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When will we meet again, sweetheart,
when will we meet again
When the autumn leaves that fall from the trees
are green and spring up again
- "The Unquiet Grave"
I
---
When the testimony of the Boy Who Lived did nothing to spare Lucius a Death Eater's sentence at the Wizengamot, she emptied the Malfoy vault in an attempt to buy an appeal.
When it wasn't enough, she emptied Bellatrix's vault as well, and sold the summer houses, and even, in a last desperate move, tried to put her own body on the line. The latter, at least, wasn't accepted.
After six months of exchanges and bargains, she got the sentence lessened from life to twenty years. Success of a sort.
Twenty years.
Narcissa pressed cold lips against her husband's just moments before they came to take him away, and she felt the weight of every year to come.
"I failed you," he whispered, as he'd whispered a dozen times before.
"You did," she said. She ran her fingers through his hair, now lanky and half-tangled from his stay in a holding cell. "But we will rise above this. I'll not let the family fall to nothingness."
He closed his eyes and Narcissa spared herself a moment to swallow the icy lump in her throat. Then she gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger, dragging his gaze back to hers, all her doubts hidden behind the Occlumency that had saved them so far.
"I trust you," he said at last, when the doors opened and they came to take him away.
"And I love you," she said, her eyes never leaving his.
So he was gone to darkness and despair, and she, alone, returned to a bare home and a secluded son and not even a house elf to her name.
Narcissa poured herself a cup of tea and gripped it tightly, letting it burn away the cold in her fingertips. The fall from grace had hurt, but Narcissa was no stranger to hurt and she knew how to climb back up. Nothing was over yet.
---
Harry Potter might have won the war, but then he left it to the rule of others. This new world might accept Narcissa Malfoy, she who had never committed a crime nor borne any Dark Lord's mark. They might, begrudgingly, let her work and invest and walk safely down the street with her head held erect.
Draco was not given even so much as that.
After the third attack in which, according to witnesses, he hadn't even defended himself, he went from St. Mungo's to the mansion and didn't leave it again. Narcissa pressed charges, but every time the paperwork ended up 'lost in the shuffle'.
"Don't bother, mother," he said, not meeting her eyes, when she raged about it over supper.
He didn't come down for breakfast the next day, and when she brought some to his room, he was lying paler than usual in a pool of his own blood.
She didn't panic this time, for she was past panicking, only gathered him in her arms and made everything stop. Half a dozen potions and healing spells later, during which he said nothing and stared with glassy eyes, she tucked him to sleep in his own bed as if he was four years old again. And he slept, not peacefully but at least alive. She stayed at his side and watched, and her chest shook with silent cries.
In the morning, he wouldn't meet her eyes, but he did eat the breakfast she gave him—sleeping potion and all. When he fell back to dreamless slumber, she kissed his forehead. There were now two errands for her to run.
---
Narcissa's patronus flickered as the Aurors led her to Lucius' cell, but she barely noticed. Despair had been her friend for too long now.
"Lucius?" she called with forced calm, pressing her palm against the bars and trying to see into the shadows.
He stirred from the corner after a moment's pause. Slowly, he rose to his feet and looked at her, shuffled closer, and brought up his hand to mirror hers on the bars. His mouth opened, then closed.
It had been only a year in here, and already he looked half dead.
Narcissa realized, then, that he was no Sirius or Bellatrix. The House of Black was stubborn and strong, even if sometimes the effort turned them mad; the House of Malfoy was more brittle—strong to a point, but with no madness to allow them to bend where the wind blew, if they must.
She had lied to him, then, when she said that they'd survive these twenty years. Her patronus flickered once last time, and then winked out.
Yet still she gave him a small smile, and then twisted her fingers into his for a moment. "I love you," she said, and squeezed his hand.
He said nothing in reply.
Narcissa left Azkaban moments later, and vowed that she would never need to return.
Her second errand took less time than the first. Just the retrieval of an artifact, after all, bound with Black family wards as it might be, and covered with ancient warnings of the gravest importance.
She disregarded all the warnings, for she was a Slytherin and they were not warnings about what might happen to her loved ones, after all. But she checked on Draco one last time to make sure he was only sleeping. This might damn the world, this thing she would do now, but she chose to face it remembering her family still breathing.
Gently, quietly, she closed his door and walked to the Great Hall to complete her task.
The artifact glowed as bright as the sun when she banished the wards surrounding it, and when she gripped it in her hands it burned like a brand. She could almost hear it screaming at her, "this should never be done", butshe gritted her teeth, steeled her mind, and twisted it sharply along its hinge.
Magic ripped her apart, then moved on to ripping at the world.
---
II
---
The short hairs on the back of her neck prickled, in what was a most unusual feeling. Bellatrix bared her teeth. Someone dared follow her? This might be fun.
She strode through the woods as if she knew nothing, letting her stalker be convinced of their success. Did they think to catch her in a crime? Was this some member of the Order hoping to catch one of the Dark Lord's lieutenants?
A run-down cottage amidst the trees provided the perfect trap. Bellatrix walked nonchalantly around a corner and then ducked down, drawing her wand and grinning.
When the stranger appeared just after, she was ready. Her free hand slipped around the stalker's neck and shoved them against the mossy wall, even as she cried "Expelliarmus!" and then "Incarcerous!"
The figure let out a surprisingly feminine gasp at being caught, and Bellatrix almost missed catching the flying wand. It was elm and at least 11 inches, she noted after making sure that the bonds held. "Well, isn't this a pretty thing," she said with a hiss, then yanked back the stranger's low-hanging hood.
For a moment she thought she'd caught that dratted Lily Evans—the red hair was quite striking—but no, not at all. Bellatrix stared, completely befuddled. This woman was twice Lily's age, despite there being not a streak of grey in that red hair, and she was quite handsome. But though she had aristocratic features, Bellatrix couldn't place them at all. She stared into icy blue eyes and narrowed her own.
"Bellatrix, let me down," the woman said in a calm voice that was completely out of place. It wasn't even a request, it was a command.
