Accursed
By. Lilyfox
The Black family was cursed, or so whispered the gossipmongers at social functions when the scandalous behavior of the other pureblood families had ebbed for the time being.
Rumor had it that we'd been cursed for centuries. One story told of a chieftain from one of the Saxon tribes, in revenge after the conquering of Godwinson's forces at the Battle of Hastings, cursed my family; who had crossed the channel along with the Normans and many of the pureblood wizarding families in search of more land and power.
Another claimed that the curse had been cast during the 16th century when the second Civil War, the War of the Ventus, broke out for dominance over the wizarding throne. The Lauerdan clan challenged the Black's claim to the throne after Richard Mansfield died without an heir. The great matriarch of the Lauerdan clan, Marion Lauerdan, out of desperation for the power of the throne called upon the dark magic to lay upon the Black family a curse that would plague the members for generations; until the bloodline was halted.
Where ever the curse had been procured, it was real. One felt it whenever they were in contact with the Blacks, and I lived it.
Insanity laced the family tree from years of inbreeding, and almost all were stricken with a grotesque and macabre perception of reality. The society in which my family had flourished and molded had subtly distorted our acuity.
Never had a member of the Black family truly been content with their life. Misery plagued our lives; even the lives of some of our greatest members. For, although my family is notorious for some of our darker involvement in wizarding society, we've had legends amongst ourselves. My family has produced: prime ministers, heads of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin recipients, headmasters, diplomats, seminal researchers and world-record-breaking Quidditch stars. It seemed the only type of success we could not produce was joy.
My father was Cygnus Black; he was the youngest of three children. From overhearing conversations between my grandmother Irma and my aunt Walburga at past family gatherings, I found out that my father had always been melancholic, even as a child. Depression had always stifled him and as he grew older he tried to mask it in the consumption of alcohol. He was drinking to escape his despondent thoughts, but instead of helping him run away from misery it caused it; he had a horrible temper after a few drinks of firewhiskey.
My mother had always been delicate. She was a daughter of the House of Rosier, who'd gained its status and fortune after Artois Rosier moved the family to England from France during the 18th century and became the largest importer of French robes. He later expanded his company to include furniture, quills, hats, porcelain, and cosmetics.
Druella Rosier was arranged to marry my father only four hours after she'd been born. She was a sickly child after having almost died during birth, and later when she was five she came down with an almost fatal case of the Dragon Pox. Afterwards she always had a weak immune system and was in constant fear of the next deadly disease that would threaten her life.
My parents never loved each other; they weren't even partial to each other. My father always blamed my mother for his greatest failure in life, never producing a male heir to the Black family.
My sister, Bellatrix's first memory was of the day that my younger sister Narcissa was born.
She stood at the entrance of the doorway to my mother's bedroom, her black hair falling in waves around her shoulders and she held her favorite doll in her right hand. My father, after hearing from my mother that for the third time his child wasn't a son, had drank near a bottle and a half of firewhiskey in a rage.
In his drunken wrath, he'd stormed into my mother's room where she was holding her new baby. She was so enthralled because Narcissa was unlike Bellatrix and me, who had the dark patrician features of the House of Black. No, Narcissa, with her blonde tuft of hair and cerulean eyes, looked exactly like Druella.
Well when my father entered the room, he took out his wand ready to kill Narcissa for not being the son that society required him to produce. He'd endured enough humiliation. My mother screamed as my father approached her, his wand drawn, his eyes burning with malice.
As he shot a minor dark magic spell that would have ended the life of my newborn little sister; my mother, desperate, turned to shield the baby. With a blood-curdling scream that resonated through the house the spell ripped through my mother's abdomen, destroying her uterus, and making it, ironically enough, impossible for my father to ever have an heir to his family's legacy.
Bellatrix, stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in her mother and baby sister drenched in fresh blood. The metallic smell was overwhelming. She was roughly pushed away with ease as our governess ran into the bedroom to save my mother. Bellatrix couldn't take her eyes of the crimson stains spreading, dripping, flowing…
And that was the day that Bellatrix lost her innocence.
After that incident my parents were through. They lived in absolute loathing of each other. My father became emotionally disconnected to my sisters and me because we weren't the sons he needed. He drowned himself in his work and liqueur never to be fully human again; he'd lost his humanity a long time ago.
My mother went her own separate way with Narcissa, her gem, her world. Narcissa became our mother's pet and was spoiled with all of her attention from the day of her birth onwards. I hold no unrealistic thoughts on this subject. I know, as does Bellatrix, that if it'd been either of us that my father had tried to kill that night, my mother would have never shielded us. But Narcissa, with her Rosier features, belonged to my mother while Bellatrix and I were the property of the House of Black.
My sister Bellatrix is the most infamous of the Blossoms of the House of Black, as me and my sisters were referred to. Over the years as we'd grown into beautiful daughters, the pure-blooded matrons loved to sit around and talk about what flowers we resembled and represented. There was nothing more exciting than symbolism for those in the upper regime of wizarding society; they thrived on it.
