When night fell, Bellatrix did not move any closer to Rabastan, or any further away, or at all. Rodolphus had not come back for them, and she had no will to move, any more than Rabastan had strength to. He had only rocked slowly back and forth, and whispered words so softly that even Bellatrix, not even a foot away from him, could begin to make out what he was saying, and she had not moved at all.

She had thought, though. She had thought much about Rabastan.

It was easier to think of him than of her sisters, or of the Dark Lord.

Rabastan lay in bed, racked with coughing. His body trembled and shook with every rattling breath that he took in, and he stared up at his brother with wide, teary eyes. Bellatrix hovered at the back of the darkened room, hidden in shadows.

"You aren't going to live long like this, you know, Rab."

"What do you care?"

Rabastan's voice was accusatory, made even harsher by the way it scraped over every syllable, all harsh and scratching. Rodolphus took half a step backwards, and Bellatrix bared her teeth in a harsh and predatory little grin.

"What do I care? You're my brother!"

"Not that it matters to you. If it were your precious wife who was sick, then you wouldn't hesitate to spend every second at her side…"

"Too right," Bellatrix said, and Rabastan glared over his shoulder at her. She fell silent again, lounging against the wall to watch the fight.

"You see, even she knows it! You'd have every healer out of the hospital to care for her, but with me… with me, you just don't care, do you?"

"You know that that's not true, Rabastan." Rodolphus's voice was ice cold. "I care. You know that I care."

"Prove it, then!" he challenged, sitting up in bed, and even from a distance, Bellatrix could see an almost mad gleam in his eyes. "Prove that you care!"

"How do you expect me to do that, Rabastan?"

"Kill her."

"That's the fever talking, Rabastan. You wouldn't say things like that. You don't mean that."

"Oh, do I not? What makes you so sure that I don't? You have no idea what I mean, Rodolphus, you have no idea how I think!"

"No, I do not, I'll grant you that. I've no idea what's coming over you, that you want my wife dead."

"She is a whore!" Rabastan cried, pointing one finger at her like a child accusing another child of some minor crime that seemed so great to a young person. "She doesn't love you! She's having an affair with the–"

Bellatrix snarled and flew forward. Rodolphus tried to catch her and hold her back, but she threw him off of her and pounced upon Rabastan, shaking him violently. His neck snapped back and forth, his frail body all but breaking beneath her hands. She slapped him hard across his face.

"Don't you say that! That's a lie!"

"It's not," he hissed between teeth gritted with pain. "It's not a lie, it's true, everyone knows that it is!"

"Do not say a word!"

"Get off him, Bellatrix!"

She was clawing at Rabastan's eyes with her nails, and he screamed, throwing up his arms to protect his face. Her fingers caught the skin of his arm, tearing wide crimson gashes into the pale flesh.

"Get off, Bella! You'll kill him!"

"He deserves it! He is spreading lies about me!"

Rodolphus had to haul her off, and if she had been able to turn her attention to fighting him instead of clawing at his brother, he would not have been able to get a hold of her. As it was, he dragged her, kicking and screaming, off the bed and dragged her out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

"Are you mad, Bellatrix?"

"I do not like being talked about!"

"You could have killed him!"

"I don't care! I don't care!"

Her voice was a hysterical cry, and she smacked Rodolphus's hands as he tried to embrace her. Tears stung in her eyes, tears of fury and humiliation.

"You aren't, are you?"

"Aren't what?" she demanded, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Aren't sleeping with–"

"Not you too! You know that I'm not…" She forced herself to soften her voice as she shook her head, letting out a titter as though the idea were ludicrous to her now. Rodolphus looked at her suspiciously, and the laugh fell away from her lips. "I'm faithful to you, Rodolphus. You know that."

"I wonder sometimes…"

"Because your mad brother is planting ideas in your mind! Think about it, Rod – you don't really believe that I would have the nerve to stand here and lie to you about it…"

"Do I not believe that?"

Her eyes narrowed and she took a step backwards. "You do not trust me, Rod?"

"I know better than to trust you."

"How can you say that?"

"I've seen what happens to those who place their trust in you."

"And what do you mean by that?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at him. "I am not a liar, Rodolphus!"

"Oh, but you are…"

She slapped him, just one firm blow, and he winced, clutching his cheek.

