I do not own Harry Potter.
As soon as Bellatrix had graduated, at the end of that year, I felt impatient to get out in the world myself. Yet Bellatrix, still involved in her political work, was often scolded by her mother for delaying domesticity for this masculine job. The realm she was working in was nearly unanimously men, and Bellatrix was at her peak age for marriage and childbearing.
"Lucius Malfoy," Aunt Elladora suggested. "Rodolphus Lestrange. Evan Rosier, Avery, Wilkes, Nott, Mulciber . . . "
"If I marry one of the men I work with," she would always reply cooly, "they will never view me the same again. I am trying to make them forget I am even a woman in the battlefield."
"But you're fighting for the cause of perservation of your way of life, are you not?" Father pointed out. "Your way of life includes women in fields of marriage and domesticity-- and society, of course."
Yet Bellatrix had found her niche, and it was not in motherhood. She felt no need to nurture small children of her own. She had Lord Voldemort's followers, our green minds intelligent and keen to hang on her every word. She didn't want to feed and clothe shrieking babies or force them to recite their alphabet. She wanted to clothe us with experience and have us reciting vows of allegiance to our families. I, her relation and her student, was, for once, a favorite.
Finally, however, in the name of her cause, she gave in. She was engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange at a Halloween party my third year. He was the first to ask, and she gave in to him; he was not the stubborn rival she held in Lucius Malfoy. He would allow her her own freedom-- and of course he supported her cause. They were married over Christmas holiday, in the Lestrange manor with all the trimmings, guests, pomp, and circumstance. Lucius, who at the beginning of the ceremony appeared slightly jealous over his lost fortune, was all but refreshed after dancing with Narcissa, who was four years his younger but still as stunning as Bellatrix, in a younger, blonder, paler, pinker, more fragile and feminine way. The two seemed to suit each other better; Narcissa allowed Lucius his freedom more so than Bellatrix would have, standing politely in the background but still serving as a magnificent trophy of a wife. After all, she was a Black.
My Christmas present from Bellatrix that year changed my life forever.
For the reception, all of the guest families were invited to stay in the Lestrange manor, which was well-equipped for company, with more guest rooms than generations in our family. I shared with Sirius a flat of red velvet decor, part of a suite shared with my parents. We, as well as Bellatrix's own parents and sisters, were closer to the rest of the family's quarters than the other lesser guests. Bellatrix, the newlywed, for the first few days emerged only to visit us and Rodolphus's family, though the entire house was filled to the brim with members of our cause. I wondered why they were meant to stay if they could not even see the guests of honor.
I learned why about four days after the ceremony.
It was full moon. After a long day of continued lavish feasting and various activities-- and a little time with the whole family to chat with Bellatrix and Rodolphus-- I went back to the room. Sirius stood at the window, the thick curtains drawn open with a hand so he could privately watch the blue-white light cast on the falling snow, accumulating in thick piles on the vast grounds below. The Lestrange manor was no more lavish than our own, but instead the aura of a Victorian townhome, the manor and grounds were charmed to appear like a country stead, with vast pine forests and a lake beyond-- though they did not truly exist. The present Lestrange patriarch was rather fond of rustic settings, so he emerged himself in their illusion.
Sirius seemed rather wistful, watching the moon and sighing to himself. I asked him if he wanted to go down to the large stone bath that was heated magically out in the back grounds. He shook his head and said he'd rather just go on to bed. I scoffed at his disdain for all the fun he could be having; away from the new Mistress Lestrange and the family he was finally free to do what he wanted-- and he wanted to sleep.
"You go on ahead," he told me. "Don't let me spoil your fun, for Merlin's sake. Go find Barty or Rabastan or something. Or Snape." He sniffed at the last suggestion.
That I did. I knocked on the door of the apartment I knew Barty was staying in-- he alone was invited out of his family-- and just as he came out, in a silk dressing robe he had been supplied with in case of wanting to use the bath, we were both accosted by none other than Bellatrix herself.
"We have a surprise for you boys," Bellatrix grinned. "Help me wake the others."
