Burn Bright, Starlight
-Memoirs of Bellatrix Lestrange-
Shoujixyo-chan
Not one of my usual endeavours, but eh. I was reading a terrible fan fiction about Bellatrix's last moments when I thought 'hey, I can do this better!'. But I usually think that anyways so I was surprised when these ideas just sprung up in my mind. Enjoy!
STARTED 8th DECEMBER 2011
17th DECEMBER 2011
Bellatrix's earliest and clearest memory is that of her cousin Sirius Black pulling at her curls and teasing her. He tells her that her parents don't love her, that they'll cast her out of the family and blast her off the family tree like the disgrace she is.
She wants ever-so-much for him to like her but he only taunts her and pulls pranks on her that are so cruel and humiliating. Bellatrix is three, and she thinks Sirius Black is the most hateful person in the world.
She laughs when he is disowned and kicked out of the family.
She laughs even more when he is felled by her spell, and disappears through the veil.
She wonders if it would have all turned out different if Sirius had been kinder towards her, the moment before she dies, laughing in an exhilarated way that only Blacks could in the midst of battle when death was imminent.
She falls and her master roars like the lion he most despises.
Bellatrix has always been regarded as the odd child of the Black household, daughter to Druella Black nee Rosier and Cygnus Black. She is the middle child, uncertain of her position in their household.
There is Andromeda, her sister, the oldest- a perfect mix of her mother and father. Her looks mimic Bellatrix's, or rather, vice-versa, but they couldn't be more opposing forces. Where Andromeda was soft, Bellatrix was hard. Where Andromeda's dark (Black) eyes shone with kindness, Bellatrix's shone with an almost fervent malice. Where Andromeda had soft, silky curls, Bellatrix's were wild and flyaway, a Black trait that was also inherited by her Aunt Dorea who married a Potter.
There is Narcissa, pretty, beautiful Narcissa. Narcissa is almost a carbon copy of her mother, a perfect little pureblood lady. Druella was right to name her daughter after the flower, the legend. Narcissa has eyes of sapphire, hair of flaxen gold, and skin fresh as cream. She has a delicate, almost fragile beauty. Bellatrix knows that she will make a perfect pureblood wife one day, and this is proved by the Malfoys seeking a betrothal contract between their oldest, Lucius, and Narcissa. They have an age disparity of seven years but that is not a problem, as Lucius is handsome and willing to wait.
Bellatrix knows that Narcissa has always dreamt of fine jewellery, lush fabrics, and a large manor rivalling that of the size of Hogwarts. Bellatrix tells her, gently, that she will be able to achieve all that with a husband like Lucius Malfoy.
Bellatrix loves her sisters, even Andromeda, the Muggle-loving fool, but she has always felt that she has never quite belonged. She is yet to carve her own niche in the world, but she is young, and she has not yet attended Hogwarts.
Bellatrix is wild, Bellatrix is fierce, Bellatrix is the problem child and the one stuck in between perfection and beauty, her sisters. Andromeda is Head Girl and Narcissa is betrothed to one of the politically powerful families in Britain.
Who is Bellatrix? She whispers in the dead of night, stairs creaking and wind bellowing like a ghost. Who is this bright-eyed, wild-haired childe of Magic?
Nobody answers.
Her life changes when she is seven, and hears hushed whispers of a rising Dark Lord waging war on Albus Dumbledore and the corrupt Ministry, rallying for pure-blood rights and a New World with filthy Mudbloods and Muggle scum taught their place: in chains and servitude.
Cygnus is sharing a tumbler of Ogden's finest with Abraxas Malfoy and Sirius Black's father, Orion Black. They speak in low tones of a man full of Darkness and power, a man who claims to be Slytherin's Heir and speaks the serpent tongue, a man with magic that is potent and so seductive.
Bellatrix thinks that she would like to serve this man, this powerful entity that she conjures in her mind, and vows to be stronger than all of her sisters.
Her father teaches her, not like he teaches her sisters. He knows that she is special, he can sense greatness within her, and knows that she will enter Slytherin not only for her heritage, but for her ambition and slyness, cultivated from a young age.
