Chapter 1
Her thick, raven-black curls were once again meticulously confined within a tight, elegant bun, a skillful creation born from her mother’s deft hands that had tamed Bellatrix’s wild mane countless times before. Yet, this confinement felt suffocating to her; Bellatrix much preferred the untamed chaos of her hair, a freedom she savored only on rare occasions during her time at Hogwarts. As she glared at her reflection, frustration simmering beneath the surface, she waved her wand with a flourish, casting charms that accentuated her sharp, striking features—her lashes luxuriously thicker and her lips blossoming into a dark, crimson hue.
With a heavy sigh that seemed to slice through the oppressive silence of her room, she felt the weight of the stillness around her. Flickering candlelight struggled valiantly against the encroaching darkness, casting dancing shadows that flitted across the walls of her expansive chamber tucked away in the east wing of the Black Manor. On her bed lay waiting a stunning long black gown, its collar shaped in a sweeping rectangle, and lace sleeves flowing gracefully down to her fingertips, elegant black flowers and gems decorating it.
She adorned her neck with a delicate silver necklace, each link glimmering softly in the light, while the perfectly cut rubies gleamed with a rich, deep red that harmonized beautifully with the sparkling jewels of the bracelet her younger sister, Andromeda, had gifted her the previous year. Long dangling earrings hung from her ears.
On this day, the first of August, as she celebrated her seventeenth birthday, Bellatrix found herself in a whirlpool of emotions. With this newfound age came the freedom to wield magic outside the walls of Hogwarts without fear of consequence, though she is not particularly thrilled by the prospect. After all, countless times she had danced around the rules, casting spells with abandon, all the while remaining blissfully undetected in the shadows of her own reckless enchantment.
But perhaps, she mused, there was an essence of adulthood—an embrace of the unknown and a daring plunge into the shadows where her desires could truly flourish.
The grand celebration marking her birthday was set to start in just over an hour, with the foreboding Black Manor poised to unveil its ancient wards, inviting guests into its shadowy embrace. Inside, the air crackled with anticipation, as the invitees—a mix of esteemed members from the renowned House of Black, a select cadre of influential ministry officials, and the revered sacred 28 pureblood families—assembled for an evening steeped in significance. This was no ordinary affair; it was an opulent gathering meticulously orchestrated by her ambitious parents, who harbored aspirations to strengthen their family's standing among the elite. Whispers of potential matches echoed through the hallowed halls, as her parents undoubtedly pondered her future union with one of the illustrious families from the sacred 28.
She rose gracefully from her ornate vanity, a flourish of shimmering fabric cascading as she slipped into the form-fitting gown. With a determined stride, she left her room behind and navigated the convoluted corridors of the Black Manor, shadows dancing along the walls. As Bellatrix approached the great hall, the sounds of her mother’s commanding voice echoed through the labyrinthine halls, mingling with the hurried, high-pitched replies of the house elves, tirelessly toiling away in preparation.
As she stepped into the grand hall, each click of her heels resonated against the polished marble floor, deliberately amplifying her presence. Her mother, Druella Black, turned sharply at the sound, her keen ice blue eyes locking onto Bellatrix with an intensity that momentarily silenced the flurry of activity around her. The regal matriarch had been mercilessly instructing the timid house elf at her feet, but now all attention shifted to her daughter.
Druella Black stands tall, her long blond hair falling in a smooth waterfall down to the small of her back, only curling halfway down. She adorns herself in an elegant dark navy gown that drapes gracefully around her figure, the fabric shimmering subtly as it catches the light. Adorned with gems that twinkle like distant stars in an expansive night sky.
“Bellatrix, there you are. Good. Your dressed. Come here,” Mother commanded, her gaze meticulously assessing Bellatrix from the tight bun in her hair to the elegant hem of her gown, revealing the unyielding expectation in her scrutinizing stare.
