Bellatrix Druella Black grasped the wooden stick in her small hands. It was early in the morning. Golden light cast a rosy glow on the garden. Bellatrix had been up for almost an hour now, the darkened skin under her eyes proof. For the last month, she had been up before the sun, the same stick in her hands.
Bellatrix’s shoulders shook from the cold and goosebumps layered her pale skin, but she swung the stick around in swift, practiced movements, muttering the spells she had heard around her house, avoiding the ones that had been used to make her bleed, her hurt. Instead she practiced the ones that were exuberant and creative.
She had to be the best.
“Lumos!” She muttered under her breath, a small puff of white dispersing from her lips. She imagined her stick as a magnificent long wand gnarled, fitting perfectly in her small hands. She saw fluorescent light streaming from the tip, flowers blooming under her feet, and things once broken mended again. She didn’t truly know how to do spells yet, but that would change, because today she turned 11.
To normal families this might seem like a regular experience, but Bellatrix and her family weren’t normal. They were witches and wizards. Not only that, but her mum and dad always boosted about being one of the 28 pureblood families. They were toujurs pur; always pure.
If Bellatrix thought about it she wasn’t normal at all. But none of that mattered because she was eleven at last, and would receive a letter to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was nervous that even after all her work she wouldn’t be good enough, that she wouldn’t be the best… Her parents had made it clear, she would be the top of her year; a statement not a question.
Chest heaving, Bellatrix decided she was done. She sucked in breaths of air ignoring the twinge in her throat as the cold morning air scraped harshly down her wind pipes.
Carefully hiding her stick in a nearby bush Bellatrix hurried back to the house, lifting her skirts to avoid more dirt from catching on the fabric. She hoped that her parents were still tucked away in their beds–like they normally were–oblivious to their eldest daughter's behavior… She was not so lucky.
“BELLATRIX!” A screech filled the air sending birds scattering from the trees. Bellatrix picked up her pace, practically breaking into a run to reach the back door. As her hand met the door knob she regulated her face, lips flat, eyes cold, no emotion; breathe .
“Yes mother?” she asked as she opened the door. When Bellatrix’s eyes met her mothers, a cold ball formed in her lower stomach. Her mother’s eyes had always been her best weapon, cold and calculating, but now they looked fiery; an emotion barely let through Druella’s mask.
“Get dressed,” Druella bit out, grinding her teeth. Bellatrix tried to not let surprise flicker through her face, she was sure that she would get punished.
“Of course Mother,”
“I will not let you ruin everything I have worked for. You will behave, you will be respectable, and you will not disappoint.” Druella emphasized her words in a clear threat, making the scars on the back of Bellatrix’s legs tingle. Behave or be beaten… It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Bellatrix and her sisters got punished weekly as children, when they didn't sit straight enough, or they breathed too loud, ate too much, or smiled too big. They were trained from birth practically, because despite the blood that ran through her veins Bellatrix had to earn the honor of being a Black. So she had endured countless punishments, silenced for a week, sleeping in the dungeon, but her parents' favorite–as Bellatrix discovered–was lacero, the cutting spell. Bellatrix knew that it was her fault, they were just looking out for their daughter, helping her become a valuable member of the family.
“Yes mother,” she replied, and with that she left to prepare for her wand ceremony…
. . . . . .
Andromeda and Narcissa crowded around Bellatrix in the bathroom as she pulled her hair back into a headache inducing bun. Unlike her sisters, whose hair had always cascaded gently down their backs, Bellatrix’s had always curled and bounced. Her ringlets were chaotic and messy, and her mother always hated it, so she learned to yank a hairbrush through the curls and pin it back.
Bellatrix looked at herself in the mirror admiring her work. She truly looked like a Black, clean, confident, and deadly… or, at least she’d like to imagine the last one.
“You look beautiful!” Andromeda gasped, grinning ear to ear.
“ I still had to wait four more years…” Narcissa pouted with her arms crossed. Bellatrix turned around to look at her youngest sister.
“I bet it will go by in a flash,” Bellatrix patted her sister's cheek lovingly. “And I promise to show you everything I learned, Cissy!” Narcissa eyes widened,
“Really?”
“Truly,” Bellatrix held out her pinky. “Pinky promise?” Seconds later all three of the sisters' pinky were intertwined as Bellatrix swore to tell them about every adventure she encountered. It was then when Bellatrix realized how much she would miss her sisters.
. . . . . .
The gathering at 12 Grimmauld Place that night was huge, everyone was required. The Malfoys, the Rosiers, and more. After all, tonight she would have the opportunity to claim the Black wand heirloom. Its previous owner in the Black family had just passed, so the wand was waiting for someone new. The wand had never not chosen a member of the Black family… and Bellatrix was planning on being the next one chosen.
Dinner went on without a catch, it was as normal as it could be with traditional foods, and terse conversation. But by the time it was over Bellatrix’s confidence was gone, and she felt like throwing up. She forced her face to remain calm and regulated, but inside was a turmoil of emotion. Bellatrix tried to remind herself of her worth, of her heritage, and most of all her blood. She was worthy, she knew it, and yet a small voice whispered in her ear, urging on her uncertainties.
“Let us head to the main room,” Druella ordered, interrupting Bellatrix’s thoughts. Taking deep breaths Bellatrix stood with the rest of the guests. However, as everyone sat on various couches and armchairs, Bellatrix made her way to the chair in the middle of the room. She made sure to keep her eyes forward; avoiding any eye contact.
“Tonight we gather because a new generation has risen to carry on Purebloods legacy.” Druella stood in the front of the room sounding proud of her daughter for once. Bellatrix could feel all of the eyes in the room turn to her as her mother continued. “Bellatrix will claim the wand of our family and purify the world with it, she is and forever… a Black. Toujurs pur Bellatrix.”
“Toujurs pur,” Bellatrix repeated making sure to keep her voice steady. Training her eyes on the wand in front of her Bellatrix repeated the only thing that would calm her nerves.
She was worthy. She was worthy. She was worthy.
Slowly she stood from the chair, pausing only a second before gently taking the wand in her hand. Immediately she knew something was off. The wood felt wrong against her skin, it was hard and rough in her palm. Her hand grasped the handle like the wrong piece in a puzzle. There were no warm feelings, no sense of belonging, just a hollow piece of wood.
Yet she still held out hope as she flicked her wrist. But as no warm light spread through the room and silence filled the air, everything seemed to slow down. Bellatrix’s eyes flickered to the shock etched across her mothers face, the undoubtable horror in her cold, dark eyes. The whole room remained quiet as some were unable to hold back the shock coating their faces, then…
CRACK! The room erupted in a waterfall of glass. The last sign needed to understand…
The wand didn’t choose her, she wasn’t worthy .