(I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. Sometimes it makes me
want to cry, because I will never come up with something that good on my
own . . . anyway.)
(Bellatrix's POV)
***
Sirius had never liked me. Not that I returned the favor and felt unrequited . . . Sirius simply did not regard me in the same light as my other cousins. Andromeda, a year older than him, obeyed my every command-- I had taught her the benefits of that at an early age. Sirius was the only one to ever challenge me. Perhaps it was because he knew he was the heir-- or perhaps he had just always been a rebel. Still, it was greatly upsetting to me, his inability to show me my due respect as his eldest cousin. It was my constant battle to teach him otherwise.
He was so fun to toy with, too. His mother didn't understand. Sirius was my entertainment. I needed him to be angry for him to be fun. He and I seemed to be the only two cousins with truly volatile tempers. I could drive Andromeda and Regulus to tears with my teasing, and Narcissa would stare coldly back, but Sirius was the one who ever retaliated. It was refreshing. Perhaps his stubbornness and pride was his weakness. I, a witch child, wandless, was incapable of doing anything unless properly provoked. I could always count on Sirius to do the provoking.
I would tease him for fun, just to get a rise out of him. Then, he would be angry and try something on me. Sometimes he'd make something fall-- like a vase from the top of the bookshelf, or, as he had done once when very provoked, the chandelier in the front hall. Other times he would cause things to burst into flame. Oftentimes he missed, setting ablaze furniture or walls (and once even Narcissa, because she was foolish enough to stand behind me), but he had started to perfect his craft and I was losing curls of hair almost daily to his firestorms. Still . . . it was all worth it. After all, the angrier he got me, the more powerful my counterattack became. I didn't need fire or gravity to cause him pain.
My father explained to me, the first time I ever caused a magical accident, that all wizard children when angry or upset could cause magical calamities, usually reflecting what skills they would be gifted with once bestowed with a wand. I held all the usual symptoms at first-- knocking things off the breakfast table, breaking windows, even causing the curtains in my room to fall down on Kreacher when he opened them, letting light in and waking me up one morning when I was five. It wasn't until one day, when Sirius and I were fighting, of course, that I realized my real gift.
I could make pure pain.
I barely recall what had even provoked me. Perhaps it was yet another one of his childish games with Andomeda, from which he banned me. Regulus and Narcissa have always been too young for my attentions, so if I want to play, I have only Andromeda and Sirius. Nevertheless, Sirius had made me angry. He had turned away from me, and I watched him go, his back to me, hating him, loathing him, willing ultimate pain and suffering on him.
It had worked. He had suddenly crumpled to the floor, screaming, eyes wide and pained, mouth contorted . . . It felt so good, so unbelievably good. I was mad at him, and I could make him pay for it. He would lie on the floor, completely at my mercy-- of which I had none. I could keep him like that as long as I wanted, it was all up to me. I could pour out all my anger into him, displayed as physical pain. It was unnerving, evil, and beautiful.
(Bellatrix's POV)
***
Sirius had never liked me. Not that I returned the favor and felt unrequited . . . Sirius simply did not regard me in the same light as my other cousins. Andromeda, a year older than him, obeyed my every command-- I had taught her the benefits of that at an early age. Sirius was the only one to ever challenge me. Perhaps it was because he knew he was the heir-- or perhaps he had just always been a rebel. Still, it was greatly upsetting to me, his inability to show me my due respect as his eldest cousin. It was my constant battle to teach him otherwise.
He was so fun to toy with, too. His mother didn't understand. Sirius was my entertainment. I needed him to be angry for him to be fun. He and I seemed to be the only two cousins with truly volatile tempers. I could drive Andromeda and Regulus to tears with my teasing, and Narcissa would stare coldly back, but Sirius was the one who ever retaliated. It was refreshing. Perhaps his stubbornness and pride was his weakness. I, a witch child, wandless, was incapable of doing anything unless properly provoked. I could always count on Sirius to do the provoking.
I would tease him for fun, just to get a rise out of him. Then, he would be angry and try something on me. Sometimes he'd make something fall-- like a vase from the top of the bookshelf, or, as he had done once when very provoked, the chandelier in the front hall. Other times he would cause things to burst into flame. Oftentimes he missed, setting ablaze furniture or walls (and once even Narcissa, because she was foolish enough to stand behind me), but he had started to perfect his craft and I was losing curls of hair almost daily to his firestorms. Still . . . it was all worth it. After all, the angrier he got me, the more powerful my counterattack became. I didn't need fire or gravity to cause him pain.
My father explained to me, the first time I ever caused a magical accident, that all wizard children when angry or upset could cause magical calamities, usually reflecting what skills they would be gifted with once bestowed with a wand. I held all the usual symptoms at first-- knocking things off the breakfast table, breaking windows, even causing the curtains in my room to fall down on Kreacher when he opened them, letting light in and waking me up one morning when I was five. It wasn't until one day, when Sirius and I were fighting, of course, that I realized my real gift.
I could make pure pain.
I barely recall what had even provoked me. Perhaps it was yet another one of his childish games with Andomeda, from which he banned me. Regulus and Narcissa have always been too young for my attentions, so if I want to play, I have only Andromeda and Sirius. Nevertheless, Sirius had made me angry. He had turned away from me, and I watched him go, his back to me, hating him, loathing him, willing ultimate pain and suffering on him.
It had worked. He had suddenly crumpled to the floor, screaming, eyes wide and pained, mouth contorted . . . It felt so good, so unbelievably good. I was mad at him, and I could make him pay for it. He would lie on the floor, completely at my mercy-- of which I had none. I could keep him like that as long as I wanted, it was all up to me. I could pour out all my anger into him, displayed as physical pain. It was unnerving, evil, and beautiful.