i. 𝕭𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔵
( 𝕸𝔦𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝕺𝔦𝔩 ! )
ONE: BELLATRIX
❛ Finding a Moonflower. ❜
⋆ ﾟ 𐦍༘⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏𓆗 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ﾟ🜲.
Bellatrix resisted the urge to snarl after a man had rudely shoved past her on the busy sidewalk. Instead she pushed herself to continue on this seemingly endless trek. It had been hours since she'd set out on the streets of the bustling city of London, and the winter chill was still quite prevalent in this early February evening.
That she had been pulled away from her sister and nephew in the midst of their sacred rituals of Imbolc was absurd, though at the very least Kreacher had waited until the rituals themselves were over and saved her from the quiet but crowded dinner at the Malfoy Manor amidst all those who had come at Lady Malfoy's invitation. Including their own parents, who Bellatrix had been hopelessly avoiding since her divorce. That the summons had been from Aunt Walburga, the Lady of House Black, was an entirely different manner. One taken much more seriously, and to be fulfilled dutifully lest they chance their formidable aunt's temper.
⋆ ﾟ 𐦍༘⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏𓆗 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ﾟ🜲.
"Must you leave so soon?" Narcissa asked softly, holding onto Bellatrix's hand tightly in between her own two hands.
"Aunt Walburga awaits, Cissy," Bellatrix grinned, "You know better than I that it can be considered quite rude to leave the Lady of the House waiting on a summons."
"As if you'd ever cared about propriety," Narcissa scoffed lowly, shaking her head as she withheld her urge to roll her eyes. Her soft, pale blonde curls bounced about her shoulders at the movement, but remained perfectly styled in their rolling curls.
Bellatrix paused for a second as she glanced around the room. Narcissa and Bellatrix had moved away from the guests who had all congregated in the dining room for a proper dinner. But when Kreacher had appeared, disrupting the peace that had lingered from their contemplations and introspective prayers, Narcissa, as Lady of the House, had followed her husband Lucius' recommendation they take this to another room. So currently they were in the library's sitting area, Kreacher stood expectantly at the door, awaiting for Bellatrix to join him in apparating to Grimmauld Place. Finally, Bellatrix glanced over towards her sister and noted the way she wrung her hands together, an imperceptible and subtle version of a nervous habit she'd had as a child, but one Bellatrix was keen on recognizing after spending an entire childhood with her youngest sister all the same.
"I'll be back soon," Bellatrix reassured softly, voice hushed, as she gripped her sister's hands back, stilling them from their anxious fidgeting.
After a moment, Narcissa took a steadying breath. Her voice was so quiet, so small, Bellatrix was thrown into the past, a memory of her little sister coming to her in the dead of night, crawling into her bed, asking her to chase the nightmares away. "You don't think they finally found...?"
Bellatrix's grip on her sister tightened, an action reciprocated. A piece of her heart hurt at the reminder of their loss, their younger cousin who had been more like a little brother to them, the poor silver prince of House Black who had perished mysteriously. "It's been just over two years, Cissa," Bellatrix's low response still seems to echo in the silent room. Her eyes flicker over to Kreacher, and then she shakes her head. "Though I wish it were so, you and I both know that Kreacher would be much more impatient than he usually is."
Narcissa nodded, her expression shifting as she swallowed down her own grief as a wound reopened unintentionally. She glanced over to the grouch house elf's form, who was indeed standing impatiently, watching them intently. "Then I must not keep you," Narcissa took a steadying breath before taking a step back. Their hands remained linked until they were forced to part of the warm contact. Her face and demeanor finally regained their proper composure of a lady of a great lordly house such as she. "I shall await your prompt return."
Bellatrix sent a crooked smirk back at her sister, as she allowed the thoughts of a boy who had been like their little brother to fade from her mind. She stepped closer to Kreacher, and before they knew it, they were popping out of Malfoy Manor and reappearing in Grimmauld Place.
What she was greeted with was more or less what she had expected. At least, initially it seemed so.
"Well, that certainly took you long enough."