Bellatrix would have cackled, if not for the offense of it. "How dare you call me by my name! I have half a mind to—"
The elm wand flew suddenly from her hand, at the same moment as the woman's magical bonds fell to the ground. It was better nonverbal magic than even Rodolphus could manage against Bellatrix, who had been trained by the Dark Lord himself. The woman didn't move against Bellatrix, however, not even raising her wand from where she held it at her side. She only raised one eyebrow, her lips tight. "Half a mind to what, exactly?"
Something in Bellatrix, perhaps a spark of self-preservation, told her that she was facing a witch who had a tad more talent than herself. Something between awe and fury swirled in her belly. "Who are you?"
For a long moment, the red-haired woman only looked at Bellatrix, a queer sort of emotion flickering briefly over her features. "You may call me Liriope," she said at last.
Bellatrix's fingers clenched tighter around her wand. "You were following me."
Liriope's head tilted slightly to the left. "Yes, I followed you. I intended to catch your attention, but you noticed me too soon. In any case, now that we've met, you may take me to your Dark Lord. I need an audience with him."
"Have we met?" Bellatrix demanded, furiously trying to figure out what was so familiar about this woman. She was her mother's age, and clearly pureblooded, so why couldn't Bellatrix put a family name to her?
Liriope pursed her lips again, but as if to suppress a smile. It was an odd look, considering how emotionless her eyes were. "We're related, one could say."
Bellatrix had a hundred more questions but she only asked one. "So you think the Dark Lord wants you?"
"If you're his best lieutenant," Liriope said, crisply, "and here I am, unbound and wanded despite your best efforts, then yes, I think he might have some use for me."
Bellatrix had been of age for three years, yet now she found herself huffing like a child, blood flushing to her cheeks at the remark.
"Now that that's settled," Liriope said, tucking a stray strand of red hair back into her updo. "You'll bring me to your Dark Lord."
Bellatrix wanted to throw a hex, or at least toss some sharp retort back into this woman's face. Instead, she glared and said, without much teeth, "Don't think it'll be so easy to catch me unawares next time. I learn swiftly."
"Do you?" Liriope murmured.
---
How well she fit in, Bellatrix thought months later, still finding it hard to believe. And yet, there it was. As if she was born for this.
"Learned some humility at last, have we?" Lucius drawled from behind her shoulder. "I would have imagined that you'd destroy her for taking your place at his right hand."
Bellatrix watched her lord from across the room. Liriope might not be a tall woman, but even beside the Dark Lord she had a certain presence about her, and their conversation appeared to be one of equals. Bellatrix finally broke her gaze, though, and sneered at Lucius. "I'm not here for my own personal glory, foolish boy. Whatever helps the cause helps us all. I am a true servant."
He scoffed.
Bellatrix gave him a snarling smile. "Besides, hasn't she been giving you advice? I wonder what could be so terrible a weakness that you need personal counselling. Are you not ashamed of being so notably a failure, and obviously so even to one new to our little group?"
"She gives a lot of attention to you as well," Lucius retorted, but the barb had clearly stung. Bellatrix knew she wasn't the only one to notice Liriope's interest in Lucius Malfoy, and not see it as an honor.
She glanced back at the Dark Lord and Liriope, still in deep conversation. "I'm willing to learn that which I do not already know, Lucius, from people who are worthy teachers. And Liriope knows things…"
Lucius didn't care to discuss that. He let the conversation drop and strode away, leaving her to her own musings.
Bellatrix tapped her fingers in a drum-like pattern against the hilt of her wand, her gaze unwavering. The mystery and pride of Liriope had, indeed, enraged her after they first met, but since then Bellatrix hadn't felt the same sort of resentment towards the Dark Lord's new favorite as the rest of her fellow Death Eaters. Did it matter that no one knew where she came from, or even her true goals? Did it matter that her advice was harsh, without the kind of respect that family names usually called for? Did it matter that she seemed so familiar and yet unknowable?
No, what mattered was power, and this Liriope had it. Bellatrix had now seen her magic keenly counterbalance every Death Eater's, and even match the Dark Lord himself. Not with effort or pure power, Bellatrix had deciphered (though many others hadn't), but by using the sort of spells that showed how well she knew each person's fighting method. She knew other things, too, things that no one should know. Some of the Death Eaters mumbled about Seer blood, but that seemed an ignorant assumption.
Still, Liriope had cut Bellatrix apart with her words, with ease, pointing out weaknesses that Bellatrix didn't even want to acknowledge (but couldn't quite deny after Liriope had exposed them so neatly). And even the Dark Lord couldn't break her Occlumency to find out the source of her knowledge. Liriope didn't have the grasp on the Dark Arts as her master did, but Bellatrix still found the control over the powers she did have to be...fascinating.
It should have made her jealous, to see her place taken at the Dark Lord's side. Lucius wasn't entirely wrong there, and maybe she did feel a little burn of jealousy, yes, but perhaps not jealousy of Liriope.
The Dark Lord had his own mystery, of course, but she didn't find it so intriguing now. What was growing with every passing week, was the unnerving feeling that she knew Liriope from somewhere, and that they were connected somehow.
---
The war continued, the cause grew, and Bellatrix realized one day that she only half cared if it didn't involve Liriope. The Dark Lord's enigmatic right hand was her own private obsession; sometimes a suffocating one, sometimes invigorating.
More than two years since their first meeting and Bellatrix still knew almost nothing of her. The mystery didn't seem to upset anyone else, but Bellatrix couldn't avoid it. Liriope made her skin tingle when she drew near—and once she had looked once, Bellatrix could scarcely glance away from her face. It was as if a part of her was there, inside Bellatrix, from the second they'd met. Bellatrix could feel it. Not like Legilimency, though; this was some other kind of magic. And it was there in the corners of her mind, mocking Bellatrix for not understanding.
But she would understand it. She had to. Once the woman had followed her, now Bellatrix did the following, trying to make sense of every action in context.
It was an odd context, she soon decided with a furrowed brow.
Liriope did not ever go on raids or dark revels. As far as Bellatrix knew, she'd barely raised her wand in service of the cause. For all Bellatrix's love of blood and pain, and usual disdain for those who didn't share the love, she wondered if Liriope considered such things beneath her. Maybe they were.
