Harry awoke slowly, studying at the clock on his nightstand. Ten o'clock, he thought, did I sleep all night? Harry then noticed Bellatrix, sitting at her dressing table, dressed in a sheer black silk nightgown and combing her long, straight, lustrous ebony locks. Glancing at a bedroom window, Harry saw a sky nearly as black as his wife's hair and realized he'd slept on the order of twenty-four hours.
Hearing her husband stir, Bellatrix rose from table and moved towards their bed, whereupon Harry discovered that the nearly black translucent nightgown was at that moment the only thing Bellatrix wore. Robbed of speech by her beauty, Harry at first simply stared at the sensuous form of his wife. Finally, blinking and shaking his head, his groggily asked, "Everything go okay?"
"The rescue went off without any trouble," Bellatrix told him simply. "However, there were some slight deviations in the plan."
"What?" Harry asked.
"Like you setting the bloody forest on fire!" Bellatrix snapped, now standing at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips.
Made more alert by the sudden sharpness of her tone, Harry responded defensively. "I thought it would make a nice statement to Tom."
Bellatrix then jerked off her nightgown in a huff, causing Harry to close his eyes for fear of losing the power of thought. Harry felt Bellatrix pull back the covers on the left side of the bed. "It made a great statement, I'm sure," Bellatrix hissed. "But, it left you completely incapacitated! You were defenseless. What if you had been attacked? What would have happened if that Weasley girl or the Longbottom boy had decided to slit your throat when they saw you weak?"
"Bella," Harry said slowly, opening his eyes to meet his wife's gaze, forcing himself to ignore the reaction her bare nearness irresistibly elicited. "Neville Longbottom is as good as they come, and I trust Ginny Weasley completely."
"Why is that?" Bellatrix demanded, as she closed the space between them. "Did she always bring you hot cocoa in bed when the two of you dated?"
Harry reflexively then turned on his left side to cuddle, before Bellatrix wrapped him in her arms and shifted to her right, pulling herself completely astride her husband, wrapping herself tightly around him. Now understanding the reasons for her sharp tone, Harry gently reached up, cupping Bellatrix's face with his hands, affection flooding the forefront of his mind as he deeply peered into her beloved violet eyes.
Bellatrix was again wearing her mask, her placidly expectant, almost haughty expression, making Harry smile to himself as he realized how well he had learned to read his young wife. Beneath her imperious exterior, Harry could clearly see insecurity and yearning, emotions betrayed by her faintly dilated pupils, her scarcely raised eyebrows, her scantly parted lips. The expression on Bellatrix's face could have probably frightened Ginny and Neville to death, but beneath that icy mask shivered vulnerability and want, of which Bellatrix herself was likely barely unaware. But Harry knew just what his bride needed to hear.
"The Ginny Weasley I once knew," Harry said deliberately, "was a smart, strong, skilled witch, who could be fearsome and fearless in defense of the people she loved." He gently pulled her face closer to his, now feeling the warm of her breath on his lips. "But the most talented, most powerful, most beautiful witch I've ever met already married me. I have no wish-ever-to share my bed with anyone else."
Bellatrix blushed as she closed her eyes, lips now parted as her breathing hitched, her fingers filled with Harry's unruly hair as she kissed him desperately. With urgency, Bellatrix tugged off Harry's pajamas, tossing tops and bottoms together heedlessly onto the bedroom floor. Harry felt himself grow almost drunk, lightheaded and dizzy with the bliss of his wife's kisses, fleetingly aware that he could no longer blame blood loss. Their eager hands dueled and danced, overmatching inexperience with perceptive dexterity, now nakedly vulnerable and rich with desire as Harry and Bellatrix surrendered, each to the other.
.....
Warily, Alastor Moody proceeded down the London street on which sat the lamppost he and Harry Ashworth had once used as a means of communication. He soon spotted the lamppost, and with his hand fingering his wand warily, he moved toward it, his eyes only barely darting to confirm that James Potter and Sirius Black were covering him.
Bellatrix Black had seen fit to respond to the Order's message, sent via Kreacher, and she had instructed Moody that he would find the location of the meeting on the lamppost, at precisely three in the afternoon. From there, he would be given directions to the meeting place. He would have to proceed to that place immediately, and she would meet him there. If he did not show by five minutes after the hour, she would be gone. Moody grudgingly gave her credit for her caution. The Order would not be able to stake out or otherwise inspect the meeting place prior to the meeting.
Moody arrived at the lamppost and examined it. The writing on the post was the same as it had been over twenty years previous. Scowling, Moody glanced at a clock in a storefront display and found that he still had a few minutes before the appointed time. Feeling awkward, Moody stood looking at the lamppost until three, when the writing abruptly changed, giving the name and location of a small tea shop in Glasgow.
"Smart," he growled, realizing that apparating to Glasgow would take time and magical energy. Working quickly with his five minute window, Moody used his wand to copy the information onto the sidewalk next to the lamppost, so that James and Sirius would be able to follow before apparating north to Scotland.
....
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