Chapter Four - Dependence

The following day, Bellatrix searched library alone. Andromeda refused to help, arguing that Bellatrix was taking an insane risk - if her plan was discovered by their father, all three of them could be removed from Hogwarts and home-schooled. They'd be prisoners year round, instead of just during the holidays.

"If we could go back a year in time, the risk would be worth it," Andromeda said. "But to buy Cissy just three weeks? Bella, there's no point - I think you just want revenge. Like you're too proud to be a victim!"

Bella knew vengeance was one of her motives - but not just vengeance for her. Vengeance for Andromeda and Narcissa. Vengeance was an emollient that would soothe her wound.

Snatching Narcissa from Cygnus's grasp seemed terribly important. Sixteen year old Bellatrix was seven again, hiding behind the duvet on the night that she changed forever, to become someone who was always afraid. And since then, she'd grown tall, strong, physically fit and magically skilled. Thanks to her forays into the forbidden forest, Bellatrix could run fast; Narcissa couldn't. And what was even the point of all that work? How would running fast hurt Cygnus? How would it make him fucking pay?

Having worked herself into a state of fury, Bellatrix changed into her tracksuit and slipped out of the door for a run. She hit the pavement, enjoying the novelty of its kickback - how it let her run fast, effortlessly. The going was much easier here than in the forbidden forest. She didn't allow herself to lapse into her long-striding, heel-striking distance running gait, instead keeping her strides short and quick.

Her quads shook, there was a crick in her neck and she felt nauseous. A terrible cramp was building between her ribs, from her chest to below her navel. She bared her teeth and willed herself on. When she hit the edge of the nearby commons she knew she only had a kilometre left. Adrenaline surged, knowing she was so close - close to the end of her run and the sweet relief of breaking into a gasping, stumbling walk; but close also to the point where she'd up the pace and cause every muscle to scream. Worse pain always came before relief from pain.

Head up, short strides, power off from the back of your step, don't reach forwards.

She swung left, taking an overgrown walking track up a hill and into a dark tunnel of low-hanging branches: that meant she had eight hundred metres left. It was time to up the pace again.

Go.

Something cannoned into her side, sending her sprawling on the ground, winded. A boy her age. Thundering steps beside her concussed head - another boy her age. She wasn't an idiot; she had a good idea where this was going. Nevertheless, her first resort was to kick out - the standing boy grabbed her foot. How much bad luck could one witch have? Did they have magic?

Her shield charm died in front of her. It's glow and the warmth made the boy who'd tackled her, and was now holding her flat, back off. The standing one didn't seem to notice. Years later, she still wouldn't really know whether the blasting curse was a desperate magical reflex, or a deliberate effort on her part. She certainly couldn't remember deciding to use it - and indeed she had never before done such advanced magic without a wand. She wouldn't have expected it to work, and yet the standing boy exploded.

A fine reddish mist dusted Bellatrix and the other boy, as chunks of bone and organ rained down. The other boy seemed frozen to the spot, horror etched across his face. Bellatrix noted he'd pissed himself, but doubted he'd realised. It was wonderful, it was glorious, it was intoxicating. Her skin prickled as goosebumps appeared. Her mind felt clean, fresh, alert, strong. She was in control. The awed terror on his face - she'd done that. She didn't have to do anything she didn't want to - and if anyone tried to make her, she could make them suffer. The boy lurched, as if coming to his senses, and peeled off.

With a snarl of fury - because she wasn't finished yet - she hastened after him. She knew her magic would be exhausted after a wandless reducto, and opted for the impediment jinx instead of a full body bind, judging it to be less taxing. She hadn't expected it to be a particularly strong impediment jinx - she thought it would slow his run at best. It glued him to the spot. Perhaps muggles were more susceptible to curses than magic-wielders? The idea that she had suddenly become some sort of duelling prodigy was attractive, but she was clever enough to know that this was unlikely.

With the boy glued to the spot, she was able to crash tackle him quite effectively. She knew the impediment wouldn't last forever - only about another minute, really - so as he lay on the ground, she slammed her heel into his nose twice, eliciting a gratifying howl. Almost regretfully, wishing her fun wasn't over, she backed away from him and summoned all of her anger and fear into one last exhausted, desperate curse.

The resulting reducto was pitiful - it didn't even kill him, it just mangled his lower body. But, she reasoned, with his femoral artery cut, he'd die in a few minutes anyway. She closed the distance that she'd put between herself and the boy, moving closer as if a moth to a flame, drawn by the desire to to watch the show. Electric tingles of delight ran down her spine.

***break***

Bellatrix had never been one for housekeeping spells. Almost all of her magical practice had been focused on spells that could be used in combat. As the afterglow of watching the second boy die began to fade, Bellatrix realised that she was about eight hundred metres from home, wearing a bloodstained tracksuit and facing a walk down an albeit quiet street in broad daylight. Even if she'd had her wand, she doubted she could have spelled her clothes clean.