There, in the sitting room, sat Walburga on her chair, back straight and head held high, like a queen holding court on her throne. A glass of wine rested in one of her hands, which looked as if she had been nursing for quite some time, swirling around in its clear glass cup to pass the time. Odd, considering Walburga seldom drank unless it was required for a social custom. 'One was less in control of oneself when one drank more than they should,' Walburga had always spouted to her.
"Considering you called me away in the midst of our Imbolc rituals, you could imagine my sweet sister's reluctance and displeasure at seeing me go immediately." Bellatrix spoke, examining her aunt before her.
Walburga's own composure remained unchanged, her eyes ever narrowed in sharp observance of those before her. "Then you'll give my apologies to Lady Malfoy for the intrusion."
Bella inclined her head in a single nod, still a little confused on why she had been brought to her aunt. "But of course, Aunt." Bellatrix mocked a bow, her arms sweeping around her in the gestures over exaggeratedly. One may even infer it was disrespectful, in front of a Lady of the House.
"Impertinent child, do you never learn?" But the chastisement had none of Walburga's usual bite, only mirth and amusement clear in her voice if not in the smirking-smile that grew affectionately warm on her usually stoic face. "Come here, child, let me have a look at you."
Bellatrix grinned, stepping forward and kneeling in front of the older woman, allowing her to take her face in her hands, and examine her. "It's good to see you, Aunt."
"How I have missed your ferocity in my house, Nightshade," Walburga murmurs gently, taking in the face of her favorite niece.
Bellatrix had always taken great pride in being the coveted favourite of Lady Walburga. Knowing that the woman, who had only dutifully had children for the sake of their line, had always thought of her as the daughter she had always wanted. In truth, Bellatrix had spent much more time under the care and training of her aunt than her sisters, taken under her aunt's wing and groomed to be a proper lady by her aunt rather than her own mother, who had spent more time and attention training Narcissa and Andromeda.
"I have a favour I need of you to fulfill, my Belladonna," Walburga speaks haltingly, voice hushed into a quiet whisper, worn hands leaving Bellatrix's face and moving to take her own hands in her grasp.
"What is it?" Bellatrix asks curiously, inspecting the older woman. Her face was wrinkling with her age, but ever beautiful, as was the allure of those in their house, with dark hair greying and those sharp, dark grey eyes of hers, much darker than the eyes of Bellatrix' own father. Bellatrix had her aunt's same eyes, a darker stormy grey than that of her sisters. Narcissa seemed to have the blue of the Rosier line mixed into her silver-grey eyes, and Andromeda's eyes were of a regular, lighter grey like their father.
But there was a lightness to her countenance that Bellatrix was just now noticing in her aunt's demeanour. A light of hope to chase away the darkness of her despair as had been her wont since the death of their prince of the House, her youngest son Regulus. Which had only darkened in the unfair arrest and imprisonment of her eldest yet disowned son Sirius. It gave Bellatrix pause, seeing it lighting her aunt's eyes in a way she had thought forever gone with Regulus.
"There has been a child," Walburga says softly, her hope heavily evident in her rasping voice. A happiness rising in her that left Bellatrix stunned, much more so by the words themselves than her aunt's show of emotion, but nonetheless affected by it. And yet a spark of green envy bloomed within her, knowing someone else in their family had gotten that which she had always wanted. "A blossoming bud on the family tree. Come, let me show you!"
Bellatrix stumbled after her aunt up the stairs and to the room dedicated to their family tree. She saw the altar where her aunt had undoubtedly practiced the ritual for Imbolc, the gemstones and herbs and unlit yet burnt candle's wick clear evidence of that enough. She passed the nightshade flowers surrounding her own face and name, as well as the burnt-out face of her sister Andromeda with white, dropping pieris japonica flowers; as well as the serenely beautiful face of her sister Narcissa with the bright white and yellow daffodils of the narcissus flower. Under Narcissa was the Snapdragon flowers of young Draco, as the flowers of Narcissa's place on the tree branched out and formed a connection with a new tree, a symbolic demonstration to her marriage with Lucius Malfoy— a similar show of that was clearly seen with cousin Lucretia's marriage to Ignatius Prewett, the half-British, half-American adventurer who had charmed their own adventurous spirit of a daughter in the family.
