Harry snatched the shirt he had laid out from atop his trunk and pulled it over his head. It twisted and formed to his body, the tailoring charms bringing the garment to a comfortable fit. He pulled on the trousers, lifting each foot in turn so the legs could shrink to the proper length. He glanced at the mirror for a cursory inspection.
He had never quite understood fashion. What little he had seen in his aunt's magazines seemed so dull, and the uniforms and robes of Hogwarts didn't leave much space for personal expression.
There was no denying, however, that these clothes looked leagues better than his hand-me-downs from the Dursleys. Even if they hadn't, if Fleur said she liked them, that was good enough for him.
He ran a hand through his messy too-long hair. It had been two years since he had been on the receiving end of Aunt Petunia's haphazard shears. Though it grew thick and hung over his ears, the back still stood up, no matter how he fought with it. It was so persistent in its attentive stance that he was almost sure that if he shaved his head bald, he'd wake up the next morning with a small tuft of hair regrown and standing stubbornly straight up.
Even so, he tried to pat it down in an attempt to look more presentable.
His hand froze mid pat, and he let it fall to his side. It was a bad job and he knew it.
He turned from his reflection and left the room, taking the stairs down to the common room two at a time. He caught up with Hermione and Ron, fighting against the heat rising in his neck from their comments on his new attire. Well, at least they were compliments.
They made their way through the twisting corridors of the castle, following a loose herd of students that gradually gained members as they drew nearer to the front entrance. Cool late-September air greeted them, carrying with it the scent of autumn from the Forbidden Forest. The trees had begun to turn, patches of yellow and orange sprinkled throughout the more obstinate green-leaved trees. The wind shifted and carried with it laughter and good cheer from the people around him.
And for a spare moment between the faint rustle of leaves and Ron's intake of breath for a laugh, he felt a part of it all.
He parted ways with them in front of the Three Broomsticks with promises to let Hermione know when he was done, so she could ask Fleur about their enchanted paper, as she had requested.
Fleur waited for him on the second floor in one of the private rooms, "Same as before," according to Madam Rosmerta.
He knocked on the wooden door, smiling as he heard Fleur's muffled but obviously excited, "Come in!"
She stood waiting inside, orange light from a low fire already burning in the hearth. A medium cloak was draped over one of the chairs by the fireplace, and two mugs sat on the table between the seats.
"'Arry!" she greeted, taking a step forward that sent her loose clothing jostling around. She paused, scanning him with a critical eye. "I see you chose the clothes I selected for you."
She bobbed a quick self-assured nod.
"I was right. They suit you well."
"Er…thanks," was all he could manage, heat flooding his face.
He suddenly wished he'd taken more time to try to straighten his hair.
Her hair, on the other hand, was as perfect as it ever was. Silvery strands were pulled back with a yellow ribbon that complimented the reflecting firelight well, the long thick fabric tied into a loose bow at the back of her head.
As though reading his mind, she looked up at his mop of hair.
"Your hair is quite long as well. Do you prefer it that way?"
He shrugged.
"I'm not really sure. This is the longest I've ever had it." He hesitated, peering at the bow peeking out from either side of her head. "Have you always kept yours long?"
For the briefest and most infinitesimal of seconds, she was poised to flee; eyes wide, mouth parted for the gasps of exertion.
In the next moment, so fast that he must have imagined it, she relaxed and nodded.
"I have. Veela hair is...different."
"I see," was all he could say.
He wanted to ask about her wand, his curiosity piqued, but her reaction…
She stared at him for a moment then tilted her head to the side and her eyes slid out of focus.
"I have…missed this," she said into the growing silence. "If I am not at home where I cannot sense anyone, I am out looking for apartments and my allure is pulling on random pedestrians. I had not realized how familiar your sense had become."
"That's a…good thing?" he asked.
She nodded a touch nervously.
"I would like to think so. I am not sure I could put it into words but there is something uniquely…you…in your sense. I am almost positive I could pick you out in a crowd."
She smiled again. Not the brilliant smile that he enjoyed so much, but her shy, private one, which was special in its own way.
"No need to stand in the doorway. Come, sit down. I have news!"
He took the offered seat, ignoring for the moment the butterbeer that she had procured them. She sat down opposite him, pulling her hair over her shoulder to avoid trapping it behind her.
