Chapter 10
Several days had gone by since the encounter with the Golden Trio at Diagon Alley. You had spent most of them locked up in the comfortable air conditioning of Malfoy Manor, many days dedicated just for catching up on schoolwork or practising spells with Draco. You’ve almost mastered the Imperius Curse, which you used on him (with his permission), you’re close to mastering the Cruciatus Curse (which you’ve used on several of Lucius’s peacocks, with Draco’s permission because he hated the birds), but you were terrified to even try the Killing Curse. Hell, you hated Crucio but needed to use it if you were a Death Eater.
But you needed to learn Avada Kedavra to kill Dumbledore.
You had reorganised your room at least three times in the past few weeks, and you think you finally got it to a way you wanted; your bed was no longer the massive queen size, but now transfigured down to a twin, propped against the same corner but now turned the other way along the back wall, since it felt more comfortable and it was clear you were permanently living here now. Your room was spacious to begin with, but it seemed entirely massive now. It made you feel lonely for an odd reason, but you were unsure as to why.
While Narcissa has been doting on you in the few days that have passed, Bellatrix has been almost avoiding you. When you’d cross paths, she’d always scowl at you, or sometimes even growl like a dog. For someone who hugged you the way she did the day you went shopping, you couldn’t quite fathom what made her so upset with you.
It was the night before the train left. You’ve been sitting in bed working on a drawing for hours now, but it wasn’t fully coming out right. You were hoping to use it as some sort of apology for Bellatrix, but you weren’t even sure what she liked. Voldemort? You weren’t going to draw him.
You glanced down at the Dark Mark on your arm, desperately trying to ignore it. While Draco was flaunting and showing his off to the other Death Eaters, you desperately tried to hide yours. Deep scars were etched across your inner forearm, criss-crossing through the Mark, but all it did was harm yourself. Narcissa was quite worried when she noticed, and you had to explain to her how you weren’t necessarily trying to self-harm, more so trying to get rid of the Mark. Once again, you went three days unallowed to sleep alone because she was worried about you.
You slammed your sketchbook shut, eyes burning with exhaustion. You haven't been sleeping very well, either kept up by insomnia or nightmares. It was at the point now where you were just angry at the world. You were angry at your parents because they abandoned you, you were angry at Bellatrix for avoiding you, you were angry at Draco for acting like he was the shit now, and you were angry at yourself for allowing yourself to be the way that you are.
You got mixed in with the wrong crowd. You should have just been a good kid, tried to get yourself sorted into Hufflepuff like the rest of your family. Better yet, you should have told the stupid hat to put you in Ravenclaw, like it had considered. You wouldn’t have ever befriended Draco, you wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with the Malfoys, you wouldn’t become a Death Eater, your dad would still be alive, and your parents would actually love you.
Now here you were, tears streaming down your face because you’re so fucked up inside, hating that you couldn’t have a normal childhood, scarred for no reason other than the fact that the Dark Lord was so very clearly punishing you for what Lucius had done. Draco seemed to see no fault in receiving the Mark, but you knew it was nothing special.
You found yourself wanting to fail your job. You were going to let Draco kill Dumbledore, that way he can live. You’ll take the fall for him. He’s got such a bright life ahead of him with things to fulfil and a family name to uphold. You’ve got nothing; you have no career planned out for yourself, you have no name to carry on, dating was completely out of the picture, and you didn’t even get the highest scores on your O.W.L.s. You’d gladly accept your death before you let Draco die.
As if her mum senses were kicking in, Narcissa slowly opened your bedroom door, head peeking into the room.
“Are you alright, darling?” she asked in concern, entering the room before moving to sit next to you on the bed. She set your sketchbook down on the nightstand, gently brushing her thumbs over your drying tears on your cheeks. “No more trying to cut away the Dark Mark, right?”
She grabbed your wrist and examined your skin, which you allowed her to do. There was nothing new to hide.
