Thank you for the reviews they made me happy : ) Well sense we left off with Abraham popping out of nowhere ( that will be explained)I think we should have this little Flashback more in his point of view but still in Third person… so enjoy
Her eyes were the same deep brown as always—bottomless. A dark chasm that pulled you in to be lost forever, only . . . he wasn’t lost in those eyes. She looked lost. And that look brought him back to the end of their lives.
Abraham wasn’t angry—not anymore. He looked like a fallen angel; like the rest of his family. Only he looked more real. He was the saddest being to walk the earth, if only someone would take the time to notice. He faked a smile as he shook hands with Cygnus Black as he entered his mansion. Bellatrix’s father seemed surprised to see the young man but said nothing as he welcomed him to the ceremony and to walk through the house and out to the backyard where everyone was meeting.
Abraham felt like he was deaf to everything but his heartbeat and his footsteps against the expensive wood floor that didn’t have so much as a scuff mark. He was in her house. It reminded him of a church almost. It was dark but there was enough light to see detail if you took the time to look. He didn’t take the time though. Abraham could see her almost everywhere: in that alcove reading a book; playing chess at that chess table; in that dining room eating dinner; in that seat to the right of her father that she had told him about. It was as if he had been here before, as if he knew every nook and cranny of the place. Maybe that was because he knew every nook and cranny of Bellatrix. He saw her again just three feet away from him, her face the emotionless mask that was taught to so many of the Blacks. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer. He was afraid that the real Bellatrix would pop out of nowhere and he wasn’t ready for that.
He found the glass doors that led to the backyard and took a seat in the second to last row on the right at the very edge. He watched as the magical instruments played a traditional pureblood piece. It sounded odd to him. Much too sad for a wedding. Then again this was a marriage that merely bounded a pureblood with another pureblood. It wasn’t supposed to be happy. He wished it was though— happier music wouldn’t seal his fate so tightly.
There was a man standing at the altar now. Rodolphus Lestrange. He looked exactly as Abraham remembered him from school. Tall and pale with dark hair that curled around his temples. His eyes were ice blue and actually looked genuinely happy. Abraham had always figured that Lestrange had liked Bellatrix and that’s what kept him from hating the lucky bastard. He had to love her. He looked so happy up there, so happy and oblivious to the sad music playing just fifteen paces to his left. I would’ve been him, he thought. He could have been happy, he could have been the one standing at the altar, he could have been the one who got Bellatrix. It could’ve happened. It should’ve happened. It would’ve happened. But it didn’t.
Suddenly he felt the world tumble around him as everyone around him turned backwards to watch the bride walk down the aisle. He didn’t dare turn; didn’t dare blink; didn’t dare twitch as he felt her presence come closer and closer. He stared at the groom and his grinning face. Abraham wanted to throw up. She passed by his row and the smell of the freshest roses slammed into him and brought him a numb calmness. She hadn’t spotted him. Then her smell reached his nostrils. He closed his eyes. She was like a refreshing summer breeze. He kept his eyes closed until he heard in a soft soprano voice utter the words that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Abraham stood to his feet and escaped back into the house as everyone applauded the newly wedded couple.
Abraham leaned against the wall of the long hallway his breathing ragged—he felt as though he had just run miles at top speed.
“Hey, Chryses,” a vaguely familiar voice called out. Abraham opened his eyes and followed the voice into the sitting room farther down the hall. There lounging on one of the comfortable couches was Sirius Black. “Didn’t know you were invited to this shindig,” the boy said lazily popping a grape into his mouth from the bowl that rested on his stomach.
Abraham hadn’t seen Sirius since he was still at Hogwarts; it’s been three years since then. “I wasn’t,” he answered shortly. “So you’ll be a fourth year won’t you?” he asked his fellow Gryffindor.
“Yup,” he said nonchalantly.
“How’s Potter?” he asked remembering that the two of them were inseparable when he had last seen them.
“Good. He sent me a letter just last week announcing his captainship of the quiditch team.” He sucked on another grape. “Are we done with the small talk?”
Abraham looked taken aback. “Um . . .?”
“Sit down,” the boy said gesturing to a large armchair across from him. Once he was seated Sirius spoke again, another grape in his mouth of course. “Now why would a Gryffindor pureblood, like myself be here at a wedding in a snakepit?” He paused smiling a little at the golden haired boy.
Abraham gave him a guarded look, his eyes squinting at the corners. “You lost me.”
