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femgenficathonTitle: A Choice of Life and Love
Autor:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catsintheattic
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: torture, original character death
Prompt: Promp no. 35: It had only been my repeated experience that when you said to life calmly and firmly...'I trust you; do what you must,' life had an uncanny way of responding to your need. Olga Ilyin (1894-1991), Russian emigré author of memoirs.
Summary: Sometimes, a woman has to decide whether to follow the path of love or to set out to fulfil her life-task. Few, like Bellatrix Black, manage to achieve both. Whatever they do, the path is never easy, until the last shred of doubt is finally burned away.
Word count: 6,242
Author’s notes: Just like last year, I managed to turn a lovely, positive prompt into something dark and twisted. Do I see a pattern emerging? Is it the number 35 that makes me do it? ;-)
Bella’s vow during her Marking was inspired by the Lord’s Prayer – I mean no offense, but I want to be clear about my sources. I really struggled with Bella’s story and had a hard time of getting under her skin or into her mind. So I thankcelta_diabolica and paragraphs not just for their beta-reading and the POV guiding, I also thank them for their support and encouragement, for their questions and impressions, and for helping me to find my way through Bella’s night.
A Choice of Life and Love
The cave was so dark I couldn’t see my hands. Not that I would have been able to see them anyway, lying prone on the floor, with my arms stretched out to either side, and my face crushed against the dirty stone of the ground. My mouth was dry from breathing dust, and the cold had seeped through my robes into every bone of my body, numbing it down to a shiver I fought hard to suppress.
But suppress it I did. This was the night of my initiation, and I would be damned if I did anything to disgrace myself in the eyes of my Lord. I wasn’t the first to be Marked; there had been others before me, but I alone was the Dark Lord’s most willing, most faithful servant. Of this, I was certain. And this was what gave me the strength to press my arms and legs closer to the floor, to embrace the cold until my body was so tense shivering was no longer an option. I silently mouthed the words of the vow I would later make to the Dark Lord and felt my lips brush against the dirt.
After this night, I would bear his Mark. After this night, everyone would be able to see I belonged to his inner circle. After this night, there would be no going back. But who wanted to go back when they could have it all? I had worked relentlessly for the Dark Lord’s cause, I had lied and cheated, bullied and threatened, maimed and tortured to do his bidding. Nineteen years old, I had yet to kill in his name. I had practised the curse numerous times on animals and the occasional house-elf, and every time the two words had burst from my lips, I had meant them. I could kill an animal without hesitation; killing a Muggle wouldn’t be any different. Muggles were vermin, less than human, and getting rid of one would be no more than stepping on a bug and listening to the satisfying crunch under my shoe. I was ready for it.
It was this side of me I’d kept carefully hidden from everyone who wasn’t a Death Eater, even from my own parents, who certainly approved of the idea of weeding out foreign influence. And all the more from Terry, who would have launched into one of his speeches at the mere thought of killing someone, not to mention me being the killer. On second thought, the idea of me being a killer might have left him speechless.
Terry. I could have had any boy. But I’d wanted him. I wanted him for his sharp mind and for his unbreakable willpower. His good looks, what the giggling girls at school had called his ‘aristocratic cheekbones,’ were a nice addition. Of course, a girl from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would never have looked at someone ugly. Unless you were a blood-traitor without any taste and ran off with a Mudblood, like Andy had done earlier this year, right after finishing Hogwarts. But looks alone and eager hands were not enough to last me longer than a short summer fling. To hold my attention, a man had to keep me on my toes. He had to surprise me. And he could never submit to me.
Terry had managed to win my respect in almost all departments. Not that he had a cruel streak – he was surprisingly soft-hearted towards those weaker than he. But if someone had the strength to fight, he didn’t hold back. He adored my beauty, but he never disregarded my strength. With Terry, I didn’t have to hold back and play coy as I did with most of my acquaintances. What he had seen hadn’t sent him running – so far.
My parents were glad my crazy period of lovers’ trials seemed to be over before I’d developed a reputation for being too wild. Terry came from a respected pure-blood family with a noble tradition. His breeding was impeccable. His mother was even a Black herself, my first cousin twice removed. When Terry set his mind on something, he always reached his goal sooner or later. His Ravenclaw streak was not of the bookish kind; he had amiability to add to his quick thinking. And even though he loved problems just for the chance to think them through, he had been able to secure himself a respected position as a financial consultant at Gringotts. Whereas I was forced to go insane with boredom over planning tea parties and waiting to be courted by respectable young men.
Only sometimes, it seemed to me Terry was a little too respectable, which was why I secretly kept flirting with Rodolphus, who was equally well-bred, though far less clever, and who knew about my other engagement – the one where I spent my afternoons with tactics and torture instead of goat cheese and watercress sandwiches. Terry would have been horrified. Rodolphus only laughed and kissed me on the mouth without asking before he handed me a pair of fresh robes. Every time, I slapped him in the face for his impudence, hard enough to draw blood. But Rodolphus only touched the scratches from my rings with his index and middle finger and put them to his lips in the semblance of a kiss. He didn’t seem to mind the bleeding.
Lying to Terry wasn’t something I enjoyed, yet there were times when I couldn’t avoid it. I still had to come up with an explanation for the Mark, but I would think about it after this night. It wasn’t as if Terry could have stopped me. But then, politics was the one subject we’d carefully avoided discussing. So perhaps he would be gracious enough to overlook what had happened. I could almost see his raised brow and hear his voice in my mind. That’s an interesting tattoo you’ve got, Bella. And I would answer something like: I couldn’t resist – just like I can’t resist you, kiss him and show him how much I wanted him. The thought warmed me nicely. I wanted both, being with Terry and serving the Dark Lord, and as long as I put all my effort into it, I wasn’t going to give up one for the other.
I’d told Terry I was with a friend, Emilee Rosier. Emilee’s younger brother, Evan, was still at Hogwarts, but his sister had been in my year and was equally bored with planning tea parties. And while Emilee was not a Death Eater, her father would be here, too.
Time ticked by, but I had lost any sense of it. With the distant part of my mind that kept track of schemes and schedules, I knew my fellow Death Eaters were gathered in a different part of the cave, a place much larger than this one, generously lit with torches. They probably would have started reporting back hours ago. I envisioned each of them kneeling before the Dark Lord, from the highest rank down to the latest recruit, while the others formed a silent half-circle around them. The Dark Lord would sit on his stony throne, the seat never smoothed by furs and pelts to remind him of his task, as he used to say, until the day we were free from the vermin he had sworn to overcome. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I was a part of it. After this night, I would make my report within the ranks of those who bore the Mark, those who were first among his followers. And I had no doubt I would rise up through his inner circle to the highest position.
Something startled me out of my reverie. I heard the sound of boots approaching. They were coming for me. My first impulse was to jump up, to meet them running. But I would do no such thing. I would wait for them to come, to pick me up from the ground and lead me to my Lord. The boots still crashed nearer, each step louder than the last, and then they stopped beside me. Two Death Eaters. They brought a torch with enough light for me to clearly see the filth I’d bathed with my breath. One of them crouched down at my side. I felt his hand at my shoulder and recognised the touch. Despite my excitement, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. He would never miss an opportunity to touch me.
“It’s time. Get up,” Rodolphus said.
I wanted to confirm the order, but before I had time to utter more than a croak, his hand flew to my neck, pressing me back into the dirt.
“Don’t speak. You are not to speak until the Dark Lord addresses you.”
I nodded against the floor, digging more grime into my skin.
