The Footsteps of a Sociopath

Bellatrix Black had wanted to become a Dark Wizard the same way that most normal children wanted to become celebrated aurors or the next Minister of Magic. For her it was a career ambition like that of the pursuit of medicine or of the law. If it had been a course offered at Hogwarts, she would have almost certainly have been it's most fervent devotee; Severus Snape and Evander Rosier just far-flung seconds in her wake. The term "Dark Wizard" - or in her case "Dark Witch" - was capitalized in her mind whenever she thought of it. Emphasized. Respected. For most people, Dark Wizardry was a path stumbled upon while in the pursuit of something greater, such as money or power. It thus came as a surprise to such people when it became apparent that escaping from such a snare was a bit more difficult than handing in one's two-weeks notice.

But few people, and no one with any sense, would accuse Bellatrix of being "most people". The joy of Mugglebaiting was something that she had recognized in herself back when she was still playing with dolls and her long dark hair had been done up in plaits every morning. She had liked to split her playthings into two camps: Purebloods and Mudbloods. (It was not a coincidence that the Pureblood faction was always made up of the newer, prettier dolls: those with clean faces, and pressed frocks, and pretty ribbons in what was usually genuine human hair.) Once they were separated, her father's spare wand would fly through the air as if from the hand of a wrathful god to weed out and destroy those unworthy for the magical gift.

Such melodrama suited Bellatrix even at that a tender age.

And so, by the time that she arrived at Hogwarts in her eleventh year, she had already mastered a fair number of simple - yet thoroughly destructive - spells.

Her elder sister Andromeda, six years her senior and the bane of her parents' existence, had looked down her long, perfectly formed nose at her younger sister, and pronounced Bellatrix "a sociopathic maniac destined to end up in Azkaban". Bellatrix, who already had a healthy and well-developed sense of irony even at the age of ten, had raised a sculpted black eyebrow and remarked, "Azkaban is only for those who get caught."

Andromeda had shaken her head sadly and walked off, no doubt to write a letter to her Mudblood, Gryffindor friends. Isolated in a family of pure-blood Slytherins the way she was, Andromeda was, no doubt, constantly fighting back feelings of loneliness and insecurity. Not that she made a habit of showing it on the few occasions that she was home and not sequestered in her room; she remained the pretentious little tart that she had always been. It had positively tickled her when Sirius, their cousin, was sorted into Gryffindor, following at her heels like an obedient lap dog. Which, Bellatrix had said to her twin sister Narcissa at the time, he rather resembled.

In the grand tradition of the Black family, both Bellatrix and then Narcissa had been sorted into Slytherin. That wretched woman, Minerva McGonogall, had gone in alphabetical order and both of them were already firmly ensconced in their rightful places at the Slytherin table when Sirius was placed into Gryffindor.

Bellatrix had taken some amount of pride in the fact that the Sorting Hat had barely brushed her dark head before it yelled "Slytherin!". Narcissa had sat upon the Sorting stool for perhaps thirty seconds before the hat had pronounced her a Slytherin as well; she had confessed later that night that the hat had suggested Ravenclaw as a possible substitute but had acquiesced to her demands when it saw that Narcissa was so adamant about Slytherin. But Sirius, damn him to the seventh circle of hell, had been just as quick in his sorting as Bellatrix had been in hers: the hat had hardly touched his mane of shaggy dark hair before it had yelled out "Gryffindor!".

Sirius shook his bangs out of his eyes and bounded off to join his new House members. Bellatrix had sat at the Slytherin table scowling, not sure whether to be pleased Sirius was somewhere else, for she had never liked him, or to be irritated that his Sorting had so pleased her despised older sister. For there was no one at the Gryffindor table who cheered so loudly as Andromeda.

Bellatrix would never forget the look of relief and happiness that splashed across her sister's face in those few moments after Sirius was sorted. Nor would she forget the overwhelming rage that filled her own tiny frame. Narcissa, sitting beside her, had drawn herself up straight and said, "Good. They deserve each other."