Nor did Liriope share her peculiar pieces of knowledge with all of their group. Bellatrix and Lucius were her favorites, it seemed, aside from whatever she told the Dark Lord. At first Bellatrix had seen it as a hindrance, as if she needed help at being a Death Eater, but now she considered it a point of pride. Their conversations were curious, though, and difficult. "You must protect the reputation of your family and keep it above accusations of any crime," Liriope said often, soft on the surface and sharp beneath, "even if we win this war." Always she said 'even if', but then again, Liriope never seemed to take anything for granted but her own skill. Bellatrix valued pride and confidence, but she couldn't bring herself to hold Liriope's way of thinking in contempt.
Yet aside from her presence Liriope had not revolutionized their cause, Bellatrix found when she tried to lay out the facts. The Dark Lord still did things as he ever did—whatever counsel she gave, he seemed to value it and yet disregard it in almost every way. Unless, Bellatrix thought, there was more beneath the surface that the two of them kept secret. How could she know, she who was kept out of the most inner circle?
Above all else, the most curious thing was how Liriope was never seen outside of meetings with the Dark Lord. He, of course, could hardly disguise himself amongst the rest of society. But Liriope? She would fit in amongst any of Mother's parties, Bellatrix thought. She was beautiful, patrician, and held herself with the self-command of a queen.
Still she kept to the shadows. Even the notion of public events seemed to turn her to steel—Lucius had mentioned his wedding to Bellatrix's sister, one day, and Liriope had swiftly walked off without a word. Bellatrix tried but could not figure out why.
Perhaps she, like the Dark Lord, was above such things as social relationships. But then why, why, why did Bellatrix feel so drawn to her?
---
III
---
This is what made the artifact so dangerous, Narcissa thought. Not that the nature of time and magic is torn apart and restructured based on the thought of one person, no matter how powerful, no matter how good- or ill-intentioned. No, it is that even one person, without any great skill, can take control of the past with only a little knowledge.
This is why the artifact was so warded, because Narcissa Malfoy managed to match the Dark Lord himself with only the knowledge of what skills he would have in the future. Even she, never a Death Eater, could convince him that she knew deep dark secrets that he could not so much as name.
She had only made this journey to convince, slowly and surely, a young Lucius Malfoy to be more discreet. To have alibis and tightly-woven excuses that no Wizengamot could break. He need not abandon his cause, no matter how foolish, so long as he escaped the aftermath. Which would be soon, of course, and then again when the Dark Lord would return to face Harry Potter.
Narcissa had no unrealistic ambitions. Slytherin she might be, but practical, not power-hungry. She would not win the war for Voldemort, nor lose it for him—he might do as he had done, other than a few bits of knowledge that she sacrificed to him for the sake of position among the Death Eaters—but what she would do would set the seeds for a happier future for Lucius and herself. Lucius would be smarter this time, and safer and shrewder, if it took her a half-dozen years to affect the change. (And she'd given herself a half dozen years, just in case.)
Still, it had been easier than she thought, to manipulate a man who was only just becoming the one she remembered. Even his ridiculous pride wavered in the face of her, a witch who could beat him in every duel and somehow know his most hidden weaknesses. Lucius listened, even if he hated that he did so. He listened just enough to change things, little things, that would be everything someday.
Halloween came and went, with four years until the Fall. Narcissa felt thoroughly intoxicated with the power she held, and all from a little knowledge. Who knew?
---
But there was Bellatrix too. Narcissa had never known this version of her sister. Narcissa of this era had been far from this dark fanaticism, ensconced in a world that pretended there was no war. Somewhere, a young Narcissa was courting Lucius twice a week, making her parents proud and building a firm place for herself in the world. And Narcissa remembered that when Bellatrix entered that world, she mimicked it in her own haphazard way.
This Bellatrix of the Death Eaters was drunk with her own power and the freedom she thought it brought her. She had little dignity. She thought nothing of the consequences. She didn't believe in defeat.
Narcissa looked at her, full of bloodlust and lust of a different kind for the Dark Lord, and knew that Bellatrix could not imagine the end that would come for her. She was young, so young, and thought she ruled the world.
Narcissa had given up her love for her sister when she came back from Azkaban, lost to all sense and full of disdain and disregard for all Narcissa's feelings. The girl who Narcissa had loved had died in Azkaban, she had thought. Now she knew better. Bellatrix had dug her own grave, one shovelful of dirt at a time, through the entire war.
In the guise of Liriope, Narcissa watched Bellatrix while she burned her way through life. Where Narcissa had always been cold, Bellatrix had ever been hot. She would burn herself up if she didn't know how to stop—and she didn't know. Narcissa had a thousand memories to prove it.
It could have changed everything for the worse, if she altered too much, but Narcissa considered saving yet another life on this journey. She found love again for her sister, who was not lost yet, this time. It could have destroyed the future Narcissa was trying to make, but she stretched out a hand to Bellatrix. "Be careful," Narcissa whispered as Liriope, and to ease the sting of advice she shared a dozen more harmless bits of knowledge.
Bellatrix listened. Bellatrix was entranced.
Bellatrix was so very young, and knew not how to handle her cravings for power and darkness and the entwining of them both. Narcissa had a lifetime of understanding, however, and so she knew enough to save Bellatrix from death at a Weasley's hand (and death of a realer kind, raving away in Azkaban and before, for the sake of a mad half-blood who cared nothing for her at all).
For her sister's sake, Narcissa slowly transformed Liriope's persona into that of a Dark Lady to match the Dark Lord.
Bellatrix took the bait. Bellatrix was seduced.
Narcissa might win everything with this second chance at time, if she played her cards right.
---
Yet in all her plans, Narcissa never stopped to think about what would happen when it was done, when she had saved Lucius and Bellatrix and a Draco who didn't yet exist, when the Dark Lord fell as he should and there was nothing left to do.
What would she do with Liriope, when there was no longer a need for her to exist? Would she die too, with the Dark Lord? Would her glamours fade—the red hair turn golden, the non-descript chin become the trademark of the House of Black—and then the truth be revealed? Would young Narcissa of this time learn of it, shudder in fear, and worry about her fate twenty years in the future?
Or would Narcissa return to the future with all this knowledge, five years older, and have to find her place in the new world?
