Château de Aurilles,
Annecy, France,
1958
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Three girls sit on the grass, in the massive garden located in the Northwestern part of the estate.
"It is. It belongs to the family of Nypmhalidae and it's called...," seven year old Andromeda explains to her younger sister Narcissa who listens in rapt attention.
Bellatrix Black is only half listening to her sisters, her gaze fixated on the little insect. It flutters on the lawn, it's crimson wings starkly contrasting the vivid green.
It's fascinating to watch, Bella muses.
"It's wing is broken," little Cissy observes out loud.
Its forewing is indeed broken, the wafer thin appendage twitching uselessly as the insect tries to take flight. A blade of grass has punctured the yellow stripe running along the border of the wing, further disabling the butterfly.
"Do you think it's in pain?"
"It must be. It's wing is broken."
"Let's take it to Father. Perhaps he can heal it."
Easily the gentlest of them all, six year old Narcissa slips one tiny finger into the grass and dislodges the blade and with a deftness often absent among younger children, she scoops the butterfly into her palms.
"He can," Andromeda agrees. Their father Cygnus is rather adept at healing charms. The three of them peer at the insect now cradled safely in Cissy's hands.
It still flails pathetically, unable to fly and unlike her sisters, Bellatrix cannot find it in herself to sympathise with the creature. She strokes the delicate wing and her fingers tighten their hold on it.
Poor weak little thing.
She tears the wing off completely.
Narcissa screams and drops her hands. "Why did you do that?"
Andromeda's hands fly to her mouth and she looks at her older sister for the very first time in undisguised horror.
"It was beautiful," Bella says to her youngest sister who has tears in her eyes, her little face red. "But it's a shame it was weak and there is no beauty in weakness, Cissy. Remember that."
Black Manor,
London, England,
1960
Bellatrix traces the familiar route from her bedroom to her Uncle Orion's study with a sense of growing anticipation.
Her mother Druella gives her a disapproving glance from the corner of her eye as she passes through the living room and rounds the corridor that leads to the study. Torches along the wall flicker in the passageway; their flame casting long shadows that play tricks on the mind, especially after dark.
Bellatrix knows that she should be in bed but when Kreacher came in and announced that her Uncle had sent for her, she simply had to go.
She knocks on the rosewood door and waits. Although she admires her uncle, she knows better than to barge in without permission. No one is allowed in here unless her Uncle allows it.
"Enter."
The last time she'd been summoned was nearly three months ago. The study is just as she remembers.
A great mahogany desk sits in the centre of the room, it's legs intricately carved to resemble gargoyles. The wall behind the desk is lined with books from floor to ceiling and the drapes have been drawn across the large window which opens towards the Southern part of the grounds, overlooking the lake. The sheepskin carpet under her bare feet is just as thick and soft as it was the last time.
Everything is the same.
Save for the man bleeding on the carpet.
Clothes rumpled, hair disheveled, and shoulders hunched in, he truly makes for a pitiful image.
There are two parallel trails of blood running down his cheek, as though two nails had been dragged across his face at once and the way he shields his left side indicates a sharp blow from a blunt object.
She does not recognise him and she doesn't bother to address him. Instead, she nods at the third occupant in the room, the one looming over the grovelling man.
"Good evening, Uncle."
Orion Black is leaning against the desk, his very person impeccable despite the late hour. Tall, broad shouldered and wrapped in tailored edges, he cuts an intimidating figure although his posture is completely at ease. His infamous cane rests on the desk next to his hand and Bella immediately zeroes in on the handle, a silver serpent head.
There is blood coating the fangs, tiny twin silver blades dipped in crimson. Suddenly, she is reminded of the butterfly from nearly two years ago.
"Take a seat, Bella," he commands, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "I think it's time for a little lesson."
Obediently, she sits down in the armchair next to the fireplace.
"I'd like you to meet Monsieur Trémaux. He manages or more correctly, managed our business affairs in France. Until recently, I was under the impression that he was one of the finest gentlemen in our employ." Uncle Orion looks down at the man as though he were vermin or worse... muggle.
"Imagine my surprise when I discovered that he's been passing confidential details to Mr. Devereaux in exchange for generous compensation. Over the last two months, his actions have cost me nearly fourteen million galleons."