Beneath the withered Dusty Miller sprouting leaves of the deceased Lord Orion, and the Silver Anouk Lavender of her aunt Walburga's portraiture in the family tree tapestry, were the withering blooms of the purple gladiolus "sword lily" flowers of her cousin Sirius, and the wilted dark indigo blossoms of their silver prince Regulus. Her eyes lingered on the indigo's shriveled petals, missing the sight of the plant that often seemed to linger around Regulus, who took to the significance of his family tree representation with just as much meaning as Bellatrix and Narcissa themselves had. Though none had thought the meaning of an indigo, symbolizing wisdom, integrity, balance, and mystery would lead to his disappearance and subsequent unknown death in the midst of the war. To this day, Narcissa always nursed a small square in her garden dedicated to the plants and flowers of her most favourite and beloved flowers and plants of their family tree. But it was the branch that grew from the burnt-out circle of what was once Sirius Orion Black that drew her surprise, more than her grief.
"Our moonflower," Walburga's voice was soft, yet filled with an age-old pride that Bellatrix had not heard in years.
A beautiful white morning glory sprouted from the branch, near glowing in the light of the dying morning that shone from the singular skylight window in the room.
"I don't see..." Bellatrix mumbles, eyes searching for whoever it could have been that ensnared Sirius' affections, but there was none. "Is the child illegitimate?" Bellatrix asks in surprise, turning to her aunt.
There had been illegitimate offspring in the course of history for their house, littering the tree, but usually, that was not the case. Their family took to the traditions of powerful magical unions in their marriage much more seriously than other houses, and so unlike ancient houses like Malfoy that had in the past used the tradition of mistresses to give them heirs when an official marriage proved unfruitful, the Ancient House of Black had instead weathered the storm of the decline in births.
"Which is the reason I have asked for you, my Nightshade." Walburga comes closer to her side, taking her trembling hands in hers. "You must find this new heir, and I want you to use the ancient rituals to make this child your own."
"You would allow me...?" Bellatrix's voice thickens with emotion, eyes welling with unshed tears.
"A shame, how Lestrange intended to dishonour you so," Walburga speaks, in her usual stern tone, taking on the venom of her ire when speaking of Bellatrix's lout of an ex-husband. "But my Belladonna, you bore it so well, divorced him and took what was yours by right, my vicious nightshade. And you would have been such a wonderful mother."
Bellatrix let her tears fall, grief she had not allowed herself to feel over the miscarriages and stillborn of her would-be son she had suffered since their initial tragedy.
"You, my girl, deserve better than to bear the heir of a house like Lestrange." Walburga speaks, her hand moving to nudge Bellatrix's chin up so that their eyes could meet. "So you will find the heir of our Ancient and Noble House Black, and then you shall raise this child in the ways and traditions of our house, as you see fit."
"You would not want to raise the child yourself?" Bellatrix asks.
Walburga shakes her head, "I am an old woman, well beyond her days of motherhood, my Belladonna. But you, you my darling girl, could do what I could not, raise an heir worthy of the name to bring our house out of the shadows of our decline."
"What if the child is not of pure blood?" Bellatrix asks, "Knowing Sirius, the child could be halfblood, from a muggle mother. What about our words, Always Pure?"
"Our blood has been thinning for years," Walburga says after a moment of thought. Walburga sighs, "Is it not the reason that you were unable to bear a child? The reason Narcissa had only been able to give Lucius one heir? I realize now that the troubles plaguing our line are of our own making."
That in of itself was quite the shock.
