The room settled. The reverberating sound of carnage finally ebbed away into a steady silence. She, on the other hand, had not settled. The metallic stench of blood still invaded her nose, putting her stomach in a perpetual state of unease. Her stomach threatened to empty itself with each breath she took. She could feel the small beads of sweat forming on her forehead and the back of her neck. Her shaking hands were hidden underneath the table. Her jaw was clenched, teeth digging into her cheeks, biting through her skin. Her mouth was bleeding. Would there be an end to the blood shed tonight?
The long, oval shaped table was fully seated with people. Most of them were men her fathers age. Those who did not have a seat at the table stood against the walls of the room. She would be eternally grateful she was given a seat for the occasion. Her knees would have given out during the massacre, she was sure. She couldn't afford to be seen as weak here. Not today. Not ever.
Her father's words rang through her head. "You will serve the Dark Lord. It is your duty as the eldest to serve him. I'm sure either of your sisters would be proud to take your place."
Her life had always been controlled by her duty as the eldest. It was her duty to be proper, to set a good example for her baby sisters. It was her duty to secure a proper pureblood husband, to birth heirs. She had never been the type to fight destiny. She wasn't going to start now. And she wasn't going to push her responsibilities on her sisters either. Especially not after what she witnessed tonight.
No. She would do what her father told her to do. She had always been good at following orders. She would follow the Dark Lord's orders as long as her sisters were spared from this. They were too young, too pure, too innocent to be a part of the Death Eaters. She supposed people thought the same of her. But her wand hand had always been steady and she had always been willing to do what needed to be done. She would do anything for her family. She would do anything to protect her sisters.
Even if it meant losing herself.
"Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said. His voice was soft and low, but somehow it managed to easily pervade the room. There was no escaping him here.
"Yes, my Lord," she answered, praying her voice stayed steady. She had been forced to watch each and every second of the slaughter, forced to hear each scream and cry from the victims, forced to participate in the cursing. It had been her initiation. It would soon be time. Now, she moved her hands back up to the table and kept her eyes downcast. She was sure he would see the fear and anxiety in her eyes. She was sure he would see her weakness. She might support the cause, but she had never anticipated having to take part in the violence. She expected to wash blood stains out of Rodolphus's clothes, not her own. She expected to have children, as many as her body could handle, in order to carry on the Lestrange bloodline.
But that all took a back seat to the Dark Lord's takeover. Her father and her fiancé had been more than willing to volunteer her for service. She had never had the privilege of wanting, but she always had the luxury of knowing what was expected of her. Expectations had become wants. She wanted to be married. She wanted to have perfect pureblood children. She wanted to carry on tradition.
But her life was on hold for the foreseeable future. Or rather, the expectations were on hold for now. This was her life now. And she would adjust or die.
"How old are you, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord asked her. He knew the answer. He didn't take anyone younger than seventeen, didn't take anyone while they were still in Hogwarts. He just wanted to watch her squirm.
"I just turned seventeen, my Lord," she answered, begging any god that would listen to lend her strength. Her eyes were still trained on the table. The drying blood and scraps of skin captured her attention. The silence between the Dark Lord and her conversation was filled by Nagini. She slithered around the table, tongue flicking out to smell the drying pools. Nagini coiled herself on Bellatrix's arms. She clenched her fists and her knuckles became white with the strain. Not even a half hour before, Nagini had swallowed a former classmate of hers almost whole. She did not want Nagini's bloody scales on her skin.
"And you wish to take the Mark?" He asked.
No. She did not wish to take the Mark. But she would do it anyway. She would do it for her father. She would do it for Rodolphus. She would do it for Andy and Cissa. She inhaled slowly, deeply. Her future played in her mind like a muggle film.
She could see the wedding she had planned as a child, a grand and expensive affair. White flowers scattered on the floor, her long white lace dress, and a train that ran the entire length of the isle. Her sisters beside her in light pink, her parents watching on proudly. A faceless husband her parents had chosen vows to love and protect her forever and she vows the same back.
The scene changes. She's heavily pregnant, her hands holding her bump carefully. Two small curly haired children sit beside her reading, or rather babbling, The Tales of Beedle the Bard to her stomach.
The vision morphs again. She's holding one child on her hip and holding another's hand. Her family is standing at platform nine and three quarters. She watches a curly haired boy wave at her before boarding the train. Her first baby is going to Hogwarts. She could cry at the sight.
Now she's standing in the Slytherin stands at a quidditch game, cheering on two of her children while the other sits beside her and her husband. She watches in horror as one almost falls, but breathes a sigh of relief when they stay steady on their broom.
And then it's gone. She is not married. She is not pregnant. She is not cheering her children on. She is sitting at a blood stained table waiting to be branded.
That vision of her future is dead. Bellatrix Black, soon to be Lestrange, would not have any happy endings anytime soon. She would not have children, not when the world was at war, not when she had been selected to be a soldier. No. There was no perfect life waiting for her. She would be Marked. She would serve dutifully. She would protect her family, her sisters. They would have children. She could take part in their lives. Her sacrifices would allow them to have their happy endings and that is more than enough for her. Maybe years from now, when the world knows peace, she will be able to dream again. But for now, she had to be realistic. She had to protect. She had to survive.
"Yes, my Lord," she answered, finally looking up from the table and towards Lord Voldemort. She rolled up her sleeve and bared her left forearm to him, waiting. "I am ready to take the Mark."
This is intended to just be a one-shot because I just love humanizing villains. I have a few ideas for other short pieces featuring the version of Bellatrix and her decent into madness, so leave a comment if you're interested!