Rise From The Ashes

Chapter 3: Year Three

~The flames fill my lungs
Burning up everything I've become
It's not that I'm brave, no
It's that I've been here before
And I know I'll be okay~

“Black still at large,” she read aloud, holding the paper up to the candlelight. “Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. Black is mad. He’s a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle…” She scoffed at the mocking words. Sure, maybe (in a twist no one in their family had seen coming) her cousin–who’d always been the rebel, always denounced the lot of them–had gone insane, but the papers never failed to capitalize on an opportunity to use the word ‘mad’ in conjunction with the Black family name. Bellatrix tossed the copy of the Daily Prophet evening edition into her sister’s roaring drawing room hearth fire, the flames of which glowed steely blue momentarily like they’d received an offering, before they returned to their usual form.

“It’s a nightmare—If I have to hear one more time about our bloody cousin and his escapades—”

“Well, at least you’ll soon be tucked away at school. For Lucius and I, it’s a whole affair every time we leave the house.” Narcissa pursed her lips.

“You don’t have the surname to contend with,” Bellatrix snarled in reply. “As I’m sure your husband has already heard from the governors—it seems that between my storied reputation and relation to ‘notorious mass murderer’ Sirius Black, parents once more have cause to question my fitness to educate their children.”

“And you know nothing will come of it. Lucius may not be a governor himself anymore, but he would have heard if there was anything to the investigation.”

“Oh, and I’m sure he -thoroughly- enjoyed that investigation.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes and with a lazy flick of her wand, summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses to the coffee table between them. With another wand flick, the bottle tipped and poured their servings.

“Bella, you know I don’t touch that stuff and I really wish you wouldn’t, either.” Narcissa sniffed and conjured a bottle of aged, elf made wine that likely cost more than some of her students’ broomsticks.

“And that’s better,” Bellatrix said sarcastically, making a gallant sweeping gesture with her left hand.

“He did mention…that the ministry has deemed it appropriate to station dementors at every entrance to the school grounds this term.”

“And what of it? We had a staff meeting on the matter of increased security measures just the other day, among other preparations for the students’ return.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Narcissa smiled softly, her voice now tinged with genuine concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

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Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter.”

Before Harry could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came bustling in.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “I don’t need anything—”

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Madam Pomfrey. “I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous again?”

“It was a dementor, Poppy,” said Professor McGonagall. They exchanged a dark look, and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.

“Setting dementors around a school,” she muttered, as she pushed back Harry’s hair and felt his forehead. “He won’t be the last one who collapses. Yes, he’s all clammy. Terrible things, they are…I’ve already had to give Professor Black a tonic, poor thing nearly collapsed herself, I don’t see how—”

She stopped abruptly, catching a stern look from Professor McGonagall that clearly indicated she’d said more than she should have. Hermione looked curiously between them. Students were one thing…but Professor Black of all people, collapse in the presence of dementors?

After Harry managed to convince Madam Pomfrey he was okay and didn’t need to spend the night in the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall dismissed him to wait in the hall while she had a word with Hermione about her course load. Once they’d gone over the time turner logistics and settled on a course schedule, McGonagall vanished the paperwork and rose from her seat.

“Shall we head down to the feast, Ms. Granger?”

“Yes, but…Professor…I was wondering…about the dementors…well, obviously you saw how Harry was…and Madam Pomfrey said Professor Black almost collapsed…was there a reason it affected them like that…more than everyone else?”

Professor McGonagall frowned and her brow furrowed.

“Dementors force you to relive your very worst memories…Mr. Potter’s past contains true horrors, and while the last thing she’ll ever accept is pity, no one can deny that life has not been kind to Bellatrix Black.”

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“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “ I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…”

He cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban who are here on Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission…it is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you,” he said gravely.

“Your dad said Dumbledore’s not happy about the dementors being here this term,” Harry whispered.

Ron shrugged. “I mean, why would he? They make everyone miserable and for what? Black’s already slipped past them once, what’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“On a happier note,” Dumbledore continued, and the three of them returned their attention to the High Table. “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

‘Of course,’ thought Hermione. That was how he’d known to give Harry the chocolate on the train.

“Look at Black!” Harry said quietly. Professor Black was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that she wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.

Ron scoffed. “Thought she actually might get it this year…guess when your cousin’s a notorious escaped mass murderer, it might hurt your chances a bit. Hope Lupin’s better at defense than Lockhart at least…She looks like she’s plotting his murder!”

Hermione frowned. Where the other two saw resentment and anger, she saw something else…fear? The usually formidable and confident professor was pale and shaky, and though she was dressed in her usual impressive and extravagant black corset and robes, without a curl or bit of makeup out of place, Hermione thought her expression looked vacant.

She thought back to what Professor McGonagall had told her: “Dementors force you to relive your very worst memories…and while the last thing she’ll ever accept is pity, no one can deny that life has not been kind to Bellatrix Black.”

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“Settle down,” Bellatrix instructed idly about fifteen minutes into the Astronomy practical on Thursday afternoon. She was just finishing going over the syllabus for the year, when her nephew Draco Malfoy swaggered into the lesson like a war hero with his arm bandaged in a sling. It was his first appearance in a class since his injury in Care of Magical Creatures on Tuesday.

“We’re going to be covering constellations, astrological aspects, and star charts this term—get your gum out from under that desk, Finnegan, or you’ll be in detention for the next three months.”

She waved her wand and conjured a mini galaxy on the ceiling. “Now, we left off last year discussing the two brightest stars in the 88 modern constellations—do any of you remember which stars they are?” She raised a manicured eyebrow and tapped her heel impatiently. Naturally, Granger’s hand shot into the air within seconds of her question and, naturally, hers was the only one that did.

“Mr. Malfoy!”

Her nephew’s head snapped up from scribbling notes to his friends and he looked at her, mouth agape.

“Yes, Aunt Bel–Professor?”

“The two brightest stars are…? I know you’ve kept up with your summer reading.” She relished in pressing her spoiled nephew. He was a Black -and- a Malfoy and needed to earn his coattails rather than ride them. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other professors to coddle him. And she’d always had a soft spot for Hippogriffs.

“I don’t recall raising my hand, -Professor-.”

“Five points from Slytherin, yes Goyle, from my own house, Granger! Educate the class!”

“Castor and Pollux, Professor. They’re the two brightest stars—with Pollux being the brighter of the two, and they’re known as the great twins of the constellation Gemini.”

*************************************************************************************

The candles all went out at once and Hermione pulled her sleeping bag more tightly around her. The Great Hall was now completely dark save for the bluish-silvery light of the ghosts drifting about and the enchanted ceiling imitating the starry night sky outside. Every so often, she heard a muffled whisper and a prefect calling for quiet. The teachers took it in turns to keep watch on the hall and once every hour, a different faculty member would reappear in the hall to check in with the prefects and make a round around the room.

She couldn’t tell if she’d actually managed to fall asleep at all or just laid there with her eyes shut, trying not to obsessively mull over the events of the evening, but at some point much later, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Hermione watched him looking around for Percy, who was only a short way away from Hermione, Harry, and Ron—who she assumed were also likely pretending to be asleep and straining to listen to the conversation happening just a few feet away from them. Dumbledore and Percy were discussing the Fat Lady portrait and her unfortunate fate—and how they’d found her hiding in a map on the second floor.

“Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. He probably knew everyone would be down at the Halloween Feast…She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore her," Dumbledore was saying as the footsteps drifted even closer.

Hermione heard the Great Hall door creak open again and then the familiar click of heeled boots.

“Headmaster?” It was Professor Black. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and kept still, pretending to be asleep as convincingly as she could, all the while listening hard and hoping Black couldn’t hear how loud her thoughts were.

"Severus searched the whole of the third floor. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either. I checked the Astronomy tower, Trelawney’s room, and the Owlery. No sign of him."

“Very well, Bellatrix. I didn’t really expect him to linger.”

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Black.

“Many, Bellatrix, each of them as unlikely as the next."

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?" said Black, in barely above a whisper, though with the almost palpable intensity of something like anger. Hermione strained to listen, shifting ever so slightly to raise her ear off the sleeping bag.

“I do,” said Dumbledore with an equally intense air of finality.