She hadn't read that part of the writings on the artifact. She didn't want to think about it.
But then Lucius spoke of his upcoming wedding, and she had to hide a shudder. It was too real, and Liriope wasn't real but Narcissa didn't belong here. She left the room, and when Bellatrix followed, it was hard to maintain the mystery and poise for her.
Looking into those dark eyes that were only just barely mad, Narcissa felt her heart beat painfully with missing, and this mission to the past felt lonely enough to destroy her.
---
IV
---
Liriope would be proud of her. The Dark Lord was so close to winning, and even her own parents didn't suspect Bellatrix of being on his side. They chided her for not marrying Rodolphus, as originally planned, but she waved her hand at Narcissa and said, "Cissy cancels out what Andy did. Leave me alone." And they did, believing that she was nothing more than a wild girl. Twenty-three years old and they still thought of her as a child.
Sometimes she thought Narcissa suspected the truth of her. Maybe Lucius hadn't listened to Liriope as closely as Bellatrix, and maybe Narcissa did more than suspect. Bellatrix did think Lucius might be the sort to tell his wife everything, no matter how unwise that might be. But Bellatrix barely saw Narcissa these days, not since there was a cause to support.
The Dark Lord made his speeches and Bellatrix felt a thrill, and desired only to remove her mask and proclaim her loyalties to the entire world—but then Liriope would say a soft word to her in private, and Bellatrix felt something more than a thrill, something that made her want to stay out of the public eye just so she could be near this woman.
Almost, just almost, she thought she knew what the more feeling was. But the closer she got to knowing, the more it seemed worse to know. She kept herself from the knowledge instead.
Maybe Liriope knew that too, and that was why she kept bidding Bellatrix to practice her Occlumency.
That bit of magic alone was helping them win, she thought. Nobody suspected anything if Bellatrix didn't want them to—except maybe Narcissa and that didn't count, for Bellatrix had been too close with her sisters for too many years, and there could be no secrets after that. Aside from that, she was a master of thought. Some days, it even felt like she could hide things from herself.
Power of the mind, Liriope said. The Dark Lord agreed, in words, but didn't seem as gifted as his own lieutenants at putting it in practice. He had a weakness there, Bellatrix had to say.
Did Liriope have one? Bellatrix kept looking for it, though so far to no avail.
---
Enemies were disappearing left and right, but the wizarding world still clung to its traditions. They hosted their parties as if the war wasn't on, and in that grand tradition at least half the Death Eaters showed up at this one, to laugh and drink with some of their enemies.
Not Bellatrix, though, not tonight. She slipped out of the Christmas gala, quiet and unseen, and apparated to the forest. All was black except for the stars and a sliver of moon peeking through the branches above.
"You're late," Liriope murmured, almost a purr. Her skin glowed softly pale in the starlight, her red hair melting into the shadows. As always, something about her face captured Bellatrix's attention, asking more questions than it ever answered.
"I'm sorry," Bellatrix apologized, then shrugged. "My sister, Narcissa. She's pregnant. I got carried away with the celebration."
She didn't expect Liriope to care, of course. When had the woman ever cared for anything outside the cause? She'd never even bothered to meet Bellatrix's family, and though Lucius was something of a project of hers, it seemed, she hadn't even attended his wedding.
Yet this brief personal news made Liriope pause, her fingers going taut at her sides and something cracking in her eyes. It wasn't a level of emotion that Bellatrix had ever seen on her, at least not in the daylight. Didn't she know she was visible in the starlight?
"Oh," Liriope said, in that perfectly controlled voice.
But Bellatrix could see, or sense, the slightest tremor in her lip.
The back of her neck prickled; she forgot the purpose of their meeting entirely. "Is that a problem?" she asked, and instinct told her that Liriope's mystery was dropped for a second. Impulse ruled over thought, at that moment. All her mind went to wandless Legilimency, sending out the smallest, most unobtrusive of probes.
"Of course not," Liriope replied, but Bellatrix was at the edge of her mind already, and could see that all the woman's efforts were on maintaining that calm. Curious, that. "Merely that I don't like to be kept waiting, Bellatrix, not when we make plans. I thought you wanted an excuse to get away from these affairs."
Bellatrix was almost breathless with excitement as her probes actually slipped past Liriope's guards. "Sometimes family comes first, that's all. I love her, you know. She's the only sister I have anymore."
There it was, a little break in the walls, more than before. It might only last for a second, and right here and now Bellatrix couldn't think of why she wouldn't want to know all the answers. This was no time for caution, it was only a time for acting.
Her wand flew up and all her Legilimency skills slammed forward, ripping through the crack in Liriope's defenses.
"What are you doing?" Liriope snapped, with fear in her voice for the first time.
Bellatrix barely heard it. She saw things clearly before her, as if she'd opened a picture book—she saw Lucius in Liriope's mind, and Narcissa too, but they were different. Older. They had a child and they were helping him fly a broom. Something about this older Narcissa felt wrong, disturbing, and why was it in Liriope's head? How was it?
She didn't get an answer. Liriope's Occlumency came up so fast it felt like a hammer to her skull, and Bellatrix wasn't prepared—she stumbled backward, biting the inside of her cheek and yelping.
"You were in my head!" Liriope said, disbelieving and horrified.
"Because something was wrong!" Bellatrix threw back at her, tasting blood from where she'd bitten her cheek. Her heart beat too fast. "I knew it, I knew something was wrong. What is going on in there?"
She wasn't the only one on defense, though. Liriope's hands were trembling and she'd drawn her wand. "I trusted you, Bellatrix."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Bellatrix demanded, pulling out her own wand and holding it more obviously. She felt like she'd been witness to some terrible crime, but that didn't make sense. Madness, all she could think of when she looked at Liriope was madness.
Liriope didn't answer, but her wand was held with purpose and Bellatrix could almost see a spell on her lips.
"Going to obliviate me?" she asked, and it was only after she said it that it made a sick kind of sense. Her grip on her wand tightened, and she wondered if she had enough skill for this, but continued to fill the silence with pointed questions. "Have you done it before? Is that why you make my skin crawl whenever we're together?" Bellatrix lifted her wand higher, wondering if she should strike first.
