I.2. DARKNESS SPUN
It was, of course, the mother who brought her to my attention. The eldest of the three children, Bellatrix Black was presented to me at the first opportune moment, which turned out to be her eleventh birthday.
All future followers of the Dark Lord were to meet with their destined master upon entering school. This was to eradicate any allusions to escaping their determined lives, or thinking they would be offered a legitimate choice in their new, treacherous surroundings. Their first, and therefor most important impression would be of me.
Whether they be sent to Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons or another wizarding school didn't matter: influence of the Light would be all around, tempting them with the mirage of a better life; distinguishing sin from good deeds, villains from heroes. Out of fear of being labelled an outsider, due to raging rebellion against their kin as adolescents are bound to do at one point or other, or perhaps even because of genuine persuasion, these children would each be susceptible to the tangles of the Light.
To prevent this, and all attempts to follow, all children of Dark families were to be brought before me and, surrounded by my all but tangible power, they would be sedated in their fears, seduced, and secured in their position as future Death Eaters.
She kneeled in front of my high chair in the reverent fashion she'd maintain for all the years to come: one knee down, body bending, second knee following as the other leg stretched beneath her, her back straight and tight as a bowstring as she bowed first her head, then her neck to the hem of my robe. The half-smile to follow in the subsequent years was not present on her face, as she had no knowledge yet of her prospective standing.
She did not, however, lower her eyes as she kissed my robes. Instead, she kept them focused on my face, still pleasing to the eye in the day. It was those eyes which led me to remember the eleven-year old girl at the next meeting, planning in advance the overtaking of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, followed by the demise of Albus Dumbledore. We could move in through the children: Recruitment was the key, as an attack from within would fail to be detected even by the almighty Headmaster.
I thought of the child then. Inky-haired, unformed, springy of stature and lazy of stance. Her mouth was lush as a woman's, yet the eyes had stayed with me as she had been the only person in over ten years to look me so boldly in the eye. Fleeting of look, dark of topaz, her level gaze belied a smouldering whole. Something within me had stirred at that look, reacting to a magic she possessed of which I had no learning.
Not that this state of facts would remain so in prolonged fashion: the minute she had passed through the portal, I requested of my servants a volume on the nature and origins of Vision Magic. It seemed the little Black girl had an unforeseen gift: not that of Foresight, but Sight itself. Perception in its most raw and magical form.
An opportunity presented itself here... but little Bella would not make things easy for me.
She was a quiet one. Hardly spoke. Only looked... eyes registering, flat as marbles. She noticed everything. The way an Auror's hand would tremble slightly as he lied to my interrogators, or a muscle in his jaw twitching. The scent of semen on one of my followers going a little far in his interrogation' techniques, which I noticed from the way her nose would crinkle. I could use that quality.
But she was too quiet. She didn't speak, even to me. Something, or someone, had taken her voice from her, had turned her inward into herself as the metaphorical safe place where she could not be harmed. Even I, with all my Legimency skills, could not reach her there. The flatness of her eyes prevented intrusion.
I had no choice but to resort to drastic measures. The price for disobedience is high on any Death Eater, but on the Dark Lord's protégé it was nigh unacceptable. Her lack of speech was impertinent. Her refusal to share with me her considerable talents, inexcusable.
Then there was her mother, who deliberately protected her from me. Though an, in her own mind at least, faithful follower to her Lord, she nevertheless placed the value of her daughter's youthful innocence above my wishes with her. The danger of a mother's love... Though I would one day be destroyed by such a power, and had not foreseen its implications at that time, I did know that Cassiopeia Black's protective nature would prove a disadvantage to the further education of the child. The pitiful woman's first loyalty was to the fruit of her womb and not to me.
This, naturally, would never do. The Black woman had served her purpose and what uses she had had — a fertile womb and a heart silent as a tomb no doubt among the more beneficial to my cause — were no longer of any importance to me.
Her life brought me no benefit... nothing, at least, compared to what her death would accomplish. Moreover, what her death would bring out in the dark-eyed princess I had inadvertently chosen as my ward the moment I saw her.
As I said, to leave the care of my then-selected protégé in the arms of her family's stronghold would be the wrongful path. Her mother wished not to hand her to me at such an early age, inexperienced and awkward, although surely thinking this to be my wish and the logical order of command. She would be shielded, Bellatrix mine, harvested and made putrid by her family's home — who had their own agenda, one I allowed only so long as their serving me fitted my intents — until such time arrived when she would be brought before me, as a willing servant no doubt.
