Querencia (where one feels at home)

Bellatrix Black Riddle had been alive on this Earth for too long.

She had watched, captivated as she stared at the mirror with each passing day as her face grew longer and her eyes grew smaller in comparison to the bags beneath them and her hair curled and its colour started to fade. She watched as she grew taller, her grin grew smaller and she changed, from the crazy little girl staring with curious eyes to the haggard and heartbroken woman with the tired face now in front of her.

Many would scoff at her thoughts now. Those older would scorn and grumble, mutter that she was still so young, so very young and she was closer in age to when she stepped foot on this Earth to when she would step off. Yet she still felt so old, so unworthy of being here any longer. How could she feel any different? When her brother, new-born and moments away from opening his eyes for the first time died before he could. When her cousin, Regulus, so young, so beautiful and so full of warmth, had lay in his coffin, his eyes glassy and his hands cold. To this day she wondered if he was shivering in the face of death and if the pain of dying had taken away any warmth he had possessed. (She often wondered if it would have been better if she took their place then shook the thoughts from her head as quickly as they came.)They deserved life, they deserved to live far longer than she had. They would have used the time to live a far better life than she had. They would have filled the Earth with their laughter instead of filling it with theirs tears, like she had. Like she was.

How could she bear to feel young when her daughter kicking and squirming in her stomach had died before taking her first breath. A miscarriage they told her. Nothing more. Oh…it was so much more to her. How could she bear to smile when her son, most likely never had a reason to. Lost they told her. Nothing more. Did they even know that lost more than often meant never found?  How could she bear to live happily and safe when her children hadn’t.

Her son was so young, his eyes should have sparkled and his smile should have been so wide. Yet from where she stood, his eyes were dull and his smile was small, too small. He may be young, but she knew he had never felt the achingly beautiful youth he should have. And that simple thought made her feel so old, so ungrateful that she had not enjoyed hers when she could have and so angry that she did not have enough to give to him.

She knew it was him before he had uttered his name. 

'I'm Harry. Harry Potter. I'm so sorry for bumping into you ma'am. I should have paid attention to my surroundings.'

Ma'am. He should have never been the one to call her ma'am. Never should he have looked in her eyes and seen anything other than his mother. But now, as he stared, he could only see a stranger, the stranger who had so carelessly bumped into him.

"It's quite alright dear, accidents happen. I should have kept an eye out too. I'm Bellatrix. Bellatrix Black Riddle." She said, her voice so loud, so confident. How did she do it? How could she look at him and utter those words without a single tear. She held out her hand waiting, watching as he hesitantly shook it.

The action felt so formal. So wrong when done by those hands. They should have been embracing her. They should be the hands that wrap around her waist in a hug, not the hands that shake hers so stiffly.

"Well, let me help you, I've sent all your things flying." She laughed quietly, her voice ringing in her ears and watching as he nodded softly and reached out grabbing his books one by one. His movements were sluggish, as if he was tired and his body trembled as if fighting the cold. It was not cold, not as cold as last night. (As she watched him shiver, she wondered if the tremors running through his body were from fear or nerves because it was easier than wondering if someone had left him out-if someone had hurt him)

She glanced to the side, her hands picking up the nearest book to the side and she gently traced the cover. History of Diagon Alley. She had read this book before, she remembered. Once, in a time when her memories were hazy. When she had scrambled and read every history book back to front, her tears staining their pages and her body shaking with grief as she desperately searched for some mention, any mention of that day. When the fire had burned through the streets and she had leapt back, her hands gripping his and those cold hands gripping hers snatching her wand and watching as she whimpered, the smoke entering her lungs and his. A shout. Her name. Warm hands gripping hers, kissing her cheek and that familiar pull and the grainy walls of their home. When weak coughs had racked his tiny frames and she watched helpless as her husband paced back and forth with him, trying, begging him to get better. The rush of St Mungos and the nurses, their mouths curved into sneers at their faces as they tried to help him, till eventually something did. The relief. Then the exhaustion. Then the noise. His empty crib. Then came the agony. That irrepressible agony.

"Ms Riddle?" A small voice called. "Are you okay?" 

She jolted forward, her head hazy and her vision blurred, she coughed as if to rid her lungs of smoke that had once filled them. "S-sorry." She croaked glancing up and staring into her son's eyes. They were emerald green. They should have never been that colour.

Stumbling to her feet, she handed him the book. "My apologies. I was just...reminiscing. Diagon Alley has had its moments." He beamed at her, his smile blinding.

"I can't wait to read it! Have you read it ma'am?" He asked eagerly, stepping forward and stumbling up. His eyes lit up and his nose wrinkling upwards as he smiled slightly. His cheeks flushed and his dimples stood pronounced. He was perfect.

"Yes..I have. It's a... interesting book." She mumbled, her lips curving into a forceful smile. It had been detailed. Labelling Diagon Alley through the decades yet even then, there was never a mention, not a single mention of the fire. Nothing. Absolutely nothing about the day her life fell apart.