Liriope laughed, though, and it sounded eerily like Bellatrix's own, but saturated with desperation. Then all in a second the wand had lowered and she was closer—how did she move so fast?—and her hand slipped around Bellatrix's neck and pushed her against a tree.
Lirope had never been a physical fighter before, in their practice duels. This move, then, caught her completely off guard. More than that, it was the mirror of their first meeting, and the closest they'd been since that moment. Bellatrix's blood throbbed beneath Liriope's touch, her head spinning; she realized that she'd even dropped her wand to the forest floor. As always, Liriope knew just what to do to defeat an opponent.
"Do you truly think you could stop me from doing it?" Liriope asked, her voice once again tight with control.
It was a valid question, perhaps, but Bellatrix didn't understand why she didn't just cast the spell. She didn't understand any of this, and it almost terrified her. Liriope was dangerous, she had always known, but the little snippet of memories Bellatrix had seen in her mind didn't explain that. Neither did it explain the tension in her body now—the body that was so close that Bellatrix could feel every inch of her if she only arched forward.
At that closeness, Lirope's Occlumency only worked so far. Bellatrix looked into those blue eyes and saw flitting on the surface hints of fear, grief, longing, and something dark that hadn't been there before.
No, Bellatrix couldn't stop Liriope from whatever her plan was, whatever was happening right now. She didn't want to stop her. She wanted something to finally happen.
It was the thing she told herself she didn't want to know, but now she did, and she wouldn't just stand there and wait.
Bellatrix pushed forward against Liriope's hand on her neck, and Liriope pulled back, instinctively, just enough. With a last little lunge, Bellatrix moved in and kissed her.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop its spinning. She could taste Liriope's gasp and how it vibrated against her lips, and there was a tang of blood from where Bellatrix had bit her own cheek. But Liriope didn't pull away. Her fingers loosened around Bellatrix's neck and slipped to her collarbone, trembling.
Bellatrix let out a soft groan and pressed closer, feeling their heartbeats match in a hasty, unsteady rhythm. She kissed her again, deeper, rougher, feeling just a bit powerless and demanding all at once.
It only lasted for a second. Then Liriope's fingernails were suddenly digging into her collarbone and shoving her away, all skin-to-skin contact breaking. Too soon, too soon. Bellatrix's blood was aflame.
"No," Liriope murmured, as if she could read Bellatrix's mind. Her eyes were wide again, her hands rising as if to keep Bellatrix from lunging at her. "Bella, no."
Bellatrix felt something surge deep in her at the pet name. "Why?" she asked.
Liriope turned away, hiding her face, her shoulders heaving for moment before she leaned against another tree, looking for the first time like a weary woman who'd known half a century of years.
"Why is everything no?" Bellatrix demanded again, desperate. "No to everything I want to do, no to answers, but no to this too? Am I not even allowed distraction from all the denial?"
Liriope said nothing, but her shoulders heaved again.
Bellatrix found her own confusion to be more than she could stand.
What she did was foolish, so foolish, but Bellatrix had never been one for caution. She couldn't bear being in the dark a moment longer. She grabbed her wand from the ground and whispered "Legilimens" before the other woman could recover. Her walls were down again, and this time Bellatrix didn't care if it hurt—she used all her strength and battered her way through Liriope's mind.
But she went too fast, and memories came like an onslaught.
Here was Lucius and Narcissa, laughing at a dinner party, and then there they were again, fucking against a wall. Here was a garden of white roses, and there was a grave with her parents' names on it. Here was Narcissa bribing an Auror, there was Lucius quietly threatening a shop owner's family if he didn't sell the property. Parties, dinners, purebloods that Bellatrix only half-recognized, all flew by. And there was that boy again, who looked just like Lucius, growing up so fast, taking the train to Hogwarts. More sex, more bribery, arguments, letters, love, hate, games, lies, manipulations, power, laughter.
There was the Dark Lord, different than Bellatrix ever imagined him, yet it could be no one else. There was Narcissa, and something about her appearance made too many pieces fit together in Bellatrix's head—but she didn't have time to breathe, the memories came faster, more furious. The Dark Lord was torturing them all, there was blood on the floor, there was broken glass flying through the air. Someone had failed. Bellatrix saw herself, aged as well, corpselike and screaming. Bellatrix wanted to scream herself, but she couldn't quite breathe.
She saw the boy with a dark mark on his arm, she saw Narcissa begging Snape for something, she saw more torture, she saw corpses around Malfoy Manor, she saw Hogwarts in rubble, she saw Lucius before the Wizengamot, she saw Narcissa on her knees before an unfamiliar Minister, she saw the Manor stripped, she saw Draco beaten and bloody, she saw Lucius subdued in Azkaban, she saw Draco with slits on his wrists, she saw bright light and pain and she saw herself through Liriope's eyes at their first meeting.
No, not Liriope. Narcissa.
Her stomach heaved. Bellatrix fell to her knees and finally found the breath to scream.
Nothing answered her and she screamed in silence.
---
She didn't remember much after that. The next morning, everything was blurred in her head and she let it be so. For the first time in years, her mind was quiet—somehow, she didn't find it pleasant.
Bellatrix found that in the end, it was easy enough to go home. Even at twenty-four years old, her parents still saw her as the wayward child who had yet to settle down. Bellatrix only said that she wasn't feeling well, and they left her in her room. The house elves brought her food. No one bothered her.
For three days she stared at the ceiling and, even though she now had all the answers, she'd never felt so unable to make a decision.
On the third night, she had the house elves bring her a bottle of firewhiskey. It felt good for the first two glasses, then she drank too fast and couldn't even find the appropriate potion before being sick all over the carpet.
After the dizziness faded, she cleaned up her mess and lay quietly back down. She almost didn't hear the pop of apparation, but felt the change in the air and knew, just knew.
Liriope—Narcissa—how had she not understood the reference in that name before?—stood at the foot of her bed. Bellatrix stared, blankly at first, then narrowing her eyes to try to find her sister in that face.
