I can't believe this story has over 100 followers and 60 reviews! So much thanks to everyone!
This is Part 1 of a chapter that got so long I had to split it into two parts. It's been a while since I updated, so I figured I'd post it anyways while I finish up the rest.
Notes:
Someone submitted a comment to say that the warning for Chapter 14 was misleading/indirect, and did not prepare them for the rape that took place towards the end. I will certainly include more detailed warnings from now on, but would also like to remind readers that this fic has an M rating and will contain difficult, triggering, and violent content in the future. I usually err on the side of "implied" violence because I don't like writing it, but sometimes it's unavoidable for the sake of the plot.
That said, it seems like a lot of people feel that what happened to Bellatrix is going to push her right into the waiting arms of Voldemort, and I just don't agree. The First War doesn't even get going until 1970, and I don't see someone as young as she is turning into a fanatic (yet), especially since she has more reason to hate pure-blood customs than most.
I won't answer any more questions right now, it will just spoil the story!
1971.
The problem with Muggle towns, Bellatrix thought, was that one never knew where to apparate. A nearby forest was usually a decent option for avoiding unsuspecting witnesses, but in this particular town, all signs of vegetation seemed to have been exterminated long ago.
She wondered what sort of creatures would want to efface a lovely scenic valley and put a monstrosity of concrete and noxious fumes in its place. Surely, the Muggles were some sort of death cult, taking over the entire countryside with their terrifying moving machines and their dismal sprawling settlements. She'd had to settle for walking from the river, which had long turned to brown sludge.
It was August. Back in London, autumn leaves had already begun to drift through the streets, but here, in Spinner's End, only plastic scraps tumbled between the run-down terraced houses. An occasional quiver of a curtain, a few stray cats, and an old woman knitting on her stoop were the only signs of life as Bellatrix walked past, conspicuous despite her carefully-Transfigured Muggle overcoat. They clearly weren't used to strangers here.
Down the street, she spotted a scrawny little boy kneeling in on the pavement, playing marbles by himself. He glared at her suspiciously as she approached.
"I'm looking for the Prince residence," she informed him, taking in his oversize jumper and filthy hair with a small pang of pity.
"You mean the Snape residence?" he countered. "That's my dad. He's at work, though."
Excellent. The fewer Muggles I have to speak to, the better. "As it happens, I'm here for your mother."
The boy looked surprised at that, but before he could speak, the front door creaked open and a woman's head peaked out.
"Miss Black? Is that you? Oh, please come in," she said, her voice a near whisper. As she hurried Bellatrix inside, the woman peered at the neighboring windows, as though afraid that someone might see.
"I… I got your l-letter," the witch stuttered, wiping her hands nervously down the front of her frayed housedress. Her eyes moved from object to object, never once landing on Bellatrix. "I'm sorry you couldn't come through the Floo… but, well, my husband…"
"It's no problem," Bellatrix reassured her insincerely, not knowing why she cared. "The walk was… fine."
She noticed that the windows had been plastered over with newsprint, leaving the room shadowed, save for the weak, unnatural glare of a Muggle tablelamp. Bellatrix had, of course, known that Eileen Prince was married to a Muggle, had known that there would be no Apparition, no Floo, no magic performed in the home at all. But she hadn't expected...this.
The moth-eaten armchairs, the grime on the floor, the small pile of beer bottles next to the sofa, the sowing somebody had abandoned, trying to fit yet another patch onto an old pair of trousers… the story all these things told made her want to avert her gaze in vicarious shame.
Eileen watched this inspection with growing discomfort. "Would you...would you like some tea?" she mumbled, and, without waiting for a response, hurried to the adjoining kitchen.
Bellatrix followed, and, seeing her host occupied by some Muggle contraption in the corner, took a seat at the table. The cloying smell of cigarettes lingered heavy in the air, attacking her senses and sticking in the back of her throat. Merlin, what a dump, she thought, eyeing the grubby countertops and the pile of unwashed dishes. Though, perhaps it wasn't right to judge, seeing as her place was a dump too. But at the very least it wasn't a Muggle dump.
