Here, the road forked. Snape could ask what had upset her about her aunt's death or he could continue to console her. Loyalty to Dumbledore and the thought that Dumbledore's success would make a better world for Narcissa prompted Snape to question, rather than console her.
"What was it… I mean, you seemed especially surprised when that wizard talked about your aunt's death," Snape said.
"It was nothing," Narcissa said, beginning to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"It must have been something," Snape pressed.
A small smile showed on Narcissa's face. "It was just a memory, Severus. A specter from past summoned by the thought of the Black family tapestry burning."
"A ghost come to haunt you?"
"Not really, seeing as it's only a memory," Narcissa said absently. She thought about it a little more and then laughed softly. "That ghost would exhaust its malice on the Dark Lord before coming after me, I should think. It's nothing to worry about, Severus. Let's talk about something else."
...
A watery echo attracted Harry's attention and washed lightly against his mind before receding. Wrapped in the warm embrace of sleep, Harry dismissed it summarily-until it returned. Harry became increasingly conscious of a muffled voice, speaking indistinguishable words. However, the voice's timbre was dangerously familiar. The speaker was Tom Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, and from his tone, it seemed he was… annoyed. Perhaps even angry.
An old habit led Harry to focus on Voldemort, straining to hear more, to glean more details. Perhaps he could get inside information and give the Order an advantage in the next battle. Slowly, reflexively, Harry began to raise his mental shields as he prepared to probe Voldemort's mind, but then with a start, he remembered the time travel-first to the past then back to the present. Harry withdrew from the connection as quickly as he could.
He woke up with a gasp, finding himself in a moonlit bedroom, and suddenly aware of pain flaring in his gut, as well as a warm, soft weight lightly nuzzling his left side. Bella, Harry thought to himself while clearing the cobwebs in his head. Merlinhave mercy,Imarried BellatrixBlack . Slowed by the pain throbbing and burning from his stomach wound, Harry sat upright. Squinting in the faint light of streetlamps and moonlight, spilling through the bedroom windows, Harry glanced to his right and found a clock on the bedside table. The clock face read three in the morning.
Pausing in dark silence broken only by the faint sounds of breathing, Harry glanced to his left to gaze at the woman he now called his wife. Bellatrix had tossed the blankets off herself and was lying flat on her back, soft curves scarcely concealed by skimpy pajamas, her long black tresses spilling across the pillow she and Harry had apparently shared. Thatoutfit mighthave worked that night, he thought to himself with sardonic amusement, recalling Bella's attempt to seduce him on the night Tom Riddle murdered her father. Sheshouldhave followed her instinctsand gone forno outfit, he mused, recalling that conversation from literally decades prior. Thatwouldhavedefinitely worked . Pulled from his musing by the bedroom's chill, Harry shivered. Contemplating how cold Bella appeared to be, Harry wondered whether she'd tossed off the blankets accidentally. Ormaybe Slytherinwomenarejust icy .
Filled with an urge to visit the restroom, Harry moved to get off the bed, but the pain in his gut again assailed him, augmented by a slight wave of dizziness. He looked around and found his wand on the bedside table next to his glasses. Fumbling to get his glasses on, Harry then grabbed his wand, and conjured a thin cane. He paused long enough to lay one of the blankets over Bellatrix before setting off on a very slow and agonizing trip to the bathroom.
Completing his trip, Harry inched his way to the living room, leaning on the wall and furniture for support, before collapsing at last on the loveseat. Harry noted a brightly lit Christmas tree, standing in one corner and illuminating various holiday decorations hung along the walls. The light from the Christmas tree also revealed a stack of Daily Prophets on the floor next to the couch.
Curious, Harry reached for the stack and picked up an issue. By the date on the masthead, the issue had been printed nearly six months before Harry and Bellatrix arrived in the future. Harry supposed that Bellatrix had been researching the magical world's situation. He reckoned that it was a good idea and that he should probably do the same. After all, he was the one who could determine whether this future was significantly different from his own future. But, as a wave of exhaustion swallowed him, Harry decided to shut his eyes and doze just a little bit before actually reading the newspaper.
....
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