Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, round six.
Holyhead Harpies, Beater 2
Mandatory: Use your assigned film (Frankenstein) as inspiration for your story.
Optional: (word) token
(quote) For every problem there is one solution which is simple, neat, and wrong. — H. L. Mencke
(word) visitor
Also for the Friends Competition (The One That Could Have Been: Write an AU fic)
Word Count: 2,537
Thanks to the Harpies for beta'ing
Bellatrix stands in the shadows, her eyes wide with excitement as her master presses the tip of his wand to Draco's forearm. A wicked smile plays at her lips as her attention flickers to Narcissa, who has joined this important meeting with her husband. Narcissa does not look proud of her son. She stands there, still as a statue, her eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. It's almost as if Narcissa does not want her son joining the Dark Lord.
Her younger sister has always been a fool. At least Draco's had Lucius to guide him down the right path. At least Lucius has done more than just believe in the importance of blood purity— he's lived it.
Bellatrix smiles and leans into her husband. They could have children who would be raised properly. Their children wouldn't question joining the Dark Lord, forming a small army of support for the master they will have been raised to cherish and adore.
"Something wrong?" Rodolphus asks quietly, and Bellatrix realizes she's still pressed against him. "Do you feel unwell? We could leave if you're-"
"I'm fine," Bellatrix whispers, pulling away quickly, her eyes fixed upon her nephew's face which has now contorted with pain as the Dark Mark begins to spread across his skin. "We'll talk later."
"Well done," the Dark Lord says. "Now, let's see if you can restore honor to the Malfoy name."
…
"If we had children, they'd never have to redeem our names," Bellatrix says proudly as she sheds her cloak and hangs it in the hall closet before making her way to the kitchen. "They would be as devoted as we are."
Rodolphus laughs. "Are we starting a family now?" he teases, brushing his fingers lovingly through her hair. "I knew you'd come around eventually, Bella."
Bellatrix swallows back her scorn. If she wants him to give her a child, she'll have to put aside her annoyance with him. After all, he is her husband. If she wishes to have children without tarnishing her own name, she'll have to deal with his sentimentality and romanticism, however much it may make her wish to vomit. "I can't help it! Seeing Draco take the Mark tonight…" She shivers with excitement, letting out a shrill laugh. "It would make me proud to offer my master new servants, raised from birth to follow him."
Rodolphus pulls away, his brows raised. Bellatrix studies him, wondering why he no longer looks pleased. Only moments ago, he seemed thrilled to have children with her.
"To be clear," he says, "you don't actually want children. You just want servants for the Dark Lord?"
Bellatrix nods, relieved. He does get it.
"It has nothing to do with wanting to be a mother and have a family with… with me?"
"A family? Merlin no! It's about raising the next generation to serve the Dark Lord," she says impatiently. Really, Rodolphus has never been terribly bright, but even he should have been smart enough to figure this out.
"I'm sorry. I can't do this with you," he says.
She purses her lips, fingers curling inward to form fists. How dare he say no to her? He's wanted children for years! Now that she's ready to offer him what he wants, he has the nerve to deny her?! "Rodolphus-"
"Children aren't just tools," Rodolphus interrupts, his voice so sharp and dangerous that even Bellatrix takes a step back. "If you only want to raise soldiers, then you're going to have to have your children by yourself."
"Maybe I will."
Rodolphus snorts and turns away, stalking off. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't turn to apologize for speaking to her so rudely. He walks through the door, slamming it shut and leaving Bellatrix alone in the kitchen.
"Maybe I will," she repeats, quieter now, her fingers brushing over the handle of a butcher knife.
A smile tugs at her lips. The solution to her problem is simple, really.
She pulls the large knife from its place, letting out a shrieking laugh as her thumb grazes the sharp edge. It will take some work, but she can make her own child.
…
"Please! Please!" the young woman cries as Bellatrix approaches, wand raised.
"Keep begging. I do love it when they beg," Bellatrix laughs, amused as the woman backs away in a panic.
"Please," she whimpers, tears in her eyes. Bellatrix loves it when they cry. "Just tell me what you want. I'll do anything."
Bellatrix pulls her lips into a mock pout, sniffling loudly to taunt her victim. "Oh, don't worry, dear. I just need your hair."
"My- My what?"
Bellatrix rolls her eyes. She wonders how people have grown so stupid. Several times now, she's told people exactly what she needs from them. But no one seems to understand.
"Your hair. Lovely curls. So dark and long. Very much like mine when I was younger," Bellatrix says, reaching out and grabbing the girls by her lovely locks.