"It seems -- almost impossible -- that my dear estranged cousin could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns about--"

"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Sirius Black enter it," interrupted Dumbledore even more firmly. “Now, I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."

Hermione thought she heard a sharp intake of breath from either Percy or Professor Black.

"Didn't they want to help with the search, sir?" asked the Gryffindor prefect.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster."

*************************************************************************************
"Where's Professor Lupin?" Harry asked. He’d had the misfortune of being ten minutes late for Defense Against the Dark Arts on the one day they had a substitute teacher—none other than Professor Black, who seemed so entirely in her element getting to teach her favorite subject matter that she’d even smiled at Hermione and Neville when they’d arrived to the lesson several minutes early. She still took ten points off of Harry, though (one point for every minute late) which Hermione thought was quite fair, though she knew her fellow Gryffindors would disagree.

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Professor Black with a smirk. "And I believe I told you to sit down?" She phrased it like a question, but it was clearly a command. Harry, however, stayed where he was.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded.

"Nothing life-threatening," Black replied. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."

Harry finally walked slowly to his seat beside Ron and sat down. Black surveyed the class, looking imperious in a fitted emerald tailcoat worn over a long, corseted black dress.

"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far --Ms. Granger has informed me that you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows…hardly overtaxing. Professor Lupin has been soft on you."

"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Black rounded on him, looking menacing.

"You are easily satisfied-- I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss --" They watched her flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which she must have known they hadn't covered.

"Werewolves," said Black.

“But, Professor,” said Lavender Brown, “we’re due to start hinkypunks --"

“Miss Brown,” said Black in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." She spun on her heel again and swept the room with another steely glare.

“All of you! Now!”

Hermione had already flipped to the designated page at the end of the textbook and was met with a glossy, animated picture of a werewolf howling under a full moon. She’d already read this chapter, back in the summer.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between an animagus and a werewolf?" asked Black.

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, who shot her hand into the air. Professor Black acknowledged her with a curt nod.

“Anyone else?” she said. The rest of the class remained still and quiet and Professor Black smirked wickedly again.

“Once again the self-study of a Muggleborn has exceeded the capacity efforts of a room of pure and half blood witches and wizards. Not that it’s entirely on you. It would seem Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between --"

"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on --"

"Silence!" barked Black. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are...Now, Ms. Granger, as usual, educate your classmates."

“Alright,” said Hermione, smiling nervously as she often did when under her professor’s sharp gaze. "An animagus is someone who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice. With each full moon, the werewolf transforms and no longer remembers who they are. They’d kill their best friend if they had the chance.”

No one made a sound out of turn throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves while Professor Black lectured and occasionally called out a student she thought wasn’t paying enough attention to read from the textbook. Every so often, she’d throw in a comment that implied they should already know how to recognize a werewolf. Each time, Hermione paused in her note-taking and looked up at her professor quizzically. -What is she getting at?-

When the bell rang, and much to the collective groans of the class, Black held them back. "You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand.”

*************************************************************************************

It was pouring down rain, yet at least unseasonably warm, when Hermione trekked down to the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school for Gryffindor’s first match of the season. Typically, this was the big opening rivalry match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but because Malfoy was still complaining about his injured arm affecting his ability to play, her house would be playing Hufflepuff instead. She didn’t understand Quidditch enough to know the significance or insignificance of how this would affect either teams’ chances, but in the interest of supporting Harry, she, Ron, Neville, and Ginny ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went.

They took their usual seats with Hagrid in the Gryffindor side of the stands and waited for the match to start, hardly able to hear their own cheering over the roars of thunder. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams approached each other from opposite sides of the field, looking like blurry blobs of scarlet and canary yellow. Gryffindor’s captain Oliver Wood shook hands with Hufflepuff’s captain, Cedric Diggory, and Madam Hooch blew her whistle to begin the game.

Even with a pair of Hagrid’s binoculars, it was hard to make out what was going on. They were all trying to spot Harry among the red and yellow shapes swerving with gusts of a chill wind, which was whipping so loudly they could hardly hear the match commentary and their hands felt frozen to their umbrella handles.

“Blimey if we’re this cold down here, imagine what it’s like on a broomstick,” said Neville. Hermione shivered in reply and tried to brush the rain off the binocular lens.

“Oh Merlin, what am I doing, Impervius!” she cast the water-repelling charm on the lens and the effect was immediate. Not only did the binoculars now repel rain, but she could see through it and spot Harry, who appeared to be shouting at Oliver Wood and waving his glasses in the air. -Of course.- At just that moment, a bolt of lightning struck dangerously close and Wood called for a timeout.

“I’ve had an idea; be right back!” she called to the others and, pulling her cloak overhead (useless, broken umbrella disregarded), she sprinted down to the field where the Gryffindors were huddled.

“Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!" He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, "Impervius!" "There!" she said, handing them back to Harry. "They'll repel water!" Wood looked as though he could have kissed her.

"Brilliant!" he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd and headed back up to her seat, arriving just in time to watch all the players kick off from the ground once more. The thunder—and now forked, relentless lighting—continued and Hermione wondered if there’d be any point the weather would be considered too dangerous to continue the match. Probably not at Hogwarts, she mused. Dangerous and near death experiences were common at Hogwarts—to the point where she sometimes wondered if Dumbledore thought them character building.

Then something odd happened. An eerie silence seemed to fall over the entire stadium at once…like even the wind and thunder were forgetting to roar or someone had turned off the sound or she’d suddenly gone deaf…although the equally confused looks on the faces of her friends informed her that this was a collective experience.

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over her, inside her, just as she’d felt on the train ride to school, and just as she became aware of something moving on the field below...then rising…rising…

“Bloody hell…” Ron whispered whilst about a hundred dementors swarmed across the field and started circling the stands. And then a piercing scream cut through the silent storm—coming from the direction of the teachers’ section. Hermione swiveled the binoculars just in time to see Professor Black stumble back against the low railing, collapse, fall backwards. Another scream. A shape falling from a broomstick. Dead silence. It was as though time had stopped and everything was suspended in motion save for the two shadows hurtling towards the ground—then a shout that sounded like it was in Dumbledore’s voice—and someone (probably the headmaster or McGonagall) conjured a large net in the air to catch them. She tried to breathe a sigh of relief…but the shock was almost too paralyzing.

*************************************************************************************

Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team waited with bated breath in the hospital wing for Harry to wake up. Still soaking wet and dripping with mud, they’d hurriedly followed the processional of teachers who’d levitated Harry and Professor Black into the castle.

"Lucky they conjured that net,” one of the Weasley twins was saying.

"I couldn’t see very well; thought he was dead for sure," Angelina Johnson added.

"But he didn't even break his glasses."

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life," said Katie Bell and then Harry’s eyes snapped open.

"Harry!" said Fred."How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped.

"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been -- what -- fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," said Alicia Spinnet, who was shaking.

“Professor Dumbledore conjured a net just before you hit the ground,” said Hermione, though she too was still recovering from the shock.

"But the match," said Harry. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?" No one said anything. Harry’s face fell. "We didn't -- lose?"

"Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square... even Wood admits it."

"Where is Wood?" said Harry.

"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself." And then they all launched into Quidditch talk—statistics, who needed to beat who to put Gryffindor back in the running for the Cup…Hermione’s eyes wandered to the end of the hospital wing, where Professor McGonagall emerged from behind a curtain, behind which she knew lay Professor Black. After ensuring Harry was going to be alright, she and Madam Pomfrey had walked away murmuring something about “rousing her” and “calming her down.” Hermione frowned. She knew what Harry heard when the dementors grew close…why they affected him so greatly. What did Black hear to cause her to react like this? It was almost like she was allergic to them or something…Hermione knew dementors caused a person to relive their worst memories. Professor McGonagall had confirmed as much…and Harry had disclosed to she and Ron that though he was a baby at the time and didn’t have the memory on a conscious level, he heard his parents being murdered by Voldemort when the cloaked monsters drew close.

She, Hermione, considered herself privileged that she didn’t hear or see much. At the match, she’d mostly just felt suddenly cold and temporarily very depressed. On the train, when they’d been closer, she thought she’d heard a muddled echo of her parents fighting when she was little and students teasing her about her blood status during first and second year, but she couldn’t be sure, and she and Ron certainly hadn’t needed chocolate or tonics…Hermione’s eyes wandered to the far bed with the curtains drawn again. She knew Professor Black came from a wealthy pure blood family and she imagined she’d grown up much like Draco Malfoy….who didn’t seem bothered outwardly by dementors at all. -What happened to her?- she wondered.