“The only person here that you really know happens to be the bride, is she not?”
“What are you getting at?”
Suddenly all traces of amusement disappeared from the younger boys face. His grey
eyes were stormy as he sat up and rested his elbows against his knees as he leaned towards Abraham. “I saw you with her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Black,” he scoffed leaning back into his chair,
desperately wishing he hadn’t asked Bellatrix to dance three years ago. Look where it had left him. He felt like his heart had been carved away, followed by his lungs and yet he continued to live.
“You were in your seventh year. She was in her fifth. She wore a green and black dress with ballet shoes on. I was there. I saw you dance with her,” Sirius said.
“No you didn’t. Besides second years and bellow weren’t invited to the Holiday Soiree—you couldn’t have been there,” he denied easily. Gryffindor’s could be good liars too.
“First off: are you trying to say that I’m a liar?” before Abraham could respond the boy continued. “And second, I’m Sirius bloody Black, being a first year doesn’t stop me from walking into the Great Hall. Besides you weren’t invited to this wedding, but here you are? Why?”
Abraham was silent as he stared at Bellatrix’s cousin. They looked much too similar.
“I know you love Bellatrix,” he said.
“Yippee you figured it out! What does it matter to you?” he spat, frustratingly. “Do you want a reward or something?” Abraham pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t ever want to hear her name again. It brought him so much happiness, a happiness that he knew he wouldn’t feel the likes of again.
“She used to be my favorite cousin, you know,” the younger boy said after a moment.
“She was like my older sister. Andromeda and Narcissa too. But I met Bellatrix first. She was the third person to hold me when I was a baby. She used to remind me of that all the time. I felt closest to her.” Sirius shrugged. “Then she started hating me so . . . we’re not that close.”
Abraham looked into his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged again. “Because.” Sirius reached into the bowl of grapes that he had set beside him on the couch and tossed Abraham a fat green one before throwing one up in the air and catching it with his mouth. “We both lost her.”
“That makes me feel loads better,” Abraham sneered.
“And you’re wondering why you even bothered to come here,” Sirius continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. The broken man across from him watched him expectantly as he chew on his grape. “It’s because you’re a lot like me, Chryses. We’re here because of the same reason.” Sirius stretched across the couch again crossing his arms tightly as he glowered at the ceiling above him.
“She’s not my favorite cousin anymore, not by a long shot. And she’s probably not your favorite person in the world right now. I don’t much like her anymore. I even hate her a bit. But hate is still a feeling isn’t it? I don’t feel nothing towards her, and neither do you. Despite all that she’s done to us,” he shrugged again, “we still care about her. That’s why we’re here. Well granted my parents forced me anyways but still she’s the reason we’re both here.”
“Sirius?” a voice called from the entrance to the sitting room. Both boys looked up and found a dark honey haired young witch. She glanced at Abraham and nodded.
Sirius jumped up and bounded across the room and brought his arm around her shoulder. “Well if it isn’t my favorite cousin,” he said grinning. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Andromeda was a short little thing. Even though Sirius was four years younger than her he towered over her.
“You’re the one who’s in my house, Sirius,” she said rolling her eyes.
“Details, details,” he drawled with a dismissive wave of the hand. “So what do you want?”
“A talk,” she turned to Abraham. “Unless of course I was interrupting you two,” she said politely.
The golden haired boy shook his head standing up. “No, no we were done. The bride was beautiful wasn’t she?” he asked without thinking. He saw Sirius give him a sad look.
Andromeda smiled. “Yes, she was. She was a nervous wreck last night though. It wasn’t like her at all.”
“Nervous wreck?” Sirius scoffed. “I could hear her wails from across the mansion.”
“Wails?” Abraham inquired, curious and a little concerned.
“Well she was obviously nervous about her big day wasn’t she?” Andromeda said. Abraham wondered why she had suddenly become very pale. “Sirius I really do need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Sirius said giving her a worried glance. “Well take care of yourself, Chryses.”
Abraham stood there alone for a moment, just thinking. His feet started carrying him throughout the house aimlessly. He barely registered the party from outside as he passed a few windows here and there.
