A/N: This is an un-beta'd piece. After a series of attempts to find a beta, I'm still coming up with nill. If you (or someone you know) would be interested, please contact me. I'm keen to always put my best work forward, and that generally means a few re-reads.

Summary: Bellatrix is a woman with no remorse, no sanity, but also no regrets. This is a short recap of her journey, in her own telling.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling is brilliant and owns all of this! I only wish I had half her talent!

Lifetimes - A Memoir

What shall I say, in moments such as these? That I worshiped a man until that love drove me beyond the edges of insanity? That I espoused a cause with devotion that went beyond reason and sense? That in my eyes fanaticism is a virtue rather than an evil? I could say all these things, and say them with conviction. They have been the cardinal truths of my world for what seems like lifetimes. And I have lived so very many- lifetimes that is. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but then I have lived more lives than most. I wonder which one I'll see.

The Beginning: My First Life

Royalty doesn't exist in our world, the true world, the correct world. But if it did, I would have been born a princess. Shame really, I would have worn a title well I think. I was born to one of the most ancient and glorious houses in our world- the world of magic. I keep saying "our world" but really I shouldn't. That gives those filthy animals more power than they ever deserved. For countless generations my ancestors had to bear the taunts and tortures of creatures not blessed with magic. They fear us because we're powerful. They're right to do so. We, magic workers, have power beyond anything they can comprehend. They're jealous, and if I had the misfortune to be like them, I'd be jealous too. Right before I offed myself for being something so disgusting.

My house- the Blacks- are an ancient line, descended from a time when witches like me were burned alive for their gifts. They say the world has moved on, but atrocities like that aren't forgiven. At least, not by me they're not. Actually for a long time I didn't even know what a muggle was- let alone a mudblood. Those were whispered words, slurs not to be used in polite company, and princess that I was, certainly not something for my delicate unsoiled ears. It wasn't until my school days loomed close that I was finally told about the great injustices done to us, and the severe necessity of remaining pure. As if I could do anything else. I was a princess by Merlin, and princesses don't sully themselves by mixing with filth!

I could lie and say I only had one sister. Lying's phenomenally easy, despite what people say. You just don't have to care. But a moment like this deserves the truth, agonizing as it is. I had two younger sisters. A house full of princesses as father would occasionally remark when he was in his cups enough to do anything beyond glare. I have these hazy memories from my childhood; of three little girls being well- little girls. Of footraces up and down long corridors, and re-enacting the glory of our ancestors. Of being told off by one or both parents for behaving like savages, rather than the diaphanous princesses we were meant to become.

At times I can remember wondering if our parents loved us. Of course that was before my eyes were opened to the frailty of such things. Ah the joys of turning seven. Honestly I didn't need love- scoff as you please but it's true. Whenever I had one of those shameful moments of weakness, I would return to my pride- the safe haven of all purebloods. Pride in my lineage, pride in my status, pride in my purity, pride in my brilliance. Who was I to need the approval of any other creature, when I was born into such greatness? Feel free to scorn all you wish, but let no one ever doubt the level of my skill. By the time my hands actually touched a wand I'd been thoroughly inundated with tales of my ancestral glory. There was never a doubt in anyone's mind that I would do astounding things. When one came from ancestors such as mine there could be no questioning my potential. I've wondered if those days of my childhood- that lifetime long dead- were as blissful and halcyon as people so often romanticize. I still can't decide, unfortunately.

I wouldn't say that my childhood ended when I left for school. I was still very much a child when I entered the venerated halls of Hogwarts, but a part of that lifetime was gone. I… I'm not sure if that saddened me, even now I'm still not certain. Perhaps it was due to all the opening vistas. Finally I would have a chance to delve into my potential. I never had a moment's doubt what house I would belong to. Slytherin was as an ancient and lauded a house as my own. And frankly all the others were simply beneath me. Ravenclaws were too bookish to make their knowledge serve them. Hufflepuffs were nothing more than weaklings practically begging for someone to command them. And in my eyes Gryfindors were nothing short of savage barbarians. I would have thrown myself from the astronomy tower if I'd had to endure the shame of being sorted into any one of those houses. Thankfully there wasn't a need for drastic measures. The hat barely touched my head when it reaffirmed my place in the elite world of purebloods.

I won't bore you with anecdotes of my school years. They were what they were- a chance to develop my power. I knew I could fell mountains with barely a thought, and I delighted in proving it. I relished it all- both the power to create and the power to annihilate. Yes, the others feared me- they were right to. I liked it when they shrank from me. It meant I was someone powerful, someone worthy of their fear. Their fear, that power, it was practically a drug. Heady like wine, potent like firewhiskey, and lethal like dragon fire!

Most importantly it was there I heard the first whispers of him. The one who was to become the center my universe. My housemates spoke of him, usually in hushed worshipful tones. He was starting a movement. He would be the one to lead us from the shadowed secret world we'd been forced into. This man, this titan of revolution- I shivered with delight whenever anyone spoke of him. And he had once walked these very halls. He had once been a Slytherin- they said he was descended from the old serpent himself. That fact sent delicate ripples right down to my center. I remember gasping and thinking him to be practically a god!

I remember having an epiphany. A pureblood daughter is an ornamental being at best. She's useful only to marry, and her only purpose is to produce pureblooded children. I knew my future held a marriage- I honestly didn't care to who provided his lineage was correct. Children would be required, despite my distaste for such mewling brats. And yet these things were my duty, and I was nothing if not wedded to the dogma of pureblooded duty. Yet this man, this Dark Lord- in him I could find a kind of freedom. Through his brilliance I could openly acknowledged as a witch. All would honor me and my power, as was my magical right. Through him my life could have more meaning than what went on between my legs. I'd never set eyes on him, but I knew I loved him already. If only for the chance he gave me.

I can't paint the moment for you like a picture- with exact details of where I stood, what I wore, what work my hands were at- all I can describe is the feeling of rightness, of fervor that swept through me. My life, my world- everything that was me changed in that moment. I knew then I would seek him out, that I would vow myself to his service. That his whim would be my law, and that my heart would beat only for him. And that the moments separating that day and this would be little more than preparation; which is exactly what happened. My days at school passed as though in some sort of trance state. I slept, ate, studied- all as a student should, but my mind was constantly far away…my thoughts with him and the work that awaited me.