*************************************************************************************

Bellatrix sat at her desk, chin in her hand, awaiting her third year astronomy students. She was supposed to be grading their star chart homework from a few lessons back, but she was having trouble staying focused. Pomfrey had insisted on keeping her in the hospital wing all weekend, but Bellatrix refused.

The nightmares were worse in there, as she knew they would be, and just as she knew there was nothing medically wrong with her that anything in the hospital wing could fix.

What she’d needed to do was spend some time at the pub engaging in her favorite past time of running as far as she could from the memories and her war with herself. Maybe the whiskey and sounds and chatter around her couldn’t protect her forever, but it could hide her long enough to rebuild her walls.

No matter how many years passed from her admittedly brief stint in Azkaban, her experience with the dementors was the same every time.

First, she felt the cold wash over her before she even saw or sensed them. Even if it was already cold temperature-wise, this was noticeable. This was different. The kind of cold that went through you and settled underneath your skin. Bone chilling cold. And then even before the hopelessness set in, she was back in that place in her mind, her body reacting accordingly.

The voice of the abuser she heard was the only thing that fluctuated. Sometimes she heard her mother. Sometimes her father. Sometimes -Him-. At the Quidditch match, perhaps because it was all so freshly unearthed in her thoughts due to the year’s events and Lupin’s infuriating presence, she heard the news of Lily’s death on repeat. Over and over again.

The dementor presence was the reason Narcissa had been so worried about her going into this term, no matter how many times Bellatrix assured her it would different, was different, and she wasn’t drinking about any of it. For as good an Occlumens as she’d always been, Narcissa was just as proficient a Legilimens.

“Why aren’t I over this by now”, she’d even pestered Minerva, who’d clucked with an annoying amount of unwarranted sympathy, “you know that’s not how it works, Bellatrix.” It was exactly in a dementor’s job description to bring forth even the things a person -had- previously “gotten over” or consciously forgotten.

The grating sound of children chattering in the corridor roused her out of her reverie and with a sigh, she flicked her wand and opened the classroom door.

The lesson passed frustratingly slowly and when the bell finally rang, everyone gathered their things and quickly made for the door, always eager to get away from Professor Black.

One student lingered apprehensively.

“Professor?”

“Did you have a question about the assignment, Ms. Granger?”

“Not about the assignment, no.”

“What, then?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Well…I was just wondering…if you were feeling better? After…after Saturday I mean.” The girl looked like she thought she was going to get in trouble for her concern, but Bellatrix wasn’t angry…just…slightly taken aback.

“I’m…I’m managing. Thank you, Ms. Granger,” she replied with an honesty that surprised her.

The girl turned as if to walk away, then stopped suddenly and looked back over her shoulder.

“Why did they come to the match?”

“They’re getting hungry. Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up…I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement…emotions running high…it was their idea of a feast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Professor Dumbledore so angry.”

“Why do they affect some people…so much more than others?”

“You want to know why they make me…why I—why Potter…I will tell you it has nothing to do with weakness.”

“I didn’t—“

A ray of wintery sunlight fell across the classroom, and she rose and walked over to the window, not looking at Hermione.

"You’re a smart girl. Even as a Muggleborn I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And the worst that happened to your friend Mr. Potter is enough to make anyone fall off their broom.” She explained, then turned and busied herself with gathering and stacking up the papers on her desk, hoping the girl wouldn’t press further.

"Azkaban must be terrible," Hermione muttered. Bellatrix nodded grimly. She’d only been there a year before Severus made his appeal to Dumbledore on both of their behalfs, but if she closed her eyes, she could still hear the screaming.

“The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheery thought. Most of them go mad within weeks." Bellatrix breathed deeply, trying to rid her lungs of the invisible, ever-lingering phantom scent of decay. At the time, she’d thought she was frustrated with Severus for offering her as a spy for the Order without her consent, but now she knew it was mostly because from that moment forward, she knew she owed he and Dumbledore her life.

"But Sirius Black escaped from them," Hermione said slowly. "He got away..."

"Yes," Bellatrix said, straightening up, "Sirius must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn't have believed it possible.... Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard or witch of their powers if they’re left with them too long...."

“Like…drain them of their magic?”

“I used to think so…but I don’t believe the ability to do magic can be drained from a person—just the will to live and produce magic.”

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A sudden breeze ruffled her hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Hermione looked over the rim of her tankard and choked. Professors McGonagall and Black had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak -- whom she recognized from the Daily Prophet as Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

In an instant, she and Ron had both placed hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table.

“Mobiliarbus!” She whispered with a wave of her wand. The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the branches, they saw four chairs move back from the table right beside theirs, then heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and minister as they sat down.

Soon after, Madam Rosmerta approached them, her sparkly turquoise high heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“Usuals, I presumed. A small gillywater--"

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall.

"Four pints of mulled mead --"

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.

"Double fire whiskey, neat, with a cinnamon stick?”

“Mmm!” Said Professor Black, licking her lips in an exaggerated manner. Hermione felt a sudden shiver course through her for no discernible reason and Ron elbowed her in the side.

--"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister."

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us...."

"Well, thank you very much, Minister." They watched Rosmerta march away and back again with a drink of her own that looked like Professor Black’s. Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" the bar owner asked. They saw the lower part of Fudge's thick body twist in his chair as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a quiet voice,

"What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

“I did hear a rumor," admitted Madam Rosmerta.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

"Do you think he’s still in the area, Minister?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.

"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice?" said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away... It's very bad for business, Minister."

"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution... unfortunate, but there YOU are.... I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore -- he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

"I should think not," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

“I don’t think you want my input on this topic,” snapped Professor Black, knocking back her drink, which refilled itself instantly.

"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse.... We all know what Black's capable of...no offense to you, of course, Bellatrix. We certainly can’t control our relations.”

Black dismissed him with a flippant wave of her hand and a curt nod.

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when we were at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead.”

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

"I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta?" murmured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? Bella and I were in Slytherin of course, and even we knew the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Hermione heard the sound of a tankard clunking onto the floor. Harry. Ron kicked him, where he crouched under the table.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact -- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers --"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" Rosmerta added."Inseparable!"

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Worse even than that, m’dear...." Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest.

Professor Black, who’d been silently drinking her bottomless firewhiskey up until this point, cleared her throat. "An immensely complex spell," she said darkly,"involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find -- unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, the Dark Lord could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window."

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Madam Rosmerta.

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed --"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it --"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James's house after they was killed! jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead... an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!"

"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him --' Ha! But I'd had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says. "I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him. "But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? I bet he'd 've pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to em anymore...."

A long silence followed Hagrid's story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"

"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew -- another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew... that chubby little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.

"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I -how I regret that now..." She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses -- Muggles, of course, we wiped their, memories later -- told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens...."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy ... foolish boy... he was always hopeless at dueling... should have left it to the Ministry...."

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't 've messed around with wands -- I'd 've ripped him limb -- from -- limb," Hagrid growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I -- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of bloodstained robes and a few -- a few fragments --" Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of noses being blown. "Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement 'Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black has been in Azkaban ever since."

Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's mad, Minister?"

"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man -- cruel... pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them...but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored -- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him -- and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

Professor Black made a strange sort of throat clearing sound, like she was choking on her drink.

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

“I daresay that is his -- er -- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again...." There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the headmaster, we’d better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall. She, Fudge, and Hagrid rose to their feet—Hagrid shaking the table as he stood, causing Professor Black and Madam Rosmerta to clutch their glasses to keep them from toppling.

“Joining us, Bellatrix?” asked McGonagall.

She shook her head and Madam Rosmerta tossed an arm over her black velvet covered shoulders.

“S’alright, Minerva. Bella and I are going to have a little catch up. Enjoy your dinner.”

They said their goodbyes, then the door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and McGonagall, Fudge, and Hagrid had disappeared.

