Kingsley wanted to scream.

Idiot, he thought to himself. She isn't even here yet, fool, and you're hyperventilating.

But the church—why the church, he'd never know—was slightly short of terrifying, even for him. An Auror. A godly, strong, morally stable Auror. Well, the last was a lie, seeing that he was here at all, but still, his judgment previous to this was always sound. Trustworthy.

Typical.

There was a loud bang, and he swiveled around. It was her.

"'Lo, Shacklebolt," she said, making herself comfortable on a pew. "What's with the scar? Greyback, right?"

"In fact, it was," he said, wanting to scratch out her eyes. He hated how she acted so casual, like this was a normal affair, not some demented spin off of a Shakespearean play. "You really ought to sort him out somehow. Maybe a Memory charm or something."

"Whatever, Shacklebolt," she said in a sing-song voice, examining her nails. "Do you like this?"

"What?"

She made a face at him and gestured at the whole of the church. "My palace. Isn't it, for lack of better words, fantastic?"

"It's a fantastic mess," said Kingsley, wishing it would infuriate her, make her kill him. But instead, her expression took an odd turn, pulling her lips downwards, heavy eyelids violet in the dim light.

"Oh," she murmured, looking to her left. "Okay."

They were silent, and she played with her hair, ever the immature.

"Lestrange—"

"Please don't call me that."

Please?

"Bella, than," he said, studying her. "You're acting odd. What's—"

"It's Roddy," she muttered. "He—suspects."

Kingsley resisted the urge to laugh. "Why does it matter? You don't love him, anyway."

"It's more than that," Bellatrix said, her eyes darting towards his. "There's everything. I mean, Cissy. And the Dark Lord. And politics and society and—"

"Bella, you're mad," he said quietly, still in his original place standing with perfect posture. "You don't need to worry about any of those things, honestly, you've told me not to worry, and now—"

"I didn't get to the worst part," she said, looking through the stained glass. "I think I'm pregnant."

Kingsley stared at her. "You've got to be joking."

"I'm not."

Another pause. More discomfort.

"I think I should go now," said Bellatrix, staring at the floor. "For dignity reasons."

"Yeah," said Kingsley. "You—you do that."

He closed his eyes and leaned against the cold stone walls. Felt his cloak against the tiny hole in his shirt. Sighed deeply, trying to understand anything that had been said in the last seven minutes.

Before she Apparated, he swore he saw tears in her eyes.