blood thirsty

Location: Lestrange Manor Time Stamp: Early morning on October 25th, 1979 @ruthless-rodolphus

Bellatrix appeared in the foyer of Lestrange Manor with a soft pop, and no sooner had her feet found solid ground, she was off towards the master bedroom. As soon as Rodolphus’ owl had arrived, she’d begun the arduous journey of returning home, taking extra care to ensure that her path had not been traced – although her and Antonin’s search had yielded no results, she had a hard time ignoring her own paranoia, especially given that Rookwood was dead. Rodolphus’ owl had been sparse, but Bella could only assume that her husband was being cautious as she was to keep the secrets of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord just that. Bellatrix refused to believe that they could be so in the dark about what had happened. He was one of their goddamn spies, and they knew nothing about the circumstances of his death? Preposterous.

The blue-grey light of dawn was creeping into the estate, and Bella was running purely on adrenaline at this point. If this conversation could have waited until after she’d slept, showered, and eaten, then she would have crawled into bed beside her husband and given into the exhaustion that had settled into her bones over the past two weeks. But this couldn’t wait, and she pushed open the doors to their bedroom, making no effort to be quiet. She wasn’t surprised when she saw him already awake, sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, quill in hand. She clamped down the feeling in her chest at the sight of him because they had a situation at hand, and there was no time for a proper reunion. She wasn’t here as his wife. She was here as his partner, who was very fucking worried, and that left no space for the way her stomach twisted and her heart swooped at the thought of being home again, with him at her side, right where they belonged.

“How did this happen?” Bella said sharply and without missing a beat. “We’re certain he’s dead? You’ve seen a body?” She had more questions than she could even think of, and there was accusation in her voice, almost verging on the bitterness of betrayal. This sort of chaos was what she’d expected from Lucius’ leadership, but she’d foolishly thought that Rodolphus would be able to maintain the status quo. Perhaps it was her own fault for being so naive as to think she could leave and everything would be fine. Perhaps Rodolphus had gone soft without her. She had no idea because she hadn’t been here. She had no one to blame but herself for that particular choice, but that didn’t make swallowing the truth any easier. “We need to call a meeting. If Rookwood’s cover was broken, then we have to take steps to ensure all of our other assets are secure.”

A long, tense pause. Then – “I thought you had this under control, Rodolphus.” Her gaze was cold, voice even colder, and it had been years since she’d doubted her husband like this, but he’d given her no choice. “So. I repeat. How did this happen?”

He couldn’t be sure how she did it, but Bellatrix had managed to select one of the oldest of bottles that crowded the cabinet, one a more romantic or sentimental man may have wished to save for special occasions. It so happened he was neither, and paid little mind to the generous pours or spilt liquor, accepting the glass without hesitation. He mirrored her motions and let the vodka trace fire down his throat and fill his stomach, joining the goblet-fulls of mead he’d downed earlier. An empty breath - almost a laugh - left him at her words before his jaw tightened like a vice. How could such a transparently selfish man slither his way into the seat at the head of the table? How did no one else see the danger in it? Had it been anyone else to suggest he was in any way to blame for the night’s results, he would have been nose-to-nose, pressing his wand to their throat - but it was Bellatrix, implicating herself as well as him in this mess. She was as loyal as he was and she was right, even if it made his blood boil. The spark of anger subsided and gave way to an unfamiliar sense of guilt, and he gave a short shake of his head, wordless. She continued to speak, and he continued to listen, and when she reached the pause in her list, his eyes narrowed, a challenge in the angle of his jaw. The answer she settled on was safe and accurate, and so he wasn’t fussed, but he gave a shake of his head. None of the excuses she raised disqualified them for the job, so what went wrong? “They do not see Lucius for what he is,” he suggested, tone heavy with irritation, “They need to see that he only works for himself. That his goals are not the Dark Lord’s.”

He let the silence sit, leaving his empty glass unattended as his mind flipped through the possible paths that unfolded from this point in time. The Death Eaters were split, dividing their efforts, and in some ways, their loyalties. What would it mean for the future? What would happen when He finally returned? They needed to have something to show, to prove that they were worthy of him even in his absence and that they deserved to stand in his ranks. Now that was an idea. He claimed the bottle and refilled his glass as Bellatrix finished her thought. Brows rose and a contemplative expression had cast over his face. “We could,” he mused, “We could kill him.” His tone was light, but the suggestion was genuine, his eyes shifting from his glass to meet her’s, expectant. “Perhaps not today, not tomorrow, but when it is clear as day he is a threat to the cause.” It would put a stop to whatever self-serving plans Lucius was bound to stir up, and in turn protect them from His fury. "Pity about your sister, though” he added, an afterthought before taking a sip.

