The cursed House of Black
Summary: Hermione Jean Granger had died. An awful and violent affair, nothing as the early and peaceful passing of Harry James Potter. Yet, Hermione was alive. She was called Bellatrix and had the attention span of a goldfish.
How poetic.
There were shades of colors surrounding her. Shadows of feelings and magic on her tongue, Hermione Jane Granger screamed when placed on skinny arms. She could feel the damp darkness surround herself. She called her power to her fingertips and the world turned black.
...
She saw Molly Weasley with bright red hair slashing her wand and Hermione fell to the ground.
...
"She is going to die." Druella's blue eyes were dull and her tone flat. She wasn't arguing or pleading anymore. She was stating a fact. Cygnus almost wished for the screams and curses back. He wasn't sure what was worse.
Touching her oily hair, he sat beside his wife on the couch. Little Bellatrix was immersed in a bundle of blankets on her lap. Dark lashes touching the pale skin. Her hair as black as his. He knew her eyes to be black even if he had never seen it. His firstborn. His little princess. He didn't cry when the medwitches gave him the news that they couldn't help her. He wouldn't then, even if his throat grew tight and his jaw hurt from keeping it shut.
He was disappointed at first when the Medwitch announced it was a girl, however, when he felt his magic being pulled and pulled and saw energy cracking around the baby, he was happy. A powerful child, at least. More powerful than he had ever heard about. And then his daughter started screaming. He could still feel his head pounding and the wailing, the leaking eyes and shaking hands of his always so composed wife.
They put their Bellatrix in a forced sleep and told them her magic was abnormal. Strong, oh yes strong. And way too developed for her own body, thank you very much. And what he had thought a blessing turned to be the reason his daughter wouldn't be able to wake up. Her magic was too intense and when forced in her body it just collapsed. She was in pain, they told him. Possible brain damage if they hadn't put her in a coma. And then Druella's own magic started cracking. Drunes, seals, there should be something. When they explained any kind of interference would probably rip her magical core or damage it irreversible Druella only said "Do it."
They didn't. Cygnus couldn't let them turn their baby in a squib. Death was preferable. Druella was a Rosier, she should realize it too. She should know that he would be forced to give any non-magical children away. For Merlin's sake, she was a pureblood. And then his wife just looked at him. She knew he had the authority over the decision, so she did the only thing that she could do. She stared at him with eyes as cold as when they had first met. Calculating. Even with mussed hair, tear-streaked cheeks, and weak from labor, she was still able to make him feel small. Not inferior, because he was a Black and he would never be less than a woman. But fragile. Because while his family would always be his priority, and Druella was his and his to protect and to love, she was a Black after marrying him and should have the same ideals. But when he prioritized his family - he and his wife - well-being as an ancient family, she would always choose her children. No matter if it would drag their name to the dirt, she would keep her daughter.
Both of them knew he wouldn't allow it, so when she looked at him, he saw a stranger. Before being his wife, she was a mother and he had never felt more alone.
Cygnus took a deep breath "You don't know that." She scrunched her nose in distaste, her eyes never leaving Bellatrix. She hated it when he was condescending. "Three weeks without any kind of nutrition or intensive care and she is still breathing. Her magic must be taking care of her." Now that is not tearing her apart was left unsaid.
"I just wish she would wake up or else." I just wish she would live or die already. He laced his fingers around hers and pretended to not notice when she tensed at his touch. Kissing her temple, he stood up and left the room.
...
When Bellatrix moved for the first time Druella's magic sparked so hard that Cygnus flew from the kitchen to the room in a few heartbeats. And there she was, Druella, sitting on the chair she had claimed as hers and dressed as elegant as she always did, shaking. Her eyes were wide. In the crib, Bellatrix was moving, head tumbling in the pillow and chubby fingers flexing. They were smiling when they found each other gaze, his lips so stretched that his cheeks hurt. She would live, they knew then. Druella touched the baby's face, laughing when their daughter moved her mouth to follow the trembling fingers.