Bellatrix could not brush it off so easily. Though she turned to her sister, smiled, and made a characteristic witticism, she was deeply angered by the fact that people who were so closely related to her were so very different. She vowed that both of them, Sirius and Andromeda alike, would become casualties in her life's ambition.

Narcissa had turned from her then, thinking that the matter was settled, to talk to a tall, thin blond boy across from them. Bellatrix glowered beside her blond, social climbing sister, and watched as the rest of the first-year students were sorted into their Houses. She contented herself with watching those around her: looking for strengths, weaknesses, possible enemies, and possible allies. Her gaze had settled back on the boy who was trying to charm her sister. For a moment, their eyes met over the scarred wood of the table, and she knew that she had met someone who understood her rage.

She smiled humorlessly, and he returned his attention back to Narcissa, who, with her typical obliviousness had missed the moment and had chattered on about herself, untroubled by either the errant gene that seemed to plague their family, or the current situation with Wizard-Muggle relations. But Bellatrix knew that she had found someone as cold-blooded and as ruthless as herself.

While her mind had been occupied elsewhere, the Sorting had finished and she was now surrounded by newly-Sorted Slytherins: a melee of different people, most nervous, but all pleased that they had found themselves a niche with others who shared interests and beliefs. Surrounded by nervous eleven and twelve year-olds, Bellatrix knew she belonged.

It was there that she and Narcissa parted ways. They moved, from then on, in separate directions - different friends, different goals, and different interests. They had always been different, and Hogwarts had simply given them both an opportunity to overcome the false assumption that twins were identical in every way. Firstly they were different in complexion, an obvious fact one would assume, but one that was frequently overlooked by family nonetheless: Narcissa was an ice queen with her pale skin, blue eyes, and nearly Veela-like blond hair, while Bellatrix was her equal in beauty, but in a darker, more sinister way. Secondly, and most importantly, though Narcissa was in favor of banning Mudbloods from Wizarding society, a defined political agenda was a lot less important than perfecting cosmetic charms. Bellatrix, by contrast, knew what she wanted, had always known what she wanted, and now that she was in Hogwarts, among the right types of people, knew how to get it.

And thus began Bellatrix's completely voluntary descent into hell.

These and more were the thoughts that passed through Bellatrix's head as she worked at taming her long, dark hair into an elaborate coiffure of curls and braids. She was wearing blood red, a fitting color for one of her complexion and temperament. The dress, made of velvet and clinging to every sensuous curve of her body, was the type of attire that would have made Narcissa look colorless and washed-out. Bellatrix was always pleased when she could pull off something much more dramatic than her more traditionally beautiful sister. Still, beauty was something that mattered much more to Narcissa, who had made it her life's ambition to become a trophy wife and had succeeded rather admirably right out of Hogwarts. With Lucius Malfoy, no less.

Bellatrix knew that her sinister, heavy-lidded black eyes, and death-like white skin was intimidating. She enjoyed the shivers that went through children when she passed, just as she enjoyed the envious glares of those men who were able to appreciate her particular brand of beauty.

Tonight she wanted everyone to see just how dark and dangerous she really was.

She reached up and tucked one last curl of thick black hair back into place. The woman that looked back at her from the mirror had changed a lot since she had sat so briefly on the Sorting stoo' - at least physically. That beautiful, sinister, and disturbing child had filled out in all the right places, becoming a deadly, sensual, virulent woman. No one had ever gotten in Bellatrix's way. No one.

The door to her chamber opened. In came her husband, Rodolphus. Tall and thin, almost to the point of being cadaverous, Rodolphus Lestrange was hardly the physical specimen that his younger brother Rabastan was. His brown hair was lank, his eyes were sharp but hollowed in his face, and his carriage left much to be desired. Still, he had served many purposes since Bellatrix had first met him at the Slytherin table on their first night at Hogwarts. He had originally served to aid her in class when she did not feel like paying enough attention to learn on her own. Then, later on during fifth year, he became convenient to play off of Evander Rosier for both sexual gratification and monetary compensation when her own allowance ran low and trips to Hogsmede lay in the near future. Finally, only two months graduated from Hogwarts, he was convenient for husband material because he was easy to manipulate.

