Harry Potter 1. Guilt

Chapter One: Guilt, and Confessions

I was walking aimlessly though the wreckage of the castle. It was funny, up until a year ago I would have killed (literally) to be here, to just _see_ it. But not now. Now I was numb. I've done it. I might as well have been the one to raise the wand and do it. My mother is dead. I, Bellona Black, have done what I wanted most. The Dark Lord is gone, and now I am orphaned again.

It must have been a beautiful place before, because it was still pretty despite the damages of war. Thinking back to all the country manors, sterile flats, and crumbling villas I'd spent my life hiding in, my surroundings would have been a dream even without the fabled name, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding. I kicked a piece of statue from me. I should go help the injured, or at least go see if Narcissa and Draco lived. The thought sent the first feeling back through me since running from the Great Hall, from her body. I could not lose them. I could not.

My feet had taken me back to the entrance of the hall. The doors were open wide, and I made myself walk in. Scanning the mass of people I saw no trade mark white blonde hair, did not see Uncle's tall lean frame. The last time I had seen her she had seen me fighting Dolohov. Please, please God let her see why I did it.

He scared me, saying my name from behind me. I twirl around, prepared to attack. But it was just my cuz, Draco. And damn, I doubt the sight of his thin, arrogant pale face had ever made anyone that happy before (or at all, like ever.) The normal smug look had been wiped clean years ago, and it almost was nice to have him give me a watered down version of his old smirk. "Bel." He nodded over to a mostly deserted stretch of hallway.

We sat on some ruble, and I did not know what to say. He was looking at me like I was a puzzle he had thought solved for years, and now had thrown him. I didn't blame him. I could see Draco working through recent events; I could see him connecting the dots. I knew by just looking at him, that now that he had been told the basics of how the Dark Lord fell, he knew there was only one way the Order could have known some things. Me. "What… what did you do?' he asked, and he almost sounded jealous. But I would think about that latter.

I took my time answering. How do you tell your family you've been playing double agent for years? I had been the perfect daughter, had been a better daughter and then a better dark witch then anyone could ever have dreamed. I had not protested hiding, or not going to Hogwarts. I had not cried when Mother was sentenced to life in Azaban, had sworn to keep searching for the Dark Lord, at five. Under the care of several of mother's cronies I learned to successfully use Crucio by 12. Avada Kedarva by 15. I had been just as zealous as her, and when the Dark Lord was reborn and he sent me to live with Severus, I learned a few things.

But Draco knew all that, and I couldn't tell him what came next, what he did not know. So, like an idiot, I say, "Killing is bad." Aw yes I, child prodigy, had deduced killing was bad. Gold star for me.

He didn't laugh. "It's over Bel, it doesn't matter if you spied, it doesn't matter if you single-handedly taught peeves that song! (He was singing some ditty about "Voldy's gone moldy… if you could call it singing.) He's dead. Anyone who would defend him is too, or have ran," he looked out through the hole in the wall, towards the forest, like he'd like to too, "You're safe."

"Who's dead?" I asked, ashamed that it hadn't been my first question.

" That matter?" I nodded. "Not my mum or dad, but a good amount of the Dark Lord's force. And then… well you know." He looked away, having the decency to hide the relief that passed over his face.

"Right. Them." Of course I knew the three people whose deaths mattered. The Dark Lord had spoken of Severus's death in front of everyone. I had seen Voldemort die myself. And then Mother, who had never had much patience for Draco after he had failed the Dark Lord's orders. I tried not to be mad at Draco, I'm sure he had every right to be glad she was gone. But it didn't make it stop hurting. We talked of minor things for a while, watching the survivors dash hear and there. Some gave me odd looks; I guess I'll get that a lot now.

As we talked, I looked around. There was an almost unsettling peace to the still smoldering grounds. Looking through a gaping opening in the castle's thick walls, you could see a wide scene of the grounds that were lit prettily by the early morning light. The forest off in the distance looked pure, unsullied by the catastrophe that had blatantly marred all else. The people were a mixed bag; it was had to tell who was who. Many did little more than sit huddled with (I assume) family speaking in whispers, as Draco and I did. Other's had taken a more active role, helping the hurt or removing the dead. They had moved Voldemort's corpse somewhere. I had not seen it since the chaos after the showdown between the two.

It was bizarre; I _hated_ Voldemort. I had spent the last two and a half years trying to take him down. But the part of me that had been groomed since birth to be his right hand man hurt for him, which was terrible considering I was watching his victims trying to recoup. But at least that was a small, small part. The worst was that every inch of me mourned my insane, homicidal mother.

Maybe I did it because of that, my guilt over both missing her and helping those who killed her. Maybe I had some sort of mental break down. Maybe I just needed to tell someone that I wasn't quite as evil as I looked.

I told him about Snape. It felt like a betrayal, which was stupid as Potter had announced to the world Severus's biggest secrets. But it felt wrong to be sitting here talking about what had become so taboo to me; Severus's secrets weren't mine to tell. My reasons stemmed from his reason to work for Dumbldore. I hoped showing him that Severus, who he adored, had felt this way and done even (a lot!) more than me, it would make it so he wouldn't hate me.

He laughed. I considered hitting him; it felt like a breach of some unspoken contract. "You're not the only rebellious cousin, Bel. Have you looked at your own tapestry? There's almost as many of you Blacks not on there than on! I thought you'd actually done something different." He then went on to be his normally jerk self, for about a half an hour. I would have jinxed him, but it was weirdly comforting to know no matter what went on in the world, my cousin would be a prick.

Things had started to settle, both in the castle and in my mind. I realized I didn't know where Severus was, or what they were going to do with Mother. Before they took the bodies away, I kind of wanted to see that Nymphadora Tonks girl. It just seemed unfair to not have ever seen my cousin even once. Though looking at Draco, who was at this point frantically asking if I thought he and his parents were going to be charged with anything, maybe it wasn't that bad. I not so politely told Draco to go whine to someone else, and sat thinking by myself after he sulked off. To find out what was going on I was going to have to go talk to someone.

