Standard disclaimer applies. I do not own Harry Potter

Chapter 4

Faith in a Cause

Blackness. Death, despair.

From beyond the small sphere that she inhabited, the radius which no one dare cross, she could hear people shouting. What a ruckus they were making! Didn't they understand that the Dark Lord didn't like people raising their voices in his house? They would be punished.

Punishment under the Dark Lord came as a Killing Curse if he was merciful and as a Crucio if he was not. She herself had several scars on her back from bearing the brunt of his rage. However, she was too valuable to him – far too entertaining – to be discarded like the rest of this trash. She would survive, but not without scars to show for her disobedience.

They cacophony grew louder. She stirred from her potion-induced haze and frowned. The Dark Lord would not be pleased, and would punish all of them. If they didn't learn how to behave themselves, then she wouldn't be responsible for the consequences. Order was the only thing that mattered – the sole reason for their domination. They were organized and working for a common goal, unlike those fools, the Order of the Phoenix, who were all swayed by individual emotions.

It was a futile attempt anyway. The Order may be headed by Dumbledore, but the old fool was senile – and had been for quite a while – and unable to lead a successful resistance against the might of the Death Eaters. Already, the Order had lost several valuable members – she remembered a particularly satisfying family of three whose father had been spying for the Order. The way the mother had screamed when they had burned her alive…

But now was not the time to think about the intricate delicacies of taking revenge upon your enemies. She was in charge here, and even though it had been Rowle who the Dark Lord had appointed to ensure their safety, she was still inadvertently responsible for the lives in this room. Not the trash – they were dispensable – but the cream of the society, the ones who kept the war effort funded. If the Ministry – or what was left of that corrupt institution – found out their little hiding nest and took some of their wealthier members under arrest, well then, they could see an effective end to another source of funding. The Dark Lord would not be pleased then, even if she offered to fill in the missing gaps herself. The Lestrange vault was rapidly thinning, and Rodolphus, fool that he was, was far more interested in retaining his wealth and becoming a fat, wealthy old baron rather than using his money for a good blood-cause. The Black vault had been closed to her since her wedding day, except for her sizeable dowry, and that too had been expended upon war effort. Who knew how much it cost to keep a bunch of unworthy rats fed?

She had often suggested wiping them out, simply abandoning them to the elements, scornfully dismissing their potential, but the Dark Lord was patient. He knew that the heavy bulk-work could be taken care of by these vermin, and that his favorites, the more important members of his society, could concentrate on more pressing and delicate matters. Sometimes, just for a little fun, he sent his favorite, but she was much more exciting, more vivacious, when she was by him, and that was where she was kept for the better part of his time.

Her eyes, hooded with heavy, exquisite lids, swept over the room, perfectly formed mouth forming a sneer at the motley medley of upper-class and barely acceptable. She could see Lucius, her own brother-in-law, sullying himself with the likes of Greyback. How he went with that body to her sister, she did not know. If she was Narcissa, she would make him stand out in his own lawn and scrub himself clean before she allowed him to enter her house.

She would have been Narcissa, if he had his way. But that was a story for another time.

Her dark eyes roved the room, searching for her own husband. She finally located him, leaning on the upper balcony, looking down upon this unruly crowd with distaste. She had to give him this – Rodolphus had taste. He may be an absolute pansy, but he had something resembling a brain, and could at least distinguish between the true purebloods and the trash that was littering the floor as of now.

She sauntered up the wide marble stairway, sliding her hand along the ice-cold banister. Only the truly worthy were allowed up on the first floor. The filthier elements of the Dark Lord's army stayed put on the ground like the dogs they were. The Dark Lord himself inhabited the second and topmost floor when he was present, but due to the fact that his current location was hidden from everyone, including herself, the highest level of the mansion was empty.

Rodolphus turned to look at her as she approached him, eyes flashing with excitement. He had been the one who had been pleased when their engagement was announced. He could not resist, after all – she was startlingly beautiful. Even now, when Bella was approaching thirty, her hair still had the same luxuriant shine, her face the same haughty pride, and her demeanor showed signs of the strict upbringing that had been necessary for her. He had been a lucky man to catch Bellatrix Black, even if she despised him.