It is a common infarction, not at all unheard of amongst their circle.
"Now since I am a man of principle, I'm not entirely without mercy. I told dear Trémaux here that if he can tell me whyI'm displeased with him, I will pardon him for his transgressions. He's having a spot of trouble in arriving at the right answer."
The man in question shrinks even lower. "Lord B-Black please... I—"
"I will ask you one last time," Orion says, his voice deceptively soft. "What did you do that was wrong?"
"I d-don't know... please, I d-didn't mean—"
Quicker than lightening, the cane whistles through the air and strikes the man's right leg with a sickening crunch. The femur breaks from the impact and when Trémaux howls in torment, even Bella is not able to hold back a wince.
"Bella, ma fille, tell me what you think."
She does not hesitate before answering. "You're upset because Monsieur Trémaux betrayed you, Uncle." She knows she is correct even before she notices the satisfied gleam in her uncle's eyes.
"Precisely." Uncle Orion looks down at Trémaux . "As dear Bella rightly pointed out, I'm displeased because you betrayed me and not because you accepted a bribe from Mr. Devereaux."
"I d-didn't mean to!"
Orion's grey eyes turn frigid, flashing dangerously at Trémaux's words. "See that's where you're wrong again. You didmean to. What you didn't mean for was to get caught. You made a choice. Cheating is a choice. Instead of choosing to remaining loyal, you chose to betray me."
With a malicious smile, he taps the man's broken leg with his cane, earning another pathetic mewl from him.
"Bella, what did we learn today?"
"Mistakes can be forgiven, disloyalty cannot. You are either completely loyal, or not at all."
"So in light of this, would it be fair on my part to pardon this man?"
Bellatrix spares the cowering man a glance and then at her uncle.
"No." There is no doubt in her mind when she answers. She is old enough to understand that the offence itself is insignificant, worth little attention considering the Black vault is almost limitless. Fourteen million gallons is a trifle.
No, the real crime here is something else entirely.
Betrayal.
"And why is that?"
"Because disloyalty doesn't deserve mercy. There is no turning back once you have made the choice to betray someone."
Uncle Orion smiles and Bella can tell he is proud of her. He dismisses her after that.
The next morning when Bella comes to her uncle's study, the bloodstains on the carpet are gone and so is Trémaux.
The Great Hall,
Hogwarts,
1962
"Black, Bellatrix!"
Now eleven years old, Bella tosses her long curly hair over her shoulder and makes her way to the stool where Professor McGonagall is waiting with the Sorting Hat. She squares her shoulders and stares straight ahead, ignoring the hushed whispers from her fellow students and firmly repeats her Aunt Walburga's words: Tu es meilleur qu'eux.
The crowd of the other first years parts for her as it rightfully should. She is Bellatrix Black after all. She sits on the stool and no sooner has the hat brushed her head, it's decision resonates through the Great Hall.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Said house breaks into applause as she strides to the Slytherin table. She spots many familiar faces at the over there: Amycus and Alecto Carrow in the second year, Luc Rosier another first year.
Bellatrix walks past the empty seats and stops in front of the prefect Owen Bulstrode. She crooks an eyebrow at the Fifth year boy, her message perfectly clear.
There is a beat and then another before the boy gets up. She occupies the seat and looks at the older students, eyes lingering on each one, taunting them to utter a word of protest.
Nobody dares. Because they know. And those who don't... they will soon enough.
Slytherin Common Room,
Hogwarts, 1964
Bellatirx is thirteen when she snatches the air from Celestine Flint's lungs.
She flicks her wand and the older girl lets out a cut off gasp and crumples to her knees, desperately clutching her throat.
She watches as the girl writhes on the floor in silent agony, her hands are wrapped around her throat, mouth open but not a sound escapes. Celestine's eyes fill with tears that fall quickly.
The entire Slytherin Commom Room is deathly still, all students frozen as the horrifying situation unfolds before them. Not one of them tries to come to the girl's aid. They are smarter than that.
Bella flicks her wand again when she's satisfied. She prowls towards Flint who scrambles backward until her back is against the wall. The girl whimpers when Bella crouches down in front of her, hands immediately coming up to shield her face.
