Thank you Paul and GRandElusYon for your reviews. And Happy holidays to you all!
(1970 April – continued)
Magic thickened the air, feeding the abnormally thick trunks all around her : greedy, grabby trees, sucking onto everything, leaving barely enough for grass to grow. Bellatrix wasn't deep in the Forbidden Forest, still within the Hogwarts wards' perimeter, and yet she felt watched, that indistinct hair-rising sensation of walking through a spiderweb of foreign magics.
Voldemort had told her to follow the first stream she'd find by walking East from the greenhouses, until it widened into a pool with small waterfalls. Bellatrix had to squint to see through the fog rising from the shimmering waters, but there was no mistaking the rumble of waterfalls. She was precisely on time. Punctuality was for vassals and inferiors, but this was not a meeting she wanted to miss. She swatted away a lacewing fly and impatiently settled under willow, where yesterday's rains hadn't soaked the ground.
He wasn't there. Just her, lacewings, and, from the noise, toads of some kind. Ten minutes. Ten more minutes in this gloomy, eerie fog, then she'd leave. Her cheeks flushed with fury at being made to wait like some servant. Her wand never left her hand. She would've cursed the toads, if she'd not been wary of attracting the attention of something bigger.
Ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty, and Bellatrix began to hate him. To hate herself for putting up with it.
Rustling and soft steps had her raise her wand. A tall shadow walked out of the trees. He didn't quite glide like Malfoy or stride exuberantly like Ladon Lestrange. No, he just walked like a man who knew people would wait for him. Bastard.
"Miss Black. Is that a blood tracker on you? Did you make your parents come all the way to Hogsmeade before our meeting?"
Bellatrix had to snicker at that. "Oh, you know Daddy, he worries about his little girls. Not quite ready to have strange men offer them conjured snakes." Cissy and Meda had placed the tracker, obviously.
It was a struggle, to keep her eyes away from his. Because she wanted to look at him. This conniving half-blood. And how dare he, force her to bow her head under the threat of Legilimency. He had to enjoy that greatly. Riddle.
"Will you share your face today, my Lord?" she said, forcing her voice sweet. She wasn't all that good at it, it came out insolent, but not quite angry.
"Why would you deserve that, child?"
How dare he. She was giving up her precious free time. Risking detention. For a half-blood. Who didn't even think her worthy of knowing his face. His true name. Calling her child, to remind her she was nobody.
She wanted him bowing to her.
Muddy electric-blue smoke bled from her wand, floating towards that arrogant man like slow grasping fingers. Vampire-mist, one of Aunt Cassy's. His lips twitching indulgently, the man cast a protection spell while the deceptively sluggish mist was still over a yard away.
The smoke latched to the shield. The stronger the shield, the more the hex has to feed on. The smoke hardened into a lethal diamond-hard spear, sucking the shield dry of it magic, and shot for Voldemort, so fast it was only a blur.
A shattering curse followed it by a fraction of a second. Break, Bellatrix willed, pouring her fury in her magic, break!, you halfblood who decided I wasn't worthy of your respect.
Again, she didn't wait to see if he had blocked it (but he must have, partially at least, or he'd not be standing. She was confident she'd heard a groan of pain). 'Incarcerous!' she shouted in her mind. She wanted his condescending smile erased. His eyes to bulge. If he passed out from lack of air, she'd not need his permission to find out what he looked like.
A sudden, blinding blast threw her backwards. Move, she willed. Sudden weariness slammed into her as her magic shifted her in mid-air, but better that than crashing against tree. Her feet found slippery... wet... Morgana's tits, she was in the pool!
Cold water to her knees and elbows, Bellatrix lost precious seconds to find her balance. Her anger was spent, fear taking over. She gasped when her left arm failed to come out of the water.
Ice. He'd trapped her in ice. This was a magical forest. The elements were supposed to be resistant to magic! Her breathing quickened. You chose to duel Mr. I Conjured A Unicorn, Bella, what were you expecting?
Trapped. She had to get out. "Reducto!"
The ice around her shattered, sending thousand blade-sharp shards in every direction.
Before Voldemort, the cloud of shards became a wall of water, crashing harmlessly on the ground. "Enough, before I kill you!" the man bellowed. "It'd be a shame."
Breathing hard, Bellatrix wrapped herself in her best shields, draining the last of her fear. She didn't trust that faceless half-blood one second. A more mundane frustration took over her. She was sopping wet. Her knees and elbows throbbed. They'd be black and blue by tonight.
She stomped back onto dry ground, shoes sloshing and water dripping from her robes. But she wouldn't risk weakening her shields for some drying spell.
He was dry, his robes weren't ruined. It's like he hadn't dueled at all. A dark glint in the grass caught her eye. Blood, right there on the ground where he'd first stood. So the vampire mist had struck true! Voldemort just looked sharp because he'd spelled himself clean.
Elation filled her. As much because she'd struck him as because she'd failed to. If she'd attacked Rod like that, she'd have killed him. Same with Malfoy, and none of the seventh years (except perhaps Meda on a good day) outclassed that snob.
Bellatrix dropped her shields and dried herself, her fear replaced by a sense of inevitability. If Voldemort wanted her dead, she would be. No point in worrying about what she couldn't control.
"I was mad at you," she said. "It would have been a waste to pass up the occasion. Last time we crossed wands was almost something Flitwick would've been happy to supervise."
"Why are you mad at me, Miss Black?"
There was a glint in his brown eyes, and yet it she couldn't tell whether he was testing her or if he was genuinely confused. Manners, you half-blood, heard of those?
"You're late. You act like seeing your face is a privilege. You legilimize me." He was smiling now, smiling. That condescending - "You're a Riddle."
Voldemort went very silent, his smile gone. Ah, there was the threat she'd been expecting. It wasn't just in his bearing, his expression, it sizzled from his. This pulsing darkness she'd felt under her fingers when she'd touched his face.
"I legilimized and obliviated Slughorn," she admitted, not wanting to be legilimized herself. Besides, it felt nice to boast. "Why Lord Voldemort? Why not Gaunt? Shouldn't be too hard to persuade whoever Lord Gaunt is to sign the right papers. That house is a disgrace, they should be begging you."
