Legal Stuffs - They aren't mine. Don't ask me why I created a plot involving Bellatrix and Voldemort. I just feel like there has to be one. There's going to be some very dark and depraved stuff in here, just so you're forewarned.
I met the Dark Lord when I was 16 years old. It was the summer of 1956, and I went because my parents grew to be insufferable, as they were always fussing and fawning over me, the beauty of the family. They were obsessed with the idea of marrying me off to a promising wizard, hopefully one to become the next Minister of Magic. Mother spent hours making me sit on a hard wooden chair in the dining room of our Manor, brushing my ebony hair till it gleamed. I had to listen to her chatter to her innumerable friends, talking and talking about stupid stuff, like haircare and love potions and all the girly bullshit I couldn't be bothered with. Father threw countless parties to which a good part of the wizarding community was invited, hoping to find someone for me.
Mother kept saying she just wanted me to grow up happy and privleged, as I had in their house. Father agreed with her adamantly, but I knew the truth. They couldn't wait to get me out of that place. I annoyed them with my very prescence, although they wouldn't say so. People said I was nothing like my mother, and they didn't mean it as a compliment. My mother was quite the charmer, cordial and a good host, with blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean. Everyone loved her.
I, on the other hand, was not much of a people person. Society irritated me, and every party usually found me outright refusing to come down, and tearing the frilly robes they set out for me to shreds. I was Defiance in a human form, my father said. My waist-length hair, before my atrocious mother got to it, was unkempt and all over the place. Many of my would-be suitors left because of a reason they couldn't explain. However, I can explain it: it was my eyes, black and unforgiving, that sent them off. I wouldn't talk, I'd only stare, and if I was lucky they'd leave that night.
In the end, my detestable parents got their wish. I left their home and "settled down", if you'd call it that, to the most powerful wizard in the world. My hair stayed sleek and beautiful, for my Lord liked it that way, until my imprisonment in Azkaban.
They learned their lesson, though. I believe you filthy Muggles call it "Be careful what you wish for". Mmmm, yes, that's the one. Imagine the shock on my parent's faces, as I cast the killing curse on them. In that split second before the beautiful green light blasted them to kingdom come, they saw the Mark. The Mark of my love for Lord Voldemort, and of my love for evil and the Dark Arts. They didn't know what hit them.
************************
My parents hired various tutors for me, refusing to send me to a wizarding school in favor of home schooling. They were a rich, Pureblood family, and hired only the best. The last tutor I had was a man by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange, who happened to be a Death Eater. He not only taught me Arithmancy, Charms, Potions and Transfiguration, but the beginnings of the Dark Arts as well. The latter of the subjects intrigued me immensely, and I longed to know more.
"Who taught you all this?" I asked him one morning as we studied some curses. He looked out the window, a proud smile beginning to show itself.
"A brilliant man." his low voice rumbled, a hint of awe in it.
"Can I meet him?" I longed to know more than the basics of his craft.
"Why would a young, pretty girl like you want to meet a Dark Wizard?" his eyes, black like mine, flashed.
"I want to learn."
"You're learning now."
"Not as much as I want to." I was like a child who'd discovered candy when it came to the Dark Arts. I asked him unrelentingly to take me to meet his teacher, but each answer was a firm "No."
One day my mother came into my bedchamber, seemingly excited.
"Someone wants to meet you, dear. He's downstairs and he's really cute!" she said with a big wink. Urgh.
"Another guy, I'll bet." I said darkly.
"He's really nice! And his father's well into politics-"
"I don't wish to see him."
"Do I need to get your father in here?" she said shrilly. I didn't want to deal with another night of endless hexes from my father, who had his N.E.W.T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's ironic to think that none of his knowledge helped him against Avada Kedavra. Foolish man.
I closed the Potions book I was studying, and with a sigh, followed my mothers bouncing curls down the winding staircase.
Seated at the table was a squat, brown haired man with a bowler hat being wrung in his stubby hands. He was sweating a bit and I heard a slight gasp once he saw me.
"This is Cornelius Fudge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic." my mother gestured to him. "Make him feel welcome."
"How d'you do?" he said to my breasts, face red as a tomato. I knew I stunned him. Even at 16 I could "teach the stars to sparkle," as my Lord would later say.
I merely inclined my head to him. He looked a little odd and I didn't like him already. The least a man could do was address my face.
"How about some tea, you two?" before I could refuse, Mother had set the cups down on the table.
As I sat down across from the sweating pig who wouldn't acknowledge anything but my chest, I smelt something. I looked down, and as usual my tea was black...but something didn't feel right to me. Rodolphus had always told me to watch my back, that he'd hate to see such talent go to waste. I was lucky I'd been studying my Potions book before then, or I might not have caught it. The scent was cleverly masked, but the little hint of cinnamon was enough to tell me everything. My mother had put a few drops of a love potion in the tea, and the knowledge of this made me sick to my stomach.
I looked at Fudge. To think she would have had me become enamored with this sorry excuse for a man was disgusting. I gave her a knowing glance and, feeling the beginnings of rage blossom inside of me, emptied the porcelain cup out onto the floor.
"Nice trick, mother." I looked at her, my eyes full of hatred.
"Wh...whatever do you mean?"
Gods, she disgusted me. The Bleaching charms obviously had permeated her already thick skull. There was no use in pretending. She knew that I knew. This was the second time in three weeks she'd done it, only the last time was a bowl of charmed berries that thankfully were slightly off-color. Never again.
It all semed to happen so quickly. I had stood up, sent my chair clattering to the stone floor, and burst into our cavernous library shaking a furious finger at Rodolphus.
"Take me to him. NOW!" I shouted.