"I actually have two pieces of news," she said, absently twirling the ends of her hair through her fingers. "First, is that I start my internship at the Ministry next week!"
"Oh wow," he said, feeling that chasm between them grow a bit wider. A career? "In the French Ministry, or in ours?"
"In yours," she said. "I would be lying if I said Papa did not help. Though it was not in getting me the job, simply in letting me know the moment an internship became available so that I could be the first to apply."
"That's great! What will you do?"
She shrugged, a little of her energy seeping away.
"Nothing too exciting at first. I managed to get the internship with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which is the quickest path into the department I want to join in the ICW. At first, though, I will likely be doing menial tasks. Paperwork sorting and the like."
"Moody used to work there," Harry said, feeling out of his depth chatting about career prospects. "He was an Auror for a long time."
Fleur nodded.
"Alastor Moody's legendary reputation far exceeds your borders. His effectiveness, if not his methods, are regularly referenced in ICW elite training."
He faltered, unsure where to direct the conversation further. Luckily, Fleur took the lead.
"My second piece of news is...I have found an apartment!"
She bounced in her seat once before collecting herself, a faint pink hue to her cheeks. He grinned at her. Her fruitless search for a place to live had often been a nighttime discussion via their notepapers.
"That's great too," he said. "Where at?"
"In Melun, south of Paris. Papa negotiated a discount with the man who owns it because the downstairs tenant is quite noisy."
"Won't that get annoying?"
"A silencing charm will keep the sound out if it becomes unbearable. Plus, it has a fireplace and is relatively small. It should be easy to keep at a comfortable temperature." Her hand stopped twisting her hair, instead snagging the end in a fist. "I move in just before I start work. Do you want to come to see it?"
"I do…but I don't think they'll let me leave school. Maybe during Christmas?"
"That is a fantastic idea!" she said, her face coming alight. "I have already decided how I am going to decorate for the season. It is my favorite holiday and I cannot wait to put up my own tree."
Her infectious excitement needled its way into him, dragging a grin to his lips.
"And I was thinking," she continued, her energy slipping away into trepidation. "Perhaps we could celebrate at my apartment the night before, just the two of us. Christmas will be spent at my parents', but I want to do something at my new home as well. We could exchange gifts?"
"That sounds great," he said, imagining it. He had certainly come to treasure his time with her, to layer it on top of his first proper Christmas seemed almost greedy. "I'll need to get everyone gifts though…"
"I can certainly help with that," she said, adopting a thoughtful expression. "I know Maman enjoyed baking with you, so she would appreciate something related to that, I would expect. Papa has always been difficult. He is not very materialistic. Gabrielle might like something to help her write letters? Or something sweet. We share a sweet tooth.
"As for me," she continued, trailing off. "I am unsure. Normally I would say that you do not have to get me anything but I am quite looking forward to Christmas Eve now. Something small, perhaps?"
He shifted in his seat and glanced at the fire.
"I er…I already know what I'm getting you."
The idea had taken shape during one of their last trips to their clearing in the woods when summer sunlight wove through her hair.
"Do you?" she asked, a sly grin lifting her lips. "What is it?"
He hoped what he wanted to do was possible.
"A surprise."
She pouted, then frowned.
"That means I need to decide what to get you as well. You are difficult to buy forl."
"Sorry."
"Do not be. I will figure something out. But," she said, clapping her hands together, "it is time for your first French lesson. Are you ready?"
He nodded, her enthusiasm quashing some of his worries.
She explained some of the basics, giving him the opportunity to repeat each word a few times. The hours passed in short minutes with Harry wincing every time he butchered her beautiful language.
"You are doing well for a first try," she reassured him, glancing out the window. Her face fell at the darkened sky that greeted her through the glass. "It is growing late, however, and you said Hermione was insistent about asking me about our messaging papers?"
He nodded, letting his disappointment show. She would be able to feel it anyway.
"She's probably downstairs," he said, rising from his chair.
Fleur followed suit, smoothing the flowing fabric of her trousers as she stood. She followed him over to the door, then stopped him with a tap on the shoulder.
"Could I hug you goodbye?" she asked.
He smiled at her obvious nerves and nodded, stepping into her enthusiastic embrace.
She was just as warm as he remembered.
