Disclaimer: Your shoelaces are untied. I bear no responsibility if you don't tie them and trip, smash your head open, and have to pay expensive medical bills. A/N: Hi--(Slytherite is, once again, dragged away by Rodolphus. Canonical-46-year-old-psychotic-fugitive-Bellatrix picks up the microphone)
"I assure you, it gives me NO pleasure whatsoever to have to explain such things to you plebeians, you muck on the boots of the world, you--"(Voldemort, from offstage, hisses "Just do it, Bella!". Bellatrix blushes and continues.) "However, I suppose I must, for it is what the Dark Lord commands, even though my humble mind is incapable of comprehending why. When I finish, all of you will be mine, to do with what I wish. Make out your wills now, say goodbye to your lovers." (She laughs maniacally.) "Speaking of lovers. Roddy dear? You had something to say to the boys and girls, didn't you?" (Rodolphus, abandoning the bound-and-gagged Slytherite, comes out on stage and joins Bellatrix)
"Yeah. Yeah, I did." (Bellatrix looks at him expectantly. He stares back at her. Finally, she rolls her eyes and hisses, "And?") "Mmkay, this chapter"
"ACT!"
"Abby Turkle--"
"PATERNOSTER!"
"Right. Paternoster. Anyway, she's naked for about half of it. Not like we care. Or anything. I mean, she dies. Later on. In chapter forty-two or something. And she's not as pretty as Bella. Nobody really is. Not like my Bella. And she dies, dammit. And--" (He becomes aware that Bellatrix has wandered away out of boredom, exasperation, and lust for Voldy.) "Something. Not like it's important. I mean, she dies. And she isn't pretty even when she's dead. Not like I'm into that kind of thing. Dead people. You perverts." (He wanders off, looking rather dazed. Slytherite re-enters, rubbing her wrists where the ropes cut into them.) Sorry about that. Probably best not to let the blood-drenched loonies narrate from now on. (I think Roddy hasn't been taking his medication.) So...yeah. Fanservice warning, although it's quite mild. (If you people start shipping Bellatrix/Abby, I will hide under my bed, gibber, and not write any new chapters for a month.)
The Plot So Far: On her first night at Hogwarts, Bellatrix establishes a fragile friendship-in-name-only with Avery, Rosier, Rodolphus, and Wilkes, meets the other Slytherin girls (Juliet, Rita, Agatha, and Evelyn), argues with them and storms out of the dormitory, decides that a nice hot bath would be a good way to relax, and discovers that Abby is already in the bath. Ooh, an idiotic cliffhanger!
In This Chapter: Baths are taken, Bellatrix is unpleasant to Abby, Bellatrix's sadistic fantasies hit a speed bump, the pseudo-romantic tension between Rodolphus and Bellatrix is played up even more, there is quite a bit of foreshadowing, and a grand time is had by all. Except for Abby.
She didn't look. It would be shameful. She was above such things, such filthy-minded things. But Paternoster screamed.
"What are you--get out--oh my God!" There would be rumors. Things would be said. Bellatrix's eyes slid open of their own accord. Paternoster wasn't in the bath yet, not quite naked, still in her underclothes. They had red spots. Red. On white. Spots. On a brassiere. She stared as if she had never seen one before, her mind shocked, detached, blank. Things might be said. What was she doing? Why was she still standing there? Shouldn't she have left as soon as she realized her mistake?
Oh Merlin. She was still there, staring, her hands hanging loosely at her sides, her eyes fixed on Paternoster's breasts. It was far, far too much. Humiliating, yes, it was humiliating. A decent young lady wouldn't do such a thing. A decent young lady would have fled the room long ago, begging for forgiveness, almost crying with shame. It dawned on her that she was feeling nothing of the sort. Nothing at all. It was an odd situation, yes, in some academic way an indecent one, one she wouldn't have chosen to put herself in. There could be no doubt about that. But she didn't care too terribly much. Paternoster was humiliated. Paternoster's round brown face was flushed, her eyes averted, her hands folded over her body. It was the expected reaction, wasn't it? But still...so ABSURD...you had to laugh, really, you did. The stupidity of it. Being embarrassed by something like that? How utterly HUMAN.
"Merlin...you have...you're wearing..." She paused to try to stifle her laughter. "Who wears something like that? Who, honestly? Who does, Paternoster?" She expected Paternoster to break into tears. Bellatrix was good, very good at what she did. She could take someone apart in seconds, if they weren't expecting it. She could blow their clever facades apart the way she killed the pigeons. And Paternoster didn't cry. She didn't. She just glared. Oh, she was angry, but she wasn't down yet. But Bellatrix wasn't angry any more, not in the slightest, this was her game, this was something she knew, the way she entertained herself on long nights. She had learned every one of little Andromeda's neuroses, she could play her like a piano. And if that didn't work, there was always physical force...she wasn't angry. She was having far too much fun.