She turned and looked at him coldly, watching as he shrank away from her penetrating eyes. "What do you want?" she demanded.

Rodolphus cocked his head in a way that drove Bellatrix mad with irritation. She knew that he did it to annoy her, but she was hard pressed not to let her aggravation show. "I was just coming in to see if you were ready, my dear." The "my dear" had a twist of irony to it.

Bellatrix turned back to the mirror and dabbed gently at her dark red lips with her small finger. "I will come out when I am ready. I do not need you in here to decide that."

He let out a single, obnoxious 'Ha'. "What did I do to deserve a wife as cold as you?" he said.

Bellatrix looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was not an attractive man, certainly, but she did not need that in a husband. (This was particularly due to the fact that he would turn a blind eye on the fact that she took lovers whenever she felt like it.) And he was rich.

"Do not laugh like that," she warned him, a dangerous look in her dark eyes. She turned around to face him again. "And don't act like you're sorry you married me, either." Rodolphus leaned against the door jamb and crossed his long, bony arms over his slender chest. "You may make a lot of noise about being discontent, but you would miss the favors I grant you. Besides, would you rather have your bed as lonely as that of your ugly duckling cousin, Severus?"

Rodolphus looked flustered; quite the accomplishment for one so pallid. "Just like you would miss my pocketbook?"

"Exactly," she answered him with a cold smile. "Now you understand. And it's not like you would be able to survive the shame of divorcing me."

Bellatrix knew how to play her cards. She kept Rodolphus on a tight leash because it was so easy to do. They had never gotten along, even when he allowed her to share his Transfigurations notes. He had wanted her as a trophy, the same way that Lucius Malfoy wanted Narcissa, and thought that saving her the trouble of working for top marks was the way to go about it. But, unlike her twin sister, Bellatrix was no one's trophy. When she eventually did agree to Rodolphus Lestrange's advances, it was on her own terms, where she controlled the chess board.

She knew how important it was to Rodolphus that he was able to win something beautiful, despite (or perhaps because of) not even coming close to his younger brother physically, and she played that to her advantage. When he began to grow tired of her, she had started up an affair first with Evander Rosier, and then with Ronan Avery. That had sufficed to keep him interested and possessive, even as other specimens saw his money and threw themselves at him. He had proposed right out of Hogwarts, and she had married him in haste before he could change his mind. Now that they were married, there really was no escape for him. Pureblood Slytherins did not find divorce an acceptable end to matrimony. Once vows were made, a person was locked into an arrangement, and no simple "Alohamora" spell could rectify the situation. Certainly, one was allowed to take lovers of whatever sex desired, and affairs were accepted as a necessity to escape the marriage bed, but divorce was not an option. Rodolphus was descended from a long and traditional line and would not divorce her for any reason. Thus, he was easy to manipulate.

Tonight would be her crowning achievement.

Everything Bellatrix had done, since before she could talk, led up to tonight in some minor way. Tonight everything she had ever dreamed of would be realized.

That career ambition would be reached.

It wasn't until her sixth year that she had a professional title to go along with what she long thought of as her dream career. Suddenly, it had seemed much more in reach: Death Eater. Those two words appealed to her both on an individual scale, as well as when paired together. Death, decay, fester, rot. Eater, devourer, consumer, squanderer. Together the words had a sinister quality that made her spine shiver in its velvet casing, even while her blood boiled eagerly in her veins. And then...to serve: someone as diabolically evil as Lord Voldemort, someone with the same amount of fervor for purification as she herself possessed!

And tonight she would reach the zenith; dragging Rodolphus, Evan, and Ronan in her wake.

Rodolphus cleared his throat, dragging Bellatrix away from her images of diabolical grandeur. "My mother never gave my father this much trouble."

Bellatrix raised a single perfectly shaped eyebrow. "No? I suppose that you had to inherit your lack of spirit from somewhere."

