Thank you Paul for your reviews. I really appreciate them. Like I said on Checkmate, don't hesitate to create an account if you ever want me to answer and discuss those good points you raise.

This chapter is actually part 1 of 2 of a larger block. I cut it in half to keep the chapters under 5000 words.


Bellatrix – 1968, first term of Bellatrix's 4th year.

It was early in the morning, so early the Slytherin common room was almost empty except for a few students scribbling desperately on essays due in a few hours. Bellatrix, in her running robes, was ready to head outside. Running before class helped her concentrate, and she liked what exercise did to her body : the rush as she pushed herself, the extra energy when she powered her spells, and of course the toned muscles she needed no glamours to show off. The wind's bite tingled against her warming charms these days, like a relentless enemy too weak to slow her down.

"Bellatrix! Head's up on page 6."

Bellatrix caught the Daily Prophet Rodolphus Lestrange threw her. She shuffled through it and swore. Morgana's tits, not again !

'International Scandal barely averted as eighteen year old French rising Quidditch star was spotted at one of Alphard Blacks' notorious parties.

Young Miss Faucon came polyjuiced into a yet-to-be-identified sultry middle-aged witch, and Mr. Black's soirees are of the kind where uninvited strangers are the norm. The polyjuice's effect suddenly wore off around 1 AM, allegedly due to an unfortunate mixing of mind-altering potions, revealing the intoxicated Miss Faucon's presence to all. Pictures of her scantily clad and singing while straddling one of the couches were sent to one of the less reputable French papers before the teenager could be escorted out.

Miss Faucon's family and her agent are understandably irate. The accusations of impropriety, including being called a 'satyr' by Miss Faucon's agent, were met with Mr. Black's usual lack of shame "perhaps you should wonder why a lass like her feels the need to come to England to have some fun. Is France really so boring?". As it was established that she had already been polyjuiced when entering British soil, Mr. Black has not committed any crime.'

Bellatrix exhaled through clenched teeth. There : no crime. But the Prophet still had nothing better to do then wag their chins until they ran out of ink. There was another whole page. The picture of witches and wizards wearing feathered masks, racy underwear and little else on their oiled bodies did not help.

'Nevertheless, in 1966 alone, Mr. Black had to pay 607 galleons in fines regarding the possession of mind-altering potions, and was involved in a distasteful affair of adults polyjuiced as young teenagers to indulge in their deviant sex practices (it was established that no actual minors were involved). Last summer, Mr. Black -'

The Prophet delighted in reminding the Isles just how much her uncle Alphard liked things loud, crowded and crazy. She could expect a whole day of snide comments. Uncle Orion had been muttering about blasting him off the tapestry for years.

"So, how much of the Black family fortune is drug money?" Bellatrix glared at Rod. She didn't hex him because he was whispering too low to be overheard. His smile was lazy and confident. "Don't worry, they'd never admit it, but half of England's been to at least one of his parties. As long as nobody important dies, he's safe."

The Lestranges were the kind of family that called upon the Blacks, and that Bellatrix's parents called upon in return. So she'd known Rod, who was the same age as her, and his brother Rabastan, who'd just graduated, all her life. He was a fat boy with thick black hair, a strong nose and a lopsided smile. He laughed too loudly and was a terrible gossip. He didn't last one minute in a duel against her but he didn't mind losing weekly. He wasn't all that bad.

"I bet you a galleon you don't manage to hex less than three people today."

"Deal, I'll just wait tomorrow to hex them."

"You won't wait, Bella. You just can't." Rod had been a boring kid. Now, he was getting better.

"Five galleons. One's not worth betting over."

"Can you believe I'm actually paying to keep you from getting expelled? I want some of those nice potions of your uncle's in a nice wrapping for Yule."

Bella grimaced. "We never see him." 'Consorting with mudbloods and other trash.' 'The heights of debauchery.' She knew Uncle Alphard sometimes showed up at his sister's, because Aunt Walburga had a soft spot for him, but he and Father hated each other.

"Shame. Your father shaking his hips would be a striking sight. How's the old man's singing?"

Bellatrix whacked Rodolphus with the paper. "Shut up and finish your essay."

"Laugh it off instead of getting yourself banned from Hogsmeade again."

Yeah. Bellatrix had to practice that. She just didn't like people mouthing off about her family.

Predictably, half of Hogwarts had nothing better to talk about that day.

"Bellatrix, when are you getting us an invitation?"

Her housemates were so funny. Bellatrix's wand was already half drawn when she remembered to smile tightly instead. She hurried to class, wand shoved back down her pocket.