Bellatrix clucks her tongue in warning and Celestine lowers her hands. She's trembling, her shoulders shaking from the sobs that threaten to break through.
"Now, now. Be a good girl and quiet down. We don't want to make a scene, do we?" Bella croons.
Her voice carries out clearly through the stillness of the Common Room. The flames crackle in the fireplace, the only other sound in the room apart from the muffled, choked up cries Celestine is desperately trying to suppress.
Bella tilts the girl's face up using the tip of her wand. And just because she's feeling particularly savage, she twists one hand in Celestine's long hair and tugs brutally, smirking when the girl cries out in pain. "Now do you want to try that again?"
Celestine's hand is shaking as she slides it into her robe pocket and pulls the item out, dropping it into Bella's outstretched palm.
A single sapphire set in gold, hanging from a simple gold chain. A family heirloom, goblin made just like most jewellery belonging to the Blacks.
"I'm... I'm—" the girl tries, truly she tries to speak but whether it is terror or the sensation of air newly returned to her lungs, one cannot be sure.
"I'm— I'm sorry. Please." She breaks at the last word and bursts into tears, sobs wracking her slight frame.
"Shh. It's alright, it's alright. I know you won't do it again. Will you?"
Eyes widening in terror, Celestine frantically shakes her head, still firmly pressed against the wall and Bella's wand dangerously close to her face.
"Good."
Bella turns around and backs away from the girl and turns to the remaining students who flinch back. "So as you all can see, stealing is bad. Very bad. Am I clear?"
Silence.
"I said, AM I CLEAR?"
Unlike her parents and her sisters, Bella had failed to grasp the concept of subtlety. She has always favoured a more... volatile temperament.
A scattered chorus of yes echoes through the room, one first year boy going as far as to squeak out a meek yes ma'am.
"What's going on here?" All eyes whirl towards the entrance where Professor Horace Slughorn had just entered.
The Professor surveys the room, taking in the scant students huddled into chairs with heads bent over homework that had just been abandoned, the crying fourth year girl against the wall and the lone third year student standing in the middle of the Common Room.
"Miss Flint? Are you alright?"
Celestine makes a valiant attempt to dry her tears, breath hitching when the waterworks won't stop and all eyes turn to her once more.
"I'm—," she swallows roughly and draws in a shuddering breath. "I'm fine, Professor. I was just... just being silly."
Slughorn is not convinced, that much is apparent when he turns to the prefect. "Ms. Collins? Perhaps you'd like to explain?"
Collins startles at being called and looks at her Head of House, then at Bella, then towards Celestine and finally back at Slughorn.
"Nothing's wrong, Professor. It's all fine. Celestine's just upset about something at home."
Still unconvinced but willing to leave it at that, Slughorn nods curtly. "Very well. Miss Flint, please collect yourself. As for the rest of you, I suggest you retire for the night. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Professor," Bellatrix replies.
Half turned in the doorway, Slughorn glimpsed at her and something flickered in his expression. Then he was gone.
The tension in the room dissipates gradually with hushed conversation among students. Bellatrix makes her way to the tables near the staircase and drops into the chair opposite the only other person sitting at the table.
The blonde haired girl steadfastly ignores Bella, turning the page of her Herbology textbook with exaggerated purpose.
Bellatrix clears her throat pointedly and the younger girl spares her a terse glance.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"She should have known better, Cissy."
Narcissa Black closes her book and glares at her but Bellatrix only smirks and slides the necklace across the table. "You're welcome, little sister."
Narcissa reluctantly accepts her necklace back from Bella and fastens the it around her neck. "You can't go around hurting people. It's wrong."
For Narcissa, Bellatrix will go to all lengths. She is her baby sister after all.
"Is it? Besides, you really like that necklace, don't you? And it never hurts to remind someone of their rightful place."
"No one will like you."
"I have no interest in being liked."
"They will fear you."
Bellatrix's lips curl into a feral smile. Her mind wanders to Celestine Flint on the floor, begging for mercy, and then to the other students who had been rooted to their spot, terrified to move and then back further to the day she'd held Trémaux's fate in her hands. The realisation that people were afraid of Bella hadn't dissuaded her.
