Early November, 1981

The single best present that Arthur Weasley ever received was the Muggle Radio that his son Bill had given him for christmas two years earlier. It was charmed to work even in places of high magical activity. He carried the little yellow box with him everywhere he went, and was often fiddling with the dials, and twisting the antenna to try and get better reception. He had become quite the connoisseur of Muggle music, and it was common for the rest of his department to put silencing charms around his office so that they could have a little peace and quiet.

On that particular Wednesday, Arthur was so preoccupied with his case on bogart-infested cabbage patch kids that he did not notice the violent shudder of his door, or the angry face of the Department of Mysteries' newest unspeakable poking through the window of his office. It was only after he spilled a spoonful of soup on his robes, and decided to head to the toilet to wash them off, that he noticed the purple face at his door.

"So sorry," he said, opening the door. "Were you looking for me?"

The unspeakable seemed to be having trouble speaking. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then gasped out "You have to come with me!"

All along the hallway, doors opened and people poked their heads out to stare at him. It wasn't every day that an unspeakable deigned to fetch someone directly instead of sending an owl. Arthur smiled, "Of course. Just let me get my umbrella."

The hundreds of Ministry owls that delivered memos necessitated the use of umbrellas. Arthur's was a bright yellow one he had found at a pub in New York City.

"You must be very new," he said to the unspeakable when they boarded the lift. The poor boy had not yet learned to bring his own umbrella, and his robes were already spotted with owl droppings. There was only a grunt in reply, but Arthur didn't mind.

"Level Nine, Department of Mysteries," said the cool disembodied voice.

Arthur stepped out, and immediately felt as if he should have brought a coat. How the ninth level managed to look and feel like the most desolate dungeon in Hogwarts was beyond him. The unspeakable yanked his hood up, and beckoned Arthur to follow him.

The corridor seemed to stretch in length as they walked down it. Doors sprang out of nowhere, and every once in a while voices could be heard shouting or cheering. They were almost to the end of the corridor when the whole room spun around, and Arthur found himself staring at the wall. The unspeakable sighed, and turned him around so that he could see the new receptionist area that had materialized.

"Is this him, then?" Asked a gravelly-voiced man wearing a hooded cape. In the gloom of the corridor, Arthur would have thought sight was more important than appearing ominous and creepy, but the Unspeakables were nothing if not committed.

The skinny boy leading Arthur chirped, "Yes, Director."

Arthur perked up. The Director of the Department of Mysteries was the one to summon him? Everyone had heard of the man, Aurelius Grim, but he was the type that scuttled to and from the Ministry in the twilight hours. Rumor had it he hadn't slept in over a decade.

The sallow skin that was visible certainly looked sickly, but Arthur quickly dropped his gaze.

"So, you're Dumbledore's first choice."

Arthur started. "Dumbledore?"

There was a low sound, like sandpaper rubbing together, and it occurred to Arthur that the man might be laughing.

"Yes, Dumbledore. Everyone seems to be looking to him now. He is our Chief Warlock, after all. The Minister has put the affair entirely in Dumbledore's hands, and the man has picked you."

The unspeakable who led Arthur there snuck a glance at him, and Arthur tried to look more confident than he felt. He felt a pang of regret that he had not washed the mustard stain from his collar at lunch. "I'm sure if Dumbledore picked me then I'm more than capable of handling whatever it is."

There was another rasp of laughter, and the Director turned and pressed his palm to the wall behind him. A door materialized, and creaked open. "It's not a what, Weasley," he said, "It's a who." He jerked his head as if to say 'follow me', and stepped inside.

Arthur took a calming breath, and walked into an office that was covered head to toe in posters of Celestina Warbuck.

"Have a seat Mr. Weasley," said the Director, as he took a seat behind a rickety desk that looked like it had been put together by a three-year old. Arthur sat, and wondered if the desk budget had been used on Celestina posters.

"Simms, go get the, er- her."

The unspeakable who Arthur decided was named Simms jumped, and scampered from the room.

The Director let out a heavy sigh, and waved his wand at the poster nearest him. Celestina immediately began singing, and her voice floated out over the two men.

"Oh my honey, bunny, funny, little loooooove…"

The Director closed his eyes, "Much better." His hands fidgeted with the air in front of him, and he slowly opened his eyes. "Now, you know that the Auror Department are rounding up all of the suspected followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Yes," said Arthur carefully. It seemed that everyone was coming forward with information about Death Eaters, and he wondered if someone had named him as one. For a brief moment of panic he imagined his wife and children starving in the gutters of Diagon Alley because he was chained up in Azkaban.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is a suspected collaborator," continued the Director.

That was hardly a surprise. The image of an ugly sneer stretched across a beautiful face sprang to mind, and Arthur gave an involuntary shiver. He considered himself lucky that the eldest Black daughter had never targeted him in one of her cruel pranks. She was notorious for sending their peers to the Hospital Wing, but Slughorn had a soft spot for those liquid grey eyes.