Watching his wife interact with their daughter, Cygnus felt broken. Guilt and relief making him dizzy, he also knew their matrimonial bond had been irrevocably hurt. He had been right in keeping Bellatrix in a coma instead of meddling with her magical core, yet the sight of them made him unworthy. He swallowed hard and mumbled some excuse before going away.
...
Alphard filled their glasses with Ogden's old Firewhisky. Cygnus stared at the amber liquid in silence before taking a sip. He tasted the cedar on his tongue with eyes closed. He wasn't embarrassed per se, it was just not common for him to appear in his brother's house. Not with heavy bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. He tried to tide his clothes before just giving up and looking up at his older brother.
"So, is this a celebration or someone died?" Dark lashes blinked with innocence. If Cygnus was a lesser man, he would have groaned. He resigned himself to sigh.
"Bellatrix moved." Alphard blinked again.
"Wasn't she supposed to do it?" He sipped his cup.
"She was in a magical coma since birth. Her body wasn't able to hold her magic without tearing itself apart." His brother had his head tipped back and jaw slack. "I am sorry, Cygnus. I didn't know." He just dismissed the sympathies with a wave of his hand. "She was supposed to die and then her magic kept her alive and she still was bound to exhaust herself and just die but no, she moved today."
Alphard was silent for a second "So, we are celebrating?" "Yes, your fool. We are celebrating the daughter I had condemned to die instead of turning her in a squib survived."
And after a few moments looking at his brother, Alphard nodded in realization. "You had a choice and it wasn't her. I can imagine Druella's contempt at looking at you now."
This time Cygnus did groan "Toujours pur" he didn't need to look at Alphard to know his brother's face was twisted with disgust "I would need to send her away, she would be as good as dead. Don't be a hypocrite with me, Alphard, not with me. Where would be without your magic? We both know you would rather beg for your death than live without it."
"I would rather die, yes. But muggles are born without a single drop of magic and they live. You know, favoring Bellatrix dead rather than living, living, as a muggle is telling." There was no pity in his bottomless black eyes. Cygnus bent forward, face contorting in a sneer. Dark magic waved around him, danger on his fingertips.
"But, yes, Alphard, how could I forget of your loving opinion about muggles. But we are Blacks, even if you do pretend you aren't. Family first, dearest brother, family first." He finished his glass in a gulp and stood up. Alphard followed his motions, although his eyes were sad. Cygnus felt like screaming at the pity he saw on his face.
"Reputation first, brother. Your family was in second when you choose your ideals over your daughter's life. I do believe it is a great thing she lived to haunt you. We know you are quite good at burying the dead." And Cygnus was upon him, wand in hand.
Nonverbal curses flew direct to a thin shield built only by instinct as Alphard bent to the side to avoid his brother's form. "Confrigo!" And energy exploded from Cygnus wand. "Alarte Ascendare!" The older wizard sent the Firewhisky bottle to the air, exploding against the blasting curse Cygnus had casted. Both brothers conjured quick protections against the flying shreds of glass. "I can't believe you just casted a Confrigo in my living room."
Cygnus licked his lips "It was underpowered." "It was a Confrigo." Alphard threw his head back and let a rough laugh out. "Oh, baby brother, is Confrigo your best now?" Cygnus' hands were sweaty, and dread filled his insides, throat dry. Alphard didn't appreciate the Confrigo. And Merlin knew how his brother could turn serious for the silliest reasons in a blink of eyes.
Stepping into the offensive, Alphard drew his hand in a circular motion and shoot a purple mist "Calidum Caput" – head boiling curse, he knew that one - Cygnus dived to the left "Crebrumque suspirium" – maybe something about breathing? - he felt the wind and dropped to the floor, rolling forward and sending his own spell in a thin dark line "Pugione!" Alphard raised a nonverbal silver shield and sent the curse back at this brother. Barely dodging, Cygnus heard the conjured dagger penetrating the wall. When he rose to his feet, Alphard was smiling at him. "Finally, a dark spell. For a second I thought I was dueling against a Hufflepuff."
Cygnus snorted and the moment was gone. His older brother was fast, yes, faster than most of them, and although his despicable love for mudbloods was substantial, so was his passion for the dark arts.