So I thought that, if I was going to ask for a briefing, who better than Potter himself? He had at some point came back from wherever he had gone for the night to the great hall, surrounded by a group of mix-matched people. Someone had made food, I think. I don't really remember.

Because when I walked over to Potter's gang, to introduce myself and maybe try to see if I could talk to Kingsley in private, Potter freaked. And jinxed me unconscious.


	2. Request

_**C**hapter Two: Request _

When I was a little girl, I had this fantasy about my dad. It would always be when things were the worst, when mom went to jail or I had to be moved again. He would come bursting through the door, chanting the name my mother said he never even bothered to learn. He would be tall like me, and have my reddish hair. For some reason, even though I outgrew them when I was little, he has freckles. And his singing my name would change into my nickname, Bel, so it started to sound like that princess movie with the trippy talking furniture. In fact, everything was starting to look like that movie, blended with the sound of an argument. I tried to tell the teacup to stop nagging at Draco, when it started to apologize over and over again before sinking into blackness.

I woke up in what must have been the castle's sick ward. A group of strangers hovered around me, as my vision cleared I recognized Kingsley and Draco (who seemed completely unfazed.) I was just thinking I should pass back out so I could tell the teacup to plague Draco with no mercy when Potter, I think, saw I was awake. After I couple of heartfelt yet awkward apologies, Draco said I'd only been out 5 or so minutes. Then Kingsley introduced me to the strangers.

The tall, pretty brown haired witch to my left was none other than Hermione Granger herself. She looked a lot more composed and confident, despite the burned and torn clothes, than in the identifying picture Mother had shown me. She gave me a small nod and curious look, which was shared by the wizard next to her, Slughorn. He looked like a plump walrus; the fact that the Dark Lord had wanted to recruit him so bad was made that much more ludicrous as he was in destroyed bedclothes. A few other names and inquisitive faces, and it was Kingsley's turn to introduce me.

I don't know if I have really told you how much people see Mom in me, but it's really obvious who I am if you just look over the fact that everyone knows the Lestranges had no children. Which is right, they didn't. I am Bellona Elladora Black, because my Mom says my dad's name-which she never told me- was nothing, and she wanted her daughter to be a somebody. Stupid, as she hide me away under fake names my whole life.

So when Kingsley said my name, everyone caught on. Granger even muttered something about war and Rome, which is her way, I suppose, of saying that she liked my super cool goddess name (Bellona to the Romans was the mother of war, and Bellatix translates as female warrior. I had a kick out of that when I was little. Now it just hurt to think about.) If you're reading this Hermione, don't worry. I'm made of awesome; it's natural to be jealous.

But the collective shudder, the downright hostility in a couple of their faces, sent a frisson down my spine. I had been prepared for this; being the spawn of evil incarnate was not good. But if they didn't believe me, where was I to go? It hadn't slipped my notice that Draco was here, but my Aunt and Uncle weren't. And Severus is … gone. I hate being an orphan again.

We had a productive day, even with the glares and fear. Kingsley of course was the emergency Prime Minister, and had been pretty important man to Dumbledore. After Albus was gone, it was him that I had reported to and plotted with. He's a pretty stand up guy. I did my best to look at Kinsley, and not him.

He was standing next to Kingsley now, in the lobby of an impressive underground hospital. No one had to introduce this man to me. The fact that he was familiar at all, familiar from her things, was bad. She only kept pictures of her greatest victories, and I did not want to have to start apologizing for her, hear him speak of her with hatred, when I was dieing of grief. My thoughts had broken more and more during the day; I honestly couldn't have told you why we were here. I had not slept in almost three days, and the injuries from the battle were starting to reach a new level of pain. We walked towards the exit, Kingsley and the young man still talking.

On the outside the man said a polite goodbye. Kingsley apperated me home, and even secured the dingy rooms for me. I fell into the merciful grasp of sleep, dreaming of Mother and the young man.

The first one showed up that morning, prowling around the edge of the tiny property. I did nothing; how was I to know what Yaxley would want? But it was not a good sign, having someone of so high standing come calling. I fell back asleep, the sneakascope deactivated. Let them come.

The nock was booming, sending bright white light flooding my sight. I fumbled with the blanket that was wrapped around me like a vice while trying to answer. Before I was up, my Uncle's voice wrung out, cold and quite. "Bellona, its just I. Do let me in; there are things to be discussed." I contemplated just lying here, but why make him any madder? Surprisingly calm, I made myself go through the bedroom and front room. A deep breath; its not like there's anything to do now. I had made my decision. Now I must live with it. I opened the door.

Uncle stood, tall impassive and glacial cold in the dark expensive robes, his white blonde hair moving slightly in the breeze. He was alone. I was determined to make the most of the last of my life; I drank in every detail at once, from the outline of my executioner on the dismal sight of the poor London street, to the way my hands grazed the door frame. Draco was suspicious in his absence, and I felt a twang of pain that I would never see my only friend again.

Uncle stretched a hand out, as if to ask permission to come in. He looked disdainfully at my cramped, shoddy apartment. I didn't care what Lucius thought of my place, it's the only place I own out right, bought and paid for with my own clean money. As he walked to the brown leather couch - the only thing in the room - I noticed he didn't have his trademark walking stick. It used to contain his old wand; I had thought he kept his new one with it. I felt a rush of hope. If he has no wand, if they have taken it from him already, then I am home free. I could live.

I gained the courage to speak, "And what do I owe the honor of your visit?" I made myself appear collected and bored, the proper manner for a powerful dark witch, but in truth I knew that even if I was not so weak I could barely stand (let alone perform defensive magic,) I just couldn't raise a hand against another relation. Not with her death still fresh in my mind. The rush left.

