Prologue.
It’s storming when Bellatrix takes her first breaths of life. A thrashing, screaming thing with a hearty set of lungs and licks of dark thick hair as raindrops hit against aged paneled glass. The wintered moon curtained by large grey clouds. Cygnus and Druella Black’s first daughter being born on a stormy summer night in the year 1951.
Their second daughter, Andromeda, is born in the twilight of spring in 1953. Her cries are strong but soft, one of the only things that fill the house as the daylight begins to rest below the horizon. Cygnus and Druella argue that night behind closed doors once Andromeda is moved to the nursery by the nanny with Bellatrix.
Their third and final daughter, Narcissa, is born in the middle of winter on a cold and crisp morning in 1955. Bellatrix, at the age of four, watches as healers shadows move by the thin strip of light at the bottom of her parent’s doorway. Cygnus isn’t home yet.
Bellatrix stares at the towering door a little longer. Her hair short and curled but thick and large in volume. Adorned in a black dress with circular puffed sleeves— white lace at the collar and at the edge of her sleeves, shoes polished and reminiscent of a Victorian make. She doesn’t leave until Mildread, their servant and keeper of the house, shoos her away for dinner.
It’s not long after dinner that she is summoned to her parent’s bedroom, holding her father’s hand with a quiet scowl on her face as two-year-old Andromeda is taken to the nursery. Her hair now lighter in color than Bellatrix’s. A mousey brown compared to her older sister’s dark midnight locks.
Her mother looks pale, wrung out, and fatigued. Her blonde hair mussed and untidy. Mildread moves past with a quiet nod of her head and a whispered greeting of “Sir”. A hamper of sheets and a plain porcelain water pitcher levitating and following her out. Bellatrix does not miss the red that stains them.
With a firm tug of her father’s hand against hers, they approach her mother’s bedside, Cygnus blank-faced and quiet. There’s a quiet tension that isn’t spoken — and it feels like disappointment from her father.
“You have two sisters now, Bella. ” Her mother states not fondly, but as a fact. Eyes staring upon the newborn she holds close to her.
“And you all share a large responsibility to this family … One you all will understand in time.” She muses, almost a little sadly to herself despite her young eldest daughter being present. Bellatrix’s hands fidget behind her back as she frees her grip from her father, trying not to sway back and forth on the balls of her feet. Mother always hated when she was restless. Said it was ‘unbecoming’ of a young lady.
“Will we get a brother next time?” She asks with a tilt of her head, some curled strands of dark hair swaying with the motion. Her mother does not raise her gaze towards her, instead, she bites back a sigh. Gaze growing distant as she lifts it to the blank wall across the room, mouth opening to speak but her father responds instead:
“That has yet to be seen.” Cygnus replies, his voice flat and unnecessarily sharp as Druella quietly frowns. Daring to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.
“When will the next be arriving??” It’s a simple childish inquiry stated by Bellatrix, not understanding the weight of her question, but Druella does not treat it as such an innocent thing with the way her form goes stiff.
“That’s enough questions, Bellatrix.” She replies, clipped and dismissive. A hand moves to adjust the blanket around Narcissa’s face, the newborn shuffling slightly with a quiet disgruntled look upon her features. Some noises of disapproval are barely expressed to the air via the newborn.
She hasn’t cried much, Bellatrix thinks a little with relief, not as much as Andromeda does. An unknowingly hypocritical statement, ignorant of her own fussiness as a baby and as a child that was far more temperamental than her second younger sister.
“Go on. You’ve said your welcome. It’s time for myself and Narcissa to rest.” Bellatrix frowns, not having said anything at all really— but Druella’s short dismissal wasn’t all towards Bellatrix. She leaves at her mother’s request with her father. Cygnus shutting the door behind them.
A healer and mediwizard visit the house the day after. Both grim when they leave the house and leave Cygnus in a sour mood.
Later that night, glumly clutching a glass of water that was given by Mildread to keep at her bedside (when really she just wanted to snag a few treats from the pantry), Bellatrix takes note of the muffled sobs from her mother’s room as she passes by. She had never heard her mother in such distress before. A part of her wonders if her newest sister had died, but hearing some babbling protests as she passes by the make-shift nursery not long after— that thought is quickly dismissed as she continues her way back to her room.
Cygnus stays in the study for the rest of the night.
—
Bellatrix begins etiquette lessons at the age of six. It’s the most dreadful thing in her currently very small life. For a girl so small, her personality is larger than she can contain, not being afraid to voice her disinterest and dislike to the instructor’s face.
