I.
"I won't, I won't!" I slap my mother's hands away and throw the offending item of clothing that she has thrust upon me onto the floor. "You can't force me!" My mother sighs impatiently.
"Bellatrix Adrasteia Black, you will pick up that dress, put it on, and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes, at which time we will get in the carriage and go to visit with Borislav and Agrona." My mother starts to turn away, and then thinks better of it, facing me again with an unflinching look in her eyes. "And you will be the very picture of a well behaved, proper young lady. The Lestranges are very important and powerful friends of this family, and if we play our cards right, who knows what it may mean for us."
I scowl. "I don't care. Lucius has invited me to the manor for tea, and I will be going."
"You see enough of Lucius Malfoy at those meetings of yours to cover a hundred teas," My mother says, clearly losing her patience. "If we finish our business with the Lestranges, you may visit Lucius afterwards. But you are coming with me." I open my mouth to protest only to stop cold when my mother raises her wand and points in straight at my heart. "Don't test me, Bellatrix."
I am regrettably unarmed, and know full well that I am incapable of dueling my own mother even if I did have my wand within reach, so I utter an irritated growl and bend to pick up the dress my mother has chosen for me. "You could have at least let me chose my own clothing," I mutter, starting off down the hall.
"There's a good girl," my mother calls after me, and I narrow my eyes. I do not intend to waste this afternoon, which I could be spending with friends, sitting in a garden with my mother's high-society acquaintances, waxing intelligent about 18th century Russian literature and the deplorable state of modern civilization. I slam my door with as much strength as I can muster and fling the dress on the bed, staring at it angrily. It probably won't even fit me properly. I am peeling off my overdress when I hear her.
"I'm sure it won't be so bad." My heart leaps into my throat, but years of careful self-training have taught me not to react, even when shocked out of my skin.
"Narcissa," I say calmly, "What are you doing in my room?"
"Waiting for you," She replies, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her pale green dress riding up her bare thighs. "I heard you fighting with mother, and I knew you'd be in here soon." She smiles innocently. "It could be worse, you know. She could be forcing you to visit the Snapes. The Lestranges… they're not so terrible. They've been over here a few times, when you were at your meetings. They seem nice enough." I turned to face my sister, hands on hips, wearing nothing but my slip, and rolled my eyes.
"Narcissa, please. They're just like every other one of mother's friends… boring. Why can't she take you for a change, or go alone?"
Narcissa looked down at her lap and chewed at her thumbnail. "I wish she would," She said quietly, and then looked up at me. "Just once… I think I'd like to have a reason to dress up and act nicely."
"You always look lovely, darling," I say, stroking her white-blonde head. "You don't need a reason. Neither of us does." I stamp my foot suddenly, and she jumps beneath my hand. "Which is precisely why I shouldn't have to go!" I hold out the dress impatiently. "Help me?"
Narcissa obediently gets up and holds the dress up, and I step into it, turning to allow her to do up the back for me. "Shall I pull tighter?" she asks as she laces me in. I nod, taking another deep breath.
"Damn it," I say when she's finished. "I can hardly breath." I turn to face her. "Well?"
Narcissa's gray eyes are wide, and her mouth hangs slightly open. "Bella," She breathes, "You look positively exquisite." I raise an eyebrow. "No," she says, still staring. "Really." I turn towards the mirror, and cock my head.
"Well," I say after a minute of deliberation. "It looks as if she's actually found a nice one this time." I will not say it out loud, but it is by far one of the nicest dresses I've ever put on, and I look stunning in it. It is black, naturally, the one thing I love that my mother seems to endorse whole-heartedly. Almost my entire closet is black; it's the best color for me. Unlike Narcissa, who can wear lovely, fresh pastel colors, I look best in darks; Black, navy, crimson, aubergine. I rake my hair over my shoulders with my fingers and straighten out my bangs, then give an approving nod. "Fine," I say, sighing. "I am ready." Narcissa lays a hand on my arm.
"You really do look splendid," She says, kissing me sweetly on the cheek. "I hope it's not too much trouble."
