Bellatrix hissed angrily as she examined Harry's stomach wound. Rather than improving through the night, the wound from the hair ornament had worsened, becoming severely infected. His other wounds from the flying debris had not healed nearly as much as they should have, either. That, combined with the fact that Harry was not responding to Bellatrix's attempts to communicate was troubling. "Get me a bowl of hot water," she yelled, addressing Kreacher, who was in the living room cleaning. The house elf had not expected to be set to grueling work in exchange for fleeing the questions at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
Muttering angrily under his breath, Kreacher fetched a bowl, filled it with water from the kitchen sink, and with a snap set it to a near-boiling state. He walked to the bedroom and found his mistress standing over his master's bed.
"It took you long enough," Bellatrix growled, taking the bowl of hot water and setting it on the bedside table as she prepared to clean Harry's wound.
Kreacher watched silently as Bellatrix tended to Harry's wounds. Although the young witch clearly knew the basic principles behind medical treatment, she had never put them to practice on such a severely wounded patient. Eventually, Bellatrix finished treating and bandaging the main wound. She briefly attended to Harry's other injuries before forcing another round of potions down his throat.
"Kreacher," Bellatrix said, "what is the state of things at St. Mungo's?"
"Kreacher doesn't understand mistress's question," Kreacher replied, suddenly feeling a bit of confidence. The mistress did not know everything. She had to rely on Kreacher. Kreacher was an important house elf.
"What I mean is, can I take Harry here to St. Mungo's and expect that he will be safe while they treat him?" Bellatrix said.
"Kreacher still does not know what Mistress Belly means," Kreacher said.
Subconsciously, Bellatrix flexed her hands, almost balling them into fists. "What I want to know is whether or not I can take my husband to the hospital and be assured that he will be safe from harm."
"Why would someone hurt a hospital patient, Mistress?" the house elf inquired.
Bellatrix's violet eyes flared dangerously. "Forget it."
"Does Mistress Belly want me to return to Grimmauld Place?" Kreacher asked.
Bellatrix stalked from the room and into the bathroom, where she took out her wand and began casting glamour charms on herself. Kreacher followed and caught up with her just as her hair flattened itself and transformed into a pale shade of brown. "No, Kreacher will stay here," Bellatrix declared, mimicking the house elf's third person speech as she used magic to change her eyes from violet to a an even paler brown. "Mistress Bellatrix will go to Diagon Alley. Kreacher will monitor Master Harry's condition and go fetch Mistress Bellatrix if Master Harry so much as moves a muscle or misses a breath. Kreacher will also continue cleaning the flat."
"As mistress commands," Kreacher said, watching as Bellatrix's face aged into that of a seemingly motherly woman.
.....
Bellatrix enjoyed her visit to Gringotts far more than the goblins did. Although they had somehow concluded that Harry and Bellatrix had traveled through time, the goblins had still been hoping that they would never see the pair again-at least not for several more decades. Harry and Bellatrix were now billionaires thanks to the goblins' wise investment schemes, and the bank had enjoyed having the Black gold on hand, free of any worries that Harry or Bellatrix would withdraw, transfer, or otherwise invest the money on short notice.
After promising the goblins that she would spend the Black fortune anyway she wished, Bellatrix walked out of the bank, her purse filled with gold, bank drafts, Muggle credit cards, and numerous other tools by which she could move or use the Black money free of the need to ever set foot in Gringotts.
Christmas shoppers swarmed quietly throughout Diagon Alley. Despite the holiday season, gloomy clouds seemed to cling to each shopper. Nobody made eye contact with anybody else, instead glaring suspiciously behind one another's backs. Idly, Bellatrix wondered if disguising herself had been a complete waste of time. Nobody would have noticed her or distinguished her from anyone else in the crowd.
Bellatrix dodged into the apothecary and purchased nearly a thousand galleons worth of medical potions and random potion ingredients. Though clearly surprised by the exorbitant purchase, the apothecary clerk maintained a neutral demeanor with regard to propriety of the transaction. However, it seemed that he recognized her purpose in making the purchases. Quietly, he advised Bellatrix of a former mediwitch who frequented the Leaky Cauldron and gave medical advice based on 'hypothetical situations.'
Upon locating the former mediwitch, Bellatrix nearly turned back, for Madame Madidus was clearly a habitual drunk. However, the realization that there were precious few options drove Bellatrix to sit down across from Madame Madidus in a booth. Empty mugs and classes littered the table coated in a sometimes sticky, sometimes greasy layer.
"I didn't drink all this," Madidus told Bellatrix, burping loudly as she gestured to the empty glasses.
"Of course not," Bellatrix said, masking her disgust. It was surprisingly easy to do so. The face Bellatrix had formed for her disguise seemed incapable of displaying any negative emotion.
"What can I do for you, dearie?" Madame Madidus asked, eying Bellatrix's purse greedily.
Bellatrix glanced around to make sure that nobody was listening or watching them too closely. "I have been informed that you are a former mediwitch and might be able to share some useful opinions."
"That I am," Madame Madidus said. "Tell me of a hypothetical situation, put some money on the table, and I will theorize about how one might medically proceed."
....
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