A loud clang drew her from her thoughts as Eileen fumbled the kettle and dropped it in the sink. "So stupid…" she muttered to herself, halfheartedly mopping the spill with a dirty dishrag. Though it took her a while, eventually she managed to bring over a pot and a couple of mugs.
The rim of the cup was chipped and the tea was quite weak, but Bellatrix forced herself to take a few polite sips. She didn't want to make the other woman uncomfortable; it would just compromise the deal, if, in fact, there was a deal to be made. They sat in silence, Eileen compulsively tracing the tabletop with her spider-like digits.
"You had some items you wanted to show me?" Bellatrix asked at last, trying to keep her tone neutral and calm.
But, still, the other witch nearly jumped from her seat at the sound, squinting at Bellatrix as though she had forgotten that she was there. "Oh," she gulped, "Oh yes, let me just…"
She went back to the living room, looked about for a while, and returned with a cardboard box. "It's just a few things I have left over from my parents, I don't know if they're valuable…" Placing the box on the table, she removed the items within, carefully placing each before Bellatrix. "There's some old books on Wandlore, I thought, m-maybe, they might be interesting to you..." she rambled, the quiver in her voice belying her hopefulness.
Bellatrix closed her eyes in irritation. She hated it when clients watched her appraise the merchandise, especially when the merchandise was worthless. "You'll need to give me some time to examine everything."
"I wouldn't normally want to part with family heirlooms, Miss Black - you understand, I'm still proud to be a Prince!" Eileen cried, defensive, perhaps feeling the weight of her visitor's judgement. But her demeanor changed on a dime, misery clouding her sallow features. "Despite...despite everything…"
Well, what did you expect, you bloody idiot? Bellatrix wanted to say. She researched all her clients before meeting them, to figure out which angle she would need to work, and thus knew that Eileen had been disowned by the Princes for marrying her Muggle. Disowned and abandoned to raise her child in squalor. Just desserts, some would say.
"Of course."
"It's just that, my boy - you saw him playing outside? - loves Gobstones too, just like I did at his age, but he looks so much like his father... well, last week, my boy got his Hogwarts letter…" she trailed off, seeming to lose track of her thought.
"You must have been proud," Bellatrix prompted.
"Oh, yes! I was so happy!" she exclaimed, and for a moment her face was transformed by a genuine smile. "But, we're...well, it's been a rough few years, you see, what with the Ford plant closing down, my husband out of work for so long...and the roof needs fixing, and there's the wood rot, too…"
Bellatrix crooked her head. "So, your husband is still unemployed? Because your son seems to think otherwise."
"Well, I don't want to worry him, you know. And Tobias is out there looking, I'm sure," she said, nodding earnestly at her guest.
Yeah, that, or he's at the pub, Bellatrix couldn't help but think.
Just then, her eyes settled on the woman's neck, encircled with marks - the dull grey of bruises covered over with makeup. And suddenly, all the pieces began to fall into place: the stuttering, the fear, the memory loss, the filth. Yes, she'd met her fair share of these people during her stretch at St. Mungo 's. Some had been tormented for so long that they had even lost their magic. She wondered if that was why this woman did even the simplest of tasks by hand. It made her furious, that a witch - and a pureblood, at that! - could be brought to this state by a Muggle. Were they so envious of the power of magic that they had to beat it out of those who were gifted with it? Why, why, was the world full of people who saw something vibrant and lovely, whose first impulse was to grind it into the dirt?
It would be so easy to kill him, she thought, her blood boiling. Hell, I'd be doing her and her kid a favor!
"Is there...is there anything here you'd like?" Eileen tentatively cut in, forcing Bellatrix out of a rather gory fantasy. She forced herself to take a deep breath; it wouldn't do to completely lose it in front of a client.