He released me, and I slowly pulled my arms under me to push myself up from the floor. Pins and needles hit everywhere and, for a moment, my legs felt too weak to bear my body. After the hours I’d spent in the darkness, the brightness of the torch almost blinded me. I blinked hard, fighting not to give in to the black spots that danced in front of my eyes. Rodolphus grabbed me by the elbow, steadying me. The second Death Eater had already turned towards the entrance, which was just broad enough to allow the passage of one person a time. I recognised Rabastan’s narrow back. A hard shove from Rodolphus and I stumbled forward, my legs crawling with ants.
The passage was long, and the pace Rabastan set was fast enough to make me break into a sweat. Soon I was panting, desperate to suck air into my painfully dry throat. When we finally reached the destined part of the cave, I had a stitch in my side and felt like bending over from the pain. And yet the sight of the man who, like an ancient god, sat on the throne of stone made me forget it all. Seeing him and sinking down in adoration were one. It was natural. My knees hit the floor before Rodolphus could start pushing me down.
“Bellatrix Black.” The Dark Lord’s voice carried easily through the cave. “Come here.”
My guardians pulled me to my feet and dragged me nearer to the throne. Stumbling between them, I held my head as high as possible. I barely registered the Death Eaters we were passing, a blur of white masks hovering above black robes. Then, in the shadow of the throne, I had eyes for my Lord only.
Once more, I sank to my knees in what I hoped was a motion full of natural grace and beauty. This was my place – at my Dark Lord’s feet. Here were acceptance and recognition and every chance to be who I truly was: not gentle, but cruel; not a lady, but a warrior; bringing not forgiveness, but revenge. Bound to him, I would be free to do as I pleased – our minds would be one.
The two men at my side retreated. Reminding myself that it was improper to stare, I lowered my eyes. I felt the Dark Lord’s gaze upon me, taking me in, weighing me, judging me one last time before my final initiation. I forced myself to breathe – inhale, exhale – the sound of my blood a staccato in my ears.
Finally, the Dark Lord gave his assent. “Tonight, you will prove yourself to me.” He held the tension for another moment before he continued. “First, your vows.”
I wanted to scream in triumph. It had begun for real. I could do this. My vows, a deed to prove my loyalty and then the Marking itself.
Lifting my eyes from the floor to the hem of his robes, I started. “I, Bellatrix Black--“
“Stop!”
I felt my stomach drop. What had I done to offend him; what that he found a fault with so soon?
“Begin once more. And look at my face as you pledge your loyalty to me.”
I focussed on his face, the pale skin and the intensity of his eyes. A man in his mid-forties, he wasn’t young, not like Rodolphus or Terry, and yet he radiated power like no other man I knew. And power to me was like water to a fish – I thrived on it, I craved it, I needed it. The Dark Lord’s power would become mine, for I would be his most loyal servant.
I straightened my shoulders. I had done everything he’d wanted to be here tonight. This was my reward. I was more than ready to bind myself to him, fate and fortune.
“I, Bellatrix Black, swear to be your loyal servant. I swear to give you everything I possess, to protect your secrets and be loyal to your cause. I swear to serve you in every moment of my being, from now until I die. I swear to eat your death in the face of danger and to protect you with my word, my wand and my life.”
The Dark Lord nodded, and then he smiled – actually smiled at me, a smile that didn’t reach the red shade of his eyes, but a smile nevertheless. I allowed the corners of my lips to pull up a fraction. The first part was done already. Again, my body shouted at me to throw my arms into the air with a cry of triumph. I wrestled it down.
Once more, the Dark Lord spoke. “Second, your proof of loyalty.” He waved his hand.
I heard a rustling of robes to my left, but I didn’t dare to look.
“I know you haven’t killed for me yet, so this will be your task tonight.”
Fighting down the impulse to grin was hard, now. I’d known it! He wanted me to kill! Most probably, Rodolphus and Rabastan would have caught a Muggle in London, where people could get lost without anybody noticing. Imagine that: your own people not even realising you’ve gone missing. My father’s boarhounds had a greater sense of community.
I could only hope Rodolphus and Rabastan didn’t have too much time to play – if my prisoner was half-dead already, my kill would look too easy. It would be unimaginable if the Dark Lord had ordered that I should be handled with extra care, that I was too delicate to be given a real task. I loathed the mere thought. It was important not only to obey and fulfil my duty, but also to make it look good and effortless, which was no challenge if the assignment was too easy. If it was too easy, no one would believe I had true power. I almost felt like protesting, but that wouldn’t do. Now was not the time to haggle, but to show absolute loyalty. I had been given an order and I would obey.
“My Lord.” I bowed my head.
He raised his voice, addressing all of the assembled Death Eaters. “One of my faithful servants, Mulciber, identified another of those Mudbloods. This one, supported by his family, even tried to pass for a pure-blood wizard. But Mulciber traced his heritage and confirmed what I suspected to be true: the man was nothing but a fraud, an impostor.”
The Dark Lord paused and bent down a fraction, handing me my wand. “You will rid us of his existence. Get up and kill this filth.”
Not a Muggle, but a Mudblood. This was much better. Muggles were useless and couldn’t harm a wizard. Mudbloods were the real threat. They were scum that tried to pass for wizards while they had no sense of wizarding tradition. They promoted false values and dangerous beliefs, chumming up to Muggles and convincing more and more wizards to become traitors to their blood and heritage. Just thinking of it reminded me of the day Andy’s name had been burned from the family tree. My mother had cried tears of humiliation and pain – to build up the cold fury she needed to renounce her daughter.
The rustling noise had grown louder, mingled with a scraping sound and low moans. A body being dragged over the floor. I rose and took my wand from my master’s hand with another deep bow of my head. Eager to prove myself, I turned to face my victim.
A handsome face, covered in ugly bruises. Lips that used to smirk over a clever joke, now bleeding freely. Blue eyes, otherwise so calm, spread wide with terror and recognition. Terry.
I froze.
The first time, we’d met in the wee hours of the morning.
Terry. It couldn’t be. I would have never associated with ... a Mudblood. There had to be a misunderstanding. And yet, here he was, after a careful research done by Mulciber. The Dark Lord had ways of revealing the darkest secrets – he couldn’t err. But perhaps Mulciber had confused a few details?
Terry held his right hand cradled to his chest. The fingers looked distorted and swollen, as if someone had dislocated the joints with a few well-placed grips and twists. So Rodolphus and Rabastan had found some time to play after all.
“No.” Once the whisper was out, it resonated loudly in the otherwise silent cave. I hadn’t meant to say it.
He had twirled me around in his embrace, making my head spin and my heart light, until I felt like laughing without ever stopping.
My heel hit the lowest stair to the Dark Lord’s throne. I had been walking backwards without even noticing it.
From above, I heard his voice. “Poor Bellatrix. You worked so hard to be here tonight. Are you not up to the task? Are you not loyal to me, as you swore to be just moments ago?”
The words hit me like a whiplash. I was loyal. I was the most loyal of all. But this, this was Terry. Terry, with his sharp mind and acerbic humour. Terry, the boy I’d kissed behind the greenhouses in our seventh year. The man who’d continued to court me, despite my obvious distaste for playing docile. Terry – with his talented hands and his determination to please me – who had never backed down, had never laid low in front of me. Terry, who made it unmistakably clear that he wanted me, that he wanted to be with me. Terrence Longbottom, who belonged to one of the oldest wizarding families.
I’d kissed him on the mouth, not a light peck but a mind-blowing kiss, all lips and teeth and tongue. So not done. And he’d kissed me back with all his might.
