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Description
Pale eyes were rimmed with red on pale skin beneath pale hair. At first Bellatrix thought her to be a delicate specter. She uncomfortably shifted her footing in this sterile mansion, very aware of the marks of grime and grease her clumsy bare feet had left on the pristine tile. She blinked and squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the light coming from the glass chandeliers reflecting off of the ground. Cautiously she tilted her head upward against the glare to catch another glimpse of the woman, a ghostly halo of gleaming blond hair braided around her head. Each moment that passed, Bellatrix's first impression only seemed to be confirmed; surely she was hallucinating and just couldn't open her eyes to see all of the details of the woman that swam in and out of her vision.

Her downcast eyes sought the bare feet and hems of comfortingly black cloaks her comrades beside her wore. Surely they were still real, though? Her beetle-black eyes ventured further upward from under her tangled mass of hair and found the face of her Master, standing impassively. Yes, it must be real.

"Is that… surely she's not…" A fragile, feminine whisper floated cautiously in the air. After being condemned to years of darkness, the chattering of the wind against trees her only consistent companion, Bellatrix could hear the skipping of her heart from across the room.

The voice of her Lord broke into the wispy silence of the stuttering woman and the convicts' breathing. "This is Rabastan."

The dainty voice made a sharp intake of breath, frantically wishing not to but already recognizing where the list would end. "Rodolphus, and Bellatrix." A pained squeal erupted from the woman's pale lips. Before Bellatrix could look up and between her strands of hair at the blurry image of the woman, her sister had crossed the space of the room and wrapped her thin arms around her, trembling terribly and simultaneously squeezing the air out of her lungs.

"Bella… Bella…" Even her voice seemed pale, growing steadily weaker and desperate as her shaking grew stronger. Her voice was muffled, her glossed, silky lips nuzzled into Bellatrix's shoulder. "You're here… Bella, I thought… I thought…"

She suddenly felt her own limbs begin to shake, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Her eyes remained wide and glued to the floor while Narcissa's squeezed shut and leaked the unanswerable questions and sickening worries that had accumulated for fourteen years. Hope flooded back into her hollow shell of a body.

Bellatrix was momentarily caught off balance, having practiced the art of stifling her emotions from the public long before her years of hardening in Azkaban. While her sister hiccupped and gasped through her subdued sobs, Bellatrix could not help but notice the tiny drops that trickled down her filthy face and into Narcissa's hair. Her heart seemed heavy, weighing down to the pit of her stomach with some obscure emotion Bellatrix had no name for. Her arms slowly wrapped around Narcissa in return, and she heard her cracked, decayed, torn voice saying, "Hush, Cissy, it's alright…" Her clawed hands greedily clutched her younger sister, caught between an unstable balance of loving and enviously coveting her pretty hair, her healthy face, and her undiminished youth. Her chipped fingernails raked through her smooth blond hair.

Narcissa's feeble whispers were puffs of air against Bellatrix's wild, matted dark hair. "How did you… You were there for so long, how…"

With a rush of pride, Bellatrix's lips trembled as they restrained the words from all being spoken at once, and took care to say them each individually. "The D-dark Lord," she whispered back into her small ear, decorated with its own crystal and sapphire chandelier. "He saved me."

Bellatrix felt her sister tentatively pull away. Her watery blue eyes – wide like her sister's, but prettily so, without being sunken into her skull and bulging – found Bellatrix's stone eyes. Narcissa held her sister at arm's length, and Bellatrix's fingers unconsciously intertwined themselves between hers as they gazed at one another. "No," Narcissa said, blinking her fair lashes. "How did you…" Her voice lowered, but cracked nonetheless. "Survive? For all that time?"

Bellatrix could only continue to stare at her. Clearly she hadn't understood that that was the question she had just answered. Instead, she formed the words, "You look beautiful, Cissa."

A flicker of a smile lifted the corners of Narcissa's lips momentarily. "Th-thank you, Bella. You…" She paused, pastel eyes gazing timidly at her sister's cavernous cheekbones, her withered bare arms, and the filthy Azkaban uniform that hung off of her emaciated frame. With an attempt to regain her smile, she finished, "We'll clean you up, too."

"I can trust," interjected a precise voice, whose lack of emotion cut through the air like a razor. The two sisters dropped each other's hands as the Dark Lord as he continued, "That you will be capable of housing the three of them?"

Narcissa's gaze jerked upward to face him. "The… three?" She seemed to notice the awkwardly standing brothers for the first time.

"Yes, Narcissa, the three of them."

"O-of course. Yes, of course we are." Bellatrix watched with vague interest as the color drained from her sister's face, but her attention was much more intently directed on her Master as he formed words that brushed through the air past her, stirring her heart and caressing her ears like music.

"You are, for some reason, doubting my ability to ensure that the Ministry shall not be able to detect them if they search your house?"

