A F T E R I M A G E

Chapter Two: Obedience

"Wicked men obey from fear; good men, from love."

- Aristotle

I stared hard at the faces around me. My fierce gaze met with the confused stares of my two older brothers, James and Albus. My eyes locked onto Aunt Hermione, who actually smiled in encouragement. I had the feeling that although she disagreed with my understanding of Bellatrix, she knew what I was saying and believed, like me, that others needed to hear it.

I caught sight of the heavily aged Lucius Malfoy, sitting beside Narcissa. He was mumbling to himself, whilst his still beautiful wife hushed him. Azkaban had destroyed that man, I thought sadly.

Bella had shown me that loss of mental control and psychosis were worse fates than death. And I pitied Lucius for having to endure it. But I still thought he deserved it.

"Over the next six months," I started again, breaking through the whispers of the audience. "Bella began her Death Eater training. She had already ingrained herself within the Dark Circle before that, however, it was Zel's death that pushed her towards madness. She was consumed by hatred, and became a tool of pure fury for her Lord. When she was seventeen, he placed an advanced variation of the Imperius Curse over her. It was structured as such that it was weak. She was not completely controlled, merely receiving directions in her head that she thought were her own. In her diary over the next nine or ten years, she referred to her instructions from Voldemort as her 'Dark Thoughts'. She thought that they were hers, and she hated her own sadistic nature."

"Then why'd she bloody kill so many people?" someone shouted.

I ignored them and continued, knowing that I would be explaining that in moments. "It was this self-hatred that split her personality, allowing the muggle disease to develop." I held up the diary again. "Over the next two years, there are two entries for each day. One; her darker nature, that of Bellatrix Black, later to be Lestrange. And the Second; the fearful child who witnessed horrible things, little Bella Black, who never really grew up."

I blinked, eyeing the angered face of my father with delicate disinterest. He was furious. I was tearing down everything he had worked so hard for. I was tearing it down because it was wrong. Because I knew that Harry Potter had done the same thing Voldemort had – created fear and mistrust between the societies of the wizarding world.

"She never grew up, really. Bella was trapped behind Bellatrix - a dark, sinister murderer, a cold-blooded killer. She never had the chance to develop; her mind was twisted beyond her own control when she was seventeen. I can't tell you what decision Bella would have made in some circumstances – the torture of the Longbottoms, for instance. I cannot tell you that she would not have done the exact same thing."

"Of course she would have!" someone yelled. "She was a bleedin' lunatic!"

I nodded, accepting his accusation. "She was," I agreed. "But she understood what was happening and had no power to stop it. The diary entries of little Bella, contrary to Bellatrix, the dark one, show the remorse and self-disgust she felt at her own actions."

I raised my chin, and tucked a lock of red hair behind my ear. "Again, I tell you, she was a victim of her upbringing, her experiences and her own tortured mind."

"Bellatrix Black," the hissing voice of my master echoed through the darkness.

"Master," I replied softly, bending to kiss his feet. I had not seen his face; he was robed in a heavy black cloak, concealing almost all his features, excluding his height. And the Dark Lord was very tall.

"Another Black... oh, this is precious," the snake-like voice chuckled. "Your cousin, Regulus, joined us not long ago, did you know?"

"I am aware, Master."

"Your initiation has been successful, little Black," he breathed. I could sense the hatred and anger that swirled behind his words. I wondered if I sounded like that. "But tell me one thing. Why did you join? Why do you truly wish to become a Death Eater?"

I knew he didn't want to hear the usual tripe. Muggles are filth and should be eradicated. Mudbloods don't deserve their magic. I knew he could care less how much I agreed with him. I decided to tell the brutal truth behind my desire to join him. "I want to destroy every Auror as painfully and cruelly as I can."

He laughed, further stoking my fury. "Because they killed your dear little friend, am I correct?"

My heartbeat nearly stopped, but blood still pounded in my ears like a drum. "Yes, my lord. Both of them."

"And what if I said that little Dolohov slut deserved to die?"

I leapt to my feet, drawing my wand. "Then I would say that you do too!"

He laughed again, and just as I was about to curse him, the Dark Lord pulled out his wand and screamed "Crucio!"

Intolerable pain shot through my limbs, burning my ligaments, scraping my bones and scalding my human flesh. I suffered in silence.

