Title: Control
Rating: T
Notes: Can be considered canon. Has not been proofread.
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling & Warner Bros. This is written as fanfiction and is not intended as copyright infringement.
Control.
That was all everything Bella had ever wanted, all her life. Control. Nothing gave her more satisfaction than being in control.
She was the second daughter, the forgotten one, too perfect to be remembered. Andromeda was the rebellious one, the one her parents locked in her room every night because if they didn't, she would sneak out. Narcissa was quiet and beautiful and shy, and Black women were not shy. They took what they wanted, when they wanted it, and if Narcissa wanted anything out of life, she had better learn how to speak up for herself.
Bellatrix was obedient, just belligerent enough to be proper. With her black hair and heavy-lidded eyes, she was the spitting image of her mother, and she wore that crown well. She didn't lie down and let people walk over her, as Cissa did, and she didn't try to upturn societal norms, like Andromeda did. She was the perfect daughter.
And therin lay the rub.
A perfect Black daughter did not have control. They only had the illusion of control, at least as far as their parents went. Anyone else, and their name granted them royal treatment. But in their own house, their lives were ruled with an iron fist. At school, Bellatrix made sure everyone knew who she was, making a name for herself. That's Bellatrix Black, they'd say. Don't mess with her.
Don't mess with Narcissa, either. Andromeda was welcome to her problems (she deserved them for her traitorous behavior), but Narcissa was under Bellatrix's protection, a formidable shield that left more than one unfortunate male in the hospital wing if they dared touch her sister.
The exception was Lucius Malfoy. He was suitably matched in terms of fame and wealth, and Narcissa welcomed his attentions. Bellatrix allowed this, with a word of warning; if Cissa ever tells me you have made her unhappy, you will die.
When it came to her own romantic prospects, however, Bellatrix's illusions of control fell away. She would marry Rodolphus Lestrange or become unhomed, her inheritance split between her sisters (that is, until Andromeda eloped with that muggle; then Narcissa was promised the entirety of the Black fortune that Cygnus possessed). Her parents were pleased by her meddling in regards to Narcissa's marriage contract, but it ended there.
And so it was that Bellatrix Black became Bellatrix Lestrange, and everything went south.
Rodolphus was kind enough in his own way, she supposed, leaving her to her own devices except for one rule; no other men. She could do what she pleased, as long as she remembered that he was her husband.
And yet, the Lestrange name did not command the same authority the name of Black did, and she mourned the loss. No longer was she as feared as she had previously been - that would come later, when her own mind had surrendered to chaos and given up all hope of being in control. No, now she chafed against the ties that bound her to Rodolphus, who for his insistence that she remain loyal to him, took any number of mistresses as the years wore on. Unable to divorce him, she simmered with bitterness, until she would do anything to escape this hell. She was no longer content to satisfy her boredom by terrifying her former classmates and their weakling husbands (she could at least claim that much; Rodolphus was no weakling, although the first time he had turned his anger upon her, she had punished him accordingly). For a woman, and a second daughter, she was strong and much more opinionated that she had let on before her marriage, and she wanted to use the power she wielded to make life better for herself.
Lord Voldemort offered this opportunity. What were a few muggles and mudbloods compared to complete control? She could divorce Rodolphus and reinstate herself as the head of the House of Black (and if Regulus protested, well, she was older than him, and unlike Regulus, she wanted that position), and rebuild the powerhouse of the Black legacy. But doing so meant submitting - this time willingly - to another man, and something in her broke when she took the Dark Mark. It wasn't that she was uneager; she was all too eager to help overthrow this twisted order that put her at the bottom of the food chain (or at least, the part that mattered). It was that she was surrendering control, willingly. Something she had never done before.
To make up for this fundamental flaw in her values, she set out to prove that she hadn't surrendered. No, she had traded off complete autonomy for something much better; autonomy protected by the Dark Lord. She was now completely untouchable, as a scion of House Black, as a Lestrange, as a Death Eater, and in her own right as the terrifyingly powerful witch she had become. She could do whatever she wanted, and all she had to do was pretend to obey the Dark Lord.
Somewhere along the line, pretend obedience became true obedience, and obedience became obsession.
All the illusions of control fell away, piece by piece, but she was too busy pretending that she was still in control to notice.
Bellatrix Black and Bellatrix Lestrange and Bellatrix the Death Eater were three completely different people, in the end.