"You won't wait, Bella. You just can't," Rodolphus had said. Not "won't", "can't". Like she had no control. Perhaps, just this time, she could ignore it. Meda did, and people didn't go whispering at Meda, not like they did at her.

"Oi Black, your Uncle selling any half-naked pictures of your mother?" Five against one. Upper years. Those brave Gryffindors.

Bellatrix kept her eyes in front of her and her mouth clenched. Of course, fifteen seconds later, a half-dozen scathing comebacks battled for attention in her brain. "You rub it off to each others' mothers? Even Gibbon's?". Unfortunately, her wand arm had always been quicker than her mouth.

"Such hypocrites. Pass laws to keep muggleborn out of jobs but then polyjuice yourselves to go to parties where you suck halfblood dick. Everybody knows you use the purity argument because you've got nothing else going for you."

That was an actual second year Ravenclaw. Bellatrix told herself she might have lethally shattered the kid's ribcage had she let a hex loose. The blood-traitor wasn't worth it.

She almost blew her cauldron out of spite when Slughorn just had to bring it up during the last period. "You know, Miss Black, events were people have their inhibitions down are actually great networking opportunities."

"Are you guys picturing the prof in those leather straps right now? Because I am."

The class' two back rows groaned at the mental image, while Slughorn prattled on, oblivious. Thanks, Orpington. Bloody Hufflepuffs.

Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the Slytherin common room. She stiffened as the stone wall slid back into place beside her and one of her yearmates immediately turned to her.

Nimue Goshawk flapping a copy of the Prophet in her direction was not what she needed right now. "You got a feathered mask like that at home?" Goshawk asked, her eyes wide in scandalized delight. "Does Narcissa?"

Bellatrix had put her wand at the bottom of her bag, under the books, where it was hard to draw in less than five seconds. It was the only way she'd found to not snap.

Except this time, it was her fist who shot out. Goshawk gasped in shock and pain. She'd moved fast enough to avoid a broken nose, but not a solid bruise on her jaw.

Goshawk crossed her arms, utter disdain curling her lips. "You did not just punch me like some muggle! How old are you, Black, four?"

Somebody, more than one somebody, smothered a laugh. Don't get expelled. Just don't get expelled.

"You want some of Uncle Alphard's masks and lingerie for yourself, Nimue, is that it? In the hope Pedrus would change his mind?" Narcissa's smile was as pretty as it was fake. "Look Pedrus, what poor Nimue does for you. That's true love."

Bellatrix wished she could think fast like Cissy. Nobody got expelled for words, not those words at least. Pedrus Avery couldn't contain his smile and Nimue looked like she'd been punched a second time, only ten times harder.

It wasn't fair. Why did the rules protect these people? Those gossip hungry parasites that would have been so easy to squash.

She wished Aunt Cassy could come to Hogwarts, but the witch was in Mozambique of all places living the high life with an ambassador friend of hers. It was very like Aunt Cassy, to be terribly invested in Bellatrix's magical training for a few months and then not so much as answer Bellatrix's letters for weeks. Then she would show up once more, as if nothing had happened. Bellatrix had tried protesting. That had earned her four months' silence in her second year. Aunt Cassy had made it very clear that she made the rules and that she didn't appreciate being challenged.

Bellatrix stopped by Gareth Selwyn. The older boy was absently shuffling through class notes on one of the armchairs and thankfully looking in no mood for study. "You up for a duel?" she asked, trying to pretend she'd not care if he said no. If he said no, she'd go back outside and blast a tree to ashes. You didn't get expelled for killing a tree, and with regular blasting curses, it should take a while.

Selwyn gave her a smug smile she decided to forget about since he did get up. Some of the tightness in her chest unloosened as he walked by her side. Finding a spare classroom in the dungeons was never hard. You just had to remember to check for boggarts and clear the cobwebs.

Gareth Selwyn had almond eyes, thin lips, a slightly hooked nose and long brown hair gathered in a ponytail, like many high-class purebloods these days. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was broad and it was all muscle. The seventh year wasn't the best dueler in Slytherin, but he was good enough to give Bellatrix a solid challenge. Besides, like her, he found this fun. That alone made him her favorite.

