Sick
It all began when Bellatrix left her room late at night, dressed only in her silken night gown, to visit the bathroom. She had paused en route at the sound of voices coming from the parlour beneath the narrow landing she was now crossing. The first voice she recognised as her father's but it was the second that hooked her attention. The sound was soft yet firm, like the hiss of a snake, and it was entrancing to the adolescent girl.
Curiosity taking over nature's call, she gripped the bannister and leant over the edge with the hope of getting a glimpse of the mystery man. She darted back in shock, however, when unexpectedly a door opened to shed a warm glow of lamplight over the darkened hall. Shadows crossed the shaft of light and, squinting, Bellatrix managed to make out the two figures that were now shaking hands in farewell. For a moment, Bellatrix was sure her heart had attempted to leap from her innards and out of her mouth for the sight of the silver tongued stranger was something like she had never seen before. He was tall, majestic looking with a long nose that he gazed down with intense black eyes as he shook her father's hand. His head was topped with thick dark hair that was well kempt without the showing the implications of effort.
Bellatrix's awed gaze was broken as those piercing eyes flashed upwards and fixed directly on her. Bellatrix pressed herself back to the wall but she was engulfed in darkness – he couldn't see her, could he? Yet those eyes seemed to be boring right into her with a sort of predatory hunger. Frozen, Bella blinked several times in which moments the stranger returned his gaze to Cygnus with a twisted smirk and nodded his head as he was shown out. Bellatrix swallowed hard to wet her drying throat and, as the men moved out of sight and the hollow click of the front door opening could be heard, the girl darted straight back to her bedroom with almost-silent strides unable at that moment to do anything else. She felt clammy all of a sudden, and alert, as if she was suddenly full of energy with nothing to spend it on. This was the start of Bellatrix's illness and it only became worse.
In the days that followed Druella and Narcissa – the only two who seemed to pay any attention as Cygnus kept to himself and Andromeda became lost in one of her two thousand and something page books – noticed that Bellatrix wasn't at all herself. She had spent most of the summer hours in bed although from the dark circles that framed her eyes it was clear that she'd hardly slept and she acted agitated and excitable about every little thing in contrast to the terrible tantrums she threw if anything happened contrary to her liking. It was after one of these moments had occurred at dinner when Bellatrix began to finally settle into her least favourite meal, Yorkshire pudding and roast beef, the conversation ignited again.
"I want you girls in bed by sundown tonight," Cygnus directed his words to his three daughters, "I have some friends coming to the house to discuss important business."
Bellatrix, for some unknown reason felt her stomach flutter with what in some cases would be described as excitement. To her, she only recognised it as nausea and put down her cutlery to avoid making the sensation worse.
"Who will be joining you?" Druella enquired.
"Abraxas Malfoy and such like," he answered before taking a breath and puffing out his chest with a sense of importance, "and Mr Riddle of course."
"Sounds like a filthy Muggle name to me," Druella spoke spitefully, her obsessive knowledge of the pureblood family trees showing immediately. If it wasn't already implied, the name Riddle is not featured on any branch.
Cygnus' reaction of slamming his fist down on the table made all four women jump to a standstill, all staring towards the head of the table. "I will not hear it, Druella. I forbid anyone to disrespect Tom under my roof, do I make myself clear?"
Bellatrix was quick to nod, eyes wide with fear, surprise and intrigue. For her father to take such a high interest in a man from outside the main pure blooded families was unusual to say the least. Her brain connecting pieces of the puzzle subconsciously, she came to the conclusion that the man she had seen leaving the house a few nights ago must have been Tom Riddle. What a befitting name, she thought idly, for Tom Riddle had certainly sent Bellatrix in a reel of puzzling thoughts and confusing feelings that she simply could not identify.
Sunset neared and Bellatrix paced the floor of her bedroom, her stomach in knots. She did not understand why all of a sudden she had this uncomfortable ache within her. Beef must have been off, she thought with a sneer she imagined directing at the house elf responsible. A few deep breaths later and a mild light-headedness adding to the knotting insides, Bellatrix hauled open the door.
