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Bellatrix Black Lestrange

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Lost and Found [Jun. 22nd, 2004|02:54 pm]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
They might say that the freedom she lost when she went to Azkaban for Voldemort is the loss that she regrets the most, but she was honored to face the dark of Azkaban for her Lord; she went willingly into that place rather than give voice to a lie, rather than say she had not been dedicated, that she had not been true...

They say that she lost her beauty in Azkaban, but in truth she finds it only to have been misplaced. A few weeks' worth of decent meals, clear air on ice cold nights when the Death Eaters dance, and the embrace of her magic, the feel of it free and flowing from her hands- these things have brought it back. In fact she is more beautiful now than she has ever been, her beauty tempered by what she has faced and stood strong through.

They say that she lost her sanity in Azkaban, too, but if that's true she hasn't noticed. She does not feel mad, only fearless, invincible. She feels she can do anything now; before there might have been limits, but now there are none. If this is insanity, she will take it, and gladly.

They say she lost the man she loved in Azkaban, and this much at least is almost true. The dementors broke Rodolphus Lestrange, but they did not break Bellatrix Black, they only made her stronger. And she feels as much contempt now for Rodolphus as she once did love; that he was weak enough to be broken by them, twisted and turned until he was only a shadow of the brilliant, powerful man she had married...

But she does not mourn this loss, she rages at it. Someone, someday, is going to pay for Rodolphus's breaking. He may not have been as strong, as worthy, as she, but he was strong and proud and hers, and if there is one thing they should have learned by now, it is this- What is hers, is hers, forever and always, and it cannot be touched without consequence.

One day, the world is going to pay for this. For daring to break what is hers.

She cannot have him back as he was, but she can have her revenge, and for Bellatrix, that is almost as good.

Muse: Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 384
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The Silver Screen [May. 7th, 2004|01:52 pm]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Early in my years at Hogwarts, I acquired a strange sort of admirer- a girl who desired to be my friend, desired this it seems more than anything else in the world. She was not pretty or rich, not a pureblood witch or even a similarly minded Slytherin of mixed blood. She was a Muggle-born Ravenclaw, one of those intelligent girls who have no idea of how the world works once their books are closed.

If she had bothered me a little less, I might have felt sorry for her.

She would stare at me in the classes we shared, and pass notes to me if she thought the teacher wasn't watching. Once in a while she even got together the courage to approach me on breaks, when I sat in the courtyard with my friends, or walked alone on the grounds.

She never knew me- never had any chance of knowing me- but she would ask the strangest questions, as if determined to find out everything about me.

Sometimes I humored her.

One day, after Potions- Tobias Nott had come so close to poisoning us all with his badly brewed concoction that even Professor Vance, head of Slytherin, couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed, and we had all been anxious to gain the hallway, where we could listen to Vance telling off Nott without being in danger of asphyxiation -my Ravenclaw shadow approached.

"Bellatrix?"

We'd had a long discussion, she and I, on the subject of my name. I was Bella to my friends, and as she wanted to be among them this is what she wished to call me. But only to my friends am I Bella, and then only upon occasion.

I paid her no attention at first. Nott more than deserved what he was getting, and I wanted to hear every drop of fury in Professor Vance's voice as he raged at him-

"Bella," she dared.

Of course the others noticed her then. Emily Moody glanced up sharply, and beside her I heard Severus Snape mutter something rather unkind.

"Did you hear something?" I asked my friends. This question was, of course, necessary.

"You are evil, Bella," Emily said with a smile.

I shrugged. "I am a Slytherin, darling. We have standards." Sighed as I looked to the Ravenclaw. "What do you want?"

"I was just wondering-"

"Yes, yes..." I motioned for her to hurry up.

"If your life were a movie..."

"A what?" Snape asked sharply.

Emily waved her hand airily. "It's some kind of Muggle thing, I think."

"My life," I said, "would not be a 'movie'."

"But if it were-"

"It would not be," I said again.

"-what kind would it be?" she went on as if I hadn't spoken at all. Oh, she was daring today, my Ravenclaw shadow. I almost wondered what had come over her, before realizing that I did not care.

I sighed. "Isn't there some professor you should be kissing up to right now?"

She could have taken my hints and walked away. She should have. Instead she asked, "Who would play you?"

"Play?" I asked, incredulous. "Play?"

Everyone in the hall was staring at us now, the ongoing classroom drama forgotten, and I felt my temper snap.