"Do you think so little of your aunt and I that you think I couldn't have come just to check on you? It has been a difficult few days." He answered.

"Of course I don't. I simply worried some new calamity had been committed." I give him a hard look for his part in the most recent calamity.

"I can't say we are well, tonight Narcissa and myself have to report to the Ministry of Magic," he says in the same cold indifferent tone, as if the fact that he and his wife could be facing life in prison was a bit boring. So like a Malfoy. I ask if there's been a catastrophe and he complains about an appointment.

"I'm sure we all will have to go in for questioning," I say, trying not to point out that he was supposed to still be in Azkzban anyways.

"Aw, but not you niece. You spent yesterday with the Minister himself! Why, I do think you're moving up in the world." The words are sarcastic and mean, meant to make me beg pardon. I am suddenly reminded of how little I care for my Uncle.

"What do you want? You messed up, picked the wrong side. There is nothing I can do." Nothing I would do.

" A side that you played," he snarled. The mixed look of distaste, anger and fear is the most emotion he's ever displayed towards me.

"Draco told." I say. It's not a question, because I know Draco is ultimately a pawn in this man game. It hurt, though. But I had been a fool to trust him.

"I wasn't aware he knew anything." Liar. "I knew, it was pathetically obvious. One muggle kid dead and you stop doing as told? I knew you weren't working for us, an idiot would have known. And now you say you had Draco implicated? You little piece of filth." He had moved closer to me as he spoke, the venom in which he spat the words at me shocks me, but I refused to show it.

" I had Draco involved with nothing." I step even closer; we are so close my shoe stomps down on his. "And you're a fool to come here. You're quite right, I did spend-"

" I'm here to convey a warning. Know that the Dark Lord's forces are not dead just because he is. Know that we know you sent intelligence to the Order. And know you will be punished." He said it so fast, so efficiently, and the words surprised me so much, that I did nothing while he pushed me from the door and left.

I am stunned. I walked backwards and crashed on the couch. For a good couple of minutes I just reveled in not having died. But then it started to set in. None of that made sense. If they needed me punished, why not do it now when I'm weak and exhausted? I might be young, but I'd bet the Black fortune on taking him in a duel. I am Bellatrix's daughter, just as skilled now as she the day she died. Why him? A washed up family member? If they thought I would cooperate with him because we were kin was laughable. Yaxley had been here earlier; I had taken down the wards so any number of people could have come after. It was stupid. The small sinister part of me that was still loyal thought sadly that such a farce of a job would never had been stood for when the Dark Lord headed us. _Them_.

I used the muggle phone built into the kitchen wall, because I didn't know where my falcon was. It took four calls, and a very confused "operator" (whatever that was,) but I got a hold of Kingsley. He did exactly what anyone would do. He immediately ordered me from my place, and gave me a much-unneeded lecture. Did he think I didn't know I shouldn't have come back alone? The deep, rich tone of Kingsley's voice was soothing though, and I did need him to find me a safe place to crash, so I didn't hang up. After telling me not to leave my apartment until his Aurors were there to accompany me and wishing me well, he hung up.

I sat back against the counter top, trying to think if there was anything that I couldn't leave behind. Looking around the bare kitchen, I doubted there was anything anyone could gain from ransacking the place. It was small, with only the bed in the closet of a bedroom and couch in the front. I had purchased it soon after I had begun to be disillusioned with the pureblood ideology. Part functionality, part rebellion, who was ever going to expect that I would stoup to living in squalor with the lowliest of muggles? And even if they had come looking for me it would be impossible to connect me to it – this little apartment had almost the same charms as the Malfoy Manor. The only reason they knew was because I told Draco where I was going. And since I knew for a fact that Draco was an excellent Occlomens (he learned from mother and myself, for goodness sakes) the only way they knew from him was because he told. Well, I'd see soon enough who was playing on what side.

The Aurors were strangers to me, a woman and two men, all in muggle business attire. They had apperated on the tiny postage stamp of a porch. " Ms Black?" the tallest man said.

"Yes," I say.

" Right this way, please. Bring your bag." I have no bag; I bring my wand, asking no questions of them because I know they won't reveal anything else. Not even there names. It would seem I am not wholly trusted by everyone.

Kingsley's new office was grand but empty; obviously it had been recently gutted of all the personal affects of the last Minister. I conjured a plush sitting chair, my favorite from Severus's, and waited for the Minister to come.

He was only a minute or two after me. Striding into the office, he set to unloading a mass of papers on the empty desk in front of me. (Kingsley has a commanding presence even when you don't take in his appearance. This day he was wearing his good hoop earring, which added a touch of the eccentric to his other wise plain muggle wool suit.) In his calm straightforward manor, he goes about determining if I'm well. I am sure if it was anybody other than Kingsley they would make me go to St Mungo's Hospital. But it is Kingsley, and he said he couldn't afford to have me in such a crowded place before briefing. "Briefings that will be put on hold until I'm done here." He gestures to the now semi- organized pile of papers in front of him, but he looks out pensively through the huge glass window down the Ministry's main lobby. Crews of workers are still in the process of tearing down the huge monument to a pureblood world.

"If you're going to wait 'till that's done and gone, then no one will have a clue what's going on, ever,' I say with a bit of dark humor. He offers me a quick smile, even though we both know bigotry is no joke around here.

"You realize you can't just go to one of your family's estates? That you can't just go off to exclusion? A witch like you is either on one side or the other." He looks down, back at the papers. " Of course, it is your choice what to do. But you should know that I am going to need all the help I can here."

"You know how I feel about the Ministry," I say coolly. I hate it. I hate every last corrupted piece, from the Dementors to our last Ministers to the courts. "There was a reason it fell so easily."