A sneer twisted his thin lips. "Gaunt. All those family names, dragged down by history. Boasting of feats done centuries past to conceal that they've personally achieved nothing. Illustrious bloodlines, yes, and powerful magic, but so often squandered. I want a new kind of house. One where members are chosen. Only the worthy."
First of his name. Like some muggle. This half-blood. Whose dark-fueled magic hummed in a way she'd never encountered before.
Arms crossed, Bellatrix arched her neck to get a better look at him. She had Riddle's Hogwarts pictures and the resemblance was obvious. Perhaps she could live with not remembering his adult face. "Do you know how to fly? You wanted to teach at Hogwarts, would you teach me?"
He gazed at her assessingly. "You're a special one, aren't you, Miss Black? In exchange you'd join my house?"
"No." A vassal. Disguised as something new but a vassal nonetheless. "No. You don't get to own me. You don't get to be my father."
"Not your father." He sounded rather horrified at the thought "your Lord. You would stay a Black. Those who follow me will rise with me." The last was both threat and promise, ringing solemn like a prophecy.
"Perhaps they need all the help they can get. Perhaps loyalty's the only valuable thing they've got. I don't need to be carried." Anger bubbled under Bellatrix's skin. This was it, this would be him saying he didn't want her unless she became his little pet.
She gasped, shoved to her knees by an invisible hand. Morgana's tits, his wand was limp by his side! How- A peculiar redness mixed with the brown of his irises."I can make everyone bow. Those I mark will be mine to defend." Mark? What? "Wizards and witches will flock to me in droves once I reveal all I am and all I can do. But those are nothing : opportunists, sheep who'll do anything for scraps of power. Those who support me from the start are those who have vision. Those who deserve to be valued."
"I get it," Bellatrix ground out, her chin digging into her collarbone, forcing her to stare at the ground. "Power's good, but only as long as it's under your command. You're no different, just angry you're not the one charge. Your problem with Dumbledore isn't politics, it's that he'd crush you worse than Grindewald."
Bellatrix was ready for it. Pain, a curse, the Cruciatus even. Perhaps he'd kick her, like the halfblood he was.
Her thoughts froze. Something, someone, was suddenly steering them. Her vision blurred as she lost herself in memories.
Her, flustered, outraged yet fascinated."So it doesn't matter?"
Andromeda, ever even-tempered and logical "He's from Slytherin's line. Better muggle blood than two Gaunt parents."
Morty, freshly conjured, and Bellatrix's awe his flawlessness. The elation, just minutes ago, at seeing Voldemort almost unhurt after she'd thrown at him all she had.
Dueling. In a spare classroom in the dungeons.
With Rod at the end of last year. Winning and slamming Rod backwards in frustration because it had been too easy.
With Lucius in third year, slicing his arm in half. Screaming, both his and the Slytherin prefect, who'd clearly overestimated her healing abilities.
With Ebony Greengrass, Orpheus Travers, Phoebe Scrimgeour, Benjamin Bole, Silvana Higgs... winning unchallenged, sowing glimmers of fear and distaste in her opponents' eyes. Unsatisfying duels that had no repeats.
With Gareth Selwyn, not holding back. Annoyed but thrilled by the challenge when he grabbed her arm from behind a wall of magic.
The dizzying dance of memories slowed. Voldemort had somehow sensed it, that this memory mattered.
His grip on her mind was too strong. The echo of her shock that rotten day, the humiliation swallowed her once more. She had to -
The vampire mist, coming from Cassiopeia's wand. 'Raise your strongest shield, my dear.' The mist becoming a spear, impaling Bellatrix's arm.
Voldemort hissed. Bellatrix got a fraction of her mind back. She latched onto the thing that had made him slip : pain. Curious, was he? Then let him see !
Cassiopeia breaking her hand. The agony of her splintering fingers.
Ten year old Bellatrix, stabbing herself to get her wandless magic under control.
Bellatrix, smashing her femur at thirteen, so Meda and Cissy could make sure the healing spells that had worked on pigeons would work on people too.
Aunt Cassy, swallowing her in flames to push her endurance until Bellatrix's shields failed and her skin burned.
She gasped for breath as her mind became fully hers once more. She found Voldemort staring back, breathing hard, his skin deathly pale.
"Just a bit of pain. Made me more powerful." Her smile was broad and insolent. "Something wrong, my Lord?" Perhaps he'd break both her hands now.
"You're not afraid of me," he whispered. "They could have broken you, but they broke your ability to fear instead." He still sounded intrigued, but there was something else to his voice. He'd shed the charm, leaving something more serious, and angrier. "You're right. I did want to teach at Hogwarts. You're hindered by the way you pour your emotions in your dark spells. After a few seconds, minutes at most, you have drained yourself."
Bellatrix frowned. It seemed inevitable to her. Light duels could last a hour, but dark duels were another beast entirely. The kind of anger, of fear, she put in her strongest curses... they just weren't emotions you could sustain all day long. Sitting in class eight hours a day was hard enough as it was when she was calm.
"Take one of my hair."
What- Oh, whatever. Bellatrix reached out and plucked a dark hair from his head. She made sure to seize it at the root, in case he was trying to fool her with a wig.
Voldemort took a vial from his robes. A slow-bubbling muddy potion rested inside. She eyed it suspiciously.
"Drop the hair inside."
Wh- ? Oh! "It's polyjuice," Bellatrix breathed. Phoebe Scrimgeour had sneaked in a batch last year, for a sex-change party. Unfortunately, some squeamish idiot had tattled to Slughorn before they could try it. "You want me -
"No. I will drink it."
As soon as the hair touched the potion, it turned a repulsive grayish-black. As vile as it looked, it had to taste worse. Polyjuice and dark arts didn't mix well.
She managed to keep a straight face as he gagged it down. Nothing seemed to change. No. Wrong. Everything had changed. Now she could look away and remember.
Frowning, she reached out again. The nose she felt matched the one her eyes saw. So what was that flatness she'd felt at the Lestranges'?
"I don't get it," she admitted. What would anyone gain by polyjuicing into themselves?
"That'll be your homework, Miss Black."
Within days (thank you, Prof. Slughorn), Bellatrix learned that when polyjuicing into yourself, self-image played an role, and so disfigurements acquired in adulthood, and sometimes even lost limbs, could be erased. Something, doubtless something gruesome, must have happened to Voldemort's face.
