Bella gasped at the words that she was obviously not meant to hear. How dare that dreadful woman judge her? She was her own person, always had been. Never one to steal ideas or fads or anything from others. Leave that to the lemmings who didn’t know what to think of things until someone else told them. Bella had always come to her own conclusions. If she was wrong-footed, then it was her own fault. Not the fault of following in some self-anointed expert’s footsteps.
Deep breaths, Trixie! You’re jumping to conclusions again. Step back and analyze this piece by piece.
Recognizing the sincerity of her father’s advice, Bellatrix allowed herself to review the events of the day.
It had started ordinarily enough. Her walk to the Three Broomsticks for some sticky buns and tea had been interrupted by the now familiar hail from the rooftops.
“Hullo, duckie!” one of them called in a fair approximation of a Grosvenor Square dialect. It had become a ritual of sorts, inoffensive when you got down to it. So Bella assumed the polite smile her mother had instilled upon her as a small child and waved back. Then averting her eyes, she kept right on with her business.
She’d taken a seat with the other Insiders who were chatting away at speeds not visible to the human eye. Bella didn’t mind; it was a lot like the Great Hall in the mornings, a backdrop for her thoughts as she sipped her tea. Everyone was in an uproar about an inspection tour that was being planned for later that day by some bigwig. Bella didn’t recognize the name. Concentrating on zeroing in on one conversation to the exclusion of all others, she was stumped when the big boss was identified by initials only.
What was it with the epidemic of acronyms that had infested these Muggles? Communicating by some arbitrary code and depending upon each other to guess at their meaning. Absolutely barking mad! At least a foreign language came with a dictionary, but not so for these abbreviations. Bella had given up guessing only to be dead wrong more often than not. She allowed the meaningless syllables to float over her head like troublesome insects, not letting them dampen her spirits one bit. If it was that important they would use genuine, recognizable words.
Well, bigwigs were all the same when you got down to it. Compared to the scrutiny and invasive mental prodding she’d suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord, facing a Muggle would be a walk in the park. No ritual Cruciatus Curse for dessert, either.
All the establishments in Hogsmeade village were closing early today in honor of the event, Bella noted. Was this some Muggle holiday she didn’t know about? It just meant she could relax in her own den sooner rather than later.
As the appointed hour drew near, all the Insiders were lined up along the High Street much as if they were to be reviewed by Queen Elizabeth herself. Or perhaps like noble landowners who had their staff muster before their guests. Narcissa had mooned over pictures of such over-blown house parties before their mother had warned her that no witch or wizard wished to be confronted by an army of ugly house-elves. Unlike in the Muggle world, an invisible staff was the hallmark of a well-run wizard’s estate.
It was a small retinue that worked its way down the line, stopping to review clipboards and mostly commenting among themselves. All smiles and murmured words of encouragement. A few notes for the Wardrobe Department. In a matter of minutes, it was all over and the Heads moved on to review each of the Hogsmeade businesses in turn.
It was only later when Bella had been relaxing in a dark corner of the Hog’s Head Tavern that she’d overheard the tantalizing words.
“What did you think of our Bellatrix?” a man’s voice inquired.
Bella drew into the shadows, wishing she could make her escape -- yet being tempted to eavesdrop as never before.
A woman’s light-hearted laughter. “That selection alone should garner you a rise or bonus,” came the familiar cadences of the Queen’s English. “She’s exactly as I created her in my imagination!”
The back door to the pub creaked open and made Bella jump. Realizing that her only opportunity for escape was when the bartender refreshed the bosses’ drinks, she retreated like a wraith into the back room and down the subterranean ladder to her familiar locker.
Bella took deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart. Who was this mysterious woman who had traveled across the ocean to oversee the rebuilding of Hogwarts? No one she’d ever met before, that was certain. And from the brief hand-shake she’d accorded to Bella, it was clear that no magic ran through her bloodstream, either.
Perhaps she was a ruddy Squib, Bella pondered. One who had visited Hogsmeade in the company of wizards and then sold their secrets to investors in another continent. Yes, it fit the facts, but it was unlikely that construction on such a massive scale could have been hidden from the wizarding world.
But to claim credit for Bella’s creation, that was really the limit! Even her own parents wouldn’t be arrogant enough to make such a statement.
Ah, Trixie, her father sighed. You’re being too literal. Don’t you remember that enchanting tale that I used to read you and Andie at bedtime? Back when Cissy was being rocked to sleep in the next room.