I hadn't realized that it was almost midnight and some of the others might be in bed. Barty and I knocked on the doors down the endless hallways, bringing out our friends in various levels of disgruntled wakefulness. Victor Crabbe practically sleepwalked behind us, while Evan Rosier leaped along beside us, jumpy, eyes wide.
Bellatrix had instructed us to meet in the grand entry hall, and that we did. Some of us were in pajamas, others in dressing gowns, but Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Lucius, and Rabastan-- no doubt in on the plan-- were in black hooded cloaks. Bella hastened to my side, and waved her wand over me. The silk robe, green flannel pajamas, and slippers wooshed into a flowing black robe at her command. Rodolphus, Lucius, and Bellatrix-- the three of age-- went around the gathering, continuing to transform everyone into the proper attire.
"Come, we're going on a little journey," Bellatrix grinned. "Everyone take hands, and hopefully the three of us will have enough power to Apparate everyone."
We all obeyed. I felt Barty's sweaty palm in one hand, Evan's shaking, dry one in the other. I could not see the faces of anyone because of the cloaks, the which of mine sat heavy around my own face, hiding me as well.
From the entryway of the Lestrange manor, in which all of our parents, sisters, brothers unincluded, and even the Lestrange patriarch and matriarch themselves slept onward, we, a bunch of pureblooded, aristocratic, young wizards, Apparated into the night.
We appeared in the Forbidden Forest.
"Hogwarts?" I heard someone whisper.
"The danger intrigues the Dark Lord," someone replied. "So close to the enemy."
"And yet there is nowhere in England such a magical forest," said someone else.
The Dark Lord?
As if to answer my question, I heard high cold laughter echo from all around me. Those in the cloaks shifted around, looking for the source. Suddenly, in the middle of the circle, a great black-cloaked figure rose up, as if solidifying from a melted puddle.
"Lord Voldemort," someone whispered reverently.
Someone repeated the name, then another, then another, until the name was wooshing around the circle like a gust of wind. I felt it coming towards me and whispered it myself: "Lord Voldemort."
It gave me chills.
The laugh grew louder, now obviously focused from the figure in the center of the circle. It was the one man important who had not shown up to Bellatrix and Rodolphus's wedding. He said nothing to either of them-- nothing to anyone. He addressed us all as a whole.
"Welcome to the fold," came the high voice. It felt like a cold wind, reaching everyone. "You, my chosen elite, the best of the best, the creme de la creme . . . the heirs of your families, the offspring of the finest lines known to wizardkind. You stand here before me to reclaim your golden pasts and their birthright, take hold of your destinies with your newfound power. You are the youth, with your strength to fight and your young idealistic minds."
He was inspiring in words, but everything about him was entracing. He was even better than Bellatrix. His sheer height was overpowering, his voice chilling to the bone-- heartstopping-- his gestures perfected. I was taken in.
"You know the reason for any and all of your obstacles. You have been forced to hide this feeling, it is frowned on by the Muggle-born-corrupted society you live in. Yet now you must realize these boundaries and overcome them. Severus Snape," his voice boomed. A few heads turned in the circle; within our cloaks we did not know who was who. "You are of a fine line tracing back to ancient centuries, before even some of the purest, powerful lines. Yet because of the corruption of our lines, yours has been pressed to the bottom, and you live in less than perfection while those of foul blood live above you. Yet you deserve better. You, with your pure blood. You deserve to live in a world where that counts for something. And do not forget that those that torment you . . . all are bloodtraitors, Gryffindors, the lowest of our line."
"Lucius Malfoy," he continued. "Your father has been forced to lie in the presence of the Ministry to protect certain practices in your home. This is a stain on your family's honor, brought about all by Muggle-borns."
"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange," he seemed to be going around the circle. " . . . and the recent Bellatrix Lestrange. You, all three, long for adventure and culture, a thirst for the Dark Arts . . . which you cannot practice because they are deemed evil, a result of our Muggle-favoring culture."
