Harry didn't quite know what to make of that request, but did as she had asked of him. There was the sound of tearing fabric. When she stopped rustling, he turned back to face her. She was in the process of buttoning up what was left of her blouse, but what caught his eye was the object in her left hand that hadn't been there before.
It was an exquisitely carved hairpin four inches long, cut from a shimmering black crystal. The tip looked razor sharp and glinted in the dim light in the cell; it widened at the top to accommodate a teardrop-shaped piece of black onyx, from which dangled a small chandelier of crystals that were equally as black as the rest of the ornament. He blinked in surprise; this wasn't something he'd expected her to carry around with her.
Bellatrix finished with her blouse, leaving the top buttons undone as her fingers failed to respond the way she wanted, and let her hands drop into her lap. She stared down at the piece of jewelry in her hands, her expression vacant. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, she slowly turned her head and extended her hand, offering the pin to Harry.
"I'm not exactly one for baubles, Bella," he commented dryly.
"For once in your life, Potter, stop being a smartass and shut up." The words lacked her usual venom and force.
"All right, but I don't exactly see why you're giving me a piece of jewelry. Or giving me anything at all, for that matter."
"It's a Black family heirloom," she replied slowly. "When I was young, I found it in the family vault. It's supposed to be cursed. Or powerful. No one was quite sure, and its real purpose was lost in legend."
"Seems like its real purpose is to hold up hair to me," Harry replied.
"I told you to shut up and listen, Potter." Bellatrix slid down the wall as another set of coughs wracked her body, splattering blood across the front of her tunic. "When I was . . . young, and foolish, I thought I could use it against the Dark Lord, once."
"Why in Merlin's name didn't you pull out the damn thing sooner!"
"I never figured out what it did, you idiot!" Bella hissed. It was as close to a shout as she could manage, in her condition. "Now shut up and listen. This is the last time I'm warning you, Potter. The Dark Lord is on his way back. The Order has been eradicated. Tonight, he will return, and we will both die. That's why they took me for an entire day – it was their last chance to play with me. Take it."
He gingerly closed his hand around the wide end of the hairpin, noticing how cold the crystal felt in his palm. "And now? Something supposed to happen?"
"Now you take it and kill me."
"What! Are you crazy? No wait, I take that back, I know you're crazy, but I didn't think you were this crazy!"
She fixed him with an even stare. "We'll both be tortured until we go insane, like the Longbottoms. Then we'll be healed, only to be tortured again. I don't know about you, but I'd rather die now."
"You don't sound like Bellatrix Lestrange."
"Bellatrix Lestrange is dead. She died a long time ago. Call it justice, call it mercy, call it vengeance, I don't care. Just put me out of my misery. If you want, you're free to follow, or you can take your chances with the Dark Lord."
Harry held up the hair pin as if it was a dagger and stared at it. He would have given anything for this chance a few days ago, but now it seemed . . . wrong. Logically, he knew that they were both dead the moment Voldemort returned, and what she was asking him was a reasonable out. For both of them. But a part of him couldn't reconcile suicide with the will to live, the strength to fight, that had carried him through his earlier years of the war.
Bellatrix saw the hesitation in his eyes, but she was decided. As far as she was concerned, it was time to die. She lunged toward Harry, grabbed his arm with the hand holding the hair pin and wrenched it toward herself.
The hair pin sunk into her chest and pierced her heart. It was the only possible place that it could have gone that would produce the quantity of blood that poured from the wound. After a second the shock of her actions wore off, and Harry gasped and jumped back, watching as she sunk to the floor, dying with the hair pin in her chest.
"I guess . . . I kind of just went with the flow," she whispered softly.
"What?"
"Your question . . . why I served Voldemort." Bellatrix smiled, really smiled for the first time since he'd known her, her face, though carved with pain, showed a serenity he hadn't expected, and her eyes shone with peace and relief. She sighed and stopped breathing.
He looked down at his hands and saw that they were covered with her blood. Harry began to feel dizzy and sunk to the floor on his knees, settling down next to her. It seemed as if he could hear the footsteps of his captors coming toward the cell, but the sounds seemed so far away and indistinct. The room began spinning and Harry closed his eyes. A chill passed through his body, and in that instant, the illness passed.
Harry was afraid that standing would cause the dizziness to return; so, he blindly stood and backed toward the wall, planning to use it to support himself. Oddly, the wall seemed a little more distant than he had estimated.
After a moment to catch his breath, Harry opened his eyes. To his shock, a teenage version of Bellatrix was standing in front of him. She was easy enough to recognize with her jet-black hair, piercing violet eyes, and arrogant demeanor. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. Her robes were pristine, her face was clean and undamaged, and she had a wand—pointed at Harry's heart.
"Who are you, and how did you get here?" she demanded with a voice laced with anger and fear.