Jun 19, 2006

A/N:

Sorry this took so long, but as I said in my profile, I had an insane amount of tests—APs, SATs, finals, etc.

This would (most likely) be the final chapter to this thing. Bellatrix Black. I admit, I had no idea where I was going with this, and I sort of decided to go a different way halfway through the fic. But oh well, I've put it off long enough.

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Chasing the Darkness

Bellatrix Black lounged in her cold cell, her heavy lidded eyes half closed as she peered languidly through her lashes at the dark chamber around her. Shadows drifted slowly across the stone floor, and outside the wind was picking up, intensifying to a howl that left most of her fellow prisoners shivering in fear. Bellatrix shifted and gave a small yawn, her pale lips parting to reveal sharp teeth.

It didn't bother her that she was in the wizard world's most secure prison, or that her sentence was for life. The dank blackness of her merciless prison bothered her even less. In a few hours, she knew, her master would come for her, releasing her once again into the world.

She was ready.

Even here among her fellow Death Eaters all awaiting release, Bellatrix was alone. She scoffed at their pathetic antics, their shallow appreciation of the Dark Arts. They knew nothing, the simple fools that they were. Bellatrix was so much greater.

"Why don't you smile, Bella?" her sister Narcissa would frequently ask of her, tossing her sheet of long blond hair, while even her parents shied away from her, as if fearing the cloud that hovered over her would envelop them as well. Bellatrix wasn't deaf; she could hear what people whispered about her when she passed. She wasn't blind; she could see the glances they cast her way, half fearful, half pitying.

"That girl," they would say when they thought she couldn't hear, "That girl has forsaken herself. She has given her soul in to hate."

But they were wrong. Bellatrix had not forsaken herself. The coldness in her pitch black eyes wasn't of hate. She held scorn for those that were her victims, but she never hate. Bellatrix did not hate. Bellatrix loved. She loved with the blinding passion humans were capable of showing; reveled in the joyous waves of her joy. She was in love.

Not with any man, not with her husband, not even with her master who had taught her and accepted her. No…Bellatrix was in love with the darkness, the cold, black shadows that to her surpassed all the beauty of the world. She longed, more than anything, for those tendrils of night to surround her, embrace her, and wrap in such bliss that nothing else in the world would matter.

The men and women that served as her comerades, her fellow revelers in the Dark Arts were too naieve to appreciate the simple pleasure of their work. Too frequently they allowed hate to permeate their souls, and killing and terrorizing became mundane jobs, done only to please the Dark Lord and quench their own thirst for bloodshed. Behind their masks were men and women; humans only questing for relief.

But Bellatrix knew better. Her practice was not a chore, nor even a task. It was a dance. Perfection. Beautifully fluid in it's movements and ending in an soul-shattering climax. She shuddered in pleasure whenever her spells connected with another, trembling almost uncontrollably when it was over. It was her world; it was all she knew, all she had ever cared for.

She had everything she had ever wanted, all the power, all the potential, everything…except one.

Shadows.

That was the very first thing Bellatrix saw, opening her dark eyes for the first time, her small, infant arms waving back and forth as she lay cradled in her mother's arms. She lay there, entranced by the dark shadows that played about the ground before her, just out of her reach. For a moment, that was all she knew. She had no way to know that they were just the relics of the tree branches swaying in the wind outside, and of birds soaring across the sky. All she saw were the enigmatic darks shapes playing a game of chase, or perhaps dancing for her.

All her life they eluded her, these beings that were almost alive in aspect. Every time she reached out a hand to grab at them she'd come up with a handful of air, of nothing, and she'd wish with all her heart that she could touch them, just once.

As she matured her relatives would often comment on how unchild-like she seemed as she sat for hours watching as the shadows chased each other across the walls, the trees, the ground, everywhere. They had always intrigued her, since the day of her birth, and through her obsession she came to live in a world of shadows.

If she could grow wings that would allow her to capture one of those enchanted enigmas at the cost of her life, she would gladly take the opportunity.

It was why she loved the darkness, because it was the darkness that gave birth to the shadows. One day, she vowed, she would capture one of the blessed beings and then she would be complete, whole. Until then, every murder, every joyous orgasmic encounter with death would bring her one step closer.

Some called her mentally insane. Some of the more blunt ones ventured to call her crazy, hallucinating, a lunatic. And perhaps she was.

But she enjoyed every moment of it.

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A/N

Those of you more perceptive readers will recognize where I suddenly veered off course, and may be aware that I started slightly hinting at insanity for Bellatrix. Meaning that I portrayed her as being slightly insane. As in bordering on insanity. God, I have bad grammer.

Review if you want. I hope you enjoyed the fic.