"Listen to me, and listen well- I am a Black, do you understand? No, don't answer- do not answer. I am not now, nor will I ever be, the subject of your obscure Muggle delusions. And I will never be played by anyone. Ever."

We left her then, shocked into silence.

Muse: Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 590
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Bloodrights [Apr. 28th, 2004|06:41 am]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
I was born to rule, born to be a queen. Not of anything so mundane or tangible as a country, or even a world, but I always knew that I was born to rule.

Such things come naturally to those of my family, of my house, and few are those who would turn away from the privileges of royalty. Certainly not I. Favored daughter of an old and noble house, the world at my feet, all I saw before me mine for the taking- What a fool I would have been to step aside from that, to deny myself those things. I had been born to them, given them as cradle-gifts, and they belonged to me.

Mine was the knowledge, the understanding, that is given to monarchs and born rulers. This is what you are, this is who you are. The power and the will to use it... I owned these things to a depth and with a power I cannot describe; it was in my blood and of it, as much a part of me as the history and the magic that flow in my veins.

There was never a time when I did not wield power over others- the servants and house elves, my sisters, and later the younger girls of Slytherin at Hogwarts. The girls, and no few of the boys. Beauty is power, too, and like all forms of power given to me I was well-schooled in its use.

Others- my dear cousin Sirius doubtless being one of them- might have said that such power was not for me, that it did not belong rightly to me because I was born to it. That I should have earned it. He did say such things now and again, and I laughed- I laughed, because what could he know of my trials, of the rituals and trials I faced? What could he know of the hundreds of ways I was forced to prove- to my mother, to my father, to the aunts and uncles and all of the elder relations who made up the House of Black?

The legacy of this House, you see, is not left to chance, even to the chance of such noble bloodlines. Amongst the eldest children of the strongest family lines, the true Heir is chosen. By the time I had reached the age at which the trials were given, my cousin Sirius, the only other candidate, had proven in more ways than one that he did not want any part of the duties and privileges of the legacy. He had proved himself, moreover, unworthy of them.

But that did not mean that I myself did not have to face those same trials. No. The heir, even if she is the last remaining of the proper bloodlines, must still be tested and proven true, must still show her worth to the elders who will, at the proper time, be giving over their power to her.

I faced the tests and the trials, every last ritual of blood, fire, pain, and I won through them. I survived to take my place, in history, in the chronicles of the Blacks. I was given then what I had earned, and I took it.

Sirius, too, was given what he had earned. His foolish ideal of democracy, the idea that hundreds of fools just like him could somehow garner the collective wisdom to select the strongest and the best of leaders- His belief in these things brought to power those who locked him away for crimes he was never brave enough to commit, and his denial of the authority to which he had been born left him without the power to resist them. He would not claim who and what he had been born to be even to save himself, and in that moment he proved himself more than simply unworthy of it.

He proved that it had been a mistake, even to think that he might be good enough, or strong enough...

I was willing to fight him for my place, to fight him and to let whichever of us proved the stronger walk away the victor. I would have fought as I had been taught to fight, with every skill I possessed, but I would have stood for the contest.

I do not think he would have won. But it does not matter.

I believe now only in the ability of those who are born and bred to rule, who are taught and trained to the exercise of power, and who have never demonstrated any fear of using it.

I believe only in those with the blood-born strength to command.

Muse: Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 775
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Kiss of Darkness [Apr. 13th, 2004|04:41 pm]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
It is my night.

I have passed my tests, have earned the Dark Lord's regard, and tonight will come my reward.

This night, I will be given the Dark Mark. The first woman so honored.

Blood rushes in my ears, and my breath comes in quick gasps. But I steady myself. I am a Black, daughter of an ancient and noble house, and I will not meet my destiny like a trembling child on her wedding night. No. I am better than that, and I will remember it.

"Bellatrix."

The Dark Lord's voice caresses my name. He calls me to the circle and I come. I am robed for the ceremony, black with a belt of twisted green and silver. I wear no hood, no mask, and my hair flows freely down my back. Caught in the night breeze, it dances and tangles, and I make no effort to tame it. Not tonight.

In the circle stand the others- those who have been Marked, and the aspirants, those who wait, hoping, praying to be deemed worthy. They, too, stand unmasked. There will be no illusions tonight, nothing to hide behind. I will see them, and they will see me. We all stand as we are before the Dark Lord; naked, vulnerable.

I have known many of them before this night; now I memorize each face. They are unconcerned by my scrutiny, as they should be. I am no threat. I will pass this test, and become one of them, or I will never see the light of the next day.

