When we were little girls, he left us in the care of house elves and our older sister, Andromeda, who was just a little girl herself. Sometimes he brought home loose women and entertained them in the same bed he'd once shared with our mother. I hated him for that. I hated that he would defile her memory.
I remember one night in particular when I was nine, I fled from my room to escape the hungry ghost of my mother. Their voices came up the stairwell and as if I were a ghost myself, I slipped into the shadows and watched them arrive on the landing. Her fake laughter preceded her, but it was nowhere near as phony as the white-blonde shade of her hair, which she wore in the style of some famous American actress. I watched my father tip into her, their drunken conversation a series of mutters and moans against each other's mouths. His hand slid inside the opening at the back of her red sequined dress, which was so tight I thought she must be suffocating inside it.
"What about your children, Ces?" she asked. "I wouldn't want to disturb them."
"Don't worry about them. They're asleep," he had no idea. He never knew what we were doing from one minute to the next, and I wasn't sure why, but his guess infuriated me. It was the first time I understood why my mother's ghost haunted the edges of my bed, reaching out to ask me to avenge her murder. Fury swelled inside me until I was sure I would explode, and when I hit boiling point the Grecian urn that contained my mother's ashes shattered, spraying ash and dust like a cloud of smoke as bits of bone and porcelain clattered into the walls and bounced across the floor. Covered in white soot, the woman gave a startled scream and leapt into his arms. He scanned the hallway for the source of what was surely misused magical energy, but I stayed well hidden in the shadows, even after he had sent her into the bedroom and cleaned the mess with a quick gesture of his wand.
Her scream gave her away to me and pleaded my mother's case inside my heart because that woman. . . that abomination he had brought into our house wasn't a witch at all. She wasn't even a squib. She was common muggle trash, and my father had brought her into our world. No wonder Andromeda turned out like she did. Our own father couldn't even practice what he preached . . .
Bella swung her legs over the side of the bed and drew the cigarette to her lips, inhaling a dangerous breath of smoke into her lungs. She wasn't sure why she had started smoking, aside from the fact that it got under Rodolphus' skin. She looked like an idiot; at least that's what he said, but she thought it made her look more elegant and sophisticated, like some mysterious, dark lady who knew her place in the world. Across the room, in the full length mirror, she watched herself smoking and thought about how chic she looked.
"Ah, yes, hello," she turned her head to the side. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Bella Lestrange," she blew smoke casually over her shoulder. "Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange," a crooked grin formed at her lips. "Mrs. Rodolphus Lestrange," she added, the grin broadening as she gave herself a little wink.
A crackle of energy sounded in the room, and she gave a start, quickly dashing toward the trinket box she'd been using as an ashtray and trying to crush the cigarette out before her sister caught her. Narcissa would never forgive her for smoking, and so she'd been hiding it from her for months, knowing full well a lecture on health and icky odors would follow if Narcissa found out.
"Good Gods," Rodolphus coughed, waving his hand in front of his face in an exaggerated fashion. "That's so disgusting. I don't know how you can stand it. The whole room absolutely reeks of it. Ugh!"
"What are you doing here?" she smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown to hide the fact that he had startled the life out of her. "I thought you had other plans tonight."
"I cancelled them," he shrugged. "I thought we might finish our little discussion from this morning."
She reached for her robe and slid into it, tying it at the waist, "Oh, I think you said everything you needed to say this morning, Rodolphus. Your intentions came over loud and clear."
"Bella," he took a step toward her, hand out. "I know I was rash this morning. I was angry. You have no idea what it's like being me."
She rolled her eyes, "I can imagine," she said. "It must be positively dreadful being you, Rudy."
"You know I hate it when you call me that," he sighed. "Look, I came to make amends. I know I was a bit harsh this morning, but now that Malfoy's one up on me things for me aren't going to get any easier any time soon. The good news is I had a long talk with your father this morning."