Rodolphus' eyes narrowed menacingly, and Bellatrix let the corners of mouth turn up in a mocking smile. "Well," he said coldly, "if you're done terrorizing me for the moment, I'm going to go find a decanter of brandy somewhere. No doubt your Lucius Malfoy keeps some measure of spirits lying around."

Bellatrix waved a pale, slender hand. "Yes, go. Leave me." It was a command, and Rodolphus, like the follower he was, did that very thing. Sometimes, after a half-hearted argument, Bellatrix often wondered if she should have just waited a few years and dated Rabastan, the young Apollo with the heart of poisoned honey, as opposed to rushing off to marry his older brother. But in Slytherin House, chauvinistic as it still was, it was not good form to date a younger man with the intention of pursuing matrimony. And Rabastan, two years her junior, was not in line to inherit the family's wealth.

As soon as the door closed behind Rodolphus' gaunt frame, Bellatrix stood and glanced around the room. The furnishings were dark cherry wood, upholstered in the traditional Slytherin colors of green and silver. Every room looked this way at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had complained about it right after the wedding, slightly put-out that she would be unable to redecorate the huge mansion that she had married into. Lucius was very proud of the Slytherin motif in his chateau; he had told Bellatrix this when she had arrived to visit the newlyweds right after the honeymoon.

It had been Lucius who had told Bellatrix first about Lord Voldemort, then about the Death Eaters. It had been Lucius who had first introduced her to both, just as it was Lucius who was behind tonight's ceremony; offering his castle as the site, using his money and influence to make the Death Eater cause known.

Lucius had been a friend to her, as well as a mentor, while she was at Hogwarts. Certainly, Bellatrix had belonged among those displaced first-year Slytherins; because even then it was clear that their futures would intertwine. But they had never been friends. She could not befriend people who did not understand the hatred she felt for Muggleborns, the pure unadulterated fear she felt towards everything that they represented. And there wasn't one among them, including her own twin sister, who could sympathize with the homicidal rage that overcame her when she looked at blood-traitors like her cousin, her sister, James Potter, the Prewett brothers, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, and the Weasleys. Every time she gazed upon the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables she felt it; stabbing at her insides, pricking at her senses. It took serious self-control not to prevent her from reaching for her wand every time she saw that arrogant Mudblood wench, Lily Evans, raise her hand in Potions; or that galling bitch, Marlene McKinnon, best everyone at Transfiguration; Dorcas Meadows taking away Slytherin's House points; the Prewitts practicing their practical jokes on anyone the came across; or to see those irritating, traitorous prats Sirius Black and James Potter always winning at Quidditch, while Frank Longbottom and Remus Lupin beat even Severus Snape at DADA.

It had made her blood boil with anger. And Lucius Malfoy, Quidditch captain and sixth-year Prefect understood. Even while he had courted her younger sister, he had fed Bellatrix chilling tales of the Great Old Ones weeding out Mudblood trash. Even after he had graduated and begun his career at the Ministry, he had written her long letters that assured her Slytherin pride would raise up again. Bellatrix suspected that she had received more attention from him than her sister had, despite the fact that Narcissa was essentially his bride-to-be. He had encouraged her, nurtured her. Recognizing someone of his own character, he had helped developed Bellatrix's already considerable rage.

In the summer before her sixth year, she had told him of the games she had played with her dolls. He had laughed and given her an approving hug. That was when he had told her about Voldemort; about the Death Eaters.

Bellatrix let out a rare sigh. She knew that Lucius would come get her when the ceremony was about to begin, but she couldn't help but be anxious about it approaching.

She tossed herself onto the bed. It was odd, she reflected, staring up at the green damask hangings that made up the canopy that two people so close had not consummated their relationship. This was particularly odd because he was her sister's husband, and that put them in close proximity frequently and for fairly legitimate reasons. They were much better suited for each other than they were for their respective spouses.

Narcissa was currently in Italy. Lucius had told Bellatrix that he always sent her away during Death Eater initiations because he did not want her to know too much, and so far Narcissa had shown no real interest in joining the ranks. It was the perfect opportunity.

