A/N *PLEASE READ*
When I got the idea for this, dyslexia kicked in and reversed Bellatrix's and Sirius's ages. I was positive that Sirius was 8 years older than Bellatrix. Please forgive my brain fart and enjoy this fic as an AU. :3
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, nor shall I ever claim ownership of J.K Rowling's masterful work. All characters and places in this story are borrowed from Our Queen, Rowling.
This is my first completed fanfic! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Please review!
Five-year-old Bellatrix Black did not enjoy family get-togethers at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The women fussed and cooed over Mama and the baby, Andromeda, while the men sat in the kitchen, speaking of dark things in hushed voices. Bellatrix much preferred the kitchen conversations, but after being caught listening once and thoroughly scolded for it, she found herself forced to sit quietly in the parlor, listening to the gabble of her aunts and mother.
On this particular visit, however, Dromeda was in a particularly fussy mood, and while Mama's attention was focused on the whiny, squirming child, Bellatrix managed to slip away unnoticed, into the main hall. She made her way quickly to the kitchen door, but an odd sound coming from upstairs piqued her curiosity and stopped her in her tracks. It sounded at first like just a lot of static-y noise, but as she ascended, a few steps at a time, into the shadowy stairwell – having already forgotten her first destination – she realized that the sound was music. Very loud, angry-sounding music. She liked it.
Up and up Bellatrix went, stopping to stare in fascination at the elf heads on the wall, and to poke her nose into all the unlocked rooms along the way, exploring as much as she dared, but never becoming fully distracted from her hunt for the source of the music. Finally she came to the third floor, and it was clear from which room the obnoxious sound issued. Unhesitatingly, Bellatrix pushed open the door, and was met with a full blast of deafening noise. She covered her ears and looked around with wide eyes. It was a large room, with a luxurious four-poster bed, and a full outfitting of mahogany furnishings. At least, that was what they seemed to be, but it was hard to tell, as every surface was covered with photographs, red and gold hangings and – muggle posters!
A gasp escaped the girl, and the music was suddenly turned down to a much more tolerable volume, though not off altogether. Bellatrix's attention was brought abruptly to the bed, where she now realized somebody lay, reclining against the headboard, face hidden behind a magazine – a muggle magazine! On a table next to the bed sat a plain-looking wireless, which had obviously been magically amplified.
"Can't you read?" came the gruff voice of a teenage boy. "'Sirius'. Says it right on the door. Reg's room is across the hall; I'm sure you'll find him much less of a disappointment.
A slight, angry blush crept into Bellatrix's cheeks. She could not yet read – a source of constant aggravation for her tutors and her parents. "Of course I can read!" she lied, trying to make her voice as loud and disdainful as possible.
Sirius suddenly sat up, letting his magazine fall to his lap, eyebrows shooting up into his messy hair. He hadn't bothered to see who it was that had opened his door. "Wha- oi! What're you doing in here... it's Bella, right? I thought your mum watched you like a hawk after the kitchen incident. Did they send you up here for Reg?" he frowned, "I guess you wouldn't be able to read the door signs. Too little. Well, Brother-Dear's room is across the hall. Go on." And with a nod and a shooing motion, he slouched back to his magazine reading.
Bellatrix stood with her mouth hanging open, her blush growing. She knew who her cousin Sirius was; she'd seen him a few times, but they'd never officially met. During the summers when Bellatrix's family visited, he was always either in trouble for something and told to stay in his room, or he stayed there by choice. It was rare for him to be seen even at meal times. Intrigued as she was about her mysterious cousin, Bellatrix could not help but antagonize him. This was one family member, she realized, to whom she could talk back. "You're a rotten egg! Mama says I'm not allowed to talk to you, 'cause you'll only try to fill my head with muggle-loving prattle!" Bellatrix smirked, pleased with her own mimicry of her parents' words.
Again, slowly this time, Sirius lowered his magazine and raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward, looking her in the eyes for the first time. Even from all the way across the room, Bellatrix could see something in his grey eyes that was not present in those of the rest of her family – a shining, laughing, mischievous sort of light. "So," he said, and now there was humor in his voice, "your mum doesn't want you talking to me... but you're doing it anyway?"
For a moment, Bellatrix stood shocked, but she quickly shook it off and drew herself up. "And what if I am? You don't do what your mum says!"
Sirius grinned broadly and laughed. "You're right, I don't. And I never will. Look, come here," he said impulsively, leaping off the bed and striding across the room to a chest of drawers. She followed him, driven by that same burning curiosity that had drawn her to the music. He took his wand out of his pocket and tapped the top drawer, glancing down quickly to gauge his cousin's reaction to the use of underage magic. Bellatrix crossed her arms and, copying Sirius's earlier gesture, raised an eyebrow. With a bark of laughter, Sirius opened the drawer, took something out, and sat on the floor in front of the young girl. He opened his hands to reveal a very small but exact replica of a motorbike. Carefully, he set the miniature bike on the ground, and tapped it with his wand. The bike soared into the air, making revving sounds that were nearly drowned out by the still-loud rock music, and flew toward Bellatrix, who caught it in cupped hands.
For the first time, Bellatrix grinned back at Sirius. His laugh and that light in his eyes were infectious. Suddenly giggles bubbled up from somewhere the girl didn't know existed within her.
Sirius's expression changed slightly. "Keep that," he said, "I'll be getting the real thing soon enough. I'm going to leave this place, and once I do, I'm never coming back. Everything they talk about, plot about, down in that kitchen – it's wrong! It's evil! That's why I don't do what my Mum says; she's got everything all wrong and - and twisted. I don't have to be that way. Neither do you."
There was a tense electricity between them for a moment, as his light, hopeful eyes locked with her dark ones, and she clutched the little toy motorbike nervously, unsettled by his words and the intensity of his gaze. Finally, she broke the charged atmosphere by stepping back and shaking her head, as if trying to rid herself of the traitorous words her cousin had spoken. She'd known he talked this way – it was why he was always in trouble - but somehow, now, it upset her. She liked Sirius. She liked to laugh.
"BELLATRIX BLACK!" screeched the furious voice of Bellatrix's mother from downstairs, making both of them jump, and Bellatrix drop the toy. Sirius took the flustered girl's hand and tugged her out of the room and down the stairs. "Don't worry, Auntie Druella, I've got her. She just got a bit lost on the way to the loo, it's such a big house. Here she is, safe and sound." They nearly ran right into Druella at the bottom of the stairs, and Sirius gave her his most charming smile.
Druella stared at him with a stony, severe face. "Thank you," she said very stiffly, and grabbed Bellatrix's hand out of his.
With a tap of his finger to his forehead and a wink at Bellatrix, Sirius thumped back up the stairs.
As her mother drew her back into the parlor, Bellatrix was acutely aware of the weight of the toy motorbike in the pocket of her robes. Sirius had slipped it in as he hurried her out of the room.
Three years later, eight-year-old Bellatrix would throw that motorbike angrily against the wall of Sirius's abandoned bedroom, vowing to hate him for the rest of her life. He'd left. He'd actually left. And if he hadn't taken her with him, how did he expect her to be anything but what the family wanted her to be? 'Fine,' she would think to herself, 'you don't have to be like them. I don't have to be like you!' And she would leave that room with a resolution to become everything Sirius had rebelled against. Her own little rebellion, against him.