“I ... yes. But ... I ... I don’t--” Words failed me. “How?”
“You question my decision?”
“No. No, my Lord, I don’t. I only ... I don’t ... I don’t understand ...”
I knew I was babbling. I knew I should just get on and be done with it. With the killing. With killing ... Te-- him. I had to make it look easy, and I was failing miserably. I knew all of this, and yet my mind reared up like a horse caught in a fire.
We’d ended rolling around in the fallen leaves, red and golden, kissing and laughing between kisses.
A horse, confused by the smoke and the flames, never finds the open door to escape. But I wasn’t a horse. I had to find a way. I had managed to find a solution to every challenge, until today.
I had to think. Had to make it happen, make it work. But I couldn’t. Not without betraying ... someone. Terry was laughter and love. But he’d never seen all of me, until now. Now, he knew. And I saw it in his face. Didn’t I see condemnation in his blood-shot eyes? He could understand power, but he couldn’t accept mayhem and torture. He couldn’t accept murder. He couldn’t accept it because he couldn’t see the reason for my cause.
Terry’s words were a lasting promise long after we had parted. A promise I got used to carrying around.
The Dark Lord snapped his fingers at me. “What are you waiting for, Bellatrix? Is this the loyalty you offer me? Have I placed my trust in the wrong person?”
His voice sounded like sand grinding on glass, and I fell to my knees, not knowing what else to do, how to appease his wrath. How to make him see that I wanted to obey, that I only didn’t know how to make sense of it. How could I, when all conclusions ended up with only one way to go?
“I ... I’m loyal, my Lord. I want to! I just ...” My throat constricted with the sobs I refused to let out.
The Dark Lord sat on his throne, cold and distant. Impossible that he would understand. Impossible that he could still have faith in me after this display of weakness in front of everyone. He needed soldiers, not sissies. Where were my dignity, my wit, my usual air of determination and ease when I needed them most? All I came up with was the desperate feeling of falling. This time, every door was closed to me; the flames were about to burn me alive.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”
The Dark Lord gave a short laugh. “Please? You ask for help? Aren’t you too proud? Didn’t you think of yourself almost as an equal to me?”
My stomach cramped – like he’d given me molten lead to drink.
He’d seen right through me, probably had all along. He’d seen my eagerness, my competitiveness, my false sense of hierarchy. He’d seen and decided to show me my place. Among his Death Eaters, among those of the inner circle, perhaps one day I would even be the first. But never his equal, never at his side. In front of everybody, he’d stripped me right down to the bone.
I closed my eyes. Like a mortally wounded animal I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t. I had to stand, face the challenge and fight. I had decided on this path too long ago to take another. And besides, I still wanted it. I wasn’t meant to host tea parties for the rest of my life.
Somewhere in the back of the cave, someone stifled a laugh, and I forced my eyes open. I had to go through with this, somehow.
And then, to my utmost surprise, the Dark Lord stood and stepped down from his throne. “Bellatrix here wants to know. She wants to understand. Well, perhaps you all have to learn this lesson, to see how far their disguise will go. This Mudblood here, Terrence Longbottom, look at him! His father was a Longbottom Squib living as a Muggle and his mother a true Muggle. They died shortly after his birth, and the boy, who showed his first signs of magic as a baby, was adopted by Harfang and Callidora Longbottom, née Black, right after his parents’ death. The Longbottoms already had a daughter, Augusta. No one ever knew that their son Terrence wasn’t theirs by birth.”
My wand clattered to the floor.
The Dark Lord, unbelievably, bent down and picked it up. When he looked at me again, his eyes were stern. “You knew.”
“I ...” I shook my head. “No, my Lord, please, believe me. I had no idea.” The thought was too repulsive to follow it through.
“You met him, you kissed him, you played all those dirty little games with him. And you want us to believe that all that time, you didn’t know?”
“No,” I whispered. “He… he was so… most honourable…” Again, my voice failed me.
We were young, and foolish enough to fall in love.
“Oh yes, you knew. Deep in your heart, you knew.”
I stared into those gleaming eyes, red and alluring.
“You knew, and that’s why you didn’t take a closer look.”
His words painted my cheeks with fire. Again, he saw right through me. I had looked at Terry, often, with lust and longing and joy, but never close enough to see the taint. Never close enough to see the hints of compassion towards others and his passionate defence of equal rights for what they really were: proof that his blood was impure.
Toujours pur. I had soiled everything: myself, my family’s name, my Lord’s cause. And now it lay open for everyone to see. I had kissed, touched, and been intimate with a Mudblood, in spite of my better knowledge and judgement. I was no better than Andy. The proper punishment would be to burn my name from the family tree and never speak of me again. Anything less would be mercy I couldn’t hope to deserve.
Very slowly, I nodded. “I didn’t.” I couldn’t look at Terry any more.
I’d felt too much like dancing to think further about the consequences.
“You didn’t,” the Dark Lord said, confirming my condemnation. “But now, now you do, and you see all the betrayal, all the taint. I still have faith in you, Bellatrix Black. I’ve heard your vows and I know that you truly believe in the cause. You know what to do.”
My cause was his cause. Not Terry’s. The Dark Lord’s cause. I couldn’t betray him because betraying him would mean betraying myself. And at the root of my life, at the root of my heart, there wasn’t love. At the root of my heart, there was the freedom to fight for my cause. The good fight. I would give anything to fight for the cause. Give anything to be who I was. The Dark Lord might not love me, but he would give me a place to be who I was.
He shook me softly. “Don’t you?”
“I do.” I stared at him, drinking reassurance from his lips. He alone had the power to redeem me from my mistakes. From somewhere in the cave, a cool draft blew over my hot and sweaty skin. Dying was not an option. Killing was.
Without another word, he handed me back my wand. I took it, stood, turned around and fixed my gaze firmly on Terry, though it made me sick to look at him. He lay on the ground where Rodolphus and Rabastan had left him, beaten and bloody, facing me with an eerie calmness that made me hesitate for the slightest of moments.
But the Dark Lord had noticed it. “Who shall it be, Bellatrix? You ... or him?” His voice was nothing but a whisper in my ear. “Go on. I know you can. I know you want to.”
The Unforgivables. The caster had to mean them. I lifted my arm until it was level with my head, aiming. The man in front of me wasn’t my lover. He was vermin who had betrayed me in the worst possible sense. He deserved to die, and he deserved to die in pain.
I slashed my wand at him, sparks erupting from its tip. “Crucio!”
Again. “Crucio!”
Again. And again.
I was warming up to the curse, singing my one-worded song of torture and destruction. My steps grew lighter every time. The man on the floor was nothing but a bundle of flopping limps and desperate screams, a weakling, a coward, a traitor. Every time I hit him, I eradicated another of his kisses, of his touches, of his nightly attentions. The curse burst from my wand with an ever increasing precision, cutting into his arms and legs, his breast, his groin. Being with him had never felt that good.
I continued until I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard the Dark Lord’s voice. “Bellatrix. Enough of the play.” He chuckled in amusement.
The man on the floor lay in a crumpled heap. He didn’t put up much more resistance. With a fleeting glance I noticed that he slowly pulled himself up into a crouching position. He lifted his head and looked right back at me through eyes swollen nearly shut. His face was a grotesque parody of humanity, his body a twisted mass of punished flesh. If I tried a little harder, I wouldn’t be able to remember his name.
