Feral Den

Chapter 45

Pick black.

That's new.

Hailee blinks, her eyes blind. She blinks again, then again and again and again. It takes several tries before the room comes into focus. Before she begins to see flickers of lights in the distance.
Her feet move, fingers flexing at her sides as she walks forward.

The room is familiar —the bookshelves building as Hailee remembers a penseive memory building on itself.
The room stacks until she's surrounded by orbs of glowing fog. Each orb holds some sort of blurry action —and each date is different. Some dating way into the future, others far into the past.

Hailee moves, her legs stretching as she walks between the bookshelves. In the distance, a particular ball shines ever so brightly.
Like a beacon of a lighthouse. Hailee moves for it, her pace quickening until her shoulder is pushed and she stumbles.

A laugh shrills through the never ending room. Hailee spins, looking over her shoulders... but no one is there.
The laugh dings like a broken bell, coming farther than before. And Hailee chases after it.

She's always been good at running, always had the long legs to carry her far away from her pursuers. Mainly Dudley and his little gang.

"Itty bitty Potter!" A childish laugh comes from the bookshelves.

Hailee spins, sees a figure. She freezes, confusion washing over her as Hailee realizes who stands there. Tittering on her toes before skittering away.

It's Bellatrix.

Hailee realizes.

But somehow she's... different.
Hailee had met Bellatrix only twice, had actually ever looked at the woman only once.
And the Bellatrix laughing and running is not her.

Bellatrix had been elegant, with long wild curls of black hair. Her skin a creamy pale, lips painted blood red and eyes the darkest of abysses.

This Bellatrix, as Hailee chased after her, was not that. Her lips were wiped of that signature blood red, instead twisted into a cruel smile. Her clothes look tattered and torn, the once expensive fabric tarnished into scraps. Her hair is wild and black curls are sticking in every direction. Her black eyes crazed, with the kind of unleashed sick glee Hailee had first thought Bellatrix would sparkle and dance in.

Running, Hailee stretches a hand. Touches the fabric of Bellatrix's dress. The woman laughs, and squeals. She dances, her toes twirling mirroring a ballerina before she's gone. And Hailee is in a row of bookshelves.
The dates matching closer to her time period. One dating in the nineteen-forties —the year Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. Hailee stares at the orb, watching as the fog whips erratically, showing glimpses of the forever playing past.

Dumbledores hand is on Grindelwalds chest, wand pointed at his heart.
She's mesmerized.
Watching as Grindelwald snarls something the orb had not captured with audio. Then the orb lights a brilliant color and the image repeats.

Blinking, Hailee moves to the other orbs, watching as forever pasts play in never ending loops.

It's only when she's at the very end, that Hailee looks at the top orb of the last row. Reads the date, and realizes the orb is from the future.
The date reading nineteen-ninety-eight. But this orb, instead of it only playing one future. It plays two. The fog is thick, and Hailee can barely see it —much unlike the others. The images are jerky and unclear, blurry —Hailee can't read the image to save her life.