There was mild accusation in her tone, he could hear it. “There have been whispers,” he replied, tone flat despite the burning in his chest, “Unsubstantiated claims that I have been investigating.” He set down his glass quietly, eyes not leaving Bellatrix, “But you,” he said, before she could cut in, “You sounded like you know where to look.”

“My sister can always get another husband,” Bella muttered darkly. “We will never be able to win another war if he leads us into destruction now.” She wasn’t entirely serious about killing Lucius – it was mostly a twisted fantasy that brought her great joy to imagine now, in the wake of such a terrible meeting. However, she couldn’t deny the neatness of the idea. Between her and Antonin, they could have it done so professionally that even Narcissa would be none the wiser. But Antonin was right – they couldn’t simply kill him because they didn’t support him. He had to cross a line, to do them wrong. As much as she detested Lucius, he was still one of them, and his death had to be warranted. “I suppose there’s no point to going too far down that road,” she said with a reluctant sigh. “Although it does ease my conscience to know that if we get to such an impasse with Lucius, neither of us will hesitate to do what is necessary. The others certainly won’t approve,” she added, disgruntled. “But fuck the others.” She clinked her glass against his, feeling a surprising amount of relief to be with him. Antonin was one of the only people she felt she could be truly herself with – she didn’t need to sanitize who she was or make herself easy to digest and understand. He knew the darkest crevices of her soul and she his, and they were stronger because of it.

At the mention of the Dark Lord’s location, Bella took a long gulp of her drink, lips pressing together. “I have theories,” she said after a long pause. “But like you, nothing concrete. The only solace I can find in that is that if we don’t know where he is, The Order certainly has no clue.” She wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore’s most loyal to go on a reckless mission to kill the Dark Lord once and for all – while she knew they wouldn’t succeed, she also was glad that was one less thing they had to worry about. “A few years ago, he mentioned something about Albania in passing – it was after he disappeared for three weeks, do you remember that? We all were going stir crazy for him to get back, and when he did return, I...suppose I was a little forceful with him,” she admitted with a barely-there grin. “He wouldn’t tell me why he went, wouldn’t tell me what he’d done, but it was clear something happened. He came back, and he was...powerful. More powerful than he’d ever been. If he’s weak and defeated, then maybe that’s where he went.” It was a stretch, to say the least, but it was all she had to cling to, and cling is what she would do.

She fixed Antonin with a challenging look, as though she dared him to contradict her. She was used to doubt and skepticism in the face of her ideas, always marked too radical or too senseless. Bellatrix knew Antonin to be smarter than the rest, but she’d learned better than to place her faith in anyone but herself. “I know it’s not much to go on,” she said reluctantly. “But it’s something. And after that meeting, it’s abundantly clear to me that you and I are the only ones who care about finding him. The rest just want to compare cock sizes over his corpse.”

No one was maimed during the night’s proceedings, which really was a shame. Once Bellatrix left, the role of instigator fell squarely in his own lap and he was very tempted to drop a couple knives on the meeting table just to see what would happen. But he didn’t, because important things had to be discussed, plans needed to be made, and a throne required an occupant in the interim. And of course, the high and mighty snake himself laid claim to it and it seemed many others were ready to rally behind him. Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. A pretentious name for a pretentious man, and apparently one that could measure up to their Dark Lord. Without warning, Antonin turned to face an alley he was about to walk past and gave a violent jab with his wand. A jet of orange light lit the darkened street, quickly followed by a burst of flame at the far end of the alleyway. A few old crates crumpled loudly at the blast and slowly dimmed to embers as Antonin stood and watched, the sudden swell of frustration simmering in his chest. He would never claim to be happy about Lucius filling in the shoes of their absent master, but he supposed it could have been worse.

With a distinct sense of annoyance still clinging to his shoulders, he all but stomped up the steps to his flat and entered with little care for the noise he caused. At the exact moment he noticed the figure standing in his living room, she spoke. 