He still gathered his limbs, and then I realised what he was trying to do. He was actually forcing himself to stand, to face me as an equal. The impulse to laugh was too strong to rein it in, and the sound rumbled through my body, a cacophony of amusement and mockery. He stopped his useless efforts, stilled and waited. Do what you think you must, his posture seemed to say. His pretence of dignity and silent acceptance made my blood boil with rage. Even now, in the face of his imminent death, he refused to give up, trying to make me look like the one who was losing.
Enough of the play.
I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him any longer. I recalled the dead eyes of foxes and house-elves. You can do it, they seemed to say. Don’t hesitate. Kill the blood-traitor. Crush him like a bug. It wasn’t a question whether I had to do it. It wasn’t even a question how. Only when remained – and now was as good as any other time. I opened my eyes, my Avada Kedavra flashed through the air, but I didn’t see its green light. All I could see was red, the gleaming of red eyes, and I held the curse until the targeted body slumped to the ground.
I had to lock my knees to prevent myself from crashing down beside it.
The silence was ringing, and then, one sound broke it. The Dark Lord clapped his hands. Slowly, deliberately.
“That,” he said, “was the most exquisite performance I’ve seen in quite some time.”
He gestured around, and the Death Eaters joined in his applause. Polite clapping echoed from the walls, until the Dark Lord beckoned them all to become silent once more.
“Third,” he said, raising a finger as if he was merely ticking off the items on a list, “the Marking.” He motioned for me to kneel where I stood and I did so, falling heavily onto my knees.
The motion made me dizzy, but I continued without hesitation. I moved forward from my knees and lowered myself until I lay prostrate on the floor, like I had in the smaller cave only about an hour ago, waiting for all of this to happen. I spread my arms to my sides, presenting myself like prey, like an animal hunted down. The Dark Lord’s presence, so near, was overwhelming, and I felt glad for the firm support of the ground. He touched my neck with his foot, and once more tonight my face was rubbed into the grimy stone. I tasted dirt on my lips, and blood in the back of my throat, and my chest felt like it was clad in bands of iron.
Then, the Dark Lord knelt beside me, picking me up in an almost-embrace.
“Come to me, child.”
No one had called me ‘child’ since the day I had left for Hogwarts the first time.
The tip of his wand touched the flesh of my left arm. Here it was, finally. In a few moments, I would be his. Utterly. Completely. I had jumped already. All I had to do now was to let go.
I drew a deep breath. “I’m yours, my Lord. Your rule will come. Your will shall be done, among all of those who are true wizards in mind as well as in blood.”
A tingling of magic touched my skin, before a searing pain shot through my arm. My whole body tightened and the fingers of my left hand stretched and flexed involuntarily.
“You won’t forgive my failures, as I won’t forgive those who fail you.”
Sweat was running down my back and armpits in tiny rivulets. I could only imagine how I must look and smell: smeared with dirt, stinking with the blood and exertion from tonight. And yet he held me like I was the most precious gem, kept inhaling my scent like I was the most exquisite flower.
I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with him, and continued. “Do not let me go astray, but lead me to your feet, for punishment and redemption, and I shall be your devoted follower.”
The pain intensified; my whole arm felt like it was on fire. I fought down the impulse to tear it from his grip. I had to retain my composure. This was my hour of devotion, my most intimate moment with the Dark Lord.
“For yours is my mind, my body and my soul for ever and ever. My Dark Lord.” I was almost sobbing the last words, no longer so consumed by the pain as by the sheer prospect of offering everything to him.
My vow was complete, and I was gasping for air. My arm was throbbing with agony, but I would not give in to it. It would be my last sacrifice for tonight. Others would come, and I longed for them already.
The Mark was done, the skull branded into my skin, the snake curling up and down around it. I felt a new kind magic course through my body – the Dark Lord’s magic. Once more, a breeze swept over my skin, cooling it. It took the sweat away and left only salty traces behind.
His voice enfolded me like a heavy black mantle. “Bellatrix Black, I order you into my inner circle. Elevate yourself as one of the Marked.”
“Yes, my Lord.” I stood, and his power rushed through my body and mind, consuming it, strengthening it. With his Mark on my arm, I would never be weak again.
“Tonight, you have proven yourself to me in word and deed, through doubt and trial. Stay loyal to my cause, do not fail me and you will always have a place at my side.”
“Yes, my Lord.” My arm pulsed with the Mark. I closed my eyes, briefly, relishing the feeling. “Thank you, my Lord.” On impulse, I fell to my knees again to kiss the hem of his robes.
And like before, at the moment of my trial, the Dark Lord’s tall figure bent down to me. He lifted me up from the ground almost gently. His hand grazed my Mark in the process and it reacted to his touch, burning darker and deeper still, a confirmation of our bond. I looked into his gleaming eyes and saw nothing but a safe haven. I was forgiven my moment of weakness. I was still his. I would still walk in his shadow. I could still be his favourite.
“Bella,” he said, and the intimacy of my nickname almost brought me to tears, “you might become my most faithful Death Eater, my most loyal servant.” He trailed the fresh Mark with his index finger, then offered me his hand. “Until death parts us.”
My throat was too constricted for words. I only allowed my hand to slip into his, small like a child’s, who is afraid of being left alone in the dark.
I’d had it all wrong. He did love me. In his own way, he loved me more than anybody ever had. He had seen my weakness and had showed me how to be strong. He had seen into my heart and decided to Mark me – for all the blackness and the cruelty, for all the fire burning inside. I didn’t need to hear it from him. His deed spoke so clearly to me that I heard its message without any words.
And for the first time since I’d felt the urge to be who I was, I felt certain. The peace might be treacherous; there were caves and cavities where I couldn’t set my foot any longer, lest the ground give in and I fall. But the certainty continued. This was my path, no turning back. The thought hit me like a giant’s fist. There was no stepping back from this, back to the afternoons of girlish laughter, back to my mother’s tea parties. There was no way back – and it felt like the best thing ever.
Then he let go of my hand, dismissing me. Our moment together was over, and my guardians silently stepped up beside me. Rodolphus’s grip on my arm was almost like a caress. And yet, it felt like a sacrilege that he should touch me in the same place where the Dark Lord’s fingers had rested only moments ago. I shrugged him off to slide my sleeve back into place before he could take hold of me again.
Staggering was for cowards and traitors. I did not stagger as they led me away, back to the black mass of masked faces, not even when my foot once touched something that felt like a warm bundle of clothes. I gritted my teeth, Rodolphus’s grip straightened on my arm, and we walked on.
I would make my way, all the way to the front. To be near my source, my divine and beautiful master, my Lord. To serve him with every minute of my existence. To endure everything for his sake. And if devotion was love, I knew I was in love so deeply this night had burned away my very soul.
The End
Autor:
catsintheatticFandom: Harry Potter
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: torture, original character death
Prompt: Promp no. 35: It had only been my repeated experience that when you said to life calmly and firmly...'I trust you; do what you must,' life had an uncanny way of responding to your need. Olga Ilyin (1894-1991), Russian emigré author of memoirs.
Summary: Sometimes, a woman has to decide whether to follow the path of love or to set out to fulfil her life-task. Few, like Bellatrix Black, manage to achieve both. Whatever they do, the path is never easy, until the last shred of doubt is finally burned away.