" And who can I trust to help re-build it? To keep it from falling again? It will not be an easy task. You could help make it better." He is looking at me now, and I can't help to feel like to say no now would be ungrateful to the extreme. Truth be told, I myself did little to help the cause. It was mostly Dumbledore and then Kingsley helping me get out of torturing and killing Voldemort's enemies.

I sigh, knowing that I won't be able to live with myself if I don't try. "I've got no formal training. What are you going to do with a witch who's 21?" He doesn't even give my question a reply, just raises one eyebrow. "It's true," I mumble.

"We both know you can do more than most wizards twice your age." The fact that he recognized it was not what it sounds; when you recognizes my abilities you are accepting what they are in – the _darkest_ of the Dark Arts.

"Unless you are doing terrible things, I'm can't. And if you are I don't want to be a part of it." He sighed and looked back at the window.

" Aurors." He says. And that's all he says. I sit there waiting for him to elaborate for a solid five minutes.

"Er, what?" I finally ask, convinced that I must have missed something.

" An Auror with your knowledge would have a huge advantage over a criminal." He states it clearly, as just a fact, but it has me reeling. "I'm busy. Busier than I have ever been. And so are the Death Eaters. The people who are assuming that because Riddle-" I cannot help it, a hiss escapes my clenched teeth."- is dead then his followers are too are fools. They will want a new leader. If you hadn't seen reason it could have been you. It could have been you."

I saw where this was going, and I wanted to vomit. " I can't do it." I rasp out, and it is the only thought in my head.

"You've done it before." He says. As if giving the other side a heads up once and a while was the same as this.

"I can't pull it off. I just can't, even if I was going in with no agenda. I'll die. I can't do this." I say, surely he has got to be mad.

"I need you to. I need to know who wants what. Who is looking for the next Dark wizard, and who just wants to be left alone." He is talking rapidly now, and I think I might be about to have a heart attack. "If I don't put you there, they will put someone there. Someone who won't control what they do, someone who only wants more deaths. I need to be able to nip this in the bud."

"Put me where?" I was sure I was misunderstanding. This was ludicrous.

" I need you to be the next Dark Lord."

5


	3. Discoveries

Chapter 3 Discoveries

_16 years ago_

_The little girl shivered behind the fake bookshelf. The people were here finally, and the little girl hated those people. Mummy had told her what to do if they came for her; Auntie had told her that it was not if, but when. The girl had not understood that then, but she did now. She pressed her dirty head against the back, trying with all her might to hear the men's words. They were talking about mummy, and the girl was scared for her._

_She heard some dreadful noise she understood all to well. Mummy screamed from upstairs, and the little one curled up into a tighter ball, as if she could sink through the very floorboards themselves. They were dragging her down the stairs now, above her. The women stopped fighting, using the moment of lax security to throw herself to the stair steps. Fervently, the mother whispered to her daughter._

_"My warrior, my child. Mummy loves you. Do what mummy failed to do. Seek him out. Seek him-" The men had ripped Bellatrix from the stairs, and were saying things the child did not understand. Mummy started to scream now, as they pulled her out the door._

_"Remember!" Mummy had screamed, but all Bel remembered was that mummy needed her, that she was important. And that Mummy had finally said those words that all the mummies in the books and movies and at the park always said. Mummy loved her._

_Bel did what she was told._

I'm sitting in the Minister's office, staring at Kingsley. I say nothing for along time, his request doing laps in my brain. "I need you to be the next Dark Lord." The appeal is both ridiculous and blasphemous. I shake my head, as if that could relieve me of the Death Eater sensibilities that are roaring in my thoughts. There is no way anyone could ever be "the next Dark Lord." None could step in to those shoes. Even now that I know the pureblood ideology is wrong, I still have to admit that he was one of the greatest wizards to ever live. Capability wise, that is. A creeping sense of fear starts to fill me; just thinking these things is enough for a death sentence from my old "friends."

Oh wait. I was already waiting on that one.

"Are you completely out of your ever-loving mind?" I almost scream. "I must have been mistaken, I thought you wanted them to not gain any control? I thought we were aiming for PEACE!" I am so mad that I don't see him flick a silencing charm on me until it was too late.

"Calm yourself!" The look on his face was not too calm itself. "Do you want everyone on this floor to hear you? Of course I don't want them to have power ever again. If their leader was operating for us, they could corral them enough to give us the information we need to get the Death Eaters off the street." With a sweep of his hand he removes the charm.

"One little problem in your oh-so-great plan. They know I'm a traitor. And before that, they hated me. There is absolutely no chance of that ever happening, even if I was stupid enough to go for it." Thinking I've won, I lean back into the chair, gloating a smidgen at stumping Kingsley.

"Do you think I didn't do my homework on this? Out of all the suspects we have interrogated-" I shiver at that. Interrogation=Dementors in the ministry's book. "- Only one has shown concern of your loyalty." He messes with the pile of papers and pulls out a piece of thick cream parchment. The words printed on the front are still in the process of writing themselves. I realize that I'm looking at the transcript of the questioning of my uncle that was going on as I read.

"Going to taunt you was a useless mistake. We had him within a minute after he apperated. And with him facing jail time- and be assured, even if somehow he throws enough money at the dark arts charges, there is no way for him to get away with threatening you in your own home- that means he can't alert the others! No other followers we know of suspect anything!" He smiles wide, like I'm supposed to be all "Yeah! I can be an evil overlord now my uncle's in jail!"

"Oh, I forgot Azkaban was a communication-less black hole. Of course, they wouldn't accept me even if it were. There are too many more qualified. And like I said, I pissed a lot of them off back when I was still working for the Dark Lord." Maybe I was an arrogant prick. Maybe I crucioed a couple of people. I admit to nothing.

Kingsley smirks down at me. "Then why are they looking for you?"