“I have never met such a rude young lady such as yourself.” The instructor states with precise punctuation. A woman with a high silver and blonde bun that Bellatrix assumes is what stretches her features back to a ridiculous degree. She wonders if her hair were to be let down if her entire face would collapse with it. Her clothes range from the selective colors of black and navy blue with perfectly pointed shoulders. All prim and proper with no wrinkle in sight.
“I have never met such a boring old lady such as yourself.” Bellatrix clips back, sitting tall and head held high as she attempts to mimic the woman’s disapproving stare. Thin blonde brows furrow and painted lips purse. The contorting of her face reminded Bellatrix of one of the fountain statues in the back garden spitting out water. It takes a heap of restraint not to laugh at the image.
“Is that any way to treat your teacher, Bellatrix?” A voice comes from the doorway. Any smile that hides within the corner of Bellatrix’s lips dissipates with the presence of her mother. Obsidian irised eyes curve to the rich green tablecloth, head tilting from side to side in stalling thought as some stray dark curls from her once carefully structured up do bounce with the motion.
“… Am I supposed to say ‘no’?”
“Bellatrix.”
A small huff escapes her, head bowing in a short dip before raising, mischievous eyes deflating as they meet her mother’s strict gaze.
“No, it’s not.” She sighs, watching her mother pace away from the doorway. Taking a seat at the empty head of the long dining table.
“These lessons are important whether you like them or not.” Druella states, fingers locking as the side of her palms rest upon the green cloth-covered table. Spine tall and rigid like a pillar of stone as eyes stay sharp upon her eldest.
“There is a certain example to set with presence and poise, especially when carrying the weight of reputation … Our family, House Black, has plenty of that weight to carry. Like myself and your father— you girls have to carry that as well, and that sometimes means you have to do things you don’t particularly like.” Her voice becomes strained as she closes her sentence, as if swallowing back something angered and hurt. But composure is maintained, as always.
Bellatrix’s fingers thumb at the black hem of her skirt under the table as she starts to shrink in her chair— one that already felt too large and ominous for a little girl of her age. Druella speaks again:
“Do I have to stay and keep watch? Or will you behave?”
Her daughter gives a side-eyed glance to the instructor across from her— expectation and dulling patience simmering across the older woman’s face. Bella shakes her head hesitantly, straightening her posture extra tight for good measure, just as she imagined her mother would like.
“I’ll be good … I’m sorry Madame Priscilla.” Bellatrix attempts to state flatly to the older lady, biting back any annoyance that sits on the back of her tongue. But the subtle twitch of furrowing brows and irritated eyes betray her. The instructor lifts her nose in quiet approval before nodding to Druella to her left.
“Thank you, Mistress Black.” Priscilla says, any acknowledgment of Bellatrix’s apology dismissed out of pettiness. Druella’s head bows in return, rising from her seat. Hands folding in front of her with practiced grace.
“If any other issues arise, inform Mildread … and please feel free to use whatever means of punishment you believe is suitable.” The instructor nods in understanding with a smile that holds a dim sickly glee within it.
A silent wave of unease turns in Bellatrix’s stomach. She had been punished for her impulsive and outspoken nature before. Flicks of wand burns are scattered upon her shoulders and wrists, out of sight and covered by black velvet. The weak inflicted wounds not lasting long and fading within a span of weeks. But even with the consequence of punishment— Bellatrix was stubborn. And watering herself down felt like an insult to her very being.
After a while, she didn’t mind the sting of pain anymore. It just put more thrill into such a mundane and stuffy life.
Bellatrix stays behaved when authoritative eyes are on her, but takes every chance she can to mock out of sight. Making faces, crude gestures, mimicking instructors and private tutors in a silly and over-dramatic manner (by the time Bellatrix is eight, they are on instructor number three). This earns a few stifled giggles from her younger sisters once they are old enough to be caught within the world of etiquette as well, Narcissa starting a year younger than Bellatrix had at the age of five.
Andromeda and Narcissa were more malleable than Bellatrix. Following instructions and understanding protocol. Narcissa even more-so, despite being the youngest. An eager need to impress and please.
It’s more fun with the presence of Andromeda and Narcissa. Watching them smile and suppress laughs in response to her theatrics made the weekly lessons bearable. A reminder that she didn’t have to go through this awful thing alone.