It wasn't until the summer, upon reading Corwin's Magis Malefici, a text about mages that had been swallowed by their own darkness, that she began suspecting it could be something Voldemort had done to himself. He revealed it to her shortly after, his true face, the unnaturally smooth-yet-rigid skin, the snake-like flatness to his nose, the red glow to his slanted eyes. He still looked somewhat like himself, only... altered.
It was oddly beautiful. 'Are you looking forward to the day you'll get to flaunt your true appearance', she'd asked honestly. He'd laughed, and for the first time, it had sounded absolutely genuine.
They had unspoken rules. In public, she never undermined him or called him out on his blood status or true appearance. She didn't speak of their lessons to any but Meda or Cissy, and even to them, she did not reveal the plans he shared with her. He would occasionally taunt and shout, or put an abrupt end to their encounters, but he never caused her pain, not more than what came inevitably from the spells they used. He never threatened her sisters. He usually was punctual. She never was late.
He told her of the Dark Mark. She admired the magic of it, and flatly refused to be branded. She'd be his apprentice, not his vassal. After he'd been particularly insufferable, she promised to kill him one day, when she'd not need him anymore. He said that if she behaved, he might share the secret of immortality with her (she enjoyed flattery, so she didn't tell him he was full of it).
She told Cassiopeia she'd found another teacher after her second meeting with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. She didn't say that she'd asked Slughorn to keep Cassiopeia's owls and letters away. It was something their Head of House volunteered to do at the beginning of every year 'I know families can be a bit much,' he'd say. He came to warn her, after her exams. Two Howlers, four letters. Slughorn pretended he hadn't read every word and Bellatrix pretended she believed him.
Cassiopeia had come to Kings' Cross expecting a confrontation, instead Bellatrix grinned and hugged her, too fast for the stunned woman to react. Bellatrix's thick curls, unsurprisingly, got in the way of their embrace. The teenager had lathered them in a nifty little potion she'd bought from Voldemort (along with antidotes for her and her sisters, to avoid accidents during the train ride). Aunt Cassy found that when she tried to talk, she had no voice. When she tried to reach for her wand, her joints creaked like that of a woman twice her age. Pain crinkled her widening eyes.
"This is the nice warning," Bellatrix whispered. She would have done anything for Aunt Cassy once. But now, with Voldemort, she had realized power didn't have to come at the price of your self-respect. "If you declare war now..." Bellatrix's smiled broadened. "Well, I think it will be fun."
"Come, Bella, too many words ruin the effect." When Narcissa smiled at Aunt Cassy, it held a serene beauty that Bellatrix could never match. There was no mirth in Andromeda's expression, only condemnation. She linked arms with Bellatrix as they strode away, pride softening her steely gaze.
Life was good.
December 1971 – Bellatrix's 7th year
Snow howled around them, from the storm Bellatrix had conjured in the Hogwarts courtyard to make they would be left alone.
"I think I hate her," Bellatrix said. "I really do." She lowered her voice. There was no need to get worked up after all. The solution was obvious. "Maybe I'll kill the muggle. Yes, I'm going to sit my N.E.W.T.s, then I'll kill him."
Sirius glowered at her arms crossed. Her stubborn Gryffindor little cousin.
Oh no, he wouldn't. "I forbid you to write to her!"
"Fine, I won't." Sirius was truly a terrible liar.
Narcissa grabbed her arm tightly as they headed back to the dungeons. "Don't kill Andromeda. Nobody kills Meda!"
"Not her," Bellatrix muttered, "just the muggle..." But what if Meda just went to find another one after Bellatrix killed that filthy Tonks?
The words from the letter she'd burned were etched in her mind.
'Mother and Father have used blood as an excuse to keep us leashed for two long. We owe them nothing. They are despicable. I'm leaving them. I'm not leaving you. I'll be just an apparition away. We don't need them, their name, or their money. I'll be waiting for you. We're stronger together.'
"She acts like she's doing us a favor," she spat. "Like she's so certain we'll be happy to join her. We can't join her."
"Is that a question?"
"We cannot," Bellatrix said more forcefully. Mudbloods were nothing. How could Meda ask her to become nothing? Bellatrix had barely begun to be treated with respect. She tried to imagine Lord Voldemort's reaction if she- How could Meda ask her to give up all that? And for what, live with Meda and her pet mudblood in some muggle house?
"When Sirius will be Lord Black, he'll reinstate her."
Huh. Cissy really did think far ahead. Bellatrix nodded slowly. "Are you suggesting it's Uncle Orion I should kill instead? Useless unless Sirius is 17, or the laws change... Mind you, I could kill both..."
Narcissa rolled her eyes, her lips twitching despite herself. "We just have to marry well. Mother and Father will have no more power over us."
Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at her little sister. Marry. What an idea! She wasn't going to wait until she was married for her life to begin.
"So we don't write her?" For all the steadiness in her voice, Cissy's eyes were bright and pleading.
How dare Meda do this to them. "We will, when she begs for our forgiveness and ask what she can do to have us back."
When it didn't happen, Bellatrix took it to mean Andromeda didn't miss them all that much. She failed to realize she was modeling her expectations around the toxic dynamic she and Aunt Cassy had had. That Meda had meant 'I'll be waiting for you' with full sincerity, and that it was not a power play but as close to begging as her proud older sister would go. That 'we're stronger together' was the 'I love you' that was said so easily in other families, but that, among the Black cousins, only Regulus had mastered in childhood.
When Narcissa told her Meda's second letter to her held no apology, no begging, just 'I miss you. Please, don't let Mother and Father ruin this too', as if it was her and Cissy's fault, Bellatrix burned her own letter unread.
Yuletide was miserable that year. Father had spelled Meda's room shut and spent most of his days pacing.
The evening dragged at a snail's pace. Why did their parents feel the need to dine all together, as if any of them enjoyed this?
"I may have been too forceful with her," Father muttered, his eyes far away. "A spellcrafter daughter would not be such a disgrace. I hear the economic prospects are good..." He sounded subdued. Almost like he cared. How cute.
"Well, she'll have no choice but to come back," Mother snapped. "I've argued Andromeda should be categorized at mudblood now. Yaxley had the gall to stare at me so, but he didn't defy me. That business of hers won't be legal until she's got all her permits in order, and we'll make sure that's never."
