Rating:
PG
House:
The Dark Arts
Ships:
Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Characters:
Bellatrix Lestrange Molly Weasley
Genres:
General Character Sketch
Era:
The First War Against Voldemort (Cir. 1970-1981)
Stats:
Published: 09/09/2008
Updated: 09/09/2008
Words: 609
Chapters: 1
Hits: 279

Memories

SarcasticMyth

Story Summary:
"Late at night, she thinks of her." - Molly and Bellatrix remember.

Chapter 01

Posted:
09/09/2008
Hits:
279


Late at night, she thinks of her.

She'd be worried if she didn't, really. Bellatrix had been her friend for years, her best friend and her confidant and her partner in crime long before the Dark Lord took hold of her head. She still holds all the good memories in her heart, all the laughs and chatter and secrets they shared between them for nearly twenty years, and now she can only remember them with a touch of sadness.

Bittersweet is the word for it, she whispers softly, the stillness of her bedroom undisturbed. Arthur turns in his sleep, rustling the sheets as he moves closer to her, and the room is quiet once again.

She remembers her the day they met, clad in white and red at Ignatius' wedding, flowers in her hand and laughter on her lips as Gideon dropped the rings he was carrying.

She remembers the Trixie of Hogwarts, tugging on her braids as they passed each other in the hallway. Shaking out her charcoal hair from its bun after particularly boring Arithmancy class. How she ruffled Andromeda's hair in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

She remembers what came after. Trixie laughing gaily as she and Arthur asked her to be Bill's godmother. The way she read to Charlie and Percy on a rainy afternoon, the two curled up against her sides and Trixie's hand stroking Percy's hair.

Molly remembers the good she did, the curve of her smile, the way the light hit her collarbone in the library window.

She remembers everything that came before - before Trixie somehow turned into Bella and the world turned upside-down - but Molly can only curl into Arthur's warm body and wish that things were different.

- - - -

Late at night, she thinks of her.

She'd be worried if she didn't, really. If she stopped, if her mind suddenly went blank and empty, Bellatrix knew that would be the day that she received the Kiss.

It's bittersweet, what she remembers of Molly. The beauty of a summer afternoon, smoking and laughing in the courtyard between Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes, and holding Bill at his Christening...all of the things she treasured - that she thought would never fade - have been taken from her. They were some of the first things she lost; devoured by the Dementors within her first few weeks in Azkaban.

She's left with the scraps of a life once lived, battered and bruised fragment of things long thought forgotten. All the pain and lies and tiny little battles that they waged over twenty years, replayed again and again in immaculate detail.

Garbage, she whispers into the darkness of her cell. Screams rise up from the end of her cell block, echoing in the darkness and ringing in her ears. All the snippets and scraps and broken bits and pieces from other, better things.

She thinks of Molly, squeezing her hand at the fertility clinic. Molly slapping her for what she did to Nathan Summers. Molly, chewing her lower lip and giving her that hard, fuming, don't-you-dare-finish-that-sentence look during their one discussion on blood purity. Molly, crying in her arms - not Arthur's or Ignatius' or even her father's - at Gideon and Fabian's funeral. Of Molly, calling her Monster and angrier than she'd ever seen when she finally saw the Mark on her arm.

She thinks of the last time she saw her, gazing down at her and her comrades from seats high above the courtroom, brown eyes filled with nothing but contempt.

Bellatrix remembers Molly as she curls into her ragged blanket, and she doubts she'll ever truly forget.