Ignore the red hair, that was important. The age, too, didn't matter. She was a beautiful woman now, as ever. And yes, those eyes were Narcissa's. Those cheekbones too. The nose, mostly, but not quite. The chin? Glamoured, surely. There they were, the little changes that had been enough to fool and woo Bellatrix.
"You were never supposed to know," Narcissa said after a long minute of silence. The guards were down, again, and pain was written over her face—the sort that Bellatrix had never seen on her little sister before, even when Mother had struck one of them hard enough to knock them to the floor.
Bellatrix sat up stiffly on the bed and clenched her hands into fists. "Obviously," she answered. Even now, knowing the truth, she still felt warmth on seeing this woman who had owned her mind and heart these past years. It warred with the dead shock in her mind, this warmth that shouldn't be.
Narcissa sat gingerly on the edge of Bellatrix's bed. "You weren't supposed to be hurt either—I didn't realize that you—" She looked out the window instead of meeting Bellatrix's eyes.
"You did realize," Bellatrix said flatly, refusing to be mollified.
"Maybe a little," Narcissa admitted, half a sigh. "But I was trying to save you. I made compromises."
Bellatrix ground her teeth, the warmth in her chest turning to anger that stung at the corners of her eyes. Compromises. Yes, it was very obvious that this Narcissa was no longer young. Compromises were for the old. "Your words mean nothing right now, sister. I'm not interested in them."
Narcissa flinched, to her credit, then turned to meet Bellatrix's eyes at last. "I know you well enough to know that, Bella. I'm only here to explain everything. I must."
Bellatrix closed her eyes, shutting out the world for a few spare seconds. Liriope had always been so good at explanations. She had a way of organizing the complicated bits of people and putting them into words, without flair, without sentiment. It was everything Bellatrix wanted right now, still lost in a fog of unnamed feelings, but she wanted Liriope. And that woman had never existed—had been some version of Narcissa the entire time.
"Please listen, Bella?" Narcissa's words were quiet, and soft, and just familiar enough that Bellatrix couldn't say no to them.
She opened her eyes and put up as many Occlumency walls as she could. "Speak, then."
To her credit, yes, the story made more sense than the barrage of memories that Bellatrix barely recalled. It even seemed like Narcissa's style—she'd always been a stubborn girl, determined and ruthless and usually successful. Of course she'd use an ancient, dangerous artifact to go back in time and 'fix' her future. Bellatrix believed that part of it instantly, and almost smiled against her will, trying to imagine her own Narcissa—young and in love and only just pregnant—being so reckless and so Slytherin.
But then, when Narcissa's voice faded for a minute, Bellatrix was left with a question. She said the first half slowly, then spat the rest out, fingernails digging into her palms. "You mention Lucius and this future son of yours. You're doing it for them. But not me? Why haven't you mentioned me?"
Narcissa looked out the window again, and all Bella could see was the curve of her jaw. "Until I was here, I never thought that there might be a chance to save you, Bella."
It felt like a Crucio straight to her heart. Bellatrix felt her hands quivering, and still she demanded, "Save me? How did I end, then? Tell me!"
She expected Narcissa to demur, but her sister met her eyes again. "You were convicted of Unforgivables and sentenced to Azkaban for life. After fifteen years the Dark Lord returned and broke you out, but you had a mind only for hurt and death and him. You killed our cousin, Sirius, and you let the Dark Lord humiliate my family and threaten to murder my son, and then two years later Molly Weasley murdered you in a duel. I grieved, but not as much as I thought I would. By then I couldn't remember a time when you had loved me more than the Dark Lord."
Bellatrix laughed, harshly. Love the Dark Lord? Oh, but that was before Narcissa had taken his place. How ironic.
"Yes, maybe I was petty for not caring more," Narcissa said, bitterly, though Bellatrix couldn't be sure she knew what exactly Bellatrix was thinking. "But my family has been abandoning me for far too long for me to be forgiving, I suppose, and then you were dead and it was almost a relief. You hurt the family I made, Bella, and the one I chose. I truly forgot how much I once loved you until I was back here."
Bellatrix rose up from the bed and walked to the window, closing the curtains and then staring aimlessly at them. She tried not to think, tried to just lose herself in every texture of the fabric. An ache threatened to tear her chest apart. She wanted to break something, rip and tear and crush. Before, Liriope had made those desires seem less. Now it was Narcissa, and everything was reversed, destroyed, tainted.
"I'm sorry it happened like this," Narcissa said behind her. "I'm sorry I let my guard down. Even though you shouldn't have been looking in my mind—I'm still sorry."
Bellatrix turned around, finally looking at her face again. It should look ugly now, after all that she'd said. The mystery was gone, the power was half a lie, so what was left of Liriope? Why wasn't Bellatrix filled with hate? Why did she still want to keep staring at her, forever, no matter how she lied? "Are you sorry, Cissa, for manipulating me into falling in love with you? Your own sister?"
That, finally, made Narcissa's pale face flush. "I didn't intend that."
"So you're accidentally talented at seduction, then?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa snapped, and she stood up. "I've always loved you, Bella, and never more than now, but it wasn't like—" She stopped short, swallowing what could have been exasperation, or what could have been a lie.
Bellatrix felt no charity for her, even if it was only exasperation. The madness and the ache bit at her edges and pushed her forward—her hands slipped around Narcissa's waist and pulled her close, her mouth finding Narcissa's in an instant and kissing her. Too fast, too messy, too angry, and yet it hurt good.
Narcissa groaned and pulled back as she had before, though not as fast as she could, and her eyes were angry. "I'll not put up with this, Bella. Enough."
Bellatrix grinned, but knew it didn't reach her eyes, as she still pressed close to Narcissa. A hot fire was in her chest and driving her words. "Why? Because you realize now that you want me more than your precious Lucius?"
"You're my sister," Narcissa hissed, and then, "and you're a child."
It would have hurt less if Narcissa had only slapped her. "A child?"
"Yes." The guards were back up in Narcissa's eyes. "Regardless of your age. And soon I will go back to where I belong in any case. I sacrificed five years of my life, not on some twisted mission to seduce my sister, but to ensure a future where me and my family can live happily. I'm not staying here. I'm going to my new future, where Lucius won't get caught, Draco will never be forced into this war, and we all end up happy. And if you pay attention to anything I've told you, maybe you'll be alive too. Maybe we'll love each other more than Dark Lords in this future. I don't know. It's up to you, now that you know the whole story. But I'm going, Bella."
