Um yes. Hi. I started writing another thing (I really need someone to tell me not to do these things).
Anyway, I've been wanting to do this for ages, and finally I have been hit with some motivation, so here we go! This story will be, to the best of my ability, canon-compliant. And no, I am not including the Cursed Child when I say canon. For those of you who might have read my other work, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; you can consider this to be a prequel. You can consider Voldemort here to be one in the same with my other Voldemort. However, if you haven't read DMLE, and you're just here for some Bellamort; don't fret. You don't need to have read it. This will be a fully stand-alone piece in itself. Not to mention, DMLE is currently unfinished and it's pretty long winded, anyway...
I hope you enjoy this. This is my first shot at writing Bellatrix and I hope I can capture her acceptably. Please let me know your thoughts, or if I'm failing abysmally. Feedback makes me a better writer and I would love the opportunity of speaking with you :)
Bellatrix Black stared at her reflection.
Narcissa had done her makeup much too light for her liking, and so she didn't hesitate in snatching up the kohl liner herself and applying a second coating by hand.
There.
Much better.
Cissy, and even Andy for that matter, had always insisted she looked much nicer with less. A little bit of blush and a soft shade of lipstick, and she could be the prettiest girl in the room, they said.
Bella vehemently disagreed. She liked the way the dark eyeliner complemented her eyes, and her hair. She liked the way the smoky look added to her mystery. She liked the way the boys in her classes and her father's friends would double take, unused to seeing such an exotic looking girl – no, woman – in their midst. It made it clear; she was not like the others. She was different.
Special.
And if there was any single word that could come close to describing Bellatrix Black, it was special.
She'd always known she was destined for greatness, but as she glanced down at the ancient, white, flouncy dress her mother had insisted on, it was almost a challenge to remind herself of that fact.
Her frowning was interrupted as the door behind her opened with a thud.
"Oops." Narcissa stumbled in, seeming to struggle with the size of her own dress and the small doorway.
"Did you get it?"
"Yes," Narcissa said once all of the fabric of her skirts were in, lifting the bottom of her dress to pull a wand from her knee-highs. "I had to wait until father needed the bathroom to get it. For once, his morning drinking proved to be most fortunate."
Bellatrix took her wand from her sister and the turning in her stomach settled ever so slightly at their reunion.
Two halves of a whole.
She turned back toward her reflection. With her wand, she was able to fix the small smudge of black she'd left on her cheek from her finger as if it had never been there at all.
"You look unearthly, my dear," the mirror announced.
Bella's lips tugged in a smile at the mirror's assessment.
Unearthly.
Not what she'd been going for, but perhaps it was better that way.
Satisfied, she turned back to her sister. Narcissa gave her a small, sad smile. "We can still run away, Bell. You don't have to do this-"
"Nonsense," Bella said at once, tucking her wand into the bodice of the dress. "Today, I am honouring my family. As will you, when the time comes."
"But – but, father could find someone else, someone nicer, someone a bit less-"
"Rodolphus is a fine man, and I am lucky to have him," she said, reaffirming the words her mother and father had said to her the night before. "I am thrilled to take on the name of Lestrange."
Narcissa frowned disbelievingly but didn't say anything more as offered Bella her hand.
Once more, Narcissa struggled with the doorway, but she didn't let it weaken her hold on her sister. The small bedroom opened up into the upper floor of the Lestrange manor which, thankfully, had hallways wide enough for the combined width of the sister's dresses.
At the foot of the grand staircase, their parents awaited them. While their mother beamed up at them, Bella didn't miss how her father swayed on the spot ever so slightly.
Once on the ground level, her mother gripped Bella's other hand. "You are the perfect bride."
"Thank you, mother."
Her father – now leaning against the railing of the stairs and no longer swaying – narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. His lips thinned, and Bella knew had it not been for her mother's shrieking the night before about him not causing a scene, he would've scolded them for the thievery of her wand.
"You are ready?" He asked instead, his words surprisingly distinct for how intoxicated he looked.
"Yes, father."
He pushed off of the railing and offered his elbow. She took it and didn't keep her sigh quiet as his weight pressed on her.
It was supposed to be him walking her to her new husband.
Her mother and sister left hand in hand, leaving her alone supporting her father.
He smelled like firewhisky.
"We are to wait here-" he said, gesturing toward the double doors her mother and Narcissa had disappeared through, "until told otherwise."