I feel the burning jealousy of the others not yet Marked. They would have this night as theirs, and many of them Marked before I. But it is not so. Tonight is my night, and who is to say if theirs will ever come? Many serve the Dark Lord, but only a chosen few, his chosen few, become his warriors, his Death Eaters.

Tonight I join them.

"Bellatrix," the Dark Lord calls again.

"My Lord," I whisper. I forget everything but him then- forget the Death Eaters before me, though they are old friends. Forget, too, the aspirants. I am proud to stand before the Dark Lord, proud that of our group I am the first chosen (Rudolphous and the others behind me, each man wishing it was him) but in that moment I see nothing but Lord Voldemort, hear nothing but Lord Voldemort.

"Come to me..."

The Dark Lord extends a hand. I step forward, grasp his hand. His skin is hot enough to burn, but I do not pull back. The pain is slight by comparison to my pride as I stand here, my joy in this moment.

"Bellatrix... So brave, so loyal..." His hand caresses my cheek.

"My Lord..."

His grip on my hand tightens, becomes suddenly painful. He draws me up against him, moving so quickly that I think my wrist will snap. I do not care- It is not pain that fills me, but pleasure, even desire. I have never stood so close to him.

"You know what is asked of you, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord."

"And will you serve me? Will you?"

"Yes!"

"Will you bind yourself to me, swear to me?"

"I will."

The Dark Lord smiles, and pushes back the left sleeve of my robe. "You know the oath."

It is not a question. "I do, my lord."

"Speak it now."

And I swear. I swear heart and magic, mind, body, and soul, to Lord Voldemort. I swear eternal, undying loyalty...

The Dark Lord nods- and raises his wand.

"Crucio," he whispers. The word is a caress, and the pain is exquisite.

"I swear," I whisper, though I can hardly speak, "I will bear any pain, carry any burden, bleed my last if that is what is asked of me by my Lord..."

He lifts the wand; I gasp for breath.

"You would bleed for me, Bellatrix?" the Dark Lord asks.

"My Lord, I would die for you."

His wand touches my forearm. "Morsmordre insignio!"

It burns into me with the force of his power, screams with a life and a voice of its own, and I scream. Joy and pain intertwine until I cannot tell one from the other, and I scream.

"Welcome, my dear," the Dark Lord says. Brings my arm to his lips, kisses the newly-formed Mark. "Welcome."

"My Lord..." But I cannot speak. The words boil up within me but I cannot give them form.

He knows, of course. Without my having to speak, he knows.

"Bella," he says. His lips burn hot over mine in a bruising kiss.

I have been granted my deepest dreams and my fondest wishes. Here, now, tonight, I have all that I ever wanted.

The Dark Lord's regard is the greatest gift of all.

Muse: Bellatrix Lestrange
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 802
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The Sword of the Dark Lord [Apr. 10th, 2004|01:38 pm]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
This world- my world- has forgotten so much in the years I have been gone. Once no one would have had to ask my name; once no one would have dared. To look at me was to know who, and what, I was.

I carry the name, I bear the marks. I am a Black, eldest daughter of the House of Black, ancient, pure, respected. Noble.

I am Bellatrix Black Lestrange, heiress to the power, the nobility, of the Blacks. Their blood is my blood. This world does not remember it, but I am royal.

Yes, I am still, despite everything. Despite how far the name has fallen- how far it has fallen for the alleged crimes of one who should never have carried the name at all.

And I am more.

I am a Death Eater; I am honored to serve at the hand of Lord Voldemort, am honored to be his sword.

Others would lie- others have lied- about what they are. Have hidden the Marks, hidden from the signs and the memories. Not I.

I would die before renouncing the Dark Lord, and the fools were never strong enough to kill me. They chained me because I allowed them to, and even they must have known that their chains would not hold me forever.

I kept faith when others did not. I never doubted, not even in the dark hell of Azkaban, that my Lord would come for me one day. I never doubted his word that he would return.

Again I stand at my Lord's side, again I am honored to serve.

I swore loyalty to the Dark Lord, and I have kept my word. When others have forsaken their oaths, I have kept mine. As I will continue to keep them.

Muse: Bellatrix Lestrange
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 296
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[test post] [Apr. 9th, 2004|12:38 pm]
Bellatrix Black Lestrange
*tap, tap*

Is this thing on?

Avada Kedavra!

Well. That's one way to find out, I suppose.

Lovely little Muggle girl. Get on with it.

Right then.

You spelled it wrong, you know.

It was a typo. Fixed now.
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