Chapter Text
It was a moonless night.
The sky was sleeping.
The stars were singing.
And the manor was cold—
Cold in the way that made your skin feel too thin and the walls feel too close.
Bellatrix stirred.
Her thoughts were tangled. Slippery.
Like oil skimming over water—half-formed, impossible to catch.
They were all gathered tonight. The faithful.
Draped in black, heads bowed, reverent before the one who could unmake them with a whisper.
The Dark Lord.
She should have felt comfort. Power.
Purpose.
But the night was young, and sleep would not come.
The silence was uneasy.
And then—
The sound.
Muffled. Distant.
Familiar in the worst way.
Voices.
She moved barefoot down the hall, the stone floor like ice beneath her.
Laughter flickered through the shadows—
Too high-pitched.
Too eager.
*Children?* her mind offered.
Peaky, useless things. Good-for-nothings.
Her hand brushed her wand. Reflex. Habit. Hunger.
She would silence them all.
For her Lord.
Then a voice rose—too loud, too triumphant.
“Yes. Yes. YES. Finally—I will win.”
And then she heard it.
Not laughter.
Not cackling.
Crying
Ravens. Crying
Not croaking—
Weeping.
She whispered, "Lumos.”
The light revealed a tableau so surreal her breath caught in her throat.
Voldemort stood in the center of the room.
Wearing a unicorn onesie.
Bunny slippers.
His arms moved like he was conducting a symphony only he could hear.
And around him—
Birds.
Dozens of ravens sat in a loose circle. Their black eyes gleamed like wet glass.
They sobbed—not loudly, but deeply. As if each sound came from something ancient and exhausted.
He laughed, head thrown back.
The ravens sobbed harder.
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating.
Her legs felt hollow.
The edges of her vision blurred.
Then—
“Ah, Bellatrix. I have something for you to do.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Yes, my Lord.”
“These are my masterpieces,” he said, eyes glowing. “Make sure they are safe.”
She stared. “What are they, my Lord?”
“Ravens,” he whispered. Reverent.
“…Ravens?”
“Don’t ask questions,” he said without turning. She noticed his bald head filled with luscious blond hair like elsa and realized he stole Lucius's wig.
She stepped forward.
One of the birds turned to her—slow and heavy.
Its eyes didn’t blink.
It croaked.
Low. Resonant. Final.
It didn’t look afraid.
It looked… *resigned.*
Like the weight of its ancestors had passed to her without consent.
*Ravens Pavlov,* her mind wandered.
She wasn’t sure why.
From the far corner, she heard it again—
"I Pavlov’d them,”* someone whispered,
followed by maniacal laughter echoing like a bad decision in a public restroom.
That sound would never leave her.
Then—something glowed.
A low light pulsed from beneath one of the birds.
A strange, shimmering ooze leaked onto the floor.
It looked exhausted—like it had aged a hundred years just from existing.
Her mind tried to process:
*Why is it glowing? Is it… crying uranium?*
The raven turned its head slowly—
And stared into her soul with all the weariness of a post-war librarian.
Then—
Its eyes popped out.
She blinked.
Its eyes had popped out.
“Bellatrix, don’t touch its droppings.” He stepped next to her in all his grandeur with his luscious wig and princess tiara
She didn’t move. “Why, my Lord?”
The question slipped out—unfiltered, reckless, suicidal curiosity in full bloom.
He muttered something under his breath.
Something about *Chernobyl* and *radioactive poop.*
Then, more clearly:
“Ah. It will be the key to defeating them.
These birds will weep anytime a Muggle-born or half-blood comes near.
They will know.
And we… will conquer.”
He glided past her.
One bunny slipper missing.
Trailing behind like a Disney princess cosplaying from eBay.
The staircase yielded to his movements like he was a haunted Roomba in a unicorn onesie.
Her wand buzzed faintly in its holster.
The nose—or the lack thereof—came into view.
Nothing made sense anymore.
And right there, in the cold silence of the manor, In her sleep muddled brain muttering things about elsa cosplay, Lucius's wigs and Moldfarts liking bunny slippers,
Bellatrix Lestrange made a vow that would forever define the course of absurdity:
She would make sure the birds were safe.
For the noseless one had spoken.
And who was she to refuse?