Bellatrix was the Lobelia flower, vivid, unpredictable, and poisonous in great quantities. But what was more telling was the denotation of the Lobelia in the language of flowers. People outside the pure-blooded society like to believe that the matriarchs are blind to the morbid undercurrents running in their circles but look at the meaning behind Bellatrix's flower and you'd realize they weren't as blind as they came off to be. The Lobelia flower symbolizes malevolence and ill will.
Although it would have seemed to be common sense to refer to my younger sister, Narcissa, by her namesake the Narcissus flower, that would have been too easy for the matrons. They crowned the lavender rose as my sister's flower. The delicate lavender rose stood for love at first sight and it properly described the influence my sister had amongst everyone around her. With her classic features, her light white blonde waves of hair that was always perfectly coiffed, and her natural charm; she was the doll of the upper class. Everyone loved her.
Now I on the other hand was an enigma to those who knew me growing up. I was very quiet as a child, believing that I learned more from observation of those around me rather than trying to be the center of attention unlike Bellatrix and Narcissa. I was happy to be the forgotten child growing up. So the matriarchs associated me with the Dahlia, the flower of elegance and dignity.
The problem was, growing up, I was quite intelligent, but I was also a female. Pure-blooded society is deeply chauvinistic, and women were supposed to have no ambition. Our goal was to become the perfect example of domesticity; to be the perfect wife who represented the family well through appearances, and to give birth to many male children so your husband's line could continue. So I hid my intelligence through silence and proper manners.
I truly believe that it was this deep seeded sexism that destroyed Bellatrix in the end. She had never been stable, even as a child she suffered from mania, a result of the generations of inbreeding. Her temper was legendary and you never knew what would ignite her fury.
I remember once when we were children- she couldn't have been much older than nine or ten- a house elf came to inform us that our mother requested our presences at dinner. Bellatrix suddenly turned on the poor house elf, her appearance seemed to transform before our eyes into one of the Furies, and she let out a wave of raw uncontrollable magic that slammed the house elf into the opposite wall. With a loud sickening crack the neck of the house elf snapped and the lifeless body slumped onto the ground before all our eyes.
Bellatrix's countenance began to melt until I once again recognized my older sister; as the realization at what had just occurred struck her, shock and fear flashed across her obsidian eyes. She hadn't consciously been in control of herself.
From that day forward, although at first I didn't recognize it, I began to fear my sister.
But, in my opinion, what honestly drove my sister onto the path of the woman she later became was my father. Bellatrix never truly respected our mother because of her frailty, but she was starved for the acknowledgement and praise of Cygnus Black. She attempted to become the son he always desired. Her bravery, power, and ability to manipulate were all qualities that, if Bellatrix had been born male, my father would have admired. But, forever bitter at his perceived failure, my father rejected Bellatrix and admonished her for not being demure, delicate, and malleable, like the stereotypical pure blooded daughter.
That rejection from her father is what pushed Bellatrix towards Him.
The summer before Bellatrix began Hogwarts my mother had taken the three of us to Diagon Alley to have robes fitted for Bellatrix's upcoming school year and to have Bellatrix choose a wand at Mr. Ollivanders'. After we were done she led the three of us into side alley, walking briskly. I turned my head curiously and spotted a rickety old sign that read Knockturn Alley.
Narcissa looked around nervously at the lack of the normal crowds that inhabited Diagon Alley asked cautiously, "Where are we going to Mother?"
Druella turned to face the three of us, her midnight-blue robes billowing around her, "Your father asked me to pick him up something when he heard I was going shopping around London. We're going into Knockturn Alley, so you three have got to be on your best behavior. If any of you embarrass me I'll let your father handle you."
The three of us nodded our heads in understanding, none of us wanted to be brought our father's angered attention. She turned swiftly and entered the stagnant street. The houses weren't well kept and the street appeared to be slowly decaying away. We crossed a series of shops with obscure items in the front window. Bellatrix paused slightly as we passed Schmidt's Dark Arts Bookstore to catch a glance of the inside of the store, only to have Mother snap at her to stop dawdling.
Our mother entered into Borgin and Burkes and we primly followed her lead. The shop was filled with a wide variety of different objects all organized in different sections. Narcissa quickly spotted a display case filled with jewelry and rushed towards it staring in awe at a necklace that was made up of many white diamonds and one large black diamond.
I stayed near her and looked at another case filled with a mélange of vials in different sizes and colors. Small handwritten inscriptions could be read on their labels such as: Hyoscine, Antimony, Hemlock, and Mercury.
Caractacus Burke peered languidly over the counter to see what Narcissa was staring at in such raptor, "Eh the Black Orlov caught your eye Miss Black?"
Narcissa torn away from the black diamond looked up at the aging shopkeeper and courteously replied, "Yes sir, it has."
Burke laughed deeply; it almost sounded malicious, "Then by all means ask ole' Cygnus to buy it for you. I've been having quite the difficulty selling that piece." He said now turning towards my mother. "It's been in here for at least five years. Too many people who've owned it have jumped off buildings." Giving a sadistic laugh he went back to discussing business with my mother.
Ever since that incident with the house elf, years before, I'd always kept a close eye on my older sister and I couldn't help but notice that she was on the other side of the shop, standing, transfixed by a sword that hung from the wall. Its sharpened blade glinted in the dim light, the handle encrusted with precious gems. Carvings were drawn along the blade describing an ancient story.