“что за нах?!" Purple flames flickered to life from the tip of his raised wand, but recognition clicked into place and they sputtered out just as suddenly as they had appeared. “Bellatrix, Черт побери. What are you doing here? How did you-” with his heart still beating heavily against the base of his skull, he twisted on the spot to look at where he’d cast defensive charms around the door frame, only to see black scorch marks in the spots where he had placed them. The anger and adrenaline subsided and was replaced with a sense of appreciation. He closed the door and set the latch before turning in time to see Bellatrix stalk off towards the kitchen and he followed after her. He hummed in agreement, the stir of anger that had possessed him out on the street rousing in his chest again. “They do not deserve our trust- they never did, and proved it tonight,” he replied with venom in his tone. He pulled open the cupboard and retrieved two crystal tumblers and set them on the counter as he angled his gaze back towards the witch. "If you take his eyes, I will take his tongue. We both know he has done too much talking.”

She found a bottle full of clear liquid, marked with a Russian label, and unscrewed the cap. One light sniff told her it was definitely alcohol, most likely vodka, and she sloshed a hefty amount into the two offered glasses before pushing one back to Antonin. She raised her drink in a half-hearted toast before throwing it back, embracing the way it burned a path down her throat. “To the maiming of Lucius Malfoy,” she muttered darkly. “I’d suggest we take his balls too, but that would imply that he has them to begin with.” Bella was twice the man Lucius would ever be, and yet, everyone seemed to forget that because of the cunt between her legs. “As much as I agree with you, as much as we shouldn’t have placed so much trust in the fucking moronic foot soldiers of this godforsaken army – we are as much to blame as them.” Taking responsibility was rare for Bella, and it clearly took a great amount of effort on her part to be so objective, so analytical, but she was tired of making mistakes – mistakes that had grave consequences for a cause she held so dear – and not doing anything to fix it. “We let Lucius grow in power and influence, and we did nothing to stop him, perhaps because we thought him harmless, perhaps because we thought the Dark Lord to be invincible, perhaps because we got lazy. But what’s worse, we never gave them someone they could put their faith in, someone who could make it all better. I’m too impulsive, Rodolphus is too cold, you’re too–” she paused, considering Antonin for a moment, “Russian, and Rabastan’s too young.”

She poured herself another drink, nursing it this time, expression pensive. She wasn’t as much bothered by Lucius’ appointment as she was by her inability to control him. He had never listened to her, not once in their time of knowing each other, and that in itself was dangerous. Had Rodolphus been in charge and Rodolphus alone, he would have, at the very least, heard her out, even if he ultimately decided to go down a different path. Lucius – he was predisposed to distrust her from the get-go. Perhaps, it was a bed she made by being so combative, perhaps, she could have done more to ingratiate herself to him, but she was hardly the type to bend the knee, unless it was to the Dark Lord himself. She looked over at Antonin, taking a sip of her drink, before saying, “We need to find him. The more time we waste, the more power Lucius gets, and if he derails this whole organization, it will be us who are to blame when the Dark Lord returns. Why didn’t you control him? Why didn’t you kill him? Those will be the questions he asks, and if we don’t have satisfactory answers, we might as well find the nearest building and jump.”

Bellatrix eyed Antonin, lips pursing, eyebrows raising. “You were quiet when Snape asked if anyone had heard anything about the Dark Lord’s whereabouts. Was that because you had nothing to share? Or because there were people in that room who were unworthy of knowing the truth?”

Location: Antonin’s apartment Date: October 6th, 1979, post Death Eater meeting

It could have gone worse, but it certainly could have gone better.

Bellatrix paced around Antonin’s living room, chain smoking angrily as rain pattered against the windows. It seemed London’s weather was matching her stormy mood, although that did little to comfort her. There was nothing more she could have done without destabilizing the whole organization to keep Lucius out of power, but she still felt defeated and cornered – two things she absolutely despised. She knew Rodolphus would keep Lucius in check, knew her husband to be far smarter than she gave him credit for, but it still was far less than ideal that Lucius had managed to drum up so much support.

Antonin felt the same as her, and he was the only person right now who could properly understand her frustration. Rodolphus, of course, knew her mind inside and out, but she didn’t need him right now. She needed someone whose anger could match hers, and Rod was far too measured, even in times like this, to give her that. Antonin had been one of her only allies in that meeting, more loyal to her than her own flesh and blood. Narcissa and Regulus’ betrayal had hurt more than she cared to admit – as much as they could use logic and reason to explain away their actions, they were her family. They were supposed to support her, unconditionally, rather than undercut her in front of a room full of people who’d rather her burn than lead the Death Eaters.

