Unforgivable

Unforgivable

It is a tragedy that something you worked so hard for should marr your otherwise unblemished skin. You took to wearing long sleeves to cover the Mark, not because you were ashamed of it, but because the Master says the world is not to know about his group, not until they spring the attack that will take the whole world by surprise.

"And then," he whispered in your ear, "then I shall rule the world, with you at my side, Bella. There are rewards for those who serve me as vigilantly as you have."

Narcissa does not know of your service, though her husband is one of the most deeply involved. It was safer this way; the fewer that knew about the Master’s plan, the better. You could imagine her reaction, though - she'd always fretted over her youngest sister.

Her voice echoed through your head: "Honestly Bellatrix, what do you think you’re doing? Giving your life and service to Rodolphus, I can understand, but to a man that is not entirely human - what are you getting yourself into?"

But of course, Narcissa never met your Master. If she had, she would have agreed with your choice in an instant.

Sometimes, in your dreams, you can hear her voice, the traitor's voice, whispering, pleading, "Oh, Bella, you’ve thrown away your life for this... thing. You had such potential... you could be famous, Bella, intelligent, and everyone would look up to you. Why, Bella, why?"

But being famous never guaranteed power.

For power is what you want - it is the goblet that you wish to drink from, the thirst you must quench. It is what you’ve always wanted, to have complete control over others, have them obeying your every command. That was what the Master offered you, that is why you served - and still serve - him. But that was not all.

Ever since the day you caught your sister - and you hate the fact that you are related - kissing a Mudblood, you knew that there was a score between the two of you that needed to be settled; a score that lasted even after you watched with inward glee as your aunt blasted the name "Andromeda Black" off the family tree. And later on, when your eldest cousin, Sirius, followed suit, you made a vow to yourself that you would never just let this just pass by. The both of you had grown up together, played together, found solace in each other. How could he?

You’ve never let anyone, not even the Master, know about this promise that you’ve made to yourself; you’ve let them think that them being disowned and disinherited was enough to satisfy your thirst. It isn’t; it never was.

When Lucius Malfoy confirmed the rumour of a new power at hand, one who wouldn't have the least bit of tolerance for Mudbloods, you were ready to devote your life to him. Lucius--the arrogant fool, trying to take your place at your master's side--wouldn't be breathing now if it weren't for Narcissa.

You are Bellatrix Black, soon-to-be Lestrange, and you are at Lord Voldemort’s beck and call.

You began to devote your life to him - he was the only thing constant in a world that had been flipped upside down. No matter if Narcissa was pregnant, no matter if Rodolphus was having an affair, no matter if Rabastan still looked at Andromeda with lust in his eyes - the Master was all that mattered. You are his, and his alone.

By Halloween of 1981, your power had--Voldemort’s side was most surely going to win this battle. Un expectedly, the mark the mark on which your whole life depends burns like never before. You collapse on the ground, tears streaming from your eyes - this is worse than even the Cruciatus Curse. Oh, please make it stop, oh no, Merlin, make it stop, pain it hurts stopstopstopstop...

But you never once let the scream escape your mouth.

After the Master’s death, you are no longer Bellatrix Lestrange - you are a shadow of her, a mere memory of what might have been. There is no purpose for life anymore; there is only the thrist for avenging your Master. They will suffer for this, the ones who did this to him: the Aurors, Andromeda, Sirius, the little Potter boy...

The world becomes a blur. You Apparate from place to place, walk through Diagon Alley in broad daylight - you don’t care about being caught by the Ministry anymore; let them come, you’ll kill every last one of them, or be killed yourself.

The Longbottoms are so surprised when you and the only other Death Eaters brave enough to still fight showed up at their door. You laugh in Frank Longbottom’s face. "Think you’ve gotten rid of us?" you sneer. "Think we’ve gone, just like our Master has? You’re pathetic, Longbottom; we’ll never stop fighting until we reach our grave."

And then you torture him.

His wife reminds you of Andromeda, pleading with you, "No, no, please,don't the baby! Please, stop it stop it..." You cast the Imperius on her husband then, and he curses his wife, the word "Crucio" escaping ever-so-resentfully from his lips. She screams, and you revel in it - you can hear the pain in the woman’s screams, the anguish coming from deep within her.

You delight in screams.

By the time the Ministry finds you, there is no hope for them, just as there is none for you.