"Not at all, no, my Lord." The last two words seemed to sting her tongue as they left it.

"Lord Voldemort knows when he is being lied to, Narcissa."

"My Lord," came another voice, followed by important, practiced footsteps and the rustle of a billowing cloak. Lucius hurriedly entered the hall, clenching is walking stick and removing his hat. He flinched and halted momentarily at the sight of the three dirt-trailing, wanted convicts in his pearly hallway, but saw his wife's worried face turned to silently plea with him, and he crossed the rest of the space between them and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, Lucius, back from work just in time," noted the Dark Lord idly.

For once skipping the pleasantries, all too aware of his wife beside him attempting in futile not to tremble, Lucius said, "My Lord, we will be honored to house our family who has served you so honorably. We trust entirely that you will see that no harm comes to any of us for doing so."

Bellatrix watched his gaze quiver about the room as he spoke, trying not to look his Master in the eye. Without meaning to, and hardly aware that she even did so, she let out a mad burst of giggles that echoed about the hall, bouncing off of the glimmering walls, ricocheting to the ceiling and dancing about the clinging candles in the chandeliers.

Obliviously having caught everyone's attention, she stared at Lucius almost expectantly, waiting for him to continue speaking and thus amusing her with his charade of bravery. He opened his mouth with a haughtily arched eyebrow to address her, but after a dark, red-eyed glance, everyone in the room, including Lucius, was able to peacefully ignore her outburst. She continued humming to herself, unmindful.

"I'm glad to hear it," responded the Dark Lord, smoothly interrupting and thus silencing Bellatrix. "The next time you shall see me, I shall be planning the next attack."

Lucius voice was hoarse. "Of course, My Lord."

A smile twisted their Master's lipless mouth. Bellatrix was intrigued. "Change is quickly approaching us, Lucius. We will strike as soon as they are able." His thin eyes indicated the three hunched, broken people at his side. "It is convenient that, for the time being, the Ministry does not believe I exist. Take care to ensure this does not change… until I have gained enough power. Then I will be undeniable."

"Yes, my Lord," responded Lucius. His hushed voice was hardly audible above the strain it was under to keep it from cracking.

The Dark Lord nodded once, the vague, maliciously amused smile still curling his mouth. He turned and left, black traveling cloak trailing elegantly behind him, strikingly like a serpent as it glided and then whipped around the corner.

Description
Pale eyes were rimmed with red on pale skin beneath pale hair. At first Bellatrix thought her to be a delicate specter. She uncomfortably shifted her footing in this sterile mansion, very aware of the marks of grime and grease her clumsy bare feet had left on the pristine tile. She blinked and squinted as her eyes attempted to adjust to the light coming from the glass chandeliers reflecting off of the ground. Cautiously she tilted her head upward against the glare to catch another glimpse of the woman, a ghostly halo of gleaming blond hair braided around her head. Each moment that passed, Bellatrix's first impression only seemed to be confirmed; surely she was hallucinating and just couldn't open her eyes to see all of the details of the woman that swam in and out of her vision.

Her downcast eyes sought the bare feet and hems of comfortingly black cloaks her comrades beside her wore. Surely they were still real, though? Her beetle-black eyes ventured further upward from under her tangled mass of hair and found the face of her Master, standing impassively. Yes, it must be real.

"Is that… surely she's not…" A fragile, feminine whisper floated cautiously in the air. After being condemned to years of darkness, the chattering of the wind against trees her only consistent companion, Bellatrix could hear the skipping of her heart from across the room.

The voice of her Lord broke into the wispy silence of the stuttering woman and the convicts' breathing. "This is Rabastan."

The dainty voice made a sharp intake of breath, frantically wishing not to but already recognizing where the list would end. "Rodolphus, and Bellatrix." A pained squeal erupted from the woman's pale lips. Before Bellatrix could look up and between her strands of hair at the blurry image of the woman, her sister had crossed the space of the room and wrapped her thin arms around her, trembling terribly and simultaneously squeezing the air out of her lungs.

"Bella… Bella…" Even her voice seemed pale, growing steadily weaker and desperate as her shaking grew stronger. Her voice was muffled, her glossed, silky lips nuzzled into Bellatrix's shoulder. "You're here… Bella, I thought… I thought…"

She suddenly felt her own limbs begin to shake, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Her eyes remained wide and glued to the floor while Narcissa's squeezed shut and leaked the unanswerable questions and sickening worries that had accumulated for fourteen years. Hope flooded back into her hollow shell of a body.

