"Sirius!"
The ruggedly handsome teen growls huffily at his poster-clad walls as the shrill sound drifts through the cracks around his heavy oak door, and he wonders aloud what his mother wants now. Pushing his half-packed rucksack underneath his grand four-poster, Sirius Black turns and strolls out of his room and jumps the stairs three at a time until he's on the first floor.
He grins around at the shadowy walls of the parlour, thinking of nothing but his imminent freedom. This would be one of the last times he would see this hideous room, and the thought floods him with joy that threatens to pour from him uncontrollably. He hates it here.
"What?" He asks, halfway down the stairs that lead to a dusky – but spotless and pristine – kitchen. His parents turn in tandem to face him, similar looks of disapproval lining their faces.
"Don't 'what' me like that, boy!" His mother orders, causing Sirius to roll his dark blue eyes and jump the final four steps carelessly.
His landing is accompanied by an uncomfortable slapping noise of feet against concrete, and the sound nearly extinguishes Sirius's, "Yes, mother?" He tries his best to inject a note of interest into his voice, though he's not sure why he bothers. He'll be leaving here soon, and the need to be false will be erased.
Orion, Sirius's father, rises from his chair and places a hand on Walburga's shoulder, staring his son dead in the eye. "It has been arranged for you to marry your cousin, in order to ensure the survival of the Black fortune and blood." It's a plain, simple statement, yet it causes Sirius's blood to run cold and then ignite with the passion of a severely pissed off dragon.
"I don't think so, sir." He replies through gritted teeth.
"You have no option!" Walburga chimes in, harsh features seeming more pinched, angrier. "The wedding is to be held as soon as you graduate from Hogwarts."
Sirius snorts, "Is that so? Well, I wish you the best of luck, dearest parents, for I shall not be attending!" And he shoots his parents the dirtiest looks he can force, before turning and sprinting up the stairs, not stopping until his bedroom door slams behind him.
Him, marry Bellatrix? About as likely as him staying in this hell house for the remainder of the summer. She was psychotic… Beautiful, but insane.
* * * * *
"Bellatrix!"
The witch arches an eyebrow lazily, continuing to apply crimson gloss to plump lips. Once satisfied that the substance was evenly spread and just bold enough, she rises from her stool and glides out of her room, mildly curious about what they want this time. However, agitation at being disturbed overrides this curiosity.
"Yes, mother?" She asks, standing in the doorway of the drawing room and moving her deep blue eyes between each of her parents. They simply look back at her, beaming, and she feels her patience beginning to slip, "You called me?" She adds, as if trying to shake them from their reverie.
"To announce your betrothal to your cousin!" The reply is slurred and excited, and Bellatrix blinks back at her mother slowly, who continues to dart her proud little smile at her eldest daughter. It made Bellatrix squirm in her stilettos. She looks to her father, who she's always been fonder of.
"My cousin?" She repeats, forcing an air of calmness into her words. "You wish for me to marry my cousin?"
"We believe it is the best way to ensure the continuation of the Blacks, and hopefully, it will help bring Sirius back onto the right path."
Bellatrix doesn't know whether to be glad or sorry that she's left her wand on her dressing table. "He is a child," She replies in an angry half-whisper.
"But he shan't be when he graduates. The wedding is set for that summer," Druella contributes, and Bellatrix quite fancies the idea of using the Cruciatus curse on her. Her Lord, who she was preparing to visit that evening, would be pleased that she'd practised, even if he advised her to use rodents and useless muggles, as opposed to her own family.
"I wish you the best of luck for the wedding, dear parents, but I shan't be attending!" Bellatrix snaps back, whipping out the room before they have chance to retort. She'd tolerated their useless instructions for long enough, but she had never been one to do exactly as they said.
Marry Sirius? The filthy little Gryffindor child? About as likely as her declaring her allegiance to Albus fucking Dumbledore. Handsome he may have been, but he was a filthy little coward…
Ah, how tragically alike they are.
* * * * *
"Prongs,
Hope you don't mind, but I'll be arriving earlier than planned. As in… tomorrow. I don't want to tell you in detail in a ruddy letter, but my parents want me to marry the psycho. Yep, Bellatrix.
I told them to fuck off, in a round-about way, so I think it's best if I don't hang around, just scarper asap. I've thought about what you said, about not telling Reggie, and I've decided you're right. I'll just leave at sundown tomorrow, while they're all scoffing their fat faces… speaking of which, I hope your parents have plentiful supplies of Bertie Bott's' and chocolate frogs to satisfy their new son.
Can't wait to get out of this hell hole!
Padfoot."
The owl who is delivering the hastily-penned note seems to dance through the air, channelling the happiness of the boy whose nickname was signed at the bottom of the scruffy scrap of parchment.
* * * * *
Her Lord has sympathy.
He understands that she cannot marry her cousin, understands that she's too good for him. "My, my. Dear Bella, marry a Gryffindor?" He says, back to her, leaving her desperate for him to look at her.
"Yes, my lord. I told them no, though. I wouldn't degrade myself in such a way."
"Quite, quite." He drawls lazily, running a long, pale finger over the spine of a black leather book, one of the hundreds along the vast, elegantly carved shelves. After a moment of silence, in which Bellatrix shifts awkwardly, he turns and raises an eyebrow effortlessly. "I don't suppose they took that answer well."
"I left before I had chance to find out."
"Running away, Bella?" He chuckles, the sound cold and cruel as he slithers towards his Death Eater, "so unlike you." Lord Voldemort looks down upon her like a predator.
Bellatrix smiles a little, liking the way he knows her so well, though she is quick to mask it with her reply. "No sir, I just didn't want to be late for our lesson."
Such a decorous way of referring to these little meetings. Bellatrix is, by now, a very able Death Eater, and there's nothing more of dark magic that he can teach her. "Wise." He replies easily. "You will visit your cousin."
He has confused her. He laughs.
"Don't worry, Bellatrix. You shan't marry him."
She believes him, and nods.
"Now, we had a lesson planned." She stands instinctively, reaching his chin, and smiles, resting one hand on his slender chest daringly.
She would visit her cousin. Tomorrow, at sundown.