bellatrix
the second week of the summer of 1975
Bellatrix Black
oh to be lovingly feared and dreaded,
a warrior devoted to death
Toujours Pur.
Toujours Pur.
Toujours Pur.
Always fucking pure.
Bellatrix was not like the rest of her family, she knew. She knew from the way her parents were cautious around her in ways they just weren’t with her sisters. She knew from the way Andromeda and Narcissa would sneak off together, whispering about Merlin knows what and giving her soft pitying looks. She knew from the way if you had asked her who her favorite family member was five years ago, she would have said Sirius Black. No, Bellatrix was not like the rest of the Black family, because if she were, she wouldn’t be simmering. Her blood wouldn’t be boiling at the thought of betraying her Dark Lord. Oh but it was. Her anger wasn’t loud, it wasn’t big and brash but this silent seething that she felt in her nerves, in her magic, circulating through her as does her blood. She was not known for the silence in her fury, but for the actions her anger forces her to make. For the way she retaliates and strifes.
But this anger, the anger she felt when her mother began to speak, when Lord Black made his declaration. When she saw Narcissa preen under his attention, or Andromeda breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, the urge to take a fork between Sirius’ knuckles when she saw the upwards tick of his lips in smug satisfaction from the corner of her eye. This anger was not the constant dull ache she was used to, the one that never left and waited patiently to be ignited. No, this rage went beyond any seething she had felt before. It was silence and danger, whitened knuckles and tense muscles. It was everything cruel and nothing good.
Her mother once told her Magic was emotion– that Bellatrix’s magic was ruled by Mars and Ares, that it burned red. Bellatrix hadn’t known what she meant at the age of six, but now, at nineteen she understands more than ever. She needed this anger, she could mold and form it into raw power. And raw power it was. As she walked with her head up, her fist clenched and listened to the quaint whispers of the portraits watching her, trying desperately to ignore the whispering in her mind. It manifested in sparks, weaving through wild black curls with the softest crimson glow, and electric touches that had her loved ones recoiling. If Lord Black noticed her rage, he said nothing about it. Not when he saw her during meals, or when they’d pass by one another to use the floo.
She wasn’t sure Arcturus Black even knew her name until he asked her to meet him in his study that night.
Bellatrix wanted to feel nervous, to cower beneath the power that was the Black Family Head of House, but she couldn’t bring herself to push that rage away. She had been escorted into the grandiose study by her personal elf, Eenie. Lord Black hadn’t been there when she arrived, allowing her to settle into a large leather chair across an oak desk, as she pleased. She didn’t have the perfect posture Andromeda did, and she wasn’t primed the way Narcissa would have been. Instead, she was sunk low in the chair, her arms resting right where they were supposed to. She had a black heeled ankle laid across the opposing thigh. Her silver-lined robes were open enough to see the black slimmed trousers she wore beneath and the deep red blouse tucked into them.
She didn't move when she heard the door to the study open, not even in an attempt to placate the old man. There was that burn of anger that refuted his authority of her, despite knowing it was there and ever present in the way he ignored her completely and instead made himself comfortable first before acknowledging her presence. “Bellatrix,” he shuffled some papers around before looking directly at her. “Show me your forearms, please,”
If the request wasn’t to shock her, the bored and unamused tone did. Her jaw ticked– the implication she’d deny a direct order and betray her family, her blood. She heard a cackle, and knew it was the magic whipping in her hair. She refused to answer him audibly, and instead adjusted the way she sat. Both her feet moved to plant on the ground, her hips wide in the chair and she leaned over resting her elbows on her knees. Her almost black eyes did not leave Lord Black, not when she rolled up each sleeve and laid them bare for him to see.
And bare they were, because, yes. The Dark Lord was intrigued by the eldest Black cousin, but he hadn’t marked her, not yet. Surely for some sexist reason, as she knew she had more magical prowess than Rodolphus Lestrange. Arcturus pursed his lips and let out a quick, “Hm,” and in turn this only further enraged Bellatrix.
Her eyes slanting ever so lightly, “Despite what you may have heard, Uncle Dearest, I am quite devoted to our family,” she didn’t mean for the words to hold such venom but they did. And she was not one to give out fruitless apologies. Instead she doubled down, adjusting so that she was sat a little closer to the Black family head. “I may not be pleased with the direction of house Black, I may think it unbefitting and honestly? A tad bit predictable, meandering to the light,” she scoffed, “But I’d never betray the home in which my sisters live” she was a little surprised with the honesty of the words.
The Lord Black watched her, studied her in a way that had the hair on the back of her neck standing. She was prepared for the verbal lashings, or even the physical ones if her father were to hear of her insubordination. But nothing came. Arcturus stood and sauntered in front of his desk, leaning against it lazily. His dragonhide boots were crossed at the ankle and his arms laid crossed on his chest.
“You misunderstand me, Bellatrix,” he sighed as if disappointed in her. This had her leaning back in the chair to reassume her previous position, sat comfortably.
“Do I, really?” she challenged, feeling as in control as ever. She knew she had no reason to feel so calm, and yet with that continued thrum of angered power beneath her fingers, she couldn’t help it.
“You do,” he confirmed again, “The Black family does not meander to anyone, least of all Albus Dumbledore and his ban of misfits and cronies,” he scoffed as if he hadn’t purposed such a thing the night before— using Sirius as an in.
