Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, no matter how awesome or kickass that'd be. The blasphemous truth has been said.
A/N: This fic came to me—or more so pounced on and tore my head off—after reading DeepDownSlytherin's A Keen Observer (fantastic piece of fiction, by the way, should be canon). It was originally meant to be a full-length story, but I don't have the time or inspiration to finish it anymore. Still, I love what I've already written, and I thought it'd be a waste if I never posted it.
So here it is, Grievances, in all its fragmented glory. In snippets.
"These are the times that try men's souls."
—Thomas Paine.
It happened so quickly.
I was laughing, laughing and joking with her. I was alive for the first time in months, alive and something more than a specter haunting that damned old house that I never really liked.
"Come on, you can do better!" I taunted. What a stupid thing to say.
I hadn't meant to goad her—well, no, I had. But I hadn't expected to die.
The sounds of battle fade away into the background, dull to my ears. I'm falling, slowly and painfully, and manage to catch another look at the glee and excitement on her laughing face.
But it's a lie.
I don't know why it's there; I don't even know if I'm really seeing it at all. But there's something there on Bellatrix's face as she laughs, as she taunts and gibes. There's regret, remorse, almost as if she were sorry for killing her "itty bitty cousin."
A part of me knows it's absurd to think that, because the woman shrieking elatedly above me is a far cry from who she used to be. But I remember. I remember a time when she was innocent, when she was kinder and a bit more compassionate, when the world was a simpler place. I remember a time when Bellatrix Lestrange was simply Bella.
There's an acrid taste in my mouth as I think it, as I feel something like a cobweb-strewn reel clicking into motion and replaying the images, the years, in my mind. It's stupidly cliché to think, but it's bluntly true.
My life flashes before my eyes.
Grievances
Chapter 1: Childhood Innocence
I can recall with great ease the earliest years of my life. Each memory seems so raw, so vivid and real, as if it had only happened moments ago. I remember my youth as the most glorious time of my life; it was free from the pressures and ethics of the outside world, and lacked the complexities of love and loyalty. I was simply a child, and that was how I liked it best.
In those days, ignorance really was bliss.
I don't remember much before Reg came into the world; in fact, I can't even think of a time when it wasn't always the two of us. When we marched around the house, determined to stir mischief and relieve the gloom that our parents were so intent on having, he was always there: my loyal companion, my faithful sidekick. Despite what would become of us, it would always hold true that he was my brother and that I loved him.
"Reg, you're an idiot."
Really, I did.
"Sirius, not that again."
"Kidding, Reg, only kidding."
We were alone in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, lying listlessly on the floor. Both Mother and Father were away, most likely pursuing their freedom from a house occupied by their nauseating and insufferable sons. I can only imagine that their pretense of "visiting relatives" was a guise to do so. At any rate, neither Reg nor I cared. It wasn't as if it was something new—they did it all the time—and we were perfectly happy to be left to our own devices. We liked it better that way.
I heard him yawn in boredom and raised an eyebrow. "Bored, Reg?"
His eyes roved about momentarily in his head as they gazed about the room. Father's bookcase, erected against the far wall and polished so that the dark red wood shined, painted a pretty picture lined with all of its thick tomes and books.
The curtains were drawn over the window so that the room was plunged into semi-darkness, and the emerald carpet beneath us was swept impossibly clean (the house-elves' work, of course). A low fire crackled in the grate beneath a portrait of a man who I supposed was a distant ancestor—I didn't particularly care. His condescending gaze and sharp nose instantly inspired dislike in me by the time I was old enough to feel it.
"Obviously enough." Reg's comment shook me out of my reverie. "We've just been lying on the floor for hours!"
"It's only been twenty minutes."
"Whatever, it's the same thing, really."
I chuckled. "Leave it to a six year-old to have a seriously messed up sense of time."
He sat up, sweeping his dark hair out of his eyes, and I was able to fully appreciate what our parents' friends meant when they said we looked alike; the resemblance was striking. Had his hair been a bit longer like mine, had his chin been more pointed and less round, you could have easily confused us for identical twins with the unique trait of having one being taller and somewhat older looking than the other (not to mention much more handsome).
"Well, anyway," I said, "we could always do something a bit more fun." When I waggled my eyebrows and flashed him a mischievous grin, Reg stuck out his lower lip and threw me a suspicious look.
"I don't like where this is going," he whined. "Last time we did something stupid, Mother nearly found out we were the ones who broke the porcelain plates and not the house-elves. And besides, I don't want them to get into anymore trouble because of us."
I waved away his concerns impatiently. "Last time was different. Trying to glide along the dining room table was a lame idea anyway. We can do better."
"And we won't get caught?"
"Have we ever?"
"Well..."
"Not counting the time we stole Father's wand and bewitched the goblets to dance."