It had been months since she'd been beaten by anyone who wasn't at least a sixth year. The pool of people who agreed to duel her had never been smaller. Even Meda, who knew Bella's style by heart, still had second-year Cissy casting jinxes by her side to have a chance (although, with the blood bindings they'd cast at the end of last year, their spells splashed against each other with remarkable inefficiency). The problem with dueling her sisters was that she was stuck with light spells : she just couldn't stare at Cissy and imagine her choking in strangling ropes with enough conviction for it the spell to work. Meda's skin burning, even if Bellatrix knew the curse wouldn't latch on because of the blood-bindings, wasn't something she could muster much enthusiasm for. At least with Selwyn, who was entertaining but also a vicious bastard who hadn't hesitated to transfigure her shoes into a mat of thick needles during their second duel, Bellatrix had no such hold ups.

Bella sometimes let herself bask in the feeling she was just that powerful, but the truth was more maddening : the others didn't even try. She'd not spent more hours poring over books than the average sixth year, but she'd sure spent more hours casting. Magic wasn't just something you did with your brain and wand arm, it was your whole body, moving, dancing to make the spells fit together seamlessly, to familiarize your magic with every incantation until your body knew exactly how to respond. You couldn't pretend to master a spell if you'd never gotten sweaty casting it over and over.

Aunt Cassy knew that well. The witch enjoyed seeing Bella willingly inflict pain upon herself more than she enjoyed seeing Bella learn, but it didn't matter. Bellatrix could handle pain if it meant growing stronger. Soon, she'd be strong enough to set her own rules.

With a swipe of her wand, she padded the walls, the ground and ceiling, and her clothes. A thick cushy fabric covered every exposed surface. It allowed them to try harder and limit accidents. She'd never be great at healing spells, but she'd gotten good enough to avoid trouble.

Selwyn shot a stunner. Cute. She willed herself away, magic wrapping her like a cloud. Conjured incarcerating ropes shot out of her wand before the displacement spell had fully dispelled. She'd mastered the spell at the end of her second year, and she made a point to work it into every single duel. The ropes whipped the air, twisting themselves into lassos and nets, aiming for the limbs. Selwyn knew to expect it. His conjuring a wall of blades sliced the ropes into harmless pieces. But this time, one of the ropes was thick wire. The blades shattered against it. Selwyn's leg was pulled forward and upwards by a the noose of fire.

Selwyn's strength was his balance. He cast silently and pretty much in any position. His trapped leg was half a yard above his head when blinding light filled the empty classroom, leaving Bellatrix to guess his position. The telltale brush of air of a displacement charm teased her as none of her spells found a target.

The too-bright light died. There. He'd had time to dispel the rope. Bellatrix didn't feel in a subtle mood. She aimed one blast after the other straight at him. Honest light magic. She wanted to calm down, not to fuel the fury sizzling under her skin. She kept the blasts focused, coming fast, forcing Selwyn into a purely defensive position as he desperately cast shield after shield.

Seconds became minutes, one spell became fifty. The magic crashed against Selwyn's full body shields, building up into a blazing wall of blue energy as new spells hit before the previous ones could fizzle out entirely.

Sweat poured down Bellatrix's forehead. She smiled as her breathing quickened. She felt better already. Maybe she'd even manage to concentrate on her Herbology essay.

Suddenly, something grabbed her wand arm. She blinked stupidly at Selwyn's hand. It was wrapped around her wrist and forced her wand to point downwards. The eighteen year old was grinning at her.

"Didn't see me inching closer with all that magic hiding me?" And didn't he look smug.

Morgana's tits. Bellatrix shut her eyes in aggravation, a smile nevertheless quirking her lips. She liked challenges. And as long as Selwyn won often enough, he'd not get fed up. She'd gotten complacent, she'd not stay still in the same place and allow magic to block her target from her sight again.

Something warm pressed against her lips. Her eyes flew open in shock.

Selwyn's hand was still around her wrist. She couldn't move her wand arm. His other hand was on her side. Like an awkward hug. She could feel each of his fingers on her left breast. No, not like a hug.

Her body was frozen, her brain's empty as he kissed her again. She managed to force her lips shut and turn her face away "What -" she spluttered.

"Oh come on, what are we doing here?"

"Duelling?" she replied dumbly. She could smell his sweat. His hands were still there, creasing her robes. His thumb roaming to her nipple. She tried to tug on her wand, but his hand covered her own, she couldn't move it. He didn't budge.

"Sure. Duelling's nice. It's like Quidditch for angry people. We've been duelling a lot Bellatrix. I've got my NEWTs coming this year. Surely you didn't think it was just dueling."

Quidditch for angry people. Suddenly she didn't know what to do with his words anymore than she knew what to do about his hands. "Dueling is how you get powerful."