"I- I- I use a potion for them. I can give you a-"
"They're not for me," Bellatrix interrupts impatiently. "They're for my daughter. Avada Kedavra!"
…
Bellatrix works carefully. Removing the scalp from the woman's head proves to be rather difficult. The skin snags on the bone, and she has to be gentle to make sure she doesn't rip it beyond use. She's spent nearly two months searching for someone with curls that matched hers during her younger years; if she renders the scalp and hair useless, she isn't sure she'll ever find someone else with similar curls.
Once it has been neatly removed, Bellatrix moves it to her child, a proud grin on her face. She positions the scalp atop the skull until it's perfect, but she doesn't connect the flesh that makes up the face. She has more to do before she can add her final touches.
"Soon, my sweet," Bellatrix says, circling the child, clapping her hands together. "Soon, you will serve our master, just like your mummy."
She throws a sheet over the girl, covering her for now. Her child is not ready yet. She is close, but there are still a few things left to do.
…
Bellatrix scowls as she creeps through the living room. Happy family photographs of the disgusting traitors and their seven filthy offspring threaten to make her throw up. She almost wishes she'd chosen to end her work in Diagon Alley tonight. But three out of five tokens aren't enough.
So many warm, smiling faces in dented frames. The Weasleys display their children like they've done something important, like they are wonderful children.
She fights back a laugh. They aren't special at all. But they will be. They will help give her daughter life.
It's almost poetic. The family that opposed the Dark Lord so openly would now find themselves as part of Bellatrix's perfect child. They will serve her master, whether they want to or not.
Still smiling like a maniac, she silently moves up the stairs, entering the girl's room, her wand drawn, the curse ready on her lips.
…
She looks at her final tokens, the last of the parts collected from the Weasley children that haven't gone abroad.
Percy Weasley, always so clever. His brain is perfect for her daughter. Those charismatic twins with their smiling faces and twinkling eyes, have donated their lips and eyes. The girl's tongue rests on the tray, ready to be stitched in. Bellatrix wonders if her daughter will be as fiery as the Weasley girl.
But, most important of all, Ron Weasley's heart continues to beat on the tray, kept alive by magic. She smiles as she caresses the pulsing organ. Ron was always so very loyal to Potter. His heart will teach her daughter to serve the Dark Lord, to follow him as faithfully as the boy followed Potter.
She makes quick work of it. By now, her fingers have grown accustomed to stitching parts together with precision.
"Live, my child," she says as she puts the heart in the chest and closes the wound. "Live!"
At first nothing happens. Bellatrix lets out a frustrated howl. All her hard work has been for nothing. Her problem remains, and her simple solution has failed. She thrusts her fists into the girl's chest.
The girl's brown eyes widen. Slowly, her neck moves, turning her head from side to side, the movements shaky, awkward. Her mouth opens, and a small grunt comes out.
"It's alive!" Bellatrix cries proudly. "It's alive! Oh, in the name of Salazar, it's alive!"
"Bellatrix? What was that noise? Why did you scream?" Rodolphus calls, his footsteps echoing as he sprints down the cellar steps. "Are you- What is that?"
Bellatrix takes her patchwork daughter by the hand, her heart swelling as the child takes her first steps. "This is Lyra," she says, grinning at her husband. "This is our daughter."
…
"This is insane, even by your standards," Rodolphus says, pacing the length of their kitchen. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wanted a child to serve our master. You're a sentimental fool, and you refused to help me," Bellatrix says simply, absently stroking her daughter's curls. "You left me with a problem, and I found a simple, tidy solution."
"A wrong solution!" her husband protests. "This… Bellatrix, you-"
"She's perfect, isn't she? Think of all the servants I can make for our master."
"You murdered people-"
"Hardly the first time."
"You stitched them together to create this... this thing!" he continues, pausing to cast a withering glare at Lyra. "It's not right. You can't just create people!"
"People do it all the time. Where do you think babies come from?"
Rodolphus comes to a stop. His eyes lock on Bellatrix's, angry and wild. "She is not a baby! This is different! How could you be so stupid?"
Bellatrix snarls and lunges forward. "Stupid? This is brilliant! No one has ever dared creating life like this! I should be lauded!"
"Freeing you from Azkaban was a mistake. You are a danger to us all," he says before turning on his heel and storming off.
When the door slams, Lyra thrashes about, letting out a series of panicked, feral shrieks. Bellatrix rushes to her side. "It's okay, Lyra. You're perfect. He'll see it once the Dark Lord realizes what I've done."