"Meda's a mudblood now?" Narcissa repeated tonelessly, holding her silver fork limply over her half-eaten plate.
"She chose this! I'm trying to get my daughter back!"
Yes, Mother, you've always cared most about us when you were discussing us. Druella Black had never been all that invested in her family or her marriage. Even Narcissa, by far the favorite, had been lucky to get an hour a day of their mother's time. It seemed absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.
"An you two have been utterly disappointing! Bellatrix, how is it that your sister -"
Bellatrix was fed up with listening to them whine. "I'm flooing out, don't wait up for me."
The plates rattled as Father bolted upright "You're not going anywhere!" Wonderful, now both her parents were shouting.
"Careful, if you're too mean, I might run off with a mudblood too," Bellatrix said, her grin unabashed. She itched to hex them both. Pity Father had stopped raising his wand to her shortly before her OWLs, after she'd blocked his curse so forcefully the rebound had cracked one of his ribs. 'We're few us Blacks, we have to learn to live with each other', he'd said, suddenly almost charming. 'I'm glad you're powerful. Our house needs that.' Spineless hypocrite.
She walked into the fireplace and disappeared in a puff of green smoke.
It was almost eleven, pitch dark and close to freezing. Bellatrix was sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground, conjuring tiny tornadoes to dig obscenities in the thin layer of muddy snow. She was slowly getting the hang of it, this dark-casting without draining herself entirely of her emotions.
He apparated soundlessly. The sight of him sent thrill up Bellatrix's spine. She'd feared he'd not bother to come on such short notice. Voldemort's slanted eyes flashed red in the night. He'd stopped the glamours and polyjuice months ago, when it was just the two of them. "Is that Tonks so fearsome you can't take care of him? Do you require some assistance?"
She rolled her eyes at his teasing. "He's nothing. The mudblood's just the excuse she found." Admittedly, little else could have enraged Father and Mother quite that much.
"Oh dear, what did your family do to deserve such an indignity?"
Bellatrix shrugged. "Father decided Andromeda would spend six months shadowing Lord Parkinson at the Ministry. He wanted her to marry Dianthus Parkinson or some other dumb weakling heir, so she'd be Lady regnant in all but name and boost his position. Never asked her what she wanted."
Cissy thought it was some romance thing, but Bellatrix didn't buy that for one second. Meda was just fed up of hiding behind her silly muggle books and wanted to live her life. So she'd gotten herself disowned to freedom. Which was a really dumb way to go about things, but Bellatrix could have forgiven it had Meda not treated her and Cissy like they were Mother and Father, people to be sneaked around and lied to. She'd accept nothing less than Andromeda crawling back.
"You think I'm wrong? That the mudblood bewitched her somehow?" But what would Voldemort know, of Andromeda?
"I don't. That'd be giving him too much credit. So many wizards are oddly eager to grant mudbloods such power, to blame them for our ills. Mudbloods must be either excluded or forcibly integrated. As the majority of our allies prefer exclusion, exclusion it shall be." His sigh was thick with exasperation. "Muggles are such an inconvenience only because we let them. Even were the Statute to be breached, we can vanish their weapons and kill their generals. Wizards will be very well treated the moment we take the world leader's families hostage."
He spoke to her like to an adult. It was still novel enough to be flattering. "How long will all this take, my Lord?" All these political dinners and back-alley whispers... "When will we actually act? You have nice teeth, you should stop hiding them."
His smile was fleeting. She knew he shared her impatience. She sometimes feared he was too old, too entrenched in the games of words and favors played by the elite, to act any different.
"I've... encouraged some of our lesser allies to ignore the laws," he revealed after a pause. "I want to see our brave aurors in action. I want to read what the Prophet chooses to say of it. To identify potential recruits, who to target, and what kind of resistance to expect if we fail to seize control of the Wizengamot peacefully." A sinister grin lit up his face. "Don't worry, Bella, we will fail."
She and Lord Voldemort understood each other beautifully.
1972 – October
The wards' pulse dimmed as Bellatrix flew along it, ten yards above the green field. It was just a flicker, almost nothing, but Bellatrix had cast those wards, and even if wards weren't her strongest magic, they didn't flicker.
Her wand gave her nothing more, but her eyes stopped on something that shouldn't have been there. A small bee plushtoy stood out against the freshly cut grass. Morgana, those people never gave up!
"Accio!"
"Don't - "
A bolt of black lightning shot from the plushtoy-portkey. Wha – It struck Bellatrix's hastily conjured shield, and sent her and her broom spinning downwards. One of the lightning streaks burned her arm. She gasped, her vision blurring.
"You amateur!" Marshall exclaimed. Her nervous laughter died. "Merlin, Black, you could've gotten hurt so bad! Weren't you paying attention at training? When there's a breach, we call the aurors."
"I can handle a boobied portkey."
"You got hit! It takes just one slip, Black. Don't make me write you up."
Stocky and short-haired, Marshall was the middle-aged remnant of what had once been a three-seasons-famous Chaser. Most former league players ended up support, warding Quidditch fields, keeping an eye on the players and making sure nobody tinkered with the balls. Fans leaving portkeys around to try and get access to the players, and booby trapping them to punish any Games&Sports agent who'd deactivate them, was turning out to be one of the more usual occurrences.
"You're swaying, girl. Come on, I'll take you to our medic." Bellatrix's protests were swallowed by her own yawn. Her hands felt slippery on the broom's handle. "It's Ludo," Marshall went on, jealousy creeping into her voice. "He makes them go mental. Kids who barely scraped three N.E.W.T.s work the darnedest spells to get close to their idols."
Marshall was Puddlemere United, Bellatrix worked for the Wasps, team of the blonde wonder that was Ludo Bagman. If the Wasps beat the Cannons tonight (highly likely), that would make six wins. Puddlemere was refereeing.
The job required solid spellcasting, was outdoors, and had her on a broom half of the time. Bellatrix didn't mind the odd hours, or having to keep an eye out for crooks, drunks and thieves instead of enjoying the games. On the contrary, the right to hex people was the best part of the job. She'd asked Slughorn to recommend her and had only announced the news to her dear parents after the work contract had been signed. Mother had left the room in a huff, but Father, amazingly, had nodded. 'You meet all sorts, at Games & Sports, you get to see the most powerful witches and wizards with their inhibitions down. Keep your eyes open.'