Quite the contrary.
It had damn near exhilarating. That power was a heady thing and now that she'd tasted it once, she wanted more.
So much more.
"Perfect."
The Great Hall,
Hogwarts, 1965
HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED STRIKES AGAIN!
Bellatrix reads the line over and over again. She doesn't bother with the rest of the article for she's far too fixated on the name in the headlines or more accurately, the lack of name.
The photograph in the paper is a blurry partial profile of the man in question with just his arm captured in the frame, showing a pale hand that wields a bone white wand.
Articles about this wizard's growing exploits have been increasing in the Daily Prophet, but not one of them ever mention the Dark wizard's name.
"Why won't they say his name?" She asks Rodolphus.
"Because names have power and people are afraid."
For the first time since she can remember, Bellatrix feels awe unfurl in her chest.
What sort of power must this wizard possess that an entire country is wary to even utter his name? This is power she decides. Raw and undisguised that is beyond words and meaning.
This man who was in fact not human at all, was more than just another mere dark wizard.
He was the Dark Lord.
Although she didn't know it yet, three years later, she would kneel for him and accept his mark. She would wear it like a badge of honour and pledge her unswerving loyalty.
For as she had once learned, you are either completely loyal, or not at all.
XII Grimmauld Place,
London, England,
1972
"You cruel, sadistic bitch! You had no right to lay a finger on him!" Andromeda snarls, even before she is completely out of the fireplace. She grabs Bellatrix by the front of her robes and slams her against the wall, wand digging into her older sister's throat.
Bellatrix cackles even when the wand bites into her neck harder.
"Relax, little sister. I was just playing." She drawls. So perhaps she'd gotten carried away and now Ted Tonks was in St. Mungo's with multiple injuries and broken bones.
She'd seen her sister's mudblood plaything that morning in Diagon Alley. Was she simply not supposed to torment him?
"You hurt him just to get to me!"
"Don't flatter yourself," she hisses but only because there is truth in what Andromeda just said. So maybe she had deliberately crossed a line but so what? "It was a harmless little game."
"Game?" Andromeda roughly shoves away, exhaling in disbelief. "You nearly killed the man I love as part of your bloody game?"
Love? Bella had assumed it a was nothing more than a passing whim, a summer fling at the most.
"Don't be absurd, Andromeda. You can't love a mudblood. Have you lost your mind?"
"Don't fight, please don't fight," Narcissa pleads with her older sisters but her words fall on deaf ears.
"I'm not the one who worships a murdering, bigoted fanatic. Are you sure I'm the one who's lost her mind?"
"Careful now An—"
"I am through with your games, with you and this entire fucking family!"
For a second, Bella sees red. "You would really choose that filthy mudblood, over your own FAMILY?"
"Ted Tonks is my family!" Andromeda shouts back. "He is the only family I want!"
Narcissa rears back like she's been slapped.
Andromeda draws herself up to her full height and stares her down. "He's asked me to marry him and I am going to. If you know what's good for you, you will stay away from us."
"Or what?"
"Or I will kill you, sister."
Bellatrix does not doubt her for a second. Despite being a muggle loving fool, Andromeda is a Black after all.
Andromeda leaves the house for good that night. Narcissa shuts herself up in her room and weeps but Bella does not mock her for it. Narcissa was closer to Andromeda than Bella ever was.
While her youngest sister cries her heart out, Bella goes to the family tree tapestry that hangs in the drawing room. Her wand hovers over the face and name inscribed in elegant letters: Andromeda Black.
"Incendio."
Casa delle Stelle,
Tuscany, Italy,
1974
It is a well known fact that the Yule Masquerade is the highlight of the season for the Wizarding elite of Europe.
It was the biggest event of the year, hosted each year by a different family where one was in constant pursuit to outdo their predecessor. Debauchery and sin lurked beneath the surface, shrouded by glamour and limitless wealth.
All those who attended were well aware that these events were not without their share of... incidents.
Of course like most other aspects, no one could surpass the Blacks.
Bellatrix accepts the flute of champagne from Rodolphus and blatantly ignores the way her mother's interest peaks.