"And," Bella started as she guided them to wait by the doors, "how, exactly, are we to be told?"
"How'm I supposed to know?"
She didn't bother to be subtle with her eye roll.
They stood in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. She was sure this would have been the moment a loving father wished his daughter luck, or whispered words of encouragement.
But a loving father, Cygnus Black was not, and instead they continued to wait in heavy silence.
A soft creaking sound came from the double doors and Bella's heart leapt. And then they opened.
The first thing she noticed was that the hall was full. Rows and rows of attendees turned to watch simultaneously as the doors revealed their presence. She turned to her father.
"I suppose that's how we're to be told," he mumbled before clearing his throat.
Loudly swallowing down her nerves, Bella began to guide them down the narrow aisle. Her father, much to her relief, seemed to sober at the hundreds of eyes on him. She was struck by how many she didn't know. She knew half of the guests must have been Rodolphus', but she was still surprised that she didn't even seem to recognise a quarter of them.
Her parents' doing, she supposed. It wouldn't be unlike them to use the wedding of their eldest daughter as a social event for their own purposes.
Attendees whispered amongst each other out of the corner of their mouths as they passed, all the while keeping their eyes locked on her. Exchanging remarks on her hideous dress, without doubt.
Still, she held her chin high – high as any pureblooded witch ought to. Her father may have been a drunkard, but he was still well-respected, and she was still his first-born. She would take their respect, even if they did not give it.
It was her birthright.
Rodolphus waited at the end with a purple-robed wizard, who, by his age, she assumed to be the officiant. He was watching her closely, hungrily, despite the awful dress.
She might not have been able to select her husband, but at least she would have one who lusted for her. She wasn't sure if it would be a blessing or a curse, but it was more than her mother and her bitter old friends could say, and that alone made it enough to please her.
They reached the end of the aisle without her father tripping. Her mother would be thrilled.
He passed her hand into Rodolphus', and she was grateful for it. He, at least, was not drunk. He didn't use her to hold him up. His hands were not sweaty.
The officiant then began to speak, and Bella took in none of it. She'd been to her fair share of weddings – her cousin's, mostly – and she knew the script. Instead, she focused on the stitching of Rodolphus' robes as his fingers moved under her palms. They massaged her skin as if he were mapping the shape of her hands, tracing over the palm lines.
She found it oddly reassuring.
"Do you, Rodolphus Roderick Lestrange, take Bellatrix Irma Black as your bond for life?"
He didn't hesitate. "I do."
"And do you, Bellatrix Irma Black, take Rodolphus Roderick Lestrange as your bond for life?"
"I do."
The official stepped aside to draw a long, slender knife from the alter of the hall, and for the first time in the ceremony, Bella met Rodolphus' eyes. They were dark, like hers. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and although it didn't give her butterflies, or tingles, or anything else women in books were described to have felt when they were in love, it at least was reassuring.
As was custom, the official began with the male. A long slice across his palm, and deep red pooled on Rodolphus' skin.
The official next turned to her, and she eyed the droplet of Rodolphus' blood that was slowly forming on the knife's point.
Regardless, Bella offered her hand. She was not afraid of the pain.
The old man was quick. He ran the knife over her palm in a rapid flick, and brought her hand back together with Rodolphus'.
She felt the moment their blood began to mix. The heat of the cut intensified at their contact, and she winced at the sting as she felt a strange heaviness as magic grew between them. She could feel the path it took, like a fine thread; it wrapped around her hand, between the bones of her fingers and up around her wrist. Tendrils of magic threaded upward and upward, past her elbow and over her shoulder, upward and onward until it stopped in her chest.
She met Rodolphus' eyes. He didn't look as composed as he had been moments earlier and she knew; he'd felt it, too.
"You may now exchange your rings," the officiant said.
Rodolphus released her hand to dig in his pocket. She took the opportunity to inspect her hand, expecting to see it dripping with their blood. But it wasn't. The cut had healed, and only a small patch of drying blood remained.
Rodolphus took her hand once more and slipped the ring onto her finger, a golden band slightly too thick for her liking with a dark sapphire in the middle. It was a meaningless band of metal, one which added nothing to the magical bond. Instead, it was a marking. A collar, of sorts, to mark her status to others, to make it clear that she was no longer her own.
She belonged to someone.
She felt oddly numb.
"I declare you bonded for life."
And Bellatrix Black was no more.