Chapter 1: Summer 1966 - Undervalued
Notes:
CW: underage drinking, swearing, references to past child abuse, self-harm tendencies
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
If one more wrinkled old lady asked Bellatrix about possible fiancés, she was going to rip their head off. She refused to risk tarnishing her role as the perfect daughter, of course, but Bellatrix was sure she could come up with a discreet and painful spell if that were what it took for these people to leave her alone.
Black family gatherings were always hell, but now that Bellatrix was fifteen, a suitable age to be engaged, they were even more awful than usual.
“Bellatrix!” Her aunt, Walburga Black, called in a shrill voice. She was a tall woman with skin stretched too tight across her face, and Bellatrix was the only person on the pavilion not terrified of her.
She stifled a sigh and turned to face her aunt, repeating to herself what her father had hissed in her ear the night before: You are to speak when spoken to, and not a moment before. And keep your bloody opinions to yourself.
“Hullo, Auntie.”
“My sister in-law has been telling me all about potential suitors. I’ve heard the Lestranges have a son your age that could be an option. The Lestranges are as noble as they come nowadays, with all these blood traitors in the mix.”
Rodolphus Lestrange was all anyone talked about when it came to Bellatrix—a pureblood Slytherin, her age, and completely submissive to his parents' will. Supposedly handsome, although Bellatrix did not see the appeal. She couldn’t imagine building a life with that coward.
“He seems promising, but it’s best not to rush into things. As you’ve said, you never know when someone is harboring sympathy towards the… lesser. After I graduate from Hogwarts as top of my year, we will have had enough time to decipher where his loyalties lie.”
It was the excuse she had been telling all night, reminding her family she was “top of her class.” Yet no one seemed to care that she was the most talented witch at Hogwarts and bested almost anyone in a duel. Not when she could be an asset to her family through marriage.
“I see your point; marriages between non-blood-related families are so difficult these days. Too bad my boys weren’t born a few years earlier… they will one day make suitable husbands.”
Blood welled up as she bit her tongue, stopping the retort begging to burst free. Fucking bitch. You’re fucked in the head if you think I’m going to marry my own bloody cousin.
“I’m sure they will.” Bellatrix forced a smile, digging her nails into her wrist while imagining it was her aunt that she was clawing.
Narcissa came up behind Bellatrix, practically hiding behind Bellatrix’s long black robes. At age eleven, she was a tiny thing, quieter than her outspoken older sisters. She would have been their parents' favourite if she weren’t so prone to crying.
“Trixie.” Narcissa looked up at her with big blue eyes.
“You aren’t to call me that in front of adults, Narissa. We’ve been over this,” Bellatrix snapped.
That had been Bellatrix’s rule ever since they were children—to the outside world, they would always be Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix Black. They were only Cissy, Andy, and Bella to each other. Only when they were alone could they simply be three sisters who loved each other.
Narcissa murmured something unintelligible into Bellatrix’s robes, her face obscured by long blonde hair. She clearly took after their mother in looks.
“Speak up; there isn’t a point in talking if no one can hear you.”
“Everyone is talking about you getting married. You’re not leaving, are you? The manor would feel so weird without you.” Narcissa's small hands clenched Bellatrix’s robes, trembling with fear.
Bellatrix's rage dulled slightly. It was nice to know that her youngest sister still cared, even though they spent most of the year separated: Bellatrix at Hogwarts and Cissy stuck at the manor with only private tutors and raging parents for company. “Of course I’m not leaving yet, don’t be silly.”
Walburga Black, who had been observing the conversation, turned to Narcissa, who shrank back on instinct. “You are starting Hogwarts this year, I suppose.”
Narcissa gave a small nod.
“For all of our sakes, I pray you end up in Slytherin. Your timid composure worries me; shame would befall upon our family if you were to end up in Hufflepuff.”
The younger girl let out a whimper, and Bellatrix pinched her shoulder. The Blacks were like vultures—one sign of weakness, and they would tear her to pieces. “Her confidence will grow when she’s sitting with us at the Slytherin table, surrounded by good influences.”
Bellatrix stepped back as a shadow fell over her. “Daughter, you’ve done enough talking for the night. Narcissa must learn to converse with her superiors, or she’ll never get anywhere in life.”
There were not many people who towered over Bellatrix, but her father was the exception. Cygnus Black III was an intimidating man, with slicked-back inky hair and a face cut from sharp edges, much like Bellatrix’s own. He was the face Bellatrix saw every day when she looked in the mirror.
“I will make myself scarce, Father,” Bellatrix said dutifully while hating every inch of herself. She was not built for submission.