She glanced up at the sound of the lock turning, expression expectant as Antonin walked through the door. “Took you long enough,” she said with a glower. “I was beginning to think I’d start going grey before you even decided to return.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and stood up, searching the apartment for liquor and two glasses. They both certainly needed a drink after such a horrific turn of events. “I know it would break my sister’s heart, but I’m in half a mind to rip Lucius’ eyes out of his sockets and feed them to my dogs,” she muttered darkly. “How did we not see that coming? I knew he would try to make some sort of move for the leadership, but– how did we not realize the level of support he would receive?”

She looked back at Antonin, eyes hard, jaw tight. “I don’t like being surprised, Antonin, and that – that was just fucking unacceptable.”

Location: Malfoy Manor Date: October 2nd, 1979

          TERRIFYING. A word the blonde had never expected to hear her sister admit to. This was not Bellatrix Black ( Lestrange, now, but it is funny how Narcissa would still readily associate her sisters with their old family names, when she would not think of herself as anything other than Malfoy ). Bellatrix Black was a warrior, a trailblazer, the non-traditional daughter of a very traditional family who made her own path both because and in spite of their parents ( fundamentally, she was what Narcissa would never be, was never allowed to be, never tried to be ). Arms hug her sister tighter, then, as if the familiarity and safety of family could make it all go away. The idea in itself was childish, and the witch knew that perfectly well, but for the time being this was the best she could provide her sister with. 

          “Then we will figure it out. Together.” It is as much a promise as it is a request, falling softly from her lips as if she were scared that should she speak them too loud, her older sister might add other words ( names, places, plans ) that would sour the whole picture. Narcissa Malfoy wanted nothing more than to help her sibling ( she did, truly ), but they both had very different definitions of what that entailed. "There are so many possibilities, far greater than fear.”

          She pulls back as Bellatrix does, smoothing over her dress more to have something to do than out of real need for it, and her eyes slightly lit up with the terrible answer ‘aren’t you always a mess?’ filled with a mischievousness only younger siblings are capable of ( one she had only been able to express in with the reassurance their parents were out of earshot ). The words do not slip past her lips, however, because the last thing Narcissa wants to do right now is joke. Instead she shakes her head slowly. “I could never slap you, that would be very unbecoming of me. I also happen to think you just need rest.” As if that would solve anything. “You know you can tell me about it all — Anything you know — I will listen.”

          Her brows narrow a little at the mention of liquor, but this is not a battle the blonde wishes to fight ( not today ). Her sister deserves this. Instead, she motions for Bellatrix to follow her toward one of the studies. “And for the record, we do not do cheap.”

Bellatrix followed Narcissa out, grateful to be taken care of, to allow her mind to go blissfully numb. As the eldest of three (and, sometimes, Bella thought herself as the eldest of five, given Sirius and Regulus), she had developed an almost pathological need to care for those around her. Not in a maternal way, not in an emotional way, but she kept those she important to her safe. She was protective like a lioness, fierce and vengeful, never soft or gentle. But often, she refused the care of others because she despised admitting to such obvious weakness. Narcissa, of course, was the exception. They’d seen too much of each other, grown up so close and intertwined, that it was nearly impossible for her to put up a facade of strength in front of her sister when she was this exhausted.

They settled in the study, and Bella sank into one of the empty arm chairs. All of the adrenaline had started to dissipate, and she was on the verge of an almighty crash. At the very least, she was safe here, with her sister. “There’s no time for me to rest, Cissa,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in order to stave off the beginnings of a pounding headache. “There’s so much to be done, and I trust no one else to do it.” Then, speaking of trust, brow furrowing, she sat up a little straighter, eyeing her sister carefully. “Where’s Lucius, then?” she asked warily. “Has he spoken to you about any of this?”

Bellatrix and Lucius were only a united front when it came to Narcissa – they both wanted her kept out of the truly gruesome elements of the war as much as possible, but given their current circumstances, she wasn’t sure how long her sister’s lack of involvement could last. “You ought to be prepared,” she said reluctantly. “None of us know what’s to come, and I will not entertain the idea of you finding yourself in danger because you don’t have all the information necessary to survive.”

⇀ In an almost hallowed tradition between them, Regulus remained impassive as she seethed. His eyes tracked her across the room as she wore footprints into the rug, each step a declaration of anger and exasperation. He kept a loose hand on his wand in case she started destroying anything, as he tended to do with this particular cousin, but she kept better control these days than when she was younger. Marginally. Her reaction was exactly what he expected from her, half of it a repeat of every temper he’d heard over the last five years at least. Per their ritual, he responded with a firm calmness.