Word count: 6,242
Author’s notes: Just like last year, I managed to turn a lovely, positive prompt into something dark and twisted. Do I see a pattern emerging? Is it the number 35 that makes me do it? ;-)
Bella’s vow during her Marking was inspired by the Lord’s Prayer – I mean no offense, but I want to be clear about my sources. I really struggled with Bella’s story and had a hard time of getting under her skin or into her mind. So I thank
celta_diabolica and paragraphs not just for their beta-reading and the POV guiding, I also thank them for their support and encouragement, for their questions and impressions, and for helping me to find my way through Bella’s night.The cave was so dark I couldn’t see my hands. Not that I would have been able to see them anyway, lying prone on the floor, with my arms stretched out to either side, and my face crushed against the dirty stone of the ground. My mouth was dry from breathing dust, and the cold had seeped through my robes into every bone of my body, numbing it down to a shiver I fought hard to suppress.
But suppress it I did. This was the night of my initiation, and I would be damned if I did anything to disgrace myself in the eyes of my Lord. I wasn’t the first to be Marked; there had been others before me, but I alone was the Dark Lord’s most willing, most faithful servant. Of this, I was certain. And this was what gave me the strength to press my arms and legs closer to the floor, to embrace the cold until my body was so tense shivering was no longer an option. I silently mouthed the words of the vow I would later make to the Dark Lord and felt my lips brush against the dirt.
After this night, I would bear his Mark. After this night, everyone would be able to see I belonged to his inner circle. After this night, there would be no going back. But who wanted to go back when they could have it all? I had worked relentlessly for the Dark Lord’s cause, I had lied and cheated, bullied and threatened, maimed and tortured to do his bidding. Nineteen years old, I had yet to kill in his name. I had practised the curse numerous times on animals and the occasional house-elf, and every time the two words had burst from my lips, I had meant them. I could kill an animal without hesitation; killing a Muggle wouldn’t be any different. Muggles were vermin, less than human, and getting rid of one would be no more than stepping on a bug and listening to the satisfying crunch under my shoe. I was ready for it.
It was this side of me I’d kept carefully hidden from everyone who wasn’t a Death Eater, even from my own parents, who certainly approved of the idea of weeding out foreign influence. And all the more from Terry, who would have launched into one of his speeches at the mere thought of killing someone, not to mention me being the killer. On second thought, the idea of me being a killer might have left him speechless.
Terry. I could have had any boy. But I’d wanted him. I wanted him for his sharp mind and for his unbreakable willpower. His good looks, what the giggling girls at school had called his ‘aristocratic cheekbones,’ were a nice addition. Of course, a girl from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would never have looked at someone ugly. Unless you were a blood-traitor without any taste and ran off with a Mudblood, like Andy had done earlier this year, right after finishing Hogwarts. But looks alone and eager hands were not enough to last me longer than a short summer fling. To hold my attention, a man had to keep me on my toes. He had to surprise me. And he could never submit to me.
Terry had managed to win my respect in almost all departments. Not that he had a cruel streak – he was surprisingly soft-hearted towards those weaker than he. But if someone had the strength to fight, he didn’t hold back. He adored my beauty, but he never disregarded my strength. With Terry, I didn’t have to hold back and play coy as I did with most of my acquaintances. What he had seen hadn’t sent him running – so far.
My parents were glad my crazy period of lovers’ trials seemed to be over before I’d developed a reputation for being too wild. Terry came from a respected pure-blood family with a noble tradition. His breeding was impeccable. His mother was even a Black herself, my first cousin twice removed. When Terry set his mind on something, he always reached his goal sooner or later. His Ravenclaw streak was not of the bookish kind; he had amiability to add to his quick thinking. And even though he loved problems just for the chance to think them through, he had been able to secure himself a respected position as a financial consultant at Gringotts. Whereas I was forced to go insane with boredom over planning tea parties and waiting to be courted by respectable young men.
Only sometimes, it seemed to me Terry was a little too respectable, which was why I secretly kept flirting with Rodolphus, who was equally well-bred, though far less clever, and who knew about my other engagement – the one where I spent my afternoons with tactics and torture instead of goat cheese and watercress sandwiches. Terry would have been horrified. Rodolphus only laughed and kissed me on the mouth without asking before he handed me a pair of fresh robes. Every time, I slapped him in the face for his impudence, hard enough to draw blood. But Rodolphus only touched the scratches from my rings with his index and middle finger and put them to his lips in the semblance of a kiss. He didn’t seem to mind the bleeding.
Lying to Terry wasn’t something I enjoyed, yet there were times when I couldn’t avoid it. I still had to come up with an explanation for the Mark, but I would think about it after this night. It wasn’t as if Terry could have stopped me. But then, politics was the one subject we’d carefully avoided discussing. So perhaps he would be gracious enough to overlook what had happened. I could almost see his raised brow and hear his voice in my mind. That’s an interesting tattoo you’ve got, Bella. And I would answer something like: I couldn’t resist – just like I can’t resist you, kiss him and show him how much I wanted him. The thought warmed me nicely. I wanted both, being with Terry and serving the Dark Lord, and as long as I put all my effort into it, I wasn’t going to give up one for the other.
I’d told Terry I was with a friend, Emilee Rosier. Emilee’s younger brother, Evan, was still at Hogwarts, but his sister had been in my year and was equally bored with planning tea parties. And while Emilee was not a Death Eater, her father would be here, too.
Time ticked by, but I had lost any sense of it. With the distant part of my mind that kept track of schemes and schedules, I knew my fellow Death Eaters were gathered in a different part of the cave, a place much larger than this one, generously lit with torches. They probably would have started reporting back hours ago. I envisioned each of them kneeling before the Dark Lord, from the highest rank down to the latest recruit, while the others formed a silent half-circle around them. The Dark Lord would sit on his stony throne, the seat never smoothed by furs and pelts to remind him of his task, as he used to say, until the day we were free from the vermin he had sworn to overcome. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I was a part of it. After this night, I would make my report within the ranks of those who bore the Mark, those who were first among his followers. And I had no doubt I would rise up through his inner circle to the highest position.
Something startled me out of my reverie. I heard the sound of boots approaching. They were coming for me. My first impulse was to jump up, to meet them running. But I would do no such thing. I would wait for them to come, to pick me up from the ground and lead me to my Lord. The boots still crashed nearer, each step louder than the last, and then they stopped beside me. Two Death Eaters. They brought a torch with enough light for me to clearly see the filth I’d bathed with my breath. One of them crouched down at my side. I felt his hand at my shoulder and recognised the touch. Despite my excitement, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. He would never miss an opportunity to touch me.
“It’s time. Get up,” Rodolphus said.
I wanted to confirm the order, but before I had time to utter more than a croak, his hand flew to my neck, pressing me back into the dirt.
“Don’t speak. You are not to speak until the Dark Lord addresses you.”
I nodded against the floor, digging more grime into my skin.
He released me, and I slowly pulled my arms under me to push myself up from the floor. Pins and needles hit everywhere and, for a moment, my legs felt too weak to bear my body. After the hours I’d spent in the darkness, the brightness of the torch almost blinded me. I blinked hard, fighting not to give in to the black spots that danced in front of my eyes. Rodolphus grabbed me by the elbow, steadying me. The second Death Eater had already turned towards the entrance, which was just broad enough to allow the passage of one person a time. I recognised Rabastan’s narrow back. A hard shove from Rodolphus and I stumbled forward, my legs crawling with ants.
The passage was long, and the pace Rabastan set was fast enough to make me break into a sweat. Soon I was panting, desperate to suck air into my painfully dry throat. When we finally reached the destined part of the cave, I had a stitch in my side and felt like bending over from the pain. And yet the sight of the man who, like an ancient god, sat on the throne of stone made me forget it all. Seeing him and sinking down in adoration were one. It was natural. My knees hit the floor before Rodolphus could start pushing me down.