Lyra takes a step, stumbling slightly. Her legs, each taken from a different body, are a bit uneven. It makes her movements awkward, but she manages, gesturing to where Rodolphus exited.
"No, you can't follow him. It isn't safe for you out there yet, my beloved little monster," Bellatrix says gently.
The girl grunts, continuing with her frantic gestures. Bellatrix inhales sharply. She remembers now why she's always found children so unpleasant, why she's never wanted them for herself. They are stubborn creatures.
"Enough of that," she says sharply. "Oh, there is so much to teach you before I can allow you out to do the Dark Lord's bidding."
…
Bellatrix groans in frustration as Lyra falls to the floor. She reaches down, roughly pulling the girl to her feet. "You are a Black!" she snaps. "Blacks carry themselves with grace! How do you expect to serve your master if you can't even walk properly?"
It's only been a few hours since Rodolphus walked out. Surely that's enough time for the girl to learn to walk! It isn't that difficult.
Lyra grunts and whines, her awkward hands reaching for Bellatrix. Bellatrix scowls and pulls away. "If you want affection, girl, you had best learn to behave first! Now, walk!"
Lyra takes a clumsy step, her legs trembling without Bellatrix to guide her. Bellatrix watches impatiently as the girl stumbles again. "Careful," Bellatrix says, softening as Lyra staggers along.
Bellatrix's attention shifts when she hears the front door close. She frowns. The footsteps are much too soft to belong to Rodolphus, and Bellatrix hasn't planned to have a visitor today.
"Bellatrix, it's awful!" Narcissa calls, out of breath when she reaches the parlor. "Rodolphus-" Her eyes rest on Lyra, her face growing pale. "It's true…"
Bellatrix beams. "This is my daughter, your niece. Lyra, this is Aunt Narcissa."
"Bella, what have you done?" Narcissa asks, her voice tight.
"I've created a servant for the Dark Lord," Bellatrix says, irritated that her sister doesn't recognize her genius. "He will be pleased once I have trained her."
Narcissa shakes her head, frantic. "No. No, he won't. Rodolphus showed him the memories and explained your plan. The Dark Lord says she's an abomination. Unnatural."
"I know. Isn't it brilliant?" Bellatrix laughs, ruffling her daughter's curls proudly.
"He's sending his followers to destroy you both. If you give up the girl, maybe they'll spare you," Narcissa says urgently, gripping her sister's arm.
Bellatrix shakes her head, pulling away from his sister's grip. She approaches Lyra. The girl still tries to walk, completely unaware of the sudden dilemma. She manages four full steps and looks at Bellatrix, her lopsided mouth twisted into a smile. "Could you just give up Draco, Cissy?"
"Draco is my son."
"And Lyra is my daughter."
"It's not the same. Bella, they're coming for you," Narcissa insists. "You have to let her go."
Bellatrix doesn't look at her sister. Her eyes remain on Lyra. She's just a creature, just a thing Bellatrix has built to serve someone else. She shouldn't care for the girl, and yet she does. Lyra may not have come from Bellatrix's body. She may not have grown in her womb. But she is still Bellatrix's.
Bellatrix turns to her sister again, exhaling deeply. "If they're coming, I'd better start running," she says, waving her wand and summoning a hooded robe for Lyra before helping her daughter dress. "We're going on a little trip, Lyra. Keep your face covered. There's a good girl."
"Bellatrix-"
"Goodbye, Cissy."
…
She never thought that her life would end up like this. She never thought she'd have to run and hide. But it isn't about her anymore.
Lyra grunts and comes to a stop, gesturing at the fraying thread that holds her leg together. The stitches have popped from the constant walking.
"It's okay, my little monster," Bellatrix says, reinforcing the thread with a quick spell.
She never wanted to have a child. When she did, it was for the wrong reasons.
Now, as she helps Lyra hobble along, she realizes that the old saying is true. Motherhood can change a person.
Lyra whines, her stiff fingers tugging frantically at Bellatrix's arm before offering a grotesque pout.
"I know. I'm tired too, but we can't rest. Not yet."
It's only been an hour since her last encounter with the Death Eaters, but she knows it won't be the last. As long as Lyra lives, the Dark Lord will see her as a threat to his own quest for immortality. They will always have to run, always have to live as prey.
Lyra whimpers and rests her head on Bellatrix's shoulder as they carry on through the forest. Bellatrix wraps a protective arm around the child, her wand raised and ready to strike. She will protect the girl at all costs. She created Lyra, and she will keep her safe.