A/N: Beta-ed by the very lovely fadingintostarlight- amazing beta! Lots of thanks to Rim for reading multiple drafts of my works and for the enormous help while writing.

Bellatrix

Bellatrix Black is, to most wizards and witches, the colour black she drowns in and her pale skin stands out against. She's the mad laughter that threatens of violence to come, and the bright shining red of her favourite curse as she says Crucio. She's wildness and erratic spells – spells that leave her opponents' hearts hammering against their ribcages and scrambling to put up shields as she simply laughs gleefully, as if she were playing.

To most people, whether they're on her side or on the opposing side, she's a monster. Mostly because no one's quite sure which page they're on with Bellatrix.

She is indeed a monster. A monster that revels in the cries and screams as she tortures her opponents. A monster who holds prejudices against her heart and thinks herself above everyone.

But it's not to say that she was never human.

Before Azkaban had taken her sanity away, before the dark lord has stripped her humanity away, before her head was filled with the most revolting nonsense – Bellatrix was very much human.

She was the sound of loud laughter that caused her parents to admonish her, because Bellatrix remember, ladies don't laugh so uncouthly. She was wild and adventurous with shining eyes, and when she was merely a child this translated into ripped dresses and tangled curls which made her mother go into a shouting spree. Because Bellatrix, pureblood ladies sit quietly and demurely. Bellatrix, you're not an uncivilised mudblood boy to go rampaging through mud. Bellatrix you're not a blood-traitor without any form of manners.

Bellatrix you're a pureblood lady and you must behave like one.

But most of all, Bellatrix was stubborn and determined and she stood tall while her mother screamed at her, she stood with a tilt to her chin and a glint in her eyes that said she would do it again. She rebelled against any and every rule her parents put up and they could never realise – shouting at her would only make her worse.

Yet, that's barely scratched the surface of Bellatrix.

Bellatrix was intelligent and cunning, but her ruling force was never her head and always her emotions. Bellatrix wasn't heartless – was never heartless – and she feels deeply. When she's happy there's a bounce to her step and a curve to her lips that doesn't go away. If she's excited, then she's excited with all the force of a whirlwind and you'd better not get in her way. She fidgets when she's nervous, frowns when she's confused and never once is she concerned about pureblood propriety.

Bellatrix is dramatic, in the way she drags her wand when she starts to duel and the theatrical way she uses her voice. She's dramatic in the way she swaths herself in the darkest of black, knowing it stands out against her skin and knowing it makes her look regal.

Not that Bellatrix needs to try to look regal.

She has high cheekbones and lidded eyes that cause people to pause and look at her. She has a deep voice and she knows how flustered people are when she purrs and whispers – she knows quite well if her amused smirk is anything to go by. She exudes power and is never in need of confidence.

The way her emotions control her is endearing when she's excited and terrifying the moment it starts becoming darker. When Bellatrix gets angry, she loses her head completely, she's ruthless and unthinking and her emotions cloud any and every bit of logic. It takes a lot to frighten Bellatrix, enough that people will say that she's not frightened by anything, but that's not true. When she's scared it's etched into her brows and visible in her eyes. She can't stand being known as weak and so, she lashes out. When she's alone she curls in on herself and when she feels tear tracks on her cheeks, she rubs them away furiously.

She's erratic in her moods and she can jump from pitch black to the brightest smile in a second.

Somehow, Bellatrix fits well with smoke. Carelessly sprawled against a settee on a gloomy day, a wistful expression on her face and a puff of white smoke blowing out of her mouth, its ends curling gracefully. She's appealing in those rare moments when she's quiet and she has a different sort of beauty then.

Of course, by the time she'd left Azkaban, she had barely any sort of beauty, quiet or otherwise.

The dementors had sucked away every bit of happiness in her, every bit of joy. By the time she'd gotten out all she had left was a wave of burning anger and a ruthless mind.

Before that, Voldemort had taken her determination and willpower and twisted it so that she'd been left with a burning desire of destruction and a sickening loyalty.

And prior to everything, her parents had shouted and screamed and filled her head with poison and prejudice, and she'd been left with a desire of proving them wrong, no matter the cost, and a warped view of the world.