" Um, maybe to kill me?" Yep, Kinsley is going to be a _great_ leader.

"No, we think that was just Lucius being, er… Lucius. It seems that many of the top has been searching for you since Riddle's death. You're lucky you stayed at the castle afterwards." Kinsley flicks his wand once more, conjuring his own, simple chair. Settling into it, he offers me another warm kind smile; I can't help but relax a bit.

He throws the mess of papers at me. Sorting through them, all but three interviews were done; their eerie typewriter lines no longer flashing on to the pages. The first file is Narcissa's. I skim the top of the red inked paragraph, signifying the interview transcript, and she seems to be doing fine. The next was Draco's, but do no more than read his information inscribed at the top. I slip it in my robes; I would read it in private. Surprisingly, the next was Weasley, Percy Ignatius.

"Weasley? As in Arthur and Molly's kid? Wasn't he junior something for Fudge?"

"Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic. Arthur and them think he's had a turn around. Percy thinks he's in an interview to get his job back." Kingsley's tone made it very clear he didn't share the Weasley's views. I guess it surprises me that my situation very well may have happened in reverse with this Weasley boy. I don't bother to open it, just throw it back on the desk.

I read through a couple of the finished files, all of which end with big black letters stating **INCARCERATED**. Two of them tried to rat me out, so I assume that means they don't know I snitched years ago. Out of all the names I only recognize a couple, and those only in a passing sort of way.

"You've got no one big." That can't be of course. The bigger they are the harder they fall, and all.

"I haven't given chase yet. If we get them now, men like Rowle, Dolohov-" I guess he doesn't know I killed him "-Will get 10-15 years for affiliation. We have no hard evidence that will get through the still-biased courts. I want enough to get them life in Azkaban. I want you to get it for us." He's looking at me intensely. I can't speak, can't even react. He looks down at the floor for a moment, "And, you know, Riddle wanted you to."

"The only reason I'm alive is because he died before he could kill me. At one point, yes, in the worst-case scenario, that was His plan. I'm sure he made it so I couldn't once he knew." Look, why does everyone now think he being evil and dead meant he'd been stupid?

"There is only one way to find out.' Kingsley looks down at my left wrist and I subconsciously push it between the cushion and arm of the chair. "If he died believing in you the Mark will act for you as it did for him. He himself set it up. If it summons his followers, that means they're yours."

"But I don't want them! I-"

"Enough. We need to get down to the first floor anyways. I just wanted to ask you in private, because obviously we can't speak of this outside of this room." He gives me a stern look. "You'll need to talk to Potter about Grimmauld Place." He then popped out with out an explanatory word.

Following him, I find myself in a room that could have been lifted from any muggle corporate headquarters. A long mahogany table overpowers the thin room; but in every other way it is the height of what I assume must be business haute couture. The seats are lavish leather chairs that somehow come off a bit unapproachable; I hover awkwardly by the door waiting to be invited to sit. Potter sits towards the end, his head bent out to look through another of those immense windows. His head snaps around and he partially rose from his chair at the sound of our appereating. He relaxes for a moment at the sight of Kingsley sweeping down to the end chair but tenses back up almost immediately. His brilliant emerald green eyes appraise me, and from the way he stays stiff and impassive, I think I failed whatever mental test he put me to.

"Harry, I'm sure you remember Bellona Black?" Kingsley settles into the head chair and sweeps his hand out for me to sit besides him, across from Potter. The seat is not as comfortable as they looked. He shakes his head.

" Lestrange's daughter." He didn't say it in a cruel way (I'm starting to think the boy wouldn't know how even if he tried,) but it still makes me flinch a bit. I nod, not knowing what to do.

"Yes, but I'm sure we can put our differences aside. We have work to do!" Harry curtly nods. "I am sorry to pull you away from the Weasleys. I know they need all there help with the funeral, and I heard you're doing Remus's practically by yourself."

Harry shakes his head in the negative. "Andromeda, Tonk's mom, wants to do a joint funeral. Though she does have her hands full with Teddy, so it's mostly Hermione and I. I'd ask Ron to help but…" He let's the sentence trail away, and before he looks down I see the grief in his eyes.

I wait to say anything until he raises his head, but my mind is whirling. Andromeda? That can only be my other aunt, the blood-traitor. Once, when Mother was having an even harder time ascertaining reality, she had spent a whole afternoon telling me about my "Auntie Andy." But Teddy? And I'm sure someone told me the werewolf Andromeda's girl married was named Remus. "Andromeda Black? Er, I mean Tonks?" He slowly nods.

"Guess that makes her your Aunt." His tone is emotionless.

"Yeah, guess so. She's alive?"

"And taking care of Teddy, who's your second cousin or something." So he must be Nymphadora child. No one told me she had a kid.

"How old is he?" I feel terrible; judging from the look on his face the topic is painful. I feel a pang of envy; he got to know and love them and now grieves over them.

He's judging me again, only this time I think I'm coming up marginally better. "Only a few weeks. He's a Metamorphmagus, like Tonks. I'm his godfather." He sounded prideful at that. After a couple of silent seconds, he seems to be done judging me again, only this time I think I came up marginally better. "If you'd like, you could come to the funeral. Tonk's. You'd just have to ask Andromeda, probably. We haven't set a date."

"Yeah, I'd like that," I rasp out. I'd like that a lot.

Kingsley coughs politely. I had forgotten he was even here. "I called you here to talk about Sirius's will, as Bel is the true-" I bark out a laugh when I grasp why Kingsley's made this poor kid show up.

"I don't want any of that crap, I swear. I didn't even know the guy, and even if I did he left it to Potter, so, Potter should probably keep it." Damn. I don't know what I did, but they're both looking at me shocked. "Er, if that was what you meant. Probably shouldn't have interrupted." Stupidly, I drag the word interrupted out much to long.

