Disclaimer: definitely not mine.
A/N written for QLFC, round 6, Tornados Chaser 2. Write about a light character committing the sin of SLOTH or a dark character demonstrating the virtue of DILIGENCE.
I chose a dark character (namely Bellatrix) demonstrating DILIGENCE.
Optional prompts:
pose
therapy
lightning.
Word count (without A/Ns): 1313
Many special thanks to Queen Bookworm the First for betareading this story.
As this is Bellatrix's pov, please take it with a grain of salt, just in case.
Now... enjoy! :)
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September 1st, 1964, King's Cross Station
"Mudblood," she thinks with disdain, and yet... There are things that catch her attention.
Where is that bag you keep loosely in your hand going? Where are your old shoes taking you? What could your swishing robe tell? How old are you? How many of them have you fully lived, or have you? Are you starting now? Do you bow your head to someone? Where do steps take people?
Hush now, wandering mind, for I know where my future will lead me, I know how to live.
Feeling in charge of myself and my own deeds, sensing the life flowing through my fingers and being able to hold it, voluptuously sipping it; this I need. I desire a fearless heart, I long for a soul capable of perdition, darkness, terror. I seek a strong, burning essence. I want people to be afraid of my smile, to get harmed when they touch my skin, to pose a lethal threat to anyone who dares to look at me.
I'll give myself to complete destruction, ascend to unreached heights. I'll be a tsunami and a tornado, an earthquake and a fire whirl. I'll be red-hot iron and leave my mark on the world, for I have just one will: to fight and gain a place–a great one–in the world, to shine brighter than anyone else.
That requires discipline and perseverance, but I can do that, for if I fail, if nothing of this could ever happen, then I would have lived in vain.
I can't allow that.
It'll be as if I've never existed. My ashes will be blown by the wind and soon forgotten. It'll be as if I've never touched anything. The world will remain intact, and my breath won't make the leaves dance any longer. Everything will be quiet, everywhere there will be peace; a silent end, a calm goodbye, while a question lingers in the shadows, slowly consuming you: "Have you lived?"
Some day, I'll be asked such a question and I'll know how to answer. And for that, I'll work hard, obediently and silently, waiting for my chance to come. I'm willing to start from scratch and lie in the shadows for as long as it takes, for I have a goal, and to reach it I need patience and solicitude, as this plant taught me, just as my father said it would.
She fondly caresses her Belladonna, looking as it seems to lean on her touch. It has grown very well, and so will she, Bellatrix is sure of that. She just needs to take care of herself as she has taken care of her wonderful and lethal plant.
Yes, the thirteen-year-old girl decides, I'll be like this. It was but a simple seed at the time, and look at it now!
August 1962, Cygnus Black's Residence
Bellatrix has just failed to brew her first poison. Her father's stern eyes stare at her menacingly, but he says nothing. He merely hands over a purple, round seed, which she takes, intrigued and feeling shivers running down her back.
"You are to grow this plant and keep it alive for as long as I want you to. It'll teach something which will be very important to you if you wish to succeed in life... You do wish to succeed, don't you?" he casually says.
She quickly nods. "Of course, father."
"Good, I should hope so. Now, go to your room and care for this plant. It's a Belladonna."
She recognizes the name and her eyes grow wider.
I have a poisonous plant all to myself, she thinks excited.
She'd like to go to her sisters to be admired and celebrate at once, but she knows she can't. She's been given an important task and can't fail his father. This tiny seed will grow to be one of the most beautiful Belladonnas ever known, and definitely the most poisonous.
She feels so proud of herself. And if she'll be able to use the fluid from her own plant, the potion will certainly work.
She runs into her room, where she immediately puts the precious seed in a vase and the vase on the windowsill. She knows plants need light and warmth to grow, but she has no further knowledge.
Bellatrix looks around, lost.
The uncertainty lasts but a moment, though.
"The library," she reminds herself. And she rushes there, somehow managing to stay lady-like in the process. Her mother wouldn't be pleased with her if she ran down the halls.
Once in the library, she eagerly combs through dusty volumes and old books, until she finds those which she needs. She grabs them and heads to her room again, her steps lighter and happier.
For days, for weeks, for months the Belladonna is her first and last thought. She even forgets about meals when she is intent on attending her precious charge.
She waters it, polishes it, prunes it, protects it from harm in any way possible. And that, unfortunately, includes keeping her youngest sister away, but her Atropa keeps the secret of her bright future, for so Cygnus told her, and she blindly trusts her father.
She watches over the young shoots every day, in awe of their tenacity and strength. They seem so tiny and harmless, but she knows better.
And so the plant grows and blooms under Bellatrix caring eye.
Despite her solicitude, though, on a bad day, the leaves look pale and dying. She's desperate and once again makes her way to the library, hoping for a Herbology book she hasn't read yet. She can't find any.
She goes and finds her father right in the greenhouse, knelt by some Belladonnas, who looks as ill as her own. She crouches down next to him and observes him intently. She doesn't want to bother him, but she's clever enough to learn by merely following his rapid and skillful movements, her gaze intense and focused.
She quickly takes in the therapy, which can be resumed by the words, "A lot of love, but no mercy."
She doesn't know the spells his father was using but thinks that a sharp knife would do as well. With it, she expertly cuts out the ill leaves and irreparably contaminated branches, until only the healthy stump and strong roots are left. She looks at her Atropa satisfied.
Toujours pur, she thinks.
And her plant, too, must stay pure, of course.
May 2nd, 1998, Hogwarts
Today, the fate of the world is at stake, and so is my own fate, for they are the same, after all.
In my life, I've seen many things and I'm now ready, while my wand erupts vicious spells and curses in rapid succession.
I wish for my end to be spectacular.
"Not my daughter, you bitch!"
I look at the blood-traitor intently, then smile and inwardly gloat. She's just the person I was looking for to go ahead with my plan. She'll be following my script, and so will everyone my else, for this is my will.
I can't hear what spell she mutters, my mind is caught by the more pressing question, "Have you lived?"
As the green lightning runs towards me, I clearly see the answer, therefore, I don't bother to duck, for if I did, I may lose the chance to part from this world as I wish. After today, I'd stop living in any case, so there's no point in prolonging the agony. Everything dies, even my Belladonna died despite all my care. Diligence doesn't make you live forever.
I have but one regret: the world has not been purified. However, I've done my duty, and that comforts me.
The curse hits me. I smile, while answering, "Yes, I have."
This is not a mere death–could have never been–but the dramatic and titanic explosion of a Supernova, the death of a burning star. As such, none could ever forget Bellatrix Black Lestrange, who, due to her efforts, succeeded and marked the world.
And still a whisper that cuts like a knife echoes, "Have you lived?"
The end...?