“If someone has betrayed us, Bellatrix, you should care. We mobilize, we search, we find him – and then that same person alerts the rest of the world again. Gives them warning, allows the Ministry to reorganize responses and the Order to know they should re-gather. I am as distressed as you over this, but we will find him. And we can use his disappearance to our advantage in his return. But not if someone is feeding information to the other side. Tell me, do you truly not care if we have trusted a traitor?”

Spun words to bring her to his side, and distract her from the crushing need to - what was it? oh yes - ‘scour the whole fucking world’. Scouring could wait, should wait, should never happen. If he could rile her up into finding a possible turncoat, she would rage for days on that alone. But distracting Bellatrix’s focus from the Dark Lord was no easy task, and he would not be able to do it alone. Perhaps a talk with Lucius later would be beneficial. For now, however, he had a smoking, angry cousin throwing a tantrum in his dining room. 

“Take a moment and think this through, Bellatrix.” ↼

“I’m not a fucking child, Regulus. Don’t patronize me,” Bella snapped. She despised how levelheaded her cousin could stay in times of crisis. It was infuriating how unflappable he was, and she’d long since given up trying to get a rise out of him because it never worked. He was just too damn clever. Which is why she wasn’t surprised that he had a point. Regulus had an eye for details in the same way Bella had an eye for destruction.

Taking a breath, she scowled at Regulus, a huge plume of smoke escaping her lips. “You can’t bring me a problem without a solution, Regulus. Not at a time like this.” She paused, eyeing her cousin shrewdly. “If you suspect that someone is double crossing us, you must have some idea of who it could be. So, tell me – who is the traitor in our midst?” Bellatrix needed an outlet for all of the pent up emotion building in her chest – cursing someone within an inch of their life to send a message to the rest of the Death Eaters seemed like a delightful way to rectify the issue. “If this is so important to you, then pull your weight. Find the leak. Don’t try and push it off onto me when I’ve got more important shit to be worrying about.”

     “And that will forever be the greatest regret of my life, judging by the riveting quality to what I do know of them,” Rigel promises, blithe. In truth, his breadth of knowledge on her endeavours is as limited as hers is on his — all half-substantial and half-useless intel as bargaining chips on the shaky table of their mutually beneficial relationship. But it is always so nice, isn’t it, to push here, imply there. Fish for reactions and see just who he’s getting in a proverbial bed with: if actually choosing a side in a war was like buying a house, then this would be him starting its furnace and checking if it burns bright enough. 

  Rigel watches Bellatrix and the light-hearted poison he’s coming to associate with her character — and thinks, with disgusted fondness, that he could’ve had much less entertaining war gateways than her.  “Oh, there’s not enough audience. We don’t wave our dicks around without making it a very public, stunningly uncomfortable display of righteousness,” he starts moving towards the exit that they were both heading to anyway, because standing between two revolving doors any longer is pointless, regardless of how odd it is to be in each other’s consented presence without any self-serving prompt for even a five seconds long walk. The look Rigel slants her is forlorn and sardonic. 

  “Terribly sorry to deprive of the show, ministry policy — if it wasn’t plain rude to detest having some semblance of structure on such a chaotic week for everyone else, I would feel regretful. Speaking of, what’s good with daddy biting the dust? Do you guys have a chore wheel now?”

Bella’s careless, effervescent smile didn’t falter at Rigel’s question. She was a damn good poker player, and she was no fool. This was their dance – one of analyzing subtext and reactions rather than the truth of what was spoken, and she wouldn’t dare be so idiotic as to allow one of her tells to give away her true feelings on the Dark Lord’s disappearing act.

(Although, if Rigel was paying very, very close attention, he would see, only for a millisecond, the tensing of her jaw – an involuntary reaction beyond her control. But blink, and you might miss it. Blink again, and it’s certainly gone.)

“Oh, we’ve always had a chore wheel,” she said with a shrug. “Every week, I make sure Rodolphus is assigned the task of eating my whole arse, but perhaps that’s giving a way a little too much about my personal life.” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one for herself before courteously offering one to Rigel as well. “But you disappoint me, Greengrass. Such a glaringly obvious question – I know our collision was forceful, but it hasn’t left me befuddled and scrambling for my wits. Seems like you’ve wasted precious time with that one.”