But even as this thought entered Bellatrix's mind, she banished it. She would never sleep with Lucius: she did not want to, nor did she suspect that he wanted to. After tonight they would be true equals. No longer would he be the mentor and she the ever-eager student. They would soon be serving the same master. Sex was not something that either one of them could use to sway the other, and it was therefore unnecessary. Particularly when Evan Rosier still served so well to quench any inadequacies that arose in Rodolphus' bed. And, once Rabastan graduated from Hogwarts in a year and a half, he might agree to aid her in that very difficult task.

Bellatrix stood up slowly, so as not to disarrange her carefully styled hair. Pacing to the window, she looked out onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor even though, close to the Witching Hour as it was, she could not see anything. It was a new moon, and overcast. Not even stars pierced the darkness. Bellatrix smiled wanly at the dark. All in all, it was a very appropriate setting for the sinister things that would be going on tonight.

The window pane was cold to the touch, sending jolts of excitement running through her. It was time. She could feel it.

The door opened behind her, as if on cue. "Are you ready, my dear?" asked the cold, emotionless voice.

Bellatrix turned from the window and looked at Lucius. The candlelight glinted off of his white blond hair and at the silver accenting of his black cloak. She smiled so frigidly that the corners of her lips barely turned up. "I am," she answered after a moment. "As for my useless spouse, I do not know."

Lucius' smile mirrored her own. "He's already down in the basement. I plied him with a new drink." He glided over to the wardrobe and pulled out a black cloak that matched his own. Turning, he held it up to her, as if to help her into it.

Bellatrix moved closer and he placed the cloak over her shoulders. She welcomed its weight. "Brandy, or something stronger?"

"Vodka. Straight."

She laughed, a mirthless, maniacal sound. "That should keep him indisposed, at least until after the ceremony. What worked for Rasputin can work for a much less dangerous Rodolphus."

He smiled thinly. "We wouldn't want him having second thoughts."

Taking his arm, she moved towards the door. "Rodolphus doesn't think, and therefore can have no second thoughts."

Lucius led her out into the hall. "Hurry, my dear, or we will be late. And though I must say that you impressed the Dark Lord at your earlier meeting, he is easy to anger and not particularly forgiving."

Bellatrix let out another humorless, maniacal laugh. The door shut heavily behind them. They glided through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, regal and sinister. To an innocent passerby, they would have seemed very different on first glance: one fair with eyes of an imposing silver, the other dark with eyes of an impenetrable black. Still, anyone who knew either of them would have realized just how alike they really were, despite superficial differences.

They descended the dark, curving staircase together, Bellatrix's hand still resting on Lucius' elbow almost as if he was escorting her to a debutante ball. Which, in a way, he was.

He spoke first, conversationally. "When I said that you had made an impression on the Dark Lord, I was hardly exaggerating."

Bellatrix turned and looked at him askance. "I figured as much," she answered, visions of her one and only meeting with her soon-to-be master replaying in her head. His black eyes had stared down at her, his mouth stretched thin, his visage one of cold, hard certain. Beside her, Avery had stuttered words of praise while Rodolphus' eyes had widened in fear. Even Rosier, the closest to Bellatrix in temperament, had started when hearing himself addressed by that cold, emotionless voice. He had said afterwards that the term "Prince of Darkness" had never been more applicable. Bellatrix had known then that her absence of fear - or at least her mastery of it - would be something the Dark Lord admired.

"He seemed more pleased with my fervor for his cause than that of my fellow inductees." she continued, smiling. "Also, you are not in the habit of exaggerating. If you said that he was impressed with me, then he most likely was."

Lucius patted her hand with his own. "I believe it was the fact that you managed to greet him without cowering that most likely earned his approval." He paused for a second as they reached the foot of the stairs. "If it can be truly said that the Dark Lord approves of or trusts anyone."

"He trusts you," Bellatrix answered him, wondering if this was a sign of insecurity from Lucius Malfoy. As far as she was concerned, that was nigh on an impossibility.

