Not About Love

She was eighteen, and two weeks removed from Hogwarts graduation. To any other young witch, this would have been the time of life that made her feel incredibly free. Yet, as Bellatrix stood amidst the circle of dark, cloaked figures, she knew that she was not any other young witch.

The crescent moon provided the only light as she swore her faith and service to her lord, and felt the immense physical pain he insisted on inflicting on all of his followers. As her body writhed in agony, she kept her eyes focused on the imposing figure before her and her mind on his power to inflict such pain, and her acceptance of his punishment. This, after all, was exactly what she wanted.

The horrible current that had run through her stopped as abruptly as it began, and she placed her hands on the dirt in front of her, pushing herself up to her knees. Her Lord reached his right hand down, and lifted her back up. Grabbing her left arm, and pushing her sleeve out of the way, he placed the tip of his wand on the pale flesh.

There was more pain, this time focused and hot. She ran her tongue against her lower lip, already bitten and raw. Tasting the faint tinge of her own blood, she looked up at her master and smiled. All too soon, the burning sensation was over. Bellatrix Black was now a servant of the Dark Lord.

--

After graduation, Bellatrix moved back in with her family. She knew from the occasional clandestine meetings in her study that her father bore the same mark as she, yet could not bring herself to discuss this with him. Her father, she knew, was not given entrance into the circle of Voldemort's closest followers, but was merely another contact within the upper echelon of pureblood society. She was not sure how he would react to her own, loftier ambitions.

The lessons continues, of course, becoming more specific in nature. When they practiced hexes and curses, specific victims were in mind. Her instructor, to whom she was now bonded irreparably, explained elaborate scenarios and quizzed her on what of the old, dark magic would be best suited. She had little doubt that these scenarios were soon played out by the more experienced of her lord's followers, and she longed to be one of them.

Her family had other plans. While Bellatrix originally thought that her father would have heard of her initiation, he mentioned nothing. Whether he knew and for reasons of his own did not bring up the matter or he was as clueless as her mother and sisters, she did not know. Her parents' favorite dinnertime conversation was prodding her about her future plans. She simply told them she was unsure and would take the coming months to decide what she was going to do. In reality, she was perfectly sure, and she spent the summer months figuring out what she was going to tell her parents.

As the summer passed, she was dismayed to find that the mark she'd been given had done little to change her life. She still spent most of her time chasing her sisters around the house, taking them to buy their schoolbooks and new robes in Diagon Alley, (no comma) and getting them ready for the year ahead. Andromeda, after all, had her OWLs to prepare for, and nothing less than top marks would be acceptable in the Black household. Bellatrix never let on at her bitterness at having to care for her sisters while her mother spent her time gossiping with the other pureblooded society ladies and her father cloistered himself away in the depths of his study.

It was not until Andromeda and Narcissa had been safely seen off onto the Hogwarts Express on the first of September that things began to change. Later that week, as the first cool wind began to blow the summer heat away, a scratching noise beckoned her over to the window of the bedchamber. She unlatched the window and swung it out, revealing a large black owl holding a small letter on heavy-bonded paper.

She took the letter, placing it on the desk, and placed a bronze knut into the leather pouch around the bird's ankle. Upon receiving its reward, the owl burst out the window, spreading its majestic ebony wings and spiriting itself away. She looked after it, then sat at her desk and read the letter it had left her.

The paper was thick, cream-colored, and lined with a black border. It had no address and was unsigned. It read simply: "Your presence is requested. Malfoy Manor Dungeons, 8 P.M. Friday."

The corners of Bellatrix's lips curled up into a smile. She swung open the door of her wardrobe and reached into the far left-hand corner, pushing all else aside. Pulling out the black fabric, she ran her fingers up and down the heavy, black cloak her master had instructed her to obtain prior to her initiation. Friday night, she would be wearing it for the first time.