I heard the intake of my Master's breath when he saw my sadistic smile. It lit up my features- a beacon of radiance shining from my tortured body.

The level of pain increased as he tried to wipe it from my sweat-soaked face.

Fire.

Fire in my bones.

But the grim smile stayed in place. I knew that this curse would be mine. I would use this curse to break people. I would tear their minds and bodies apart with the pain that those Aurors had shown me.

Crucio.

Such a beautiful word. Such a wonderful concept.

Unbearable pain.

My enemies would one day kill themselves, rather than face my wrath. I would make sure of it.

The Dark Lord removed the curse, and I shakily pulled myself to my knees

"Why the smile, little Black?" he hissed. "Do you enjoy pain?"

I shook my head. "I enjoy knowing that one day my enemies will feel the same agony that I just experienced."

The Dark Lord's toe nudged my knee. "Get up, Bellatrix Damaira Black, Death Eater, and I will show you how to cause the pain you seek."

With a grim smile, I got to my feet.

They would fear me.

And I would break them.

I looked around the room once more, my eyes this time falling on those of Professor McGonagall. My Headmistress had allowed me to give this speech. She had, after all, asked me to do something thought-provoking for the Day of Victory.

I took her words at their most honest.

I chose to turn the wizarding world upside down by provoking their thoughts.

I wondered if she regretted the freedom of speech she had granted me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, many of you here today will remember the terror that faced this world thirty and fifty years ago. Many of you have lost loved ones to death, injury and insanity. Do you remember the Dark Mark above your houses? Do you remember the intolerance? The Death Eaters and cruelty? Do you remember the pain of living in an era of unknowns?

"I'm sure you do. I'm sure they are recollections that are difficult to leave behind. And it's because of your memories that I am asking, no, begging, for you to listen to me.

"I don't want my generation, or the generations to follow, to experience such trauma. You have suffered enough for our sake, for the sake of the futures of your children."

I closed my eyes, thinking briefly. Opening my bright green orbs, I carelessly tossed a loose strand of fiery hair over my shoulder.

"But, unfortunately, I see it all happening again. Perhaps not to the extent of the last war, perhaps without such a high casualty rate. But it will happen. Despite our best efforts at forgetting, we are still caught in the grip of intolerance. We are still victims and perpetrators of prejudice. We are still calling for hatred, cheering for it."

My audience was silent. I stared at the looks of disgust and indignation on their faces. I sighed. I wasn't getting through. I raised my arm, and Bella's diary, and flicked it open. I brushed through its pages, searching for the date I had made a note of.

"I'm going to read you one of Bella's diary entries. Please keep in mind that this piece was written by her hidden personality, the suppressed child who abhorred Bellatrix. This is the second entry for Christmas Eve, of 1981.

"I was afraid today. I had thought that I might be broken today, that finally the cruelty and pain I caused people might split me in half. I saw their faces, scrunched up in agony. They were Aurors, though. Didn't they deserve this? She had needed them to tell me where my Master was. They should have just told her – perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange would have been merciful and just killed them, though I doubted it.

She did not care for their names, for their lives, but the information is bothering me endlessly.

Frank and Alice Longbottom, were their names. They were married, fresh out of Hogwarts. They had an infant son, Neville. They had faced my Master three times and lived.

I remembered the look on Frank Longbottom's agonised face when his wife finally cracked, and began to scream wordlessly, mumbling and muttering. She had been driven insane by the force of Bellatrix's curse. I wanted to tell Frank that I was sorry, I wanted to hug poor, deranged Alice. But I couldn't.

I was just a part of Bellatrix, after all. A single shard of humanity behind the sadistic torturer.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan had laughed at the Longbottoms. When the Aurors – curse them! – arrived, they tried to escape. They were unsuccessful. Just before we were sent to Azkaban, I caught a glimpse of Frank clinging to his muttering wife, having joined her in the realm of the insane.

Pity filled the heart that I shared with Bellatrix, though her twisted emotions did not recognise it.

I hated her in this moment more than I ever had. I hated myself.

I, Bella Black, hated myself."

I closed the worn diary and stared out once more at the sea of faces. My eyes met Professor Longbottom's. His brown orbs were filled with tears for his parents, who had died in St Mungo's many years ago. I had gone to him and shown him the entry when I was writing the speech. I couldn't bring myself to read without his permission.