It could have been anything. Her father had boasted an extensive library of obscure texts from the darkest corners of the world. He was a walking encyclopedia of wizarding lore, or so it had seemed to his favorite child.
Luckily, the memory spooled as if on cue. The stories of the humble bushmen from the African desert who squatted around a fire because their culture had never developed chairs. They imagined that their lives were nothing but the dream of the Dreamer, as they referred to their supreme diety.
Ha! Bella scoffed. Nothing but a dream, you say? Tell me this: could they fly at will in their dreams?
I doubt it, but the Dark Lord himself learned to fly. So that ability would not be a dream invention for wizards. You’ll have to think of something else to use as your barometer.
Can they stretch their limbs to enormous length and then twist them into strange shapes? Bella countered.
Is that something you could do? Ever?
Well, certainly not without a wand. And frankly, she’d never tried in her previous existence.
Then you can’t really say, can you? But consider this: wouldn’t the ability to draw magic through a stick at will seem like something out of a dream to Muggles?
But it isn’t! Bella insisted. I do it… I used to do it all the time.
Not anymore! the familiar baritone mocked her softly. So how do you really know you’re not the dream and a right Muggle isn’t the Dreamer?
It was a disconcerting theory, but only that: a theory. It certainly shut the door on recapturing her old life, though. Why she’d have to climb into that Muggle woman’s head all over again. Preposterous! Her father was just teasing her as he’d done when she was a child. She remembered the heated discussions that used to emanate from the library when the old Knights of Walpurgis gathered at the Black residence. Only the men participated, of course; the women and children indulged themselves in a more genteel manner. Intellectual debate was the realm of men, she learned early enough. And she knew that her father was not above sparking controversy with his far-flung bits of esoteric knowledge.
Let it go, Trixie. If it was that important the self-proclaimed Queen would’ve said so to your face.
Probably just some asinine Muggle expression that she’d never heard before, Bella agreed. There were certainly enough of them. Slang that changed from day to day, it would seem. Sometimes, it was arguable whether they were speaking the same bloody language!
Like that one time she’d overheard some Insiders talking about ‘the Mouse.’ As if he were a monarch in his own right.
When she’d inquired further, she’d been told, “He runs the kingdom next door.”
Next door? So they were in a patchwork of principalities. She could deal with that.
“How far away is next door?” she pressed.
“Ten or twenty miles to the west.”
Not that she had any idea of what constituted a Muggle unit of distance.
Seeing her confusion, the Insider relented with, “Far enough that it’s over the horizon.”
Finally, something on which to hang her robes. “Is this Mouse fellow a benign ruler?”
“An autocrat to hear Jeremy tell it! Said he was so glad to be working with normal people once again.”
So the Mouse was a petty tyrant, the words echoed inside Bella’s head, making her feel as if her extremities were encased in snow. From a nightmarish reality, the pinched features of Peter Pettigrew swam into focus.
A rat is not a mouse, Trixie.
But could she really rely on an ordinary Muggle to make that distinction?
Biting her lip in apprehension, Bella proffered, “Does this Mouse have a first name?”
“Mickey.”
From a different side came, “Michael, if you want to know the man behind the mask.”
So it was an Animagus, Bella nodded wordlessly. Just as long as his name wasn’t Peter!
Just a few days later, Bella’s serenity was threatened once again as she felt another presence behind her. She whipped about to face her assailant but it was just a group of lads intent on hexing one another. Good thing those elaborate carved sticks Ollivanders was peddling these days were child-proof, she noted wryly. Only in darker days could she have made them howl for real “ and she doubted they would’ve derived as much enjoyment from it.
“Well, hello there,” the disembodied voice rang from the shadowy eaves adjoining Honeydukes Sweetshop.
Bella froze in her tracks. That silky cadence…no, it couldn’t be. In one fluid motion she spun around into a crouching position, her wand at the ready. But there was no one there.
Jumpy today, aren’t you, Trixie? Guilty thoughts or just plain boredom this time?
Disregarding her father’s commentary, Bella focused on the source of the voice. It was certainly sinister enough. She could just make out a few syllables every once in a while through the incessant chatter of the High Street. Then a full-throated laugh rang out to put her doubts aside.
Not even in his childhood had the Dark Lord ever indulged in such an open display of …of what exactly? Happiness? Abandon?
Self-indulgence, she decided as she caught sight of the tall man who had sparked her curiosity. He was carrying on an avid conversation with himself apparently! At the last moment, Bella noticed the portable device pressed to his ear. Another victim of Instant Owling, as she’d come to call the obsession that had claimed just about everyone around her.