“I want no surprises today,” Mother declared firmly, her voice laced with an almost desperate undertone. She turned her gaze towards Bellatrix, who had just arrived at her side, eyeing the opulent spread of desserts that adorned the long, polished table. The sugary confections sparkled under the soft glow of the crystal chandeliers, yet the sweetness in the air did little to lighten the tension between them. “You will listen to your father, and perhaps at least entertain the notion of searching for some suitable suitors—boys you can tolerate.”
Bellatrix let out a heavy sigh. “Mother, you know I have no choice in the matter, even if I were to look. Father has his heart set on marrying me off to the Malfoy brat,” she spat, her words dripping with disdain as she rolled her eyes at her mother’s horrified gasp.
“Bellatrix, I cannot bear to hear such words from your lips, especially not in front of your father or the guests tonight!” Mother’s eyes widened, her expression a blend of shock and disapproval.
“Of course, Mother. I would never dream of it,” Bellatrix replied sweetly, a secret smile creeping onto her lips as she secretly relished the irony. After all, she had openly referred to Lucius Malfoy as that very name to his face at Hogwarts, Lucius smirking as he throws an insult right back whenever she does.
Druella Black exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound refined yet unmistakably irritated. “I trust you will behave tonight, Bellatrix. You have done nothing but that, thankfully, as of late. Maturing you must finally be doing.”
Bellatrix offered a curt nod, her face a canvas devoid of emotion, while her sharp, penetrating eyes remained fixed on her mother’s face.
As Druella observed Bellatrix, her shoulders eased slightly, an expression so similar to care flickering across her features, only to stiffen again when the grand clock in the hall chimed, marking the final hour before guests would flood through the ornate doors of Black Manor. The house elves, bustling like a swarm of industrious bees, darted about in a frenzied dance, their small forms a blur against the backdrop of opulent decor. The rich aroma of fine wine mixed with the enticing scents of freshly prepared delicacies wafted through the air, intertwining seamlessly with the faint echoes of ancient magic woven deep within the very stones of their ancestral home.
Druella drew in a measured breath, regaining her composure amid the rising tension. “Your father expects you to remain by his side for the opening greetings,” she instructed, the gravity of her tone underlining the importance of the evening’s expectations.
“Yes,” Bellatrix replied automatically, her voice flat, the words carrying the weight of obligation. “I know my role.” It was the role of the perfect daughter, forever ensnared by the suffocating strands of expectation, existing in silent subservience. And Bellatrix reminded herself, she will endure it, for her family. For the house of Black.
“You would do well to remember it.”
—
As the night grew deeper, Bellatrix remained poised at her father’s side, exchanging pleasantries and false smiles with each passing guest. The air was thick with the scent of aged wine, expensive perfume, and the subtle musk of burning candles, the chandeliers dripped with enchanted light, all blending into a haze with the murmur of pureblood elites exchanging pleasantries. She sipped sparingly from her goblet, the rich, spiced mead coating her tongue, but failing to dull the irritation that simmered just beneath the surface of her carefully crafted mask.
Finally catching a breath of fresh air amid the long, monotonous conversation swirling about her, Bellatrix seized the moment to excuse herself from the lords and ladies of Houses Fawley and Travers. A pressing concern for her sisters’ whereabouts surged in her mind, propelling her into motion. With a swift turn, she navigated through the crowd, her presence commanding as she nodded graciously and waved her hand in acknowledgment at every familiar face that glanced her way.
Yet, a grimace twisted internally when her gaze landed on a striking figure with an unnatural platinum blond mane, standing with an easy grace near the towering dessert table. Lucius Malfoy has undeniably transformed since his third year at Hogwarts, now that he is entering his fourth year. He is considerably taller, his once short hair now cascading down to his shoulders, meticulously cared for and flawlessly combed. It is clear that he is deliberately growing it out, embracing the iconic image of a Malfoy—long, pale hair that serves as a symbol of his lineage and pride.