It wasn’t hard to hate Bellatrix. It could be so easy for him to just despise every little pore, every little hair, every little thing that belonged to her. He’s always hated her, just a little bit. It’s like loving a dragon. You may love their scales, their tail, their wings, their eyes, their talons, their teeth but once they turn their breath of flame on you, you begin to hate them even if you don’t notice it. He had always thought of Bellatrix as a dragon but without the fire. At first he thought of her as a snake, which was rational. She always seemed coldblooded, always held her head up higher as if sniffing the air for something new. He half expected her sometimes to have a forked tongue. But then he got to know her and she became so much more than just a snake. She was a lot freer than she made herself out to be. She had wings. She was a flying serpent.
She couldn’t burn you, but she could poison you with the worst kind of poison; a slow poison that had no cure. He felt it inside him now.
He wanted to hate her for it. He should hate her for it.
Why couldn’t he?
Abraham looked around and saw that he had climbed a few sets of stairs into a small hallway that had only one door. He shrugged and opened the door. Before him was a large room with a large bed to match. The sheets were torn from the bed and had holes and rips as though they had been attacked by a vicious tiger. The floor was covered with clothes with rips in them as well.
What the hell?
He stepped into the room and heard a voice yell annoyed, “Mother, I said I would be down soon!”
The door to the walk in bathroom was swung open to reveal Bellatrix Bl—Lestrange, now. Hate her, hate her, hate her. Why couldn’t he do it?
Oh yeah, he thought looking into her bloodshot eyes, I love her. She stared at him her eyes and mouth wide open. He looked her up and down, she was no longer in her white flowing wedding gown but in the undergarments underneath. She was sufficiently covered of course by the dressy linen, but it was made to be thin.
“Hello, Mrs. Lestrange,” he said, his eyes resting on the ring on her finger.
She sucked in a sharp intake of breath before giving him an icy glare and tearing the ring off her finger and throwing it as hard as she could at his head. It barely missed him and he didn’t even flinch.
“Does your husband know that I gave you that bracelet?” he continued. He discovered that even though he couldn’t hate her, he could still be mean to her. He wanted to hate her but he couldn’t. He wanted to be mean to her and he found that he could. It was all he had.
“Stop it,” she said rushing towards him and pounding on his chest with her fists. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” She screeched. He looked down at her with his sad, oh so sad golden eyes. He bit his lip as he brushed her cheek with his thumb.
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s about time you know how much hurt you make everyone feel around you.” Abraham kissed her roughly, so roughly that her teeth scrapped at the inside of her mouth drawing blood. She wanted to pull away and when he realized this he guided her backwards, nearly shoving her onto her bed, pushing her further and further into the mattress. Abraham kissed her with as much anger, as much sadness, as much desperation that was being trapped inside him. He knew she was scared as she shook beneath him, but she dug her nails into his scalp smashing his lips closer to hers. His tongue ravaged her mouth mercilessly and his teeth bit at her lips giving her a sick pleasure. It put life back into her.
She wondered how she could’ve gone three years without his kisses.
He wondered how he would live the rest of his life without her.
He pulled at her hair painfully to the side and she cried out as he nibbled his way up and down her jaw, her neck. He ran his warm tongue across her collarbone. He pulled her hair again as covered her lips with his and she screamed into his mouth, biting on his tongue. That one reaction made him want to continue— made him want to rip her clothes off and ravish her. But he had done what he needed to do. She knew how he felt now. He was as complete and whole as he could ever be.
He kept his hand in a tight fist as he grazed his teeth against her lip once more before getting up and heading for the door. He whipped at his lips, disposing the evidence of her blood red lipstick. He looked back at her. She had her hand on her forehead as if she had a major headache. Her smeared with so much lipstick that she looked as though she had drunk a barrel of blood. Her brown eyes were wide open staring up at the ceiling. She reminded him of Sirius for a moment.
“I’ll always love you, Trix—,”
“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted automatically.
“Have a happy life,” he said harshly before walking out of the room, walking out of the house. He opened his hand and unfolded the picture he had taken from under her pillow. He smiled softly. It was of Bellatrix when she was five years old. She was holding a small baby. The baby was giggling and pulling at Bellatrix’s hair while she just smiled down at him, periodically touching his face or looking up at the camera.
He turned around and looked back up. He saw a figure standing at the highest window watching him. She was like the girl from the muggle story—Rapunzel, who was trapped in the tallest tower. He wished he could save her. Abraham smiled at her sadly before turning on the spot and apparating back home, where he broke down and began destroying everything he could lift.
