.E.W.T. class this year." McGonagall paused on the threshold, regarding him sternly. Harry had the fleeting thought of asking her about the whole discussion, the 'cipher' and—
"Were my mum and Snape really friends?"
He was as surprised as McGonagall, who looked very taken aback, that he'd spoken aloud.
"Yes," she said after a long moment of hesitation. "They were. But it is not me whom you ought to ask."
"Snape wouldn't talk to me about something like that."
"That's your Professor Snape, Potter," said McGonagall, but there was a hint of levity in her voice as she turned towards the door. "And give my regards to your sister."
The snow-white marble edifice of Gringotts Wizarding Bank loomed large and stark over Diagon Alley. The stream of shoppers was orderly and quiet. Groups kept to themselves. No one talked. Several shopfronts had been boarded up.
A cloaked witch made her way up the stairs, face shrouded, eyes fixed on the towering bronze doors. She merely paused as the two guards waved Probity Probes in her direction, not even acknowledging their presence. It would not do to attract undue attention. After all, she was not here to steal. It was her own property. He had given it to her.
The vast marble hall echoed all around her as she looked around, trying to locate the correct goblin. How she hated having to deal with these… creatures. Still, it was a necessary evil. Having identified the correct clerk, she stepped forward and said, without preamble:
"I wish to enter my vault."
The goblin looked up; under duress, she pulled back the hood of her cloak a little, and his eyes widened in recognition.
"Yes, I see, Madam. I see. One moment, please. May I have your key?"
She placed it on the countertop, and glanced around her. The hall was flooded with patrons, all consumed with their own errands, but Bellatrix knew that at some point she would start drawing stares, disguise or no disguise. She had never mastered the act of disappearing in a crowd, and nor had she tried.
"Can you not hurry?" she hissed.
"Your cart is prepared already, Madam," said the goblin, bowing as he hopped down from his seat. "If you'll follow me right this way."
He scurried towards one of the many doors at the end of the hall, and Bellatrix strode after him. This venture might perhaps be foolish; and if Rodolphus had not been consumed with mourning Rabastan he would have nagged her for risking exposure. But the Dark Lord had not given her a satisfactory (or any, really) explanation about the boy, and now certain other things must be questioned.
She considered this as she stepped into the waiting cart, making sure none of her cloak was hanging out. As the dark passages zoomed past her, her thoughts turned to the past.
"It is of great importance to me."
She had held it in her hands, turning it over and over. It was a clever thing, wrought out of soft, untarnished gold, with a badger engraved on the side. Hufflepuff's symbol? It seemed an odd heirloom for the Dark Lord. No one knew quite where he came from, but he had said several times in passing that he had been a Slytherin. The name Voldemort was a pseudonym; but he never confirmed or denied it, or explained what he was fleeing from by living under a false identity.
Still, Bellatrix knew by now not to ask such probing questions. Better to accept it as what it was; a token of trust from the Dark Lord, recognition of her loyalty. Only she would be bestowed with such a thing — whatever power it held, sentimental or magical.
"I am deeply honoured, My Lord."
He had given her a rare smile, and that was the far greater gift.
The sight of the dragon who guarded the Lestrange vault snapped Bellatrix out of her thoughts. The goblin had gotten out with a pair of Clankers, driving the beast away. How rude, she thought as she stepped out of the cart. He did not offer to help me down.
Storing the mysterious cup in her family vault had seemed the obvious choice. After all, breaking into Gringotts was a feat that only the Dark Lord could have pulled off successfully.
What are the Dark Lord's secrets? This child — could it be his? Bellatrix counted. If the boy was nineteen — that meant he had to have been born years before that ill-fated night at Godric's Hollow — before Regulus's disappearance, even. The Dark Lord had always been secretive in nature; that, after all, was part of his charm, but now she feared the truth was treacherous.
A Parselmouth. A Legilimens — and a powerful one at that.
"You spoke as the Dark Lord does. But My Lord would never have anything to do with someone like you. Some filthy no-one—"
"—bastard boy, dirty orphan, filthy half-blood, Muggle foundling."