All sorts alright. Puddlemere's medic was a mudblood. Marshall was half-blood herself. The Wasps had to be the last all pureblood team, and that was with the loosest definition of the word. Their keeper not only had a muggle grandparent on each side but openly admitted to it.
Bellatrix's legs almost gave out under her when she landed near the support tent. She could barely keep her eyes open, even as she pushed her magic to fight against the sudden drowsiness. Bastards. Next time, she'd trap the grass around the portkey and leave it alone. Let's see how those dungbrains enjoyed being strung by their feet.
She let herself crash against the bed freshly conjured next to her. Her eyes immediately closed, as if she hadn't slept in days. No sleeping, she chanted to herself, her panic rising as she realized even her lips had stopped working. No sleeping! Spells tickled her skin. That mudblood had better find the counter quickly.
"This is the Wasps' new girl?" The mediwizard said after a few minutes. "Didn't realize she was straight out of school. Didn't Stuart apply for the job?"
"She's Noble and Ancient. What'd you expect?"
"Lay off, guys." Marshall intervened. "Black's a damn good spellcaster and never whines. A bit vicious, but if I had authority to sack anybody, she's not make my top five."
"Wait, those Blacks? You asked if she's still seeing her own sister? Disowned for liking a muggleborn. I can't believe this shit still happens in 1970. Stuart deserved the job twice over. I'm getting drinks with Lizzie and Doug tonight. Seeing how successful they have gotten gives me hope. Let's pray Blacks' friends don't shut down the Nautilus."
"Come on, Christopher, cheer up, you'll soon have a picture of Ludo for your kid."
Bellatrix had tried to react, only, her eyes stayed shut and her body not responding. Her wand was still in her hand, and there was nothing wrong with her mind, only her senses, so she focused. I want to know where he is, she willed, curiosity and fury (because how dare they bring up Meda. Meda, who after almost a year still had to show her face) mixing in equal parts.
Her tracking spell stuck to the mudblood's robes like an invisible leech. A freezing liquid that tasted like melted ginger was suddenly pushed down her throat. She bolted upright, eyes wide open as the spell's hold dissolved.
"Gotcha!" The mudblood smiled. "It's that sleeping curse the Russian hooligans cast during the last worldcup, shuts your body down. Next time, cast a waking spell as soon as you're hit, Miss Black. You won't need the potion then."
Bellatrix yawned, this time because of the magic she'd spent to stay awake despite the curse. "Thanks," she said with her best polite smile. Thank you, Christopher. He smiled back, as if he hadn't just said she didn't deserve her job, as if he had a clue about her.
The Nautilus had been making the Prophet's business section often of late. It was a big perfumes, cosmetics, jewelry and accessories business run by muggleborn. They'd hired over two dozen muggleborn in less than three years and putting traditional shops out of business. Rabastan was struggling to not shut down Lestrange Mirrors, because everyone now wanted 2-galleon knockoffs that sung you praises instead of the real thing (Bellatrix had forgiven the family mirror for all the griping over her untamed curls after it had spotted a beginning of phoenix rash early enough to avoid permanent magical burns). Those people used words like demand and modernity, claimed people deserved variety, and sold their barely-magicked muggle trinkets at prices hard-working artisans couldn't hope to ever match. That kind of trash convinced people they didn't need to invent new spells or experiment with potions. It was making money, instead of magic, the new power. The Nautilus' address had not been made public.
Thanks to Christopher, Bellatrix now knew where it was. Right at the edge of East Cowes in the Isle of Wight. Another place where mages nowadays found themselves surrounded by those over-breeding muggles. A goblin-crafted, rune-carved fence surrounded the building. Bellatrix's lips curled. Manor-strength wards. There was no getting through that.
Not that she needed to. There were a few advantages to growing up in a manor in London. One of those was buried in the stone-vaulted cellar, kept harmless by a net of freezing charms. The Battle of London had been fifteen years before Bellatrix's birth, but tales of fire and roaring flying machines had been plentiful in her childhood. Father had shown them, in a loaned pensieve, how the bombs had torn through houses and factories. Grandpa Pollux had frozen the bombs ensnared by the wards and Grandma Irma had cast beacons of light in the hope the German muggles would be thorough in their destruction. Unfortunately, despite the damage, the manor had gained only a half-acre of land. Muggles were like rats : they kept coming back and just wouldn't stay away from land they could see on a map.
Disillusioned on her broom a thousand feet above the Nautilus, Bellatrix emptied her pockets full of miniaturized bombs, and let them drop. After a couple of seconds, she undid the charms on them. Seventeen explosives, the biggest several hundred pounds heavy, plummeted downwards. That's for Lestrange Mirrors, mudbloods. And for saying I didn't deserve my job.
The evening sky went red, then brown as dust filled the air. Bellatrix's shields screamed as the shock-wave crashed around her, showing her backwards hundreds of yards. The witch blinked tears out of her eyes as acrid smoke filled her lungs. A chorus of muggle sirens reached Bellatrix's ears. Seeing close while being far, the first magic she'd mastered in childhood, served her well then.
As it turned out, goblin crafted, rune-carved fences made bombs bounce off. Mostly. Of the steel and steel and brick warehouse, everything except the windows was still intact. Of the cluster of muggle houses five hundred yards away, on the other hand... Half the town was now ruined, gaping wound filled with burning gutted houses. Those mudblood fools had rushed out of the Nautilus to assist the screaming muggles. So many witnesses, so much work to come for their poor obliviators. Really, the mudbloods should have just congratulated themselves on the strength of their wards and let the muggles die.
Because if there was one thing that got the Ministry panicking was their precious Statute being breached. Since television had been invented, it had become a full-fledged paranoia. Days after the incident, the Nautilus' talk about using purely muggle ways to get their goods from muggle corporations all over the world stopped being called ingenious, and became suspicious. After all, was it so hard to believe that the mudblood's sympathies lay with muggles rather than wizards?
And there was the questions of where the explosion had come from. Whispers that the Nautilus only hired muggleborn so they could experiment on forbidden magics, in order to upset the current order, struck a chord. Even the light-aligned were uncomfortable ('because muggleborn are too new to magic,' they began saying. 'They lack the generations of experience we have. They need to be guided.')
