Cissy was once again speaking to her in that pacifying way, her soothing time-to-go-to-bed-Draco voice.

"I'm just going to put you on the chaise lounge over here. Mobilicorpus. There, are you comfortable, Bella dear? I'm afraid we can't release the full body-bind just yet. I'm going to go check on our young charge, and we'll see if Lucius can't sort out this whole mess."

She was going to kill Cissy. Sister or not, this was intolerable. The only positive of this utterly humiliating situation was that Lucius had already left the room. They were all dead to her. All of them.

Cissy was gone for an indeterminate amount of time. Time, which was obdurately determined to loiter along, forward one moment, back the next, agonizing as it circled at a worm's pace, a lowly, lowly worm. Bellatrix's mind was filled with fantasies of blood, and more blood, and by the time Cissy finally returned, she had already mentally painted every single room in the manor with hot dripping crimson.

"Have you calmed down yet?" Cissy asked, planting herself, uninvited, near Bella's knees on the edge of the chaise lounge, hands primly placed in her own lap. "No, of course you haven't." She let out a rueful exhale. "No one can hold on to rage like you can, I daresay. Even mother conceded that to you, long ago. Do you recall the rows you used to have? I swear, your screams used to shake all the portraits in their frames, even with the sticking charms." Cissy's lips tilted up, nostalgic.

"Do you remember that time mother was chasing us through the house, accusing us of stealing her new purse - that one designed by the Italian fellow - her favourite one, with the rare purple-fairies spelled to it? I had never seen mother quite so angry, as when it went missing. She threatened to lock us all away in our rooms, and use the nightmare curse on us until we confessed -

"You were going through that phase - I'll never forget - where you wanted everything of yours to be pretty and feminine - your room, your belongings, your clothes. Back then, you refused to wear black - if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I daresay I'd scarce believe it now. Mother was going through your things, and you were furious. You told mother she was a daft cow, who couldn't even find her own wand if she was holding it." Cissy's smile was wistful, almost sad. "You told her she was a failure of a mother. So she bound you to a chair, and left you there all night, alone with the nightmare curse. You know, I crept down the stairs that night, and tried to free you, but of course, I didn't know very much magic back then, and nothing I did helped. You didn't even make a sound that night. You just trembled."

Cissy's voice was like a soft drizzle from the sky, quenching the searing heat within her, quieting her rage, leaving her suddenly weary.

"The next morning, mother wouldn't even look at you. I remember that it was father who let you free. And then you climbed the stairs, up to my room, and when I asked whether you were all right, you said - you said: 'Me? Don't be silly. I'm not afraid of nightmares. I'm the sort of thing nightmares are made of.' And I - I said I was afraid of nightmares, and besides, you were too beautiful to be a nightmare. And you held out your hand so that I could climb into your arms, because you still let me do such things back then, and you said: 'That's not true. Nightmares are twisted and broken things, even if they don't look that way on the outside.' I didn't understand what you meant at the time. You were clutching the banister of the stairs to hold your weight. I didn't think about what it meant until later, years later."

I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear this.

Cissy's voice lowered to scarcely more than a hush. "And it wasn't until years after that that I knew that you knew. You knew I took the purse - that I had been entranced by the little fairies attached to it." She reached out one of her hands and placed it on Bellatrix's stiff arm, a warm, reassuring pressure. An unwanted pressure, reminding Bellatrix of past weaknesses, soft things better off withered, pruned away.

"I still don't know why you sacrificed yourself, when in so many other things, you let us take the fall. But I think I understand, now, why you thought yourself broken -"

Don't say it, don't you dare!

"But I never thought you were. Never. You are our elder sister - you need not be anything other than what you are. You already have every reason to feel pride. You need not prove anything. Nor do you need to be my saviour, either, just because I see the situation with the Dark Lord differently. I don't want to lose you, Bella." There was a quaver in her voice. " You're family. And if you continue your thoughtless course of actions, you'll hurt yourself, you'll hurt all of us."

I don't care, I don't care, I don't want to hear this! Shut up, shut up!

"I understand why you might want to hurt Harry Potter. I, as much as anyone, want to see the old families in their proper place. But harming a child - harming an innocent wizard -" she shook her head. "It's distasteful. Can't we find some other way? Obliviate him. Or cast a geas to hinder his magic. Cast the Imperius curse. Anything.

"I don't think his guardians were kind to him. You never even told us where you found him. He - he's Draco's age, but he's so small, so frail." Cissy turned the full force of her azure eyes on Bellatrix. "Please, Bella."

