A/N: Everything she ever did was for her. short Bellatrix/Andromeda sibling series.

Submission for:

Lyric Inspired Drabble Challenge II - I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

"Again!" her father shouts, releasing another bright purple flash from his wand.

She watches the spell fly through the air, her vision slightly impeded by a few of her long, black curls that had gotten free of her bun. Acting quickly, she jumps to the left, spinning on her heel before firing a spell of her own.

It isn't until she sees the grin on her father's face that she realizes her folly. He easily blocks her weaker spell before aiming his wand at her legs. She screams as her skin rips open and falls onto the wooden floor.

"There's no time for fancy footwork in battle, Bellatrix," he says as he walks over to her, mindful to keep his wand pointed at her face. "It's that sort of thing that will get you killed."

"Yes, Father," she says, staring down at the open wounds on the backs of her legs. The blood should have been warm, but after three hours of training, she doesn't feel anything. Her body is sore, her muscles cry out from over work, and her chest heaves from exhaustion.

He gives her a curt nod before he pulls a silver pocket watch out of his breast pocket. "We'll stop for today," he says, stowing away the watch and his wand, as he walks out of the room and leaves her on the floor.

This is her daily routine. They would rise bright and early, before the sun even warmed the Earth, and step into this spare room for her training exercises. As a Black, she was born to be the best, and her father wanted to ensure no one would ever doubt that. He trained her like the son he never had, honing her abilities in dueling and expanding her knowledge of the Dark Arts. To what ends, she did not fully know, but her father promised that they would be great and she would be rewarded tremendously for her diligence and performance.

Once she got there, that was. For now, she still had a long way to go. She groans as she pushes herself into a sitting a position and begins to heal the injuries on her body. This is part of the training as well, to heal herself as best as she can. She wouldn't be able to count on anyone else to help her in a real battle, not even her own father.

Soon, the blood disappears, the cuts seal and the bruises fade, but the pain is still there. Her body is still weak from the fight. But she puts on a brave face and gets to her feet. A Black does not show weakness.

She steps into the hallway to see her younger sister walking past, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"Good morning, Bella," Dromeda says, showing off the space in her mouth from her most recent lost tooth. Then her cheery expression falters as the younger girl takes in the dark circles around her eyes, and the slight sway of her body. "Are you okay, Bellatrix?" Dromeda asks, tipping on her toes to place her hand on the taller girl's forehead.

She grabs the smaller girl's hands and places a small smile on her face. Only her and her father know the details of their training, how she is pushed until her knuckles split open and how many times she's bled on the floor.

But she can't tell any of this to Dromeda. She doesn't want to mar her sister's bright view of the future, to taint her with the dark reality of this family which lies just beneath the surface. Her sister will remain pure and innocent as long as she's around to do anything about it.

"Nothing, Dromeda," she says before she tugs her sister down the hallway back to their bedrooms. "Come, let's go get dressed."