“We’ve got to be getting back…but…” Ron gestured to Harry still crouched under the table and staring ahead with a vacant expression (obviously upset by all they’d just overheard), and then to Professor Black, still drinking at her table. Madam Rosmerta had disappeared behind the bar again.

“You check on Harry and help him sneak out; I’ll distract Black.”

“How’re—“ Ron started, but Hermione was already heading for the other table.

“Happy Christmas, Professor,” she said, slipping into the seat opposite that Professor McGonagall had vacated, moving the Christmas tree out of the way as she did so, conveniently positioning it and herself to block the entrance to the pub from clear view.

But it was abundantly clear to her that these precautions weren’t necessary—Black was drunk, the smell of whiskey radiating off of her like she’d been drinking all day. She was resting her chin in her hand.

“Granger. It’s the holidays…why…st..students. Whad’you want?” she slurred.

“I was just about to head back up to the school and just thought I’d—we—I stayed for the holidays this year…and I thought to wish you a happy Christmas.”

Professor Black nodded almost drowsily and set her elbow back on the table again, once more resting her chin on her hand. The effect of this movement pushed her professor’s already abundant cleavage to the top of her black brocade corset. Hermione shifted awkwardly, trying not to stare.

“Best be getting on Miss Granger, don’t you think? It’s getting late.” Madam Rosmerta reappeared next to Professor Black, wrapping an almost protective arm around her shoulders again.

“Right. Of course. Goodnight Madam Rosmerta, Professor Black.”

*************************************************************************************

“Oh, Bella. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

Bellatrix felt an arm wrap around her at the same time she was shrouded in the scent of butterbeer and warm vanilla.

“Rosie,” she murmured and lifting her head, met with beautiful blue eyes attached to the beautiful woman who was smiling at her, who was always there, no matter how many times Bellatrix went silent on her, used her for a night, and then barely acknowledged her until the next night she found herself needing…something. Something she’d never call comfort.

She acquiesced and leaned her head against the other woman’s shoulder and fuuuuuck did it feel good. Using wandless magic, she refilled her own glass again and conjured another for Rosmerta.

“Show off,” the blonde smirked.

“Like you don’t,” Bellatrix replied gesturing to the woman beside her, who looked absolutely radiant in the candlelight. She wore a sparkly turquoise blouse that matched her heels and her eye makeup, with a black thigh-length skirt that hugged her curves over rose-patterned fishnets. Long honey-blonde hair streaked with highlights was swept over the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against Bellatrix. And her lips…her cheekbones…that smile…She’d always been a heady temptation for the dark witch. Ever since they’d been at school together. The kind of lover who knew how to envelop you entirely. But at the end of the day, she always wanted more than Bellatrix could give anyone.

“Don’ you have customers?” she slurred slightly and leaned back further onto the other woman, tucking her face into her shoulder.

“Maybe I’ve been distracted,” said Rosmerta, running her nails ever so lightly against the back of Bellatrix’s neck. “I do need to be getting back, though. Come sit at my bar a bit, m’dear.”

“You know where I’d rather sit,” she replied. Rosmerta visibly blushed, but her eyes sparkled before her face fell slightly.

“…you know what you do to me, Bella. What you’ve always done to me...And if you still feel that way by last call—”

Bellatrix cut her off by capturing her lips in the kind of kiss that bordered on mildly indecent in a public setting. Her lips met the other woman’s, which parted easily to give her more access as their nails roved through each other’s hair, scrambling for more contact. Their tongues battled for dominance until Rosmerta submitted entirely to being kissed by the other witch. She tasted…so comfortable, and it wasn’t until a bar patron whistled at them that Bellatrix broke it, pulling away suddenly and leaving the other woman, who was about to go back to work, desperately wanting.

“Right…well I’ll just be…I’ll just…you know where to find me.” Rosmerta waved her wand and fixed her lipstick, looking visibly flustered, but also quite happy, as Bellatrix knew she would be. She scurried off back to her waiting customers, leaving the other witch to again summon a refill for her glass. She’d had something of an ongoing, bottomless tab in Rosmerta’s bar for years. She always paid out in significantly more than she owed, but she drank enough that, especially when it was busy, her old friend trusted her to summon her own refills. This system also served to oblige Bellatrix’s frequent need to just be left alone when she came to the pub…but tonight…tonight was one of those nights that she needed…she wished…fuck.

She slammed her glass down on the table with a little more force than she’d intended. It wasn’t like she wasn’t always on edge these days and not quite right in her head…fuck…she had never been quite right in her head…but lately…was it the holidays? The bloody dementors? All the memories they brought back? Or was it her cousin, the one who, insufferable as he was and though she’d never admit this out loud, actually seemed like he -had- a chance to do and be something different…and then what he’d gone on to do? She herself did damnable things in those early days of the war…before…just…before. Would she really judge him for finally relenting and taking the path that had been so neatly laid out for all of them? Or was it because she’d just found out he betrayed Lily? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Bellatrix wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. She behaved herself. Coiled inward. Drank. Drank until she couldn’t remember. Drank until she remembered everything but wouldn’t remember that she did come morning. Drank until anything made sense or until anything making sense didn’t matter anymore. Drank until—

“Bella? Baby…you alright?” A soft hand on her shoulder. Gently shaking. Fuck. Her head was resting on her arms which were folded across a smooth, hard surface. The table. The table at the pub. Had she fallen asleep? She started to lift her head up and immediately set it back down. Everything was spinning…or she was tilted on some kind of axis. Fuck. She hadn’t done herself this badly in a long time.

“Bella, honey. The pub is closed…so unless you want to spend all night at this table by yourself…” Rosmerta was rubbing small circles into her back. Her tone was teasing. Warm. Like honey.

Bellatrix heard herself mutter something that sounded like “bad” and “can’t” and “school” separated by strings of expletives. “Have to…can’t…don’t want…have to get back…” she tried again to form a full sentence. She couldn’t go back to school like this…even if she could get there…and she absolutely resented that she knew she couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Sweetie, I’ve got you. You’re okay. You want to lie down upstairs for a little while?”

Bellatrix nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak as a wave of nausea washed over her.

“I know you think the last thing you want to do right now is apparate…but I think that’s second to last compared to going up two steep, winding flights of stairs…and I don’t much fancy that journey myself. Do you think you can take my arm?”

Bellatrix nodded again and laid a hand over the turquoise sleeved arm offered to her and braced herself to feel even more unpleasant.

With a sudden loud crack! they appeared in the center of Rosmerta’s apartment bedroom, two floors above the pub. Bellatrix took several deep breaths to steady herself and try to quell her nausea. Rosie’s arms were around her like a beautiful blue cocoon. A sea that every so often, she felt like drowning in—usually when her own energy became too much, or she’d deprived herself of intimacy too long. Growing up, when everyone else wanted to call her a wildfire or an electrical storm or a volcano or a tornado…Rosmerta had called her the desert.

“Ready to go to bed, babe?”

Bellatrix nodded into the warm chest and fumbled with the laces on the back of her corset, but her hands were shaking too much to undo them.

In tender, wordless understanding, Rosmerta loosened the corset, unbuckled, and removed it, before folding and setting it to the side.

“My turn,” Bellatrix whispered. She took her companion’s glittering turquoise blouse and eased it up and off of her. Merlin’s sake, she was still so fucking beautiful. Her eyes wandered from Rosmerta’s tanned shoulders, one of which was tattooed with a dragonfly chasing a lunar moth, down to her chest, left partially exposed by a lacy silver piece of lingerie.

They continued to undress one another, piece by piece, until their clothes were in a partially folded heap on the floor, blue mixed with black like a bruise.

“My desert,” Rosmerta whispered.

“My rain,” Bellatrix purred back.

“Oh how I wish you’d still mean that in the morning.”

*************************************************************************************

Bellatrix was making her way back to her office to catch up on grading, relishing in the idyllic silence of that particular Saturday afternoon in mid-February. The majority of the students were off at Hogsmeade letting all their pent up energy out which left the school in a state of empty, relative peace. Until she rounded the corner and—

“Potter! Longbottom! What are you two doing here?" she said, coming to a halt and looking from one to the other. They were standing next to the statue of the one-eyed witch Gunhilda of Gorsemoor on the third floor–nearly behind it, and would have been almost concealed if not for their shadows and echoing voices.