The hatred that Bella harbored for her husband was unfortunately partly his fault and partly by default. He was, physically, not unattractive, with strong Easter European features and sharp, angular edges, intimidating and yet inviting. His wit, too, was acceptable – at least he knew how to differentiate between sarcasm and normalcy most of the time, which was more than could be said for most of their acquaintances. He was a pureblood of the highest order – which was expected. Cygnus wouldn't allow his precious Black daughter to be thrown away with some poor pureblood trash. She was far too valuable for that.

In terms of monetary funds too, Rodolphus was more than competent. His family came from old money, like hers did. He was the elder brother, which meant that he would inherit most of the estate. The sidelines, the business transactions, would be handed over to his younger brother, Rabastan, and both of them would continue to expand their family's empire.

Rodolphus had everything that her colleagues looked for in potential husbands – he was handsome, somewhat charming, slightly arrogant and proud, a respectable pureblood, and had a fortune that would send most heads dizzy with rapture. Furthermore, he believed in the radical ideas of blood purity dominance. To anyone who knew him personally or didn't, he was the perfect husband.

And she despised him.

Every trait of his, every characteristic, irritated her. His handsomeness was overbearing, his charm rusty and overused, his arrogance insufferable, and his pride infuriating. He may be from an acceptable pureblood family, and he may have a fortune, but she was a Black. They were practically royalty in the Wizarding World. For all his money and wealth, it was Rodolphus who had been honoured by her family's interest in him, not otherwise. She was, in her teenage years and even before, the most desirable girl in the entire country, even if she had been an old crone with missing teeth. Her name alone was enough to make her wanted.

And his ideas – they were so false, such pretended airs, that sometimes she wanted to put him over her knee and slap him hard, like a matron does to a naughty infant. He may believe in blood purity, but the only reason for him joining the Resistance was to gain some new contacts, shower himself in a more favorable light. He could care less for the cause.

As his wife, she was supposed to exercise supreme discretion when it came to matters dealing with her husband. But Bella was no ordinary society girl. She had spirit, and it was this very spirit which enticed men to come to her, which made them follow her like panting dogs despite the fact that they knew that she was unattainable.

Rodolphus was no stranger to her strange moods. Bella could be loving and subservient one moment, and loudly announcing his latest affair the next. She had wreaked havoc on many marriages with her wicked pleasures, and strained many more.

It was a wonder then that the Dark Lord did not punish this mischief-doer. Then again, she was his favorite.

Bella did not hate Rodolphus for his blatant infidelity. She hated him for the norm that he represented, the restriction that he imposed on her life. She knew that she was just as talented as any man in this room, despite what those old hags thought. The Dark Lord knew it too. After all, hadn't she been the first woman to join his ranks? Even today, the number of women under the Dark Lord was alarmingly low. And yet Bella was the most treasured of all, even more than the men.

It was unfortunate for Rodolphus that he was saddled with a wife who found making his life difficult an extremely enjoyable pastime. It was a strange stroke of luck for Lucius who had wanted her as his wife, but, because of the blessings of some kind angel, been graced with a sweeter, more conventional version. However, as a person granted with the best never truly realizes the value of his belongings, so did Lucius not appreciate the quiet and proper behavior of his Narcissa.

Bella swept to where Rodolphus was standing. His eyes were cold and calculated, for once betraying the raw intelligence that she knew lay beneath but which he was too lazy to use. He was wondering if she had come to strike a conversation or to embarrass him in front of all his allies yet again.

Bella was in the mood to be entertained. "Are your whores present in this group, Rodolphus?"

He bristled at his wife's clear, nonchalant tone. "Only one, and she stands before me." The words were carefully chosen, for he knew that there was nothing Bella resented more than being called his.

Sure enough, her eyes flashed with an unholy fire, and her mouth twisted, revealing her ugly side. For all her beauty, Bellatrix Black was cruel, and cruelty can never manifest itself without ugliness making an appearance. The casual remark stung her ego, and her will, her desire to hurt, showed itself through the anger that was kept barely controlled at the threshold of those black eyes. "It seems that despite how I have trained you, you have learnt no manners yet, Rodolphus. Tell me, is it just you, or is your entire lineage so very stubborn in matters of obedience?"