As badly as you wanted to confide in her about your borderline suicidal thoughts, something held you back. You were scared of her reaction. While you wanted her to comfort you, you didn’t want to worry her. You loved her too much to do that, and she’s the closest to a mum you’ve ever had.
Your mum. You couldn’t understand that situation. Why’d she tell you to ask Bellatrix? Why was the latter avoiding you? Why was everybody always lying?
As if your brain finally snapped, you pushed Narcissa away, set on a mission.
“Where’s Bellatrix?” you asked, crawling (or at least, attempting to crawl) over her to get to the door.
Narcissa locked you in place, making it extremely difficult to go looking for her sister.
“Let go of me, Cissy!” you snarled, struggling in her grasp. “I need to ask Bellatrix a question.”
“If this is about your mother, you are not in the mindset for that conversation!” Narcissa replied, still fighting you.
“I’d rather it be now than never.”
“She’s not ready to tell you.”
“She has to be!”
“I’m not going to let you do that, darling.”
“WHY would she not be ready for this conversation? It’s not like it’ll hurt her in any way!”
“Well, imagine seeing your daughter for the first time in sixteen years! I wouldn’t be ready for that conversation, either!” Narcissa cried, causing you to flop awkwardly over her midsection, draped across her arms.
You felt like your entire world spun to a halt, and from the way Narcissa went stiff, you could tell that she said something that she wasn’t supposed to.
Taking that as your cue, you half-crawled, half-rolled off the bed before apparating to Bellatrix’s room, where the witch yelped in surprise at your appearance (as did you, because where the bloody hell did you learn to apparate?).
Her room was exactly what you’d picture it to look like: dark, tattered, and an organised sort of messy. Snake and raven trinkets decorated her free space, along with several newspaper clippings pinned to her walls of photos of herself, Voldemort, and shockingly a few small ones of Rita Skeeter. You didn’t understand that one, and frankly, you were too afraid to even try.
“What are you doing?” the dark woman hissed, leaping out of bed. “How dare you intrude on my space?”
“You got something to tell me?” you snapped, crossing your arms and staring expectantly at her.
On any other day, you’d never speak to Bellatrix Lestrange like that. One flick of her wand and you’d be dropping dead.
But here, clearly having caught her off guard, feeling sleep-deprived and angry, you couldn’t give a shit less about how you spoke to her.
The door swung open behind you, and you turned to see Narcissa run in, eyes wide in panic.
“That’s enough,” she hissed, grabbing your arm, but you yanked it away and drew your wand, pointing it at her, ready to fight.
“Don’t touch me,” you snarled, turning back to Bellatrix, who had also drawn her wand as well. “Bellatrix. We need to have a little conversation.”
You watched the woman’s eyes flicker for a moment, seemingly almost panicked, before she glanced at Narcissa, who was clearly fuming from the way you brushed her aside. You’d apologise in the morning, but for now, you just simply didn’t care.
“Leave us, Cissy,” Bellatrix ordered, voice softer than you expected it to be. At Narcissa’s hesitation, the woman hissed, “OUT!” and Narcissa backed out and softly shut the door.
There was a moment of silence. You were staring at Bellatrix, trying to read her body language, but you couldn’t quite figure out how she felt.
Her arms were hanging limply by her sides, wand gripped loosely between her fingers. She was still staring at the door, although by this point she had to have known you were staring.
The fire in her body seemed to have dwindled, at least for the moment. This wasn’t Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord’s right-hand and the most feared witch in the world. This was Bellatrix Black, a woman who made poor choices and now has to guiltily live with the consequences.
She suddenly turned on you and pointed her seemingly gun-shaped wand at your chest, a wild look in her dark eyes.
“If you tell a single soul about anything we discuss in this room,” she began in a dangerous hiss, “I will kill you.”
“At least you’re warning me ahead of time,” you replied, voice void of emotion. “Although it would have been a nice surprise if you just did it. It would have made it quick and simple, because now you’ve given me something to look forward to.”
The witch lowered her wand, gaping at you, and it was only then when you realised what you said. You expected to feel shocked, or even panicked, but you still felt so horribly numb inside.