The taste of her on Bellatrix's lips was suddenly sour. She couldn't hold back the rage anymore, even if she'd wanted to. "Then go! Go now! Go and leave and never look at me again! I never thought you could grow old and so rotten. Just like mother. But I guess one of us had to be."
Narcissa didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. It was if the words had turned her to stone. Then, with a swallow, her eyes gleaming, she apparated away.
Bellatrix stared at the empty space left behind, then screamed and flipped the bed, tore the curtains, and finally sunk down into the pile of rubble she'd made. Her fingers dug through her tangled hair, yanking and pulling at the roots, until at last the tears came and she wept for something she didn't dare identify.
---
V
---
They were so happy.
Narcissa watched from a distance as Lucius walked arm and arm with her, both of them glowing with pride among the rose bushes. No one could see the swell on Narcissa's belly yet, but she remembered how it had felt. She ran her fingers over her stomach as it was now, covered with stretch marks and starting to sag. Narcissa Malfoy was no longer young.
Somewhere in the future, neither was Lucius Malfoy. But that would have been fine with her, if they'd only been allowed to keep growing older together. If, maybe, she hadn't lost all the family she'd ever loved.
Narcissa closed her eyes and turned away. It was no longer the time for soft nostalgia. She had things to finish.
What mattered now was that Bellatrix was wrong. Narcissa wasn't their mother—bitter, cold, cruel, and unable to see anything but her own ambitions. Bellatrix's pain was only an accident and Narcissa wouldn't make it worse. It wasn't in her power to make it better, either, but it might be possible for this time's Narcissa.
With that in mind, she returned to her home and took out a parchment. Dear Lucius, she began, wondering what he'd think when she disappeared, I am afraid that you will not be seeing me again, and you will not receive an explanation. But I will not leave you without saying these last words. Take care of your sister-in-law. She's not well right now, and she needs her sister. Bellatrix loves Narcissa, even if she says she doesn't. Trust me. And remember what we have spoken of. Family—and family reputation—is more important than any cause. Keep yours safe at all costs. Be cautious. Think of future wishes and ambitions, not just what seems enjoyable at the moment. Remember your weaknesses. They may be with you for life, but don't let them master you. And never forget what Slughorn taught you: even the smallest of persons may change the course of the future. Don't dismiss or take such people for granted without good cause. Yours, Liriope.
When the owl came for the letter, she wondered if Bellatrix would ever tell him the truth. And would it change things? Well, that was for the future. Not for her. She was done.
She missed her husband and her son, as she had from the start, but now, just as strongly, she missed the days when there had been the three Black sisters clinging to each other in a house of rage and pain. Before Andromeda left. Before Bellatrix faded away.
And as always, letting herself think of even that name was her downfall.
Bellatrix wasn't the only sister she'd hurt and thrust from herself, years ago. For her own safety, to be sure, for Narcissa could not have borne another betrayal. And yet...and yet...
Here she was, her heart telling her that she could, if arrogant enough to try it, fix more of the broken pieces of her life
So in a fit of pique, she pulled out another parchment. Dear Andromeda, she started, and even the words were painful to write. I wish I could explain what this letter means, but alas, you'll have to be confused. I'm sorry for that. I will leave you with these words, however, and hope that one day you'll understand them. They won't make sense for a while, I can promise you that. But this: We may have pretended to forget you. We may say that we hate you. We don't. Not even Bellatrix. Perhaps someday—eighteen years from now, maybe, if not sooner—we'll all get over our pride. We belong together, Andy. I hope you don't forget that. Yours, Narcissa Black.
The signature was one from this time—an older time—and Andromeda would know it to be real. It was something. Not quite enough, but something.
Finally, Narcissa wrote a letter to Bellatrix as well. Dear Bella, please forgive me. And if you can't do that, forgive the sister you still have. She is not to blame for me—hopefully she never will have to do what I have done. She loves you dearly, and always will. And if you can, one day, I hope that you will forgive Andromeda as well. Once we all loved each other, and now that I am old, I wonder if the point where everything went wrong was when we began running away from each other, instead of sticking close. Maybe it's too late to fix that. You don't want to, or don't think you want to, I'm sure. But if you can, someday, I'll hope you trust me one last time and try. I'm sorry.
This one, however, Narcissa left unsigned.
---
Once the letters were sent, all the strength left her. Weary and exhausted, she took out the artifact that had started it all and finally read the last inscription.
And thus, when the task is done, the wound in time must be mended. Life will pay for the second life, leaving behind only the hope of a new one. Turn and turn and turn again, and seal the world as it is now.
She smiled, the tiniest of smiles. Death was the price—of course it was. This young Narcissa would grow and raise her son in a different world, and this young Narcissa would grow old and yet would never need to travel back in time. Narcissa as she was now would cease, to make that happen.
Poor Bella, thinking she was only 'leaving' her. Narcissa only hoped that her anger at that belief would help her heal the hurt that Narcissa had inadvertently caused.
She'd always been a Slytherin, and the moment she turned the artifact in her hand, once and twice and then a third time, she thought that maybe Gryffindors weren't the truly brave ones.
This time, there was blinding light and heat and then she was ripped apart. She wasn't put back together this time—but the world was.
---
VI
---
The Dark Lord raged when Liriope vanished without a trace. He assumed, of course, that he had been betrayed, and his rage was fierce.
Nothing ever came of her disappearance, however. Neither the Ministry nor the Order benefited, and even his deepest fear, that a Dark Lady might rise up to challenge him, was disproven.
The mysterious Liriope never returned. She became almost a legend, barely talked about and barely even believed. When the Dark Lord met his defeat in Godric's Hollow nearly two years later, it never crossed his mind that she could have masterminded this unexpected end. (She didn't, of course, only helped it along.)
And she never crossed his mind again, after that.
Lucius thought of her at times, though, but the years passed and soon he forgot that he'd ever thought differently than he did now. As far as he remembered by the time Draco went to Hogwarts, it was his own skill that had kept anyone from ever knowing he'd been a Death Eater. He hadn't even faced a trial. All on his own effort.
