"The end?"
Harry swore under his breath when he realized he'd let slip too much information again. Looking into her accusing violet eyes, he knew that she deserved the truth. The entire truth. Because, in a way, she was right. Because he had dragged her into his plans, Voldemort was now interested in the both of them. He owed her that much for putting her in that kind of danger.
"You…" he licked his dry lips and broke eye-contact. "You committed suicide."
"I would never-"
"You did," Harry repeated. "I wouldn't have thought you the kind of person to do it, either, but…"
"What kind of person was I, Ashworth? Whose side did I fight on?"
"The winning side."
"Then why? Why would I commit suicide?"
Harry sighed. This wasn't going to be pretty. "Honestly, I don't know for sure." Though I might have a few ideas, he added to himself, but he wasn't going to tell her about what had happened to her future self in Voldemort's dungeon. "You committed suicide… because your side was winning."
Bellatrix stared at him disbelievingly. "What?" It didn't escape her notice that he'd called it her side.
"Your side had decided that you were no longer needed." Harry raised his gaze to meet hers. "Remember that day when I appeared in the Black family vault? My hands were covered in blood. Your blood. You stabbed yourself with your hair ornament."
He could see her eyes widen in shock as the blood drained from her face. "If I committed suicide, why was my blood on your hands?"
"You tried to get me to kill you. You handed me that hairpin and told me to stab you with it. I refused, so you took it and did it, yourself." Harry idly wondered whether he would be able to cast a memory charm on her. Some things were better left unknown.
"I don't believe you."
"If we can find a pensieve, I can show you the memory."
Bellatrix reached into her robes and withdrew her copy of the hairpin. "I gave you this."
"Yes."
"And I wanted you to kill me with it."
"Yes."
"You still haven't answered my question. Why would I commit suicide?"
At least she wasn't in denial anymore, Harry thought. "You were fighting for Voldemort," he finally told her. "In the end, I guess he decided that you were no longer cutting it, and he had you… decommissioned."
"I assume, then, that that isn't what happened to you?"
"No." Harry sighed, watching as she slumped, her chin propped in her hands. Her face was hidden behind her long tresses, but he could tell she was hurting. "No," he repeated. "I fought against him, and was captured. He was planning on having me executed."
She was silent for a long time, before craning her head to look at him. Harry could see the tears she was fighting to hold back, but her voice only betrayed the slightest hint of a tremor. "It doesn't sound like either side of this conflict ended well for us."
"Not really," Harry admitted. "But at least my side had it a little better. At least we were happy at times. Voldemort isn't very friendly."
"I guess that counts for something," Bellatrix shrugged. "Tell me, Harry, tell me honestly. Was I a bad person? I mean, really bad. Evil. Evil as in actually killing or torturing people."
Harry hesitated, not wanting to tell this young girl what she would become. Because, in the end, that was what she was-a young, impressionable woman who was as of yet untouched by the corruption that would dominate her future in his time. "It doesn't matter. I'm changing the future."
"Dammit, Harry, it matters to me !" Bellatrix exploded with a burst of grief and fury. "It matters to me." As quickly as the anger had come, it was gone, leaving her hunched over and quietly sobbing into her hands.
She deserves to know, he mused. In her position, I'd want to know, too. I'd want to know what I'd become, if I could look my future self in the eye and recognize myself. And she wouldn't. He knew that she wouldn't, because who she was right now, despite all her flaws, despite her arrogance and self-centeredness, she wasn't the same person she was in the future. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he awkwardly tried to comfort her. "Yes," he told her. "Yes, you were evil. I don't know how or why it happened, but you chose to follow Voldemort. And when you did, you changed. You lost yourself. You did things… terrible things. But that wasn't you. That wasn't what you're going to become."
"But that was what I could become. It's still what I could become." She glanced up at him. "I don't want to become her."
"You don't have to."
"Good." She pushed herself away and rearranged her hair, occasionally wiping at her eyes. A few moments later, her mask of indifference was back in place. "And you don't need to lay it on so thick. I'm not going to abandon you. But I'm going to insist that you step up your efforts a little. Honestly, Ashworth, you've been kind of pussyfooting around. Whatever my future self was thinking, she didn't send you here to be lazy."
"I'm glad to hear that, but I doubt your future self sent me here on purpose."
"You think I'm too cowardly to stab myself?" Bellatrix said.
When Harry didn't reply, she continued. "Obviously, I wanted you to be holding that when it came in contact with my blood. It is activated by blood, isn't it?"
"You are and were out of your mind," Harry retorted.
Bellatrix rose and glared at him, hands on her hips. "And how well did you know me in the future?"
"Well enough to know the way you fight, inside and out." Harry got an arched eyebrow from her at that. Of course, he amended silently, that's the way her crazy future self fights, not the way she does now.
"I think I'll be the judge of my actions, insane or not, Ashworth." At least, since he'd hinted that she was insane in the future, it gave her a little hope that her fate could be avoided now. "As long as I'm on your side, what does it matter, anyway?"
"Whatever."
"Don't whatever me." Bellatrix leaned down and grabbed him by the lapel. "We're in this together now, Ashworth. And I have no interest in dying anytime soon. So you better damn well get your ass in gear and step up your plans!"
"Fine." Thought Harry didn't show it, he grinned on the inside. This was the Bellatrix he'd come to know during his stay in the past, the proactive, aggressive young woman who went after what she wanted with a vengeance. He stood and folded his arms, smiling back at her blandly.
"Well?" she demanded.
"Well what?"
"What are we going to do next?"
....
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