I noticed a tall dark man walking up behind her and I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the following conversation…
"The Sword of Glencoe." The mysterious man said in an eloquent, velvet-like voice. And I found myself thinking, even at the age of nine that he was a born orator. His voice captured a person's attention and held it.
Surprised she turned around and caught the piercing eyes of the striking man before her. She held his gaze until it overpowered her and she turned away first subtly bowing her head, almost as if in compliance to him. She'd seen something in his eyes.
"The sword of what… sir?" She added the sir almost as an afterthought. Bellatrix had never called anyone sir before, except for Father.
"The Sword of Glencoe, it was the sword that Robert Campbell yielded during the Massacre of Glencoe where he and his men attacked and murdered members of the Clan of MacDonald after the MacDonalds had offered him hospitality. The massacre was a murder under trust which was seen as even more heinous than regular homicide. A curse had been created in the ancient Scottish wizarding laws that befell anyone who committed a murder under trust." The man explained to a riveted Bellatrix.
"I went and retrieved the sword two weeks ago from a clan leader in Inverness under the direction of Mr. Burke."
Bellatrix's eyes were alit with a dark curiosity, "And what does the curse do?"
The man quietly chuckled, "Anyone who spills a single drop of blood onto the blade is possessed with an evil spirit that slowly devours the person from the inside out, leading to a slow and painful death. And as the person is being devoured blood from his past victims begin to drip from his eyes. Tears for your damnation, the Scots believed." The stranger slowly described the grotesque scene, drawing out the words to bring emphasis on the sluggishness of the victim's demise.
Bellatrix bit her lower lip as she turned back to the sword with a new appreciation for the weapon, "Wow…" She said almost inaudibly.
The man studied the eleven-year-old in front of him who hadn't flinched away from the sword's gruesome blight, but instead had relished in it. Having earned a grain of respect for the child before him he interrupted her mental ruminations, "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier, I'm Tom Riddle."
Bellatrix offered her petite hand to him, "I'm Bellatrix Black, sir, daughter of Cygnus and Druella from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black." She said proudly, raising her head slightly and tossing her hair back.
Tom Riddle took her hand and bowed forward kissing her hand in the customary greeting. But as his lips met her skin his eyes looked up catching Bellatrix's and her breath left her and her heart thundered in her chest.
"I'm surprised you're not with your sisters looking at the gemstones," Riddle told my sister with an edge of condescension.
Bellatrix saw the challenge he offered her in his eyes. She raised her head smugly looking him straight in the eyes, "I could care less about jewelry; my place is here with the weapons." She turned slightly to give a longing gaze at the wall filled with every weapon one could imagine. She turned back towards Riddle and said, as an afterthought, "Did you know I was named after the constellation of the female warrior, Bellatrix?"
And Tom Riddle smirked enigmatically. He'd found his future queen for the chess match he was slowly setting into motion.
Looking back years later, I have mixed feelings about my childhood. My husband, as hard as he tries to empathize and understand my thoughts on the subject, will never grasp how I can still love my sisters.
Honestly it's hard for me to understand after the treatment I had to endure from them. I like to try and convince myself that if they loved me they wouldn't have ostracized me. They wouldn't have been so quick to reject me, and they would have put in the effort to try and understand that I fell in love.
It'd be easier to hate them and to not care.
When we were younger, before Hogwarts, and before we had broken out of our naïve perception of life, sheltered by our family's estate; we were best friends: Bellatrix, Narcissa, and I. We had told each other everything and we had known everything about each other.
But time flew by, as it has the habit of doing; and we were slowly torn apart by different factors. Bellatrix with her fanaticism and overzealous nature, Narcissa with her desire for perfection and control, and I… I desired the freedom to think, and be myself.
The trouble in all this is I never stopped caring about my sisters.
The day Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy in an ostentatious wedding that monopolized the headlines of every newspaper in the United Kingdom, I couldn't help but wonder if she was in love? Like the untainted love that I shared with Ted. And I remember fervently hoping that she was.
And the day that Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan sat trial before the Wizengamot for their crimes; I couldn't help as my heart tore when Crouch announced the punishment for my sister. Life in Azkaban… doomed to become an empty corpse as the dementors sucked her humanity away, like leeches.
Ted was shocked to find me crying silent tears of loss for my unrecognizable sister, as I listened to the trial over the Wizarding Wireless Network.
And no matter what, even if they don't return my feelings, I'll never give up my love for them, because they are my sisters.
A/N: I'm back, after almost a year of not writing a single word for fanfiction. Although this one-shot could be viewed as a standalone, it's mainly a prequel for my newest multi-chaptered Ted/Andromeda story, Blank Canvas. I felt like the scenes in Accursed were needed for character development but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of Blank Canvas by continuing to do flashbacks. Basically Accursed is my case-study on this branch of the Black family and how they became who they are, especially Bellatrix. Well I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did tune in to Blank Canvas, which I'm going to release the first chapter of tonight. All questions, comments, and concerns are welcome. And thank you for reading!