"An odd place to meet --"

"We're not -- meeting here," said Potter quickly. "We just -- met here."

"Indeed?" said Bellatrix, raising one of her well-sculpted eyebrows in that way she knew students found terrifying. "You seem to have a habit of turning up in unexpected places, Potter, and you are very rarely there for no good reason.... I suggest the pair of you return to Gryffindor Tower, where you belong." She watched them nod and set off in the other direction without another word—Potter looking back just one time too many–enough to indicate he was definitely up to something, but Bellatrix didn’t have the patience for it today. She was neither a chaperone in Hogsmeade nor on any kind of corridor patrol. Whatever was happening, it was someone else’s problem.

She resumed her walk back to her office down in the dungeons only mildly frustrated. Though her lessons took place up in the Astronomy tower, she always appreciated having more accessible personal quarters—especially after she’d been drinking, which admittedly, was again getting to be most nights, though she’d yet to allow herself to publicly get as drunk as she had that night in Rosmerta’s pub right before the holidays.

“Ms. Granger, what are you doing here?” When Bellatrix rounded the corner of what she thought was a little known shortcut passageway from the third floor to the dungeons (behind a portrait of Morgan Le Fay) she wasn’t expecting to find her student sitting on the floor, surrounded by textbooks and quills and reams of parchment—clearly crying quite hard.

“S…sorry…p…p…Professor Black…I was just…st…studying,” she said in a falsely high pitched sort of voice.

“Studying…behind a portrait…why? I should think there would be better options,” said Bellatrix and then she schooled her features. “Perhaps the library?” She offered, trying her best to sound a little more understanding.

“I…I…just…” the student trailed off and averted her eyes. Clearly ashamed. Trying to sit with and hide from her emotions at the same time—and reacting like she’d been caught doing something wrong. And didn’t Bellatrix know what that felt like.

“Ms. Granger…I was about to make a pot of tea in my office. If you’re looking for a quiet place to work, you’re welcome to also make use of the space.”

*************************************************************************************

Bellatrix busied herself with making tea. It was one of her favorites–a blue cornflower and rooibos blend with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. It reminded her a little of Rosmerta. Spicy. Sweet. Comfortable.

“Are you going to tell me why I found you doing your work behind a portrait today?” she said, pouring tea into two bone china cups with black spade patterning.

“I…I think everything just felt like a lot,” the Granger girl answered from the antique sofa on the side wall of her office.

“Hm?” Bellatrix prompted, surprising even herself. She wasn’t usually the type to care much what students were upset over. But she did know that when all of her everything felt like a lot and Minerva or Rosmerta or Narcissa were there, it helped a little. Even though she rarely -wanted- to talk about anything, she knew they’d listen to her if she did…and that was enough. Most of the time. She crossed the room and handed the student one of the cups of tea, then settled herself at her desk, watching the heat radiate off her own cup in little white spirals.

“What’s going on?”

“Well…I’m sure you know I added a number of classes this term—and it’s not that I’m complaining because I’m grateful for the opportunity—or that I can’t handle it—because I can—I just…it was going fine until Harry and Ron stopped talking to me. Ron thinks my cat ate his rat and Harry thinks I had his Firebolt confiscated for some kind of malicious reason, but really I was just worried…and then Hagrid’s case—if Buckbeak loses…and I promised I’d help and I want to help, but…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…you’ve got better to do than to listen to any of this.”

“And yet, here we are.”

They drank their tea in silence for awhile, until the Granger girl quietly voiced something that had clearly been troubling her for some time.

"Professor…I’ve been wondering…What's under a dementor's hood?"

Bellatrix felt her eyes widen. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. She stiffened and had every temptation to go on the defensive. To ask Granger why she thought she, Bellatrix, would know something like that. Why she would bring up that topic at all knowing what it did to her. But how could she know. And could she really begrudge a student for being curious, for wanting to learn? She took a long, slow breath in through her nose before responding.

"Hmmm... well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."

"What's that?"

"They call it the Dementor's Kiss," said Bellatrix, with a slightly twisted smile. "It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and -- and suck out their soul."

Granger choked on her tea.

"What -- they kill --?"

"Oh no," said Bellatrix. "Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no. .. anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever... lost." Bellatrix drank a little more of her tea, then said with some trepidation, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

“I don’t see how anyone could deserve that.”

“Can you really not think of anyone, of any crime that might deserve it?”

“Can you?”

“Absolutely.”

A knock sounded on the office door. “Enter,” said Bellatrix, not expecting her nephew to burst in panting like he’d just run all the way back from Hogsmeade. Granger made an uncomfortable sort of cough and set her tea on the floor in front of the sofa.

“Aunt Bellatrix! You’ll never believe what I just saw—“ and he launched into his story so quickly and breathlessly that she kept having to pause him and ask him to repeat certain details. From what she could gather, Draco had seen Harry Potter’s head floating outside the Shrieking Shack. Which would be absolutely ridiculous…except that Potter had an invisibility cloak.

*************************************************************************************

Bellatrix approached Potter at a swift walk, her black robes swishing, then stopped in front of him.

"So," she said. She couldn’t resist a triumphant smile. Potter was trying to look innocent, hiding his muddy hands in his pockets, but no matter.

"Come with me, Potter," said Bellatrix. They walked down the stairs to the dungeons and then into Bellatrix’s office. She recalled Potter had been in here only once before, and he had been in very serious trouble then, too.

"Sit," said Bellatrix. Harry sat down in the chair in front of her desk. She, however, remained, standing. "Mr. Malfoy has just been to see me with a strange story, Potter.” Potter didn't say anything. "He tells me that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley -- apparently alone." Still, the meddlesome student didn't speak. "Mr. Malfoy states that he was standing talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud hit him in the back of the head. How do you think that could have happened?"

Potter, not at all convincingly, tried to look surprised. "I don't know, Professor."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrow. "Mr. Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?"

"No.”

"It was your head, Potter. Floating in midair." There was a long silence.

"Maybe he'd better go to Madam Pomfrey," said Potter arrogantly. "If he's seeing things like --"

"What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter? Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade."

"I know that," he replied arrogantly. "It sounds like Malfoy's having hallucin --"

"Malfoy is not having hallucinations!” Bellatrix snarled. She threw her teacup to the floor, where it shattered next to Potter’s chair. She’d just repair it later. "If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you."

"I've been up in Gryffindor Tower. Like you told --"

"Can anyone confirm that?" Bellatrix’s full lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He shook his head. "So," she said, pacing around like a wolf assessing its prey. "Everyone from the Minister of Magic downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But famous Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants to, with no thought for the consequences!” Still, the Gryffindor said nothing.

"How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter," she said suddenly, pulsing with a rush of fresh resentment. "He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us, too. Strutting around the castle with his friends and admirers... The resemblance between you is uncanny."

"My dad didn't strut,"Potter snapped, “And neither do I."

"Your father didn't set much store by rules either," Bellatrix went on, pressing her advantage now she’d finally gotten a reaction. "Rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners. His head was so swollen --"

"SHUT UP!" Potter jumped to his feet, hand clenched around his wand. Bellatrix stiffened and reached behind her for her own wand off the desk.

"What did you just say to me, Potter?"

"I told you to shut up about my dad!" Potter yelled. “I know the truth, all right? He saved your life! Dumbledore told me! You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for my dad!"

Bellatrix saw red. Her mind flooded with disjointed memories.

[-What do we have here? Snivellus Snape and Bedlam Bella!

-Fuck off, Potter!

-I didn’t make you for sneaking around with slimy halfbloods, Bella…and I thought you preferred witches—or was there a future Death Eaters of hogwarts meeting I didn’t hear about?

-Shut up, Sirius!

-Some match the other day, right? My condolences. James here tells me Slytherin is no longer in the running for the Cup. And with all those Holyhead Harpies scouts there, too…

-Keep bloody goading me, and I swear, I’ll—

-Are you going to curse me, cousin? Finally make Mummy and Daddy proud?

-SHUT UP!

They had to know she would follow them. When they talked about remembering to prod the base of the tree…they knew she was right there. They knew she heard them.
They knew. They knew. They knew. They knew she could have died. They knew. Her own cousin…and he wasn’t even the one to regret it. Turned out he had more of their family in him than she ever realized. But at least they owned and reveled in their wickedness. Sirius still thought he and his friends were good people…and she didn’t know which fucked her up more…]

"And did the headmaster tell you the circumstances in which your father saved my life?" she whispered. "Or did he consider the details too unpleasant for precious Potter's delicate ears?"