Bellatrix hated it when Cissy begged. Her pleas were always so earnest, and combined with her seraphic features - golden hair, and cerulean eyes - it was a wretched experience to ever refuse her.

Cissy slid out her wand. "I'm going to remove the body-bind. Please try to compose yourself. And remember, I'm on your side."

When she had finally regained control of her own faculties, she was quick to give Cissy a venom-filled glare. She pushed herself up into a seated position, ready to spring her feet.

"It's his fault that the Dark Lord is gone," Bellatrix accused, and that old rancor renewed itself like a noxious weed in the spring.

"He was a baby. How could he -"

"It's his fault!"

"Think! He didn't even have a choice! He -"

Bellatrix was on her feet, flushed with heat, and wand already in hand. "It's his fault!" she shrilled. "All his fault! I'm going to kill him!"

Cissy's expression was pinched, and under her breath, she murmured: "Lucius said you wouldn't be reasonable. Why do I always hope -" When her eyes met Bellatrix's, they were implacable. "I've put Harry Potter under several protections. You won't be able to harm him. Not in my house."

And when Bellatrix shrieked, Cissy (cold Narcissa, marble and ice Narcissa) didn't even flinch.

-o-

Bellatrix was pressed to make a promise to Cissy that she wouldn't hurt Harry Potter - not while he resided in Malfoy Manor. It was an affront! Her prize. Her still-breathing corpse-to-be. Her Harry Potter. And she wasn't even permitted to see him until she swore an oath, bound by bright threads of magic sinking into her forearm. Torture, delayed. Pain, procrastinated. Death, sooner or later, leaning towards later, too much later.

She didn't think that she could bear to look upon the boy, knowing that she was declawed, toothless in his presence. And much as she longed to fly from the confines of the manor, her impulsive actions may as well have been a sign, a pointing arrow written in the sky for all to see (foolish, foolish), rendering her a virtual prisoner here. She retreated to the Malfoy library.

It had never been in Bellatrix's nature to lose herself in the world of books. For her, words penned upon parchment were too static, too lifeless, and she was a woman of action. Books were merely a means to an end, and not an end in and of themselves. But her current methods for seeking the Dark Lord remained fruitless, chiseling away at her self-worth, and bringing to mind why she used to work with the Lestrange brothers and Barty Crouch Jr. Together, they had been able to compensate for one another's weaknesses, to take advantage of their collective strength. I'm not useless. I'm not!

She would research for the sake of finding her master. She would do it because it was the only choice left to her. She would be grateful for the fact that it had always been easy for her to remember the things she read ("sharp mind," the sorting hat had said), and even easier to apply them. She would not think about Harry Potter, would not think about the spells that could take his skin off inch by inch, or turn his blood into acid. Such things were for later. Later when the aurors had exhausted their search for her. Later when she could finally leave this accursed manor without risking immediate capture, and with that trusting little boy in tow, a lamb to slaughter.

She passed days this way, each trickling by with a slowness that seemed to chafe at her skin, leaving her itchy and restless. No matter how expansive the library, no matter how airy and beautiful the space, with its enchanted floor-to-ceiling windows, rich carpets, and pale woods, it was still a cage, an unwanted confine. Occasionally, Cissy would come by to visit with news of the boy, which Bellatrix only listened to with unconcealed ill grace.

"Harry's ignorance is truly shocking," Cissy had said, settling into the adjacent bicorn leather armchair. "He knows nothing of magic. Nothing. Did you know this? Ah, you're still pretending I'm not here. Well, it won't do. I have one of the portraits teaching Harry about the wizarding world. Perhaps later on, he can share lessons with Draco."

A waste of effort, Bellatrix thought with an inner sneer, considering that Harry will die, preferably soon. She still hadn't forgiven Cissy for her actions, but Cissy was aware of this. The worst thing about having sisters is that they know you far too well.

But at least Bellatrix could tolerate Cissy's presence without wanting to eviscerate her. Lucius, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.

The man had sauntered into the library one day, as if he owned the place (unfortunately, he did), snake-headed walking stick in hand, and every silver-blond hair in place. His tailored robes brought out the silver of his eyes (she noted with disgust). Here was a man who dressed and strolled along, and acted as if the photographers for Witch Weekly might spring out at any moment (even in the privacy of his own home), because of course they would want him in the society pages, of course they would. The greatest treasure, to a Malfoy, was himself. He was the last person Bellatrix wanted to see (or perhaps second last, next to a still-breathing, untouchable Harry Potter). She wanted to do terrible, violent things to Lucius. The very worst thing about seeing Lucius was knowing that she couldn't.