Bella exhaled, long and slow, eyeing him up and down, thoughtfully working over what she wanted from him now. If they were falling into their usual tug of war over information, then she might as well get something from him while she had him here. “How’s that list coming, by the way? The one with all of the Death Eaters known to the Ministry of Magic?” She stepped closer to him, crimson-nailed finger pressing against his chest, eyes fixed unflinchingly on his. “I won’t wait forever, Rigel. And if someone else gives it to us before you do – then your worth to me...well, it’s gone, isn’t it?” She smiled, all teeth and no warmth. “What a pity that would be, as I’ve quite enjoyed our little chats.”

   If Bella really believed Amycus could ever make something of himself, controlled limbs or not, she may be crazier than he’d dared think. He rolled his eyes at the thought - long ago had he given up trying to even convince someone of the idea, and he knew it was all just a tease anyhow. Amycus Carrow had slowly become reduced to what he showed - little of anything worthwhile. 

  Maybe that’s why it didn’t sting when her “true” intentions were revealed. A disbelieving scoff / half chuckle left his lips and he shook his head. He knew what convenience magic could produce, and he knew the power the Lestrange and Black family held. Bellatrix could do absolutely nothing all day, if she chose, and still have the world to spin on her pinkie. “Try again, Bel,” Amycus smirked, eyebrow quirking upwards as he continued his trek beside her. No, he wouldn’t carry a package for the witch, but he would enjoy the terrifying excitement of walking for a ways next to her. “I’m clumsy, not dense. Besides, you’re stuck with me, should’ve thought ‘a that before offering.” 

Perhaps he was made of the same stuff as his sister after all. Given that’s what Bella had set out to test, Amycus’ remark was exactly what she’d hoped for. She’d been wrong before about things like this, yes, but she’d also been right before, and maybe, she would be right again. “Well then, I can’t stop you,” she said with a lazy shrug before looping her arm into his and giving him a lofty, lopsided grin.

“So,” she began, as they crossed the threshold into Knockturn Alley, the bright, friendly colors of Diagon Alley turning sinister and grey. “We’re in a ceasefire. The war as we know it has come to a screeching halt. People on both sides are being given time to mourn and bury their dead. We’re supposedly in the midst of a moment of peace, the eye of the storm.” She gave a piteous laugh, rolling her eyes at the very thought. “What they don’t realize is, we don’t have any dead to mourn, and we don’t play by their rules.” And that was why she needed to make a stop at Borgin and Burkes. But if Carrow couldn’t draw the lines and come to that conclusion on his own, then perhaps, he wasn’t worth the effort of explaining her plan.

Wedding dress shopping with her sister should have been an enjoyable activity. They should have been giggling about the layers and layers of material and sipping champagne while trying on tiaras but instead, it was something she’d been dreading ever since Bella had asked her. Her sisters marriage to Rodolphus was a constant reminder of the future that her family expected of her, that they were currently preparing her for. As much as she fought against it, she knew that they were pushing her towards an engagement with Malfoy, and they were just biding their time, probably waiting until after her sisters’ wedding to continue with their horrible, sick plan. The idea that she’d want to marry for anything less than true love was absolutely ludicrous and she couldn’t understand why none of the women in her family before her hadn’t put a stop to the tradition of marrying their daughters off to the most eligible suitor, regardless of chemistry, emotion or situation. 

In her heart of hearts, there was only one person that Andromeda could picture herself marrying, and it wasn’t the Malfoy boy they expected. No, it was Ted, sweet and loveable Ted, who’d brought light into her life and changed everything for her. She loved him, she knew it, and it was getting harder and harder to hide. In a few months, she would finish her time at Hogwarts and he was waiting for her, probably in more ways than one. Waiting for her to finish her exams, and waiting for her to make a decision about their future. Already, she couldn’t imagine giving him up but she also didn’t know how she’d keep balancing her two worlds beyond the Summer. 

‘‘They’re all so… white.’‘ Andromeda cringed as she sat on a plush sofa, watching her sister try on one of the dresses. ‘‘I adore you, Bella, but it’s hardly your colour, is it? Maybe you should wear another as a metaphorical fuck you to Father Dearest.’‘ She spoke dryly, unable to stop herself. Black was probably the colour she’d pick if she was ever forced into such a charade, something more fitting for a funeral than a wedding. A breath of laughter escaped her at the thought of taking polyjuice potion to do it for Bellatrix, a wrinkle of her nose and a firm shake of her head following. ‘‘Oh, there isn’t enough money in the family vault to convince me to do that for you.’‘ 

Andromeda had to firmly agree with her sister, a snort following. Men truly had it easy, especially in their world. A pureblood man could probably get away with murder while she was stuck balancing two lives by two very different, very delicate threads just to remain afloat. ‘’Is that what you’re planning for Rodolphus on your wedding night?’’ She couldn’t help but giggling at the thought of her sister, her metaphorical appendage far bigger and more powerful than most of the men she could think of. Her sister was fierce, and brave, and yet even she was giving into this. It made her worry for the future. 