On he went, blaming every problem each of us had on Muggle-borns and interbreeding. Mulciber was not Head Boy because some of the teachers were Muggle-born and they favored the Muggle-born students. Macnair was not top in his class because the curriculum favored students with Muggle background. Even Jugson's failure to make the Quidditch team or Wilkes's allergy to wool had something to do with Muggle-borns, in some brilliant roundabout but still viable fashion.
Finally, he got to Bellatrix and me. "Regulus Black . . . and Bellatrix, as well; you must carry concern for the bloodline that bore you." His voice drew to a whisper. "Your family shall be torn apart by Muggle-borns. It has been clear to me. One greatly treasured has been lost already to the degenerate mindset of our time. Two more shall follow, one of corrupted blood, one of weakened will. The fight shall require strength not all possess. Purifying of your blood is necessary . . . " he faded off whispily.
I felt my heart thudding against my chest. We had not one, but THREE sources of degeneration and shame in our family? My mind instantly flew to Sirius. Was he that obvious? Blood pounded in my head. How could he be so stupid, so inconsiderate, so shameful as to make clear his inferior ways? He was holding the reputation for all of us, and failing . . . and if what Lord Voldemort said was true . . .
Yet I couldn't think of who the second and third would be. Narcissa, Andromeda, Mummy, Father, Uncle Alphard, Aunt Elladora . . . my head throbbed.
I felt sick for the rest of his speech. I could not help but grow angry at his words. Our family was going to be torn apart; it was inevitable. They were weak, lost to the other side, unwilling to fight back for what was obviously right. How could they?
I would have to make up for them.
Lord Voldemort timed his Disapparation so that he was gone just as the first ray of sunlight dashed across where he stood. I felt a hand grab from one side, so I grabbed the hand on the other side, and, after a brief tug behind my navel, I landed with a communal thud in the now-lit great hall of the Lestrange manor.
"Depart!" Bellatrix commanded. "Quietly!"
As everyone flew in various directions to their rooms-- I wondered why Bellatrix was so secretive in such a safe house-- I went to her side.
I started, "Do you--"
"Sirius," she snapped, not even looking at me.
"And the others?"
She pursed her lips. "At least it will not be you or I," she whispered, still looking away. "That is all we can hope for. If our blood carries such fault . . . it is well gotten rid of."
I thought about how lucky it was she was out of the family, in theory. If Sirius ruined us, I would have linger with the shame on my surname for the rest of my life.
However, when I got into my room, I could see Sirius still nestled in his covers in the bed on the opposite side of the room. The curtains were still drawn so that only a thin line of light came in from the morning sun beyond. I stood over my still-sleeping brother for a moment, watching him. Aside from the violently disarranged covers, he looked rather peaceful, his hair flopped placidly around his face, his eyes softly shut, even his lips just calmly pursed so that a thin stream of air could go in and out. I lauged internally; he reminded me of a male Sleeping Beauty from one of Andromeda's fairy tales. Sirius had never snored; the loudest he got was his violent tossing and turning.
Lying there, he looked like a Black. His dark hair, his olive skin, the lines of his face in the distinct family shape. He seemed proud, too, almost arrogant. Arrogant and handsome-- the way Mummy had loved him when he was a child. In sleep, he didn't seem any different. He seemed completely safe this way.
For a moment, I wished he was still Mummy's favorite. I wished I hadn't ruined him.
He wouldn't have to leave.
Sirius stirred on the bed beneath my watching gaze. His eyes opened and focused on me, and then he bolted upright. "Regulus! What are you doing?" His breathing came in short gasps.
I stepped back, feeling sheepish. Sirius sat up and leaned against the headboard, recuperating. "Gaa, Merlin, Regulus . . . scare people to death." He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "And on right bloody full moon, for Merlin's sake . . . "
"Right, because I'm a bloody werewolf," I snapped, back to my credible impression of hating him.
"Oh, I forgot, Blacks don't DO werewolf, do they?" he said sarcastically, not meeting my eyes. "They wouldn't turn into one, even if they were bitten, just because they're above that, aren't they?"
"We're not stupid enough to get ourselves bitten," I retorted acerbically.
Sirius shook his head. "You're so naive, Regulus. Naive and stupid. Do me a favor and shut up and go back to sleep."
He was lost already.