"Oh..great. Thanks. I'll be sure to read it soon. " His smile faltered slightly and the sparkle in his eyes dimmed. She felt like cursing herself. Stupid. Stupid. 

"It is interesting, dear. I promise. It just doesn't mention some key events..." She added hastily, watching as he nodded. His smile never returned to what it was before. His nose didn't crinkle again nor did his dimples show. The sparkle in his eyes seemed to disappear as quickly as it came.

"Events? Like what?" 

"There was a fire. 10 years ago. In Diagon Alley. But it seems that most History books have seemed to erase it from existence itself." Like it never happened.

"Mrs Riddle? Why are you talking to my charge?" A cold voice suddenly interjected before she could elaborate any further and she looked up hurriedly and repressing a shudder when she found herself staring into the icy blue eyes that she hated.

Harry Potter was having the time of his life. 

Diagon Alley had been amazing! The shops...the crowd..the magic. 

He hadn't meant to bump into Ms Riddle but he found himself happy that he had. She seemed so...nice. So familiar. So achingly familiar. He had an urge. An irrepressable urge to get to know her...to hug her...as if she was someone he had known before. She gave of an aura. Waves of calmness and love. Like a Mother should have. He felt safe with her. 

Yet even then, when he felt as if nothing could harm him, as if nothing could stop their steady conversation, someone did. Dumbledore did.

It seemed the man had a tendency to turn up at all the wrong times. Whenever he wanted to be alone, whenever he'd try talking to someone, Dumbledore would be there, with his fake twinkle and kind demeanour. 

He didn't like Dumbledore he decided. But even then, he was better than most. Harry would play nice... for a while...after all Dumbledore was the first person to introduce him to this...beautiful world.

"Harry." Dumbledore stated calmly, his eyes flickering between them. "Why were you talking to Ms Riddle?"

He turned to her, watching as she seemed to grow angrier with every second that went by and somehow sadder at the same time. "I-we just bumped into each other s-sir." He stuttered, his eyes flicking back to Dumbledore and shrinking at the anger in his eyes. "She was just helping me get up and noticed my book. She said she had read it before."

Dumbledore seemed to deflate slightly and turned back to her and nodded his head slightly in a dismissive way and watched as she rose slightly and stared at him defiantly for a moment before brushing past them, ruffling Harry's hair softly and kissing the top of his head slowly. "Goodbye my dear. Remember there are always people who love you. And of course. Happy birthday. May the birthdays that follow be forever spent in happiness" She mumbled as she left, bending down behind them and picking up the book she had dropped. She had wished him happy Birthday. She had said he was loved. Loved. The word seemed so foreign when directed towards him. Who loved him? He was...just Harry. 

Locator charms: How to find someone you have lost. That was her book. Its title shone in the sun and he watched as she traced the title and glanced at it, with a look of unimaginable pain.

As he watched her retreating form, Harry couldn't help but wonder who she had lost and his mind flashed back to the fire she had mentioned. How her eyes seemed to fill with sadness and her body seemed to shrink, as if she was carrying a heavy sadness within her. Fires were often known to hurt even the best of people.

He glanced back at Dumbledore. "Shall we move ahead sir?" He voiced hesitantly, clearing his throat slightly and jumping back slightly when Dumbledore's eyes snapped back and glared at him. His glare softened and his face went back to the emotionless mask it had been in before. 

"Yes, yes. Pardon me Harry. Do you remember the pure blood supremacists who followed Voldemort I mentioned earlier? " He paused watching as Harry nodded before continuing, "Well, Bellatrix Black Riddle was rumoured to be one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, she is said to have commit many grievous crimes in the past. She is one of the lucky followers who escaped prison. Many at the Ministry of Magic refuse to believe that she has done what she has. It is best if you avoid her completely. Furthermore, she is a Black, an extremely dark family who are known to have hurt many. Please take head of my advice Harry. We do not want you getting hurt yes?"

"Yes. Yes sir. Thank you. F-for warning me." Harry whispered turning slightly and watching her retreating form once more. She couldn't be evil. Right? She seemed so nice. So..perfect. She had kissed his head, whispered that he was loved in his ear. She had wished him Happy Birthday. He couldn't remember the last time someone had done that and meant it. Had anyone ever done that to him before? She had acted more like a mother to him than most people in his life ever had. She was rumoured to be a follower. Rumoured. She hadn't been arrested. Majority still believed she was innocent then. Perhaps..she was? He'd wait. For a while. Judge the situation when he knew more. Yes, he'd do that. 

"Now! I have a present for you my boy!" Dumbledore inject happily, he moved his left hand forward and exposed the large silver cage he had hidden. And inside, stood the most beautiful snowy owl he had ever seen. He gasped, the air leaving his lungs as he stared at the owl in a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

"F-for me?" He squeaked, the blood rushing to his cheeks and his ears reddening. His eyes stung and he reached out gently stroking the owl's feather half expecting Dumbledore to move back suddenly and laugh at him, only to stare in awe at the owl when the cage was pushed in his direction.

"Yes for you my boy. It is your birthday after all. Happy Birthday Harry."

Best.Birthday.Ever.