I shake my head. "It will be. But at least I only have to be there for the afternoon. Then I can go about my business… mother said."
"And will you be home late?" I can't ignore that hopeful, innocent look in her eyes. I shake my head again and brush my fingers over her collarbone, eliciting a shudder from her tiny frame.
"No. I'll be back before you're abed."
"Promise?"
"I promise." We look at each other silently, unsmiling.
"BELLATRIX!" I roll my eyes at my mother's call.
"Coming, alright?" I yell back, grabbing my clutch and my gloves and starting for the door. "See you later," I say, smiling slightly. Narcissa nods.
"Have fun." I laugh humorlessly.
"Highly doubtful."
I drum my fingers idly on the tabletop, a practiced sneer shaping my darkly painted lips, and take a sip of the fine Bordeaux the Lestranges are pumping us full of. This is shaping up to be a fine waste of an afternoon. I watch my mother with barely concealed contempt, letting the fine crystal wine glass hang over the arm of my chair, cradled lazily in my palm. She is very happy, excessively happy, to the point of being fake. The Lestranges, surely, have noticed this. And yet… They all seem to be blissfully oblivious to their own obvious ridiculousness. I hear my mother gushing my name, and I lift and eyebrow, making sure to arch it just so, so that I can be sure of my cool, uncaring air while responding. Every tiny moment, every little twitch of muscle is calculated. I am completely, utterly in control of myself, and I want to be sure that these people know it.
"… Naturally, she's vehement about the issue, isn't that so, Bellatrix?" My only reply is a wry smile. A small tilt of the head. Truth be told, I don't even know what I'm agreeing to, I was hardly listening to the conversation before I was so rudely jostled into it. No matter… if I'm in disagreement with the subject, I can make myself heard later.
"Well, in my opinion," says Borislav, reclining in his chair almost exactly as I am, "we should all be paying more attention to the situation. It's very important, don't you agree, Agrona?" Mrs. Lestrange looks as if she has a bitter taste in her mouth.
"You know I do," she says in a delicate voice. "There was a time, not that I remember it well, when pureblood families were the only ones that mattered except when it came to cleaning the floors or doing the laundry. They were our servants, not our equals, and now we've all been brought down to that level. Commoners." She looks as if she very badly wants to spit. "They'll tell you that the common wizard has been elevated to our level, but we're know the truth. That even thought they may drag us down, we'll never truly be on their level. Blood does not lie."
My eyebrow begins to creep a tiny bit higher against my will. This woman is passionate, and her head is in a reasonably good place. I find myself, against all odds, liking Agrona Lestrange, even though I consciously will myself not to.
"There are those who would agree with you." The Lestranges start at the sound of my voice, as if they hadn't realized that I had one. I allow a corner of my mouth to twitch upwards slightly. "There are also those who would stone you to death if they heard you speak so openly about the subject in public." My slight smile vanishes. "You ought to be careful."
"Bellatrix!" My mother's harsh hiss does not faze me.
Nor does it Mrs. Lestrange, apparently, for she looks me straight in the eye and says, "And which one are you?"
"Hard to tell, isn't it?" I say enigmatically, my hand hovering over a wasp that has alighted on the clear glass of the tabletop. "But there are always signs…" I bring one manicured finger down on top of the tiny creature, deftly separating its abdomen from the top half of its body. "Do you know yet?"
Mrs. Lestrange gives me a slight smile, while her husband and my mother look on in utter bafflement. The two of us have just shared something that neither of them was a part of, and it irks them but they are powerless to do or even say anything about it.
The sound of plodding hooves startles us all out of our silence, and Mrs. Lestrange cranes her neck, her face breaking out in a doting smile. "Ah… here he is!" She says, delighted. "Rodolphus!" She says loudly, half-standing and waving broadly. I look coolly in the direction of the rider, watching as he performs an elaborate yet graceful dismount and starts toward our shaded table, measuring each self-assured stride with the wide swing of his riding crop.