To Rodolphus, a pureblood of the highest order, and a conservative politician, this was a stinging barb. To insinuate that he was below his wife, when all the signs in nature clearly pointed out that he was superior to every female, was unbearable. The added insult against the Lestrange dynasty was just icing on the seething cake. However, being a politician, and a rather good one, despite whatever Bella may think, he controlled his fury, instead choosing to replace it with a cold smile. "Whatever my family may be, at least we are not traitors, Bellatrix. I could say less about yours."

Bella flushed an alarming red. To an outsider, she would look the part of the blushing bride, if it were not for her tightly pursed lips and her narrowed eyes. This was one insult to which she had no refute, for not one but two members of her family had betrayed their heritage. Sirius had refused to join them altogether, and Regulus, the coward, had joined, seen the lack of sympathy for his 'delicate' sensibilities, and promptly quit.

Her mouth curved in a sneer in remembrance of her youngest cousin and his pathetic, stuttering excuses. Regulus was a sorry excuse for a Black, lacking the necessary confidence and drive that had led them to the top. It was fortunate that he had been… disposed off.

"Furthermore," Rodolphus continued, enjoying the discomfort etched so clearly on his wife's face. "You don't seem to be so discriminating against all members of my family, Bellatrix. I dare say you are quite fond of Rabastan."

Bellatrix's face, which had been stormy by clouds caused by mention of her traitor cousin, brightened up at the reference of her brother-in-law. Unlike Rodolphus' and Bellatrix's cloudy relationship, Bellatrix was firm friends with the liberal, emancipating, clever Rabastan. It had got to the point when Cygnus had dryly commented that he ought to have married Bellatrix off to Rabastan rather than Rodolphus.

"Rabastan is far more civilized and enlightened than you could ever be, darling," she sneered. "Where is he, anyway?"

"I would not presume to know about the habits of my infidel brother," he said lightly, angered by the obvious contempt in her voice. "I would assume that he is entertaining a lady in his bedchambers. It is no concern of mine, however, unless that lady happens to be you, dear."

"Clearly you have yet to learn how to speak civilly, Rodolphus. I will leave you to your remonstrations."

She stalked away, anger burning in every fiber of her body. It wasn't as though she minded Rodolphus' accusations about a liaison with his brother – she did not think of Rabastan in that way at all. He was simply an intelligent, passionate individual who happened to be highly qualified. More than once had she wished that she was married to the other Lestrange, and he seemed to be of the same mind, considering the numerous times he had made an indecent proposal involving the two of them. Bella, however, was only enchanted with his mind. He was physically attractive in a way quite different from his brother, possessing fair hair and skin, but to her he still was but a comrade, and she would not sully her reputation by soiling her body with indecent pleasures.

It was the insult towards her family that bothered her most. The Blacks were the highest rung of society, and to have lower people insulting and mocking her family made Bella furious beyond any comparable anger. Nobody, not even the Malfoys, the Notts, the Averys, the Lestranges, or the Parkinsons, was worth even one tenth the value of being a Black. No one but a Black was worthy of a Black, and yet these inferior leeches dared to humiliate the Black family.

If Bella had had her way, she would never have given up her last name. She treasured it, honoured it as it was meant to be honoured. She was proud of her name and what it implied, and proud of the way others looked up to her.

But if Bella had her way, then Sirius would never have left.

She blinked away harsh tears, determined not to cry. Most of the time, she avoided even Sirius' name as much as possible, but today Rodolphus had reminded her of her cousin and former lover. If Bella had her way, then she would have kept her last name forever, only as Sirius' wife.

But Sirius didn't want her, not anymore. He was off in some other country, wining and dining with Uncle Alphard's money. He had left her behind, discarded as if she was some used gift-wrapper. He didn't matter anymore, anyway.

Once upon a time, Bellatrix Lestrange may have needed Sirius Black to love her, but now she had a different purpose for life. And that was her Cause.

