Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Bellatrix Lestrange
Genres:
Drama Angst
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 10/20/2005
Updated: 10/20/2005
Words: 1,769
Chapters: 1
Hits: 247

Ruthless

HazelEyes

Story Summary:
She remembered those things that any sane woman would forget.

Posted:
10/20/2005
Hits:
247
Author's Note:
Written for


Ruthless

Everyone who ever knew her said Bellatrix Lestrange might be the only woman in the world capable of killing her own child. She wasn't surprised that they thought so. Hadn't she spent years building up her reputation? From her schooldays lording over the younger Slytherins to the very crime that landed her in Azkaban for all those intolerable years, she had every right to be feared. She had earned it.

Everyone who saw Bellatrix in her later days said she was mad. Well, no one left Azkaban sane, did they? Not even darling cousin Sirius. But Bellatrix was especially mad. No one knew what she might do next. She was the cruelest of the Death Eaters. She cast the strongest Crucio and her wand never wavered. Only Greywolf was more dangerous than Bellatrix Lestrange; only the man who would happily eat human flesh and could draw goose bumps to the skin at the mention of his name. Only him, and the name that was never spoken.

Bellatrix had been to Azkaban. She remembered those things that any sane woman would forget.

***

Cissy hadn't spoken much to her sister since that day almost two years ago, when Bellatrix had shown up on her doorstep at the dead of night, tired, cold and hungry, newly freed from imprisonment. She had let her in, then, and stowed her in the broom-shed while she ran up to the big house to discuss things with her husband. Bellatrix seethed, but Malfoy could not think of turning her out. Instead he warned her to keep to her room, to stay away from his son.

Eventually she shrugged it off. The boy was at school, and by the time he returned she would find her own way out. She would not be spending the holidays with her last remaining relations. No, the practicality didn't bother her much, and she had no desire to meet in the flesh the boy whose pictures were the spitting image of his father. What bothered her was that Malfoy spoke like she had no children of her own, when he knew better.

***

Of all her possessions of before, the only thing Bellatrix had managed to salvage was a box of letters and pictures. She was never an eager correspondent, so the letters mattered very little. But among the family photos and newspaper cutouts of the Charms club was one picture that was very dear to her, dated on the back in green ink, underneath the scrawled name of the picture's subject.

The girl in the photo looks about four, looks as though if Bellatrix opened her mouth and said, "Hello, Cressie," she would cry out, "Mummy!" just as she used to, right before running up to her and flinging both arms around her neck. She didn't, though. She was not yet mad enough to talk to a photograph, even if it was the last remaining image of her daughter.

When she was idle in her room in the Malfoy Manor the horrible minutes refused to pass. She sat and stared at the picture, watching the little girl skip, play and laugh. Then she flipped it over and read the backside, over and over. Crescentia Bellatrix Lestrange, June 11th 1979, in Rodolphus' handwriting, using the full name to try and make it the proper family portrait that a snapshot could never be. It was so like Rodolphus that she almost started missing him, but then remembered that the man who took that picture was long gone.

Rodolphus and she returned to each other after they left their respective hiding places and rejoined the Dark Lord. They returned to the same routine they had before they were captured. Do as he commands; don't talk; avoid eye-contact. If they keep each other far enough apart they will be able to forget. But that was before Azkaban. She should have known as soon as she left its gates that they'd never be able to forget again, but she only knew it when, in a moment of weakness, she looked up and caught his eyes. So that was why they said no one escapes Azkaban.

***

It was in the golden days of the revolution. Everything was going well. Every day brought the Dark Lord new victories, and every ally he sought flocked to his cause without doubt. Those who refused the Dark Lord died. After the giants, after the vampires, after the Dementors, he naturally wanted to befriend the werewolves. When she found out that he was sending envoys to the werewolves' leader, Bellatrix immediately volunteered.

Rodolphus was doubtful. She reassured him; Cressie was four, and he could take care of her on his own. It would only take a few weeks, and they'd hardly have time to miss her. After a month, she started worrying. After two she wrote back, telling Rodolphus that everything was fine and he shouldn't worry. It was well into the third month when Greywolf started showing signs of interest in what the Dark Lord could offer him. Three weeks after that Bellatrix arranged for him to meet with the Dark Lord.