She knows that her parents are hoping she will marry Rodolphus Lestrange. Truthfully, she does not find the idea as repulsive as she'd once imagined. And if she's being honest, he is a sight better to look at compared to his brother Rabastan.
She doesn't love him but that's not important. Although it is strange, even to herself, she has come to think of him as her friend. There is an understanding, a mutual respect and more than a few shared interests between them, she broods, thinking about the Mark on both their forearms.
A horrified scream, more biting than the harsh winter breeze slices through the crowd.
Bella shares a glance with Rodolphus who shrugs in response. Mildly curious, she heads towards the source of the commotion and stops short.
Benedict Rowle is on his back on the coarse stone floor, hands firmly pressed to his mouth. His mother is kneeling next to his prone form.
"My love, let me me see," she coaxes him as he sits up.
After more pleading from his mother, Rowle lowers his hands and the entire crowd gathered around the two of them gasps, some even backing away.
Bellatrix discovered that she had a penchant for the Cruciatus Curse when she pledged herself to the Dark Lord. But this, even she has to admit is... creative.
Where there should have been a mouth, there is... nothing. Only smooth skin from his nose that continues into a weak chin. The boy makes a wounded noise, his whining firmly trapped in the back of his throat.
He looks pathetic. Bellatrix finds it hilarious.
Madam Rowle's eyes are blazing with hatred as she snarls at the boy standing a few paces away. "How coul—"
"Your son should have held his tongue."
Sirius Black slips his hands into his pockets and stares down at mother and son. He does not shrink away from her ire, nor does he raise his voice. Though only fourteen years old, he meets her glare with an impassive one of his own, stone cold fury reflected in his silver eyes. Finally, it is Madam Rowle who drops her gaze and looks to her son instead.
Together they rise to their feet, Madam Rowle still holding him up. By that time, the hostess has also arrived at the spot where they take in the situation.
Walburga Black only raises an eyebrow at Benedict's condition in what can be perceived as mild amusement.
Madam Rowle sputters indignantly at Lady Black. "I demand you do something about this. Your son—"
"My son what?" Walburga interjects smoothly, her perfect brow inching higher, challenging her to continue.
In that moment, it does not matter that Sirius Black is a Gryffindor and a blood traitor, or that Sirius and Walburga haven't had a decent conversation in nearly three years.
Nobody has the right to question any of them, especially not with an audience and certainly not in their own home. Madam Rowle is not foolish enough to neglect that and dips her chin in grudging submission.
"Nothing, Lady Black."
And just like that, the party continues. Guests return to their gossip about who bought which villa where, who lost or made how many millions and who shagged who when. House elves appear with firewhiskey and champagne and the music resumes.
Just another Saturday evening.
Whilst a few of the guests' attention is on Benedict and his mother, Bella looks at her cousin in a new light, as though she's seeing him for the first time. The absence of a wand in his hand when he'd cursed Rowle hadn't escaped her notice either.
Childhood indifference had turned into mutual loathing after Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor and made friends with other blood traitors and even mudbloods.
That night, Bella, Narcissa, Walburga and Cygnus are conversing in the living room once the guests have dispersed when Sirius returns from wherever he'd taken off to.
"You shouldn't have cursed that boy," Walburga calls out, stopping him at the base of the staircase. But she is not angry. No. For the first time in nearly five years, there is something akin to pride in her voice despite her contradictory words.
"He shouldn't have talked about my friend that way or called her that name."
Bellatrix rolls her eyes. Of course he was defending that redheaded mudblood.
But despite this revelation, she can't help but wonder if her stalwart Gryffindor cousin is truly all that different from the rest of their family.
Council of Magical Law,
Ministry of Magic,
1981
"Bellatrix Lestrange, you are charged with the First-degree murder of forty seven muggles, twenty three civilian wizards and nine aurors. You are charged with first-degree assault of ten muggles and most recently, the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse on Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. How do you plead?"
Heavy shackles bound her wrists to the chair and additional cuffs immobilised her feet. Two aurors stood on either side with strict orders to neutralise her at the slightest hint of suspicious movement. Bellatrix is not deterred by that.
She lounges in the chair like a queen on her throne. When she answers, she does not look at Crouch. Instead, she raises her head, looks straight at Augusta Longbottom and smirks.