Potter bit his lip, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge he’d heard her.

“I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of your father, Potter," she said, a sardonic grin twisting her face. "Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct you -- your saintly father and his friends played a -highly amusing- joke on me that would have resulted in my death if your father hadn't got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he would have been expelled from Hogwarts and possibly even arrested.”

For a few moments, they just stared daggers at each other. She didn’t even need to try to hear his thoughts—always so loud—“I hope she doesn’t find it. Doesn’t know what it is. She has no proof. She’s crazy. She has to let me go.”—

"Turn out your pockets, Potter!" She hissed. The student didn't move. "Turn out your pockets, or we go straight to the headmaster!” She could hear his dread then, louder than any other thought, as he slowly pulled out a Zonko’s bag and an old, folded piece of parchment. She grabbed the bag, rifled briefly through the pranks within, and looked at her student with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

“Ron gave them to me," said Potter quickly. "He -brought them back from Hogsmeade last time --"

"Indeed? And you've been carrying them around ever since? How very touching... and what is this?" She picked up the parchment. The Gryffindor was clearly trying to keep his face and tone impassive, but his dread was palpable.

"Spare bit of parchment," he said with a shrug. Bellatrix turned it over, her eyes locked on the student before her. "Surely you don't need such a very old piece of parchment?" she said. "Why don't I just -- throw this away?" She let her hand hover over the fire.

"No!"

"So!" said Bellatrix triumphantly. "Is this another treasured gift from Mr. Weasley? Or is it -- something else? A letter, perhaps, written in invisible ink? Or -- instructions to get into Hogsmeade without passing the dementors?"

Harry blinked. His thoughts—shouting now—“she knows. How does she know? How can she know?”

"Let me see, let me see...." Bellatrix muttered, and, smiling broadly, raised her wand and smoothed the parchment out on her desk. "Reveal your secret!" she said, touching the wand to the parchment. Nothing happened. Potter’s hands were shaking, though they were clenched around the arms of the chair.

"Show yourself!" she commanded, tapping it sharply. It stayed blank. If this was what she thought it was, then maybe…"I, Professor Bellatrix Black demand you to yield the information you conceal!" She hit the parchment with her wand and then, as though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on its smooth surface.

“Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Black, and begs her to keep her abnormally sharp nose out of other people's business." Bellatrix froze. But the parchment didn't stop there. More writing was appearing beneath the first.

"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Professor Black is an insufferable bitch.”

And there was more.... "Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that a lunatic like that was ever deemed stable enough to become a professor."

Potter looked like he didn’t know whether to look amused or horrified. Bellatrix closed her eyes and took a long, seething breath. When she'd opened them, the paper had had its last word.

"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Black good day, and advises her to draw on more even eyebrows and loosen her corsets so as to release the stick up her ass.”

For a short while there was silence.

"So..." said Bellatrix softly. "We'll see about this...." She strode across to her fire, seized a fistful of glittering powder from a jar on the fireplace, and threw it into the flames. "Lupin!" She snarled into the fire. "I want a word!"

A moment later, a large shape appeared in the fire, revolving very fast. Seconds later, Remus Lupin was clambering out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his shabby robes.

"You called, Bellatrix?" said Lupin with frustrating mildness.

"I certainly did,"she said, her face contorted with fury as she strode back to her desk. "I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this." Bellatrix pointed at the parchment, on which the words of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were still shining. An odd, closed expression appeared on Lupin's face, confirming her suspicions at once.

"Well?"she prompted. Lupin continued to stare at the parchment. "Well?" said Bellatrix again, knowing exactly what was going on. "This is plainly full of Dark Magic...isn’t that supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin? Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

"Full of Dark Magic?" Lupin repeated calmly. "Do you really think so, Bellatrix? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke shop --"

"Indeed?" said Bellatrix, her jaw rigid with anger. "You think a joke shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"

"You mean, by Mr. Wormtail or one of these people?" Lupin replied. "Harry, do you know any of these men?"

"No," said Potter quickly.

"You see, Bellatrix?" said Lupin, rounding back to her with an infuriatingly genuine smile. "It looks like a Zonko product to me --"

Then, as if on cue, Weasley came bursting into the office. He was completely out of breath, and stopped just short of Bellatrix's desk, clutching the stitch in his chest and trying to speak. "I -- gave -- Harry -- that -- stuff," he choked. "Bought -- it... in Zonko's... ages -- ago..."

"Well!" said Lupin, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. "That seems to clear that up! Bellatrix, I'll take this back, shall I?" He folded the parchment and tucked it inside his robes. "Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay -- excuse us, Bellatrix --"

None of them dared look at her as they filed out of her office.

*************************************************************************************
"Hurry up, Remus," snarled Sirius Black, who was still watching Scabbers with a horrible sort of hunger on his face.

"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there... well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did.... And that's how we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs."

"What sort of animal --?" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

"That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?" She was still struggling to process the information…even though she’d known. She’d known since Professor Black set the essay.

"A thought that still haunts me," said Lupin heavily. "And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless -- carried away with our own cleverness. I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore's trust, of course... he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others' safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month's adventure. And I haven't changed..." Lupin's face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. "All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd led others along with me... and Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it... so, in a way, Bellatrix has been right about me all along."

"Bellatrix?" said Black harshly, taking his eyes off Scabbers; for the first time in minutes and looking up at Lupin. "What's my dear cousin got to do with it?"

"She’s here, Sirius," said Lupin. "She's teaching here as well." He looked up at Hermione, Harry, and Ron. "Professor Black was at school with us. She fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. She has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. She has her reasons... you see, Sirius here played a trick on her which nearly killed her, a trick which involved me --"

Sirius made a derisive noise. "It served her right," he sneered. "Sneaking around with Snape, trying to find out what we were up to... hoping she could get us expelled...."

"Bellatrix was very interested in where I went every month." Lupin told the three Gryffindors."We were in the same year, you know, and we -- er -- didn't like each other very much. She especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James's talent on the Quidditch field... She played for her own house team and was considered quite good in her own right, but she was abrasive and aggressive; never had James’ charisma and she was tired of only ever being told she was ‘very good at Quidditch–for a girl.’ Anyway, Bellatrix had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius and James thought it would be -- er -- amusing, to say in front of Bellatrix all one had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and they’d be able to get in after me. Well, of course, she tried it -- if she'd got as far as this house, she'd have met a fully grown werewolf -- but James had second thoughts and went after Bellatrix and pulled her back, at great risk to his life...She glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. She was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on she knew what I was...."

"So that's why Black doesn't like you," said Harry slowly, "because she thought you were in on the joke?"

"That's right," snarled a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. Bellatrix Black was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, her wand pointing, directly at Lupin.

Hermione screamed. Sirius leapt to his feet.

"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," said Professor Black, throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep her wand pointing directly at Lupin's chest. "Very useful, Potter, I thank you...." She was slightly breathless, but her face was full of suppressed triumph and bitter hatred. "You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?" she said, her eyes glittering. "I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so as a happenstance favor to Severus, I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did... lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight."

"Bellatrix --" Lupin began, but she overrode him.

"I've told the headmaster again and again that you're helping your old friend into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout --"

"Bellatrix, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently. "You haven't heard everything -- I can explain -- Sirius is not here to kill Harry --"

"Two more for Azkaban tonight," said Professor Black, her eyes now gleaming fanatically. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this.... He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin... a tame werewolf --"

"You fool," said Lupin softly. "Is a school grudge—or a family grudge, even— worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?" BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Professor Black’s wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Sirius Black started toward his cousin, but she pointed her wand straight between his eyes.

"Give me a reason," she whispered. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will." Sirius stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred. Harry and Hermione stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do or whom to believe. They glanced between each other and down at Ron. Ron looked just as confused as they did, still fighting to keep hold on his struggling rat. Hermione, however, took an uncertain step toward Professor Black and said, in a very breathless voice,

"Professor Black -- it it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, w -- would it?"