Intrigued, Bellatrix leaned around the sea of swirling robes and jeweled accessories, her eyes narrowing as she sought to uncover the identity of the companion engaging Lucius Malfoy in such an animated discussion. It was a sight she had never anticipated: Malfoy’s usually aloof demeanor melted into something uncharacteristically tender. His gaze remained glued to the other’s face, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips, as if the world around him had faded into mere background noise.
A laugh bubbled in her chest, ready to burst forth if only the occasion had been lighter. But as she leaned closer, peering with a mix of curiosity and humour, only to feel a familiar sense of magic flared to life within her—an angry heat thrumming in her veins, racing to the tips of her fingers, when she laid eyes on the person Lucius Malfoy could not take his eyes off of.
It was inconceivable that Malfoy, of all people, would engage in such familiarity with her youngest sister, Narcissa. A protective instinct ignited in her, sharp and instinctual, as she slowly stalked through the crowd like a panther honing in on its unsuspecting prey, her keen eyes fixated solely on the two figures entwined in their conversation.
She advanced with purpose, each step deliberate and controlled, though a tempest raged beneath her composed exterior. Her gown whispered against the polished marble, a warning before the storm. The warmth of the candlelight did nothing to thaw the chill that gripped her as she neared the two figures, her piercing gaze locked onto Lucius Malfoy, who remained entirely oblivious to the dark force drawing near.
Narcissa stood beneath the shimmering chandelier, her luxurious blonde hair cascading like a waterfall of silk, each strand glinting in the soft, opulent light. She tilted her head ever so slightly, a gentle smile illuminating her delicate features, radiating an air of warmth and quiet admiration that sliced through the atmosphere in a way that sent a sharp spike of irritation racing through Bellatrix’s chest.
Lucius Malfoy, with his infuriatingly arrogant demeanor, was completely engrossed in Narcissa’s presence, oblivious to the brewing tempest beside him. His gloved fingers gracefully lifted a single golden goblet, offering it to her sister with a flourish that spoke of practiced elegance. Though Bellatrix strained to catch his words, they escaped her grasp like smoke.
In an instant, Bellatrix closed the distance, her presence commanding and fierce.
“Narcissa,” she greeted, her voice smooth yet edged with menace, like a blade cloaked in silk.
Lucius turned at the sound, surprise flickering across his face before he regained his composure, smirking at the familiar presence. “Ah, Bellatrix. How delightful it is to see you grace us with your presence,” he drawled.
Narcissa’s blue eyes widened slightly, betraying a flicker of apprehension before she collected herself, adopting a mask of practiced tranquility. “Bella,” she offered, her tone cautious, reminiscent of someone attempting to calm a cornered beast. “How have you been?”
“Splendid,” Bellatrix replied, the sweetness of her tone betraying the coldness in her gaze as it locked onto Narcissa’s matching silver eyes. She turned her attention back to Lucius, a predatory gleam lighting her features. “A fine evening indeed, Lucius. Pray, enlighten me on the fervent discourse you and my baby sister have been engaged in?” Her voice lowered, dipped in danger.
Lucius chuckled nervously, the tension evident in the sudden glint of panic that flashed in his pale eyes. “You wound me, Bellatrix. Can’t a gentleman enjoy the company of a charming lady without drawing suspicion?”
Bellatrix’s lips curled into a smirk, her piercing gaze dissecting every subtle shift in his demeanor, peeling back layers to uncover his hidden truths. “A gentleman?” she echoed, tilting her head with an air of mocking incredulity. “How curious. I was under the impression that I was conversing with you.”
Narcissa sighed, the sound heavy. “Bella,” she interjected, casting a warning glance toward her sister, a futile attempt to diffuse her sister’s sarcasm.
Lucius merely chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing at the teasing jab. “And here I thought we were friends,” he mused.
Bellatrix scoffed, her voice like ice. “You dream far too much, Lucius.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “You wound me again, dear Bellatrix.”
“Not nearly as much as I wish I could,” she retorted, a playful malice dancing in her eyes. “Have you been keeping up with your Quidditch practice?”
“Ah, not as faithfully as I ought to. You must understand, my father is quite relentless in his expectations, bombarding me with training to prepare me for the title of lord.”