Some bastard offspring of the Dark Lord? Bellatrix shuddered at the thought. Was he as duplicitous as Andromeda? Was it possible? Or could it be something worse? Was there something worse? Was she truly not his best lieutenant, his second-in-command, his right hand, his most trusted servant?
Setting these disturbing thoughts aside, she walked past the goblin and through the cavernous opening of her vault with her head held high. One would be forgiven for mistaking the Lestrange vault for a dragon's hoard, with how it sparkled from floor to ceiling with gold and silver; coins, jewellery, armour, goblets, crowns, along with everything and anything else that could be wrought out of precious metals and gems. But Bellatrix, used to the sight of exorbitant wealth, only had eyes for one thing: the golden cup, little more than a bauble amongst all the priceless treasure.
With a wave of her wand, it floated down into her outstretched hands, slightly warm to the touch from the heat in the vault, but very much ordinary. Bellatrix turned it over in her hands, inspecting it; the slim, delicate handles, the finely-wrought badger. There was always the possibility it was utterly useless.
Nevertheless, she concealed it in a pouch hidden under her cloak, and left the vault. After all, Bellatrix was convinced that there was more to the Dark Lord than there first appeared, and now more than ever.
The goblin swept a low bow, his beard dragging along the floor.
"Is that all Madam Lestrange requires? Would Madam like to review her accounts, particularly those concerning inheritance? I hear Master Rabastan has passed on, Gringotts expresses their—"
"Enough," snapped Bellatrix. "Do you have to pay you more than my sister already is to hold your tongue?"
The goblin trembled, and to her relief, did not speak again for the entirety of the return trip. Once safely out of Gringotts, she turned on her heel and disappeared from the cobblestones with a quiet pop.
No one seemed to notice her return. Just as well. Bellatrix deposited her cloak into the arms of a waiting house-elf and strode into the sitting-room, where, to her displeasure, Lucius and Wormtail were situated. With the destruction of Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord had moved his headquarters to the Lestranges' home (which pleased Bellatrix), along with everyone who had been guests of the Malfoys (which displeased Bellatrix).
"Did you enjoy your afternoon stroll?" Lucius drawled.
Despite her desire to reply with an indictment of her brother-in-law's various flaws, she resisted. "Where is Cissy?"
"Mother's still at the Ministry."
Draco's pale head appeared over the top of the divan. Bellatrix had never taken a liking to Narcissa's precious son — not least because he seemed to be turning out more Malfoy than Black in both appearance and behaviour, and Bellatrix had never had much of a maternal instinct anyway. However, the Dark Lord seemed very pleased with his performance last year, so perhaps not all was lost for the legacy of the House of Black.
"Second fiddle again, Lucius?" Bellatrix seated herself on the divan; Draco quickly sat up straight (so those three years at Durmstrang hadn't been a complete waste). "While your wife executes Section Two to exquisite results, you are chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors and you still cannot implement a single provision of Section One."
Anger flashed across Lucius's face, as he struggled to think of a retort. Wormtail fidgeted.
"Dumbledore is interfering," he said through clenched teeth. "The other members are too afraid to vote against him."
"It is the Dark Lord whom they should fear!"
"Surely, Bella, I do not need to inform you of the importance of soft power."
He thought her a rash fool, did he? He thought to lecture her? He thought himself clever because he had lied and scraped and slunk and betrayed the Dark Lord to secure his freedom. He was little better than Wormtail in that regard. At least Wormtail had the excuse of being naturally pathetic.
"If you had power of any kind, you would have managed to sway the board by now," said Bellatrix, studying her nails. "If you are not careful, you will find yourself swiftly replaced by Thaddeus Nott."
"I think not," said Lucius, his upper lip curling. "Nott has to put his son in increasingly dangerous situations to even be noticed by the Dark Lord. I assure you, I am quite safe."
All through their spat, Draco's eyes had been getting wider and wider. But he didn't manage to pluck up the courage to say something, and nor did Wormtail. Just as well. Sometimes holding your tongue was the wiser decision. The goblin from Gringotts would have done well to remember that.