"Ms. Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school and in greater danger than you can imagine," she said resolutely. "You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, I implore you, hold your tongue." Her tone, however, did not sound cruel, but protective…even scared.

"But if -- if there was a mistake --" Harry started.

"KEEP QUIET, YOU IDIOT BOY!" Professor Black shrieked, looking suddenly quite unhinged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end of her crooked wand, which was still pointed at her cousin’s face. Harry fell silent. "Vengeance is very sweet," their professor breathed at Sirius. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you...."

"The joke's on you again, Bellatrix," he snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" -- he jerked his head at Ron -- "I'll come quietly...."

"Up to the castle?" said Professor Black silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, cousin... pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay... I --" What little color there was in Sirius’s face left it.

"You -you wouldn’t…you know what they can do, you’ve felt them as I have…and I know what they do to you—”

“Oh, but I would. You don’t know how I’ve -longed- for this very moment.”

“You’ve got to hear me out," Sirius croaked. "The rat -- look at the rat --" But there was a mad glint in Professor Black’s eyes that Hermione had never seen before, though she’d heard of it. The woman seemed…entirely beyond reason.

"Come on, all of you," she said. She clicked her fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew to his hands. "I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too --"

Before Hermione knew what was happening or could intervene, Harry had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door. "Get out of the way, Potter, you're in enough trouble already," snarled Professor Black. "If I hadn't been here to save your skin --"

"Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year," Harry said. "I've been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Sirius, why didn't he just finish me off then?"

"Don't ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works," hissed Professor Black. "Get out of the way, Potter."

"YOU’RE PATHETIC!" Harry yelled. "JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL, YOU WON'T EVEN LISTEN --"

"SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" she shrieked, shaking and looking madder than ever. "Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Sirius Black -- now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!" Before Professor Black could take even one step toward him, he had raised his wand. So, instinctively, did Hermione and Ron. "Expelliarmus!" they yelled simultaneously --and there was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges; Black was lifted off her feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under her hair. She had been knocked out. Her wand soared in a high arc and landed on the bed next to Crookshanks.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Sirius, looking at Harry. "You should have left her to me...."

"We attacked a teacher... We attacked a teacher..." Hermione whimpered, staring at her lifeless favorite professor with frightened eyes, unsure if they’d done the right thing. "Oh, I hope she’s alright, we're going to be in so much trouble, she thought she was protecting us, she -was- protecting us--"

Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Sirius bent down quickly and untied him. Lupin straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into them. "Thank you, Harry," he said.

"I'm still not saying I believe you," he told Lupin.

"Then it's time we offered you some proof," said Lupin. "You, boy -- give me Peter, please. Now."

*************************************************************************************
Hermione took a deep breath and knocked twice on the closed office door. It was the last day before the Hogwarts Express took students home for the summer holidays, and she wouldn’t feel right leaving without saying…something.

“Enter,” came the clipped reply and when Hermione entered the office, it was to find her favorite professor sat at her desk, focused intently on whatever she was writing, which looked like a letter. A beautiful faceted bottle of what appeared to be whiskey sat on the edge of the desk with the decanter out.

“Granger.”

“Professor Black.”

“To what do I owe this interruption? You’ve received your exam scores back, yes?”

“I have, Professor.”

“And you scored well from what I recall. I can’t imagine you have a question about the material…unless you’ve started your summer work already.” Her words were brusque but with a hint at a teasing tone, which softened Hermione’s nerves only slightly.

“Professor…I wanted to apologize,” the Gryffindor offered hesitantly.

“Oh. Whatever for?” She paused in her writing, the tip of her magnificent hawk’s feather quill poised in her hand like she was ready to resume at any second. -But she’s curious about what I have to say…-Hermione realized.

“You know…for…” she trailed off, gesturing at nothing in particular, before finding her voice and continuing. “For attacking you in the Shrieking Shack. I don’t know what went on with you and Sirius and Professor Lupin and Harry’s dad at school, but I have to believe you really were only trying to protect us.”

“Hm.” Professor Black nodded to show she’d heard, though she didn’t look up from her parchment. Hermione took a few steps further into the office, but still didn’t sit down.

“Do…do you believe us, about Sirius being innocent? We saw Pettigrew transform; I swear it. I know you told the Minister you thought we were confunded, but…”

“Would you have rather I said I believed you knocked me unconscious of your own volition?”

“No, but…”

“I’m sure you’ve discerned by now that there are very few thought forms inaccessible to me when I’m listening intently enough and even when I am not. Tell me, what have you done with the Time Turner?”

Professor Black had finally looked up from her desk and was staring pointedly at Hermione now, with her left eyebrow raised in that imposing manner which frightened most of her classmates.

“I…I turned it into Professor McGonagall. I scored well on my exams, but I had to be honest with myself about not being able to cope with another year with a schedule like that. It was too stressful. I’ve dropped Divination and Muggle Studies.”

“While as your professor I’m pleased to hear you’re taking proactive steps to manage your stress level, I was not referring to your use of the Time Turner for educational purposes.”

“I didn’t—“

“I will not be lied to, Ms. Granger. I am, however, aware that up until the events of the night in question you kept your word and did not disclose your possession of the Time Turner even to your closest friends and nor did you use it for non educational purposes. I am also aware that on the night in question, your unauthorized usage of the device was not an idea of your own derivation.”

“You—“

“Sit down, Ms. Granger. I had my suspicions and I’ve spoken with Professor Dumbledore, yes. As I said…I will not be lied to.”

“Who else—“

“It was a private conversation between the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, and myself. While I will not claim to be pleased with the way the situation played out, I -have- always had a soft spot for Hippogriffs. Tea?”

Hermione nodded and Professor Black accio’ed her kettle from over by the fire, then conjured two of her bone china cups. Hermione ran her fingers along the ornate wood carved arm of her chair, trying to catch up with her thoughts.

“Are you upset…that Sirius got away, I mean…I know they were talking about giving you an Order of Merlin…and now…” she trailed off. The older witch set one of the steaming cups of black tea in front of her. It smelled of cinnamon and clove, with just the faintest hint of orange peel. It smelled like Professor Black.

“I’ll live,” she replied stiffly, and with a sharp clear of her throat. “They would have never given me an Order of Merlin anyway.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked. And then instantly regretted it. She didn’t want her professor to think she was being nosy. But Professor Black surprised her by merely sighing deeply…and then answering her question.

“As I’ve said before, you’re a smart, perceptive girl. And my past isn’t some secret…not in the same manner as…Professor…Lupin’s condition at any rate…and you pieced that together without issue.”

“That night in the Shrieking Shack…Sirius said something about why you react to dementors as you do—almost like it has more to do with…personal experience…similar to his own…rather than just a lot of bad memories.” Hermione had finally said what’d been stewing away in the back of her mind since that night…and really, since the Quidditch match, when the powerful witch before her had crumbled so entirely.

“I only spent a year in Azkaban,” Professor Black said suddenly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to readily admit. Hermione choked a little on her tea. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Even though she’d had her suspicions…she never expected the other witch to just…put it out there like that.

“What do you know about the first Wizarding War, Ms. Granger?”

“Just that You-Know-Who first really came to power a little over twenty years ago—and that he wanted to take over the wizarding world and…purge it of Muggles and Muggleborns.” She tried to sound confident, even though they’d arrived at the one topic of conversation that brought her any real degree of discomfort. She never knew when people’s prejudices were about to reveal themselves.

“Then, you must know that certain pureblood families were quite loyal to his cause from the beginning,” Professor Black pressed on. Hermione nodded. “Many of those families had members who’d gone to school with the Dark Lord, and been his loyal supporters from the time he was an ambitious student…and they remained so as he rose to power—my father among them. As I was growing up, the idea of the Dark Lord and his followers coming to my home for Sunday dinner was as commonplace as anything. By the time I was off to Hogwarts, it was understood that I was to serve the cause in some capacity upon the completion of my education–most likely by marrying a prominent Death Eater and bearing his sons,” she said.

Hermione frowned, but didn’t interrupt. Whenever she heard or read anything about the old “sacred 28” pureblood families and their activities, she was reminded of the old British Muggle royal families…marriages for alliances rather than love, undefiable expectations, lavish lifestyles…all of it so medieval…as if frozen in some distant timeline so unlike her own.