Lucius shrugged elegantly. "Only so far as my money and influence can aid him. I suppose that out of all of his current Death Eaters, I am the one that he would most likely assign confidential and dangerous missions to, but he would not go so far as to trust me implicitly." He smiled wryly. "I have limped back here in the wee hours of the morning nursing pain inflicted by this hand more than once." He started walking again. As her hand was still tucked into his elbow, Bellatrix followed him, gliding along gracefully in her black cloak and blood-red dress. "Still, I do not regret anything I have done while in his service. Nor do I regret any punishments I have earned because of mistakes made. The opportunity to eradicate any Muggle influence on our superior society is reward enough for me."

He smiled coldly, a smile that was mirrored by the various Malfoy ancestors whose portraits lined the walls. "Most of the people who join his ranks do so because they hope to be rewarded in some way, either through monetary means, power, or the love of a beautiful woman.

"While I do not believe that I have quite earned your sister's love, I do believe that she is loyal to me and my interests and will produce a worthy heir when the time comes. The money I have inherited," here he languidly waved a hand at the gilt hall they were passing through, "as well as the power that comes with it. I have no other reason to join the Dark Lord other than a fervent belief that allowing Mudbloods access to our world is detrimental to the survival of our superior way of life." He stopped again. Turning, he backed Bellatrix up against the wall. While she was quite used to this position in a different context, she was utterly surprised that it came at the hands of Lucius Malfoy. Still, there was no hint of sexual lust in his gaze.

She leaned back against the darkly paneled wood of the hall and watched the fire from the wall sconces reflect in his gray eyes. "I know," he said with a conviction she had rarely heard from him, "that money and power are not things that you desire. You received that when you married Rodolphus, correct?"

Bellatrix laughed coldly. "Did you really think I did it out of love? What is there to love?"

His gaze was calculating in the dim light. "Can you love?"

She laughed again, louder and so coldly that the temperature of the room seemed to drop a degree or two. "A completely wasted emotion. As is pity."

He placed a hand on her cheek. It was cold to the touch, almost as if it was the hand of a corpse. "What a pair of sociopaths we make." He let his hand drop back to his side. "I will be the first to admit that I do not love your sister in the traditional sense," he said, his shrewd gaze penetrating her defenses to gauge a reaction. When there wasn't one, he continued, apparently satisfied. "I see that you do not love your sister, either: anyone who did would have been angered by that remark."

Bellatrix stood up straight, so that she was once again at eye-level. She was tall, and Lucius was only of middling height; yet one more aspect with which they were equal. "I do not love," she answered truthfully. "Like you, I am hardly one to exaggerate. When I said that it was a useless emotion, I was not overstating the truth in any way."

He seemed satisfied by this response. Bellatrix returned her hand to his arm and continued. "I know that you do not love my sister, just as I know that she does not love you. She is a trophy wife: a fact that she recognizes and takes some measure of pride in. In marrying you she made a good match: money, power, beauty. When you married her, you found someone to show off at official functions and to satisfy you in the bedroom. It is a mutual arrangement." Lucius laughed at her shrewd analysis of his situation.

Bellatrix acknowledged his approval with a thin-lipped smile. "As for my relationship with Narcissa, we diverged a long time ago. Though she approved of my ambitions, she was always slightly intimidated by the strength of my convictions. We are not 'sisterly'. Any bonds that we do share exist only because of the fact that we were forced to rely on each other for early companionship, as the only other cousin remotely our age was a lying, conniving, blood-traitorous bastard - I know that you realize that I am referring to Sirius - and our other sister was no better."

Lucius opened the door to the library and stepped aside to let her pass through first. "The ceremony is to take place in the dungeons, which you will find have an entrance underneath that Persian carpet. Everyone else is already down there." He closed the door behind them. "I find your other sentiments admirable. But what of your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange and your affairs with both Rosier and Avery?"

Bellatrix sat in a leather armchair before the ornate fireplace. "I thought you said that the ceremony was about to begin and we needed to make it down here in a hurry."