Potter shares something more than just a glance with Kingsley. " Well, I'd like to keep Sirius's stuff. _His_ stuff, I mean. I don't care much about the Black family antiques and portraits and all." He smiles a tad sadly. "Your welcome to come by sometime and look them over, see what you'd like. We were just going to box it away."

Now that I think about it, it _would_ be nice to see some of the bits and pieces my mother had told me about. Especially the portraits. " I don't want to keep any of it, but I would like to see them. The pictures, I mean." His smile gets bigger.

"'Course. Whenever." He genuinely seems to like the idea. Strange guy.

Kingsley grabbed a gold pocket watch out of his pocket as he stood. "Good. I just felt it might help, seeing it." He looks at me, and the excitement about the visit drains away. Any way visiting Grimmauld Place will help me make my decision cannot be good. "I have more things to do than you could imagine. If you'd both excuse me," He dissapereates away.

Potter stands and stretches. "How did you guys appereate in the ministry? I thought there were wards against that."

Huh, how did we? I try it now and fail. I shrug, "Can't now." We walk down to the elevator to take us back to the main entrance. Potter and I chatted on our way; the guys actually nice. The golden elevator doors open, and there that young man stands. The one from mother's things.

"Neville!" Potter exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" The man, Neville, clasps Potter on the back. He's average looking, physically, except for the numerous cuts, burns and abrasions and the calming air about him. He's wearing robes in a deep purple that don't quite fit over his ratty green T-shirt and muggle jeans. There is nothing special about him, really. But I still can't seem to look away as he answers Potter.

"Been helping cleaning this place up. Kingsley offered me a job in the Auror department. Think I'll take it." He turns towards me. 'You're Black right? Bellona Black." He smiles huge and offers his hand as the doors clang shut behind us. "I think you were a bit out of it when we met. Neville Longbottom." Longbottom. As in Alice and Frank. Dread seeps into my every cell. Alice and Frank Longbottom. The Aurors Mother went away for torturing.

Neville must know this, must know about our parents, but keeps up light conversation with Potter and I until we arrive at the main entrance. Potter makes me promise to send an owl as soon as I decide when I want to come over, and floos away. I stand in front of the highly wrought fireplace, embarrassed. I don't know where, exactly, I'm meant to be. Neville smiles down at me.

"Where you headed?"

"Don't know, really. Suggestions?" I should be mortified on so many levels, the least of which that I had just insinuated I wanted his company. I hold my breath, hoping he thinks I just wanted help.

He breaks out laughing, "Come on. Sure we could use your help here. Might be nice, anyway." He is standing just a bit to close, and I cannot help but agree that yes, it might be nice.


	4. Acquiesce

Chapter 4: Acquiesce

_10 years ago _

_It had been six years and the girl was strong now, so strong she didn't even miss mummy anymore. She was looking out over the grounds of the crumbling manor she was stuck in this month, pondering the letter in her hand. The parchment was thick and smooth, and the words seemed very grown-up to her. She ran her fingertip over the crest at the top and felt a surge of pride; she was a witch good enough to go looking for, because if Yaxley couldn't even find her (And she was sure he was the greatest wizard to ever be born, except for _Him_, so she must really be locked up tight this time) they must have had to look for a long time. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding," she whispered, before running back to the ruined house._

_Today, Bel had to deal with the idiot Macnair's babysitting. Why, exactly, did they think she needed to be watched? And by stupid brutes like Macnair? She shivered at the thought of actually speaking to the buffoon, but how else would she get there? Bel froze in front of the thick, rotting front doors, embarrassment coloring her face. She did not know much about Hogwarts. In fact, she knew nothing of Hogwarts. That must be a mistake, she told herself. But she knew they did not make mistakes._

_She made the doors open with a thought. She was not supposed to do magic; she was not even supposed to be able to control her magic. The girl smiled at that. It was good to be special. Walking into the damp front room, she screamed out for Macnair. He thumped down the stairs, muttering to himself all the while. _

_Before he could speak, she thrust the letter in front of his face. " I'll be in need of a trunk of course, and Yax will have to give my wand back." She stopped abruptly at the look of Macnair's face. He smiled from ear to ear, obviously gloating over her. But about what, Bel thought impatiently? What possibly could this thing have over her? _

_"Sweetheart," he said, mocking her. "You must realize that would be much to dangerous. Little thing like you, all caught up in the excitement of you first year, Dumbledore would eat you up. He'd have you spilling your guts by the end of the first week. And we can't have that, they'd kill you probably." His huge grin showed black, decayed teeth. _

_Bel stood in shock. She knew that she was a secret. She knew that the world had turned against the good guys, that her mother's name was equal to that of the Dark Lord's. That thought made her feel a little bit better. There was no way they would keep _her_ from school. None._

_"Liar," she said smugly. He would pay for this. "I can use a fake name, straighten my hair. I could be a Malfoy cousin." The thought was funny, she _was_ a Malfoy cousin. "Or a Yaxley. Or Selwyn." _

_"You poor little thing. Don't worry. The Dark Lord is seeing to your, ahem, education." For the first time, his smile scared her._

We got three uninterrupted hours. We darted about the Auror department for the first two while he got the last of last night's work (he was still up,) Neville always having a little witty comment to help me understand who was who. The last was probably the best hour in recent memory. We sat on a pile of debris from the Magic-is-Might statue they were taking down, eating greasy muggle food we had gotten from a tiny London shop, talking about some of the most random things you could think of.

It's halfway through Neville's lunch break, and the Granger girl's caught up with us. I can't help but find irresistible that he groaned at being interrupted. Because it's so nice to have a non-Draco friend, of course. Hermione's wearing a prim white blouse and light blue pencil skirt that fell to right above her pale hose-encased knees. With her fuzzy brown hair smoothed up in a tight, no-nonsense bun, she looks the image of an ambitious Ministry worker. She smiles, and comes over to us. When she sees whom Neville's sitting with, I can see a flash of confusion pass over her face. She masks it perfectly, sticking her hand out to me in greeting.