A month later, muggleborn became forced by law to have a pureblood partner to open businesses. The number of muggleborn employees could not exceed the number of pureblood ones anymore. One could think it wasn't so harsh, with muggleborn making up only ten percent of the wizarding population, and purebloods over half. But prejudice, distrust of strangers, and prioritizing family had always made muggleborn integration difficult, so most of those who still worked in the wizarding world had one or two-people businesses, and only a minority were partnered with someone with two magical parents.
Desperation makes people act out. Then those desperate, often violent, actions are used as justification : 'see, they are savages'. More laws began to follow, until in 1976, muggleborn with no jobs who weren't married to purebloods began having their wands taken from them. But let's get back to 1972 first.
"Your move," Bellatrix said unceremoniously, sipping spicy pumpkin juice in a corner of the Three Broomsticks. She'd just caught up with Cissy and Barty Junior (that creep had followed Narcissa and hovered around the attention-diverting wards, until they'd given in and invited him to their table). Junior was still a whiner with daddy issues but, admittedly, a clever and charismatic one. She'd have to drop a word about him to Voldemort. One day.
"Excuse me?" Voldemort replied, curiosity drawing a thin smile on his lips.
Bellatrix slid over the Prophet copy she'd saved with a pointed, rather smug, glance.
"You - What spell did you use? The explosion was spectacular."
She had his attention, and his interest, she let herself bask in it for a few seconds with a growing, teasing grin. He wandlessly conjured a small flame and blew it at her, threateningly close to her hair.
She pretended to scowl. "Fine. The incantation is 'Luftwaffe'. Fitting for mudbloods."
Something darkened in Voldemort's gaze, and Bellatrix abruptly remembered that the man before her had been living with muggles during the summer of 1940.
"We had about a ton of explosives under the manor, courtesy of the German muggles," she elaborated. "They were going to waste. So... when are all you fancy politicians going to do something other than talk?"
Voldemort stayed silent, his tense expression unfathomable. Bellatrix twitched, nervous she'd angered him. He had yet to turn on her, but she couldn't help waiting for the day he'd want to put her in her place.
Voldemort threw back his scotch and abruptly stood up. "Look out for Thursday's paper."
Bellatrix released the breath she'd been holding as he strode out of the pub. A slow grin light up her face. Finally.
Thursday morning came after a particularly rowdy Quidditch match. Bellatrix groaned, rubbing her sleep deprived eyes. She blinked in momentary confusion at the petite blonde woman sleeping next to her.
The night before, the crowd had gone wild after Ludo had struck a bludger against a Quaffle, scoring one of the Wasps' most spectacular goals in recent history. He'd then struck the second bludger at the Bats' seeker while the whole team was still staring at the goals slack jawed, and unseated her from her broom with a nasty crunch. Cries of 'cheat' had begun ringing in the Bats' stands and then... what usually happens when you put smug drunk English wizards together with angry drunk Irish wizards happened. Procedure was to first evacuate the top box (anti-apparition wards were necessary to keep the crowd to only those who'd paid for their tickets, but it made for a logistics pickle whenever a brawl erupted).
Bellatrix's gaze swept the stands. One meaty white-haired wizard she recognized from the VIP list, some three rows down the top box, attracted her attention. Bellatrix frowned, pretty sure the man was one of the big names at Saint Mungo's. The fool was heading straight for the thick of the brawl, screaming profanities and shooting bludgeoning hexes. Morgana, did he want to get killed? Bellatrix flew for him (you didn't say no when a powerful person handed you such an easy life debt). She encased him in a ring of conjured ice and began checking him for curses. Her eyes widened as her diagnostic charms erupted in a song of chimes.
It had to be the most unsubtle emotions-twisting curse she'd ever seen. Someone wanted that wizard mad, the frothing looking-for-a-fight-even-if-it-kills-me kind. Dark Arts were obvious and loud, you had to take precautions if you wanted to be discreet. This curse was pretty much a point-me spell. It took Bellatrix mere seconds to spot a blonde, short-haired witch staring at the man with unconcealed loathing. She was swaying, obviously drunk. Blood was leaking from her nose.
Huh. Amanda Wilkes. She'd been prefect, Hufflepuff, when Bellatrix had come to Hogwarts.
"Over here! I think it's Black!"
Two shouting young aurors were flying full speed for Bellatrix. They'd not spotted Wilkes yet.
"Get that man out," she said, recognizing one from Hogwarts. "I'll handle the crowd."
"Nice shield, Black." The woman's bright smile startled her. Bellatrix couldn't remember her name, just a background older Gryffindor.
Bellatrix's deafening curse blasted through the brawling mages stunning them briefly into inaction.
"Aurors are here!" Marshall's magic-amplified voice rang loud and chipper. "Please cast your most damning curses so we can fill up Azkaban!"
Bellatrix grabbed a swaying and cursing Wilkes, disarming her easily. "You are coming with me." A dark Hufflepuff. It was too delightful to let the aurors get their hands on her.
Despite the too-short night, Bellatrix forgot her exhaustion as Bean popped into her bedroom with today's Prophet. She pushed off the bedcovers, eager to see if Voldemort had kept his word.
A whistle crossed Bellatrix's lips as she saw the front page.
Grandmother Irma's brother, Elmer Crabbe, had been shot. To the head. By a muggle. There was trouble with muggles near Derry, she discovered, something about borders (turns out, muggles had two Irelands, North and South, and that Derry was actually Londonderry. Stupid name). The Irish Crabbe branch lived right out of Derry, and the muggle army had knocked at Crabbe manor at sunset because of reports of stashed weapons. Old Crabbe had run out of the house, shouting, with his wand brandished. The muggles hadn't hesitated. Bellatrix avidly red on.
Mr. Silvan Crabbe, eldest son of the late Elmer, was still under shock as he agreed to speak with us, clinging to his cane for support. His testimony is enlightening : 'We're registered as tax paying landowners, but with the troubles between muggles, that's not enough to be left alone. Our wards are old, but they're functional: muggles are supposed to be discouraged, distracted and turn away. Except it doesn't seem to work with these people. I fear it made it worse... When the armed muggles knocked, they were all worked up already. When we saw Father fall... we panicked.' Elmer's wife, Serena, cast a blasting curse that killed two of the muggles and incapacitated a third. Considering the situation, aurors have decided to not pursue any charges for violence against muggles, especially since the Crabbes seemed to take very seriously the risk to the Statute. 'We don't know what to do,' Mr. Crabbe admitted to us. 'They report everything, they'll know the men died here, and it's going to be on television.'