“And certainly not to an egomaniac who hides behind bad French puns,” his voice was dripping in condescension. She sucked in on her teeth, and defied the urge to huff and storm out of the room.
“While Sirius will be my spy in Albus Dumbledore’s little faction, I will need someone just the same in Lord Voldemorts Death Eaters,” he emphasized her lord’s name in french. She pursed her lips.
“Now. I know you are already well within this dark lord’s sights so it would be easy for you to infiltrate his ranks, but if it is not something you think you can do effectively, then I will place another,” he was so casual in his dismissal of her, she couldn’t help but snap.
“Like who? Regulus is but a boy, and this isn’t something you can't trust to anyone but blood. I may be no man, but I am just as powerful as your precious heir and I will not be dismissed as anything less,” her words were angered hisses, low and dangerous. And in her anger, there was a shattering sound just behind her. She didn’t look back, and could only guess what it was. Perhaps a priceless vase, or framed photo he held dear. She could only hope.
She studied his face, but no emotion passed over it. A slytherin talent she had never quite mastered.
He then smirked and let out a smooth chuckle, “there it is,” he kicked off his desk and rounded it to sit back down.
“That temper of yours will serve you well in the Dark Lord’s ranks,” he seemed pleased and for the first time Bellatrix could feel some sense of relief in that tightly coiled anger that had crowded her.
She swallowed a lump that she hadn’t realized formed in her throat, and licked the dry from the her lips. She took a deep, needed breath.
“And how am I to play this part you want without landing myself in Azkaban? After all, the end goal here is to usurp not one, but two puppet masters. And I will be a direct enemy of the more difficult to challenge,” she may not have mastered the impassivity of Salazar, but she knew more than enough about self preservation.
“I do believe you have a contact within the Daily Prophet, yes?” Arcturus asked, glasses on the tip of his nose as he looked down at missives. “It would do us well to have the public’s opinion on House Black shift with our stances,” he looked at Bella again, a twinkle in his eye akin to the headmasters.
“I do not see how that will help me, Lord Black,” she heaved a sigh, shaking her head.
“Are you not, of House Black?” He was being consciously obtuse and it was grating on Bella’s last nerve.
“Yes. I am. But the public’s opinions will do little when I bore the mark of the man they have demonized!” her voice raised as she spoke, showing her frustration with the red tint to her cheeks as well as the crimson flashes in her hair.
Lord Black sighed, as though Bellatrix was just not understanding. As if he was being perfectly fucking clear.
“Public opinion has made Albus Dumbledore their savior, he can do no wrong. We will dismantle that, and in turn they will need a new savior. And when all is said and done, and we defeat their demon they will not be able to crucify you. Not when you will land the killing blow to your Lord,” He crossed his arms on his desk and leaned on them as he spoke to her. The weight of his words crashing over her in waves of emotions.
Anger. Elation. Anger. Worry. Anger. Pride.
“You may not be my heir, Bellatrix, but you will be my warrior,” she sat taller at that, back straighter and a smirk rested on her lips. The closest she’d gotten to a smile in the last week.
“Yes. My Lord,” she answered, wheels in her mind turning and thrumming. Arcturus nodded, and with a wave of his hand the door to his study opened. Bellatrix took the hint and stood, leaving him with her parting words of, “Be careful, Lord Black, those who are in power will burn another’s world down to keep it. And those who seek it, will burn their own to gain it,”
Walking from his study, the young woman had a thousand thoughts in her mind. She was unsettled and couldn’t keep focused on one thing. Her eyes were far away, and she was moving around the Black ancestral home from nothing but muscle memory when she bumped into a rather bony form. Hands gripping her arms to steady her, as she came back to the reality of the room.
“Bella,” Sirius’ voice was soft when he spoke, but not in the way she was used too, not in the way of trying to appease her before anything could even upset her or pity her. More so, it was soft and broken, Like he was the broken one.
“Sirius,” she spoke with authority, always had. Especially when speaking to her younger cousins. She looked into his eyes and saw something there, something that had never been there before. She noticeably looked from his eyes to his hands on her arms, and he quickly removed them.
“Are you heading into Great Uncle Arcturus’ study?” she asked him, knowing very well what Lord Black will be requiring of Sirius. He gave a curt nod and shuffled on his feet. He didn’t look like the same Sirius she had always known, loved and loathed. He looked to be more kept, the very image of a Black Heir. She raised an eyebrow as she looked him up and down— dressed in all black, wizarding robes on and his hair tidy.
“I’m flattered, Trixie, but despite what mother and father may have us believe, incest is certainly not the fad that it used to be,” he tried to sport his signature smirk and it reminded her of a death echo, a remnant and lackluster imitation of what used to be.
“Oh please Siri, If I wanted to marry a family member I’d aim a little higher than you,” she scoffed, and she could see a bit of humor ghost his face.
“Higher than the future heir of house Black?” she asked with that smugness she had once been so fond of.
“Why aim for the heir, when there’s a perfectly good widowed lord,” she winked flawlessly, and looked back to the hall she had just left, before making a show of wiping an imaginary remnant of an imaginary affair from the corner of her mouth. She let out a soft chuckle as Sirius’ face screwed up in disgust.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to owl someone about a bug infestation,”