Bellatrix hummed thoughtfully, a sharp smile curling her lips. “I shall be sure to inform Rodolphus,” she teased, reveling in the tension of her words as Lucius visibly paled at the thought of facing the Quidditch Captain's ire.
Her smirk deepened as she watched him wince, a flicker of amusement in her gaze. “He’ll kill me,” he replied, desperation creeping into his voice.
“I won’t breathe a word of it,” Bellatrix declared with feigned innocence, “if you promise to keep your distance from my sister.”
Narcissa let out a weary sigh, her delicate hand curling gently around Bellatrix’s arm as she cast a fleeting apology toward her yearmate. “Forgive her, Lucius. She is simply exhausted,” she said, her voice soft yet filled with an undertone of concern.
Lucius chuckled lightly, his bright blue eyes twinkling with warmth as they met Narcissa’s gaze. The intimacy of the moment caused Bellatrix to narrow her eyes with suspicion. Narcissa, sensing the tension, instinctively pulled her sister away into the crowd, her eyes lingering on Lucius for a heartbeat longer before shifting her focus back to Bellatrix.
With a sharp scoff, Bellatrix reluctantly allowed herself to be guided back. She tossed a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness. “Enjoy your evening, Malfoy. But do be mindful of where you tread,” she warned, her tone teasing yet edged with a hint of menace.
Narcissa wasted no time leading her sister away, her grip firm as they wove through the elegantly dressed purebloods in the hall. When they were finally out of earshot, she exhaled sharply. “Must you always do this?”
With a flicker of mischief in her dark eyes, Bellatrix noticed their younger cousins, two boys who were standing in the corner, whispering and giggling at one another's' jokes. “Ah, look, our baby cousins,” she said, using their innocent antics as a distraction from Narcissa’s probing question.
I’m going to go find Andy,” Narcissa replied, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation as she rolled her eyes at the obvious deviation from the topic at hand. With an elegant flourish, she waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve already spoken with Sirius and Reg. It seems they are doing quite well these days. Enjoy your party, Bella.”
“I’ll track you and Andy down later,” Bellatrix replied, a playful smile gracing her lips as she turned her attention towards the tall arched window. There, her younger cousins were engaged in a hushed conversation, blissfully ignorant of the lively party that surrounded them.
“You haven’t even wished me a happy birthday yet, cousins.” Bellatrix drawled, a teasing smirk playing on her face as she stepped into their space, a snake creeping towards mice. Sirius and Regulus jumped in surprise, snapping their heads in her direction, their expressions wide with shock, as though they had been caught red-handed in a secret they were not meant to share.
Sirius, still just a spirited nine years old, stood a head shorter than Bellatrix, his usual wild dark locks now were forced neatly atop his head, a few waves tickling his ear. He wore a crisp grey vest that contrasted sharply with the white blouse peeking out, and tailored trousers that gave him an air of youthful sophistication, even amidst the chaos of the celebration.
Regulus, a year younger than his brother Sirius, wore a striking black vest. His trousers matched, creating an ensemble that exuded a sense of elegance. The fabric of the vest caught the light just right, revealing subtle textures that hinted at a quiet confidence. His curls are looser, but similarly tamed with hair gel as Bellatrix’s.
“Bella!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice bursting with enthusiasm, a wide grin illuminating his young features. The charming facade he wore was only partially effective against the keen, penetrating gaze of Bellatrix, who saw right through his act.
“Good evening, Bella. Happy birthday,” came Regulus’s voice next, softer and imbued with a refined elegance that stood in stark contrast to his brother's exuberance, despite being the younger of the two.
Bellatrix let out a hum, her eyes glimmering with mischief as she shifted her gaze between her two cousins. “Thank you, Regulus. You’ve always been my more favorite cousin,” she replied, the sharp smile on her face matching the tone.