"No..."
"Then what've we got to lose?"
"Only a few limbs," he sighed, but I knew from his halfhearted shrug that he was conceding defeat. I grinned.
-
"That was honestly one of your stupider ideas."
I winced in pain as Andy pulled a shard of glass from the back of my head. Reg's sharp gasp of pain from behind told me that Cissy was doing the same.
I suppose I should have been thankful that our cousins had stopped by to check in on us—no doubt on our aunt and uncle's urging—and yet I couldn't find it in myself to be grateful. They had ruined our boyish fun with their arrival, stolen our air of bold independence. Still, I'll admit that I much preferred them finding us bleeding to death on the carpet than Mother—she would have been terribly peeved that we'd gotten it dirty.
Andy yanked another shard from my skull none-too-gently and muttered something irritably under her breath. "I don't understand the leeway Auntie and Uncle give you," she said, voicing her opinions. "Sirius will always manage to outdo himself in the end."
"It was my idea," Reg muttered. Cissy smiled knowingly and patted his head as she fished out the last of the glass fragments.
"Of course it was, Reg," she sympathized, indulging him. "We all know it was really you. Sirius won't get into any trouble. Neither of you will."
He seemed to buy this, because he sighed and relaxed enormously. "Thanks."
I felt hands comb through my hair for the last few remnants before leaving my head. "Parachuting from the banister and onto the cupboard? Really, Sirius?" Andy tried and failed spectacularly to hide her laughter.
"Boys will be boys."
I looked at Bella, who was reclined languidly on the long couch before us and taking in our suffering with good humor. She flipped her dark hair out of her face and shifted her gaze to Andy.
"Someone'll have to tell the house-elves to keep quiet about it, or they'll tell Aunt Walburga without any regard for Sirius and Reg's well-being—especially Kreacher." She twirled a finger in her hair as the fire played shadows on her face. "You do it, Cissy. He admires you, but I think he's a bit afraid, too."
I scoffed. "Of Cissy? Not that she can't be perfectly terrifying when she wants to be," I hastily remedied, turning an apologetic gaze to her to communicate that I'd meant no offense, "but she isn't exactly the terror-inducing type."
"Please," Bella drawled. "She's mastered our mother's glare to an art form. Show Kreacher your magic, Cissy?"
With a small smile, she nodded and rose, leaving the four of us in the drawing room as she dished out her cold fury.
It was Reg who left next, muttering some lame excuse about cleaning the doxies out of his room before Mother returned. Andy and Bella exchanged knowing glances, seeming to understand that he'd escaped to marvel in Cissy's prowess. With a soft chuckle and a roll of her eyes, Andy swept from the room and followed.
There was only Bella and I, then. She beckoned me closer to her side, and, hesitantly, I crawled over. She reached down and cupped my cheek in her hand as she studied my face, and I couldn't shake the odd feeling that she was examining more than my features.
"You're impetuous," she said, finally, withdrawing her hand. When it became obvious from my expression that I didn't understand the word (I was eight, after all), she added, "You're reckless and don't think things through before you do them. You just jump into one mess without really considering how you're going to get out." She ruffled my hair affectionately. "You and I are a lot alike."
I tried to look as aloof and unconcerned as I could.
I think she still noticed that I was beaming.
In my younger years, it was Bella, not Andy, who had been my favorite cousin. At sixteen, she was rash, passionate, impulsive, and bold—nearly everything I aspired to be. Being likened to my dearest cousin, to Bellatrix Black, was nearly an honor.
To say that I didn't adore Bella would be nothing short of a lie. She was nearly the mother Reg and I never had. She was the one who would carry us to sleep when we passed out from fatigue, who would read to us fantastic fairytales of bold wizards and dragons and power, who would carefully tuck us to sleep. Often, she'd tell us that the world was our vineyard and we had our pick of the juiciest.
That's not to say that I didn't love Andromeda and Narcissa—I did, as only a cousin could. The five of us were always together, rogues from our parents and their strict rules and silly guidelines. But at the time, Bella meant so much more to me. Of course, I noticed that as she got older she became a bit more distant and reclusive, but I dismissed it as the normal signs of teenager brooding. I would eventually grow to think that the same would happen to Andy and Cissy. I would've never guessed that she would have become what she did.
"Well, I think it's about time we left, but we might as well pry the house-elves from Cissy's claws first," Bella yawned, rising from her perch. She jerked her head to ask whether or not I would come, and I scrambled to my feet in reply.
As we left the dim room and crackling fire behind, she muttered a passing comment.
"The last thing I want is for Aunt Walburga to raise her wand against us."
I couldn't help but agree.
-
The summer after, Bella turned seventeen.