“Bellatrix Black.” The Dark Lord’s voice carried easily through the cave. “Come here.”
My guardians pulled me to my feet and dragged me nearer to the throne. Stumbling between them, I held my head as high as possible. I barely registered the Death Eaters we were passing, a blur of white masks hovering above black robes. Then, in the shadow of the throne, I had eyes for my Lord only.
Once more, I sank to my knees in what I hoped was a motion full of natural grace and beauty. This was my place – at my Dark Lord’s feet. Here were acceptance and recognition and every chance to be who I truly was: not gentle, but cruel; not a lady, but a warrior; bringing not forgiveness, but revenge. Bound to him, I would be free to do as I pleased – our minds would be one.
The two men at my side retreated. Reminding myself that it was improper to stare, I lowered my eyes. I felt the Dark Lord’s gaze upon me, taking me in, weighing me, judging me one last time before my final initiation. I forced myself to breathe – inhale, exhale – the sound of my blood a staccato in my ears.
Finally, the Dark Lord gave his assent. “Tonight, you will prove yourself to me.” He held the tension for another moment before he continued. “First, your vows.”
I wanted to scream in triumph. It had begun for real. I could do this. My vows, a deed to prove my loyalty and then the Marking itself.
Lifting my eyes from the floor to the hem of his robes, I started. “I, Bellatrix Black--“
“Stop!”
I felt my stomach drop. What had I done to offend him; what that he found a fault with so soon?
“Begin once more. And look at my face as you pledge your loyalty to me.”
I focussed on his face, the pale skin and the intensity of his eyes. A man in his mid-forties, he wasn’t young, not like Rodolphus or Terry, and yet he radiated power like no other man I knew. And power to me was like water to a fish – I thrived on it, I craved it, I needed it. The Dark Lord’s power would become mine, for I would be his most loyal servant.
I straightened my shoulders. I had done everything he’d wanted to be here tonight. This was my reward. I was more than ready to bind myself to him, fate and fortune.
“I, Bellatrix Black, swear to be your loyal servant. I swear to give you everything I possess, to protect your secrets and be loyal to your cause. I swear to serve you in every moment of my being, from now until I die. I swear to eat your death in the face of danger and to protect you with my word, my wand and my life.”
The Dark Lord nodded, and then he smiled – actually smiled at me, a smile that didn’t reach the red shade of his eyes, but a smile nevertheless. I allowed the corners of my lips to pull up a fraction. The first part was done already. Again, my body shouted at me to throw my arms into the air with a cry of triumph. I wrestled it down.
Once more, the Dark Lord spoke. “Second, your proof of loyalty.” He waved his hand.
I heard a rustling of robes to my left, but I didn’t dare to look.
“I know you haven’t killed for me yet, so this will be your task tonight.”
Fighting down the impulse to grin was hard, now. I’d known it! He wanted me to kill! Most probably, Rodolphus and Rabastan would have caught a Muggle in London, where people could get lost without anybody noticing. Imagine that: your own people not even realising you’ve gone missing. My father’s boarhounds had a greater sense of community.
I could only hope Rodolphus and Rabastan didn’t have too much time to play – if my prisoner was half-dead already, my kill would look too easy. It would be unimaginable if the Dark Lord had ordered that I should be handled with extra care, that I was too delicate to be given a real task. I loathed the mere thought. It was important not only to obey and fulfil my duty, but also to make it look good and effortless, which was no challenge if the assignment was too easy. If it was too easy, no one would believe I had true power. I almost felt like protesting, but that wouldn’t do. Now was not the time to haggle, but to show absolute loyalty. I had been given an order and I would obey.
“My Lord.” I bowed my head.
He raised his voice, addressing all of the assembled Death Eaters. “One of my faithful servants, Mulciber, identified another of those Mudbloods. This one, supported by his family, even tried to pass for a pure-blood wizard. But Mulciber traced his heritage and confirmed what I suspected to be true: the man was nothing but a fraud, an impostor.”
The Dark Lord paused and bent down a fraction, handing me my wand. “You will rid us of his existence. Get up and kill this filth.”
Not a Muggle, but a Mudblood. This was much better. Muggles were useless and couldn’t harm a wizard. Mudbloods were the real threat. They were scum that tried to pass for wizards while they had no sense of wizarding tradition. They promoted false values and dangerous beliefs, chumming up to Muggles and convincing more and more wizards to become traitors to their blood and heritage. Just thinking of it reminded me of the day Andy’s name had been burned from the family tree. My mother had cried tears of humiliation and pain – to build up the cold fury she needed to renounce her daughter.
The rustling noise had grown louder, mingled with a scraping sound and low moans. A body being dragged over the floor. I rose and took my wand from my master’s hand with another deep bow of my head. Eager to prove myself, I turned to face my victim.
A handsome face, covered in ugly bruises. Lips that used to smirk over a clever joke, now bleeding freely. Blue eyes, otherwise so calm, spread wide with terror and recognition. Terry.
I froze.
The first time, we’d met in the wee hours of the morning.
Terry. It couldn’t be. I would have never associated with ... a Mudblood. There had to be a misunderstanding. And yet, here he was, after a careful research done by Mulciber. The Dark Lord had ways of revealing the darkest secrets – he couldn’t err. But perhaps Mulciber had confused a few details?
Terry held his right hand cradled to his chest. The fingers looked distorted and swollen, as if someone had dislocated the joints with a few well-placed grips and twists. So Rodolphus and Rabastan had found some time to play after all.
“No.” Once the whisper was out, it resonated loudly in the otherwise silent cave. I hadn’t meant to say it.
He had twirled me around in his embrace, making my head spin and my heart light, until I felt like laughing without ever stopping.
My heel hit the lowest stair to the Dark Lord’s throne. I had been walking backwards without even noticing it.
From above, I heard his voice. “Poor Bellatrix. You worked so hard to be here tonight. Are you not up to the task? Are you not loyal to me, as you swore to be just moments ago?”
The words hit me like a whiplash. I was loyal. I was the most loyal of all. But this, this was Terry. Terry, with his sharp mind and acerbic humour. Terry, the boy I’d kissed behind the greenhouses in our seventh year. The man who’d continued to court me, despite my obvious distaste for playing docile. Terry – with his talented hands and his determination to please me – who had never backed down, had never laid low in front of me. Terry, who made it unmistakably clear that he wanted me, that he wanted to be with me. Terrence Longbottom, who belonged to one of the oldest wizarding families.
I’d kissed him on the mouth, not a light peck but a mind-blowing kiss, all lips and teeth and tongue. So not done. And he’d kissed me back with all his might.
“I ... yes. But ... I ... I don’t--” Words failed me. “How?”
“You question my decision?”
“No. No, my Lord, I don’t. I only ... I don’t ... I don’t understand ...”
I knew I was babbling. I knew I should just get on and be done with it. With the killing. With killing ... Te-- him. I had to make it look easy, and I was failing miserably. I knew all of this, and yet my mind reared up like a horse caught in a fire.
We’d ended rolling around in the fallen leaves, red and golden, kissing and laughing between kisses.
A horse, confused by the smoke and the flames, never finds the open door to escape. But I wasn’t a horse. I had to find a way. I had managed to find a solution to every challenge, until today.
I had to think. Had to make it happen, make it work. But I couldn’t. Not without betraying ... someone. Terry was laughter and love. But he’d never seen all of me, until now. Now, he knew. And I saw it in his face. Didn’t I see condemnation in his blood-shot eyes? He could understand power, but he couldn’t accept mayhem and torture. He couldn’t accept murder. He couldn’t accept it because he couldn’t see the reason for my cause.
