To Be Nothing Else but Mad

“To define true madness,

What is’t but to be nothing else but mad?” -Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2

I don’t like trains. I never have, I never will. Especially not this train. The Hogwarts Express, my new least favorite train; not because of what it is, but because of where it’s going. Hogwarts. What a stupid name for a school.

I’m sitting in an empty compartment on the (stupid) train. Rain is hitting the window like a hurricane (or like a storm that wanted to be a hurricane, but dropped out of weather college and settled for being an above average thunderstorm). A familiar feeling begins to form in my stomach, and I quickly push it down. A Black is never nervous, I tell myself, a Black is never afraid. I’m not afraid, but I am nervous. Not about being on a train, or starting my first year at Hogwarts. I’m nervous about messing up. My sisters are counting on me. I’m the oldest, I go first. If I mess up, my parents will punish me for the rest of eternity for ruining my sisters’ futures, for being a disgrace to the Black family name. I don’t want to think about how they’ll punish me, I already know.

The feeling in my stomach threatens to evict my lunch. I need a distraction. I open the small bag on the seat across from me and retrieve my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. At least, the cover says “The Tales of Beedle the Bard”, but the book itself is actually Hamlet.

Owning (or even reading) a muggle book is absolutely forbidden in the Black family. If my parents found out they’d…

But it was worth the risk. I’d first read Hamlet about a year ago when I had stumbled upon an old, worn-out copy of it during a walk with my sisters. I hid it under my dress and read it that night. I hated myself for loving it so much. “Bellatrix,” I’d told myself, “you are a pure-blood, and pure-bloods don’t read muggle books!” And I promptly threw it out. But the few lines I had remembered had clung to my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Only a few days after getting rid of it, I had retrieved it and replaced its cover with one from an old children’s book. Over the past year I’ve read it six times, always turning to it when I need a distraction. It wasn’t in great condition to begin with, and I’ve repaired it a few times, but all of the pages are there.

I read it slowly, taking in each word like a single breath. By the beginning of Act IV, the Hogwarts express has pulled into the station and I am forced back into the real world, away from the bliss of fictional tragedy.

The rain is still pouring as I row across the lake to the gigantic castle that is to be my second home for the next seven years. For most first years, the castle is a wonder, but I look at it and that feeling creeps up into my stomach. A feeling that I have had far too much of for one day.

As I look at the water, my reflection is distorted by the rain. I can’t help thinking of Ophelia, cold and lonely in the water. How many bodies are in this lake? I wonder, How many Ophelias have drowned in this water? Will I join them? I force my eyes from the water and focus again on the castle. Hogwarts looms over me. Judging me. Laughing at me. In a few hours I’ll be sorted, and that moment will determine my future. I have to be a Slytherin. Bellatrix Black is a Slytherin. If I’m not a Slytherin, my parents will— I don’t let myself complete the thought.

The first years are lead into the great hall. The older students are staring at us, waiting for the ceremony to end so that they can eat. Professor McGonagall (who had introduced herself to the first years upon our entering the castle) is standing at the far end of the room, which is elevated from the rest of the room like a stage. Behind her is a table where the other professors sit. Next to her is a stool with an ugly old hat on it. My parents had already told me how this works. You put the hat on your head and it tells you what house you’re in.

There are four houses, but as far as my family is concerned, only one really matters. For a Black to be anything other than Slytherin is unacceptable.

Of course with the last name “Black” you’re always at the beginning of the list of names, and I’m called before I have time to fully prepare. I walk up to the stool with my chin up. “Always walk like you’re the most important person in the room, Bellatrix.” my mother would tell me. Even if she can’t see me, I can’t bear to disappoint her. I perch on the stool regally and wait for McGonagall to place the hat over my curly black hair. It covers the top of my head and my eyes, plunging me into darkness. A voice calls from the darkness. A voice in the back of my head.

“What to do with you,” it hissed, “An interesting mind, for sure. Where do you belong? You’re courageous. Cunning. Very wise. Perhaps…”

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat yells into the crowd.

Applause sound from the Slytherin table and I breathe a sigh of relief. I walk proudly to the table to join my housemates. Off to a good start. The great hall fills with impatience as the ceremony draws on. I don’t pay much attention, not even to my fellow new Slytherins. I’m just savoring my moment of success, and waiting for my meal. A knot in my stomach finally loosens. After an eternity, the last first year is sorted and Professor Dumbledore (introduced as the headmaster) gives a speech. Finally, the feast begins.

Food of every kind appears on the tables and students fill their plates. My nerves arent gone enough to eat much, but I help myself to some chicken. The whole room fills with the painful sound of hundreds of people talking at once. I become aware that I can still hear rain, and instinctively look up. The ceiling is enchanted to mimic the outside weather. This would be more impressive if the outside weather wasn’t the hurricane-wanna-be storm. Another enchantment keeps the rain from falling to the tables. I sit quietly with my relief until the feast is over.

The Slytherin prefects lead us through the dungeons to our common room, which is hidden behind a wall. As I enter, I can't help but feel a sense of familiarity. I almost think I'm walking into my house.

The common room is cold and unwelcoming. Black leather furniture is scattered over the stone floor. The walls are emerald green with snakes painted on them, and there seems to be a green tint over everything in the room. Even the fire seemed to glow a faint green. The floor is cold, and I am still painfully aware that we are in a dungeon. A cold, gaudy, probably-sinister dungeon.

There are two staircases, one on either side of the far wall. One leads to the boys' dormitory, the other leads to the girls' dormitory. I'm forced to share a room with three annoying first year girls who wont stop giggling. Pathetic.

I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take over. And for the nightmares to begin.