They were Blacks and so they had a predisposition to the dark arts, but his brother was different. He was natural, forbidden curses and forgotten spells always on his lips. While Walburga forced the dark magic into submission when casting and Cygnus fought with his own power to follow the same path, Alphard breathed it. His magic was dark from birth.
He knew it was a losing fight from the beginning but when his brother dropped the smile and his magic exploded around him in spasms of energy, Cygnus felt fear.
There were no spells casted or wand movements or words spoken, but Cygnus could feel his brother's power resting around him, touching, wrapping, and breathing him in. The anticipation heavy on his tongue, the threat making his head dizzy. Then it fell upon him. Smashing and absorbing and licking, the foreign energy running on his veins as he fought to stay on his feet. A shiver ran his body
Alphard was in front of him, he knew even with eyes closed. Long fingers holding his jaw and tilting his head up. "You are a coward, Cygnus, and so am I. Maybe it runs in our pure and ancient blood, huh?" A barking laugh, he opened his eyes and the tired lines on his brother's face remembered him of Arcturus. He felt like crying. "But you have a daughter now. You can't afford to hide anymore, can you? Will you?"
With trembling steps, Cygnus retreat was stopped by a grasping hand on his elbow "And, little brother? I want to meet my niece and so does Walburga. Merlin knows she is not as patient as most of us are." With a laugh, he dismissed the white on Cygnus' face "Oh, I don't envy your position, but I certainly don't pity you either. All of my sympathies are reserved for poor Orion who has to live with our darling sister."
...
Cygnus loved Alphard, make no mistake, but how he also hated his big brother. They had many relatives, some rule biding, and others touched by madness and a few completely crazed. The Black's curse punished their sanity, it was said. Alphard was a touched one, he knew from the first time he saw his brother lose his temper. And he couldn't be surer of it. He considered himself an authority in the subject because, from all of their kin, Alphard had chosen him to be it.
As purebloods, they learn from day one how to wear masks and manipulate opinions and yet he believed Alphard to be the one who turned maneuvering people an art. They all saw his brother as an odd one. Not particularly powerful, not extremely charming, and never overbearing smart. Eccentric and disinterested, at most. A bit touched, of course.
But Alphard chose Cygnus and showed him his truth. While he followed traditions, respected rules, and was proud of his reputation, his older brother was chaos. He hated their moral lines, their hypocrisy, their pride. He spat on everything Cygnus loved and protected. And yet when the world was fuzzy, Alphard was the only mirror he would look when searching for the truth.
Alphard drank, associated with mudbloods, fucked men and women alike, laughed about pureblood etiquette, and was one of the most powerful dark wizards Cygnus knew. But oh, he was just an odd one for all of them. And him, Cygnus, was chosen to know the truth, to live between the mocking mirror and the embellish noble world. Toujours pur. He hated his brother. Yet, he was his family, as Druella, Bellatrix, and the many Blacks. Yet, he was more.
...
In home, he was welcomed with an admonishing look from Druella. Cygnus held his head high and went to the bathroom. He needed a bath to wash away the dust and sweat of his skin. And it would probably be nice to not smell like alcohol next to his upset wife. He smiled to himself. Cold shoulders and nose up, she was his. He should be more comprehensive with her, give her some time to think. They were young. Twenty years was not enough to know how dirt the blood could run. She would come around, he was sure.
...
"Tell me, dearest, how is maternity treating you?" Walburga sipped her tea looking at her sister in law's demure eyes "They say it changes a woman, but I see you still carry your pretty round cheeks like a teenage girl. A little boy could give you a more mature air, perhaps" pleasure flicked in her as red roused on the younger woman face. The father would always root for a son.
"I may not carry visible marks of motherhood, but I can assure you that it is, as you say, life-changing." Druella smiled, eyes casted down. "Are you and Orion planning on trying any soon?"
"Oh, not so soon. Orion is still preparing to step over Arcturus position in the Wizengamot and as much as I admire your enthusiasm to start the next generation, I would rather wait for me and my husband to get a bit older before adding crying babies in the equation. And don't look at me like that, dear, you know very well how I think it was foolish of you and my silly brother to even get married after graduation."
