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She found a few herbology plants. Nothing worth making anything with, but she returned them to the cottage, replanting a few of them to see if she could grow more (she couldn’t, they died within a few days). |
Bellatrix was bored. Painfully bored. And bored meant that she went out to the woods and took out her boredom on the trees. |
She’d only been at the cottage for six nights when Dumbledore visited her. He arrived, unexpectedly when she’d been in the middle of eating half burnt oats. |
She hadn’t quite worked out how to removed the wholly burnt parts from the pot...yet. |
"I see you’re growing used to household charms," Dumbledore noted as he looked over the smeared mud floors, the pots with spilled dirt and the sink filled with half cleaned dishes. There was a broken dish from the spell going too hard in cleaning, a few had ended up breaking before she’d attempted to repair them, but had given up in trying to clean them after failing to meet the right balance in the spell. |
"If household work is where my magic grows short, I can’t say that I’m disappointed," Bellatrix said, though apart of her was annoyed that she couldn’t get it right. |
"You appear to be...frustrated. Is this because of the charms?" |
"I’m bored," Bellatrix snapped. "I am barely a week into this Summer break and I’m bored. The villagers are boring. Most of them won’t talk to me because I’m a stranger. The others seem to be recluses who prefer their own company. I had one try to hex me for walking on his property as if I could fucking tell where the line was." |
"Ah, yes, Mr Petersham. He’s become more agitated in his senior years. I fear the children enjoy teasing him." |
"I was hardly teasing. I was looking for..." she sighed, folding her arms. "If you’ve come to ensure that I haven’t done some "dark magic’, you can leave. I haven’t so much as hexed anyone." |
"I’m aware, Miss Black. My intention is not to accuse you of any such thing. Merely to check on your wellbeing." |
"I have no purpose, as I’m sure you’re aware. There are no surfacing memories, only a sense that I am lacking...." |
"The very purpose you seek," Dumbledore said, echoing her own word choice. "Yes, I see. Perhaps it was a mistake to have you here by yourself." |
Bellatrix grew tense. "Then what? I’m to come with you, or some new jailer?" |
"You are not imprisoned, my dear. Believe me. As I informed you at St Mungo’s, there are many crimes you’ve committed that would have you returned to Azkaban. But––" |
"But I didn’t do them," Bellatrix said, her voice turning into a snarl. "You keep referring to me as that person. As if they’re my sins. But the reflection I see isn’t some middle-aged witch. For all you know, I could have been plucked from the timestream and I truly have not committed those transgressions." |
Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed at the word "transgression’. Looking as if he wanted to say something before his expression returned to a muted, blank stare. "You believe yourself to be innocent." |
"I don’t remember them. There is no guilt, no remorse, nothing that’s there beneath the surface that would lead me to believe that I’ve done anything so cruel as to what you insinuate." |
There, Dumbledore’s brows rose. "Do you believe you’re capable of remorse? Of feeling guilt?" |
Bellatrix paused, mulling the question over. |
"You won’t curse me, will you?" Hermione asked. |
Bella remembered that look, that certainty from the witch in the Department of Mysteries and how a part of herself had wavered. She could have cursed her. She was more than capable of cursing her. And yet, had she cursed her, Bellatrix knew that she would have felt...regret. |
Looking to Dumbledore, Bellatrix stood taller, arms crossed. "I am. So if you want a monster, you’ll have to look elsewhere." |
"I believe she was cruel to you," Hermione had told her. |
Bellatrix had, the last few days, watched how Hermione interacted with her parents. There was an anxiety there from the other witch. A need to ensure her parents’ happiness, but neither of the parents were cold. They had been warm, friendly. Even to Bellatrix. |
Bellatrix had stayed awake that night, digging into her mind to see if she could pull some memory. As she closed her eyes tightly, trying to dig for something, the most she found was...anger. |
Yes. She believed her parents were cruel. They were not kind and warm like the Grangers. They likely never so much as hugged or kissed her. She wasn’t even sure if her own parents had fed her the way the Grangers did. |
There was a strange anxiety to food at the dinner table. As if someone might snap at her if she was reaching for more than had been offered. |
It was a feeling she ignored, but a feeling that persisted nonetheless. |