"Hey!” Sirius exclaimed with a flair of exasperation, his voice tinged with a drama. “I’m far better at dueling, remember? You even said so yourself!” He took a bold step forward, his posture shifting as he straightened his back, almost as if trying to will himself to tower over Bellatrix in that very moment.
“I never said such a thing, Sirius,” Bellatrix retorted, a sly smirk curling her lips as she recalled their playful sparring sessions. “And I only ever dueled you out of the two of you because you begged so pitifully.” Her laughter rang out, remembering where Sirius often found himself toppled to the ground, lamenting how he was sure he would beat her one day.
Sirius crossed his arms defiantly, huffing as he declared, “I’ll show you! I will become the greatest wizard of all time; I’ll bring pride to the House of Black!” His voice echoed with fierce determination, the fire of ambition sparking in his eyes.
Bellatrix leaned back slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she regarded her cousin with a mix of amusement and condescension. “Oh, really? Can the mightiest duelist possibly break through an ancient ward?” Her tone was soft yet laced with sarcasm, as if she were toying with him. The glimmer of mischief in her eyes betrayed her delight at his bravado. “I’ve heard that the Black vaults hidden within this very manor are protected by formidable wards—casted by our powerful ancestors centuries ago. So intricate that even the most skilled spellcasters struggle to penetrate them. And you, dear cousin, despite your self-proclaimed title as the best duelist, still find yourself bested by me time and again. Tell me, how will you combat true brilliance?”
Regulus stepped closer with wide, eager eyes, practically radiating enthusiasm. “I’ve been reading about wards! They’re absolutely fascinating,” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with excitement. “Do you know how to cast them?” The innocence and curiosity of his youth shone through the mask that the Black descendants have been trained to maintain.
Bellatrix smirked, her lips curling into a knowing grin as she tilted her head, allowing Regulus’s fervent enthusiasm to wash over her like a wave. “Of course, Regulus,” she drawled, her voice smooth and inviting, as she twirled a loose strand of her dark, silken hair between her slender fingers. “Warding is an art—far more sophisticated than merely hurling hexes in the heat of a duel. It requires a delicate blend of patience and self-control… qualities that, I daresay, some seem to lack entirely.” Her silver eyes glinted mischievously as they flicked meaningfully toward Sirius, whose expression twisted into a comical scrunch of immediate protest.
“Excuse me!” Sirius exclaimed, a flush of indignation coloring his cheeks. His voice rose, filled with exasperation. “I have patience! And intelligence! And—I bet I could break through any ward if I truly wanted to!”
Bellatrix let out a low, melodic chuckle, thoroughly amused by his fervent outburst. “Oh, undoubtedly,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she watched the flush deepen on his face at her mockery.
Regulus, his eyes shining with genuine interest, interjected. “Maybe you could show me sometime, Bella? How you create a ward?” His voice was earnest, brimming with admiration for his sister's talents.
Bellatrix let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. “Regulus, I would gladly show you someday. Sirius, if only you possessed the remarkable ambition that dear Reg has.”
Sirius bristled, his frustration palpable.
“It is always such a delight conversing with the two of you,” Bellatrix mused, her demeanor shifting as she stepped back, expertly schooling her expression into one of practiced elegance. “But alas, I must be off now. There are far too many people to engage with this evening.”
“I will show you I’m worthy of this family,” Sirius grit out through clenched teeth, determination lacing his words.
Bellatrix’s piercing gaze narrowed as she peered into the veiled narrative of the declaration, sensing its unspoken weight. A flicker of understanding crossed her mind—perhaps Aunt Walburg, with her relentless scrutiny, had instilled a deep sense of unworthiness in her cousin, the heir. The burden of lofty expectations hung heavy upon his shoulders, and it was no surprise that his demeanor often radiated a storm of frustration, a reflection of the pressure he felt to fulfill a legacy that loomed over him like a relentless shadow.
Bellatrix composed herself, plastering a smirk on her face as she turned on her heel. “I look forward to your feeble attempt, dearest cousin,” she called over her shoulder, her voice tinged with challenge, before she gracefully slipped into the throng of mingling guests, leaving a trail of intrigue in her wake.
