written for the hogwarts assignment five, the creative collection, and the "through the universe" challenge on the golden snitch
hogwarts a5: Task #7: Write about a mother teaching/encouraging her child to be cruel.
creative collection: Different School!AU (in which a character is taught in a school other than which they are canonically taught); (character) Bellatrix Lestrange
through the universe: Constellation — (characters) the Black family
points: 5
hogwarts, slytherin
wc: 1312
. . .
ii. her heart brushed with black
. . .
Druella Black is the kind of woman who believes that she is always right and that her children must follow in her footsteps. Bellatrix Black is her least rebellious child as well as the oldest — Andromeda is useless and Narcissa is weak — and as such she is the pride of the Black family.
Well — Cygnus Black's family, anyway. They do not have much of a care for Walburga, Orion, or any of their "blasted rat-looking children with their ugly noses."
No, Druella doesn't like the other side of the Black family, but Bellatrix knows she believes her side of the family is perfectly wonderful and respectful. Of course, Bellatrix harbors the same belief. Uncle Orion's child Sirius is just too Mudblood-sympathizing for her — she can see it in his eyes every time someone tells him of his inherent superiority — and Aunt Walburga is entirely too psychotic, even for her tastes. The boy Regulus is one to follow in with the crowd — there is rebellion in his eyes, but it is understated. He will believe in something but he will not act on it. Orion himself is incompetent for producing such an utterly incompetent family.
The opposite branch of the Black family, on the other hand, is much more respectable and has much more control. It is less wild and it is perfectly pureblood.
"Now, now, Bellatrix," her mother always warns her after one of these sessions where Bellatrix is warned about the right kind of company, with tea in hand and a cruel smile on her face. "These are the things we think but do not say."
"Then what's the point of that?" whines Bellatrix one day. "Can't you tell them they're worthless?"
Her mother smiles more widely, a plastic and false one. "It is through subtlety that you do this. A comment here, a smirk there. You do — not — say — it — aloud," she punctuates.
"Okay," says Bellatrix, slightly unsatisfied by the answer, but already learning. There are some things one does not say aloud.
Druella looks at her appraisingly. "You are learning, I see."
Bellatrix does not reply but for a small smile. It is answer enough for her mother, she knows.
Druella barks out a laugh, short and humorless. "My darling Bellatrix," she croons, "someday you will grow up to be so great. Mark my words."
. . .
Bellatrix never sees very much of her father, but her mother is an ever-present effigy in her life, her shadow looming over Bellatrix as if reminding her, "Do — not — say — this — aloud." Perhaps it is a reminder, perhaps it is a comfort, perhaps it doesn't matter.
Druella Black does not like Hogwarts and she makes it known to Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.
"We are debating Durmstrang for you," she says. "I do not like Hogwarts."
"Too many Mudbloods, not enough curses," Bellatrix recites.
"Indeed," says her mother, lost in thought.
Abruptly she stands, blond hair long and flowing down her back, normally alert gray eyes lost in thought. Druella leaves the room without a word, presumably to talk to Bellatrix's father.
Bellatrix trains her own gray eyes on the retreating form of her mother. She does not know what her fate will be.
. . .
When the owl arrives, Bellatrix's mother takes it first.
"Hogwarts!" she proclaims with a sneer, and proceeds to Incendio the letter, throwing it in the fireplace. The cold grayness of the house is lit up by a warm, orange fire.
"That is all Hogwarts will be useful for," scowls her mother. "Tell that to the Mudbloods…"
. . .
Two days later, another owl arrives. This time it is from Durmstrang, as her mother's stressed face lights up with a bright smile.
"Oh, Bellatrix, you're going to Durmstrang!" she exclaims with a bright grin — or as close to a grin as Druella Black can get.
. . .
Durmstrang is different from how Bellatrix has been taught to view a school. There are no Houses like at Hogwarts — rather, blood status determines hierarchy — and the classes, Bellatrix is told, are far more rigorous than they would've been at Hogwarts.
A man — Rosier, he is, apparently, related to her mother. Evan, she thinks his name must be — tells her that this is where it should be. She is at the top, where she should be.
"Those dratted idiots at Hogwarts — Mudbloods, all of them must be — let them bottom-feed. Here at Durmstrang is where we thrive. They're all Mudblood-lovers and blood-traitors and entirely the wrong lot, I tell you," he blabbers. Bellatrix knows all of this already, it is her birthright to know it, and he just keeps jabbering, on and on. She finds him annoying. He is inferior because who is he? Just another Rosier. Bellatrix may be a Rosier, as well, but she is also a Black, she is both, and she bears the higher name.
Evan is a fool for thinking he is at the top. Someday, Bellatrix will make sure he knows.
But there are some things, after all, that one does not say aloud.
. . .
Andromeda and Narcissa join her in the succeeding years, when Bellatrix has made herself a reputation as Durmstrang's queen, the third year with the black heart and the dark soul.
She will do anything for power, even though she doesn't need to. Her name is practically synonymous to power.
Her sisters join her at the throne, princesses — they have chances but they will never get them. Andromeda looks disdainfully at Bellatrix's vantage point, and Bellatrix knows she is wishing that it would go away entirely. Narcissa remains where she is, staring impassively at the masses, knowing her destiny is to be nothing.
Druella hears whispers of a Dark Lord emerging to rid the wizarding world of the filth that plagues it — the Mudbloods. She passes them on to Bellatrix, letters saying, I want you to join him.
It would be good if you joined him.
As soon as you are of age, I wish for you to become one of his followers.
They are called Death Eaters. You are to be one.
Bellatrix learns spells: curses and countercurses and Dark magic and she thinks that she could kill if she got the chance.
Become a Death Eater. Inflict pain upon the Mudbloods.
The shadow speaks to her, writing relentlessly, planting ideas in Bellatrix's mind.
The Death Eaters are what this world needs. They will be the winners and you will join them when they do.
. . .
Bellatrix stands before him, bowing toward her master. She is the queen of Durmstrang but she is his servant.
She can play second fiddle. But she will be a winner. She will remain faithful to her new Lord.
"Bellatrix," he beckons, pointing at her with an unnaturally long, pale finger. Her master is strange in looks, but she does not discriminate. He is hairless, much too pale, with red eyes like snakes and a mouth that is almost not one.
Bellatrix stands, and walks the dark corridor to him.
"You have been most faithful to me in tonight's mission," continues Lord Voldemort. "For that, I believe it is time…" He withdraws his wand from his cloak, and uses his other hand to take Bellatrix's forearm. His skin is cold to the touch.
He draws back the sleeves of her robes, and presses the wand to her skin. A burning sensation spreads out from it across her arm, and Bellatrix sucks in a sharp intake of air, but she does not say a word. She is mesmerized by the pattern weaving itself across her skin: an elegant serpent with detailed scales, protruding from the beginnings of — no, now it is a skull — with teeth and sockets in its face set menacingly.
It is the Dark Mark. It is her destiny.