Yes. She was raised on cruelty. |
So, was that why Hermione’s kindness felt so...comforting? |
"You said we were friends." |
"We are, aren’t we?" |
Bellatrix had mulled over those words for days. Sometimes she would cast a look over to Hermione, catching her chewing on the end of a quill as she went over her notes for her school books. And then, the witch would look up, catching her eye and smile. |
There was a knot in Bellatrix’s chest that felt as though it was loosening and tightening, over and over again. |
Hermione’s smile, her touch would loosen it, and then a strange feeling would overcome her. Whispering that build up in her skull, over and over she could feel a pressure building. |
But they quietened whenever she looked at Hermione. |
They were friends....weren’t they? |
Hogwarts had been exactly as Bellatrix expected. There were the students who bustled their way to the carriages. The first years going towards one of the teachers. Even the school looked as she’d expected. |
As Hermione lead the first years away, Bellatrix looked up at the castle and tried to sift through her thoughts. |
Was she remembering Hogwarts? Was some echo of the memory there, firing between synapses? Or was it something else. |
A snort caught her attention and Bellatrix looked to where a threstral stood near her. |
Well...that was interesting. |
If she could see them, then some part of her was aware of witnessing death. |
A crackle built at her fingertips. It would be easy to misconstrue it as static electricity, but the loud, piercing hum tinnitus in her ears told her otherwise. She could feel the whispers building into a roar as a chill spread through her, as if ice was forming in the marrow of her bones. |
Bellatrix turned away, looking to where Hermione was and felt herself thaw. |
It was something to worry about later. |
When they sat for the sorting, Bellatrix felt the prickle of eyes on her. She looked up, to where Dumbledore stood. He’d offered a small glance and Bellatrix found herself frowning. Even from his seated position, Bellatrix could see that there was something wrong with one of his arms. She couldn’t quite see what it was, but there was something off about it. |
Still, whatever that was, it didn’t explain the strange feeling that someone was watching her. Her eyes moved across the staff table to... |
A man stood, with dark hair and a sullen look as their eyes met. |
The cacophony of students piling into the Great Hall only grew as Bellatrix found herself staring at the wizard. He seemed...familiar. |
She felt like a cat with her hackles raised, staring him. As if he might try and take something of hers. |
Bellatrix looked to Hermione, and then back to the man, but he’d turned away. Whoever he was...she didn’t like him. |
Through dinner, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Finally, she relented and turned to Hermione, asking, "Who’s that wizard?" |
Hermione turned, looking across the staff table to where she gestured and then frowned. "Professor Snape. He teaches potions," she informed her. |
Bellatrix frowned. He looked more like a professor who would teach the Dark Arts. |
There were few other teachers that caught her attention. Only one other, who also strangely felt familiar had Bellatrix’s interest. Not in the same way that Snape had. Just a neutral feeling as though she’d seen his face before. |
It was only after the feast that it was revealed that the mystery person was Professor Horace Slughorn (again, the name felt familiar) who would be teaching potions, and that Snape would be teaching DADA. Something that apparently horrified Hermione’s friend, Harry Potter. |
The first Defence Against the Dark Arts class she had was in a cool, dark classroom. Different to how Ancient Runes had been. |
There, Bellatrix studied the pictures of the wall. There were people in agony, crying out, neatly titled with the different curses that inflicted them. They looked wrong though. Like someone was just acting on a stylistic choice from words they read on the page, rather than experiencing the curses. |
The crucio was just a person convulsing, crying out. But there was a focus in the eyes, like the person was staring at their torturer. A person suffering crucio did not have enough awareness outside of the pain to focus on anyone or anything. |
When Snape entered the room, Bellatrix’s eyes didn’t draw away from the image. There was a strange...loud noise growing in her ears again as the room grew cold. This time, she could make some of the words in the voices. |
Please, My Lord. Make her stop! |
There was a feeling of something tickling. Like someone was trying to ease through her thoughts. Her eyes flicked away from the image, and the silence of the room hit her as she met his eyes. |
The feeling retreated. |