The Visitors indulged themselves quite openly. Companions carrying on separate conversations with absent others even as they held hands with one another. The Insiders had to be more circumspect, scurrying into the private areas where they partook of other behaviors which were no longer socially acceptable -- such as smoking.
Well, her mother would have been relieved that multiple Scourgifying spells were no longer necessary to ease the stale cigar smell out of her favorite clothing. Bella could still recall her mum’s recurring rant about those who couldn’t wait to be alone in the loo only to light up a smoke while they conducted their business. Well, the Yanks had managed to outlaw that; their delicate nostrils were no longer accosted by the smell of ash and smoldering tobacco.
Now if only they could do something about the noise pollution! At what point would the very air become saturated with the endless one-sided prattle? Bella mused darkly. She could envision panes of air falling about them like ice sheets when the airwaves could not longer support the blatant abuse. Not even the preening announcers on the Wizard Wireless Network could go on about inane subjects for hours on end “ and that was really saying something!
All sorts of private issues were discussed in the open air as if no one but the recipient at the end of the line could overhear. Wake up! No one cares about your meaningless life, but do you really have to subject us to it? Better to leave strangers with the impression that you’re not a total tosser.
Granted, some parasitic gossip like that infernal Skeeter woman would’ve been beside herself with joy! What would these chatter-bugs think once their lives were emblazoned on parchment for the whole world to see?
Probably nothing, Bella decided. Discretion was a thing of the past, an anachronistic concept that had fallen by the wayside in the age of instant information. Why some Muggles posted their daily hum-drum activities on bulletin boards for the world to see! From the few glimpses Bella had gotten over others’ shoulders, it was surprisingly similar to a primer geared to first-time readers.
But as far as Bella could tell just about everyone had their own Pocket Owl. No cage or fear of droppings in this world. Convenience with a perpetual price tag, Bella had come to realize. At least at Eeylops Emporium, a person had only to plunk down his galleons and walk out with his prize. The only commitment involved was a bit a cage cleaning and the occasional box of owl nuts. Not so with these Instant Owls that required an endless influx of coins before they would glow with life. Their ghostly blue-eyed stare was a sad substitute for the amber beacons of flesh and blood owls.
Besides, being at another’s beck and call twenty-four hours a day was grossly overrated. Granted, she’d once allowed herself to be branded for that very same reason, but the Dark Lord had exercised enough sense to not summon his followers at ten minute intervals. Not that she’d stopped wondering what had happened to the Death Eaters. The fading tattoo on her forearm was enough to establish that the previous chapter in her life had been real enough.
Had the Dark Lord assumed control only to be deposed a few years later? Wizarding Britain could be in utter chaos and she would never know it this far on the other side of the pond. But if Voldemort held Britain in a yoke, then where did all these British Visitors come from? There was nothing in their conversations to indicate they had escaped from a war-torn land.
With absolute certainty, Bella knew that crimes against Muggles would’ve reached epidemic proportions if Voldemort had assumed power. If Kingsley Shacklebolt could infiltrate the Muggle Prime Minister’s office, the Dark Lord would’ve surely found a similar envoy. One whose covert mission was to Imperius or Confund the P.M. Within months, if not weeks, Muggle Britain would have found itself part of a new world order, one which subjugated their citizenry to a status barely on par with the livestock. Afterall, one could subsist on the meat and eggs of the livestock; but Muggles, one could do without entirely. Bella had heard those jokes often enough to know that those who repeated them bought into that way of thinking.
How had the duel with Potter fared, she wondered? She had been too intent on her own opponent to keep track of anyone else’s. Even if it was no more than blind luck, there was no denying that the stars shone down on Harry Potter and his ilk.
What did her mother say? Those with no skills are lucky; those with ambition mold destiny to their will.
Only her mum had never mentioned what would happen if destiny turned out to be an unmitigating bitch. Takes one to know one. Childish in the extreme, but she should’ve at least thrown it at Molly Weasley’s smug, rotund face!
Spin it out to the end, Trixie. Sometimes the truth lies at the end of the line, not the beginning.
So perhaps the Dark Lord had been a bit overconfident, Bella admitted. Not that she would’ve dared to entertain such a thought in his presence, but clearly he wasn’t here. What was it he had said before ordering them all to surge up the foothills to Hogwarts castle?
“It’s hard to be modest when you hold the world by its bollocks and Death at bay.”