Obliviators and the Muggle management office confirmed with us at 2 AM that a suitable crash incident involving the armed muggles vehicles was orchestrated. The cover-up had to include radio records, military documents and the obliviation of twelve muggles in addition to those onsite, despite the obliviators arriving less than an hour after the tragedy. The auror office asks us to remind our readers that modern muggle technology, commonly in the possession of uniformed muggles (see pictures on left for reference), mean incidents of this kind must be avoided at all costs.
Experts determined the Crabbe wards to be alarmingly weak for a Manor this close to muggle settlements. Mr. Crabbe argued that in his grandfathers' days, no muggle lived within a mile of the manor. Reminded of ward law by the aurors, Mr. Crabbe admitted that the family could barely pay for the manor's upkeep, let alone modern muggle-repelling wards. When we pointed out that without wards, the obliviators could only limit the damage, not solve the situation, Mr. Crabbe became agitated.
'What do you suppose I do? We've lived in this manor since the twelfth century! Our wards were cast in 1787 by our liege lord's warden. But the Ministry has banned all that. Do over-breeding muggles now have a right to kick us out? Mark my words, if that's how it is, we won't be the last to have to pack.'
Ah, there it was : Junior begging to reinstate vassalage. How pathetic, though, to not have a single family member magically competent enough to cast your own wards.
A knock on her window had Bellatrix turn. An owl, one of those perfect conjured owls with a snake pattern on their belly feathers, had a piece of parchment tied to its leg. Bellatrix spelled the window open and grabbed the note.
'Your move. To be honest, I would have expected Crabbe Senior to know how to cast a solid shield. The death was unfortunate.'
Laughter bubbled in Bellatrix's chest, until it escaped from her lips in gleeful gasps. She couldn't stop and soon her door opened to reveal her mother.
Mother frowned sharply at the half-dressed witch in Bellatrix's double bed. "You mean all that sneering about marriage is just that you're lesbian? Just have her take polyjuice to impregnate you, and make sure that, whoever she is, she takes the Black name. We can weather such eccentricity." Druella's eyes narrowed. "Unless she's one of them."
Bellatrix blinked. "Mother, I'm not marrying Wilkes. She's here because -" Oh, why did she bother? "Did you read this?"
"Yes. The funeral's tomorrow evening, your grandmother wants us all there. Put on a solemn face, Bella, it's not worth the fight."
Bellatrix nodded. It would be a good excuse to get Cissy out of Hogwarts for an evening. Mother rolled her eyes one last time at Wilkes and left, muttering to herself.
A slurred voice rose up from the bed. "'not marrying you either, Black. Also, what the fuck?"
"Aurors would have locked you up." Bellatrix rummaged through her bag and handed Wilkes her wand. "You owe me a story."
"Right." Wilkes pushed herself out of bed with a wince. A few grooming spells later and she looked human again. "I'm a mediwitch. Or I was... Ambitious Hufflepuff all are, right? Unless you're Madam Bones, I guess. Got tired of the shit at Saint Mungo's. Spoke up about corruption and it's me they kicked out."
"The white-haired guy you tried to get killed is the one who sacked you?"
Wilkes sagged, shame flushing her cheeks. "Shouldn't have gotten shitfaced like that... Thank you." Her eyes roamed over Bellatrix's bedroom, the astronomy gear that hadn't been touched in years, the stuffed animals, the sloppy pile of books on dark arts, and (thank you, Rod) modern political history. "What's your opinion on werewolves, Black?"
"Wouldn't be half as scary if people bothered to learn proper magic. Fear of werewolves is used as a diversion by the Prophet to control us." Voldemort's words. Bellatrix personally thought werewolves were filthy beasts regardless, but Wilkes' expression made obvious that this wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"If werewolves were allowed to own property and set up their own wards, they'd be able to make sure they were no threat." Wilkes muttered heatedly. "At the hospital, I worked with werewolves who turn themselves in, accept to be part of studies and experiments in exchange for food and board. It's... It could be worse, I guess, but it's... It could be so much better!" She mustered a fake smile. "But hey, who's going to get too upset because money is being stolen from werewolves? Got any good spirits? I'm all out."
"Why'd you want to work with werewolves in the first place?" Wilkes was well-connected and a former prefect, there were plenty of cushy assignments for skilled medics.
"My eldest brother, he got bitten while travelling. He was adventurous... too much I guess. After that... he didn't want to inflict himself on the family. Grandmother and Father were harsh on him. He left for central Europe. I had hoped that if we found a cure here..." Her shrug was one of defeat. "Your cousin is in my baby brother's year, I think. With Evan Rosier Junior. Heard he's a gryff."
Bellatrix nodded. The Wilkes were an odd bunch, an even mix of Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and, like the Travers and Weasleys, they tended to have kids by the half-dozen. But Bellatrix wasn't interested in chatting about Sirius.
"I know a guy who might be able to find your brother." Voldemort hadn't hidden that he'd been negotiating with werewolves. He wanted weapons, he promised them a future in exchange. Good politics.
"You're being awfully nice, Black. What do you want?" It wasn't asked meanly, or even warily. On the contrary, Wilkes was looking at her with hope-filled eyes. "And you can call me Amanda if you want."
No doubt Wilkes was the kind of person who hugged a lot and trusted everyone who hadn't yet betrayed her. "Stay here today and show me some healing. It's my day off. And since you're in my house, you might as well call me Bella."
Light healing required years of biology and anatomy knowledge. Dark healing could drain you like nothing else. Mixing both was often the best compromise, one even the Ministry sanctioned, because sometimes you didn't know how to fix something, and just had to will it better and hope your magic was up to the task.
"Don't worry, Amanda, being a mediwitch is dead useful, you'll always have something to barter."
The blonde sneered. "Tell that to the people at Saint Mungo's. But sure. Is it emergency healing you're curious about? Could come in useful in your line of work."
Bellatrix nodded eagerly. "I can conjure a body." After she had broken her own bone so her sisters could test their healing spells, Cissy had gone to have a chat with Madam Pomfrey, convinced there had to be an easier way. "Unconscious and unresponsive, obviously, but the heart pumps and wounds look like what you'd expect."