The rider stops in front of us and nods curtly to the Lestranges. He is tall and dark, like me, and solidly built all muscle and sinew. A slick, sly body. His hair is black like mine, but while mine is further towards blue, his is closer to brown; a deep, almost red tone shining through, like black blood. He has a wide, square jaw and prominent cheekbones, and his face is broad and calculatingly handsome. I know all too well that beauty this flawless cannot be trusted.
"Rodolphus, darling, this is Elladora Black, and her Daughter--"
"Bellatrix," I say, abruptly cutting Agrona off. I don't extend my hand. Rodolphus, damn him, ignores me completely, opting instead to take my mothers hand and kiss it lightly.
"A pleasure," He says, and then he swivels slightly and fixes me with a piercing look and a sharp nod. There is something strange about is voice, and something even stranger in his eyes, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it may be.
"We were having quite an interesting discussion when you rode up," Mrs. Lestrange says a little too enthusiastically. "Bellatrix was just sharing her views on the merits of being a pureblooded family."
"Fascinating," Rodolphus says absently, clearly not fascinated. "If you don't mind, Sycorax is tired form the ride. I have to bring her back to the stables now, so I'd best be going." Agrona is obviously displeased with this poor excuse to beg off from our company.
"Surely you can stay and talk for a while?" Rodolphus shakes his head.
"I'm afraid not, Mother. There's work to be done." He turns on his heel and starts away. I am trying very hard not to watch his retreating back when he speaks again. "Bellatrix," He calls, and I almost rise to my feet; almost, but not quite. "You might want to come along."
Not a request or a plea, almost as if he's giving me advice. As if he think it would be good for me. I find myself growing angry; what does he know about what's good for me? Surely nothing… we've not said a single word to each other, save for this would-be command to follow him. I shouldn't. I won't. I get up from my chair and start after him silently.
"Here, Girl," Rodolphus says, and I nearly freeze in my tracks, ready to draw my wand and curse him into next Tuesday. That is, until his horse trots amiably past me and to his side. The tiny muscle beneath my eye twitches slightly, the only thing I've never been able to control with any certainty, and I continue to follow. The conversation from the patio begins to fade as the stables come into view.
"I think you were not comfortable with them." His awkward English make me realize what's odd about his voice; he speaks with a slight Russian accent. I decide not to mention it. I can control my curiosity until the timing suits me better.
"Why is my comfort any concern of yours?" He laughs deeply at me and pulls on the horse's reins, guiding her into the stable. I follow them.
"So contrary, Ms. Black. One would think you were trying to be obtuse."
"I was." I see no point in attempting to conceal this truth from someone who is obviously an intellectual and strategic match in this sort of conversation. I can tell simply by the few sentences he's already spoken that it will be a welcome challenge, matching wits with this man.
"Ah," Rodolphus says, almost jovially. "She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel!" He laughs scornfully.
"You think that I'm going to be intimidated by the fact that you can sarcastically quote Shakespeare?"
"Was that a shred of intelligence I detected?" Rodolphus asks snidely. I narrow my eyes dangerously and precisely.
"Don't cross me, Lestrange. I'm warning you--"
Within a split second he has my wrists pinned to the wall of the stable. Beside us, Sycorax paws nervously at the straw on the ground. "Do not threaten me, Miss Black," He says softly, his words dripping poison. "I can be very good to you, very good for you. But never make the mistake of threatening a Lestrange."
I am, for perhaps the first time in my existence, speechless. No one, and I mean that without exaggeration, has ever manhandled me quite in such a sudden and vicious manner. And no one has ever been quite so forward as to suggest that they would be good for me. I am appalled, and, to my great horror, delighted. Lestrange, for whatever strange, twisted reason, has managed to capture my attention completely. I am hanging on his next words, and I am half-disappointed when he shifts his weight away from me, giving me a perfect opportunity to throw him off, should I so choose. I know I have no choice but to do so… dignity demands it. But I've hesitated. And he's seen.