XxX
The door shut with a lonely click behind Harry, leaving her alone again in the room. She stepped back from the door and glanced back to the window, out to the starry sky.
Though her stomach did small flips, she had expected to be even more nervous meeting Hermione alone for the first time. Her inquisitive enthusiasm during their initial meeting had been expected, and she had demonstrated at least some restraint.
She shivered as the last of Harry's relatively cool body heat dissipated from her. For someone so unused to contact, he was quite a good hugger.
Getting taller too.
A soft knock at the door snapped her from indistinct thoughts and she found she had bunched her hair in her fist. With purposeful calm, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder.
"Come in!" she called, her stomach redoubling its acrobatic routine.
The door swung cautiously open to reveal Hermione, who offered a nervous, "Hello," as she stepped into the room.
Fleur gestured to the seat Harry had vacated and sat back down in her own. Two mugs sat on the table, emptied to whet dry mouths from hours of comfortable chatting. She let out a silent curse. Should she have gotten some for Hermione?
"How have you been?" she asked instead.
"Good!" Hermione answered, a little too loud.
She winced, then settled.
"As good as I can be anyway, after what happened at the end of…well…you know," she finished. "Sorry."
"It is okay." She offered what she hoped to be a reassuring smile, then pulled her paper from her pocket in a gentle redirect. "Harry said you had some questions about my papers?"
Hermione eyed the paper, curiosity flashing through the consistent nervousness Fleur could sense from the younger girl.
"I do want to know about it," Hermione said.
The curiosity faded.
"But that's not why I came."
Fleur felt her heart sink and cold dread slide across her skin. Poorly feigned regret overlayed itself on Hermione's nervous expression.
She couldn't be around her anymore. It was too difficult. Everybody stared at her. It was weird how she could sense things.
"Why did you come then?" Fleur asked, ice creeping unbidden into her tone.
The sooner it was done with, the sooner she could leave.
Hermione chewed her lip, a spike of pure nervousness dispelling the phantom of Fleur's past. There was no pretense here. So what-
"I need to thank you."
Fleur jerked upright in surprise.
"What for?"
"For helping Harry!"
Words spilled from Hermione in a torrent.
"I've always known that there was something…but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't figure out-I would never have guessed. He would always come back to school like he was only half of himself. It would take weeks for him to open up into the Harry I was used to. I thought maybe it was homesickness. I almost asked, but…"
She trailed off, wilting in her seat.
"I'm not sure he ever would have told me."
Fleur hesitated, unsure if the younger girl would appreciate a speculative platitude.
"I am sure-"
"It's okay," Hermione interrupted, her voice quiet and fragile. "Honestly, I'm just glad he's safe now. As safe as he can be, anyway. I just wanted to say thanks."
Gratitude spilled from her, harmonizing with her words. But something discordant lurked beneath.
"Is that…all?" Fleur prompted gently, earning her a startled look.
They stared at each other for a moment before Hermione's shoulders sagged and her eyes dropped.
"It hurts," she whispered. "I know that I have no right to expect anything from him, but it still hurts."
"What does?"
"That he would come to you first, instead of me!" she burst out. "I've been with him for years and I've always tried to let him know he can talk to me if he needs anything. Instead, he knows you for less than a year and confides his deepest darkest secrets to you? Why you? Is it because you're-"
She gestured to Fleur with one hand, before letting it fall to her lap.
"Because I am what?" Fleur shot back, unable to keep the venom from her voice. "Because I am Veela?"
"Of course not," Hermione said defensively, shaking her head. "You're amazing. You were a Triwizard Champion, you can create whatever incredible enchantments that make your papers work across hundreds of kilometers, you effortlessly become something to Harry that took me years to achieve, and…"
She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
"And yes. You're beautiful."
"I do not think that is why Harry chose to confide in me," she said, her tone frigid.
She folded her arms across her chest.
"Do you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"I don't. I'm sorry. I'm doing a terrible job explaining myself."
Fleur sat in silence as Hermione took in a deep breath, her sense becoming resolute.
"I am…quite jealous. Not necessarily because of Harry, but because of everything you are doing. When Harry came to get me, he told me you had gotten an internship at the Ministry right out of school! I've been studying like mad for my OWLs just so I can try to do the same. So perhaps jealousy isn't quite right. I…admire the things you've done. Harry's horrible situation included."