Bellatrix had been of the staunchest and most vocal of the pride of their pureblood lineage. The Old Traditions were of their most important tenets of their magic for a reason, and yet... of the pureblood families, only those that had been bathed in the light, ones mixing with muggleborns and halfbloods, only they were the ones blessed with large families, or even just easy pregnancies. All of Bellatrix's pregnancies had ended with miscarriages, with the longest pregnancy, the one which resulted in the stillborn birth of her boy, had been incredibly taxing on her body and a near dangerous endeavour. The Weasley family, branded blood traitors after the breaking of a betrothal with the Malfoy family a near century ago, and known for mixing with halfbloods and mingling with muggleborns, their own current patriarch fascinated with muggles, were of an ever growing family. The current branch itself had seven children spawned from that Molly Prewett.
"While I do still believe in the importance of our blood remaining pure," Walburga sighs, "The Dark families have lost much in the war, and we are in the midst of losing even more."
"I don't understand." Bellatrix says softly, so overwhelmed by all that had been revealed to her.
"We have no heir, my child." Walburga says more firmly, her hold tightening on Bellatrix's hands. "Regulus is dead, Sirius, that disappointing son of mine, is lost to us. Lucretia gave up the heirship as firstborn to Orion in favour of adventuring with that American husband of hers, and their marriage remains childless." Bellatrix blinked at the knowledge being reiterated to her. "Your own union was childless. Narcissa has a son, but he is the Heir of Malfoy. He will not and cannot be the heir of our House. And as far as I know, Narcissa remains unable to bring forth another child that could be raised as the Black heir."
Bellatrix's heart stings at the mention of her and her sister's difficulties. Narcissa had been distraught with her perceived childlessness, spending many nights in tears over her lack of child. She had not feared being set aside, for her union with Lucius had been as much a love-match as it was a political maneuver. But her feelings of inadequacy and perceived failing in motherhood had been hard for all of three of them. It had been only by the blessed help of Lucius' little pet potions genius Severus Snape that Narcissa's pregnancy with Draco had come to term, and even then, the birth had nearly killed her sister. Bellatrix had feared the worst during Draco's birth, and it had been the only time she had been glad for that spy's interloping presence, for he had been able to give Narcissa the ability for a child and had saved her life in the childbed with his potions knowledge.
"This child is a blessing to us." Walburga rasps, impassioned as she is by this news, "The eldest child of my eldest son, even if he is disgraced."
Bellatrix finally finds herself centered in this moment, "You would legitimize this child?"
Walburga nods, "We would bring our house into a new dawn, with this little moonflower, we could save the House of Black from its despair."
Bellatrix chuckles, then, explaining her sudden spike of humour, "Old Pollux will be quite displeased by such surprises."
"Let that old man stew in his own bitterness." Walburga scoffs, sharing in her humour. She affectionately pat Bellatrix's hands, which were still held in her own. "Even Old Lord Arcturus, should he voice any unpleasantness, you let me take care of it all."
⋆ ﾟ 𐦍༘⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏𓆗 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ﾟ🜲.
So Bellatrix had been brought to the table containing the altar of Walburga's witchcraft. She had noted the Old Magick that the woman had done to find the child. Blood Magic, Tracking Magic, a mix of Spirit and Divination Magic mixed with the forbidden Blood Magic— untraceable as it was as it was not done with a wand, and with the charms of protection done on their old ancestral house.
That the child lived in London was another blessing, for Bellatrix would not be gone for long, or so she had thought. It should not take much time to find the child, though perhaps it would take time to find the exact spot as she was unfamiliar with Muggle London. Even with the use of the magic pinpointing the child's direct location on the map. Still, it was cold and Bellatrix was forced to navigate on foot. Her apparition had only gotten her to the general neighborhood the child lived in, in this sprawling, densely populated city.
So here she was, stalking the streets in London as she used her magic to stretch out far past its comfort in search of the spark of magic that Walburga had warned her of this child exhibiting. Finally, she got to her destination, though the sign on the entrance gave her pause.