“It was in my fifth year, when my father promised my hand to Rodolphus Lestrange,” Professor Black continued with a hint of bitterness to her voice. “A younger liuetnant, about a year out of Hogwarts and rising quickly in the ranks…he was a brutish man and by then the Dark Lord had recognized I might be more useful on the battlefield than tucked away in the home. He noticed I had skills for dueling and logic and strategy…and to me…to finally feel seen for who I was and what I could do rather than who my father was and who my sons would be…it was everything. He deferred my engagement, took my best school friend and I on as his personal proteges, and at that point I thought I would have done anything for him.” She was once again looking down at her unfinished letter and her teacup rather than at Hermione. Like she was telling this story to herself…going back to a past that clearly still haunted her. The Gryffindor remained very still…as if any movement or sound on her part would jolt her professor back to the present moment, stopping the sudden, personal disclosure before she’d really even begun it.

“...I joined up when I graduated. It was the proudest my father ever was of me. My mother was scandalized–her good pureblood firstborn daughter, a soldier? But no one questioned the Dark Lord. And I belonged to him by then. I’d be remiss…if I said I didn’t like it–feeling important…fighting…duelling…being…respected…feared. At first I was just knocking out, injuring, confunding, disarming, interrogating…but then the expectations grew as the war heightened and my star rose. I was expected to torture mercilessly and I turned out to have a real knack for it…manipulating people’s thoughts and memories…causing pain…abject terror…I did unspeakable things. But I hadn’t killed anyone–that I knew of, anyway–nor caused any lasting, permanent spell damage that I knew of. I justified it all in the name of my job. In the name of war. In the name of the man I felt I owed my freedom to. Owed my life to, really…” she trailed off again, a hollow absence to her voice. She reached for the unstoppered whiskey bottle on the edge of her desk and poured a fair amount of it into her tea before knocking back the whole drink. It was like she’d completely forgotten Hermione was there.

“...And then everything changed one Halloween night. The Dark Lord had set his sights on two old classmates of mine…”

“...Harry’s parents…” Hermione murmured before she could stop herself. But if Professor Black heard her, she made no acknowledgment.

“That night, I awoke to the sounds of screaming. The home I shared with the Dark Lord overrun with Death Eaters. James and Lily were dead…and the Dark Lord was…missing? Dead? Wounded? Destroyed? We didn’t know. It was chaos. I remember… being swept into a group that included Rodolphus, my once intended, and his brother—we were going to interrogate a pair of Aurors who’d been next on the hit list—I don’t know that any of us expected to get anything out of them or that they’d know anything or if we just needed a place to put our fear, our grief, our…raw, unfettered energy…” She refilled her tea cup again, this time, with just the whiskey. Knocked it back.

“…But…they had a child. A little baby boy. Barely over a year old. And I couldn’t—I froze. They tortured those Aurors beyond anything I’ve ever seen—up until then and since—tortured them until they no longer recognized themselves. But nothing mattered to me in that moment outside of keeping that baby safe.” Her voice broke then. Hermione was torn between wanting to hug her and thinking she should probably leave, give the woman her space.

“Professor—” she started, but Professor Black held up a hand as if to shush her.

“Let me finish…you wanted to know why the dementors affect me so, did you not? You’ve wanted to know all year. And after what you’ve seen and experienced and heard about these past weeks, I feel you are, in a sense, owed at least that much…but you should know that I have no intention of telling this story again…at least not any time soon.”

Hermione nodded quickly, hands gripping at the arms of her chair, her tea cup resting on the floor beside her, feeling like she couldn’t possibly let anything distract her from this, she knew, rare glimpse into her professor’s complicated past. But her mind was racing with all she’d already learned. Professor Black had…been a Death Eater…and yet Dumbledore let her teach at Hogwarts, she was friends with Professor McGonagall, and the Minister of Magic had regarded her so warmly…

“The next thing I knew, the Aurors arrived on the scene and arrested all of us. I heard them blame me for everything. Cowards. Oh how they’d been roped into the insane schemes of the chief torturess of the Dark Lord, mad with grief over her fallen master. It was like I lost my voice. I think I knew I deserved punishment for all I had done–even if I hadn’t done what they’d accused me of—I also hadn’t stopped it.
They sentenced me to life in Azkaban, but they’d already begun my “deprogramming” from the moment of my arrest.”

Hermione wanted to ask exactly what Professor Black meant by “deprogramming,” but thought better of it. She winced, realizing she didn’t think she actually wanted to know if her imagination was anything to go by.

“I spent a year in the maximum security isolation ward,” said her professor. “And then one day…who should appear, but Professor Dumbledore. Surrounded in Patronus light…he looked like an angel. I thought I was hallucinating. Dying. Or finally going truly mad.” She laughed then…and drank more whiskey, this time straight from the bottle. “He told me he was there on the word of that school mate of mine I’d joined up with…evidently, he’d given himself over to the Ministry and Dumbledore at great personal risk before the Dark Lord’s fall and offered himself as a spy. Somehow, he won their trust. Turns out, half the death eaters in Azkaban were there on his information. Apparently he felt he’d earned a favor of his own—and for reasons still unbeknownst to me, he used that favor to plead -my- case.” Professor Black laughed again, this time quite sarcastically. Her whiskey breath filled the room like smoke and Hermione once again felt like she might be intruding on something she shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like she’d never been around adult drunkenness…her father, her grandmother, Hagrid, even Black in the oub that day…but this was different. A window into a display of emotion Hermione knew she’d never have shown a student were she sober. It felt like eavesdropping, even though it wasn’t.

“It all happened fairly quickly after that. They dug around in mine and Rodolphus’s memories…found sufficient evidence I was innocent of the crime I was arrested and serving sentence for—and that, coupled with a lack of evidence towards any other crime I might’ve been accused of, and information I passed on from being in the Dark Lord’s innermost circle that led to the capture of some of the most violent Death Eaters…including the werewolf who’d bitten Lupin when he was just a child…and the year of torture…er…deprogramming…I’d already undergone…the Ministry saw fit to release and pardon me, under the condition I’d take post at Hogwarts School where Dumbledore could keep an eye on me and I could use my…knowledge and capabilities…to do something useful…So there you have it…everything you possibly wanted to know and more, hm?”

Hermione didn’t know what to say.

“Professor—I—”

“Which brings us back to the real reason for your visit—why do the dementors affect me as they do? It was only a year…but then again, as Minerva has not seen fit to stop reminding me this year, the level of torture to which I was subjected is not typically, or ever, undergone, by prisoners the Ministry intends to release, but by the ones they don’t have the sense of mercy to kiss. And then you have my cousin, always the anomaly. Fourteen years…”

“...Sirius said he survived…because he knew he was innocent. And because he had something to live for—protecting Harry—and enough positive memories from the past that he could use them as a shield. Kind of like Professor Lupin was teaching Harry to do…He also said being able to turn into a dog helped. Apparently the dementors don’t affect animals as much. But you…” Once again, she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to. Professor McGonagall’s words from the beginning of term echoed in her mind: “Dementors force you to relive your very worst memories…and while the last thing she’ll ever accept is pity, no one can deny that life has not been kind to Bellatrix Black.”

“The dementors affected me as they did…as they still do…because when they took me under their…care…they knew I had nothing left. Now, you’d best finish your tea and be off—you’ve got an end of term feast to attend, and I have work to finish.”

“Are you…not coming to the feast, Professor?”

“Oh, that’s not a sense of satisfaction I’m ready to give anyone. I just need to…” she paused and shook her head, as if thinking better of finishing her sentence. Hermione wondered if she’d been about to admit that she needed to sober up. She rose from her chair, picked the half-drunk cup of cold tea off the floor and set it on her teacher’s desk.

“I won’t tell anyone, you know. About your…past,” she offered. Professor Black shrugged.

“It’s not like it isn’t information anyone has access to. Most of your pure and half blood classmates grew up hearing my name on their parent’s lips. Either out of reverence, mistrust, disgust, or fear…it doesn’t much matter to me anymore. But your disgression is…appreciated.”

Hermione turned to leave, but paused when she reached the door.

“I know I’ll see you at the feast…but…I hope you have a good summer, Professor.”

“And you as well, Miss Granger.”

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