The knot of hurt and anger that had gathered in Fleur's chest unclenched, leaving her drained.
"Thank you."
"I would very much like to be friends," Hermione continued, her sense still brimming with nervousness. "Harry and Ron are great, but I don't really have any friends who are girls."
"Nor do I. Except for my sister."
"Then…friends?"
Hermione's body tensed along with her sense in preparation for rejection.
"Friends."
XxX
After more than a year of standing empty and unused, Gryffindor's locker room at the Quidditch still managed to smell as though there had been a match just yesterday. It was musty, wooden, and earthy, the air thick with generations of athletes celebrating victories and lamenting defeats. Some lockers didn't open and some you never opened. It was foul. It was home.
Harry followed Fred and George from the locker room, his new Firebolt gripped in a gloved hand. The paltry selection of hopefuls stood outside the locker room on the pitch, bunched into groups based on the desired position. Although they cowered more than stood, as Angelina dressed them down over the expectations and requirements of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Wood had been more fervent, but less…scary.
He spied Ginny standing next to a third-year seeker hopeful who wilted when he saw the pro-level broom. Most of them had to use the school brooms; the passable but far from optimal Cleansweeps.
The beaters were first by tradition. Something about more rested people with wands watching to catch one if need be. Fred and George took to the sky, knocking a single heavy bludger between the two of them with ease. They called up the first hopeful, a portly fourth-year with short black hair cropped close to his scalp.
The bats hammered against the ball, the sharp blows reverberating through the pitch. A boisterous swing from Fred rang in Harry's ears, a crack in horrible harmony with a splitting cauldron. He shook his head and gripped his broom tighter. This is why he was here. To escape.
The boy did well, taking only a glancing hit from a missed swing. He was placed in the reserves, a hopeful to take up the mantle when the fearsome Weasley twins finally left Hogwarts.
The keepers were next, followed by the chasers.
He watched without really watching, his eyes sliding out of focus as he stared at the cloudy sky with its patches of blue peeking through. He had awoken that morning to find heavy clouds stretching to the horizon and hadn't been looking forward to tryouts in a downpour. When they had left the castle following dinner, the rain was all but promised.
A flash of red to his left made him twitch away, adrenal fire pouring through his limbs. He turned to see the quaffle bounce against the grass and roll to a stop at the edge of the pitch.
"Toss it up!" Angelina shouted from a mild dive towards the students still waiting for their turn.
With a fluid bend and toss, Ginny launched the ball into Angelina's path where the captain could pluck it out of the air. Ginny settled back against the wall of the spectator stands to watch, arms crossed, eyes on the sky.
Seekers were next and Harry opted to try out last. It would probably be disheartening to see the Firebolt perform, then try to give your best showing on a Cleansweep.
Ginny went first, her red hair a comet's tail behind her as she opened the broom up high above the pitch. She did a tight corkscrew at the end of a speedy dive, pulling to the left to flash past the standing students.
It took her all of ten minutes to catch the practice snitch, though she could have done it in four if she had noticed it hovering next to Katie Bell's left shoulder.
The other potential seeker, the third-year boy named Nigel, had an unfortunately poor showing that ended in a trip to the hospital wing. His dive had been good, but his hands were too close to the center of the broom and he hadn't been able to pull up in time.
To a person, those watching flinched when the boy smashed into the ground. Harry's arm gave a sympathetic twinge when Nigel struggled upright, his left arm bent at a horrid angle.
Once Katie and George had escorted him off the pitch, it was Harry's turn.
He mounted his Firebolt, the sleek wood trembling with a familiar excitement. It was like holding onto polished glass. The woodgrain was smooth and contoured perfectly, identical beneath his fingers to his old one that had carried him through dragon's flame with the last, precious moments of its life.
He kicked off and the broom shot into the air as though he had finally released the tension that had been pulling him to the sky.
He took a sedate lap around the pitch. He wove through the stairwell towers, reveling in the wind sliding across his face and rustling his hair. His robes flapped against the mild speed, buffeted by the created breeze.
That meant he was going too slow.
He pressed his foot against the shaft just above the bristles and pushed the broom into a tight drift. He accelerated towards the center of the pitch, rising to a height matched only by the tallest towers of Hogwarts in the near-distance.
His clothes pressed against his body, the wind threatening to pull his grin apart as he soared up into the cloud-covered sky.
