Chapter Nine

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers for the last chapter, TheDarkMistressBellatrix, IndigoDragonRider, stephenmc and Guest.

In a dark room illuminated only by fluorescent lights, twenty four children were assembled.

Along the walls of the darkness, weapons were arranged. Axes, bows, knives and swords were available in abundance, and other useful tools, such as training equipment for camouflage, rationing and survival skills. 'I definately won't need to visit there, then.' Bellatrix thought to herself. 'With all the years I've lived in District Twelve, if there is a survival skill I don't know, it isn't worth knowing.'

Brushing away the need for other skills, once the trainer had finished speaking, the young woman made a bolt for the weapons. Near blinded by the glimmer of a set of throwing knives, Bellatrix threw a small girl, probably thirteen years old or less, to the side, in an attempt to acquire the weapon before her fellow Tribute did. 'She'll probably die at the Cornucopia anyway. There's no point her training for anything, if she won't be alive for more than an hour to use the skills she gained.'

As the cool metal met the warm flesh of her hand, Bellatrix sighed a little. It was strange how right the blade felt held inside her palm, and how powerful she felt holding it. 'This blade could kill any one of them.' she thought. 'All I would have to do would be to throw it. Not exactly taxing, is it?'

Turning the blade thrice in hand, to examine the detail cut into the blade itself, an insignia that seemed to be that of the Ministry itself, who had, no doubt, provided the weaponry for the Games, Bellatrix considered the splendor of it all. The weaponry that she was accustomed to was basic at best, and most useless at worst, apart from the bows, which would need restringing every few days, a costly tool to own and to use. Not like these things of beauty. These were tools to kill.

Plucking the entire set of knives from their holders on the wall, the Black sister crossed the room in a few long strides, coming face to face with a magical target, bobbing and weaving across the area where a few others were gathered in front, obviously also wishing to make use of the facilities.

"Get lost!" the girl exclaimed, waving dismissively in the direction of the group. Whether it was due to the harsh tone in her voice or to the knife she still clutched in it, she did not quite know which, the children dispersed, scurrying away like rats in the pouring rain, a common sight back home in District Twelve.

Drawing her attention back to the task at hand, the young woman turned the knife once again in her hand. It seemed as though it would fly well and would land rather close to its target. Now, it all rested on her as to whether this would be the case.

Taking three steps forwards, the girl drew back the hand in which the blade rested, her shoulder making contact with her cheek as she prepared herself for the throw that would determine her strength as a competitor, for the rest of the Tributes anyway.

She closed her eyes as the blade left her hand, though she knew that this may have been a reckless decision. After all, the knives were designed to kill, so being unable to see the path they would take could be lethal for anyone standing nearby. It was quite a relief when she heard the thump of the wood as the metal became lodged in the centre of it, as she knew that it had not injured anyone on its way.

'Why should I care?' Bellatrix asked herself, as she considered the thoughts that had passed through her mind. 'They're all going to die anyway, when I win, so whether they die sooner or later is of little consequence, really? Especially to me.'

As her eyelids lifted once again, Bellatrix grinned smugly, as she saw the knife was lodged directly in the centre of the bull's eye. She was not even surprised. As a consequence of the years spent hunting for food, the grip of the Ministry being so firm, even on the outlying Districts of Salazar Slytherin, that any kind of stealing was punishable with the kiss of a Dementor, her aim was extremely precise. Though she had been very practiced with a bow, the young woman had found that blades were not so different.

'I wonder if they will have Dementors in the Arena.' she wondered, then shuddered at the thought. The kiss of a Dementor, a hefty sentence passed by the Ministry, was a fate far worse than even death could be. A few seconds under a Dementor's lips and the victim would be just a shell, their mind and spirit stolen, but their heart continuing to beat even so. Bellatrix's family had known no one who had been victim to such a fate. She did not wish to be the first.

Over the next hour, Bellatrix did nothing but throw the knives at the target, hitting the bull's eye every time, no matter how tired and heavy her arms became. Around her, a small group of Tributes had gathered, watching closely each move she made, as if to try and determine what the secret was behind the extraordinary woman's success. Among the crowd was Rodolphus, looking on in both wonder and jealousy at his District partner, who paid little attention to any of the group, let alone to him.

Little did he know that, out of the corner of her eye, Bellatrix had been watching the dark haired man every single moment since he had arrived in the group of Tributes, and she had noticed the very clear fact that he was jealous of her skill and popularity. But what the eldest Black sister had not noticed was the other emotion running through the Lestrange boy's gaze.

Love.

A/N: Here we go! The love triangle has begun. Please review!