Abraham continued to stare at her, his head cocked to the side and the largest smile plastered to his face. He tried so hard to stay away from her in the past twenty years telling himself that it would bring him nothing but hurt. But it didn’t. It brought him happiness.
Bellatrix Lestrange had imagined for the longest time that if she would see him again she would be happy. Every night she would dream about him. But then she was sent to Azkaban and there was nothing bright in her world. No Abraham. The sun didn’t even seem to grace Azkaban with light. She looked at him a lump in her throat. She had thought she would be happy. But she wasn’t. She felt hurt.
Her hand was wrapped around her wand—or her temporary wand. Damn that Potter. She stood up from her crumpled heap.
“You’re hair is the same,” she said wonderingly.
Abraham furrowed his eyebrows grinning. “My hair is more grey than it is blond, Bellatrix.”
She blinked, shaking her head a little. “So it is.” Her eyes were clear for a moment
searching for his face. What she was looking for he didn’t know and neither did she for her eyes turned glassy. “Gold,” the Death Eater said quickly.
“Excuse me?” he said confused.
“You’re hair wasn’t ever blond. It was gold. You’re eyes were gold too.” She stepped closer to him, her face inches away from his. “They’re still gold. You’re skin was gold,” she reached out her hand and touched his cheek. “It’s still gold.” She looked at her own hand and noticed the ring there. As if she had been burned she snatched her hand away from him.
Bellatrix Lestrange pulled the offending rock off and held it close to her face, her glare murderous. Suddenly she spat at the ring throwing it to the ground and pummeling it with her foot.
“Bella?” Abraham called nervously.
She looked up at him as if forgetting he was there. She screamed a sob following short after threatening to tear her apart from the inside. But she wouldn’t cry. She would never cry, not again, not in front of him. Why she had worn it for all these years she did not understand. She didn’t understand anything anymore. She didn’t understand magic, didn’t understand why the grass was green and the sky was blue, she didn’t understand why oxygen was vital for survival. She didn’t understand why her body continued to live when all she felt was dead inside.
She could have done something. She wasn’t supposed to just sit around and let everything happen. She was not supposed to be married. Not so young, not to that man. She was not supposed do everything she had been told to do. She was not supposed to let the man she loved think that nothing would go back to normal. She was not supposed to lie around like a distressed princess waiting for her prince to save her. She was supposed to save herself.
Why hadn’t she? It could have been done so easily.
Her eyes dry as a thirsty throat she drew out her wand and pointed it at the ring. “Reducto!” A million little particles of the diamond flew in every direction. Abraham watched them dance in the wind as they made their descent to the ground below.
“I wanted to do that myself, actually,” he said beaming.
“Well I’ve had to wear it all these years so I have the right to destroy it,” she said softly. She turned to him once again. “What are you even doing here? More importantly, where am I?” Her eyes moved everywhere that but him, darting from place to place.
“You’re on my property next to the Lake of Erised.” Unlike the escaped Death Eater before him he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Her hair was as black as always with a few grey streaks that to him made her look even more threatening. He always felt threatened by her. “It has magical properties along with that bracelet on your wrist. Might I ask what the Lake showed you?” his voice much to chipper for Bellatrix’s liking.
“My old owl,” she lied. “Why?”
“It shows what you have lost and what you most wish you could have back. So you lost your owl?” he asked taking a step closer. “Funny, you never told me about an owl.” He continued to move closer.
She had recognized his motives, marveling in how easily she could still read him. She took a step back for each step he took forward. “I was young when she died. It traumatized me and I never wanted to talk about her,” she provided quickly.
“Is that the only thing that traumatized you?”
He was smirking now, seeming to know something she didn’t. There was a sparkle in his eyes that had been dormant for many a night. “Really?”
Suddenly the ground under her feet disappeared and she fell backwards nearly as gracefully as a ballerina. Suddenly she was enveloped with a pain much worse than the Torture Curse. It had the same cruelty as many knives stabbing into her flesh but it held something else. Like a hand as shocking as lightening reaching into her stomach and twisting it before moving up and puncturing her lungs before finally yanking out her heart.
She opened her eyes. She was inside the Lake of Erised, but it didn’t feel like a lake. She could actually breathe in it, yet she still felt wet, the weight of her robes dragging her down . . . down . . . down. Her feet reached the bottom and suddenly there was an explosion of light and for a minute she couldn’t possibly say where she was. She closed her eyes tightly.