The biggest issue, Bellatrix reflected, was the fact that the Order of the Phoenix (and Baby Potter and his friends) were all corroborating witnesses to the fact that Lucius and Narcissa were part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. That, put simply, wouldn't be good for business if it got out. Loathsome as he was, Lucius's good name did count for something. Most of the populace hadn't come around yet to the inevitable conclusion that what the Dark Lord wanted, was in fact the best solution and how things were always meant to be. Look at Norway, for instance, they were on the right track with barring Mudbloods from Durmstrang Institute. It was a sensible thing to do. Mudbloods were ruining their way of life here, disturbing the normal state of affairs in the wizarding world.
There was nothing more to say on the matter. She stood and left the room, making her way upstairs. Thankfully, Bartemius was nowhere to be seen; he was always maddeningly underfoot and desperately clingy, a trait she found even more irritating in her own home. Rodolphus was probably moping somewhere in a corner, or perhaps in 'their' room, which Bellatrix spent very little time in. She preferred to spend her time in the west-facing room opposite the master bedroom. It faced the sunset, which she'd never had the pleasure of viewing from her cell in Azkaban. It still felt like a true marvel to behold.
Shutting the door behind her, she removed the comb holding up her long hair and strolled to the window. Sunset spread its ruddy colours all over the forest around them.
I am delaying the inevitable, she thought, and retrieved the cup from its pouch. Holding it up to the golden rays, it seemed even more finely-wrought, but no less ordinary. What secrets do you hold? Bellatrix placed the cup on the vanity, then stepped back, studying it.
It remained inert to a laundry list of revealing spells, aside from ordinary charms to keep it polished and make it impervious to denting and other damage. Closer inspection revealed a set of runes in Younger Futhark engraved around the inside rim. She supposed those were Hufflepuff's doing. There was no hint of what could make it so precious to the Dark Lord. That meant it must be sentimental… but why? How had it come into his possession? An heirloom, perhaps.
Perhaps she'd rest and think about it later. She was too tired to sit down and apply herself to translating the runes. And besides, it brought her no closer to solving her questions about the boy.
Bellatrix sat down heavily, the bed dipping under her. Why did the Dark Lord insist on such mystery? Why didn't he trust her? Why had he spoken to the boy as if they knew each other intimately? The only thing that stilled her curiosity, that stopped her from going into the study where he spent most hours of the day, and asking him directly, was the anticipation of his rage.
She considered the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rage was an old friend… yet there was no reason for him to speak to her so sharply, and in front of Dumbledore. Yet, the Dark Lord was not one to apologise; it was not in his nature, and neither was explaining. Disturbing him was an endeavour that would bear no fruit.
A thought came to her. Bellatrix sat up. In the dimming light, the cup seemed, paradoxically, to shine brighter. It was very beautiful. She could see why the Dark Lord appreciated it so much. Running her finger around the cool rim, Bellatrix flicked her wand, which issued a steady stream of crystal-clear water. She bent down, not to drink, but to see if there was any magical property to the cup once it was filled, and drew back with a start.
It was not her own reflection that met her, but another altogether. A young man gazed up out of the water, dark-eyed and pale, a strange amalgamation of the boy and the Dark Lord, and he smiled—
Bellatrix dashed it all to the floor. The cup hit the ground with a loud clatter, rolling next to her feet, and the hem of her robes dragged in the pool of water. She steadied herself against the vanity, breathing hard. It could not. It could not be.
I have seen your heart, a familiar voice whispered, high and cold, and it is mine.
A/N:
The multiverse of Tom returns! (Or the Horcruxverse? I'm still workshopping it)
Also! Middle name reveal (years later). I actually changed Ruby's middle name several times, which is why I never mentioned it. It went from Euphemia to Elizabeth (for a very long time) to Beatrice which on second thought is because I'm thinking of Beatrix Potter (the Peter Rabbit author) but I think I'm okay with that being an (un)intentional reference.