"Stop. Just stop picking on me, Bellatrix. I-I don't want to have to report you." Almost the same thing Umbridge had said. Did they all take it out of books? Were they too scared, too puzzled, in too much mental uproar to think of something better? Or were they all just stupid and unimaginative? Stupid, they WERE all stupid, the minute one intelligent person came along they were all of a dither. She could use that. It meant they might respect her when the bruises faded.
"Report me. Squeal to all the lovely kind teachers. I won't stop you, will I? I'll just wait. And then, Paternoster, later..." Paternoster looked away again, to hide her tears, her upper lip visibly trembling. Bellatrix pressed her advantage a little bit farther, stepping further into the room, towering over the crouching Paternoster, smiling like a cat playing with a bird, a pigeon, whose wings it had already ripped off.
"Please stop being so mean to me." Check and mate. Paternoster's voice was empty, flat, and Bellatrix knew she had won. Saying anything more wouldn't change things, it would be just a formality, they both knew it. There was really no need to hurt her anymore, was there? She would obey Bellatrix from now on, she would avoid her if she could, she knew she was beaten, didn't she? Saying anything else would be petty. It would be cruel. There was so much perverse pleasure in that.
"Stop deserving it." Paternoster's face went blank. Her hands shaking like a frail old woman's, she silently put her robes back on, put up her perky black pigtails, and left, shrinking apologetically as she passed Bellatrix. Beaten. Broken. Pigeon. She would be Bellatrix's new pigeon. And she would break again and again, every night for seven years, until there was nothing left to break but a shell. And then that would shatter too.
Imagine it. So beautiful. Bellatrix pulled off her robes, using one foot to turn on the silver tap, glancing offhandedly at her reflection in the mirror. There was a thin red line on her left cheekbone, from one of the trees on the way to Hogwarts, no doubt, raw and tender and oddly beautiful against her skin. She ran a finger over it, letting herself notice every little detail, the heat and numbness as she pressed her finger into it, the dull tingling ache as she pulled it away, the tiny droplets of blood that bubbled up as she drew her fingernail across the scratch. It hurt, oh yes, but she didn't let herself recoil, it was the work of a second, really, to master the pain, let someone like Paternoster have the tears and the weakness. Paternoster would cry, she would cry and she would beg, there would be slashes improving her delicate porcelain doll face, the trouble with porcelain was that it smashed so easily.
Imagine Paternoster as a doll, blank-faced, unknowing, beautiful and mindless. Imagine her cold inhuman flesh, imagine snapping her fragile fingers one by one, bloodless, boneless, offering no resistance, imagine rubbing the paint off her dull stupid smile until her face fades away leaving nothing but the knowledge that it was there in the first place. And then fling her to the floor, watch her shatter into a million pieces, with no blood, no guts, nothing but porcelain all the way through, far too beautiful and clean to be human, and then pick up the shard that used to be her smile, and see that she has no soul, no mind, no meaning to her existence. It was all a colossal mistake. She should never have been created in the first place, dolled up and painted like a real person, and now they see the forgery that she was all along.
Like Narcissa. Bellatrix's eyes flickered open suddenly, she was jolted out of her happy fantasy world, the thought was a disturbing intrusion into something that had been so smooth and so sweet. It was stupid, though, Narcissa had a soul, she wasn't a doll, she was fully human. Paternoster wasn't, she had to be a Mudblood, the clumsy way she had put her robes on made that obvious enough, she was hardly as human as Narcissa, was she? As alive? Magic and the soul, they were connected, were they not? And Narcissa was a pureblood...she was thinking nonsense. Better not to drive herself insane with meaningless babble. The bathtub was almost overflowing...she turned off the tap, sliding into the water, wincing at the heat. Closing her eyes. Trying to bring those pleasant fantasies back into her head. But it was no good, was it, she couldn't bring herself back to that happy place, thinking of Narcissa had ruined everything, made her fantasies seem sick and twisted. But they weren't, really. They just didn't...didn't need to involve sweet little Narcissa. Sweet, innocent, pure little Narcissa, the picture of naivete, virtue, saintliness, who nobody would dare touch...she was off-limits. But Paternoster was fair game, wasn't she? Paternoster, who cowered and groveled like a puppy that had just been kicked...
Oh, it was no use, she couldn't get the thoughts back. There was no point trying. She finished her bath quickly, only running her damp hands through her hair once or twice in a token effort. It hadn't helped, it hadn't done a thing, she could feel it, she was as tense and angry as she had been before, what a waste of time. She dressed just as quickly, turning to leave, and...caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't seeing things, no, there was something, wasn't there...A fly was buzzing around the corner of the room, circling and swooping and dipping. It looked addled, insane, deluded, as if flying in circles would eventually get it somewhere. Why not put it out of its misery...would it know it was about to die? Could flies feel fear? Bellatrix wasn't sure. Smiling, the tension and worry in her mind draining away, she raised her wand. There was a spark, and then a cloud of acrid smoke...