Distantly, he noted that he'd likely get told off by Angelina for showing off, but for the moment all that mattered was the flight. The freedom.
He leveled off his ascent just below the clouds, the occasional straggling wisp dotting his glasses with droplets of water. The air was crisp, clear, and smelled of the oncoming storm.
The pitch sat below in miniature, the people inside vanished from the distance. He revolved in the air, Hogwarts looming to his right, even though he was far above the majority of the castle.
The monolithic structure dominated the land around it, towers stretching like fingers to the sky. The labyrinthine interior was belied by the simple appearance of the outside, made of nothing but corners, walls, and a multitude of windows.
To his left, the Forbidden Forest expanded across to the horizon, vanishing from view beneath darkening clouds. Though the trees were as green and orange as any others in the autumn and the small lakes that broke the treeline at random sparkled with clear water, a sinister air hung heavy over the woods.
He shuddered, drawing on the memory of their clearing, full of warmth, light, and comfort. Perhaps it was the beasts he knew to be lurking within, or the simple comparison to his favorite place painting the Forbidden Forest in a poor light, but the sight of it chilled him.
A heady wind blew across him, tearing free the mist from the clouds and pelting him with cold rain. It brought clarity, above even what normal flight offered him.
Even so close as to brush the clouds with his fingertips, something pulled him Earthward. He itched to fly, to loop through the wet air and crest above, back into the sunlight. To feel freedom and peace again.
Everything was simpler in the sky. Banks and loops. Twists and speed. Even breathing came easier.
Slow in.
Slow out.
The pulsing need bled from him with his breath, drifting back to its origin within the winds. Absent its sense of pure unfiltered joy, he sat heavier on his broom, his life below reasserting its dominance.
There would not be time to practice Quidditch. Not down in the stadium so small and insignificant within his view of the lands around him. The mocking depths of the Black Lake behind him mocked the pitch for its audacity in thinking itself important.
An escapist game crumbles beneath icy fingers.
He had done his escaping.
Thunder in the storm rumbled over the Forbidden Forest, powerful but flat against the earth below. As though the ferocity of nature could not permeate the forest's dense miasmatic shroud.
He was free of their influence. Free to be who he should have been all along.
The storm wall crossed him, plastering his hair and robes to his body with cold sheets of rain. The wind followed, trying to push him from his idle position in the sky. A simple press of his feet against the shaft kept him in place. Lightning snaked across the darkest parts of the oncoming storm; sinuous streaks of light engulfed by the clouds.
No. He had already escaped that life. Now was the time to be who his friends needed him to be. He had leaned on them for long enough and there wouldn't be time for Quidditch practice when he could be learning from Dumbledore.
A fierce crack of lightning heralded his return to Earth. To his life.
Only Angelina remained out in the rain, her dark hair plastered to the side of her furious face.
"What in the hell was that?" she fumed as he came to a running stop next to her, his boots sliding in the damp grass. "I thought you might've been struck by lightning up there." She held the practice snitch up in one of her gloved hands. "You didn't even give me the signal to release the snitch."
He stared at the golden ball, its wings fluttering listlessly in the downpour.
"I can't do Quidditch this year," he said, focusing on the startlement painting his captain's face.
"Y-you what?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the storm.
"I just can't. I'm sorry."
XxX
"So? I hope you took it easy on my little sister," Ron said when a still sopping Harry returned to the dorm.
"She's the team seeker now." Harry's reply was muffled by his clothes as he pulled his sodden shirt over his head.
He emerged from his shirt, glasses askew, to see the fuzzy form of Ron sitting on the edge of his bed, immobile.
He had known this was coming. He had even prepared a speech explaining his reasoning on his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
"There's no way she beat you," Ron said finally as Harry tugged on his blissfully dry pajama top.
"I can't do Quidditch this year."
"Because you're going to be learning stuff with Dumbledore?"
He nodded.
Ron leaned back in his bed, bisecting it with his body. He stared at the ceiling in silence for a time before speaking.
"When is that supposed to start?" he asked.
"Dunno," Harry said, dropping down onto his bed and fishing through his nightstand. "Hopefully soon."
Shuffling came from Ron's bed as he moved to lay properly. "Well, if he teaches you anything cool, you had better show me."
Harry agreed and unstoppered his ink and set it at the corner of his unfolded notepaper.