Terry’s words were a lasting promise long after we had parted. A promise I got used to carrying around.
The Dark Lord snapped his fingers at me. “What are you waiting for, Bellatrix? Is this the loyalty you offer me? Have I placed my trust in the wrong person?”
His voice sounded like sand grinding on glass, and I fell to my knees, not knowing what else to do, how to appease his wrath. How to make him see that I wanted to obey, that I only didn’t know how to make sense of it. How could I, when all conclusions ended up with only one way to go?
“I ... I’m loyal, my Lord. I want to! I just ...” My throat constricted with the sobs I refused to let out.
The Dark Lord sat on his throne, cold and distant. Impossible that he would understand. Impossible that he could still have faith in me after this display of weakness in front of everyone. He needed soldiers, not sissies. Where were my dignity, my wit, my usual air of determination and ease when I needed them most? All I came up with was the desperate feeling of falling. This time, every door was closed to me; the flames were about to burn me alive.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”
The Dark Lord gave a short laugh. “Please? You ask for help? Aren’t you too proud? Didn’t you think of yourself almost as an equal to me?”
My stomach cramped – like he’d given me molten lead to drink.
He’d seen right through me, probably had all along. He’d seen my eagerness, my competitiveness, my false sense of hierarchy. He’d seen and decided to show me my place. Among his Death Eaters, among those of the inner circle, perhaps one day I would even be the first. But never his equal, never at his side. In front of everybody, he’d stripped me right down to the bone.
I closed my eyes. Like a mortally wounded animal I wanted to hide, but I couldn’t. I had to stand, face the challenge and fight. I had decided on this path too long ago to take another. And besides, I still wanted it. I wasn’t meant to host tea parties for the rest of my life.
Somewhere in the back of the cave, someone stifled a laugh, and I forced my eyes open. I had to go through with this, somehow.
And then, to my utmost surprise, the Dark Lord stood and stepped down from his throne. “Bellatrix here wants to know. She wants to understand. Well, perhaps you all have to learn this lesson, to see how far their disguise will go. This Mudblood here, Terrence Longbottom, look at him! His father was a Longbottom Squib living as a Muggle and his mother a true Muggle. They died shortly after his birth, and the boy, who showed his first signs of magic as a baby, was adopted by Harfang and Callidora Longbottom, née Black, right after his parents’ death. The Longbottoms already had a daughter, Augusta. No one ever knew that their son Terrence wasn’t theirs by birth.”
My wand clattered to the floor.
The Dark Lord, unbelievably, bent down and picked it up. When he looked at me again, his eyes were stern. “You knew.”
“I ...” I shook my head. “No, my Lord, please, believe me. I had no idea.” The thought was too repulsive to follow it through.
“You met him, you kissed him, you played all those dirty little games with him. And you want us to believe that all that time, you didn’t know?”
“No,” I whispered. “He… he was so… most honourable…” Again, my voice failed me.
We were young, and foolish enough to fall in love.
“Oh yes, you knew. Deep in your heart, you knew.”
I stared into those gleaming eyes, red and alluring.
“You knew, and that’s why you didn’t take a closer look.”
His words painted my cheeks with fire. Again, he saw right through me. I had looked at Terry, often, with lust and longing and joy, but never close enough to see the taint. Never close enough to see the hints of compassion towards others and his passionate defence of equal rights for what they really were: proof that his blood was impure.
Toujours pur. I had soiled everything: myself, my family’s name, my Lord’s cause. And now it lay open for everyone to see. I had kissed, touched, and been intimate with a Mudblood, in spite of my better knowledge and judgement. I was no better than Andy. The proper punishment would be to burn my name from the family tree and never speak of me again. Anything less would be mercy I couldn’t hope to deserve.
Very slowly, I nodded. “I didn’t.” I couldn’t look at Terry any more.
I’d felt too much like dancing to think further about the consequences.
“You didn’t,” the Dark Lord said, confirming my condemnation. “But now, now you do, and you see all the betrayal, all the taint. I still have faith in you, Bellatrix Black. I’ve heard your vows and I know that you truly believe in the cause. You know what to do.”
My cause was his cause. Not Terry’s. The Dark Lord’s cause. I couldn’t betray him because betraying him would mean betraying myself. And at the root of my life, at the root of my heart, there wasn’t love. At the root of my heart, there was the freedom to fight for my cause. The good fight. I would give anything to fight for the cause. Give anything to be who I was. The Dark Lord might not love me, but he would give me a place to be who I was.
He shook me softly. “Don’t you?”
“I do.” I stared at him, drinking reassurance from his lips. He alone had the power to redeem me from my mistakes. From somewhere in the cave, a cool draft blew over my hot and sweaty skin. Dying was not an option. Killing was.
Without another word, he handed me back my wand. I took it, stood, turned around and fixed my gaze firmly on Terry, though it made me sick to look at him. He lay on the ground where Rodolphus and Rabastan had left him, beaten and bloody, facing me with an eerie calmness that made me hesitate for the slightest of moments.
But the Dark Lord had noticed it. “Who shall it be, Bellatrix? You ... or him?” His voice was nothing but a whisper in my ear. “Go on. I know you can. I know you want to.”
The Unforgivables. The caster had to mean them. I lifted my arm until it was level with my head, aiming. The man in front of me wasn’t my lover. He was vermin who had betrayed me in the worst possible sense. He deserved to die, and he deserved to die in pain.
I slashed my wand at him, sparks erupting from its tip. “Crucio!”
Again. “Crucio!”
Again. And again.
I was warming up to the curse, singing my one-worded song of torture and destruction. My steps grew lighter every time. The man on the floor was nothing but a bundle of flopping limps and desperate screams, a weakling, a coward, a traitor. Every time I hit him, I eradicated another of his kisses, of his touches, of his nightly attentions. The curse burst from my wand with an ever increasing precision, cutting into his arms and legs, his breast, his groin. Being with him had never felt that good.
I continued until I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard the Dark Lord’s voice. “Bellatrix. Enough of the play.” He chuckled in amusement.
The man on the floor lay in a crumpled heap. He didn’t put up much more resistance. With a fleeting glance I noticed that he slowly pulled himself up into a crouching position. He lifted his head and looked right back at me through eyes swollen nearly shut. His face was a grotesque parody of humanity, his body a twisted mass of punished flesh. If I tried a little harder, I wouldn’t be able to remember his name.
He still gathered his limbs, and then I realised what he was trying to do. He was actually forcing himself to stand, to face me as an equal. The impulse to laugh was too strong to rein it in, and the sound rumbled through my body, a cacophony of amusement and mockery. He stopped his useless efforts, stilled and waited. Do what you think you must, his posture seemed to say. His pretence of dignity and silent acceptance made my blood boil with rage. Even now, in the face of his imminent death, he refused to give up, trying to make me look like the one who was losing.
Enough of the play.
I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him any longer. I recalled the dead eyes of foxes and house-elves. You can do it, they seemed to say. Don’t hesitate. Kill the blood-traitor. Crush him like a bug. It wasn’t a question whether I had to do it. It wasn’t even a question how. Only when remained – and now was as good as any other time. I opened my eyes, my Avada Kedavra flashed through the air, but I didn’t see its green light. All I could see was red, the gleaming of red eyes, and I held the curse until the targeted body slumped to the ground.
I had to lock my knees to prevent myself from crashing down beside it.