Bellatrix knew better, but the two of them had never loved each other and so they never spoke of it. Lucius was allowed his little delusion.
So most people forgot a woman called Liriope had ever existed for five brief years of the world.
---
If Narcissa was surprised to see Bellatrix show up on the doorstep to Malfoy Manor at midnight, soaking wet in the rain as if she was some Muggle who couldn't cast an umbrella spell, it quickly faded when her sister crushed her in a desperate embrace.
"Bella, be careful!" she said, almost a squeak. "The baby."
Bella wasn't careful. That had never been Bella.
In the end, Narcissa sighed and supposed that the unborn babe could hardly be damaged by just a hug. She returned the embrace, nuzzling Bella's ear when she felt her sister trembling. "What is it?"
Her voice came out small and low. "I've missed you, Cissy."
Narcissa smiled against Bella's hair, their cheeks pressed together. "About time you realized that," she said, as dry as Bella was wet. "Come in, won't you?"
Bella did. Bella sat on her couch and let Narcissa rant about the state of her clothes and then fix them and serve her tea.
She didn't say much, but they never did need to say much. They were connected in a way that went beneath words, perhaps even beneath the skin, and even though they'd been distant for the past few years, nothing had truly been damaged. Narcissa decided to forgive, and smoothly moved on to making things how they used to be.
After a while, Bella curled up against her side like a cat, like she'd done when they were little girls, pressed so close that Narcissa could feel all her bones. She determined to make sure Bella ate more, then kissed the top of Bella's head and let her fall asleep there. It was the sort of moment she'd missed—and had begun resenting Bella for making her miss it. Now things were right again.
Lucius came in a few minutes later to ask if she was coming to bed, but she only glared and put a finger to her lips. He sighed and gave her a kiss, then left to sleep on his own.
Bella was gone by morning, though, or at least by the time Narcissa woke. She left Narcissa asleep on the couch, but she'd covered her up with a warm blanket at least, and left a makeshift breakfast by her head. If not for that, it would have been like some surreal dream—though a pleasant one.
"She hasn't been like that in years," Narcissa said when Lucius joined her in the drawing room for a late-morning brunch.
He was frowning at a letter in his hand, the contents of which he did not share. He seemed to hear her words, though, for he glanced up thoughtfully, then said, "You were always close at Hogwarts, though. I assume before as well?"
"The closest," Narcissa agreed. "I never knew what changed."
Lucius gave her an odd look, then tucked the letter in his hand back into its envelope and walked to stand beside her, taking her hand in his. "Whatever it was, I don't think it's going to be that way anymore."
Narcissa's brows narrowed. "Lucius...I know you don't like each other. Where does this sudden trust come from?"
Lucius only huffed. "She's your sister. As long as she doesn't harm me, I see no reason not to tolerate her for your sake."
It was good enough, as excuses or reasons went. More than good enough for Narcissa.
And Lucius was right, in the end. Bella came back, again and again, until she was as permanent a part of the household as Draco. She stopped living in a state of melancholy, after a time, and began to keep herself busy with magical projects and taking aunthood quite seriously. Perhaps, Narcissa surmised, it had taken her that long to get over the loss of her Dark Lord—the one Narcissa wasn't supposed to know about.
Then again, once Aunt Walburga died, the last of their parents' generation, Bellatrix even started to laugh more often. Real laughs, and not the mocking cackles she'd always tossed at people like Lucius. Perhaps Bellatrix was changing in more ways than Narcissa would be allowed to know. She didn't need to know, however. She had all she needed, for they were changing together and the world was becoming theirs.
Yet Narcissa noticed that sometimes, in quiet moments, Bellatrix looked at her and her guards went up, solid as stone walls, as if there was something she desperately needed to hide from Narcissa. She noticed, too, that when important things happened in the world, Bella often had a queer distant expression on her face. There were other things, too, faults that had been with Bellatrix since she was a child. But those didn't change anything. Nothing was perfect, after all.
Nothing had to be.
---
One day in 1998, after the world was yet again rejoicing in the fall of the Dark Lord—for good this time—Lucius Malfoy was brought in for questioning by the Ministry of Magic.
Two hours later he walked out as a free man, under no suspicion.
Narcissa and Draco escorted him out of the building, proudly, and all the way home.
"Well?" Bellatrix asked them, standing tensely at the door when they arrived.
Lucius' smirk was all that needed to be said. Bellatrix relaxed visibly.
"Really, Bella, he was very careful," Narcissa said, pretending she hadn't been the least bit worried. Lucius hadn't been quite so careful during this second war, and she'd hated every second. "They had nothing but the barest of suspicions, even with Potter's testimonial."
"Then it's done," said Bellatrix, with a strange finality.
"Yes, and can we eat now?" Draco said, half whining. "It's been a long day and they didn't have any good food at the Ministry."
Lucius seemed to feel the same, and soon they were busy demanding food from the elves.
When they were gone, however, Bellatrix wrapped Narcissa in a quick embrace. "Remind me to talk to you and Lucius later, will you?"
Narcissa frowned. "Is something wrong?"
Bellatrix shook her head, then gave her a grin. "Not at all."
It was better than the distant expression Narcissa had expected—and had seen, earlier this week—but not much better. "Really, Bella, do you delight in vexing me with vague comments? Don't think I haven't noticed it these past, oh, eighteen years."
Bellatrix laughed and took Narcissa's hand, giving her a sudden twirl as if they were in dancing lessons again. "I only delight in the fact that you, my dear Cissy, have won yet again."
Narcissa let out a short breath, only half believing that statement. It didn't make sense, but then again, Bellatrix had always been a bit strange and sometimes even a bit mad. It was why one loved Bellatrix—and Narcissa truly did.
And anyone could tell from the way Bellatrix looked at her, as they walked off to join the men at lunch, that the love was completely returned. No odd story that Bellatrix might later relay about time travel and a woman named Liriope could ever change that. Love, time-changing love, was sealed into this world.
So really, if many weeks later the Daily Prophet was reporting on a reunion between all three Black sisters, would anyone honestly be surprised?