house of black

chapter 15: hopeless devotion.

England, Possibly in 1976

Ever since she was a little girl, Bellatrix Black had been fascinated with wings. Any kind of them, from birds to bugs, thestrals and dragons. How the hollow bones that could break under such a minuscule amount of pressure could carry these beasts from one side of the globe to another.

One of her favourite things to do in her girlhood was venture out into the garden at dusk and capture moths. She used a candle to draw the helpless creatures in and then caged them in her small hands. Ever so carefully she would grab them by the wings and just tear them off, keeping all of her trophies in a small brown box under her bed. It never occurred to her that these creatures could feel the pain of being torn limb from limb, she just saw something she wished to have and worked on a means to take it.

She had shown her wings to her mother once, very proudly. Her hands folded, hair braided down her back as she watched her expression closely.

"What are these Bellatrix?" her mother asked.

"Why, wings, of course." she explained.

Her mothers expression filled with disgust and she dropped the box down on her daughter's bed. "How terrible Bellatrix- how unladylike." she scolded.

Bellatrix frowned, confused. How could anyone find such fascinating specimens disgusting? Did she not wish for wings such as these too?

"But Mother-" she began. "What don't you understand? They're wings, I took them-"

Her mothers hand reached out and her cheek stung in an unpleasant sort of way. Bellatrix's dark eyes looked into her mothers. They were cold and unrelenting. "Enough. You will take these away, I don't care about how you dispose of them, just do it where I do not see them." she said.

Bellatrix was not quite old enough to stop her bottom lip from quivering. Her mother scoffed. "Too old for those childish tears Bellatrix. What daughter am I raising? Abysmal."

She left soon after and Bellatrix was left alone with her box of wings. She looked at the feathery brown pieces of flesh and grew angry at what was left of her moths. If they wanted the flame so badly, why didn't she show them how horrible it felt- how badly their desire would pain them.

She didn't need to light her fireplace (her wizarding rage had done it for her). She whirled around in a fanatical frenzy and grabbed a handful of wings, thrusting them forward into the flames. She watched them dissolve into nothingness, disintegrating into ash. She destroyed all but two, leaving them in her box and returning it to its place under her bed.

It wasn't that she never wanted to please her parents (gods how she wanted to please them), it was that it was an impossible task. She was their first stone in the path to disappointment. She was a girl. She wasn't unattractive, with sharply defined features, dark eyes and tall, all like her father- there was just something unsettling about her (according to her mother) and how she engaged with people. On more than one occasion house elves and family caught her sitting up at night talking to people who they could never see.

Then came her sisters. Andromeda- quiet, well behaved with a better understanding of how not to lose her temper under her mothers keen unpicking of her self esteem. And the family golden child- Narcissa. Everything that Bellatrix had wanted to be (adored). An easy target to take out her resentment and anger as well as a shield to stand behind.

"Why do you do it?" She had asked her sister as she wiped blood off the young girl's knee. Bellatrix was now a girl of twelve and Narcissa a child of eight.

Earlier, Bellatrix had found her youngest sister in the garden, sitting happily with her dolls amongst the flowers. And like the moths, Bellatrix was shown something she wanted and couldn't have. So she descended on the girl, throwing the toys and china set away, pulling her hair, bruising her skin. The blonde girl had fled in a panic, the dark shadow of her sister never far behind.