It almost becomes a game— how long can an instructor last before they quit? Bellatrix being the ringmaster while her sisters are the eager audience. It became easier to pretend with them being around. Figuring out when to ease faux sweetness and innocence into her demeanor to lessen the consequences or when to act appropriately to her mother's expectations. Her act changing when necessary.
One afternoon, years down the line after another etiquette lesson is complete— a male instructor takes his leave while harshly wiping down his soaked cravat (courtesy of a glass ‘accidentally’ tipping over by a seemingly invisible force), Druella and Cygnus return home from an outing.
As they pass each other by the main entryway, brief greetings are exchanged. Mildread giving the instructor his coat and hat with a flick of her hand before an object is presented.
The girls watch from their places at the dining table, some leaning to peer through the doorway. Stifling soft laughs as they try to hush one another— unable to keep their joyous amusement bottled.
“A letter arrived for you, Mistress.” Mildread greets, voice scratchy and filled with age, a skinny hand outstretching upwards towards Druella. The envelope is taken as cloaks effortlessly levitate from Cygnus and Druella’s shoulders with a snap of Mildread’s fingers, floating to their appropriate place upon the coat rack by the door.
“Thank you, Mildread.” Druella frowns, observing the sender’s address upon the letter as Mildread’s hunched form now begins to wander off back towards the kitchen. As the green seal upon the back is broken and the parchment unfolded, Druella’s eyes skim back and forth across cursive ink.
“Mildread is making raspberry tarts again for dessert— We might be able to steal a few before dinner.” Bellatrix whispers to her sisters, palms spreading upon the tablecloth below as she leans forward with a wicked smile. Narcissa’s eyes brightening with the thought of something sweet.
“Why can’t you just wait, Bella?? You’ll spoil your dinner.” Andromeda replies with low disapproval. A drawled scoff is exhaled from Bellatrix, head throwing back in a curved circle of dramatics.
“Come on, Andy, there’s no fun in waiting— You used to love when I took extras for you. Why are you such a stick in the mud now??”
“It’s not worth getting punished over.”
“You’re going to whine over one little mark on your hand? Oh, pwoor, ‘Dromeda, getting a little scratch—”
“It hurt, Bella!”
“Merlin, you’re such a baby—“
“Girls.”
Their mother seems to appear in the doorway in the blink of an eye. The three sisters retract from their childish natures and into the ‘well-behaved girls’ that their mother expected of them. Postures straightening, hands folding into their laps, and features as blank as they could be.
There’s a moment of strict observation from Druella before eyes glance downward to the letter in her hand again with tight lips.
“Your Aunt Walburga has just had a son.” A breath gets caught in her throat, olive green eyes glancing amongst her daughter’s faces, “It’s earlier than expected— we’re leaving for Grimmauld to congratulate her. Go upstairs to get freshened up before we depart.” Her steps are sharp as she turns to leave quickly, Cygnus already disappearing to the upper level of the house.
The girls watch stiffly as their mother leaves out of sight. Footsteps receding with haste. There’s a moment of processing silence before they all begin to hesitantly get out of their seats. Andromeda helping younger Narcissa down from her chair, taking her hand:
“… Shouldn’t she be happy?” Andromeda softly questions to Bellatrix as they all shuffle their way toward the stairs across the main foyer.
“When is she ever happy?” Bellatrix shrugs, looking up at the sharp and curved black iron chandelier overhead in drifting thought as they ascend up to the second floor.
Vivianna, their nanny, makes sure that Andromeda and Narcissa are aided in changing from their casual wear to something more formal. Bellatrix insisting on getting ready herself ‘now that she’s old enough’, not bothering to fix her hair after buttoning up her grey and black dress.
“Miss Bellatrix, your hair.” Vivianna says with a sigh as she finishes adjusting Narcissa’s white rounded collar on her dress.
“I don’t understand why you and mummy fuss about it so much.” Bellatrix frowns, watching as Vivianna stands to approach her.
“Since your mother makes a fuss, I have to make a fuss, unfortunately.” Picking up a brush, Vivianna untangles the hair tie from Bella’s thick hair. A light nudge is given to her shoulder, and Bellatrix huffs as she turns around to have her back face the other.
“It’s ridiculous…” Bellatrix mumbles as her arms cross, pouting. Vivianna can’t help but laugh a little, brushing through dark curls.
“It is… But don’t tell your mother I said that.” The nanny responds, placing the girl’s hair in a high-end ponytail, carefully raking in any stray hairs. Adjusting a black bow to be visible at the top.