"Or feel the Dementor's Kiss..." he continued speaking, though Bellatrix hadn’t been listening to what he’d said before. |
The first time she had a meeting with Dumbledore since Summer, was when he pulled her out of Care of Magical Creatures. A student arrived halfway through their class, requesting to provide her a note and Hagrid remarked––with a strange jovial enthusiasm she’d learned was his natured––that it must be to ensure she was settling in alright. |
When she took a seat before his desk, she watched as he sat tall, his expression weighted. |
"I apologise for dragging you out of class, I know how important your studies are, but I will unfortunately be away this evening and wanted to see how your Summer faired." |
Bellatrix watched as the man stared at him. She doubted that he wasn’t already aware of her Summer. |
She weighed her options in feigning ignorance and then decided that no, it would serve nothing. She’d already drawn her conclusions. |
"Snape spoke to you," she said. |
Dumbledore’s expression only shifted minutely with a slight brow raise. "Why would Professor Snape speak to me?" |
Bellatrix scoffed, folding her arms. So it was to be like that. "I can feel when either of you try to get into my head." |
That did raise the old wizard’s eyebrows. "I admit I’m surprised. While it’s clear that many of your talents continued, I did not expect your skills with occlumency to remain so strong following the incident at the Department." |
"Must be muscle memory," Bellatrix responded, dryly. "So...who is he to me?" |
"With whom are you referring to?" |
"Snape. He’s someone from the other Bellatrix’s past, isn’t he?" |
There, Dumbledore pulled back, wincing as he moved his damaged arm. Bellatrix eyed the malformation and then glanced away. Someone had set him a nasty curse. Something with the intent to kill... |
"He once worked for the same person the other you did." |
Bellatrix frowned at the term "you’. Ignoring that, she found herself piecing together what Dumbledore omitted. He once worked. He wasn’t anymore? Clearly, Dumbledore trusted him enough to divulge who she was to him. |
Snape was clearly a master of Dark Arts, and she’d witnessed his duelling in the class. There was a sadism there...based on insecurity perhaps. A need to inflict power against people more helpless than himself. |
So why did it feel like he would take something from her? |
"We were rivals when we worked for Voldemort," she said, coming to the conclusion. |
"Yes, I believe you were. Professor Snape believed the old you to be jealous––and certainly you were likely to fall into fits of jealousy––but I wonder if, even in your madness, you were more perceptive than others. Or if you were merely blinded by your prejudice to his blood status." |
Bellatrix weighed his words in his mind, and decided that she was uncertain. She didn’t remember. |
"I believe we’ve digressed enough," Dumbledore said. "You are correct in that Professor Snape attempted to read your mind in class. Was there anything you wished to divulge yourself?" |
"I’m remembering," Bellatrix said. "Not...actual memories. But...there’s something there. I remember..." |
"Hearing people scream." |
Dumbledore paused for a moment and then asked, "Have you been having any dreams?" |
"No. It feels as though..." she closed her eyes, trying to recall the cold, chilled feeling that seeped over her. "As if dementors are nearby." |
"I see. With your permission, I could––" |
"No," Bellatrix said, firm. "I am being truthful, but I will not have you go into my mind. If you won’t accept my truth, then we need to revaluate the point of me being here and not in Azkaban." |
He paused, before nodding. "I understand. Perhaps it’s best if we set aside some time in the coming year to check in." |
"I don’t want Hermione knowing," Bellatrix said. "She trusts your opinion, if she suspects something is going wrong, then our dynamic will change and whatever hope you have of my second chance will be shattered. I want this to be private." |
He gave a small, surprised nod. "As you wish." |
In later meetings with Dumbledore, Snape was present. |
Quidditch had helped to calm the growing cacophony. There was a freedom in those moments where her attention was spread between tactics and the sheer enjoyment of smacking a bludger into a target––usually the opposing team, sometimes a fellow team member at practice, though there was less joy in the latter. |
But on the quiet days, when boredom grew, her mind seemed to scratch away at whatever barrier stood between her and the other woman. |
"Have you had any new memories surface?" Dumbledore asked. Behind him, Snape sneered. There was a bitter hatred in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe she wasn’t that Bellatrix. |
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