"So you already know," He says, no longer threatening. I do not answer; I have no idea what he's referring to, and I would rather remain mute than ask him to explain anything to me. "You know I'm right." He leans into me again, but this time his hands on my wrists are not harsh. I am still pinned beneath his grasp, yes, but now he treats my wrists and hands like a precious commodity. He leans his head towards mine and breathes in my ear. I do not shudder. I won't give him that until I have it from him first. "We will shock," He says, his lips brushing my earlobe, "Electrify," a tiny nip to the skin on my neck, "And set fire to this world." As he moves to kiss my collarbone, I twist my hands so that they cover his, and he releases me.
"And you will be the first to combust," I say, pulling his arms down and throwing myself forward until my entire body meets with his. He is tall, but so am I; our heads are almost the same height. I lean forward as he did and turn him forcefully around, so that this time, he is the one pinned to the wall. I crane my neck and roughly tug at his earlobe with my teeth. "Does it burn?" I whisper, and am rewarded with a satisfying shiver. "I am not about to be dominated," I say quickly, well aware that that is exactly what I am. What we both are. How unexpected.
"I am not opposed to submission," He says, a slight smile on his very handsome face. "There are things worth submitting to."
I smile wickedly. "You learn quickly, and well."
"But do you?"
I did not return to Narcissa before she turned in that night, as promised, nor did I keep my vow to spend the afternoon with Lucius. From the moment he rode up the path on, there was but one person who was ever-present in my thoughts, and that was Rodolphus. It did not matter who I was with or what I was doing; there he was, always, in the back of my mind, a painful and beautiful spear prodding at my gray matter. I had fallen madly, deeply, and inexplicably in love with him, and so had he fallen for me. In a space of mere minutes he'd managed to claim me in a million ways that I'd never been claimed before. I had never felt passion so sudden or forceful or real with any of my lovers before, and I most likely never will again. It was a frightening, consuming passion, so much more than the simple pleasure of domination, of control that all of my previous physical encounters had brought. And most of all, the yearning, the need to alight the same passion in him, and the inexplicable beauty of giving him that gift. It was a joy I knew not of, one that would never be forgotten. It was perfect.
Except for two small things.
Lucius and Narcissa. How I've come to loathe their names, especially when in conjunction with each other. If Rodolphus was the pleasurably stinging spear in my mind and heart, Lucius and Narcissa were the irritatingly prickly thorns in my side. Two needy, dependant emotional weaklings, and both of them completely, obsessively enthralled with me. Once, I enjoyed stringing them along, feigning interest in every little thing they had to say. But after my first encounter with Rodolphus, I could barely stand the thought of another pair of hands caressing me like his did (a compulsive habit I would shed soon enough).
With Narcissa, it was easy. She knew, of course, about Rodolphus; what with my mother raving about what a brilliant match we were, how could anyone in our household have ignored it? Mother was walking on air for weeks. She had never liked the Malfoys much, Lucius included, and was happy to see my attention pointed in a different direction than Malfoy Manor. Narcissa, of course, never knew about Lucius, not in any way that mattered, she only knew that I had begun to see Rodolphus Lestrange, and that the whole family had high hopes for the future of our relationship, especially after the train-wreck wedding of the century: my ridiculous older sister's elopement with some muggle fool and the disownment that followed. Narcissa was crushed.
I no longer needed her, but once you've owned something, dominated it completely, and for an extended period, it becomes a relentless, aching part of you. And so it was with my younger sister. Once I convinced myself to continue my entrapment of Narcissa, it was almost too easy to reassure her of my faithfulness to her. She was my blood, I would tell her, Her heart and mine were made of the same flesh, the same cells. How could some man, with his strange, foreign, outsider blood come in and take that from us? It was impossible. We would always belong to each other. Narcissa was always so trusting of me.
Lucius, on the other hand, proved to be more difficult. From the beginning I was less involved with him than I ever was with Narcissa, and that made him all the more simple to dispose of. Or so I thought.
Unfortunately, the human heart is a strange and vicious thing, and Lucius Malfoy had one of the strangest and most vicious hearts I've ever encountered.