"Bellona, I see you got over that jinx." She smiles mischievously while shaking my hand.

"She goes by Bel." Neville smiles, and moved over- closer to me – to make room for Hermione on the block of crumbled stone.

"Oh," she says, her face flooding with color. She goes to speak, but flounders.

Trying to make the situation less awkward, I offer her a friendly (I hope) smile.

"Took me long enough!" I say, and she laughs.

"I'm surprised, normally he just has to cheat off me in charms." Neville blushes at that, and I make a mental note to ask about it later. "Harry really _is _sorry.'

"I don't know. He's only said so eleven times today. I'm starting to think he's less than sincere." Neville chokes on the huge bite of his sub while laughing, causing Hermione to do some charm I've never heard.

Disaster averted, she says in a tone of surprise, "You've seen Harry? I thought he was at the Burrow"

Burrow? "Kingsley and I needed to talk to him. He's left already." Again, surprise briefly registers on her face before being artfully veiled.

"Good, they really need him. It's just been a mess since the Battle and with Fred's funeral today..." Both Neville and Hermione seem downcast, so I don't ask if that's the other Weasley twin. We sit in silence for a while. I get the impression that she has something she's bursting to say to Neville, but is waiting for when I leave. I glance over at them to find Neville quickly looking away. All the talk about funerals today has made an unpleasant fact come to mind, one I should have spoken to Kingsley about earlier.

Neville stands, and looks over at me. "I've gone fifteen minutes over my lunch hour. Coming?" The look of self-conscious hoping on his face captivates me for a moment. But I've spent too much time with him as it is.

"No, I think I'll write Harry and see if he'll let me in Grimmauld Place." It's the only place I can think of.

"Oh. Well, see you later then." With a tiny backwards glance he walked away.

Hermione and I sat in awkward silence. At least, awkward for her. I much prefer quite. Odd, the last several hours I talked like, well, like how I guess a normal person would. That brief respite gone, I don't have a clue how to go about making conversation with the tiny muggle-born who's studying me with what I fear is a sharp eye.

"You need in Grimmauld Place?" She says after at last, still watching me.

"Yeah, that's what Kingsley wanted to talk to Potter about. 'Cause I'm a Black, and he thought I'd like to see the family's valuables before they were put away," I mutter to the floor.

'Do you?' I know very well she doesn't want to know if I want to look at antique silverware; she's asking about if I'm going to back the last bits of my family. The Death Eaters. So that's why she's watching me. I look back at her, thinking about her blood status. How to answer that? She doesn't trust me, and I don't blame her. Her right hand is clutched over her left sleeve, similar to the way I had, without thinking, coved my left wrist at her question. But I know it's not a Dark Mark she's hiding.

Tactlessly I ask before I can stop myself, "What's there?" I go to immediately tell her that it's no business of mine when she answered.

"The word mudblood." She says it blankly. Since I doubt she made a really terrible tattoo choice, I can't help but look confused.

"Your mother decided to carve it into my arm." She still looking at me, and speaking in the same calm manner. I can't help but admire that, even as I turn away from her. I'm reeling. Mother. Carved mudblood in her arm.

"I could make it disappear. I won't, though." That makes me turn back around, feeling like a coward for not having been able to face her to begin with.

"I… I apologize for her." I don't see what else I can say; the apology is weak and stupid anyways.

"Not your fault. But it will be your fault if you mess with Neville."

"What does that mean?" My voice has gone cold and quiet; I inwardly cringe at the sound. I am so mad though; she almost deserves my I'm-going-to-kill-you-now voice. I'm **not** messing with Neville. I've only spoke to him today!

"It means your parent is why he doesn't have any. If you are fulfilling some sick need to get to him…" Hermione's whole person is suddenly terribly intense, and most of my anger drains away. I can understand not wanting a friend hurt. The whole time the Dark Lord was in power I had that threat over my head.

"I just want to be his friend," I whisper. Clearing my throat, I say loader "Promise." She gives me one last hard look.

Easing somewhat, she says "That's what I thought. I had to be sure. So, what do you want to do at Grimmauld Place?"

Grateful for the topic change, I say, "Just see it, I guess. The pictures mostly." I was going to see if there where any pictures of mother and her family when she was little, but that doesn't seem to be something to mention now.

"I can let you in, busy?" It sounds like a genuine offer, and I'd like to show that I'm not mad about the Neville thing so I agree, and we make plans to meet back at this piece of stone in ten minutes. I don't mention that it's not like a have anywhere else to go. Hermione gives me the first true friendly smile I'd got from her and leaves to schedule an appointment with the head of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magic Creatures, Amos Diggory. I stayed on the, thinking about today.

Lucius's visit, in retrospect, wasn't surprising. He heard I was on the winning team and wanted me afraid enough to do what he wants. Guessing from the reports I flipped through as I waited, what he'd want was a get out of jail free card. Too bad I don't have one. Pushing the file back into my robes, I go to grab Narcissa's and find that I accidentally left it in Kingsley's office and seem to have grabbed the Weasley's instead. I'm surprised to find it so thick; at least 25 pages already. Lucius's was 10, and longer than any of the others so far, so I'm naturally curious as to what information the kiss-ass was holding out on. Flipping to the back I see the transcript of his interview still appearing in the neat, vaguely unnerving lines I now recognize as the high budget work done with future public release in mind.