‘‘Oh, I am. God knows what horror-story of a bridesmaid’s dress you’re going to put me in if these dresses are any indication, B.’‘ 

“You’re right – I’m hardly a virginal sacrifice, being brought to the altar for slaughter,” she muttered, unwittingly thinking of the story of Iphigenia and feeling her skin crawl. Bellatrix felt as powerless as the girl of the myth, wrists bound, head forced back, neck exposed, so that her own father could slit her throat for his own gain. But she also bore Clytemnestra’s namesake, and that in itself gave her hope. “Do you think Cygnus would have a stroke if I wore black? After all, it’s more of a funeral than a celebration: we’re mourning the death of Bellatrix Black at the hands of her cruel and malicious father, at the hands of her indifferent and frigid mother, at the hands of the callous and unsuspecting groom.” She didn’t waste a second, finding her wand and giving a sharp flick, watching as the white of her dress turned to pitch black, and suddenly, the whole gown was transformed. “Y’know,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t hate it. In fact, I kind of like it.”

“Oh, come on, Andi,” Bella said with a pout. “We’re sisters. I’d die for you, take any curse imaginable on your behalf, and you wouldn’t spare me ten measly minutes of suffering? Really? Does that seem fair to you?” She was joking, though, her tone light and airy, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She felt like a caged animal, scratching at the walls, desperate for some way out, and while she would never ask Andromeda to resign herself to a similar hell, they both knew that was in store for her as well. She could do worse than Malfoy, but then again, Bella could do worse than Rodolphus. That didn’t mean she found any joy in the matter. “The things we do for this family,” she muttered, half to herself. “They can never accuse us of disloyalty, that’s for sure. The men of this family, they’ll never make sacrifices the way we do. Cygnus, Orion, Regulus...they’ll never understand.” She felt a tightness in her throat because of the name that was missing, the name she purposefully skipped, because Sirius was gone. But she felt a pang in her heart all the same.

“You don’t even want to know what’s in store for Rodolphus on our wedding night,” she said, shaking herself, turning back to her sister, eyes alight with mischief. “I certainly won’t be the bow-legged one the next day, I’ll tell you that much.” The bravado was, of course, one big ruse for the fact that she was going to have to sleep with a man she barely knew, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, as it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d done something like that, but this...this was far different. He was no one night stand. Rodolphus would be as unavoidable as her shadow, and as much as she was no blushing virgin, the very thought made her nervous and uncertain. Intimacy, even manufactured, was uncharted territory for her. “Oh, shush, Andi. I’m mean, but I’m not that mean. There will be no unnecessary ruffles, no gaudy colors, no dragging trains. I pinky swear.”

Alecto was merely going out for a spot of lunch during her tedious work hours when she physically bumped into Bellatrix Lestrange. She couldn’t have predicted her lunch hour taking such an interesting turn, but she felt a thrill in her very being for what this conversation could bring to change her whole day. A low laugh was all Alecto could give as an answer to begin with to Bellatrix’s forceful question. “Are we going to fight?” She finally asked with a tilted head as she noted how quickly Bellatrix’s hand flew to her pocket. “Can I refuse? I only got in your way to hear you speak such sweet words to me, nothing physical… For now.” She threw her hands up in jest to show she was being completely honest. 

Seeing Alecto was, as always, like looking into a mirror. Sometimes, Bella reveled in what she saw, and other times, she yearned to break the whole damn thing and tear it off the walls. There needed to be more women like her, and yet, Bellatrix despised the idea that anyone could be just like her. Today, however, Alecto was a welcome sight for sore eyes, and she tucked her wand away into her pocket, annoyance forgotten. “You’ll find there are easier ways of getting my attention, love,” she said with a smile. “I accept wine, chocolate, expensive shoes, and the corpses of my enemies. And not necessarily in that order.”

Bellatrix brushed some dusty blonde hair out of the other girl’s face, so as to get a better look at her. “I don’t know why you choose to work,” she sighed loftily. “And at the Ministry, no less. Always underground, never out and able to play. It’s criminal, really.”

⇀ Regulus stared at the disappearing paper dispassionately, holding the edges until the fire reached his fingertips. He dropped what remained and Vanished the mess before it caught anything else alight. He hadn’t even finished the crossword puzzle yet. How rude.