"I was under the impression you married Orion a few years after Hogwarts. Wasn't it six years ago? I am sorry, Walburga. Having a baby makes one's head confused, at least about details." Druella clicked her long nails twice against the porcelain before raising her shin and staring straight at Walburga's pitch-black eyes.
Cute. Her sister in law trying to play with words and display authority could even be endearing. However, it was common knowledge that her marriage with the heir was arranged and despite sharing blood, name, and vows, they did not share affection. More so, it was proof of her dedication to her family and honor. But if Druella, with her blond hair and baby blue eyes, wanted to discuss Black affairs with Walburga herself, she would not cower. "We waited two years after Hogwarts before marrying, yes, while you waited two years to provide the House children. I can only appreciate your efforts in building the future." She let her eyes wander over the room before turning back to the young woman. "I can't hear the cry of a child, however. She is a quiet one, huh? How old is she now, six months?"
Druella sipped her tea and smiled. "Bellatrix is going to be six months in five days." Another sip "However, you really should reconsider having a baby, Walburga. You do know how much I and a lot of Slytherins girls mirrored ourselves in you. I can see a bright future shaped under your hands."
Walburga shook her hand to dismiss the flattery. Patience wasn't her greatest characteristic and both of them knew the reason behind her spontaneous bordering rude visit. "My firstborn son may be the heir but is your little girl who will be the example all of our children will follow. I was expecting Cygnus to call me over and present her to me, however, both of you seem to be quite enamored with suspense. Should I wait until her sixth birthday to meet Bellatrix with the rest of the House?"
Druella wetted her lips and put a spoon of sugar on her tea, blinking fast. Under Walburga's watchful eyes, her shoulders tensed, and fingers flexed on thin air, grasping for time, searching for an excuse in her lady-like manner. "Is my niece a squib?"
"No. She is not." Druella said.
"Bring her to me, then." Annoyance flickering inside her, Walburga held Druella's gaze. She refused to meet her niece in a traditional presentation party. No, her sons – when she decided to have them – could end up married to Cygnus' child. It was her duty to take care of her House, as she was Orion's wife.
Druella stood up without a word and walked to the stairs. Walburga would have preferred to follow her, but she knew her visit was already heaving on the etiquette. Yet, she was also pleased her sister in law would bring the baby herself instead of asking for a house-elf to do it. Awful but dedicated creatures shouldn't be trusted with their future.
She got up from her seat in a fluid movement and opened her arms. Druella had her jaw steeled and head high, even if she held the small bundle with extreme caution. She could see the protective stance seeping into the ladylike posture. Smiling, Walburga took the small baby and adjusted her against her own chest.
Sitting down, the baby rested on her lap, head nested by her arm. With her free hand, she skimmed the pale skin of the sleeping newborn. Bellatrix. She tried the name aloud twice, testing it. Such a strong name to give to such a small thing. Touching her cheek once again, she tried to coax her into waking up.
Nothing.
Black hair, black eyebrows, and black eyelashes. Round face and pale skin. Her niece refused to wake. She watched Druella fidget, body tense as if ready to jump in and take the baby away. "She sleeps a lot."
"She has a very strong magical core. The medwitches said sleeping is good to her."
Walburga was the oldest daughter of Pollux Black and Irma Black née Crabbe. She was six when her youngest sibling was born, so she was well aware babies sleep a lot. But they also would cry. Watching Bella – such a strong name as Bellatrix wasn't fitting of that fragile thing, not yet - she tried to induce some magic of her own into the girl.
Alphard, the middle brother could control his magic like a second limb of his. Cygnus, the youngest, could sense it. Walburga could do neither with excellence, but persistence had taught her to poke people with her magic and to be aware enough to catch one or another commotion with her sensitivity alone.
Ignoring the questioning look on Druella's face, she held the baby's head a bit higher, while cradling her chin so their eyes could meet if only Bella opened hers. Concentrating for a few seconds, she felt her magic, nervous energy clawing her skin and buzzing inside her veins. She focused on it, her throat started tightening and a distant pounding inside her head, until she could taste it. Her magic centered in the air she breathed and in each of her every thought.
