Last
I could have gone a lot of different ways with Bellatrix's story. She's one of those characters that you know well but don't necessarily understand, mostly because of the whole, "hey, I'm completely nutters and want to have Voldemort's babies" thing. But I really like the idea that, once upon a time, she actually cared about human beings, even if it was only her siblings. Besides, I always kind of feel bad for Narcissa, so I decided to make things (almost?) nice for her. I also like how similar this story is to Pansy Parkinson's (coming soon to a Fanfic page near you!), which illustrates a lot how things could have turned out in Harry's time had Voldyboy succeeded.
"Andrews, Louisa!"
A squat, unattractive girl stepped hesitantly out from the mass of cowering first years and approached the Sorting Hat. Bellatrix watched the proceedings in seeming disinterest for the dull task, while in truth she sat transfixed. It was important for her to study the incoming students, watch out for any who may cause trouble and those who easily be swayed to the cause. Any Gryffindors instantly received an answer in the negative; same went for most of the Hufflepuffs. Slytherins she trusted were already convinced of their participation, or else a mere discussion away from agreeing, and with proper encouragement many Ravenclaws could be shown the logic of accepting.
Once the hat let out a shrill cry of, "Hufflepuff!" her gaze narrowed back in the direction of the rest waiting sorting. Unsurprisingly she found the long, flowing blonde locks and stiff stature of her youngest sister quite easily. Cissy appeared to be one of the few eleven-year-olds confidently and patiently listening for her name to be called. All three of the Black sisters were known for their lack of fear in the face of uncertainty as well as a natural air of arrogant disdain. Though four years her senior, Bellatrix felt far more comfortable with Narcissa than she ever did with Andromeda. She and Cissy were separate embodiments of the same soul; Meda, meanwhile, was a free spirit, her own separate entity despite the certain familial and characteristic connections the three held.
Her attention jolted back as "Arrow, Titan!" became a Ravenclaw. She quickly took in the surprisingly tall brunette for future consideration before refocusing her thoughts on the sorting. She'd been given the task of recruiting young followers by the Dark Lord himself, and felt a rush of ecstatic pride at the task. He paid the Blacks a call once over the summer to ensure her parents' support, but seemed particularly intrigued by the coy and enthusiastic fifth year. She wasn't entirely surprised; she was a cunning, clever young woman, despite only being fifteen. He easily noted her natural skills at manipulation and belief in his goals in the brief but informative interaction, and immediately put her to work. He refused to allow her to take the Mark at the time, though she desperately wished to. Some may see it as honorable, attempting to keep the young innocent, but she simply found it frustrating. Her decision was made, and she wished to make good on it.
"Avery, Edward!" joined her and her fellow Slytherins, but she already recognized the boy as one on their side. While the hat took a particularly lengthy interest in "Bart, Rosemary," her dark eyes roved down her house's table to rest on the blankly stoic face of Rodolphus Lestrange. Normally the dull boy would barely warrant such brief attention from her, but words overheard spoken by her parents led her to consider the thirteen year old more intensely. They had been discussing their children's imminent betrothals, and Lestrange was instantly selected for her. It was a wise and logical choice; the Lestranges' blood ran as pure as the Blacks', promising the continued wealth and stature a respectable young woman required if she wished to uphold the family name. She supposed she could fare worse – his appearance was adequate, his temperament subdued and willing to be subjugated, and his parents shared the Mark. She already knew love was out of the question, but she supposed she could learn to tolerate the boy. He could do with a bit of livening, however.
Rosemary Bart became the second Hufflepuff and "Bellows, Catherine" was called forth next. Her thoughts, despite her best attempts to focus them, once more retreated far from the crowded Great Hall and softly whispering students, making their way to the man she found herself considering almost constantly. Lord Voldemort was, to be blunt, an impressively brilliant man. He embodied all she sought in the opposite sex – a dedication to his cause, a firmness in his beliefs, a determination to right the world's wrongs. He represented a part of her own heart, the segment that held both her extreme pride at being able to call herself a pureblood and infuriating hatred that Muggleborns were allowed the same opportunities as those like her. He, unlike so many others, understood the graveness of their situation. The old races were dying, replaced by half bloods and Mudbloods and their spawn. It was up to the remaining upper class of the wizarding world, those who still knew the worth of their genealogy and attempted to preserve it, to put a stop to this increasing nonsense. And Voldemort was just the man to do it.
Bellatrix hissed softly as Bellows joined the Gryffindors. Gryffindor – the house for the worst of the blood traitors. Accepting of all sorts, except the idea of retaining purity, and defiant of the traditional ways of old. They were rebels of the worst sort, determined to make a mess of the way things should properly be, and she had no use for any of them. They barely garnered respect as wizards, nearly as lowly and insignificant as the Mudbloods they often harbored. The very thought of them made her physically ill.
"Berry, Clyde," Hufflepuff, and "Bode, Olive," Ravenclaw, passed by with little more than a glance from Bellatrix. It was not until the call of "Black, Narcissa" echoed through the room that she felt herself fully focus, making eye contact with Andromeda briefly before observing her youngest sister. She proudly strode forward, the slight shiver of uncertainty visible only to her sisters. She placed the hat atop her tiny head, awaiting the inevitable verdict as anxiously as the elder Black girls. They had no real reason to fear – Cissy was Slytherin as much as any other member of the noble house of Black – but, in that brief moment of complete uncertainty, doubt was inevitable. A tension so thick it nearly suffocated them fell over the green and silver clad table as they awaited the hat's answer, willing it to choose wisely. They would not give up on one of their own, even though she had yet to hold a place in their ranks. Bellatrix's breath caught as the rim languidly split, spilling out a single, hopeful word.
"Slytherin!"