Selwyn laughed. He actually laughed. A friendly chuckle like she was hilarious. It got the hand off her breast. Bellatrix twisted her body away from him. He still held her right hand. And her wand.

"You're going to duel your way into the Wizengamot?" He challenged, with that smile of his, like she was this cute, silly thing. "You're going to duel your way to respect if people disagree with you? All the way out of Hogwarts and into to Azkaban? Connections, politics, the right favors and knowledge, that's where power is."

He brushed her chin. His fingers tightened around her jaw. "You're beautiful Bella, and your magic is something rare. Don't be shy."

Mother would trap her jaw like that when she'd been smaller, to force Bellatrix to look at her.

That shook Bellatrix out of her shock. She wanted him OFF.

Magic surged around her, tearing his fingers off her, shoving him backwards. He cried out in shock and pain. Bellatrix regretted having padded the room as he crashed against the ground.

Her wand pointed at his head as he pushed himself upright.

How dare he. "I'm Bellatrix Black. I won't get expelled. You deserve this."

"And I'm Gareth Selwyn," he said, standing up. Standing up! His own wand in hand but lowered, as if Bellatrix was no threat at all. "My mother is Serena Rowle. The Minister eats at our table. You Blacks are that runt little cousin we just can't get rid of. You amuse and horrify us. You could be great, Bella. You're not like your parents. But you'll be nothing if you don't stop behaving like an irate hippogriff."

"What you talk of, weak people banding together and making rules to shackle those with true power, that's not power, that's -

"Civilization," he cut in, scorn bleeding in his every word. "Politics. It's what society is all about. You fooled me there," he wasn't looking at her face anymore, but at her body, in a way that made Bellatrix feel like her body was suddenly betraying her. "I hadn't realized you still were such a child."

She saw his arm move. She could see he was about to touch her bum, yet she froze again as his hand got closer. Froze as he squeezed her. His breath tickled her ear as he released her.

"You know you like me," he said with a wink. "It's alright, you can learn to play the politics game, Bella. Can't learn magical power. Come with me to the Slug Club, I'll make sure you meet the right people."

He left. He left and Bellatrix still didn't hex him. It was as if her arm was lead. She touched her wet lips, still feeling numb. How could he? Why would Selwyn ever think she – She'd never once thought – He hadn't hurt her, there was no pain, there would be no bruises. He- Was that what love looked like? She swallowed, feeling ill.

A million hexes filled her mind now. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, breathing hard. Had he cast a spell on her, to make her so helpless ? Her heart punched her ribcage. No, this was all her.

She went back to the common room, still half in a daze. She caught Callista Travers, the seventh year Prefect, staring at her.

"What?" Bellatrix hissed as the witch intercepted her on the way to her dorm.

"I get the appeal of older guys, I do," Travers said, calm and serious like this was about homework, "but don't believe it when they say you're mature for your age. It's a trick to get you to agree to stuff you wouldn't have done otherwise to impress them."

Morgana. Had Selwyn come strutting in announcing that she - "I'm not with Selwyn!"

The prefect gave her a look. Her lips curled. "You're not all that special, Black. You're pretty obvious, actually. Just use contraceptive spells, okay ?"

There was no lead in her arms this time, no dust in her brain, as Bellatrix raised her wand to the older girl.

"Incarcerous," she hissed.

Hands, ankles, neck. Bellatrix wanted it to hurt before the bones snapped. Travers gurgled, her eyes bulging as the chafing ropes gar rotted her limbs. She tumbled backwards like a wooden plank. Her head struck the floor. Bellatrix frowned at the silence. Well, Travers' silence. Around her people were shouting now. Travers suddenly screamed as the rope against her neck loosened. Better. Much better. That was the satisfying thing about dark arts. The spells understood you.

She blinked when the ropes vanished. Meda's hand was on her arm, her wand had freed Travers. "Dorm now. Before we end up dueling half the common room."

"Merlin, Black," Travers choked, "I'll -"

"I'll kill you!" Bellatrix shouted as Meda yanked her towards their dorm. "They won't stick me in Azkaban before I kill you, so I'll get you first. I don't care!"

"What's going on?" Narcissa exclaimed, turning away from the dorm's mirror as her sisters pushed the dorm's door open. The reflection shimmered, returning to normal.

Someone was trying to invent a new spell.

Bellatrix let herself fall on her bed, breathing hard. Meda was looking at her wide-eyed, like she was insane. Like she was a little scared of her.

Bellatrix's eyes filled with tears. "I hate Uncle Alphard!"

Cissy and Meda shared a look.