But this situation had really caught her unawares - was making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. Her usual clients were lonely old wizards wanting to trade some knick-knacks for a moment in her company, or dodgy back-alley characters selling goods of dubious origin. And she was an expert at playing them, whether with charm or intimidation; her acquisitions over the past year were valued at over ten thousand galleons, a fact of which she was quite proud. Better yet, Borgin payed her a handsome commission on everything she brought in, and she lost no sleep over all the people she had cheated out of their valuables.
But, looking at this woman's face, etched with desperation, she knew that the next few weeks would be full of sleepless nights and long appointments with her favorite bar-stool at the Leaky Cauldron. "Well, Mrs. Snape, you've got some interesting pieces here," she declared, giving nothing away with her tone.
"R-really?"
Bellatrix took another look at the items before her: there was some fine Goblin-made silver, a few vials of rare Potions ingredients (all long expired), a heap of old books, and what looked like a shriveled hand mounted on wood. She picked up the latter, examining it closely.
No! It couldn't be...could it? Unlikely - nay, impossible - as it seemed, she had a sneaking suspicion that she was holding the infamous Hand of Glory, believed to have been lost in the 1612 Goblin Rebellions. She had accumulated a bit of experience authenticating historic artifacts, and this one seemed to look, smell, and feel legitimate. Turning it over, she saw the faded insignia of the maker - Bagnok the Bloodthirsty, 1581 - and her suspicion shifted to certainty.
Even if it was a fake, it was an exceptionally good one, and the store could probably still sell it for thousands. Clearly, Eileen had no idea what she had in her possession, and one of the first things Bellatrix had learned on the job was to never let the seller on to the true value of their goods. So, she casually put down the Hand of Glory - the Hand of Glory! - and picked up one of the dusty tomes.
"Some of these books are first editions. And the silver is first-rate."
"Oh, Merlin, I was so afraid it would be worthless…" Eileen sighed in relief. "If you could possibly give me 100 for it, I would be so, so grateful."
100 Galleons. It was roughly the cost of supplies for a first-time Hogwarts student, she realized. This witch was giving up everything valuable that she had for a pittance, just to send her boy to school.
It was a pity, really, that it was so much easier to lose your innocence than your conscience, Bellatrix thought, pulling out her coin-purse. "This is...700 gold," she said, surprising even herself. " And it's not charity either," she hastened to add. "I'm giving you a fair price."
True, the items were really worth five times that, but it was much more than she would have offered anyone else. Borgin would still get the Hand of Glory, she would still get her commision, and a magical child (half-blood though he may be) would get his schooling. Usually, there was more than enough misery to go around for everyone to get seconds, but every once in a blue moon, it was win-win.
"I...I don't know what to say…" Eileen whispered, her voice heavy with unshed tears. She reached her skeletal hand across the table and grasped Bellatrix's hand tightly. "You don't know how much this means to us. Thank you."
Bellatrix snatched her hand away, as if burned. She loathed being touched; it never failed to make her deeply uncomfortable. "Well, yes...um," she mumbled, dropping the merchandise into the box and shrinking it as quickly as she could manage. "It was good doing business with you... owl me if you have anything else I should look at." She stood, nodded at the witch awkwardly, and rushed to the door.
It was a relief to feel the fresh air on her face, to escape...whatever it was she'd just done. The little boy called out to her as she ran past, but she didn't pause to hear him.
Apparating from a blind alley, she was soon back in London, back in the real world. Having completed her one and only Friday appointment, Bellatrix decided that she'd go deliver the goods and then call off the rest of the day. Andromeda was meeting her in the Cauldron in the afternoon, giving her just enough time to submit a report and run a few errands.
As she suspected, Borgin was immensely pleased with her find. Unlike Burke, a consummate collector who cared about provenance and historical accuracy, Borgin was a businessman. If an article could pass muster enough to sell for the price of the original, well, in his eyes, it was just as good as the real thing. To find out the truth, they'd have to hire a Goblin appraiser, which was impossible, since the Goblins would likely reclaim the artifact on behalf of their kind.