“Vivi— Why do you do some things by hand when they could be done with magic?” Andromeda then questions as Narcissa has her arms outstretched, making circles as she looks at her feet to keep herself amused. Vivianna’s brows raise, glancing to the other before gently ushering Bellatrix forward.
“Some things don’t need magic,” Vivianna says, gentle gaze looking to Andromeda. Bellatrix now holding out her hand for Cissy to take, “It’s … sometimes better to do certain things by hand than it is by the flick of a wand.”
Quiet cogs are turning in Andromeda’s head, staring up at Vivianna in deep thought before she nods. Hands picking at the ends of her sleeves. Vivianna smiles briefly, some flicker of worry cascading upon her features but it fades quickly before she claps.
“Okay girls, let’s meet your mother and father downstairs—”
—
12 Grimmauld Place. An old ancestral home of the Black Family. Bellatrix and Andromeda have small memories of this place— both agreeing that the tall building is most likely haunted. Andromeda hated Grimmauld. It’s narrow, cramped, and seemingly endless stairwell intimidating and suffocating. She wonders how someone can stand living in such a place.
Walburga Black is a strict woman who has no issue putting people in their ‘place’, her wand being a weapon of punishment and not convenience. All three girls didn’t dare step out of line with her. Orion Black on the other hand was a stern-faced man but had his odd moments of graciousness. Bellatrix and Andromeda already knowing well of the secret candies he would give them after family dinners. It made him more approachable than Walburga who more than often wore ice on her shoulders.
Seeing Walburga tucked within her bed holding her newborn son felt familiar to Bellatrix, flashing back to the day Narcissa was born. The only difference striking her was how relieved and strangely happy Walburga looked. Happiness felt wrong on her. As if it was something that didn’t mesh with her being.
Andromeda, who stands next to her mother, notices a quiet distance in Druella’s eyes as she stares at Walburga.
“We decided to call him Sirius— After the many Sirius’ before him.” Orion announces proudly, keeping close to Walburga’s side. Gaze fond as he stares down upon his son whose face scrunches as he attempts to get comfortable in his mother’s arms.
“Good strong name.” Cygnus comments with a nod of his head and a strained smile, “Certainly will need one being heir.” His smile tightens in silent envy, eyes daring to glance at Druella. She does her best to keep her attention on her sister-in-law with a pleasant but sad smile.
“You’ve done well, Walburga.” Druella congratulates softly, the two exchanging glances briefly with polite flashed smiles.
The girls huddle hesitantly by Walburga’s bedside to get a glimpse of their new cousin. Narcissa hopping up and down briefly to try and heighten herself to see before Orion takes the initiative in picking her up, causing a light giggle from her.
“Welcome to the family, Sirius.” Andromeda greets, getting a few incoherent mumbles and babbling in response from the newborn.
With another year gone, another son is gifted to Walburga Black. Regulus they named him.
The girls don’t understand the hidden disdain that grows within their mother whenever the two boys are mentioned.
—
It’s a joyous day when Bellatrix’s letter of acceptance arrives from Hogwarts. With both Cygnus and Druella being proud alumni— they were proud to see their eldest proceed to their alma mater as they had many years ago.
Narcissa’s eyes well with tears as she grips tightly onto Andromeda’s palm. Steam from the Hogwarts Express hisses and spits from the tracks. Bellatrix attempting to twirl her new wand in her hands as she leans upon her trolley— the crooked balance of the dark wood unique and prominent as Vivianna speaks to one of the helpers as Bellatrix’s luggage is loaded onto the train.
“You’ll write— won’t you Bella??” Narcissa questions, attempting to blink away swelling tears. Bellatrix turns to meet her younger sister’s gaze— her hair already beginning to loosen from her bun. Some black curled strands framing her face.
“Course I will, Cissy!” Bella beams in a chipper mood, the curve of her hands propping up on her hips. “Oh, come now, I won’t be gone long— Soon enough you’ll be going to school alongside me and Andy!”
Narcissa gives a folded smile as she attempts to hold back the overwhelm of emotions that dared to break like dam walls. With a quiet sniffle, she lunges forward, giving her eldest sister a tight hug.
“I’ll miss you.” She mumbles into the fabric of Bellatrix’s shirt.
“I’ll be back before you know it, hm??” A light few pats are given to the line of Narcissa’s shoulders before the youngest steps back, quickly wiping away a few tears.