—
The grand halls of Black Manor had begun to empty, the once-lively chatter fading into murmurs as the evening drew to a close. The purebloods bid their farewells, glasses were abandoned on silver trays, and the last flickers of enchanted candlelight danced along the polished floors.
Bellatrix hid her waning patience behind her Occlumency, though she knew that she had played her part—smiling, charming, making conversation with those who mattered. She spoke with potential candidates for her hand in marriage, all pathetic.
She was certainly delighted to find her yearmate and dear friend Opal Flint at the celebration, the two of them making plans to visit Diagon Alley before school starts together, which also brings with it a visit to Knockturn Alley.
Just as she was on the way to look for her father, suddenly, from the corner of her eye she spotted two figures slipping out of the large double doors to the entrance of the Great Hall, slipping out of sight, into the darkened corridors beyond the ballroom.
Sirius and Regulus.
A sly smirk danced upon Bellatrix’s lips as she observed the boys moving with unmistakable intent, their heads leaned in close, engaged in whispered conversation. Whatever mischief they were concocting, it was clear they sought to remain unseen. That alone stirred a thrilling curiosity within her—the prospect of investigation beckoned.
Only after following the shadows of the Great Hall and skillfully stepping out to the dark shrouded halls behind the looming doors of the hall unnoticed, did Bellatrix, with a practiced flick of her wand, send a silent Disillusionment spell to envelop her. The cool shimmer cascading over her form as the air around her warped, cloaking her in invisibility. Like a wisp of smoke, she glided forward, her movements as silent as a shadow.
The boys moved swiftly, their footsteps barely whispering against the cold, polished marble floors as they traversed the manor’s labyrinthine hallways with an ease born of familiarity. They navigated the sprawling mansion to its bottom most floors, searching.
“The Black Vault,” Sirius muttered under his breath, determination lacing his voice. “It has to be down here somewhere.”
Bellatrix stifled a laugh. Oh, this was rich.
Regulus hesitated, darting glances around as if wary of the very walls that seemed to lean in, intent on eavesdropping. “Sirius... I don’t think this is a good idea.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, trepidation evident. “Father would be furious if she found out. And Mother—”
“I will show them,” Sirius interjected, his tone fierce yet hushed, burning with intensity. “I will show them I am worthy of this family. The heir they can actually be proud of. If I can navigate the enchantments laid by our ancestors, then—” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, as if gathering courage for the impending storm. “Then no one will ever doubt me as a Black. Mother would be proud, Reggie.”
Bellatrix’s smirk widened, her amusement growing.
So that was it.
His desperate yearning for validation was palpable.
Regulus shifted uneasily, glancing about as though the shadows themselves were judging him. “But the vault—it's protected by—”
“I know it’s protected,” Sirius snapped, the fervor in his voice hinting at his resolve rather than fury. “That’s the whole point. If I can breach those defenses, it proves I deserve my place here.”
Bellatrix leaned back against the cool stone wall, utterly entertained by this spectacle, listening intently as Sirius boldly proclaimed his challenge to their own bloodline as if it were an epic duel. He was just nine—barely adept enough to cast a proper Stunning Spell—and yet here he stood, speaking as though he could unravel centuries of intricate magic with nothing but sheer willpower.
It was absurd. It was reckless.
The thought of him daring to challenge the vault's formidable defenses ignited a delightful sense of amusement within her. He wouldn’t even come close.
Regulus let out a subdued sigh, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Sirius, undeterred and already pressing onward, brushed off his brother’s concerns.
Bellatrix considered revealing herself, perhaps making a dramatic entrance just as Sirius inevitably stumbled in his quest, relishing the front-row seat to his frustration. But no, it was far more thrilling to remain hidden, a silent observer of this unfolding drama.
She trailed behind, her wand gripped loosely in her hand, her strides slow yet long, eagerly anticipating just how far the ambitious child would push before reality caught up with his lofty dreams.
Tonight’s entertainment has just begun.