The finder's fee she received was substantial, better even than the high rates he usually gave her. She realized that Borgin paid her so well because of her family name - and the fact that he was a bit sweet on her - but he had never been inappropriate, save for a few expensive gifts, so she paid it no mind.
It was funny how things turned out, she thought, weaving through the early shoppers on her way to Gringotts. When she was in school she'd never have imagined that she'd end up working for an antique store specializing in Dark artifacts. Her mother had accused her of becoming a common shop-girl, but Bellatrix actually spent no time on the premises. Though it wasn't very glamorous, or respected, or promising, she didn't hate her work: tracking down leads on new merchandise, researching artifacts, negotiating with all kinds of black marketeers, grifters, and thieves… it was sometimes rather exciting. She'd had the option of a few dead-end posts in the Ministry, mostly pushing paper, but figured they wouldn't appreciate someone who hated rules and regulations, was completely incapable of maintaining even the most superficial of social relations, and preferred to come in at noon, disheveled and hung-over as all hell.
But the best part about Borgin & Burkes, by far, was the money. And the best part of the money was that day once a month when she came into Gringotts and deposited gold to her mother's account. Druella had never mentioned it, but seeing her sisters walk around in new robes was enough for Bellatrix. When they were children, she and Andy had lain awake long nights, whispering to each other about the future, dreaming of escape. There had been so many crazy plots - from living in the forest and hunting for sustenance, to getting filthy rich selling their own line of Love Potions - but the mundane reality seemed even more strange, perhaps because she'd never believed it was possible. But somehow, she had managed to crawl out from under her father's thumb, had acquired her own place and an income, and was about to bring Andromeda to live with her.
Concluding her business at Gringotts, Bellatrix made her way to the Leaky Cauldron, hoping to down a few measures of Firewhisky before her sister showed up, but Andromeda - as though she had known of her intention and was trying to spite her - was already there, sitting in the corner with her nose in a book. And, Bellatrix couldn't help but notice, that next to her on the bench sat a small pile of suitcases and a silver cage. Its occupant glared daggers at her as she approached.
"Oh Merlin's balls, don't tell me you're bringing that bloody bird!" she exclaimed, marching over to the seated girl. It wasn't the best greeting, true, since they hadn't spoken in several weeks - but what was the point of family if you had to bother with pleasantries?
Andromeda sighed, carefully replaced her bookmark, and looked up. "And what am I supposed to do with her, then? I can't leave her at the house, can I?"
"You know I hate animals!" Bellatrix snapped.
"Please, Bella, she's really quiet and well-behaved!" Ahh...and there were those puppy-dog eyes. They got her every time.
"Fine," she huffed. "But I'm not cleaning up any bird-shit, and if I hear so much as a peep when I'm trying to sleep, we're having owl curry for breakfast. Got it?"
The younger witch rolled her eyes. "Yes, alright, Miss Grumpy Pants! What the hell's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Bellatrix sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Just a long week at work. Come on, let's get going," she said, as gently as she could manage.
It wasn't Andy's fault, after all, that the morning's conversation had thrown her into an emotional tailspin. She tried to do the breathing exercises they'd taught her in 's to control her anger - and it sort of worked - as they made their way through the streets of Diagon Alley to her apartment.
"Uh, Bella…" her sister prompted carefully. "Isn't there a shorter route?"
There was, as a matter of fact, but it took her right past the place where The Bad Thing happened, and she never walked by there under any circumstances. "This is the route I prefer," she said repressively.
More than two years had passed since her "accident" - and almost sixteen months since they discharged her from the Hephaestus Moon Ward for the Emotionally Disturbed. Suicide was extremely frowned upon in the magical world, likely because there were so few wizards to begin with, so the sentence she'd been forced to endure was quite lengthy. Months upon months trapped in a room with the insane, the pathetic, and the half-witted… she was still surprised she hadn't completely lost her mind in there, especially since she'd only been allowed a handful of visits. But Cissy had written nearly every day, and Andromeda had sent books; these were the things that had kept her going, even at her lowest point.