“Will you really write?” Andromeda asks, “You won’t forget?” A quiet cackle is given in reply, lightly tapping the other on the nose with the tip of her wand.
“Don’t trust me to hold a promise, Andy??”
The edge of Andromeda’s sleeve is scrubbed briefly on her face with a look of warning. Not wanting to shed tears.
“If I don’t get at least one letter, I’m never speaking to you ever again.” Another laugh is exclaimed.
“Wouldn’t be the most awful thing in the world.”
“Bella.”
“Alright, alright, yes— I’ll write! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
Andromeda huffs before the two exchange a brief but tight embrace.
“Okay—“ Vivianna sighs, filling in the small gap between Bellatrix and the other two sisters, silently checking that Bella has everything she needs for the trip. “You’re all set Miss Bellatrix … Keep out of trouble, yeah? And don’t spend all your galleons on the snack trolley— I’ll be here to pick you up when you return for Christmas. Better get on and find a good seat.”
Excitement festers in Bellatrix, eyes alight and ready to be set free within the world. Happy to be free of her mother’s restrictions, even if it’s only for a brief time. She grins, the luggage trolley now being taken away by one of the many conductors with ease.
“Until Christmas!” Bella says before bounding off, giving a small wave from the railing of the train. Disappearing into the compartment as the conductor makes the last call for the train.
—
Make smart friends and decisions. That was all her father and mother gave before her embark to Hogwarts along with spiteful warnings of Muggle-borns. Her father (or rather Mildread) retrieved some old Slytherin pride from the attic to show.
‘Your mother and I were both sorted into Slytherin when we attended, as were the rest of House Black.’ Cygnus explained, an aged dark green and silver banner across his lap.
‘We expect you will be placed the same.’
The train ride is looking to be abysmal. Watching the train station platform begin to disappear, face smushed against the heel of her palm. She had surprisingly found an empty carriage to herself, until a soft knock is tapped onto the glass.
“… I’m sorry to intrude— Everywhere else is full. Do you mind?” A boy with long dark hair set in a loose ponytail stands in the half cracked doorway. Features strangely solemn for someone his age. Bellatrix, with one knee propped up to her chest and unceremoniously slouched in her seat observes the well dressed boy as she adjusts her posture. Remembering her parent’s words on ‘making a good impression’. These weren’t etiquette lessons anymore— this was now being set into the real world.
He must come from a pureblood family like mine, she concludes from his clean cut appearance before shrugging.
“I don’t mind. Could use some company— I’d rather not die from boredom.” Bellatrix welcomes. She watches as he enters the space. Stiff and quiet, making sure to close the sliding door behind him with a soft click. He takes the empty spot across from her as she straightens out her skirt.
A mulling silence drolls between them.
“Bellatrix Black.” She then introduces, leaning forward as she extends her hand in a polite greeting. A brow raises, the other observing the outstretched hand before accepting her hand.
“Rodolphus Lestrange.” He states in return with a quiet nod of his head before there’s a flicker of recognition. “I… think we attended a ball together last year.”
She blinks, searching memories. Sacred 28 Balls were always dull things. She does her best not to think much being dragged to them in recent years. But his demeanor does hit a drop of familiarity in her mind.
“Oh…” Bellatrix states, unsureness straining in the back of her throat and at the corner of her eyes. “I— suppose we did.”
Another muffle of silence.
“Those balls are quite dreadful, aren’t they?” The comment causes a blink of surprise from Rodolphus— biting back a smile. Attempting to keep his face like stone.
“… I have to agree they are.” His voice drops low, as if afraid someone was listening in. Bellatrix quietly laughs, not helping but to grin.
Her first promising acquaintance made, and she hadn’t even stepped foot on school grounds yet.
—
“Ravenclaw!”
A round of applause irrupts once again through the Great Hall. A blonde haired girl by the name of Rita Skeeter happily rushing to her assigned house table. A flock of Ravenclaws old and new students welcoming her.
“Bellatrix Black!” Minerva McGonagall announces, her name ringing clear across the well filled hall. The sorting hat awaited her. She thinks of her parents, how they stood in these same halls and were sorted by the same hat. She wonders if they were nervous or confident.
Taking in a breath, she waltzes to the sorting hat.
As soon as the hat comes in contact with her head, the house name rings loud and clear:
“Slytherin!”
Her breath is exhaled with a growing grin, hopping down from the stool and to her assigned house table. Quiet greeted nods being given with a hefty amount of applause.
Here, she felt at home.