But no longer young and impressionable, yet this indeed was the Bella I needed. A belle femme fatale, she would become, under my explicit guidance, both beautiful and destructive. The forbidden fruit: Snow-White's apple, sumptuous red yet poisonous at the core. Enticing yet merciless. But mine to all ends, to shape and mould, and mine to hold in an iron grasp of combined charm and Dark Magic.
If I would attempt to explain this to the mother — or take the child to me by force, as led in my power — I would lose whatever mastery I might have held over poor Bellatrix' head. Even to the eye of a man who is stranger to love, I could see the bond forged between mother and daughter. Only when her eyes set upon the woman who gave life to her bosom did Bella's eyes flicker, as though a door was opened in the chambers to her eyes that made the fire, before immobile, stir and rekindle. And Cassiopeia was so obvious in showing the affection in which she held her child, it was nearly sickening.
To separate the two by obvious means would be to destroy the child and any means to gain her, I saw that clearly. But there were other ways.
The plan came to me in shades of laughter and a whiff of drink. I had been resting comfortably composed at the windowsill, watching over the happenings at a nearby tavern. I had some things to acquire and faced with little trust in my followers' greed, I decided to fetch the matters of personal interest myself.
There would be absolutely no danger to me... I was nigh unattainable, teeming with power, and not yet a known figure of impending terror and doom. In fact, no one had connected as of yet the green-lit skull to appear above areas of preceding attacks on Mudbloods and Muggles, to the occasional malefactor they threw into Azkaban who all bore resembling tattoos on their inner arm.
In any case, I was inspired by the laughter. As a sound trifling and unattractive to me, it nevertheless brought to mind an idea of specific splendour. To get rid of Cassiopeia by my own forces would bestow upon smart Bellatrix the weight of both sorrow and betrayal by the symbol of the man she had been raised to revere. To avert a personal quest of vengeance leading her straight to my lair, I saw to it instead that the prevalent authorities would have the honour of annihilating the child's mother.
I waited three years. The execution of my plan had to be meticulous and untraceable. First, I began planting seeds of suspicion toward the House of Black, moving up from gossip among the plebeians to accusations made at the Higher Court.
Then, I started placing evidence of supposed illegitimate business at, globally, corporations and, individually, associates with publicly familiar ties to the Black family. One by one these people were captured under false pretences, these companies shut down with no sign of foul play.
And everywhere, anywise, fingers pointed at the House of Black; everywhere, data and indications connecting with the erroneous associations would come forth. Past mishaps of the pureblooded lineage were investigated: their every deposit checked, their every exchange whether in form or in person scrutinised and dissected. In the end the Blacks barely had a leg to stand on any longer, let alone a reputation.
It was then that I struck my masterstroke. I had given lead to the general assumption that the family was corrupt by sending an anonymous letter to the Ministry of Magic as well as a separate one to the Auror Department.
This letter contained pictures (faked, naturally) of the Black's wine cellar (the House crest penetrated into the walls) and a hidden passage (which Cassiopeia had revealed to me at my insistence, as I casually questioned her on where she kept my various gifts') leading to what could very well be a treasure of stolen wealth.
Mislead but docile as little dogs, the Aurors went straight for the kill. I made sure Bellatrix wasn't home the day of the raid, nor were her sisters: they were all staying at Cassiopeia's sister, aunt to Bellatrix and mother to that treacherous filth, Sirius Black, though he hadn't turned coat at present time.
As it were, Cassiopeia's pride could not cope against the invasion her ancestors' home and the desecration of the family's honour: she threw herself upon an Auror's wand, aiming herself in front of a nasty hex that, though not deadly in nature, due to the poor condition of her heart finished her off quite neatly.
I was at the funeral, as were all my Death Eaters and a fair share of public figures, who in the eyes of society could not possibly let the Black House down in times of grief, even if they whispered behind their backs and wouldn't invite them to private gatherings any longer.
The rejection was carved deeply into the faces of the other Black kin: Bellatrix' aunt clasped her hand down on her youngest with such force as to make the child flinch, and young Sirius' mouth was so tightly bound as though he'd sewn it shut with a needle and thread.
Bella's eyes were red-rimmed as she bent over her dead mother's body, back rigid, lids shut tightly over her eyes. No doubt her lips were warm against her mother's; no doubt her hands were clenched into fists in the pockets of her robes.
No doubt her tears were kept quickly and determinedly behind the closed doors of her level gaze.
And this is where my plan regarding Bella's education was finally set in motion.