There was the sound of a drawer opening, and the soft scuffle of papers. The director pulled out a folder and a pipe, gave Arthur a suspicious look, and then sat back. "We had Auror's primed to bring her in today for questioning. You heard about the Longbottom attack?"

Arthur went cold. He had been a prefect when Frank Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor, and the boy had followed him around like a puppy for the first year. "Er, yes." He tried not to picture the christmas card Frank had sent, with a photograph of little Neville in reindeer pajamas.

"Terrible," said the director with no real remorse. He struck a match and puffed as the tobacco caught. "They say the damage is irreversible. I reckon it's the permanent ward at St. Mungo's for them."

Frank's neat handwriting sprang to mind. Thanks for everything, Artie. He licked his lips. "Sorry, but what does that have to do-"

"They say Lestrange is the one that did it." The director exhaled a cloud of cherry smoke. Celestina still warbled in the background. "They say she tortured them for hours, with her husband and his brother as lookouts."

"Then she'll get Azkaban!" Arthur forced a wave of nausea back as he thought of little Neville, who was just about his son Ron's age…

"Oh, not now." The director leaned back in his chair and gave a grisly chuckle. "I suspect the Lestrange boys will get life, but she's going to get away free as a hippogriff."

"I don't understand."

There was another puff of cherry smoke, and the man drummed his fingers on the desk. "The Longbottoms must've said something. That madwoman broke into the Department of Mysteries-"

Arthur sat up straighter, his eyes wide.

"-made it as far as one of the inner rooms too, before the traps went off. Problem is- she tried to evade them, and she was knocked into the Murphy Vat!"

This evidently meant something that Arthur did not understand, for the director let out a high pitched peal of laughter. "The Murphy Vat!"

It occured to Arthur that earning such a high position in the Department of Mysteries meant sacrificing a bit of sanity.

When he regained control, the Director cleared his throat. "Well, she's not fit for trial now, is she?"

Feeling as if he was missing a key component, Arthur swallowed and asked. "Isn't she?"

Another bout of glee crossed the director's face, and he said, "You'll see. Oh you'll see! As soon as Simms returns!"

Luckily, Simms returned a moment later, carrying a wriggling bundle of rags.

"She's fussy all right," said Simms, setting the bundle on the desk between them. As soon as he did a small pink fist rose from the yellowed blankets, and a high wail broke out.

"You see, Weasley?" said the director with a feral grin. "It's quite impossible to try her now."

Arthur looked at the baby, and then at the Director, and then at Simms. Then at the baby again.

"No," he said, "it can't be."

"It can, and it is," chuckled the director.

"Shouldn't you try to calm her?" asked Arthur as the baby let out another scream. He was torn between revulsion and horror, but the father of seven children could not stand to hear a child in distress.

"She's fine," said Simms. He looked about as nurturing as a pile of soggy newspaper.

"For the last week I've been in constant contact with her," said the director. "We've run every test, I've even had the best legilimens out to read her. Dumbledore himself has examined her, and we've come to the conclusion that she is, in fact, a baby."

An uneasy sensation washed over him. "And what does that have to do with me?"

Simms laughed, and the director puffed his pipe. "She's going to need a home, Weasley. The Department of Mysteries is no place for a child. Especially not this child. We're all keen to get rid of her. There would be compensation, of course. The entirety of her personal vault would be routed to you for her care."

Despite his feelings for the elder Bellatrix, Arthur could not help but feel a small pang of sympathy. Especially not when another wail rose above them.

"She should age like any other child."

"She has a sister- two sisters-"

"Narcissa Malfoy is married to a suspected Death Eater- Lucius is scheduled to be questioned next week, and Andromeda Tonks is married to a Muggleborn and lives in a Muggle neighborhood." The director shrugged, "I'm sure you can understand our reluctance to place a pureblood child with people who are-" he grimaced, "culturally different from her?"

"Even her own sister?" asked Arthur in disbelief.

"Estranged sister. We have no idea how Mrs. Tonks would treat her sister given the circumstances. And considering the atmosphere, the board decided it would be best to find a neutral, pureblooded family with which to place young Bellatrix. That's when Dumbledore suggested you."

Arthur felt as if he were falling down a never ending staircase. His mouth fell open and hung there.

"We'd make it official, of course. The full course of blood adoption potions, new birth certificate, the works. We could even have a mind healer alter your family's memories-"

"Blood adoption…?" It was difficult to breathe.

"Simms looked into your records, and we figure she's about the age of your youngest son. We can pass them off as twins-"

"Hold on," interjected Arthur weakly, "I haven't even asked my wife yet. I can't possibly make this decision-"

"She's on her way now," piped in Simms. He gave Arthur a smug look, "I summoned her before I went to collect you."

Sure enough, Molly bustled in a moment later, held his hand as the director explained it all to them- though she interrupted to pick up the screaming child, "You really mustn't ignore a cry like that"- and happily agreed to the scheme without even requesting a private room in which she could consult with him.

Arthur felt a little dazed an hour later as he stood in a stifling room and allowed Simms to prick his palm with a sharp blade.

"This is Ogerton's original recipe," Simms said with an affected sniff.