Careful to not dismiss the power she had raised, she allowed it to feel her niece, touching, tasting magic so dense and so dark that she felt herself out of breath. Mouth open and eyes burning with the effort, she allowed it to mingle with her own core before pushing it back at Bella.
The baby opened her eyes and screamed. There was blood under the witch's nose, and the magic lashed out against her, forcing her to back away. Walburga laughed.
...
Fingers holding tight the sink, she tried to keep herself from crying. The house was silent, as it usually was. Bella, her baby, was sleeping and Cygnus, her husband, was in the Ministry. They had one house-elf, Niny, who was busy in the kitchen. No one would see her breaking down, but Druella was a Rosier. More than a Black nowadays, she found herself clinging into old lessons and well-used memories to ground herself.
Druella was twenty-one and she never felt so lost. She remembered being seventeen and full of ambition.
The first time she noticed she was alone was right after her marriage. Cygnus, the man she fought for, was laying on his side, face relaxed in sleep. Yet, she was unquiet. Barefoot in an unfamiliar house, she tiptoed as a child. Empty rooms and luxury, and it was her, her life, her energy that would build a home in there. She would be a mother, one of the leaderships under that roof. No more orders or comforting hugs. She would be the one to provide it.
She felt free and then, in a silent house, she felt alone. Her man was just that, a man. He held no answers and he was so achingly handsome that sometimes she forgot he was her age, and just as lost. Druella was a child playing the part of a wife. She cried, then.
When she discovered she was pregnant for the first time, she was static. Bored out of her mind as a housewife, she boasted her round belly in every tea party she could. When Bellatrix was born and she screamed, not as all newborns do, but as a dying animal, Druella broke. Her Cygnus, then, left her too. With a comatose baby, she watched as the man she loved chose his name over their family.
But her daughter was alive. She would spend more and more time awake, and since Walburga had meddled with it, her magic would interact with theirs. She found it mildly disturbing, but she saw Cygnus open eyes in alarm to spikes in Bella's power. He was sensitive to it and most things involving the baby too.
Cygnus held Bellatrix from time to time, but he was utterly uncomfortably. She remembered her father spinning her around, chasing her through the halls, and smiling as if she was the center of his universe. So, under her eyes, Cygnus was no father and she was a lone parent. But she would never say that.
Bellatrix cried a lot when she was awake, and it was hard to bond with a sleeping baby. She muttered herself to hope that Cygnus would do better with another child, a better child. Maybe a son.
Her bed was his, and she would never deny him his husband's rights. She wasn't surprised when she realized she was pregnant. Bellatrix was almost one year and a half. She should want another baby, another child, and yet Druella felt herself breaking down again.
She couldn't do it again. Not alone.
But she was a wife and she was a mother. Biting her hand to muffle a sob, she knew she had no choice.
...
Hermione Jean Granger had died. An awful and violent affair, nothing as the early and peaceful passing of Harry James Potter. Yet, Hermione was alive. She was called Bellatrix and had the attention span of a goldfish.
How poetic.
The thing about being an adult inside a one-year-old was that, well, the brain and the body remained of an infant. Colors and movement called her attention, normal thinking provoked migraines and she was always sleepy. She heard medwitches telling her mother of how much of a miracle she was and if the cost was only longer time in bed, then she should thank Merlin for it.
Hermione felt more like complaining than thanking anyone at this point, but she was aware her memories were fragmented. She knew things but had only lost recollections of her late years. She knew it was bad, but not how bad. Maybe she could use this as an opportunity to change the world's fate.
Her developed level of magic had been noticed and it took a toll of her body. But Hermione knew things could be worse. Despite not being able to think, she had more magic than in her previous life. And she could taste it. It was hers. It was Bellatrix's. And not the young one. Somehow, Hermione died and traveled back in time to be reborn as Bellatrix Black, and she didn't come alone. The older Bellatrix was present, but not conscient. Her magic and her instability, yes, and Hermione felt like screaming.
But mostly, she slept.