The Cause. The reason why all of the men below were here in the first place. She had the Cause to live for now, that belief which had been ingrained in her since childhood, and which she wholeheartedly supported. Dominance and overpowerment were necessary now, especially since that fool Dumbledore had introduced integration in all parts of society. Bella frowned at the thought that she had gone to school with such vermin, those filthy Mudbloods. In her father's time, if such a thing had even been suggested, then it would have been shot down with cries of horror.

Dumbledore. The whole thing was that senile fool's fault. Despite being a pureblood from an illustrious family, he had abandoned his traditional blood and pride to instead become a blood traitor. Because of him, dozens of innocent young pureblood children were at this very moment being forced to intermingle with the lowest form of filth imaginable, with dirty, dishonest magic thieves.

During Bella's time, even, she had come across many a Mudblood inside those walls. For sure, she was in Slytherin, where none but the purest blood was allowed to reside, but her classes, her very food, was to be shared with this inferior subspecies. Sirius, too, had been thrust between them, but he had, betraying his own blood, actually socialized with those thieves, talked to them and treated them like his friends. She had once refused to let him touch her until he washed himself clean of their filth, and he had, his eyes hardening, called her a fool and stalked away.

But she was no fool. Didn't this cause prove it? She was a member of the most elite, most ideological group ever created for the purpose of blood purity, taking part in the biggest crusade against mudbloods ever initiated.

And they were winning.

Soon, the entire country would come under the control of the Dark Lord. And then, finally, she could exact her vengeance on those filthy mudbloods. They had sullied her honour by daring to approach her during those seven years at Hogwarts – ruined her purity by daring to assume that they were as good as her, a Black. They had to be brought to their proper place.

A few of the more delusional pureblood families still sided with that pathetic race. The Dumbledores, for one, despite the brave actions of Peverell Dumbledore, and the Potters for another. But they would be made to see the light, though they were blood traitors, because they were of the purest blood, and the Dark Lord was merciful.

She snuck a look downwards, to where those lesser beings were still haranguing among themselves, and a sneer flitted over her face when she realized the Lucius was still talking to that animal Greyback. The dire conditions in which they had to room sometimes made her skin crawl, but the Dark Lord often assured her that it was only temporary, that soon, when they had won, he would dispose off all unnecessary trash.

Still, she couldn't understand the reason for Lucius' intimacy with him. After all, he had always been the pioneer of blood purity when she had been at school. Even later, he had been one of the firmer and more prominent advocates. For him to lower himself this way was not only unexpected, it also shocked her a bit. To see that some great blood, even if it was not as great as the Black blood, should stoop to the level where they would speak to someone not even human, was unimaginable.

Bella, for all her virtues, could not be, under any condition, a politician. She did not understand the value of alliances, the delicacy of coalitions, choosing instead to move forward with a single-track mind and dominate all. Lucius had the makings of a true politician, and the foresight to see ahead, scrutinizing both sides of the coin. He was jubilant at the fact that the side that his morals and ethics belonged to was winning, but he was also prepared if somehow the situation should flip on its head.

He despaired at Bella's fixation – admired it, but despaired also. He knew that his own belief was flawed, that he had seen too many empires collapse to ever throw himself enthusiastically into a cause without forming a safety net, and that the Dark Lord saw and understood. He understood, but did not approve. Lucius was close to the Dark Lord, but he was not intimate with him, not like Bella was. Bella's mindless devotion endangered her, and yet, it brought her closer than ever to their leader. It was a strange balance, one that would benefit her greatly if they won, and one that would ruin her if they lost.

But when the end truly had reached, when there was no hope left, then a broken, contactless, helpless Lucius Malfoy used all the remaining influence he had to try to extract his sister-in-law from the hopeless mess that she had cast herself in. Fortunately, his son Draco always believed that the efforts were because Bellatrix was his sister by marriage – his wife, Narcissa, knew better. She knew, and resented, her husband's love for her own sister, and the fact that every night Lucius came to bed, he wished that it was Bellatrix waiting for him rather than Narcissa.

It was this same resentment, this hatred that grew in Narcissa day by day, that would later prompt her to betray her own sister, and leave her to the wolves.