St. Jerome's New Hope Orphanage was not where Bellatrix had been expecting to find the child. It burned her to know that this magical child had been left parentless— though it made her wonder about the condition of the mother, had she died? Was she a muggle? This was certainly a muggle orphanage. Wizarding folk did not have orphanages, as it was dangerous for a young wixen to be without parental guidance— if there was not a direct blood family member than other families could take in a wixen child (which had been a proposal for those of muggle-descent so that they could more fully integrate into their society, but the Light frowned on the practice when it came to muggleborns or halfbloods because they thought that those of Dark families who offered to take them in to teach them would brainwash them away from the Light, when in actuality most families that had offered to take them in had only thought to integrate them into their traditions, to guide the young next generation in the dangers and wonders of their magic).
Disguised in the muggle fashions appropriate for a cold wintry evening, Bellatrix had moved in. Lurking ever closer to the orphanage, she observed the space visible to her, and noted that the children must be inside for their evening meal. She had seen some children be escorted to a different building by some nuns. The children were dressed in drab, grey uniforms that looked as unstylish as they lacked personality of any kind.
But that had not caught her attention. No, it was the commotion coming from the other building that she could faintly hear as she paused her meandering pacing around the sidewalk of the street across from the orphanage's property. Hidden as she was with a concealment charm, Bellatrix kept herself silent as she stalked closer to the property's gate. It became more apparent what she was hearing the closer they got, and it was the crying of a frightened child. Visceral cries rang out, accompanied with the sound of what she was sure were slaps or hits of some sort, and dragging, as a nun appeared outside, storming out, really, with the child in her clutches. Apologies and pleas echoed, mixed with the sobbing of the child. The commotion had drawn the attention of none else, even if the distress was clear for all to hear. The street was empty in this cold winter's night. None would be outside, and none appeared to even be watching through windows, from what Bellatrix could observe around her.
The nun had been holding the arm of the child, dragging it behind her, before stopping past the gate. She maneuvered the child in front of her, then, bringing her arm back and forth down on the child's rear a good few times, before throwing the child down into the ground once they had made it outside of the orphanage's open gates. The muggle woman was spitting horrid Catholic rhetoric all the while, calling the child a freak, the child's mother a sinnning whore, and spouting nonsense that the child deserved its punishment for being so depraved to be so inextricably linked with the devil. "We will have no business with such evils in our house!"
But the worst was when Bellatrix felt that spark of magic ignite in her soul, like a flame being lit, and her heart dropped in her chest. The child of their blood was there. A child of the House of Black's proud bloodline was thrown out onto the street of this blasted orphanage, near screaming to be let back in with cries and apologies, while this... this worthless muggle woman filled with none but spite, unlike whatever gospel these spiritual people touted in their day-to-day of their so-called loving religion... This loathsome monster was spewing such hateful venom at a child, an innocent little thing, barely more than a hatchling.
Bellatrix saw none but red.
With a vicious efficiency, Bellatrix snapped her wand into her hand from its holster and waved it as she silently forced the gate to close on the women harshly, the metal snapping and banging into the flesh of this hateful creature. The godly woman yelped at the startling pain, stumbling back. Then, with much glee, Bellatrix hexed the muggle woman. Ensuring she would remember none of this when she was done, Bellatrix was quick to stride to the woman. The spell was easy to cast, though she had truly never actually used it before. "Go back and remember naught what happens to this child!" Bellatrix commanded the compelled woman to comply.
The nun left in a daze, bruising already forming on her arms from the gate slamming into her, and so Bellatrix turned to the child, inspecting the new heir of their most ancient and noble House of Black.
Stunned, the child, merely a babe really, had quieted since Bellatrix's appearance, watching her. The little toddler staring up at her, face red with wide eyes, was frozen in place much like a doe caught in the crossfires, waiting to see what Bellatrix would do next— whether she would hurt her or not, Bellatrix assumed. The child was a dead-ringer for the black family, in her facial features if not in her coloring. Pretty blonde hair that was more a soft yellow-gold much akin to Narcissa's own Rosier inherited pale blonde hair rather than Lucius Malfoy's platinum-blonde hair, the child also had big, sparkling blue eyes, watery and wide as they were, filled with tears that were endlessly streaming down her face. But her brow, nose, and lips, the curve of her jaw and shape of her chin, the magical allure she could already feel emanating from the child,and that bright spark of magic, like a shining star in the dark night sky, those were all the gifts of the House Black. She looked little older than two years of age, which seemed to follow along the line of what Walburga had guessed was the age of the child.
