Bellatrix Black, so much more then the sadistic women, who tortured Hermione or the unhinged witch - who became the Dark Lord's last and best lieutenant. She was a sister, the eldest of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, who became an instru...
"The wind has died and the chimes are still again. The trees stand tall as they cover me in shade. In the mirror a maiden stares at me As the secret fades..." ~Blackmore's Night
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There were once three sisters- all as different as they were bewitching. Yet, the darkness of their family's lineage – bleed through- darkest signature upon their innocence.
So was each child thusly corrupted – a smudge upon their virtue – which however small– would be immeasurable.
A dark – secret locked forever away (the truth about the gorgeous brunette who's eyes – trapped you in a soulless storm.) A pool of emptiness – a raging storm of less and hopelessness.
Here sisters – just three – in a family – of the noble - Toujours pur, learned themselves royalty. Here, within the massive grounds of this gothic brooding, estate –each sister's life was stolen.
A life turned into a dark tragedy as each was forced to grow up all too soon. Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa passively indoctrinated in the ways of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was to be a shadowy and haunting childhood fraught with anguish, abuse, secrets - lies and neglect.
When Bellatrix was sixteen, her father commissioned a portrait to be created, one that would hang in the drawing room next to those of her parents, Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier. Clever, Cygnus – had a plan. A plan to rid himself of his deranged daughter, who stalked his halls. He'd use the painting to tempt all the eligible men (strong willed she might be – but her beauty – was legendary).
As a fidgety Bellatrix was forced to stand for hours and be perfectly flawless in appearance. As her family learned in the magic's- some spell could have been plumbed. Anything to allow her essence to be left (so she needn't have stood – endlessly.) Yet in such a noble pure blood family – Cygnus delighted in much different methods. It was his view that through GREAT pain – he could form his three daughters. A well aimed 'Crucio' aimed at Bellatrix would send her rigidly to the floor.
"That will teach you stand still" he'd say. He'd smile as he lend against the fireplace mantel.
He'd prodigiously keep his spell trained – not to kill or causing certain madness– but inflicting just the right amount of punishment for her short comings.
As was often true, Bellatrix would lay – on the floor - fighting (panting - silently screaming, her proud eyes holding something of sadness.) As with every gasp, trying desperately to throw the curse – blood gushing from her once sensitive eyes. Her impressive ebony curls matting and sticking to her face with scarlet furry. Her anger palpable, rising like smoke, a frightening deranged gleam strengthening to burn- each time her father placed her under his curse.
Narcissa watched, tears cascading down her porcelain skin. Shaking like a leaf in a fringed wind – struck dumb and nearly blinded. She wanted to cover her eyes, to scream but she was mute by the shear force of her silent sobs. As she watched again and again, what little she could change. Her sister's torture at the hands of her father, his laughter of madness.
Often it was, with a bored expression, Cygnus would drop the curse and Bellatrix would rise to stand dispassionately. Her mother would then be forced to cast a 'tergeo' to clean the blood from her favorite carpet, Cissy could hear her scowl.
Thusly it took three days to paint her portrait. As Cygnus would continually do the curse, every time Bellatrix disrupted the master's work. Over and over Druella was made to repair furniture – clean her carpet – fix her daughter's appearance as though an unforgivable hadn't been cast. She was livid by the third day. How could Bellatrix be so inconvenient.
"Oh my Bella..." Narcissa would be sobbing as she washed her face free of blood, as Bella had laid draped over her bed, exhausted. She'd rub soothing circles on her back, trying to be comforting.
Eventually the painter had gotten tired of being interrupted by both father and daughter. He'd begged the patriarch to do an essence spell, and he grudgingly had done so. Realizing once more his daughter enjoyed being recalcitrant and would continue the saccade until she was dead.
"It's okay – Cissy" she said - though, of course, it wasn't. A tired Bellatrix looked up at her little sister pushing down her own unhappiness.
"Why can't you just do what father asks?"
"And make it easy for that fucking bastard to marry me off?!"
"Who said anything about marriage?"
"Don't be stupid Naricssa" Bellatrix growled – though her face lost its venom at her sister's tears. "I'm sorry Cissy, oh don't cry please kitten."
"Don't you want to be married?' Cissy – hiccupped, from the safety of her sister's warm embrace.. "I long to be a mother...."
"You're only twelve my love," Bella whispered in her sister's ear "how could you possibly understand – you've your whole life ahead. I've made it so-I've done it all to protect you."
She slowly ran her fingers through her sister's soft, wavy hair – that appeared kissed by sunshine. She watched her sister's eyes fall closed as she snuggled closer, innocent and almost pure. Something Bellatrix herself had lost long ago.
"But I'm not a baby, Bella" Cissy was protesting "Mother says I'm a young woman, don't you see how the boys stare at Hogwarts? Especially that Lucius Malfoy – he's always fawning all over me! Our age difference is only a number" her cross whisper ghosting across her sister's blushing cheeks.
As not for the first time, the proximity to her sister drove Bellatrix to shiver – fear bubbling up like poison. She'd shifted uncomfortably away – lecherous thoughts beat down by whatever last fatigue of reason she had. At sixteen year old Bellatrix knew right from wrong – she wouldn't cross lines. Not with her little sister.
"If ever I marry!" Bellatrix screamed, pushing Narcissa away –"I want it be my choice! And mine alone Cissy!" She stood up and pranced out of the room without a second glance.
Narcissa bit back another sob, her sister could be so volatile – she just couldn't understand. Yet, she was forced to concede that her sister was right. It should always be by choice and hers alone.
Authors note : this story is completely finished *smiles* but I'll be separating the novella into parts :)
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