Her mother had been appalled when she found out what had happened to Bellatrix, and, several months into her incarceration, had written to the Wizengamot to file charges. Unfortunately, the accused was a beloved radio personality with a sterling reputation, boundless charisma, and an extensive fortune. Bellatrix was interviewed by Aurors who none-too-subtly suggested that she was lying or delusional, and a scant few weeks later, the Ministry filed a counter-charge against her for murder.
They accused her of intentionally trying to end her pregnancy by jumping, which (though true) was unprovable, and also not illegal. But the point had been made: Pollux had friends in high places, and he was perfectly willing to drag her through the gutter again if she didn't keep quiet. When Walburga and Orion decided to wash their hands of the whole situation, Druella couldn't gather the leverage or the funds to keep the case alive. So, Bellatrix carried on with her "treatment", while Pollux married a girl Andromeda's age, retired in the country, and fathered twins, Alecto and Amycus.
Life went on, and what happened didn't haunt her every waking moment anymore. There were nights she slept through without reliving it in her dreams, and there were days when she wasn't consumed with impotent, directionless rage. Not many, but more and more as time passed.
Right past Potage's Cauldrons, they turned the corner into Knockturn Alley, and Bellatrix breathed a small sigh of relief. True to its name, Knockturn Alley was shadowed even during the day time, and she preferred its obscured nooks and corners to the hollow bonhomie of its more-popular cousin. Her sister, on the other hand, looked mildly horrified. By custom, every establishment here had a shrunken head on the door as a lookout, and she studied these with disgust as they passed. She was thus distracted when a wizard emerged from the shadows and grabbed her by the arm."Can I interest you in some top-quality unregistered wands?" he wheezed. "A lovely young lady such as yourself -"
The words died in on his tongue as a jet of light sent him spinning into the wall. Bellatrix was upon him instantly, her curved wand digging viciously into his cheek. "Never speak to my sister again," she hissed.
"S-sorry, Miss Black!" he stuttered, clearly terrified. He ran the moment she lowered her weapon.
Andy gave her a strange look, part gratitude and part shock at what she no doubt perceived as excessive force. But Bellatrix was very familiar with the rules of the pecking order in the seedy underbelly of wizarding society, where the ability to inspire fear was a type of currency.
"They love new meat around here," she explained, a touch defensive. "He'll spread the word so they know to leave you alone."
Andromeda shook her head in disbelief. "How can you live in this place?"
"It's not so bad, really. You just have to learn how to deal with these people. Or, you can just Floo in and out - no need to go outside."
"Wasn't there a spot in Diagon Alley?"
"I can't stand it there. Always full of kids and housewives, running around, laughing…" The very thought brought a scowl to her face.
Andy raised her eyebrows. "Er...I can see why that would bother you…" she said, half-hoping it was a joke.
"At least here I get a little peace. Nobody asks questions; they just mind their business and I mind mine."
"Whatever you say, Bella" the younger witch murmured, with the air of indulging a barmy old relative. While they didn't treat her like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown anymore, Bellatrix often sensed that her sisters took extra special care to accommodate her wavering moods. And it really pissed her off.
"Here we are," she bit out as they came to her building. "It's just upstairs."
She lived down the street from Borgin and Burkes, over a small apothecary. The accommodations were hardly palatial, but her flat was sizable, quiet, and cheap. The view wasn't bad either: every night, the barmaid from the White Wyvern took a smoke-break outside, and you could usually catch a good glimpse down her cleavage from the second-floor window.
They mounted the stairs, but right before the first landing, Bellatrix stumbled. "Careful!" Andromeda cried, catching her arm.
"For fuck's sake!" she snapped, wrenching free. "I'm not an invalid!"
"Oh...of course not," her sister mumbled, looking away.