Not exactly, she allowed with a dry chuckle. He would’ve had some overblown, grandiose way to say essentially the same thing. But in the end if the Dark Lord stumbled, it was because he had miscalculated the situation. Underestimating the enemy was the worst mistake a military leader could make. Then there was the arrogance. Not to mention that he was too paranoid to establish a proper chain of command. Why, many Death Eaters didn’t know the others! Then how were they to know where to turn for assistance or whom to trust? Or whom to ruddy fight, when you got down to it!
It had been a failing that Rodolphus had pointed out time and time again “ in private. But the Dark Lord didn’t believe in delegating. His favorites came and went, but he didn’t train anyone to take over in an emergency. He knew only too well that such emergencies might be manufactured for the sole purpose of a coup.
True, it was a risk. But with no chain of command the Dark Lord’s vision would die with him. There would be no one to continue the innovative social programs that he had promised the Death Eaters. Without someone to direct Pius Thicknesse at the Ministry, it would all fall apart due to in-fighting and gross ineptitude.
Bella’s ponderings were arrested by a hint of movement in an ebony corner behind Zonko’s. With the Visitors gone for the day, the surroundings could be eerily peaceful once the moon rose.
Likely, it was nothing but a dustbin which had been knocked over by a puff of wind. As she watched from the safely of a nearby portico, the contours of the dustbin shifted in the gloom, righting itself almost as if by…magic.
For the briefest moment, there was a ripple in the heavy air as if the fabric of time had folded in upon itself. In the blink of an eye, the illusion was gone. Probably nothing but a trick of the intense spotlights that threw areas of the village into deeper shadow by contrast, Bella rationalized.
She clutched her useless wand in her fist as her heart hammered loudly in her ears. Bella might not have a handy curse at hand like in the glorious past, but she could gouge an attacker.
The silhouette grew in height before her eyes and then turned so that its features were illuminated pearly white in the moonlight. Probably some Muggle who’d gotten turned around; she’d have to lead him past the gate like a right babe.
Drawing near, she was caught short by the outlines of a cape clasped tightly at the interloper’s throat. He was tall and muscular in a compact way that she found oddly appealing.
He looked towards the castle to get his bearings, not noticing that Bella was silently drawing upon him from the side. Best that she put on a show, Bella decided. If the Muggle was startled, he’d just laugh it off then.
“Stupefy!” Bella cried with all her might as she cast a spell with a fisted wand above her head.
Falling into an instant crouch, the stranger intoned, “Protego!” sweeping his wand before him.
Nothing happened, of course. Bella’s wand could have been a pitchfork for all the good it did her.
Reacting by sheer instinct, the stranger’s wand flashed in her direction once more. His voice held an edge of desperation as he returned, “Expelliarmus!”
Well, the joker certainly had his motions down. Amazing how many Muggles insisted on acting like they were trained wizards. Playing along, Bella threw back her torso as if she were dodging the spell. With fire dancing in her eyes, she aimed at a spot above his head and rallied, “Serpensortia!”
The stranger cringed as he took a quick glance over his shoulder, the horror clearly painted on his face. He pulled his limbs deeper behind the protective shadow of the dustbin. Only a skeletal hand issued forth as he cast, “Petrificus Totalus!”
As much as Bella’s body welcomed the familiar routine of dueling, there was no point in prolonging a game that could easily focus unwanted attention on both of them. Recalling the pratfalls that several Insiders used on a regular basis, she allowed her rigid body to sway backwards against the building and then slide slowly to the ground.
Through her eyelashes, Bella watched her ‘assailant’ look quizzically at his wand and then glance nervously towards her unmoving form. The skittering sound of him rising to his feet was followed by the sound of cautious footsteps. She could hear him breathing with effort as she slowly opened her eyes.
He looked down upon her with a wide-eyed expression. “Bella, is that you? I thought you were…” Even in the dim light, his gulp was noticeable.
His outstretched hand hauled her brusquely to her feet even as Bella recognized the stark features in the moonlight. “Rodolphus, I must say I never expected to find you here.”
“Where exactly is ‘here’?” he hissed as he impatiently unclasped his heavy robes. “It’s as steamy as a dragon’s backdraft!”
Bella gave a small shrug of indifference. “No consistent seasons to remind us of home.”
“Then how in everything that we hold sacred can the snow be collecting among the rooftops?” her husband demanded.
“Muggle-made magic.”
“Such a thing is patently impossible!”
“Perhaps not,” she countered. “Welcome to Purgatory!”