But something twisted in your chest ever-so-slightly at the vague expression of concern across Bellatrix’s face.
“You…want to die?” she asked, voice cracking, which made that twist turn into a pull, but that concerned expression on her face was quickly replaced with appallment. “But you’re so young, with so much to live for! Why the bloody hell would you want to die! Look at you! You’re about to graduate from Hogwarts as a Slytherin, you’re a Death Eater, you serve the Dark Lord! We’re taking over the world, and you want to die?”
“Is that all you care about?” you asked, your wand still pointed toward her. “Serving the Dark Lord? You’ve thrown your whole life away to serve him, you’ve given him everything, and from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t give a damn about you. You’re just as disposable as every other living being on this planet, easily killed, easily thrown aside to rot in a grave.”
“How dare you?” she hissed. “How dare you suggest my Master would kill me? I am his right-hand, I alone have stood by his side when no one else has!”
“And you think he appreciates you for it?” you cried, finally letting everything out. “Bellatrix, he doesn’t love you! Look at what he did to Lucius for failing. If you had been caught back at the Ministry, he’d have felt the same about you as he now does Lucius.”
She still looked pissed, but you could tell her loyalty was beginning to waver. You felt like it was now your chance to bring up what’s been bothering you.
“Besides, why do you think he’d love you when you have a filthy half-blood for a daughter that you threw away the first chance you got?” you snarled, narrowing your eyes dangerously.
“You know…” Bellatrix replied, voice quiet at first before raising into a maniacal scream, “HOW DO YOU KNOW?”
“I didn’t, actually,” you replied, refusing to throw Narcissa under the bus. “But now I do, because you gave me my answer. How long did it take you after meeting me to figure out that I was your child?”
Bellatrix’s wand clattered to the ground, which shocked you. She…dropped her wand? Why did she drop her wand?
“When we got to your house,” she whispered, all traces of the villainous monster gone, replaced by a small, broken woman who seemed to be feeling guilt for the first time in years. “When did you figure it out?”
“I didn’t, really,” you replied, wishing you could stop feeling angry but you didn’t. “When my apparent not-mother told me to ask you why I’m not her real child, it wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together. Who’s my father?”
“My cousin, Regulus.”
You weren’t even sure if your world could stop anymore. It already felt like everything was on pause.
You’re a Black. You are a bastard child from the noble and most ancient House of Black. You are an inbred bastard child, just like Sirius Black.
Just like Regulus Black.
“You’ve been quiet,” Bellatrix commented, and while you still, for the first time, saw her truly as a human being and not as a monster, you still couldn’t stifle the rage you felt.
“I’m a Black,” you muttered. “All of this time, my parents didn’t hate me because I came out wrong. They hated me because I wasn’t even theirs. Not only that, but they hated me because I’m a Black and I had no idea.”
“Bask in it!” Bellatrix hissed, her old fire returning. “Exactly, you are a Black! You are powerful, and rich beyond your comprehension, and you can use it against others this school year!”
She came up from behind and grabbed your left arm, exposing your Mark to yourself.
“Look at what you’ve been gifted with,” she whispered. “You are carrying on the legacy of your parents. We are both Death Eaters, but Regulus unfortunately was incapacitated, and defected, then died.”
“Wasn’t he a child when he died?” you spat, yanking yourself away from her and spinning to face her. “You slept with a child, let alone your own cousin! How big of an age gap is there between you two, huh?”
“You don’t understand!” Bellatrix hissed. “When my cousin became a Death Eater, he was all about blood purity, and growing up with my aunt and uncle’s influence, he also believed in keeping the Black family’s blood pure. You know Orion and Walburga were cousins, yes?”
“I’m not an idiot,” you snarled. “I know they were cousins. I was obsessed with the Black family as a child. Read everything I could about you guys.”