"We're going to stay here, until you tell us what it's really about," Andromeda said.

Her big sister then settled next to her, stretching out on Bellatrix's bed, one of her muggle novels in her hands. On the Road, Jack Kerouac.

"Is there sex in that?"

Meda shook her head mournfully. "It's like muggles are scared to even write the word. It's about traveling and family in muggle America. Honestly, I'm not understanding half of it."

'Why are you reading this, then?' Was on the tip of Bellatrix's lips. She knew not to bother by now, though. Meda was weird about her muggle books.

It took a few hours, and Narcissa going to the kitchens to get them dinner when their stomachs began to growl, but, finally, Bellatrix talked.


"I don't want abstract, long-term, political revenge," Bellatrix huffed.

"Reputations aren't abstract," Cissy protested.

But Narcissa's plan was too long, and involved too much talk. Too much pretending. "I want to hurt him and see him hurt. Today. I just don't want to get expelled."

"It must look like an accident," Andromeda warned. "Better if he's doing something forbidden so he will have incentive to keep quiet."

"Better still if he does not even notice it was your idea that got him in trouble," Cissy chimed in.

It took asking for a favor, and Bellatrix hated that. But there was no way to do it without Ravenclaw help. Ebony Greengrass agreed, because she disliked debts, even if the debt was because Bellatrix had goaded her into breaking the rules while they'd been riding together as girls.

A few weeks before Halloween, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team had pooled together to buy three new professional grade Cleansweeps for their beaters and their seeker. The brooms were the talk of the school. They had caused a rift in the Slytherin team, because there was no money for seven brooms, only for four, and nobody was agreeing to pay for a broom they wouldn't ride.

The duel with Selwyn had happened nine days before.

"Selwyn, I've been thinking." Bellatrix told Selwyn, because she had to admit that Cissy was right: manipulation could save one a lot of time and effort. "How about actual Quidditch this time? Can you break into the Ravenclaw locker?"

Selwyn, who'd been Beater during his fourth and fifth years, nodded after a pause. His I-told-you-so smirk had Bellatrix annoyed enough to almost ruin it, but she forced herself to pretend. It was good that he was happy. He wasn't happy at all when he crashed against the frozen ground at 2AM, splintering the broom in half. He had cast a cushioning charm, but the new Cleansweep came with anti-theft charms that nullified spells cast in the broom's vicinity. Ebony had activated them, and cast a delayed weight-charm that would activate at twenty-five feet, dragging the broom downwards as fast as gravity would allow (pity they hadn't found a spell to make the broom accelerate as well). Bellatrix had not told her what she needed the broom for, and Ebony had made sure not to ask. She was indebted, not stupid.

Bellatrix's broom had been hexed too, or it would've been too suspicious, except she jumped off instead of holding on, so her conjuring spell worked and the broom, lighter when it crashed, did not break. She grinned into the soft mattress before schooling her face once more. Not that Selwyn could see her expression in the darkness, but it'd be a shame to ruin things now.

She dragged Selwyn and his broken bones to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey didn't ask questions. She never did. Slughorn didn't need to : the Ravenclaw brooms were damning evidence and Flitwick didn't want to inquire who had reactivated the anti-theft charms because he was too furious about the broken Cleansweep.

Selwyn had been right: he was a Selwyn, son of the most powerful Rowle branch, and it mattered. He didn't get expelled. He had his NEWTS exams coming up, and so he didn't get too many detentions, because the lad doesn't deserve to have his future ruined. But he was older, he alone had destroyed the broom he'd been riding on, and it was his wand that had been used to break into the Ravenclaw broom locker and so Bellatrix couldn't decently be punished more than he'd been.

It was a perfect victory. She'd seen him scream and cry in pain. The night in the hospital must have been agony. The Ravenclaws loathed him now. And from the way he avoided her, he suspected it had been no accident, but couldn't do anything about it. Just telling anyone would make him look like a complete fool. It was nice, to see him tense at her presence instead of the amused, confident looks he used to shoot her.

But she still stiffened, filled by a feeling of helplessness, whenever she saw him. She still dreamed of him. Of his fingers. Of freezing. Of her father laughing at her and saying 'well, look at that, no need for the incarcerous anymore'. It's wasn't enough. Bellatrix had no idea what to do to make it enough.

"You thought he was your friend. He betrayed you. That's why you're so angry. It's fair," Cissy had said, and it did help to have it set like that.

It didn't explain why she'd just frozen. Why she'd let him think that deep down, she didn't mind so much.