As she expected, she was barred from the meeting. She had done her part, and she didn't really need to know which of his lavish promises he kept, and which he did not. She didn't really want to know. Dismissed, she returned home and received a bounding Cressie with bear hugs. A part of her was surprised at the girl's fierce welcome.

Fenrir Greywolf proved to be a valuable ally. Many of his enemies fell to Greywolf and his kin. Though he hungered to bite each and every one, Greywolf obeyed his orders and ripped out the throats of those he was ordered to kill. When not called upon by his new master, he indulged in his own kind of hunting, and no one was to stop him. The Death Eaters were disinterested; they had their own work to do, and some had their own hunts. She scoffed and said they had best invest their time to better follow his command, but entertainment was generally looked upon with favor.

Their enemies were falling hard and fast. Bellatrix remembered the feeling of euphoria, of imminent victory. Nothing could go wrong, until something did. It seemed as though she had turned her back for a second, and Cressie was gone. When she reappeared, there were deep, bloody gashes on her cheek and arm. Rodolphus hugged the child until Bellatrix ripped her from his arms and turned her around; her other arm was deeply tooth-marked.

Extracting vengeance was out of the question. She knew that as soon as she knew what had happened, and when Rodolphus looked up and met her eyes she saw that he understood the same. Then they both halted, not knowing where they could go with this understanding. Rodolphus let go of Cressie and the sleeves of his robes were stained with her blood. Cressie hugged Bellatrix's knees until she scooped her up and took her home, dressed her wounds and tucked her into bed.

Cressie slept and Bellatrix returned downstairs to the drawing room where she sat across from Rodolphus and they were both silent for a long time. The light was starting to fail. Rodolphus stood up, hugging his chest and left, saying, "I can't. You do it."

She focused on the twilight that came in through the nursery window and lit her sleeping child. She thought only of it and not of the wand she was drawing from her belt. A last ray shone brightly for a moment and then the moment passed. Cressie was sitting up in her bed, reaching out for her with both arms outstretched, crying, "Mummy!" at the woman leveling a wand at her.

***

The next day, Narcissa came to visit with her foul new husband. Apparently she thought it would be a good time for a consolation call. Bellatrix watched them walk up the garden path and knock on the door, and then ring the bell. She watched and waited, until finally her sister disappeared, along with her stupid husband who could still look her in the eye, and her stupid big belly. Bellatrix never wanted to speak to her again.

She had to, though, of course, just like she had to speak to Rodolphus. They spoke of work, of hunt, or war, but never of themselves. She never enquired after her sister's health, never asked her husband what he would like for dinner. The only difference was, with Rodolphus she would look anywhere but at his eyes, and with Narcissa that was the only safe place to look.

She had to talk only of the war. The conquests of the Dark Lord were her only goal, now. She threw herself into his service like she never had before, for all her conviction. She knew in her heart that he must win.

When he vanished, she knew she had to bring him back or perish in the attempt. Rodolphus felt the same, and he dragged his brother along with them. Rabastan would always do exactly as his brother commanded. Once, Bellatrix had scoffed at his blind, weak obedience, but it proved to be useful in the end.

They were caught, of course, and that was the end of everything. What little remained of their marriage was gone when the Dementors first began to feed on them, bringing it all back to the surface, everything that they had only just managed to suppress. She could never forget, she knew, but she had been able to pretend, at least. With the Dementors' hold on her that was impossible, and she knew Rodolphus was the same.

Her stupor of gratuitous memory lifted when she found that the Dementors had turned on their handlers. Fools, she thought. Did you not know that no one can force such a creature to heel for long?

***

She met her nephew for the first time when Malfoy was no longer around to protest it. The boy looked just like him, shuddering visibly as the wand passed over his forearm leaving scar tissue in its wake. He was bound, now, bound and gagged to his will. There was no stopping it now.

Cissy, though, had always thought she could keep the sun from rising in the east. Bellatrix shadowed her and tried to talk sense, ignoring the hysterical giggle that bubbled in her stomach at the thought. The deranged convict trying to talk sense to her perfectly sane sister. In her place, Bellatrix would gladly give up her son for the Dark Lord.