He teaches her customs that every pureblood worth their salt knows, basic arithmancy, the history of their people; he teaches her politics and etiquette, psychology and ancient Runes. When she is ready, he says, he will teach her the Dark Arts.
The Dark Arts. She is filled with a rush of glee whenever she hears the words. She will take her place in the Dark Lord's army, she vows, she will be his most powerful, his most trusted, his most prized.
"Black, Bellatrix!"
The hat screams Slytherin! Before it even touches her head and Bellatrix knows that she is on her path to greatness. The Slytherin table claps politely and she takes a seat next to Lucius Malfoy, who nods in greeting. Rodolphus Lestrange studies her, but she takes no notice as she scopes the hall for a familiar face.
Ah.
Evan Rosier, her second cousin from her mother's side, seventh year- and also a Death Eater. He promises to introduce Bellatrix when she was older.
She is on her way to becoming the Dark Lord's best Death Eater.
The moment she meets the Dark Lord Voldemort is the moment she believes that she has found her purpose in life. She will serve this powerful man with a seductive aura and powerful magic. She will rise in his ranks and become his most favoured, that she swears on the mark of ownership her Lord bestows upon her: a lovely gift of serpent and skull in ink the colour of night.
She glows with pride, as the men around her whisper and whisper. They are not accustomed to witches being fiercer than a lion, to her living up to her namesake as the Warrior star Bellatrix.
Bellatrix is a warrior. She vows to never forget that.
Her husband Rodolphus is handsome in the way that only purebloods are, high cheekbones, aquiline nose and sharp cheekbones. He has some Black in him, from generations back, but it is marvellous and Bellatrix thinks of how their children will look, with his chocolate waves and her grey eyes. Perhaps even golden hair, for she knows Rodolphus' sister has ash-blonde curls.
She dreams and dreams until the day hope is taken from her by a well-aimed curse from an Auror on a raid. The Aurors name was Frank Longbottom.
The madness devours her whole and spits her back out, a shadow of a whole. Rodolphus thinks that a fallen Bellatrix is one of the most breath-taking sights; her beauty is only intensified by her insanity and rage.
And when she escapes from Azkaban, that dark beauty is decaying and tainted.
Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when in pain?
She would do anything for her Lord.
The Darkness grips and never lets go.
Harry Potter stands before her, broken and beaten, but there is a fire in his eyes and a delicious darkness tainting his wild magic.
'You need to mean them Potter!'
And for a moment, he does, and Bellatrix thinks it's the most exquisite thing she's ever experienced.
The funeral of Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black is attended by two people: her sister and her beloved nephew. It happens on a day neither rainy nor sunny, simply in between, the way Bellatrix used to be- her, Andromeda and Narcissa.
Andromeda is not there, mourning her husband and daughter and taking care of Teddy, but she sends a bouquet of thorny black roses with a note:
Bellatrix, you always were the brightest star, more so than Sirius.
- Andromeda Black.
And Narcissa weeps, for there is no-one to disparage her for her tears. There is no-one to witness grief her grief aside from her son, who surreptitiously wipes a few tears from his cheeks, staring in astonishment at the crystalline liquid.
Draco and Narcissa were astonished when Potter turned up at their trial and vouched for their innocence. We wouldn't be here today without them, he'd pleaded, earnest emerald eyes shining behind his spectacles. They were the ones to save you and me from being claimed by Voldemort. How can you send them to Azkaban after all they've done for us? They're no guiltier than Albus Dumbledore himself!
Draco hated that word, saviour, when it applied to him. He was a coward, running and hiding, but somehow Potter understood. Narcissa laughs at the irony of the Boy-Who-Lived saving her from Azkaban. Her husband is not so lucky, he is to spend two years in that hell hole.
I'm sorry Mrs Malfoy, two years was the best I could get for him. Harry Potter's voice echoes in her head and her eyes clench shut, handkerchief clutched in her hand.
Her husband is in Azkaban and her life is torn apart. Life goes on, but never as it was before. But she has her son by her side. At her sister's funeral, a raven watches from a high tree branch, head cocked to the side.
It takes off in a flurry of wings and Narcissa fancies that she can her sister's high laugh mingling with the cries of the raven.
Her sister always held too much fondness for the Dark.