It was quite late when she got back to the Slytherin dormitory. The green lights were dimmed, most of the students had gone to bed. There was a fifth year couple talking quietly in one of the corners, but they took no notice of her, and in turn she ignored them. There were only two other people, both of whom she recognized at once.
"Bella." Lestrange was slumped in one of the arm chairs, looking for all the world as if he had been sitting there staring at the door, waiting for her. He really was obsessed, wasn't he?
"Don't call me that." He nodded as if he had been expecting it.
"Agatha wanted to talk to you." Bellatrix's eyes flickered to the waif in pajamas sitting next to him. Agatha Jugson was smiling uncertainly, innocently, her cute childish face free of malice or dishonesty. Lestrange was resting his arm casually on her shoulder, like an elder brother might do to his beloved little sister. She had obviously taken to him already, and the warm smile he was giving her was completely genuine. Probably she was some sort of replacement in his mind for Rabastan, like a replacement goldfish, satisfying his needs to protect and adore and cherish like a puppy. It was almost funny.
"Did she now?" Agatha's face brightened, the shyness disappearing.
"Miss Black? Evelyn isn't angry with you any more, Miss Black. Rodolphus and I talked her out of it, he says you were really nice to him on the way here and I think you were both just tired. You were just tired, right?" Bellatrix glared at her. Just tired? So she hadn't meant what she said, had she? Oh, no, it had all been a colossal mistake...idiots. She could have handled that herself, oh yes. Did they really think she needed their help? She was eleven years old...not a child...it was so PATRONIZING of them...but they had, after all, meant well. And they might have kept her out of detention, as if she couldn't serve, as if she was ashamed of what she had said and wanted to take it back or at least to avoid any punishment. They thought they had meant well, hadn't they?
"Oh. Well...thank you for that. And next time, don't lie." They nodded, looking unsurprised by the thought that there would be a next time. Willing to bail her out of whatever she got herself into. What nice people. What a nice tool to have. "Oh, and...goodnight, Lestrange"
"Call me Rodolphus."
"No. Not now." He looked hurt for a second, then nodded.
"Okay. 'Night, Bella, Agatha." Agatha smiled, hopping out of the chair.
"Goodnight, Rodolphus. Sweet dreams." Merlin.
The girls' dormitory was dark when they walked in. Juliet and Rita were snoring. (Juliet was squeezing a toy unicorn with a blank, vapid smile.) In minutes, Agatha had joined them, curled up at the foot of her bed. Bellatrix had changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed before she realized that Evelyn was lying awake, staring up at the ceiling.
"You're back."
"You sound so shocked."
"Where'd you go?"
"Oh, I defended the bath from Mudbloods, swatted a few flies, and put up with your adorable little cousin. All in a day's work. Why?" Evelyn was silent for a moment before she answered.
"...Sorry."
"What?"
"About what I said. Sorry. I don't hate your family."
"I'd have to kill you if you did." The flippant tone surprised even Bellatrix. It wasn't a joke...she meant it.
"Truce?"
"Checkmate."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Evelyn was silent after that, leaving Bellatrix alone with her thoughts.
...it would be Narcissa's first night without her. Poor little Narcissa, with only Andromeda to take care of her, without her Bella to protect her. How depressing...
...Lestrange was obsessed with her, wasn't he? What did he want? He was so...intent on her...she didn't need a right-hand man, did she? But she liked him, that was the irritating thing...
...the fly had burned...like Paternoster would burn...she would beg for mercy...oh, poor girl, your life is ruined...imagine holding her hand in a fire until she screamed.
Bellatrix smiled as she drifted off to sleep. It had been a wonderful, wonderful night...
A/N: You know, I've had dreams that seem perfectly fine, up until someone's head blows up or Santa Claus starts tap-dancing naked or something, and I wake up with a vague feeling that my brain has just been violated.
The very thought of Bellatrix/Abby, I think, would qualify as brain violation. Err...no. Just no.
RodolphusxAgatha might be kind of cute, though.
This chapter was, amazingly, the first thing I planned. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, all of the brilliant writing you have seen so far was a lead-up to Bellatrix and Abby fighting in a bathroom.
That's kind of sad.
Next Chapter: E.T. Phone Home! (Or something.)
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Sheograph: You know, if I had some rock-hard willpower, I would be able to update more frequently. You should air-mail me some of that :P
Reviews will be rewarded with popcorn, as always. Failure to review will be punished in a creative fashion involving Bellatrix, a walrus, and three pieces of broccoli.