It was a festive gala, nothing short of lavish and grand, for Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus had wanted to send their eldest daughter off into the world with relish. I don't think it was a show of their affection, but more a show of their wealth.
They had decided that it would be held at one of their infrequently used villas, and had made sure that the grandeur of the place was imposing to even the wealthiest of purebloods—they had no intention of being outshone.
The house-elves had charmed the chandeliers to glimmer to an almost obscene degree, and had swept the place clean of dust. The polished, dark wooden floors gleamed underfoot, their beauty only intensified by the cluster of bejeweled woman and dark-robed men standing on top of them: Rosiers, Wilkes, Averys, Lestranges, Bulstrodes, Malfoys, Mulcibers, Notts—if you hadn't been invited, it was assumed that you were either being snubbed for a particularly nasty scandal or had turned into a blood-traitor.
None of this seemed to matter to Bella. As Reg and I marveled at all the guests from the balcony overlooking the entire affair (we were still young, and because of that had never been to a party at all), she simply released an irritated sigh and plopped down on the bed.
"Don't do that, Bella," Cissy warned. "You'll ruffle your dress robes."
Bella pulled a teasing face and swept from the bed to motion in front of the mirror.
She had always been attractive—that was practically expected of Blacks—but tonight she was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair was piled high on top of her head, resembling an elaborate crown of black silk; any wayward curls spilled down the sides of her face. Her dress, colored in rich hues of dark blue and ending in a bell-shaped gown, was pulled tightly against her body by a black-striped corset. Blue gemstones sparkled from her ears.
"How do I look?"
It was a silly question, because the answer could have only been "lovely." I saw Reg struggle with this on his face before he spouted, "Like a girl in a very uncomfortable set of dress robes."
Bella snorted and wriggled an arm in one of the wide sleeves. "That sounds about right."
"I think you look gorgeous," Cissy sighed dreamily. "Tonight will be all about you, Bella, and no one else. You'll get all the attention—and there are quite a lot of respectable men here tonight. Isn't it exciting?"
"Hardly," Bella grimaced. "I have no intention of getting married right out of school. The last thing I want is to be tied down young."
"What about Rodolphus?" Andy asked. I saw the small smile that crept slowly onto Bella's lips.
"That's...different. He isn't going to drag me off to his dungeon and force me to do it. We have plans, a few things we want to do."
"Like what?" It was an innocuous question that I couldn't resist asking.
Bella raised an eyebrow at me, and I could see in her eyes that she was contemplating whether to tell me or not. Finally, she shrugged.
"My, everyone's suddenly nosy and suspicious about my love life. Is this what turning seventeen is all about?"
"What, you didn't know?" Andy's voice was filled with feigned surprise. "You're of age now, so your first priority is to produce seven sons to carry on your lineage."
Bella waved a hand theatrically and pretended to swoon, to which Andy and Cissy broke out into snickers. "I suppose Rodolphus and I should get started right away!"
Of course, all of the joking went over my head, because I wasn't nearly old enough to understand where babies came from, excluding the one story Andy told me which explained that wood nymphs delivered them to doorsteps. I'd find out much later from knowledgeable friends who knew just a bit more than they should have—you would've thought they were experts themselves.
When their fits of laughter died down, they disentangled themselves from each other, a pile of glossy hair and expensive dresses, and made to go: Cissy smoothed out her plait of blonde hair as Andy brushed the dust from her own green dress. As the two of them exited, Bella cast us a not-entirely-believable-but-certainly-meant-to-intimidate glare.
"Don't break anything while we're gone."
"What?" Reg looked at me as if he hadn't a clue in the world. "What ever is she talking about, Sirius?"
"I haven't the faintest idea, dear boy."
She fought down a laugh. "I mean it."
"Okay, okay, we get it: don't tear the place apart." I waved her away with an air of feigned annoyance.
"Alright," Bella said, "I can see where I'm not wanted."
As she walked off, it suddenly struck me that she was leaving, departing forever from the safety of childhood and innocence and irresponsibility. Most importantly of all, she was leaving us.
"Bella?" She turned back at my whisper. "I'm glad for you...it's fantastic...I know growing up is really important..." She furrowed her brow at my struggled attempts to spit out my thoughts. "Look, just... don't ever change, okay?"
Understanding flitted across Bella's grey eyes, and a smile curved onto her lips. She leaned down to kiss my forehead and hug Reg tightly. It was her reassurance, her silent promise that nothing would ever come between us. But she was seventeen, already had six years of magic under her belt. It's foolish to think that she hadn't already met the man who would call himself Lord Voldemort, had not already taken up his cause and became his faithful and loyal servant.
And yet...even after she left, as Reg and I watched from the balcony as she took Rodolphus's hand and shared with him a look of dark passion, as she talked and danced and laughed through the night, her response was still ringing in my ears:
"I won't."