"And how is that good news?" She bounced back onto the bed and crossed her arms.
"He's offered me your hand," he said casually, as though they were discussing an exchange of mundane property. "Your hand and quite a settlement to start our lives with. It was more than I had hoped for."
"Wait a minute," she felt conflicted inside. Part of her was overjoyed that her father had offered her hand to Rodolphus Lestrange because she did love him and under ordinary circumstances he would probably never have considered her as a future, potential wife, but on the other hand how dare her father offer her out as though he owned her and she weren't free to make a decision on her own. "You're telling me that my father offered to marry me to you?"
"I didn't stutter, did I?" How smug he seemed. Had he been carrying this around with him all day? No mention had been made of it at lunch that afternoon, but now that she thought about it, the two men had traded off several self-satisfied glances during the meal, the way old business partners might after sharing a juicy tip on market shares.
Bella still had her arms crossed, as though she were hugging herself to ward off the chill of this strange betrayal she felt, "No," she replied. "No, you didn't." Had Rodolphus told her father that she'd met with the Dark Lord? Was that why he was so willing to marry her off to the first man that came along? Cesaro Black, though he claimed to support quite a fair number of the Dark Lord's policies and practices, had never been much of a follower. He didn't like to break with convention, and if worse came to worst, he would align his loyalties with those who fought against Lord Voldemort just to secure his position and his wealth. Blood Traitor, that was what her father was.
"I thought you'd be happy about it," he smirked. "The way you're always trailing about behind me, I thought you'd be overjoyed! You finally get what you want; me."
"Oh, I am happy," she murmured distantly. Her mind was on revenge, thinking of the many ways her father had disgraced her, disgraced their family name, and now he was usurping her choices out from under her as though he had a right to them. "You're all I've ever wanted, Rudy," she said. "Why, I wanted you before I even knew you."
"You could at least show a little enthusiasm about it."
She snapped back to the moment, narrowing her dark-blue eyes over the young man who stood before her demanding her devotion but refusing to commit in any way himself. "Shall I do handsprings and back-flips, Rodolphus? I said I was happy. What more do you want?"
He took a step toward her and held out his hand, "How about a bit of proper celebration?"
"Get down on your knees and make me believe you really want to be with me and I'll consider proper celebration," she tilted her head dangerously, those eyes scanning over his fine-chiseled features. "And where is my ring?"
"I haven't got any ring yet," this time he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't even going to tell you about it yet, your father asked me not to."
"Is that right?" this infuriated her even more, her father purposely going behind her back, trying to marry her off. "He asked you not to, say?"
"That's right," he took another step toward her, so that he was standing just at the edge of the bed and right between her legs. "He didn't want you to try to worm your way out of it, but I told him it wouldn't be a problem. You love me."
"Do I?"
His confidence sickened her, but she was so weak, "You do."
"Yes," she looked away from his eyes, which were more mesmerizing than she'd ever seen them. "Yes, I suppose I do."
The left corner of his mouth drew into a half-grin, the dimple in his cheek appearing, winning her. He was too handsome, too cunning. Just being in the same room with him was sometimes like torture, "And of course, I care very deeply for you too."
Disappointed, she looked down at his arms while he slowly lowered his hands to rest upon her shoulders. "You care?"
"I said so, didn't I?"
"Do you love me?"
"Bella," he groaned, dropping to his knees.
"What?" She lifted her face so that they were eye to eye, staring one another down in that infernal power struggle that neither of them would ever win. "I don't know why you can't say it."
"Why does it matter?" He leaned forward, brushed his lips against her cheek just beside the corner of her mouth. He left a soft trail of kisses all over her face until finally she gave in and returned the gesture almost begrudgingly. She hated letting him off the hook. She hated holding out for the day he said he loved her too, but she had no choice. In the end, she'd have her way. He would marry her; he would be hers. By Merlin's beard, she'd see her will done, but not until she dealt with her father, who had at long last played his final card against her.