Wilkes' eyes widened. "Oh, wow. Well, that'll make things easier."
Bellatrix had known Elmer Crabbe only as that boring old man who would ramble for hours about those beasts he bred. Not even show them to her and her sisters, just talk. Endlessly. As for her grandmother Irma, the witch had done little else than criticize Bellatrix (and everyone else, including Elmer) as Bellatrix was growing up. Not badmouthing the Crabbes and wearing the most boring, modest black dress she owned, was therefore all Bellatrix decided she owed these people tonight.
The mood was somber, with more being drunk than said. Rarely had a manor felt so stuffy and stifling. Even the magical candles looked depressed. After an hour, fed up, Bellatrix snapped her fingers for one of the house elves and stepped up on a chair. Every head in the crowded reception room turned to her as a conjured silver spoon noisily struck the crystal glass.
"To letting muggles shoot one of ours down," she said with fake cheer, "and not doing anything about it."
"Bella," Narcissa hissed, tugging at her dress. "This is a funeral."
Grumbling began to mount in the various small groups. Grandma Irma raised her glass. "Cheers," she slurred. "That's who we have become! Perhaps it's a good thing that my brother isn't here to see it!"
"To bad wards," Bellatrix added. "But no fear! The Ministry will pay for everything! Now all of us here know good wards must mesh with the rest of a manor's protective magics to last. So let's drink to revealing all of our protections to some merchants, who of course will never think of selling the information to highest bidder."
"Bella, what are you doing! Get down!"
"Why did the Crabbes register their Manor with the muggles in the first place?" The elderly Primrose Parkinson said, with that obnoxious loudness of the late-in-life deaf. "Why not just let the muggles believe there's nothing there? I don't pay any muggle taxes."
"Right, because it's our fault, isn't it! Father got murdered but it's like we are on trial!" Silvan Crabbe wasn't quite as drunk as his mother, but it was probably more a matter of mass than of liquid imbibed. He was restrained by a square woman not that much older than Bellatrix, doubtless his daughter.
"You live in the middle of a uninhabited Scottish moor, Madam, some of us aren't that fortunate."
"Do explain to me, Selwyn," Parkinson said impatiently, "I don't get it."
"I will tell you, Ma'am!" Goyle's cheeks were flushed from more than firewhisky. "When muggles reach our grounds, they're supposed to see a ruined graveyard, something suitably eerie and terrifying. Years ago, the land was fields as far as the eye could see. Now they're practically building in our backyard. Their construction machines are everywhere. Those who came too close to us turned back, again and again, over a period of months, but one day, new muggles came along with the workers, with photo-cameras and dogs, talking them into working, convincing them it was safe. We had to hex their machines broken. Rumors started spreading about the grounds being haunted, and muggles started coming in from everywhere. It's like they enjoyed the terror inspired by the wards. My wife even went to town, disguised as a muggle, to figure out why they wouldn't leave us alone. The muggle shop-women said the city wants to build on our land. They think they've got a right to it as it's unowned. As far as they know, it's empty land."
"Is there space enough in your manor for the Crabbes, Madam Parkinson?" Bellatrix cut in from her vantage place. "And for the Goyles too?"
She spotted Abraxas Malfoy then, and with him, Lord Voldemort, in his finest glamours. She hadn't seen them arrive. She raised her glass to them before stepping off the chair. "To vassalage! Our only hope." She almost had to shout to be heard over the rising din.
"Bellatrix, is it a riot you want? That pack over there looks ready to go tear through Derry."
Bellatrix blinked innocently at her sister. "And why would that be a bad thing?" That pack was a small cluster of witches and wizards in their late teens and early twenties, including the Crabbe and Goyle heirs.
Narcissa shivered in distaste. "It's... I wish we'd leave. This is a sordid affair. Or... let us explore. The night is beautiful. Do you have your broom?"
Bellatrix was tempted, but she craned her neck to where Voldemort and Lord Malfoy had gone. Was he making more promises, talking politics, or had those old men finally decided to do something?
"Later maybe," she muttered.
"No, I have an exam. If we don't go now, I'll get someone to apparate me back to Hogwarts."
Was that Silvan Crabbe kneeling before Malfoy? "Fine, go," Bellatrix said dismissively.
She missed the look of hurt on her sister's face. The way Narcissa's eyes narrowed at Voldemort before she stiffly hiked up her black robes and left.
Yes, Crabbe was kneeling. Malfoy glowed as streaks of magic bound him and to the stocky man. Crabbe seemed to have replaced most of his drunkenness with grim determination. Soon Goyle followed suit, awkwardly but decidedly repeating the old formulas binding a vassal to their lord.
A hand on Bellatrix's arm had her stiffen. It pulsed with now familiar dark magic. She relaxed and turned towards its owner.
"Lord Black was telling me that to raise the same kind of wards he'd put on his manor, he'd require four months, and charge ten thousand galleons," Voldemort said, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "The Wizengamot will be hard pressed to condemn Abraxas unless they agree to fund wards for, assuming my sources are correct, twenty-one manors."
"You think the light wizards will let it go?"
"Oh no. I think this is the first step to fracturing the Wizengamot. I also think that our friends over there are a few words away from causing a whole lot of trouble for our poor obliviators."
Bellatrix grinned wickedly. Her smile faded, distracted by Voldemort's grip on her. "What's bothering you, my Lord?" His magic was angry, almost burning hers, yet she could feel it wasn't directed at her.
"I'm tempted to direct our crowd of hotheads, to show them that they can take action intelligently, without endangering the statute."
His words had not answered her question, but his eyes were doing it in their stead. He was staring at Abraxas Malfoy, now surrounded by a cheering crowd, with a deceptively neutral expression. It seemed that Voldemort was fed up with hiding in the shadows.
"If aurors or obliviators come before you're done, just obliviate them. What are you afraid of?"
His grip became almost painful. Then he released her and smiled, his eyes flashing red. "Have I already told you, that after decades of being urged to be patient, you're wonderfully refreshing?"
Bellatrix tilted her neck playfully. "Feel free to tell me again."
The next two chapters will conclude this arc. After that, we'll switch to Regulus. Reviews are the best of presents^^.