"Do not talk to your wife that way," she told him, then turned and stormed off with all the dignity that she could muster.

Did she hate Rabastan for that? She looked at him suspiciously, but could not quite muster up hatred. A mild sort of dislike felt as though it was hanging between them, but not real hatred.Not even close.

Should she have hated him?

Bellatrix pondered this, looking at the slender, broken man at her side. Yes, perhaps she should have – she should hate anyone who spread lies about her.

Lies. Lies.

Were they lies?

She pursed her lips slightly, pressing her hands over her eyes and trying to recall exactly what gossip he had spread about her. It had angered her, she remembered, but she couldn't quite recall why…

She is having an affair with the–

With the?

With someone who would not have been pleased to be gossiped about…

Had she had an affair?

Bellatrix let out a small, strangled sob, loud enough for Rabastan, at her side, to jolt and look at her.

"What is it?" he asked, and Bellatrix shook her head wildly.

"I can't remember!" she breathed, clutching her head and digging her nails roughly into her scalp. "I can't remember if I did or if I didn't!"

The other Death Eaters were gathering close to her now, watching as she sobbed dryly and rocked back and forth, her voice breaking with every desperate moan.

She did not care. Let them look. Let them stare at her as though she was mad – she didn't care!

Rabastan reached out to lay a spindly hand upon her arm, but Bellatrix smacked it away, scurrying backwards and tumbling out of the alcove at the feet of one of the other men. She clutched at his robes to heave herself to her feet, not stopping to look at him, stumbling away backwards.

Can't remember, can't remember anything…

She had been aware of how broken her mind was. She had been aware that thoughts and memories would come back in hazes and snippets when triggered, only turning clear when she focussed properly on them, but this…

If she had had an affair so important to her that she had been willing to near tear Rabastan apart over gossip being spread about it, if something in her life had meant that muchto her and if she had forgotten it now… no, then that was all wrong. If that was the case, then…

"God help me…" she whispered, clutching her head again and stumbling backwards, away from the little knot of men – Rodolphus among them – all frozen and afraid to move to help her. "God help me, God help me, God help me…" She sang it under her breath, a deranged little mantra, and with every word of her frail little prayer, she wished with everything she had that she might regain the self that would know if she had had an affair, the self that she had been before Azkaban, the Bellatrix Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most faithful servant…

"God help me, God help me, God help me…"

The church was blurring and fading in front of her eyes, her vision swimming as she backed up still further.

God help me, God help me, God help me…

"God help me…"

She hit a wall, still clutching her head, and looked around, eyes wide open. The light from one stand of candles was all that was illuminating the little church, and it looked not like any group of candlesticks she had ever seen. Bellatrix stared at it with eyes stretched so wide that she could feel the air sucking moisture out of them, her nails clawing at her scalp and face, and as the flames gathered into a seething mass of golden and crimson light, Bellatrix watched demons emerging and approaching her.

They were beautiful demons, not the ones of her nightmares, not the ones of her mother's book. These were no rag-clad skeletons, bearing pitchforks to prod the souls in Hell, mouths open in constant screams of agony. She stared with eyes that could focus on nothing else as the fire twisted and writhed, and then…

He stepped out of the fire as easily as one might step out of a pool of water. His arms were outstretched before him, welcoming her into an embrace, but he was all flame and when she reached for him, he singed her hands and she watched the skin turn black. She clutched at him in the air, but could not grip his body no matter how she tried. When she thought that she had caught his fingers, it was only the bare bone of the candle stand, and when she grabbed at his robes, it was only flame and alter cloth.

And still he looked at her, an angel among his creeping fairy devils, who twisted and turned in the air, writhing in agony even as they stretched into enticingly beautiful positions. They were glorious, they were lovely, but he…

"Master," Bellatrix whispered, staring into the flaming pits of his eye sockets. She had moved so close now that she could feel the skin peeling from her face, and the fiery vision of the Dark Lord raised one hand and laid it upon her forehead.

She felt a surge of pain unlike any she had felt before, and then she was upon the ground.

She was vaguely aware of her head hitting the ground – even more vaguely aware of a scream from somewhere far away, and of a stinging in her flesh – but it was all right. She wasn't hurting now.

She was all right.

Everything was all right.

She remembered.