The silence was ringing, and then, one sound broke it. The Dark Lord clapped his hands. Slowly, deliberately.
“That,” he said, “was the most exquisite performance I’ve seen in quite some time.”
He gestured around, and the Death Eaters joined in his applause. Polite clapping echoed from the walls, until the Dark Lord beckoned them all to become silent once more.
“Third,” he said, raising a finger as if he was merely ticking off the items on a list, “the Marking.” He motioned for me to kneel where I stood and I did so, falling heavily onto my knees.
The motion made me dizzy, but I continued without hesitation. I moved forward from my knees and lowered myself until I lay prostrate on the floor, like I had in the smaller cave only about an hour ago, waiting for all of this to happen. I spread my arms to my sides, presenting myself like prey, like an animal hunted down. The Dark Lord’s presence, so near, was overwhelming, and I felt glad for the firm support of the ground. He touched my neck with his foot, and once more tonight my face was rubbed into the grimy stone. I tasted dirt on my lips, and blood in the back of my throat, and my chest felt like it was clad in bands of iron.
Then, the Dark Lord knelt beside me, picking me up in an almost-embrace.
“Come to me, child.”
No one had called me ‘child’ since the day I had left for Hogwarts the first time.
The tip of his wand touched the flesh of my left arm. Here it was, finally. In a few moments, I would be his. Utterly. Completely. I had jumped already. All I had to do now was to let go.
I drew a deep breath. “I’m yours, my Lord. Your rule will come. Your will shall be done, among all of those who are true wizards in mind as well as in blood.”
A tingling of magic touched my skin, before a searing pain shot through my arm. My whole body tightened and the fingers of my left hand stretched and flexed involuntarily.
“You won’t forgive my failures, as I won’t forgive those who fail you.”
Sweat was running down my back and armpits in tiny rivulets. I could only imagine how I must look and smell: smeared with dirt, stinking with the blood and exertion from tonight. And yet he held me like I was the most precious gem, kept inhaling my scent like I was the most exquisite flower.
I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with him, and continued. “Do not let me go astray, but lead me to your feet, for punishment and redemption, and I shall be your devoted follower.”
The pain intensified; my whole arm felt like it was on fire. I fought down the impulse to tear it from his grip. I had to retain my composure. This was my hour of devotion, my most intimate moment with the Dark Lord.
“For yours is my mind, my body and my soul for ever and ever. My Dark Lord.” I was almost sobbing the last words, no longer so consumed by the pain as by the sheer prospect of offering everything to him.
My vow was complete, and I was gasping for air. My arm was throbbing with agony, but I would not give in to it. It would be my last sacrifice for tonight. Others would come, and I longed for them already.
The Mark was done, the skull branded into my skin, the snake curling up and down around it. I felt a new kind magic course through my body – the Dark Lord’s magic. Once more, a breeze swept over my skin, cooling it. It took the sweat away and left only salty traces behind.
His voice enfolded me like a heavy black mantle. “Bellatrix Black, I order you into my inner circle. Elevate yourself as one of the Marked.”
“Yes, my Lord.” I stood, and his power rushed through my body and mind, consuming it, strengthening it. With his Mark on my arm, I would never be weak again.
“Tonight, you have proven yourself to me in word and deed, through doubt and trial. Stay loyal to my cause, do not fail me and you will always have a place at my side.”
“Yes, my Lord.” My arm pulsed with the Mark. I closed my eyes, briefly, relishing the feeling. “Thank you, my Lord.” On impulse, I fell to my knees again to kiss the hem of his robes.
And like before, at the moment of my trial, the Dark Lord’s tall figure bent down to me. He lifted me up from the ground almost gently. His hand grazed my Mark in the process and it reacted to his touch, burning darker and deeper still, a confirmation of our bond. I looked into his gleaming eyes and saw nothing but a safe haven. I was forgiven my moment of weakness. I was still his. I would still walk in his shadow. I could still be his favourite.
“Bella,” he said, and the intimacy of my nickname almost brought me to tears, “you might become my most faithful Death Eater, my most loyal servant.” He trailed the fresh Mark with his index finger, then offered me his hand. “Until death parts us.”
My throat was too constricted for words. I only allowed my hand to slip into his, small like a child’s, who is afraid of being left alone in the dark.
I’d had it all wrong. He did love me. In his own way, he loved me more than anybody ever had. He had seen my weakness and had showed me how to be strong. He had seen into my heart and decided to Mark me – for all the blackness and the cruelty, for all the fire burning inside. I didn’t need to hear it from him. His deed spoke so clearly to me that I heard its message without any words.
And for the first time since I’d felt the urge to be who I was, I felt certain. The peace might be treacherous; there were caves and cavities where I couldn’t set my foot any longer, lest the ground give in and I fall. But the certainty continued. This was my path, no turning back. The thought hit me like a giant’s fist. There was no stepping back from this, back to the afternoons of girlish laughter, back to my mother’s tea parties. There was no way back – and it felt like the best thing ever.
Then he let go of my hand, dismissing me. Our moment together was over, and my guardians silently stepped up beside me. Rodolphus’s grip on my arm was almost like a caress. And yet, it felt like a sacrilege that he should touch me in the same place where the Dark Lord’s fingers had rested only moments ago. I shrugged him off to slide my sleeve back into place before he could take hold of me again.
Staggering was for cowards and traitors. I did not stagger as they led me away, back to the black mass of masked faces, not even when my foot once touched something that felt like a warm bundle of clothes. I gritted my teeth, Rodolphus’s grip straightened on my arm, and we walked on.
I would make my way, all the way to the front. To be near my source, my divine and beautiful master, my Lord. To serve him with every minute of my existence. To endure everything for his sake. And if devotion was love, I knew I was in love so deeply this night had burned away my very soul.
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Date: 2009-10-04 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-05 05:20 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that you found Bella's story believable. :-) Voldemort would never accept people he hadn't crushed into his inner circle.
Poor Terry indeed.
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Date: 2009-10-08 04:55 pm (UTC)Your personification of the Dark Lord was particularly convincing. Thanks!
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Date: 2009-10-08 07:08 pm (UTC)I'm happy to hear that you found the Dark Lord convincing - he gave me a lot less trouble than Bella when I wrote this story. :-)
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Date: 2009-10-12 03:41 am (UTC)Such an interesting use of the prompt.
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Date: 2009-10-12 05:22 am (UTC)I'm thrilled that the characterisations worked for you. I've wanted to write about Bella's Marking for quite some time, and when I read the prompt the idea developed further and into this story.
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Date: 2009-10-12 09:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-12 07:33 pm (UTC)I love that you loved Bella's voice so much. *beams*
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Date: 2009-10-25 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-25 04:07 pm (UTC)I love to hear that you enjoyed the writing to follow even the slow pace at the beginning - I was worrying about the slow start, afraid that it would be too much until the action finally started to speed up.
the way your Voldemort uses his charisma and strength of personality to hold and manipulate Bella
Yay - you made my day with that bit! This was just what I wanted, focus on how he messes with her mind and how she reacts to it. Voldemort's logic was so clear to me when I wrote him - I always thought that he must have messed with Bella's mind in a truly awful way for her to follow him without ever questioning him again.
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Date: 2009-10-25 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-26 11:47 am (UTC)It's like you said: madness alone was never enough for me to explain Bella's devotion to the Dark Lord. I wanted him to break her, but in a way she would accept, a way she could relate to. He needed her devotion, but he also needed her power. So he had to make sure that she would follow him without questioning, and at the same time that she would not lose her fire.