It was more than just the fact that she was relying on the Malfoys for protection; it was also to do with old pureblood customs of honour. As a guest here, obligated to the Malfoy's generosity, it was necessary to afford certain courtesies towards Lucius. It was already too much of a strain to attempt to treat the man with even a modicum of respect. Frankly, Lucius ought to consider himself lucky that she hadn't gutted him in his sleep. The cruciatus curse was too good for a wizard like him. She wanted that pale beauty irreparably destroyed.

She suspect that he knew her thoughts. What else could explain that smug smile, so painfully inflated with pomposity that she could barely stand to look at it?

"Making yourself comfortable with my books, sister?" he asked, the word oozing insincerity, as he stood over her, giving no more than a brief glance to the sprawling structural towers of books by her feet.

She tilted up her chin. "Unlike some people, I am devoted to finding the Dark Lord." Treacherous, disloyal coward.

"And unlike some people, I look to the future rather than to the past."

She couldn't stop herself from baring her teeth like some animal, rationality surrendering far too easily to anger, as she spat out: "And I can't wait for the future to come, when the Dark Lord has returned, and can see who of us has stood by his side all along."

Maddeningly, Lucius remained unruffled. "Meanwhile, the Malfoy influence continues to grow, so that whatever the future brings, allying with us will be an advantage."

She could feel her nostrils flaring, desperately wanting to rattle Lucius's pride, to reveal it as the hollow thing that it was.

"In fact," Lucius continued smoothly, "I'm cultivating influence for my family even now."

"You know I don't care about your business dealings, or your silly pretence at political games."

A slow smile curled Lucius's lips, every millimetre of pink like added kerosene over her blazing rage. "Oh, I'm not speaking of business dealings nor politics, sister. I'm speaking of a certain mess that you created - a mess that I had to clean up. Of course, I can clear our name of suspicion, but there's little I can do for yours."

Was he speaking of - Harry Potter?

His eyes gleamed, recognizing her own recognition, reading her with an ease that made her feel despoiled. She brought up her occlumency shields, but one didn't need to read minds when one could read faces.

"Yes, Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world. How ever did you manage to find him?" Pale eyebrows drifted upwards, but there was no way that Bellatrix would ever admit that it had been pure happenstance. She could not let herself appear weak - not before this man. And how dare he. How dare he presume to have any claim on the boy. Harry Potter was hers.

"Nevermind," Lucius smirked, still baiting, always baiting. "I will confess that when you brought Harry Potter here, I thought that ruin was soon to follow. But Malfoys have always known when to press an advantage, and Harry Potter is an advantage indeed."

"What are you going on about?"

"It hasn't yet occurred to you? Ah, I see that it hasn't." He flashed his teeth, eyes glittering like freshly whetted steel. "Hasn't Narcissa mentioned that Harry Potter's upbringing had been unkind? That the child had been raised in complete ignorance of the wizarding world? Just consider then, how that child would feel to know that it was us who took him away from a life of privation. Us, who can show him the world of magic, can show him the right way to think. The saviour of the wizarding world would be in our debt. More than that, the little saviour would be on our side, and with that child's influence, his loyalty, nothing would stand in the way of the Malfoys."

Bellatrix's mind was filled with a series of aborted half-thoughts, fury wrestling with bewilderment, only to be tackled by possessiveness and the wounded bellow of raging pride. He wants to take my Harry? My Harry?

"Poor Narcissa has been terrified that you mean to kill Harry Potter. I thought, for the sake of my beloved wife, that I would come here to tell you that you shan't be harming a hair on Harry Potter's head." He smiled, victorious. "And I believe I've done my duty. Good day, sister."

And with that, he swept around, and glided out of the library, ignoring Bellatrix's open mouth, indifferent to all the responses she wanted to shriek, even while none would come.

As soon as the door shut behind Lucius, Bellatrix jumped up from the armchair and sent forth a blasting curse that contained the full force of her anger and abhorrence, shattering the door into match-sized splinters, and the surrounding walls into clumps and dust. The gaping hole and scattered debris were especially ugly amidst the surrounding perfection. But the destruction brought little satisfaction. It wasn't even as if Lucius would be the one to mend the doors; he would hire someone to do it for him, someone who could craft the artful enchantments so that the carved ivy reliefs would sway in some unseen wind, filled with a serenity Bellatrix would never feel.

