AN: Entry for the Marauder's Era Competition Round Two. Challenge: Your character falls in love with someone. My Character: Bellatrix Black. Prompts: Spinning, Game, Arched, Wrap, Golden.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Her father had always told her that she ought to marry a man she desires to serve.
Her mother had always told her that she ought to marry a man who she would trust to make the right choices for her children.
Their advice was bestowed upon her not in order for her to make an informed choice, but for her to accept the choice they would make for her. It was unnecessary. She would always trust her parents when it came to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Bellatrix tramped through the grounds of the Lestrange country estate with a furious scowl besmirching her aristocratic features in the descending darkness.
A small rabbit darted under the bushes and with catlike reflexes Bellatrix flicked her walnut wand and suspended the innocent creature in mid-air.
A gleeful cackle erupted from her lips, transforming her scowl into a great look of jubilation. It was a sharp, shrill sound, causing a flurry of woodland creatures to escape their havens. Bellatrix, however, only had dark, hooded eyes for the rabbit.
Another flick of her wand and the rabbit started to grotesquely mutate before her, limbs stretching, bones cracking. The high pitch squeal resonated through the air, grating and cutting until-
Silence.
With a frustrated growl, Bellatrix dropped the rabbit to the ground and whirled round holding her wand in a wide arch, flames erupting from the tip in relentless fury.
Heat surrounded her, and her eyes shone with the dancing flames.
It wasn't enough; she couldn't temper the pain of this betrayal.
"Why?!" she screeched in to the golden inferno, listening with rapture to the responding hiss of the flames.
Her own sister… no; she was no longer any sister of hers. Her rage rekindled with new ire.
Love, she understood, was a powerful force. Love was corrupt, all-consuming, and self-deprecating.
The truly powerful could overcome love.
She should have recognised the signs, she could have prevented this. Andromeda had always nodded along, pacifying her family, yet never had she ardently subscribed to the doctrine of Toujours Pur. Granted, she'd been sorted into Slytherin… yet she'd always appeared somewhat repulsed by Bella's own choice of friends. Nor had she ever displayed much House pride.
"Sweet Salazar," Bellatrix moaned, clutching at her black hair.
Now, because of her foolish not-sister, she had to marry the fool, Lestrange, quickly in order to salvage the integrity of the Black House.
She lay back onto the pebbled ground, as the flames of her own design arched over her, encasing her in a cocoon of fury, despair, and hate.
Hate.
She hated him. She would not allow herself even to think his name, the filthy muggle.
He was the one to tear her family apart. He had cracked the purity of the Ancient and Most Noble House. He had stolen – nay, corrupted – her sister with… with love. Her face contorted in fury as she considered that word.
In her temper she felt her mind slip control over the flames, and briefly she was aware of her scorching creation eagerly lapping towards her.
With a loud crack she disapparated, driven only by her hatred.
Her eyes remained closed as she took in a deep breath of the fresh air, in her fury she'd been only partially aware of the thick smoke cloying at her in the Lestrange grounds.
The delighted shrieks of laughter reached her ears, followed by the chuckles of adults.
Dark eyes snapped open.
The park she found herself in seemed to still as she opened her eyes. Children and adults alike paused upon noticing the woman who had seemingly appeared out of thin air.
For a second, Bellatrix imagined herself in the eye of those who now witnessed her.
Dressed in dark swathes of cloth, dishevelled thick, black hair… She was a stark contrast to the bright colours of the children's climbing frame which she now stalked towards.
She felt detached from the world. Desperate for a connection, she lifted her, caressing it reverently with long, slender fingers.
Slowly, with distinct purpose, she raised it.
"It's their fault, Bella…" she muttered to herself.
"What would Dromeda think of this?" she pondered aloud.
A wracking sob heaved through her, "SHE ABANDONED ME!" she shrieked, brandishing her wand with fury.
Screams filled the air, but they could not penetrate Bella's disturbed mind. All she could process was one thought, one word, crucio. It gave her strength, she could focus on that.
She could not focus on what had happened to her sister, her future with Lestrange, not even the thought of protecting Narcissa.
CRUCIO, she screamed in her mind. She thought briefly that she may have heard someone scream the word aloud.
Steadily, the screams filtered through to her, and she relaxed into them. She remembered her pain, and now with focus she considered her prey.
There were five children, she assumed their ages to range between four and eleven, accompanied by three adult women. They all shared one thing in common: their faces were contorted into agony, unimaginable, consuming, shattering agony.
A resounding crack pierced the air through the screams, and Bella's eyes snapped up to see him.
She threw herself to the ground, "My Lord," she spoke softly, reverently even.
"My dear Bella, you seem upset," his words mocked her.
"I- I am, my Lord."
She dared to look up at him, and found him surveying the park with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Come, Bella, take my hand," he implored.
Bella complied, feeling his spindly fingers wrap around her manicured ones.
They were outside a muggle theatre in London, the posters adorning the walls read Macbeth.
Bella looked around curiously, "my Lord?" she ventured.
He responded with a level stare, which Bella translated as, have some patience.
Her reward was great, signalled only by the sound of a swinging door; the street was suddenly overwhelmed by muggles.
Bella looked towards her master, Lord Voldemort with growing jubilation.
He smiled indulgently.
Pandemonium ensued. Bella was barely aware of the arrival of other Death Eaters, she was absorbed with the dance of her wand, with the chorus of her victims' cries.
Her mind was spinning in pure ecstasy.
She twisted around and came face to face with her future husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. He was smirking as he alternated curses between a young muggle couple, watching Bellatrix thoughtfully.
Bella sighed in disdain, turning away from him again. She knew that this was all a game to him, a mere sport.
Casting her eyes around again her gaze fell upon Lord Voldemort.
Her heart soared; this was no mere game to him. This was an art, a way of life, an innate need. She watched as he performed such intricate wand work, in awe of his control and precision.
She considered her parents' old advice: she ought to marry a man she desires to serve; she ought to marry a man who she would trust to make the right choices for her children.
Suddenly she found herself accepting of her upcoming marriage.
For though in the contract she would be married to Rodolphus Lestrange; in her heart she now married herself to Lord Voldemort.
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