I have taken some liberties with ages because I couldn't resist including such gorgeous characters into my story. I'm trying a new route with this story- a little more angst and drama than I'm used to. I really hope you enjoy it, especially as I keep having little inspirations for:

Black Rose

She could hear screaming.

It was punctuated with sharp cracks and the whistle of whips through the air, a rhythm that Bellatrix unconsciously mimicked combing out her hair. Unemotionally studying her reflection in the silvery mirror, the agonized shrieks of the house elf was soothing in its familiarity, yet discomforting in an unrecognized and constantly ignored ache.

Whilst the young girl at the boudoir was strictly forbidden from using any cosmetics- "You are a Black, not some lower-class wench who must hide the shame of her coarseness"- she was strongly encouraged to use enhancing potions, especially those that would bring out the lustre of her skin, the sleekness of her hair, and the dark depths of her eyes. Thus, the table before Bellatrix was littered with literally hundreds of tiny, self-replenishing vials and glasses, the contents of which were expertly selected and mixed in the warm groove of the girl's palm, before being liberally applied all over her naked white body. Satisfied with her long mane of hair, which now exactly resembled a dark waterfall in motion, Bellatrix put down the ivory comb and leaned so her nose was lightly squashed against the reflective surface, examining her own eyes in a fascinated boredom, knowing she'd rather spend hours in this position than go downstairs and suffer through another tediously ceremonial family dinner.

It was a sullen sort of beauty that startled her face, arresting in a sleepily hypnotic manner. In men and women alike, her dark image provoked a faint and primal desire that always appealed to the hidden perversities of their nature. She could have been good and kind and compassionate, but with that face and slight figure, not to mention the Black title, she had never been given a chance. And she was only eleven.

Realizing the cracking had stopped, Bellatrix pulled away from the mirror in surprise. The beating had only lasted a minute or so; her Aunt Walburga must be feeling unusually lenient. As she threw a Japanese-print silk kimono around her shoulders, she realized that there were sounds of a heated debate echoing up from the floor below. Although Bellatrix had a sinking suspicion regarding the quarrelers, she glanced around the guest bedroom for a portrait she was on good terms with.

"Lady Irma, I hear sounds of an argument below, uh, would you please see what the problem is?" Bellatrix asked hoarsely, clearing her throat as the painted woman nodded condescendingly to her granddaughter and left her ornate frame.

Waiting a few moments, Bellatrix impatiently left the room without waiting for Irma Black's return. As she descended the stairs, she caught snatches of the furious argument, confirming her suspicions. She rounded into the hallway before the kitchen, distracted by a swooning and pathetically bloodied elf on a tattered rug, but her attention was quickly returned to her aunt and cousin, spitting and hissing at one another, and from all appearances ready to gouge their opponent's eyes out.

"-AND IF YOU THINK THESE PATHETIC WEAK …NO! NO! … FILTHY SCUM, WHAT BLACK COULD… AT HOGWARTS THEN WE SHALL… FINAL… REPRESENTATION OF THIS MOST GREAT AND NOBLE HOUSE-"

"-PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR… DON'T WANT THIS… SO STUPID YOU WOULD… AS WELL BE AN ANIMAL… MY FAULT? YOU BLOODY… NEVER GOING TO BE LIKE YOU OR… I GODDAMN WON'T… NEVER, DAMN YOU-"

Bellatrix frowned and snapped her fingers, summoning her personal elf, and indicated with a terse flick of her hand that miserable miscreant was to be removed. The elf Micey (or was it Dicey?) burst into tears at the sight of her companion's flayed back, clearly visible through his shredded tunic. She was sobbing so hard it took her three attempts to hoist the injured elf's body half upright before the two of them disapparated out of the hallway, presumably to somewhere kinder.

Now thoroughly irritated by everyone and everything, particularly Micey's incompetence, Bellatrix found herself the recipient of two very angry, trademark Black glares. The loud cracks of the elves apparating had apparently drawn their attention, and with her mind clouded with annoyance, it took Bellatrix a few moments to remember why she had bothered coming down.

"What is it Bellatrix?" Walburga Black snapped, "Can't you tell I am busy," and here she turned to give her son a very nasty look, "attending to some trash?"

Sirius grunted in frustated fury, kicked a sturdy mahogany footstool very hard, and stormed off limping slightly. Pretending to ignore the crashing of her cousin's footsteps up the stairs, Bellatrix cleared her throat again and reminded her aunt that the Lestranges were due in under twenty minutes, voice trailing off as her aunt turned on her heel and exited the scene. Then Bellatrix allowed herself a childish impulse and kicked the same abused mahogany footstool (though not as hard as Sirius, Bellatrix was nobody's fool), enjoying the mental relief the action brought her.

"Stupid, self-absorbed bitch," she muttered, inspiring disapproving harrumphs from the portraits lining the walls, who had been dispassionately viewing the commotion. Bellatrix then breathed in until she felt her lungs would burst and let out an elephantine sigh before returning sedately to her temporary bedroom. Temporary because she was in her Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga's house, the two of them hosting a celebratory/farewell dinner in Sirius and Bellatrix's honour as the two of them would be boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time the next day to begin seven years of magical schooling. Bellatrix hated family get-togethers almost as much as she hated the tedious Lestrange clan (a burden she had carried and would carry her entire life, having been betrothed to one Rudolphus Lestrange even before she had been born).

Bellatrix slid out of her dressing gown without inhibition and returned to her grooming. Satisfied with her reflection, she opened a looming wardrobe that had been a frequent source of nightmares in her childhood to draw out a simple silvery robe, especially custom made for the occasion. More like a gown than a typical dress robe, Bellatrix noted there was plenty of room for embellishment and ornate jewellery, which she adored. Opening her school trunk, she pulled out a bag that had been charmed to extend to her own chest of jewels at home. She knew exactly what would transform the dress- an exquisite amethyst pendant with its matching hairpins- but reached rather for another pendant, similar except emerald and diamond and with no matching hairpins. Tossing the bag back into the trunk, which fell shut with a clunky slam, Bellatrix lay her outfit on the four poster bed and admired it before happily putting it all on. When she next returned to the mirror, she was pleased.

The silver robe was sleeveless and swept to the floor in folds that pooled around her. It had deep V-necks both at the front and behind, but the gap in the front was bridged by a shimmery sheet of silver chiffon. Highlighting this was the emerald and diamond pendant, which also caused Bellatrix's dark eyes to snap and sparkle. Her obvious lack of breasts or a mature figure kept the effect as being seductively un-innocent rather than immodest or gaudy.

"Stupid bitch," she repeated.

Nothing could lighten Bellatrix's mood more than beauty or feeling beautiful, and she smiled and twirled around the room like the child she was, encouraging the much abused spirit of the mirror to pipe out a few comments of appreciation, which were quickly stoppered. Bellatrix was nobody's fool. A few moments of weakness might be kept to herself, done in a forbidden hush, never talked about and certainly never performed in front of others.

Knowing from painful experience that she could never last the duration of this dinner without betraying her Black composure at least once, she located the large vial of infusion of wormwood and edelweiss that Micey or Dicey had secretly prepared in anticipation. Wincing, choking and gagging at the incredible bitterness of the solution, she drank it mouthful by mouthful, eager for the blurriness and time manipulation it would bring. Drinking it would mean she would have no conscious control over her actions during the evening, operating on autopilot, and would have no recollection of the dinner in the morning. The last few gulps were forced down with the shining desire for it to be morning and for new adventures to be begun, Hogwarts to be conquered. That surge of desire and hope was the last thing Bellatrix could remember before waking up with the sunlight creeping under her eyelids.

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