They were his parents, and I would not subject anyone to such emotional pain without their consent.

He caught my gaze and smiled weakly, giving me a thumbs up. I was surprised at this – Professor Longbottom, my Head of House and Herbology Professor, had cautioned me against speaking about Bellatrix. He had said that no one would listen, simply because of what she did.

I didn't believe him.

I would make them listen.

"Bella regretted that day for the rest of her tortured life," I began. "In every entry after this, for the next seventeen years, she mentions them and prays for their son. She says, I could never forgive myself, but I hope Neville lives a life in which forgiveness is not needed, in a pure and peaceful world. His beautiful parents deserved that, and so does he. They are her exact words at the bottom of every page."

"How do we know you didn't write the diary yourself?" someone shouted. "You could have made this whole thing up!"

I was about to respond, when three people stood up: Neville, Narcissa and my father.

Harry Potter glared at the man and ran a hand through his greying hair. "My daughter is not a liar," he stated calmly, as if that settled the discussion.

"It's true," said Professor Longbottom. "She showed me the diary and let me read it. Miss Potter could not have made such details up."

Narcissa simply glared at the man before speaking. For several moments. "I gave my sister's diary to Lily. I received it upon Bellatrix's well-deserved death, as an inheritance. Ashamed as I am to admit, it is all truth."

The three sat down, and I spared them grateful smiles.

"Do you know that, generally speaking of course, the Purebloods back then thought that muggleborns did not deserve magic, and neither did anyone who affiliated themselves with them? I'm sure you're all aware of this belief – many of you suffered for it.

"And now, I regret to tell you, that the good side, the Light, as many call it, considers Purebloods to be evil and cruel. That they do not deserve a position in this new, improved society.

"As Head Girl, I am faced with many strange and confronting situations each day. It always astounds me how much children pick up from their parents. On Thursday, I was on my way to Charms when I came across two Gryffindor boys and a Hufflepuff beating up a Slytherin kid outside the Gryffindor commonroom. They were first years, only eleven years old and when I demanded to know why they were behaving thus, and what the Slytherin had done to deserve such violence. They replied that 'He's a Pureblood git. Mum says they deserve it."

"And I thought to myself, that this child has no idea what his mum meant. Obviously, the mother was thinking about the painful times she has experienced, probably at the hands of Purebloods or Death Eaters, and her anger has been imprinted in her child."

I frowned, considering what I had said. "You know what? When I went to bed that night, I was replaying the event in my mind, and I remembered questioning the first years. I had said, 'What did this boy do to deserve this? How did he provoke it?' I already assumed that he was to blame. And I felt overwhelming guilt because when I got to the bottom of it, it turns out that the Slytherin boy had been on his way to Gryffindor Tower to return one of the boy's quills. It had been left in the Charms classroom."

I paused, letting the scenario sink in. "So, you see, your children are affected by your blind hatred of Purebloods and Death Eaters. It's not wrong for you to hate them, and I would never tell you or try to convince you that it is, because they have wronged many of you greatly.

"But it is wrong to impart such sectarian hatred upon your children. You are exposing them to prejudice and bigotry. Giving them a false sense of justice."

"Who are you to tell us how to raise our children?" someone called out. They didn't sound angry, more amused.

I raised a brow. "Who better to tell you than another child? I'm sixteen years old – a child by law. If I can see this... this blatant disregard for humanity itself, why can no one else? Why can't anyone understand the future effects of your hatred?

"In twenty years, your children, and perhaps your grandchildren may have taken your disdain for past enemies to a new level. They will see them as deserving eradication, they will want to give them death. A new era of war will rise and I think I am right in saying that, despite your feelings on Purebloods and the like, no one wants that. No one wants more blood spilt over a simple issue of intolerance and bigotry."

I wasn't getting through.

They weren't listening.

They didn't understand.

I sighed.

Alright, Bella Black, let's show 'em what we've got...

AN: Ahh, so we have discovered where Bella's fondness for the cruciatus curse comes from and we begin to see how separate her personalities are. Bella is almost a third party in the torture of the Longbottoms. Please tell me what you think - I love reviews! xx

(oh, and special thank you to Schermione for such an amazing, helpful review for the last chapter (: )