“I am well versed in critically evaluating information from unreliable sources. That is not what I asked. I simply wanted to know if you knew he was meeting Dumbledore. They could not have been just the two of them alone, otherwise how would we know that He was there? It said “You Know Who Claims Credit” - how did they get that information? Who told them it was the Dark Lord? Or that we have not heard from him since? Either someone was there or someone who knew he was going has leaked a lot of information. I’d prefer the former, obviously.”

For all her hotheadedness, the Dark Lord favored Bellatrix. Regulus was relieved to be able to ask some of this rather plainly without worrying about how it would appear, at least somewhatSomething about this all felt desperately wrong. Relief & paranoia warred within him. Even if the Dark Lord was actually missing, he couldn’t be gone for good. Regulus knew that, even if Bellatrix did not. This changed everything. He worried that he was the only one who could figure out what happened to the Dark Lord. Speaking aloud of the horcruxes was not something he ever planned, and now…. That was not milk you could un-spill, so to speak.

“I thought you might know something unreported, or had heard from the others. I obviously haven’t made it into the Ministry yet today to see anyone.” ↼ 

Bellatrix’s hands clenched around her knife and fork, frustration gathering within her. Regulus’ questions were all legitimate, and yet, she had no answers. She knew nothing, except this: she had been with the Dark Lord on the night of the Duel. He’d told her nothing of his plans, had disappeared into the night without so much as a backwards glance, and when she’d tried to accompany him, he’d lashed out in rage, his words more biting than any curse could have been. It was only afterwards, with the rest of the Death Eaters, with the rest of the world, that she’d found out what had happened, and her lack of information was starting to drive her up a fucking wall.

“None of that fucking matters, Regulus,” she said hotly, pushing away her plate, her appetite gone. She got to her feet, too agitated to stay sitting, pacing around the room to get rid of some of her manic energy. “Who knows what and how they learned it is the last thing I care about at a time like this. We should be mobilizing, sending out search parties, scouring the whole fucking world to find him, but instead, we’re obeying the rules of this petty little ceasefire and dragging our feet to come up with a plan because, why? Because this whole army is clearly made up of a bunch of feckless cowards.”

She lit a cigarette with the top of her wand, exhaling moodily before saying, “Waste your time finding answers to the wrong questions if you so desire, but don’t expect me to help you in that endeavor.”

As was often the case with young children, they didn’t watch where they were going. Molly did her best to keep an eye on them, but with five boys under the age of ten, she had her work cut out for her. Bill was eight, and as the oldest, he tended to help Molly out when it came to wrangling his siblings. Charlie, at six, was still quite young and didn’t always understand the need to watch where he was going. Percy was only three, and the twins were her youngest at a year and a half.

It was Charlie who had inadvertently stumbled into the young woman’s path, falling on his behind when she walked into him. He was uninjured but that didn’t stop Molly from rushing to his side. When Bellatrix spoke, Molly glared up at her. “Do not speak to my son that way!” Her voice was laced with venom. She gave Charlie a once over and when she was sure he was alright, she told Bill to take the kids to get some ice cream and she would be there shortly.

She stood facing the woman. “Perhaps someone should give you a lesson on manners. Even my three year old is more polite than you are. If you have a problem with my son, you can take it up with me.”

Bellatrix was firmly of the mind that women like Molly Weasley brought shame upon their entire gender. Popping out a litter of children and then being relegated solely to rearing the grubby little monsters was Bella’s idea of hell on earth, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why a smart, sensible woman would ever wish such a fate upon herself. Although, smart and sensible were hardly words she’d use to describe a blood traitor, so maybe there was the answer in itself. She watched Molly’s children scamper off with a fleeting, vindictive wish of ending up in their nightmares, permeating their slumbering minds with a delicious sort of fear, and raised her eyebrows as the redheaded witch – if you could even call her that – began to speak.

“Manners?” she said with a cruel laugh. “You wouldn’t know true etiquette if it  kidnapped all your mutts from under your nose. Given that you think you’ve earned the right to speak to me directly – you haven’t, just so we’re being clear – it’s you I should be questioning about manners.” Blood traitors these days. So insufferable, so righteous. “You don’t want to know what would happen if I truly wanted to settle my quarrel with you and your kind,” she said, inching closer to Molly, a wicked sneer curling her lips upwards. “Your children would have to learn what it means to grow up without a mother for starters. So, a word of advice – don’t start fights you can’t win, Little Red.”