Lucius smiled slyly. "I figured that it would be nice to have a few extra moments in each other's company without the Dark Lord or Death Eaters-in-waiting overhearing what we had to say."

Bellatrix smiled seductively. "Rather like the conversations we used to have back before I graduated?"

"Yes, rather a lot like those." He raised a pale blond eyebrow. "Well, what of my question?"

"I'm sure that you could guess the answer."

"But I would like to hear it from you first and foremost."

She looked at him from under veiled eyelashes. "Rodolphus is wealthy and insecure, which makes him easy to manipulate. I used to play him off of Rosier whenever I needed additional Hogsmede spending money."

"I suppose that I should rephrase my question," interrupted Lucius. "Why do you choose to have affairs with Rosier and Avery, as opposed to some of the others available to you?"

Bellatrix knew exactly what he was attempting to do. "Did the Dark Lord ask you to interrogate me about the various strengths and weaknesses of the new inductees?" she asked him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She was not offended that Lucius was trying to sneak past her defenses to win information. Quite the contrary, actually.

He raised both blond eyebrows this time. "Quite clever, Bella." He smiled down at her. "Yes, he did. Recognizing that it was your influence that convinced all three of them to join his ranks, he was rather intrigued about why you had chosen those particular three, and not some of the other members of our elitist set who would have been just as easy to deliver to his service. Severus Snape or Roland Wilkes, for example, or even Rabastan, your husband's much more physically and intellectually stimulating younger brother."

"I see you keep spies in various places to see who is most likely to be converted." Lucius nodded his blond head once, but didn't say anything, so Bellatrix continued. "Oh, I think that Rabastan will follow in due course the moment he gets an opportunity." She paused and thought for a moment. "Of the three, Evan is the real prize, I suppose. He is here because I have been fucking him for a good long time. Actually, I would say that I would have preferred to have married him, as opposed to Rodolphus: he is so much more capable, and Rodolphus is so dull. But alas, he is also so much poorer, and thus of very little use." She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling malevolently. "Of course, Evander is ambitious enough in his own right that he would have probably come along on his own; I only hastened the process. As for Avery, it was convenient to have him for a lover because he's so very good-looking: that brown hair of his falls just so across his forehead. It's only a bonus that my embraces could convince him to join the Dark Lord's ranks." She gave a mock sigh. "And without my influence, he's so very innocent and probably would have never joined on his own initiative." She wrapped her fingers absently around a curl of hair that fell over her shoulder. "Plus, it has always been rather amusing to line up all three of them in a row, knowing as they do that they are all competing for my favors."

Lucius laughed and reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. "My dear, I do believe that you are the most valuable recruit the Dark Lord could ask for. Your ruthlessness is commendable. His Eminence said afterwards that your assistance in the upcoming war would be invaluable. And, if I do say so myself, your disregard for emotional attachments outstrips even that of Dolohov, something you should be very pleased about."

Bellatrix accepted his outstretched hand. "Then it is time?"

The gleam that entered Lucius' eyes was similar to the one that Bellatrix had often seen reflected in the mirror when she stared at her own reflection. It was dark and sinister, and something that she could sympathize with. "Yes, Bella, it is time. Time for a whole new era to fall on the Wizarding world."

He led her over to the carpet in front of the desk. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it towards the carpet and whispered something in Latin. A dark hole appeared in the vibrant pattern. He turned to her. "Are you ready?"

Bellatrix stared at the hole in the floor, her heart pounding against her breastbone. The hole led to everything she had ever wanted. It was her past, present, and future.

"Oh yes," she said, her breath coming out of her in short, excited gasps. "I've been ready for years. This is what I've been waiting for my whole life."

"What you will face is a far cry from the dolls of yesteryear," Lucius whispered in her ear, taking her elbow and leading her forward to the opening.

A flight of steps descended down, though the light from the library only illuminated the first five. Bellatrix could feel the mania burning inside of her. She stepped down and stopped on the first step. She turned back to face her companion. "Those dolls were only for practice, after all."

Lucius laughed and led her down the steps. A descent to hell.