The story made her even more intrigued, but truth be told, the story was what always drew her in to these objects. Eugene knew that about her, and maybe that was why they got on so well. He knew how to spin a tale; a tale of woe, one that would make her heart break for the family, but that also caused a glint in her eye. What if she could wield that power? The power to break those who might hurt her? Who might hurt Narcissa and Draco? Bellatrix was only a person, but blimey did she wish she could be a curse. Even if it meant she never would see her sister or nephew again. At least theyâd be safe. And she could be alone, closed off from the world, and safe.Â
âAn Obscurial?â she asked, eyebrow raising as she stared at the object. Now that kind of power couldnât be taken for granted. Then again, these days, they were rarer than Lord Voldemort himself, taking a step out of the darkness. She didnât believe it, of course, but she wanted to. Eugene would know that. âWell, itâs a rather good story, after all. My uncle likes to tell a similar one, about a great aunt or something on his motherâs side.â Bellatrix shook his head, grinning at Eugene. âThen again, the other half of the family calls her mad, so, whoâs to say whoâs right?â
Her finger gently touched the glass above the emerald and she looked up at him. âDo you think we could put some kind of spell on it?â she asked, looking up at him. âI mean, one that would keep me safe but that could⌠I donât know. Put that curse weâve been talking about on someone else.â The shop was empty, but it was hard not to lower her voice when she said it. Bellatrix was so used to caution these days, even if it irritated her; even if her skin felt disgusting at the thought of being careful.
âSo, I was told.â Eugene wouldnât like about a detail like that. Not to Bellatrix, a loyal and appreciated regular of the store, nor to a stranger, stepping foot into the store for the first and possibly last time. He wouldnât pretend to have more proof of provenance than he did. Even in the field of dark artefacts and questionably legal goods, a reputation was important; forgery and fakery didnât make for a good one.
Eugeneâs lips twitched with the anecdote. âNo such stories in my family. But then, half of them are mad and probably wouldnât remember it.â He was talking about the Flamels, of course. His motherâs side. The side he kept as much distance from as possible. He didnât have a clear reason for it, besides simply disliking them. Not being attached to them. Maybe it was just a Borgin thing; they were a small family, and he liked it that way. And they lived plenty long enough without alchemy to help.
His eyes flicked to the side of Bellatrix, a quick glance to check they were alone. It was a quiet period in a typically quiet shop, and he hadnât heard the bell since sheâd entered. By all signs, they were alone. âI think weâd need to be cautious. If by some miracle, the story about its origins is true, then the magic lingering within couldnât be unpredictably reactive. Butââa grin cracked his faceââif youâre willing to take that risk, I think we can try.â