"Your son begged me to end his life, you know?" Affecting a mocking cry, she continues. "Kill me, please just kill me!"
Frank Longbottom had done nothing of the sort and neither had his wife Alice. They hadn't talked and they certainly hadn't begged. They had screamed, yes. But they didn't beg. Not once.
If she'd been a better person, she might've respected them. But she wasn't, so their steely resolve had only angered her. It was a blow to her pride after all, that the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange had failed to break someone. It was ultimately this realisation that drove Bella into a such a mad rage that she subjected them to a fate worse than death. She hadn't been able to break their will, so she'd shattered their minds instead.
Augusta doesn't rise to the bait. The only sign that she even heard Bellatrix is the white knuckled grip she has on her purse.
"How do you plead?" Crouch asks again, sharper this time.
"Guilty."
Unlike the other cowards who came before her, she does not plead innocent or claim she was under the influence of the Imperious curse.
"Do you have anything else to say?"
"My name is Bellatrix Lestrange. I have killed, tortured and maimed in the Dark Lord's name. I regret nothing."
Pin drop silence.
"I am the Dark Lord's most faithful servant and have faith in my master. I am certain that one day, he will return. Let this serve as a warning to all of you. When he returns, for he will, everyone who dared to stand against him, shall bear the brunt of his undivided wrath. Everyone who turned disloyal shall be punished. Severely."
When she says this, she turns towards Lucius Malfoy who looks everywhere except at her.
Bartemius Crouch's voice is absolute when he announces the verdict. "Bellatrix Lestrange, for your crimes against civilians, the Ministry and for your role in the War, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.
She throws her head back and laughs, a high, manic and almost deranged sound and several members present shiver.
"So be it."
Azkaban,
Island in the North Sea,
31st August, 1993
The woman thrashes in the icy grey waters, struggling to stay afloat even as the torrential onslaught of rain continues without mercy.
Twelve years in a maximum security cell with no sunlight, dozens of Dementors gliding around the island and scarps for sustenance have worn away at her appearance. She used to be regally beautiful, but now her luscious dark hair has greyed heavily, sunken cheeks and face gaunt, she is little more than skin and bones. But the crazed, insane gleam in her grey eyes is brighter than ever.
She fights against the current, fingers stretched out to grasp the edge of the jagged rock that is so, so close. Her hand slips once, twice before it finds purchase on the slick rock. She hauls herself up onto the rock, not caring when it cuts into her palms and soles.
Her soaked clothes cling to her skin, the water has matted her hair and drips down her back, cold seeping deep into her bones. She is shivering, parched and starving but she doesn't care.
She lays there on the wet rock, staring up at the starless sky and breathing heavily.
In a rare burst of clarity, Bellatrix vividly recollects that day from all those years ago of three little girls and a butterfly. She finally remembers the name of that creature.
Mourning Cloak.
It is a fitting name one has to admit and not just for the insect.
Oh no. This name is far better suited for the wicked girl who grew into a ruthlessly vicious woman with more blood on her hands than anyone could've ever predicted. The woman who left death, mourning and tragedy in her wake, creating a trail of bodies that only multiplied throughout her reign of terror.
Her very soul was tainted crimson.
She was Bellatrix Lestrange; wild, mad, zealot, destroyer, torturer and killer.
She was hellfire contained.
But above all, she was finally free.
Whoo! Can I just say how much you love you guys?
I had a bloody fantastic time writing this chapter. It's probably one of the most intense things I've ever written.
As you all probably know, I've always been drawn to the Black family. In my opinion, they are a lot more nuanced than simply black and white (pun intended).
I don't think Bellatrix always hated Andromeda. Same goes for Walburga and Sirius. She wasn't a good mother (obviously), so I tried to stick to my characterisation of her while I wrote that scene in Tuscany. It was ultimately her prejudice that forced them apart.
Also, the different estates and mansions mentioned in this chapter are a subtle nod towards the immeasurable wealth of the Blacks.
And for those of you who might be wondering, Orion's cane is the same one that Lucius Malfoy used. That was a bit of imaginative leeway on my part.
Anyway, that's all from me. Review and tell me what you think.