Bellatrix immediately crouched down and cooed, "Hello, little one, it's okay, I'm here now. You're okay, darling."
"I Sorry," the child whimpered, flinching away. "Please, no more..."
Bellatrix shushed the child, tentatively collecting the child into her arms. Immediately, the child tensed, uncomfortable with this intrusion in their personal space, and Bellatrix was quick to coo out soft reassurements. "It's alright, child, you're safe. I shall never dare to harm you, nor will I ever let another bring you harm."
The child slowly began to loosen their posture, comforted by the soft voice Bellatrix adopted and the soft rocking she took on as she began to rise. The child was small and light, and judging by the feel of her in her arms, with thin limbs that dug into her flesh, the child was underfed. A concerning prospect for the child was so young. Bellatrix kept the girl's face in the soft curve of her neck and shoulder, not at all surprised when the child began to cry in earnest. This was a much less violent display of her emotions, as the cries petered out from the loud cries into ones of a softer whimpering, interspersed with hiccuping.
"It's alright, child, I'd never let those bad people touch you again. No harm shall befall you any longer." Bellatrix reassured as she held the child in her arms closer, comforting her to cease her emotional turmoil. The magic between them settled with the child's emotions, the bright spark seeking out the connection between them, even if unconscious as it was on the child's part, to the roaring hearth flame that was Bellatrix's own magical power.
When the child calmed some, sniffling, Bellatrix pulled her back and settled the child on her hip to get a better look at her, and have easier access to use her wand arm. She was quick to magick the mess of the girl's face away, and any evidence of her crying off of her own clothes, which the child watched in staggering awe. That had brought a pause to Bellatrix, her heart stuttering at the look of awe such a simple display of magic had inspired. She was not at all surprised by the flinch and fear in the child, but the awe was confusing. That's when the words of the nun began to whirl back into her memory, and she turned back to the child. Given what she had walked into, the overzealous treatment was not wholly unfounded from such muggles, as the child had probably been experiencing the increased magical accidents, only heightened by the clear distress experienced in such a repressive environment.
"What's your name, darling?" Bellatrix asked softly.
"Grace..." The girl mumbled.
"What happened to your mummy, Grace?" Bellatrix asked sweetly, trying to figure out how the illegitimate daughter of her cousin could have ended up in an orphanage of all places.
"Sister Margaret says... says..." The child began to hiccup with her hyperventilating crying, and Bellatrix had hushed the child and calmed her down once more before the child could finish what little explanation she could give. "Mummy bring bad friends home... Sister Margaret says she was sinner. Sinners burns, says I not do freakish devil work. Says bad child no get to eat. Freaks be punished."
Bellatrix resisted the urge to snarl at the woman's words. Instead, she did all she could to remain pleasant to the child who would only get further scared if she were to let temper loose. "And what happened to your mummy?"
"Man mad, hit mummy. She sleep now." The implications of the girl's words were a little startling. Had she seen...? How much had she been witness to?
"How long have you been here, darling?"
The child whispered, as if fearful of her reaction to her answer, "I don't know."
Bellatrix nodded, and straightened. She needed to bring this child home with her. She would also need to check the girl for other abuses, she may need some healing. If they were willing to drag her out here and throw her to the dirt like a common peasant, and to threaten starvation for perceived bad behavior, what else could they have done to her? Turning back to the child once she had a plan in mind, Bellatrix asked the girl, who stared up at her curiously, "Well, my little one, what do you think about having a new mummy, hm?"
"New mummy?" The girl asked immediately, a brightness rising on her face like a rising sun, her excitement rising with every new word spoken. "My mummy?"
Bellatrix smiled, nodding, "Yes, yes, of course, my darling. If that's what you wish, I'll take you away from here and we can go home." This little bird was so light, Bellatrix managed to hold her with her arms, cradled the small thing to her chest, and used her wand to apparate them away, after giving the child a warning to hold on tight to her.