--

At seven forty-five, Bellatrix put on her cloak, leaving the hood draped below her neck, and quietly walked down the back stairs to the family dungeon. From there, she apparated to the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. The ceiling was low, barely leaving a few inches between the top of her head and the rough stones above her. A hooded, cloaked figure stood guarding the exit of the cell. As she walked towards the iron bars, he turned towards her.

As he saw her, long black hair falling down her back, atop the hood that she had not yet raised to cover her identity, he reached for the top of his own cloak. He pulled it back, revealing shoulder-length white-blonde hair and a cold yet handsome face. She wasn't sure, but it seemed that he might be smiling.

"You must be Bellatrix Black," he said, reaching out his hand towards hers. She shook it, as he continued, "I've heard much about you."

"You have?"

"Our Lord seems to hold you in very high esteem."

Bellatrix found it very hard to keep her from beaming at the man outright, but felt that one probably should not show anything remotely resembling giddiness at a Death Eater meeting. "And you are?"

"Lucius Malfoy. This is my house."

"You have a very nice... dungeon."

"Ah yes. Follow me," he said, leading her up a long and narrow stone stairway. "We meet upstairs. This is merely the apparition point, to make sure that no one unwanted can find their way here." She nodded, although as he was leading her up the stairway, she doubted he even noticed.

When they emerged from underground, they were in a large dark room, where the only furnishing was a long polished wooden table. The table was surrounded by high-backed, uncomfortable looking chairs with ornate wooden backs that seemed to violate every single rule of ergonomics. However, the residents of those chairs, all silent, cloaked figures, seemed like the last thing on their minds was criticizing Lucius's choice of seating. Realizing her hood was still hanging down her back, she grabbed her hair, pulled it to the side, and shadowed her face, letting the hair fall back under the cloak. She hoped, despite likely futility, that no one had noticed her hoodless entrance. It seemed like a perfectly out-of-place thing to do.

Lucius showed her to one of the two empty chairs, where she sat, finding the chair as insufferable as it looked. He then sat himself beside her, at the end of the table. The man at the other end, whom she immediately realized was the honorary "head" opened his mouth.

"I wish to thank you all for meeting me here today. We are in the midst of one of our most important times, our ascent nearly complete. Our followers are growing in number, and those opposed us are beginning to fear that their resistance is without hope. It is now that we must strike down those that would feel they have the ability to fight us.

"However, we must know that there is a time for terror and a time for subtlety. Some of you," he paused momentarily, "feel that we may now act with abandon. This is not the case. While it may at times suit us best to act in such a manner that our actions are known, attributed and feared, there are other times that we must be able to create mysterious disappearances and apparently natural deaths. There are still enough out there who suspect us, and we must be able to conduct operations without giving them fodder for their theories."

Bellatrix sat enraptured, at the voice of her teacher, leading his followers and ordering sentences of certain death to opponents of their cause. Two heavyset men were assigned to kill a mid-level ministry employee who was convincing others in his department that a certain highly-ranked ministry worker was no longer trustworthy due to suspected liaisons with the Death Eaters. His suspicions were correct, of course, but he would be long dead before anyone picked up on that, the apparent victim of a suicide after his wife left him. As he was not a well-known figure, but rather someone who was suspiciously on the right trail, this, their leader pointed out, was an occasion for subtlety.

The Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix, giving her her first assignment. Prior to the man's death, his wife of ten years was to be put under the Imperius curse, which the caster could use to set someone's will however he or she chose, and told to leave her husband for another man. This seemed an awfully simple responsibility to Bellatrix, and while she yearned for greater duties, the confidence in her skills in something as simple and powerful as the Imperius curse reassured her. Confident, she sat silently, absorbing herself in the rest of the meeting, and in the mesmerizing power of the Dark Lord.

After an hour or so of cunning plans and sinister plotting, the meeting dispersed, and the cloaked figures stood and made their way down towards the dungeons, where they apparated back to wherever it was they came from. Bellatrix followed them out of the meeting room, taking her place at the back of the crowd, when she felt the firm grasp of a hand on her left shoulder.

"Miss Black," the voice behind her began, "I was wondering if you might be able to stay and talk for a bit."