Arthur thought Ogerton could have worked harder to mask the smell of the snake bile.

The potion was tipped down a screaming Bellatrix's throat, and Arthur felt a pang of sympathy as the child went limp in shock.

"I thought it was supposed to change her appearance," said Molly in confusion.

Simms looked bored, "Sometimes the old blood is stronger than the new blood, and the changes are more subtle. There, see-" he pointed to a spatter of fine freckles that erupted over the baby's nose. "Now she's a Weasley."

There was also a subtle lengthening of the nose, but Arthur reflected that it would be much harder to see changes in a baby's face than in an adult. The black curls remained stubbornly dark, but the eyes were Weasley blue when they flew open with another scream. .

It was the eyes that settled his stomach. He remembered Bellatrix Black's cruel grey eyes shining victoriously after each and every prank she pulled at Hogwarts. Had she kept them, he never could have looked at the child and felt she was his daughter. But the blue eyes were a clean slate.

"Poor dear," cooed Molly as Simms escorted them to the Floo points near the Atrium. "We'll have to get a proper routine going. That should settle her down. I'll go first, dear, with Trixie. You can follow after."

"Trixie?!" He sputtered, but Molly had already plunged into the green flames.

Why they kept her original first name he never knew. They could just as easily have changed it to Elladora, or Stacy or something less…

It took years before he could say his eldest daughter's full first name without cringing internally.

They had decided against memory charms on the boys. They agreed on a story that Bellatrix had been sickly, and had been at St. Mungo's for most of her life. The older boys would have to know the truth, of course, or at least that she was adopted. Molly decided that it was best for everyone if they forgot that Bellatrix was a de-aged blood supremacist.

"We'll treat her like any child, and we'll raise her to be better." She said, nodding. And when Molly put her foot down she meant it. They never spoke about Bellatrix's- their Bellatrix's- past again. Little Bellatrix certainly never heard of it. She was a full Weasley now.

The twins seemed to accept that Trixie was their long-lost sister home from a lengthy stay in the hospital. Being three years old, it was easy enough to convince them. Charlie was a bit harder to convince, but he stared solemnly up at his mother and swore to treat the new baby as his sister. Bill wrote back that he would rather have another sister than another brother, and Ron passively allowed Bellatrix to play with his blocks on the kitchen floor.

It was five year old Percy, who surprised them all the first night. He was a shy, mousy boy who spent quite a bit of time whining about what was fair and what wasn't. He had nodded when they explained that Bellatrix was his new sister, and had not asked any questions beyond her name.

But at three o'clock in the morning, when her high piercing wails began their fourth hour of nonstop noise, Percy pounded down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Stop!" He cried, his little face red from lack of sleep. "Stop now!"

"She can't help it, Perce," said Arthur tiredly as he walked the length of the fireplace with Bellatrix on his shoulder. "She's just upset. Go on back to bed."

Percy put one slippered foot on the chair next to his mother, and regarded the baby with wide eyes. "Why is she upset?"

Molly, who was warming up yet another bottle in hopes that Bellatrix would finally eat, said, "She's been away from her family for so long that she doesn't know who we are. So it feels like she's in a strange house. With strange people." She stifled a yawn, and leaned over to check that Ginny was still sleeping (the youngest Weasley was a very deep sleeper).

Percy straightened, and stepped over to his father. "Hey," he reached up and grabbed Bellatrix's hand. "Hey!"

Startled, Bellatrix hiccupped, and stopped mid wail. Her large blue eyes stared at Percy as she took in a wavering breath.

"You're home!" Said Percy, as if speaking to someone from a great distance. "You're with your family!"

Bellatrix blinked at him, and then her mouth twitched into a smile.

"That's better," said Percy, "There's no need to scream!"

The two parents shared an incredulous look.

Arthur, who had sung every lullaby he had ever thought of, had a rush of crazed inspiration. "Would you like to try feeding her, Percy?"

The boy hesitated, then nodded. He settled on the chair next to his mother, and smiled as Bellatrix was settled on his lap.

"Support her head, like you do with Ron," said Molly as she positioned the bottle in her son's hand.

Miraculously, Bellatrix accepted the bottle, and stared wide-eyed at Percy while she emptied it.

"I like you," said Percy happily. He was beginning to yawn, and Arthur gently led him to bed.

"Will Bell be here tomorrow?" Asked Percy sleepily as he crawled beneath his dragon sheets.

"Yes. And the day after that, and the day after that." Arthur smiled fondly at his middle child, and tucked the covers around him.

Percy pulled his stuffed dog to his chest. "Good. She's a good thing."

And for the first time since Simms had summoned him, Arthur felt like things would turn out ok. He loved his children, after all, and they had always said that their children were a blessing.

In a world filled with darkness, Arthur could use another blessing.

A/N: Hey all, thanks for your interest in this story. I've got a few chapters written, and I plan for it to be a short (ish) fit about this plot bunny that's been floating around in my head. Sorry for any typos or inconsistencies, I'm really just writing this to play around and encourage myself to write a little more.

Much love, B