Truthfully, the fall two years ago hadn't left her body the same. Healers were quite good at patching up broken extremities, but a shattered pelvis was another matter entirely. They had done the best they could, but still, Bellatrix had acquired just the slightest limp on her left side. It skewed her center of gravity to a degree that sometimes made flying difficult; though still quite talented, she'd never again master the perfect execution required for professional Quidditch. At first, the impairment had made her feel self-conscious and vulnerable - unable to run from danger - but she had compensated by learning every jinx, hex, and curse she could find. It was what made her so good at her job.
The wards on her door were extensive; she toyed with the idea of teaching Andromeda the combinations, but the bewildered look on the other girl's face made her discard that idea. Andy would just need to leave through the fireplace, which was ultimately safer anyways.
"Home Sweet Home," she drawled, sarcastic, as they entered the flat. Plopping her sister's trunks down, she threw herself onto the couch with a groan.
"Um, are you sure you live here?" the younger witch challenged, looking around. "And not..say, a horde of trolls?"
"Oh shut up, Andy. We can't all be perfect like you, can we?" she snarked, munching on an old piece of toast that she'd found under some newspapers on the table. "Besides, now that you're here, you can fix up the place a bit."
"I'm not about to become your house elf!"
Bellatrix shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't expect me to clean up, because, I can tell you right now - it's not gonna happen."
Shaking her head in exasperation, Andromeda levitated her luggage to an empty bedroom and began to unpack. Another room remained unoccupied for the present, waiting for the youngest Black sister to take up residence. But Bellatrix suspected that Cissy would never come to live here: she was too fond of luxuries and, unlike her sisters, her feelings for their father tended more towards ambivalence than outright hatred.
She fell asleep on the couch, listening to the (uneventful) Cannons-Arrows match, only to be woken the next morning by an exceptionally excited Andy.
"The Prophet came!" the younger witch squealed, thrusting the open paper into her hands.
"Bugger off," Bellatrix groaned, rubbing at her aching neck. "Or better yet, make me some coffee." She tried to squint at the paper, but her eyes were still clouded with sleep.
Undeterred, Andy went on : "They're accepting Auror applications from witches. For the first time ever!"
That got her attention. Bellatrix sat up, scanning the little notice (buried in the very back of the paper), and saw that her sister was right. She'd had more than a few run-ins with the Aurors since the first interview in 's, and had generally found them rude, entitled, and incompetent. Due to her occupation, they had long suspected her of being a petty criminal, and had even approached her with an offer to go on the Ministry payroll as an informant. She refused. "Don't tell me you're trying to go?"
"Yes - and I want you to come with me!"
"What? Me?" Bellatrix snorted. "Are you insane?...wait no, don't answer that…"
"Please Bella," the younger witch begged, "I don't want to be the only one! You just have to show up for one day of tryouts - you can just back out later."
Bellatrix emphatically shook her head. "All they're going to do is try and humiliate you - trust me. They want to see you fail so they can say nobody was qualified enough, and then the Aurors can keep being the old boys club it always was. No way."
Very much resembling a little girl in that moment, Andromeda began to pout. "This means a lot to me, you know how much I always wanted to be an Auror! I would be the first witch, ever, in history!"
The wall across the sofa was covered with Puddlemere United posters, relics of a dream long since dead. She didn't want Andromeda to end up like she had, did she?
"I don't know…" she sighed, uncertain.
"If we both go, Alice may come too!"
Bellatrix scowled. "That annoying Ravenclaw girl? You're still friends with her?"
"Yes, I am, and she's not annoying," Andy insisted, crossing her arms.
"You just don't see it 'cause you're the same way. But, you're my sister so I have to put up with you. Her, on the other hand - "
"I'll do all the chores for a month," Andy cut in, looking resigned.
"Laundry too?" Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk.
"Yes, laundry too."
She tilted her head, as though calculating exactly how much she could get away with. "Make it two months, and you have yourself a deal."
"Fine," Andromeda hissed.
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
Also, I acknowledge that Alecto and Amycus Carrow being born in 1971 is not canon-compliant.
