AN: I don't own Harry Potter or anything related. No money is being made with this story.
Cursed
You have just turned five when it happens for the first time. It's your birthday damn it! Why are they all fussing over baby Narcissa? Of course you get angry. You say so and you say so loudly. Your mother tells you to shut up. She is embarrassed and ushers you away from the guests. You have to stay in your room on your own, on your birthday.
When all the guests have gone, she returns. You ask her, why everyone is so unfair.
"I expect you to behave like a proper pure-blood. A pure-blood doesn't get emotional in front of others. Only Muggles and Mudbloods do."
"Yes, mother," you say even though you disagree. Your feelings are strong and of course you're going to show them.
"You don't understand, do you? I will teach you," she says. "Act like a Mudblood, scream like a Mudblood."
She raises her wand says that word that will accompany you through your entire life. "Crucio!"
You think you're dying, you can't stand the pain and you scream. When she's done, she simply leaves you crying on the floor.
You are eight, when you tell your father.
He sends you off to bed without dinner because you aren't supposed to lie. You don't try to tell anyone else afterwards.
Each time, you show your anger or your disappointment or your pain, it happens again.
"Stop crying; only a Mudblood cries."
And you do stop.
She teaches you Occlumency. All your rebellious or weak thoughts, she will surely pick them up and punish you accordingly.
You learn quickly.
You don't lose control anymore. When you're eleven, old enough to go to Hogwarts, you're perfect.
On the outside.
You are a brilliant student in any subject that matters, good at Quidditch and leader among the sons of the purest families. There's no need to worry if you change in front of the other girls from your dormitory because there are no scars on your skin.
He's the only one who suspects something. Rodolphus Lestrange, supposedly almost a Squib and a shame for his family but brilliant at potions which as you know very well, no one can do without being adept in magic. You pretend you didn't notice his questioning looks.
Until your fourth year when the Cruciatus curse is demonstrated in class. You act like everyone expects you to, what else would you do? After the lesson though, you can't bear the sight of your overexcited classmates and leave for the lakeside. You cannot cry because you have forgotten how it is done.
After a while, Rodolphus comes after you and you tell him, he had guessed it anyway.
The next day, you regret it thoroughly for which Slytherin would not use this kind of knowledge for their own gain? Rodolphus, a Slytherin in name only doesn't but you always know he could. He tries to help you, you can barely believe it.
There's little he can do.
When you're thirteen, you figure out that you can use the curse on a rat. It works right away. Finally, you're the one holding the wand; you're the one who's got the power.
On this day, you swear to yourself that you will never have children because you know you'd be just like her.
At sixteen, your mother introduces you to the Dark Lord. You're mesmerised by his personality, his voice, the vision he's lying out in front of you. Of course you're going to join. Receiving the Dark Mark barely hurts, not after what you're used to. For the first time in her life, you assume, your mother is proud.
He teaches you the Dark Arts. With the Cruciatus curse, you don't require teaching. You are this curse.
If you fail him, he uses it on you and you make sure you won't fail him.
After school, you marry Rodolphus. From your group of friends, he's the one who knows most about you. Your mother doesn't approve. He's becoming a Healer and she thinks he's weak. Your father is thrilled. The Lestranges are one of the purest families and he has well grown into his magic by now.
You take the pain to all those clueless Gryffindors. No matter how brave or strong-willed, it will destroy them all, like it has destroyed you. You have to prove this to yourself and you aren't disappointed. You have so much pain inside of you; there's plenty to share with others.
You kill if the Dark Lord tells you to and use the Imperius curse if he asks for that but neither makes you feel as powerful as using the other one does.
Rodolphus joins the Dark Lord as well and finally, your mother at least is satisfied.
The Dark Lord however is not, he isn't easy to satisfy and yet, he's the only man you truly desire. One day, he will see what you're worth.
And then he's gone and you have lost everything. You're playing a game for the Aurors but you can live quietly without him, you can't live without it. The curse lives within you and it needs to be freed.
You try to find him. The Longbottoms succumb to the curse but without telling you what they know. You fail him and you get arrested. The Aurors want their revenge and once more you find yourself at the mercy of the curse. You are angry for they have no right but there's no one to tell them that.
Twelve years later, you make it out of Azkaban once more. You are still alive and you have not forgotten HIM. When he finally sends you on a mission again, however, you notice how much your perfect outside has crumbled once more.
You kill your own cousin who never guessed, too busy feeling sorry for himself because his family expected him to act like a Black.
That Potter brat follows you and he tries, what else, to use the Cruciatus curse on you. He fails, few people succeed at their first attempt the way you've done.
It doesn't do you any good. You fail the Dark Lord, your carefully built hold on your feelings has crumbled under the influence of the Dementors and he has to punish you, again and again. He loses every ounce of respect he might have had for you. To him, you're nothing anymore, worse than nothing, worthless like a screaming Mudblood.
When you fight that red-headed blood traitor, you aren't worried. Whatever she feels for her daughter won't lead anywhere.
You're wrong and so you die, without ever knowing why.