"Mother!" she called, "Mother!"
Druella appeared at the bottom of the stairs which Bellatrix quickly descended.
"Dear Gods, what is it now, Bellatrix?"
"I'm sick," she pronounced confidently.
"Shouting like that, you could have fooled me," her mother retorted while crossing her arms.
"Honestly, mother, I am. I swear it feels like I'm about to throw up some internal organs."
Druella, tired of her eldest daughter's dramatizations shook her head and sighed, "Bellatrix, you are sixteen years old, haven't you had enough of making up ailments so you don't have to go to bed?"
Crossly, Bellatrix grunted and mirrored Druella's folded arms, "I'm not making it up, I really am sick."
There was a knock at the door and Bella felt her heart leap and start to pound so fast that she feared it would break out of her chest. She was quickly ushered into the shadows of upstairs again before Cygnus could answer the door. The sight of Malfoy and Lestrange made her beating heart sink to the pit of her stomach. For the love of Merlin, what was happening to her? She exhaled in an exhausted sigh and turned away from her confounded mother to hide in her bedroom. Although she had been warned against leaving her room, all she could spend the night doing was imagine sneaking downstairs to catch a small, medicinal glimpse of Mr Riddle…
Days passed in which the sun burned so brightly that the grass in the gardens turned crisp and dry and the daughters of Black were forced to visit the Malfoys' manor for the benefit of sitting out in the garden with the luxury of a cooling fountain with running water nearby. For Narcissa, who was extremely taken by the Malfoys' son Lucius, and Andromeda who as always sat with an open book, these days were quite splendid. For Bellatrix though, they only made her sweats more intense and her head lighter when thoughts of the mysterious Riddle crossed her mind – the images of her mind's eye becoming more controversial by the hour. She put this down to the heat of course. And the fact that she was a maturing girl that would undoubtedly find a man like Tom Riddle alluring.
She hadn't been expecting, however, to walk straight into the man in question on her way indoors one evening late in July. In surprise and something else that she rarely showed in any circumstance, Bellatrix retreated several steps from the place of collision and bowed her head, "Mr Riddle…" she managed without stuttering as she had been told to speak to her father's friends.
"Ah," was his interested reply. Looking up with surprise, Bellatrix did not see anger as expected but a sly smirk and a glint in his eye, "You must be the famous Bellatrix Black, no?"
His voice was like a sweet poison and when he spoke her name it seemed to fail her of words. Instead she nodded in reply as the wretched sick feeling threatened her worse than ever.
"A pleasure." Like a gentleman, he took her slightly shaky hand in his and lifted it so that he could press his thin lips to it. A fiery heat rushed inside her at contact.
"The pleasure is all mine," she replied, very aware that her cheeks were burning so hot that they must have been an ugly shade of scarlet, "Will you excuse me? I'm suddenly feeling extremely unwell." Rudely, she snatched her hand away and lifted her skirt so to run to the nearest bathroom. Slamming and locking the door behind her she turned on the taps and doused herself in cold water to cool her burning cheeks and the red hot embarrassment at the sudden realisation she'd given the powerful man reason to believe she would succumb to such womanly weaknesses. She had better visit St Mungo's soon for this illness was getting out of hand.
The years that followed made for many more meetings with Mr Riddle in which he began to be received as 'My Lord' or 'Master' and in which Bellatrix's un-diagnosed sickness remained a constant discomfort. It wasn't until the day that she took her Mark, that she became his truly, that the sickness became something of a pleasure to her. When he took her arm and branded her as his own the heat and knots that twisted within her revealed themselves as a passion that quivered to her very core.
Since then she didn't care that she was sick. She didn't care that her stomach churned when she caught sight of him. She didn't care that her ears perked up every time she heard that hiss slip past his lips. She didn't care that her pale skin flushed every time he addressed her or came close. She didn't care and yet she cared with all her being. She was desperate for him to feel these symptoms in return but after years of loyalty and yearning she still pined after the cure that would never be hers. And so, the sickness lives on.