It is apparent he realizes now that he is in no interview. At least, not the kind he wanted. Turning back to the beginning, I scan his profile stats. Merlin, the boy should have been in Slytherin! Pureblood, with one of the most ambitious careers I've could imagine happening so quickly. He was still trying to save both his neck and job too, the page that was still writing itself told be as much. It appears though that things do not look good for either. The Weasley, Percy, had kept his kiss-ass persona 'till the fourth page. That's when they must have shown him something; because he's referring to "this unsavory item" as not his and the interrogator makes it clear they have irrefutable prove other wise. The document is unedited, since the interview is still in progress. This means no clerk has gone in and filled in the none-verbal aspects, and as they give precious little clues as what the item is I am dieing to know what the son of documented (during Thicknesse's administration at least) blood-traitors could have been associated with that warranted such an extensive process.

Someone lightly taps my shoulder, causing me to spill Weasley's file over the floor. I summon the file back to me as Hermione scurries around to help. Luckily I get it in order before she can help; if Weasley's under suspicion it probably wouldn't be good for a good friend of the family alerting them before the Ministry wanted. Hermione gestures to the now impeccable folder in my hand.

"Busy? I could bring you some other day, but Harry owled me that they're going to start packing soon…"

"Not at all. Just an interesting form." Technically I'm not lying.

"Wonderful. Do you mind apparating?" She looks hopeful. She must me a masochist then; there is nothing more unpleasant than apparating.

"Not at all." That is a lie, but she's being so nice. The least I can do is use her form of travel. What's a feeling of being squeezed through a tiny tube in the name of diplomacy?

"Great! I just hate flooing from here any more, takes hours to get a fireplace." I jump down and follow her out of the Ministry, to a hidden nock in the muggle street to apparate away. Hermione's surprisingly good at it, which makes up for the fact that I just closed my eyes and made her basically magically drag me.

We hit solid ground on a muggle street not much different than the one we've just left. The homes lining the side of the street we face labeled numbers 11 and 13 move to either side to make room for the previously missing Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The people walking the street paid me, in full wizarding regalia, more attention then the building pushing the others. We briskly sprint across the street to the doorsteps. Hermione pushes the thick door away from us, and I'm given a shock.

A thin hallway is all I can see. The small space is dim, but not dim enough that I can't see the fading and ripped wallpaper, or the chipped chest of drawers covered in an inch of filth, or the priceless troll leg coat rack thrown on the floor. There are spots on the wall were picture had obviously hung in the past, making almost comical shapes of brighter color. Even the mat puffs clouds of dirt as we step onto it. So much for the fabled Black inheritance.

Hermione must not see any of this as out of the ordinary, since she walks ahead of me chatting about how Harry plans to do this with that and how they beat pixies out of those curtains for 5 hours until they were all gone, and of course, that I just _must_ see it when its clean, ("It's actually quiet pleasant!") like this hadn't been my last chance to see something of my now-extinct family. Our first stop is a large kitchen. I run my hand down the countertop while Hermione prattles and it comes up nearly black. Frowning in disgust, I wiped it on the outside of my cloak. She sees this and blushes deep; to be fair, this is a great look for her. She looks a bit less stuck up with her cheeks burning red while she pulls on the collar of her blouse as if she would hide in it.

"We, um, haven't been able to… to clean yet. I mean _I_ haven't been here in _months_." Hermione has turned away from me towards the cabinet-covered wall. "Oh! I know just what you want to see!" I follow her to a drawing room, mostly filled with boxes. She stubbles around them for a minute before flicking her wand at a stack. When they disappear a lavish embroidered tapestry comes to view. I walk forward and run my hand down the worn but readable print.

A gold genealogical tree woven into it is headed by the words The Nobel and Ancient House of Black. I quickly skim the many lines; it goes back as far as the Middle Ages! Imagine your ancestor from a thousand years ago's portrait, name, and dates under your fingers. Some of the names and pictures have been burned off. I find my mother and her sisters near the bottom. The name Bellatrix Lestrange is neatly tied with that of my stepfather; Narcissa's with Lucius with a branch entitled Draco Malfoy. Clearly there once was a mark for Andromeda, but all that's on the tree of her and hers is a dark smudge next to her sisters'. Nymphadora, her husband or baby are all absent from the list. I had, of course, heard of this tapestry during one of mother's lucid moments. My hand drifts down to the empty space below Bellatrix's name. I had just never imagined me not being on it.

The nightmares hadn't been this bad in years. I waded through Grimmauld Place in obscurity, mother's laughter echoing in the near-empty halls, while desperately trying to find her; surely once I found her I could make her put a burn on the tree for me? I don't find her, and something of the oily darkness of the dream stays with me once I awake. I spent last night at my apartment; after Hermione had bobbed into every knock and cranny she could possibly find to detect Dark Magic. I let her because Kingsley had sent an owl insisting I have my wards reset, and I was feeling lazy. I stumbled out of bed and dressed. I look into the grungy mirror in the bathroom and sigh. I know very well what I'll have to do to make the dream stop.

Again, I'm waiting in Kingsley's office. I know the Ministry is in full steam, bustling away putting itself back together and all, but it seems like a huge breach of security that I can get into the Minister of Magic's office so easy. I mutter "I could be an assassin for Merlin's sack!" under my breath at the same time Kingsley pops into the room. The look on his face is priceless for a moment until his normal cool demeanor slips into place.

"Bel, I didn't expect you back so soon." He settles himself into the chair behind his desk while speaking.

"Grimmauld Place was just mean," I say, refusing the question in his eyes. I very well could have been an assassin.

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that. I merely hoped that you could have a moment of, say, peace with your past."

"You know exactly what you did. Tell me, did you send the Granger girl?" Kingsley looks genuinely surprised at that.

"What would make you think that?"

"Nothing I guess," I say. We sit in an awkward silence.

"I do have things I need to do…" he trails off.

"I'll do it," I say clearly.

"Do what?" He seems distracted. I wait for him to meet my eyes.

"I'll try to call them. I'll use the Dark Mark."


End file.

Harry Potter, Romance, Tragedy