She decided running was the best option - if she was travelling fast enough, people might not see the flecks of blood and gore on her face, hair and tracksuit. The adrenaline high was beginning to dissipate, but she suspected that its twilight powered her fastest 500m yet. Perhaps the adrenaline was feeding into her magic, too, because once back at home, she was able to slip upstairs without being sighted by either of her parents. She managed to avoid Cissy, too.

But Dromeda saw her.

Bellatrix thought she would never forget look of horror etched into features so like her own, but softer.

"Bella! What happened to you, what-" Andromeda hissed, her face grey.

That Andromeda's panic-stricken voice was a whisper not a shout was a mark of how little the Black sisters trusted their parents - and how vulnerable they felt in the family home. Their upbringing had overridden their natural human instinct to be loud in the face of shock or danger, alerting the rest of the tribe to a threat. The rest of the tribe was the threat, or else the rest of the tribe would do nothing.

"Nothing," Bellatrix whispered back. "It's not my blood."

"Whose?" Andromeda asked, eyes wide.

"Some muggle's," Bellatrix said contemptuously. "He caused an accident, stupid thing that he was."

By nightfall, the arrival of a howler in the beak of a tawny owl informed Bellatrix that the Ministry suspected a wizard or witch had used a blasting curse to kill two muggles in a nearby park. Andromeda trembled with horror and for a moment, Bellatrix thought her sister knew.

"Oh, Bella!" Andromeda gasped. "You saw it!"

A few hours later, four aurors in dark green official robes descended. A thin man with a pinched expression, wearing a scarlet and silver tie, appeared to be in charge.

"Mr Black," said red tie smoothly. "A horrific attack on a pair of young muggles - the same age as your eldest daughter - occurred at Wimbledon Common earlier in the day. We are certain that one of our lot was responsible, and we'd like to talk to your family."

Terror gripped Bellatrix, but by now she was used to fighting down the fear that so often swelled in her chest. Andromeda presented the biggest risk, but she wouldn't dare provoke Cygnus's wrath by speaking out of turn. As long as she and Andromeda remained quiet, the aurors wouldn't be able to question a sixteen year old linked to the crime only by proximity.

"Sir, you cannot seriously be suggesting that I attack pitiful muggles for sport!" Cygnus bristled. "I assure you that I'm not such a coward as to attack the defenceless."

"Be that as it may, we would still like to speak to all of your family," said red tie. "Perhaps one of you saw something?"

"You'll not speak to my wife or daughters," replied Cygnus.

Bellatrix recognised that the command was given to the aurors, but meant for their ears.

"Then we'll have to take every wand in this house," red tie said. "We'll return them of course - tomorrow."

For most witches and wizards, the prospect of being wandless for twenty four hours was deeply alarming. But elation bubbled in Bellatrix's chest - practicing wandless magic was a far better use of her time than she'd ever realised. Not only did it make her less weakened by losing her wand, but it also allowed her to do things without being found out.

"I know as well as you do that the Reverse Spell can only show you the last spell the wand cast," Cygnus said scornfully. "As long as your suspect cast at least one spell after attacking those muggles, having his wand is useless to you."

Red tie smiled mechanically.

"Anyway," continued Cygnus. "We were all here, all day."

Eventually, the aurors departed - without any of the Black Family's wands.

*****break*****

That night, Bellatrix returned to the high, locked cupboard containing the box in which her wand was imprisoned. Briefly, she wondered at the wisdom of this - several wandless impediments and blasting curses had surely depleted her to the point where she'd take days to magically recover. However, she couldn't sleep for the elation of killing the muggle boys. It made her feel stronger than she ever had before.

One alohomora easily unlocked the cupboard. Summoning the box was much more difficult - last time, she'd lifted Andromeda up so the girl could manually retrieve it. It was hard to believe that was only yesterday. Today, she knew she couldn't ask Andromeda for help without risking an interrogation. Bellatrix was fairly confident that Andromeda didn't realise that she was the killer - but she would ask her what she'd seen.

As Bellatrix was making a fourth attempt at summoning the box, a floorboard creaked behind her. Terrified, she whirled around expecting to see her father. She saw no one.

Her seventh attempt was successful, and the box flew down from the shelf and landed in her outstretched hand.

"Are you sure you want that?" Cygnus's voice boomed out of the darkness.

Bellatrix froze, white-hot terror racing across her skin. She felt dizzy and sick.

Her father chuckled - the sound was a low, nasty rumble.

"You were always gifted with wandless magic, you know. It's part of the reason why we sent you to Hogwarts so early," Cygnus continued mildly, as though he wasn't talking to the victim of his incestuous child abuse. "When you were nine, you were levitating and dropping saucepans and knives."

Bellatrix's terror wasn't feigned, but she turned on the spot to face him. Her hands remained glued to the box, behind her back. She willed it open - and it remained closed.

"Five years of wand use seems to have made you…dependent. You're not as good as you were at nine," Cygnus leered, the double meaning obviously deliberate. "So, I'm really doing you a favour - accio."

The box ripped itself out of Bellatrix's possession and flew into her father's hands. He turned on his heel and strode out.