He calmly closed his book and stood up, straightening his black robes.
"As you wish, darling. My Lord says it's time."
I met the Dark Lord when I was 16 years old. It was the summer of 1956, and I went because my parents grew to be insufferable, as they were always fussing and fawning over me, the beauty of the family. They were obsessed with the idea of marrying me off to a promising wizard, hopefully one to become the next Minister of Magic. Mother spent hours making me sit on a hard wooden chair in the dining room of our Manor, brushing my ebony hair till it gleamed. I had to listen to her chatter to her innumerable friends, talking and talking about stupid stuff, like haircare and love potions and all the girly bullshit I couldn't be bothered with. Father threw countless parties to which a good part of the wizarding community was invited, hoping to find someone for me.
Mother kept saying she just wanted me to grow up happy and privleged, as I had in their house. Father agreed with her adamantly, but I knew the truth. They couldn't wait to get me out of that place. I annoyed them with my very prescence, although they wouldn't say so. People said I was nothing like my mother, and they didn't mean it as a compliment. My mother was quite the charmer, cordial and a good host, with blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean. Everyone loved her.
I, on the other hand, was not much of a people person. Society irritated me, and every party usually found me outright refusing to come down, and tearing the frilly robes they set out for me to shreds. I was Defiance in a human form, my father said. My waist-length hair, before my atrocious mother got to it, was unkempt and all over the place. Many of my would-be suitors left because of a reason they couldn't explain. However, I can explain it: it was my eyes, black and unforgiving, that sent them off. I wouldn't talk, I'd only stare, and if I was lucky they'd leave that night.
In the end, my detestable parents got their wish. I left their home and "settled down", if you'd call it that, to the most powerful wizard in the world. My hair stayed sleek and beautiful, for my Lord liked it that way, until my imprisonment in Azkaban.
They learned their lesson, though. I believe you filthy Muggles call it "Be careful what you wish for". Mmmm, yes, that's the one. Imagine the shock on my parent's faces, as I cast the killing curse on them. In that split second before the beautiful green light blasted them to kingdom come, they saw the Mark. The Mark of my love for Lord Voldemort, and of my love for evil and the Dark Arts. They didn't know what hit them.
************************
My parents hired various tutors for me, refusing to send me to a wizarding school in favor of home schooling. They were a rich, Pureblood family, and hired only the best. The last tutor I had was a man by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange, who happened to be a Death Eater. He not only taught me Arithmancy, Charms, Potions and Transfiguration, but the beginnings of the Dark Arts as well. The latter of the subjects intrigued me immensely, and I longed to know more.
"Who taught you all this?" I asked him one morning as we studied some curses. He looked out the window, a proud smile beginning to show itself.
"A brilliant man." his low voice rumbled, a hint of awe in it.
"Can I meet him?" I longed to know more than the basics of his craft.
"Why would a young, pretty girl like you want to meet a Dark Wizard?" his eyes, black like mine, flashed.
"I want to learn."
"You're learning now."
"Not as much as I want to." I was like a child who'd discovered candy when it came to the Dark Arts. I asked him unrelentingly to take me to meet his teacher, but each answer was a firm "No."
One day my mother came into my bedchamber, seemingly excited.
"Someone wants to meet you, dear. He's downstairs and he's really cute!" she said with a big wink. Urgh.
"Another guy, I'll bet." I said darkly.
"He's really nice! And his father's well into politics-"
"I don't wish to see him."
"Do I need to get your father in here?" she said shrilly. I didn't want to deal with another night of endless hexes from my father, who had his N.E.W.T. in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's ironic to think that none of his knowledge helped him against Avada Kedavra. Foolish man.
I closed the Potions book I was studying, and with a sigh, followed my mothers bouncing curls down the winding staircase.
Seated at the table was a squat, brown haired man with a bowler hat being wrung in his stubby hands. He was sweating a bit and I heard a slight gasp once he saw me.
"This is Cornelius Fudge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic." my mother gestured to him. "Make him feel welcome."
"How d'you do?" he said to my breasts, face red as a tomato. I knew I stunned him. Even at 16 I could "teach the stars to sparkle," as my Lord would later say.
I merely inclined my head to him. He looked a little odd and I didn't like him already. The least a man could do was address my face.
"How about some tea, you two?" before I could refuse, Mother had set the cups down on the table.
As I sat down across from the sweating pig who wouldn't acknowledge anything but my chest, I smelt something. I looked down, and as usual my tea was black...but something didn't feel right to me. Rodolphus had always told me to watch my back, that he'd hate to see such talent go to waste. I was lucky I'd been studying my Potions book before then, or I might not have caught it. The scent was cleverly masked, but the little hint of cinnamon was enough to tell me everything. My mother had put a few drops of a love potion in the tea, and the knowledge of this made me sick to my stomach.
I looked at Fudge. To think she would have had me become enamored with this sorry excuse for a man was disgusting. I gave her a knowing glance and, feeling the beginnings of rage blossom inside of me, emptied the porcelain cup out onto the floor.
"Nice trick, mother." I looked at her, my eyes full of hatred.
"Wh...whatever do you mean?"
Gods, she disgusted me. The Bleaching charms obviously had permeated her already thick skull. There was no use in pretending. She knew that I knew. This was the second time in three weeks she'd done it, only the last time was a bowl of charmed berries that thankfully were slightly off-color. Never again.
It all semed to happen so quickly. I had stood up, sent my chair clattering to the stone floor, and burst into our cavernous library shaking a furious finger at Rodolphus.
"Take me to him. NOW!" I shouted.
He calmly closed his book and stood up, straightening his black robes.
"As you wish, darling. My Lord says it's time."