“About you, darling,” Bellatrix replied, finally moving away from you and sitting flopping down ungracefully on her bed. “Anyway, he made the decision, around the time he began to doubt our Master. Threw a pity party for himself, saying he was going to die before he ever married and bore children, so asked me to carry on his bloodline, with pure Black blood. Of course, I agreed, because I’ve always wanted a child and Rod does not, but I didn’t stop to think of the consequences.
“My pregnancy with you was god-awful during that time. It was the peak of the war, the Order was getting too much in our way, and I could hardly be out in the field with a belly massive with a child. So I spent those last few months here with Cissy, since she was also pregnant with little Draco. Had you in January of 1980, obviously, and Cissy had Draco in June.”
“So…this whole time, Narcissa knew I was yours?” you asked, now growing angry with the Malfoy matriarch. If she’s been lying to you about something like this, you weren’t sure you could ever forgive her.
“No, of course not!” Bellatrix replied quickly. “I mean, you clearly look like a Black, but we all know each other, so that couldn’t be it. If she knew you were mine, I’m sure she’d have taken you in much sooner.”
“So when did she find out?”
“Shortly after the visit to your house. Told her all about it.”
You continued to stare at her, annoyed by how truly unbothered she seemed about not being in your life for all these years. How could she act like she didn’t care? Didn’t she want you? She said she wanted you.
“So…why did you give me up?” you asked, and it was at that moment that you discovered you were crying.
“No tears, darling,” Bellatrix replied, waving her wand and wiping them away. “I had to. The Dark Lord was unhappy with my pregnancy getting in the way of the war, and after Regulus defected, I wasn’t sure I wanted a child that had a part of him in it. So, I did what I could think of and handed you off to a witch I went to school with. We had a little fling or two at Hogwarts, so she was the only person I thought of who’d have no connection to the family.”
“So you didn’t want me?” you asked, trying to clarify the situation. “You used me to carry on the Black family name, no doubt wishing me to be born male, and then got rid of me the moment you had me because you didn’t want me anymore? I was a child, not a toy to throw out!”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic!” Bella replied. “I did want you, but having a child with a failed Death Eater, let alone a traitor to the Black family for defecting, was not going to end easy for me.”
“So you gave me up for your own selfish intentions, great to know,” you spat, making your way to the door and throwing it open, immediately sending an eavesdropping Narcissa halfway to the floor.
“I was making sure things didn’t get out of hand,” she quickly explained, straightening herself up. “Darling, just try and reconnect with her. If she didn't want you, she wouldn’t even be attempting to speak with you about the situation.”
“I need to think,” you replied, pushing past the woman. “Please do not attempt to speak with me, I do not wish to.”
“I’m trying, you know,” Bellatrix’s small voice said, causing you to halt in your footsteps.
What was she trying, exactly? To get you to join her side? To just simply forget the past sixteen years of your life living with a family who didn’t even want you, let alone wasn’t even your own blood? You were living with a Mudblood for your entire life, while you could have been living lavishly with the Black family, given Bellatrix wasn’t arrested. You wasted your whole life when it could have been so much better.
“I’m trying to care,” she continued. “I do care, I adore you deeply, but I feel I do not have enough of a pure soul inside of me to truly care for you as a mother. Hell, I’m having difficulty even understanding right now why you’re not forgiving me, but I am trying. When you’ve had time to think it over, I want you to know I am ready for whatever decision you make. But please…just let me try to be your mum. I’ll make up for all of these years.”
She sounded genuine. Hearing the Bellatrix Lestrange sound broken and vulnerable intrigued you, but also terrified you. It means she was being true to her word, admitting how she felt, which meant she truly did love you, and truly did want to come back into your life to be your mum, while you hardly even saw her as an aunt. She was simply just Bellatrix to you, Narcissa’s sister and Draco’s aunt. And the most feared soldier in the Dark Lord’s army, but that didn’t matter right now.
But you were still so angry at her. Especially since, instead of explaining what your not-mum meant, she avoided you. She’s only telling you now because you confronted her about it. How much longer were you to go without knowing if you hadn’t finally snapped?
“I’ll see you guys in the morning,” you finally said, heading to your room without glancing back.