XxX
So, how is it living on your own?
It is lonelier than I had anticipated. Once the thrill of it wears off, it is...strange.
Fleur chewed on the end of her quill, then spit out a few of the feathers that had adhered to her tongue. It was difficult to describe her feelings about her new home. Not the least of which was how it still didn't feel like home. She had left home to come here.
The first day had been pure excitement. The potential resting in the small apartment that she could harness and make her own.
Not to mention the freedom.
In fulfillment of a promise she made herself as a younger girl, she spent the first evening in her new home completely starkers, reveling in the unabating privacy.
Or rather, an hour anyway. She had gotten cold fast.
So in the end, she had simply made herself a sandwich and made plans for her Christmas decorations.
And a list to buy said decorations.
I hadn't thought about that. The quiet seems like it would be nice .
It is, at times. Others, it is wearing. I am sure I will grow used to it soon.
She set down her quill and stared out the window that backed her desk. The lights of the city twinkled off in the distance; small luminescent reminders that her forest no longer painted a comforting landscape outside her window.
She shivered at the thought, reflexively raising her wand and casting the fireplace behind her alight. Heat flooded the room, driving away the encroaching chill of early October nights. Orange light flickered across her meager living room furniture, adding bursts of color to her drab gray sofa.
She made a mental note to purchase some flannel pajamas and a couple of blankets before the cold weather started in earnest. A flicker of movement from her desk caught her eye and she watched Harry's reply scratch its way across the parchment.
Sorry it's not much fun. Hopefully, Christmas will make up for it a bit.
I should hope so. It is a dark day indeed when my favorite holiday cannot cheer me up.
And your birthday is coming up too.
Well remembered.
I think the Hogsmeade weekend is the first one after your birthday. Do you think you'll be able to come?
She frowned down at the paper. A few days after her birthday wouldn't be enough time for it to fade…
Maybe she could apparate into the room they had used before?
I should be able to make it. I will let you know as the weekend draws nearer. How is school going? Have you found yourself entered in any surprise tournaments?
Not yet. It feels like I'm waiting for something to happen though. Everything has been surprisingly…normal. Even the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is normal. She's working us pretty hard. Says we have a lot of ground to make up because of rubbish teachers in our early years.
You told me about that charlatan during your second year. Was your first as bad as he was?
Worse.
However it was that Harry managed to pack so much into a single word completely baffled her. Perhaps his quill strokes were a little darker, and the angles sharper, but she sensed danger there.
Well, I know better than to ask if it is at all similar to your second year. I hope you do not mind, but I must cut this conversation short. Settling into the apartment has kept me exhausted over the last few days so I must go to sleep. Goodnight Harry.
Goodnight, Fleur.
XxX
She kneeled on the floor of the dining room.
Of her dining room.
"My Lord," she said, practiced subservience keeping her voice neutral and calm. "I bring word from Barty."
"Excellent," Voldemort said, leaning forward in the ornate chair that had once belonged to her husband. She could still see where Draco had taken a small chunk from the armrest while playing. Lucius had never known, so never mended it.
No. Push the thoughts of Draco away. He was safer at Durmstrang. Thoughts of him always threatened her composure.
"My Lord. He believes he has a plan for keeping the majority of the higher-ups within the Wizengamot busy while you slip inside to procure your item."
"Indeed. I knew it was simply a matter of time before he proved his loyalty once again," Voldemort said. She could feel his unnatural eyes boring into the top of her bowed head. "Speaking of which. How does your redemption fare?"
"It is a slow progression, but that is to be expected. From what I have been able to ascertain through my husband's old contacts, he has been attending his appointments again in an effort to regain his title. Such frequent periods of introspection may prove useful as I try to reintegrate with him. I do not expect much trouble. It is my sister that will be the challenge."
"Her vision has always been…clouded," he sneered, the final word coming out as more of a whisper. "Do not fret. It shall not be too much longer before we rescue your other sister."
It took everything she had to keep from stiffening or scowling. Bellatrix had been cruel and effective, and she had deserved everything she had gotten. The scars she had left ran deep. And yet somehow…something in her desired Bellatrix released upon the world, if only so she could cherish the glimpses of her valiant big sister that peeked through the crushing unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord.
Either way, it would be…nice, to see her sisters again.