Bellatrix was momentarily caught off balance, having practiced the art of stifling her emotions from the public long before her years of hardening in Azkaban. While her sister hiccupped and gasped through her subdued sobs, Bellatrix could not help but notice the tiny drops that trickled down her filthy face and into Narcissa's hair. Her heart seemed heavy, weighing down to the pit of her stomach with some obscure emotion Bellatrix had no name for. Her arms slowly wrapped around Narcissa in return, and she heard her cracked, decayed, torn voice saying, "Hush, Cissy, it's alright…" Her clawed hands greedily clutched her younger sister, caught between an unstable balance of loving and enviously coveting her pretty hair, her healthy face, and her undiminished youth. Her chipped fingernails raked through her smooth blond hair.

Narcissa's feeble whispers were puffs of air against Bellatrix's wild, matted dark hair. "How did you… You were there for so long, how…"

With a rush of pride, Bellatrix's lips trembled as they restrained the words from all being spoken at once, and took care to say them each individually. "The D-dark Lord," she whispered back into her small ear, decorated with its own crystal and sapphire chandelier. "He saved me."

Bellatrix felt her sister tentatively pull away. Her watery blue eyes – wide like her sister's, but prettily so, without being sunken into her skull and bulging – found Bellatrix's stone eyes. Narcissa held her sister at arm's length, and Bellatrix's fingers unconsciously intertwined themselves between hers as they gazed at one another. "No," Narcissa said, blinking her fair lashes. "How did you…" Her voice lowered, but cracked nonetheless. "Survive? For all that time?"

Bellatrix could only continue to stare at her. Clearly she hadn't understood that that was the question she had just answered. Instead, she formed the words, "You look beautiful, Cissa."

A flicker of a smile lifted the corners of Narcissa's lips momentarily. "Th-thank you, Bella. You…" She paused, pastel eyes gazing timidly at her sister's cavernous cheekbones, her withered bare arms, and the filthy Azkaban uniform that hung off of her emaciated frame. With an attempt to regain her smile, she finished, "We'll clean you up, too."

"I can trust," interjected a precise voice, whose lack of emotion cut through the air like a razor. The two sisters dropped each other's hands as the Dark Lord as he continued, "That you will be capable of housing the three of them?"

Narcissa's gaze jerked upward to face him. "The… three?" She seemed to notice the awkwardly standing brothers for the first time.

"Yes, Narcissa, the three of them."

"O-of course. Yes, of course we are." Bellatrix watched with vague interest as the color drained from her sister's face, but her attention was much more intently directed on her Master as he formed words that brushed through the air past her, stirring her heart and caressing her ears like music.

"You are, for some reason, doubting my ability to ensure that the Ministry shall not be able to detect them if they search your house?"

"Not at all, no, my Lord." The last two words seemed to sting her tongue as they left it.

"Lord Voldemort knows when he is being lied to, Narcissa."

"My Lord," came another voice, followed by important, practiced footsteps and the rustle of a billowing cloak. Lucius hurriedly entered the hall, clenching is walking stick and removing his hat. He flinched and halted momentarily at the sight of the three dirt-trailing, wanted convicts in his pearly hallway, but saw his wife's worried face turned to silently plea with him, and he crossed the rest of the space between them and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, Lucius, back from work just in time," noted the Dark Lord idly.

For once skipping the pleasantries, all too aware of his wife beside him attempting in futile not to tremble, Lucius said, "My Lord, we will be honored to house our family who has served you so honorably. We trust entirely that you will see that no harm comes to any of us for doing so."

Bellatrix watched his gaze quiver about the room as he spoke, trying not to look his Master in the eye. Without meaning to, and hardly aware that she even did so, she let out a mad burst of giggles that echoed about the hall, bouncing off of the glimmering walls, ricocheting to the ceiling and dancing about the clinging candles in the chandeliers.

Obliviously having caught everyone's attention, she stared at Lucius almost expectantly, waiting for him to continue speaking and thus amusing her with his charade of bravery. He opened his mouth with a haughtily arched eyebrow to address her, but after a dark, red-eyed glance, everyone in the room, including Lucius, was able to peacefully ignore her outburst. She continued humming to herself, unmindful.

"I'm glad to hear it," responded the Dark Lord, smoothly interrupting and thus silencing Bellatrix. "The next time you shall see me, I shall be planning the next attack."

Lucius voice was hoarse. "Of course, My Lord."

A smile twisted their Master's lipless mouth. Bellatrix was intrigued. "Change is quickly approaching us, Lucius. We will strike as soon as they are able." His thin eyes indicated the three hunched, broken people at his side. "It is convenient that, for the time being, the Ministry does not believe I exist. Take care to ensure this does not change… until I have gained enough power. Then I will be undeniable."

"Yes, my Lord," responded Lucius. His hushed voice was hardly audible above the strain it was under to keep it from cracking.

The Dark Lord nodded once, the vague, maliciously amused smile still curling his mouth. He turned and left, black traveling cloak trailing elegantly behind him, strikingly like a serpent as it glided and then whipped around the corner.