She was tempted to start blasting the books as well, but unfortunately, for all that she didn't love to read, she, as well as any other pureblood, knew that books were precious, that the knowledge contained within was often priceless. She was quivering. The surfeit of rage that she felt was too great to be contained within a mere physical body, and it poured off of her in roiling heat waves, ravenous for destruction, for something to hurt.

She began to pace, heedless of the bits of wood and flooring beneath her feet, heedless of the lack of privacy, having destroyed the doorway that would offer her much needed personal space. She needed to think.

Bellatrix was far from stupid. But she was also impulsive, and far too likely to give into to the caprices of her emotions, those wild crests and valleys of feeling that made her feel so alive. There were a surprising number of problems that could be solved with violence, tenacity, and little regard for consequences. But Bellatrix was already on edge, already besieged by the relentless inquietude that left no room for patience. She could not slowly draw out her prey, and pounce with sharpened claws when the opportunity came. Life would pass her, quickly, too quickly, if she waited. And so, she needed to think, to plan.

So, Lucius (bloody, screaming, on-his-knees, he's going to suffer, suffer!) wanted Harry Potter for himself, wanted Harry for The Cause. Bellatrix could be objective(-ish). It was a not-terrible idea to turn Harry Potter's mind, to shape his loyalties so that he would yield to pureblood superiority when the time came. But for Harry to be loyal to the Malfoys? The Malfoys? (Reason fifty-four why she loathed Lucius Malfoy: he existed).

No. It was not to be borne. She was the one who found Harry Potter, and she was the one who brought him here, and she would not give him up so easily. Perhaps she could find a way to win him over, to win his trust, and she could lead him away, and kill him then. But no, her mind had already walked that path, and disregarded it as a dead end. Lucius did not trust her. Cissy would not either - not when it came to soft, babyish things within her fold.

Besides, could Bellatrix even win Harry's trust? But what was trust anyway, beyond keeping to one's word, and Bellatrix could do that, she could merge words and action, hiding her true intentions until - until -

But wait. If she could earn Harry's trust, if she could -

And why would Harry need to be loyal to the Malfoys? Harry could just as well be loyal to her. No. Not to her. To the Dark Lord.

Once, long ago, there was a fantasy that played in Bellatrix's mind, a sweet thing, a image that she only examined alone, in the dark of night, when shadows could mask her expressions, her hopes and longings. These were the inner secrets, locked away (locked away still), never to be viewed, never to be exposed for the weak things they were. Bellatrix didn't yearn. (She didn't admit to yearning). They were just idle imaginings. Stupid things, foolish, girlish dreams, and even then, she knew they were worthless things, utterly, utterly worthless. Pretty, worthless lies. Impossible from their very inception.

She used to envision raising a child of her own. No, not of her own - a child of her's and the Dark Lord's (it was presumptuous, she knew, but what a gilded and beautiful thought, what an exalted, impossible thing). In these fantasies (long expired fantasies), the dark-haired child would be perfect in every way because she would make it so. The child's loyalty would be as true as her own, the grist needed to form the perfect soldier, the perfect defender of pureblood ideals.

Harry wasn't her child. But he was a child. A parentless child, motherless little thing.

Bellatrix wasn't a mother. She never thought it a possibility in a real sense. But she knew what she wanted, and she knew she didn't want a world where Harry Potter was loyal to the Malfoys. Harry didn't have a mother. He wouldn't know any better. And the muggles who raised him weren't even worth considering, slime that they were.

He was already hers. She needed only to seize him, to lay stake to that loyalty. He would be her gift to her beloved master, the Light side's saviour, drenched in Darkness. Bellatrix would be her Lord's commander. Harry Potter would be her Lord's sword, her Lord's blade, to cut down the shocked enemy, cut down both their hopes and their bodies.

Oh yes, she could do this. And if her master was displeased, if her master wanted Harry Potter dead, then she would be the one to take the dagger and plunge it into the boy's still-beating heart.

Face stretched into a manic grin, she stepped across the broken bits of door and wall, and left the library. I'm coming for you, Harry, mine. I'm coming for you, and I'm going to sharpen you into a blade pointed at mudbloods and blood-traitors alike. And when they crumble, when they fall, their howls of betrayal will be our music, our song. Mine, mine, Harry, mine.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

My next update might be delayed because my sister-in-law just gave birth and I'll be out of town for a bit