Suddenly golden light that seeped through her eyelids disappeared only to be replaced by a deafening sound. And she was suddenly reawakened. In front of her was Molly Weasley and around her millions of other wizards fighting for their lives against other wizards. Subconciously she realized that she sent the Killing Curse at the redheaded woman. It missed. She laughed.
Who was she? Who had she become? Sure she had always been a nasty girl. Someone who would hold a magnifying glass over any poor helpless insect and watch them as they are burned to a crisp, but always out of curiosity and anger, never out of insanity. When had all this happened?
She watched, just as helplessly as an insect, Molly Weasley raise her wand; watched as a green jet of light shot through the air, rolling towards her like electricity. She cocked her head to side just a fraction, marveling at its cruel beauty. She felt her heart stop, felt her lungs freeze and fill with liquid, heard herself choke, and let her mind slip away into nothingness. Down . . . down . . . down she went.
“Trix,” a voice whispered in the darkness. Her eyes snapped opened and she stared into the angelic eyes of melted gold.
“Abraham, what are you doing? Get out of the way before the curse hits you!” she screamed panicked, trying and failing in pushing him to the side.
He chuckled, tightening his hold her around her waist. “I’ve been dead for months, Trix. And I think that’s the first time you haven’t scolded me for calling you that.”
“I was killed in one of the Death Eater Raids.”
Bellatrix looked around herself and for a moment she was confused. She was still by the Lake of Erised. She hadn’t fallen in, he was holding her just centimeters from the edge, her body half limp in her arms.
“Am I dead too? Why are we still here? If you’re dead how can you be here with me? Are we both dead?”
“You’re dead. You’ve been dead. The Lake of Erised only exists in the Realm of the Dead. It has a replica on the Realm of the Living but it doesn’t have any magical properties. It is said that the Mirror of Erised started as a single piece of white cloth being dropped into this lake only to resurface in the Lake of Erised on earth as a mirror.”
She gave him a look. “I can’t be in heaven can I?”
He shook his head sadly. “No. You’re in more of your own personal limbo. It’s meant to keep you separated from other spirit—like a solitude. I can only come here because I’m a—,”
“Angel?” she said grinning, always believing it to be so. “I knew it.”
He laughed, “No, just an exalted being.”
She smiled at him. Oh how she missed him. She brought her hand up and noticed how smooth and healthy it looked. She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing a green dress that reached her knees and ballet shoes with ribbons that wound up her legs like ivy. She touched her face with her fingers. Her lips weren’t chapped, nor were her cheeks sunken in and bony. She touched her hair and felt a luxurious texture it hadn’t retained in a long while.
“I’m . . .”
“Going to kiss me now?” he suggested his grin infectious.
She leaned up on the tips of her toes and did as he asked. She rememorized his face, tracing her fingers across every dip and bump.
“I missed you,” he said breaking the kiss and burying his face into the crook of her neck breathing in her scent. A scent he thought was worthy of heaven. Suddenly she pulled away rushing to the side of the Lake of Erised once more. “What are you doing?” he asked following her.
He watched as she slid the pearl bracelet off her wrist and held it out, above the rippling lake. “I have an idea. Do you have any nephews?” She choked around her next words, “sons?”
“No, just nephews and nieces.”
“Give me a name of one.”
“Peter Ryan Chryses. Why, though?” he asked his eyebrows furrowed, and locked on the fingers holding the bracelet.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, and she was mouthing the name Peter Ryan Chryses over and over. Then she released the pearls letting them drop into the Lake of Erised and watched as they were pulled down . . . down . . . down.
“I think it should be returned to the Chryses family so they can continue their tradition,” she said wrapping an arm around his waist, when the pearl bracelet had finally disappeared from view.
A young man with gold hair and a long face walked through the halls of the half destroyed castle. He made his way out onto the grounds of the beautiful school. He hadn’t gone there, opting to experiment with Beauxbatons, but now he wish he had. He was about to haul another lifeless body over his shoulder when a sudden pain momentarily distracted him. He looked around himself and a glimmering white caught his eyes just two feet away.
It couldn’t be.
Hesitantly he bent down and took the glimmering object in his hand. It was a pearl bracelet. His jaw fell slack and he looked up into the sun.
It had been missing for over two decades, and somehow it was he would continue the tradition. Humbly he slid the heirloom into his pocket vowing to give it to his true love.
So what did you think? This story was so much fun. I hope you liked it. :)