“Next time, do something about that awful hair of yours. I can’t have my eldest daughter walking around with a lion’s mane framing her head, can I? Take matters into your own hands before I am forced to do something about it.”
Magic bubbled beneath her fingertips, scalding hot. She crushed her hands into fists to stop it from erupting.
“I understand, Father.” She didn’t give him the chance to offer any more helpful remarks on her appearance. Spinning around, she marched away from the manor’s crowded pavilion, ducking into the surrounding forest.
The second she was out of eyesight, her control slipped, and green sparks shot from her hands in every direction. The logs they hit were reduced to a pile of ashes. She picked up a stick and watched it melt under her grip, then did the same to a large spider. It writhed in her hands before shriveling up and dying.
The forest always got the brunt of her anger. Every time someone made an idiotic comment about how she looked. Every time her parents inflicted pain on her or her sisters for even the slightest mistake. Every time she was overlooked and underestimated. She did to the forest what she couldn’t do to all the people who had hurt her.
“At this rate, there won’t be much left of the forest by the time you're done with it,” a cheery voice called out from somewhere up above.
Andromeda. The middle sister was sprawled on a tree branch with a book in her lap, completely unbothered by the destruction below her. She had snuck away from the gathering hours ago, the traitor.
When Bellatrix didn’t respond, Andromeda continued. “You know what’s strange, Bella? I didn’t think we were allowed to use magic at home, yet you’ve never gotten in trouble for it.”
“Our family’s so full of dark magic that the ministry doesn’t notice a little bit extra, I suppose. You know I can’t stop the sparks. I don’t know what I’d do if I got in trouble.”
Her magic wasn’t always like this—burning hot and a startling green. Incidents like this never happened during the year when Bellatrix was using her magic for classes and extracurriculars. But, during the summer, her magic wasn’t content to lie dormant until called on. When she didn’t use it, it pushed outwards, begging for a release until it became uncontainable.
“Good thing they haven’t noticed, then. Thanks for not destroying my favourite tree.”
Her mood cooled slightly. As much as she wanted to scream at Andromeda for being so goddamn cheery all the time, it was also impossible to stay mad at her for long.
“Will you disintegrate me if I come down?” Andromeda called, and Bellatrix shook her head.
Andromeda nimbly navigated her way down the thin branches. Bellatrix winced as each branch seemed to bend under her weight, but Andromeda never hesitated. The possibility of falling would never occur to her optimistic sister.
“You left your book in the tree.”
“It’s fine. I’ll go get it later.”
Bellatrix squinted at the cover above them, then spun on Andromeda in shock. “Is that a muggle book?”
The venom in her voice made her sister flinch. “Mum only owns spellbooks. I only wanted to read a story for once.”
“Merlin, Andy! You can’t just go around with something like that. I know you're only thirteen, but people will believe your…”
“Believe I’m what?”
“A blood traitor! Mum would lose her shit if she saw you. One moment, you're reading about them, and the next, you’ll be running off to marry a bloody muggle!”
Andromeda’s lip wavered, and Bellatrix could tell she was trying not to cry. “Trix, it was only a book.”
Bellatrix sighed. “I know. Just don’t read it again, okay?”
When Andromeda nodded, Bellatrix leaned down and plucked a twig from her brown hair. Andromeda didn’t look like either of their parents, a fact that occasionally drove Bellatrix into a jealous rage. Andromeda hadn’t escaped all of the Black genetics, though. She and Bellatrix shared a long nose and sharp cheekbones, making them recognizable as sisters.
Bellatrix was glad for that thread that tied them together, claiming Andromeda as one of her own. Despite driving Bellatrix up a wall with all her odd quirks, the middle sister was the light of Black Manor. She was dependable, making funny faces behind their parents' backs to lighten the mood and rescuing her sisters from punishment. Life without Andromeda would be unbearable.
A wispy swan Patronus interrupted them, and Druella Rosier Black’s voice burst from its mouth. “Bellatrix! Andromeda! Dinner is being served. Come back at once!”
“I call sitting between you and Cissy,” Andromeda said with a wolfish grin.
Sandwiching in between the two other sisters was the only way to guard themselves from their family’s questions, so the spot was in high demand.
“No way! I’m the one being attacked with questions of engagement by our family!”
“Race you there!” Andromeda didn’t wait before taking off.
It didn’t take long to catch up to her sister. Andromeda was fast for a thirteen-year-old, but she was no match for Bellatrix’s long legs. They trampled through the woods, hopping over fallen trees and not caring if they tore holes in their dress robes.
They reached the edge of the forest and slowed to a controlled walk before their family would notice their competition. Bellatrix strode over and sat down next to Narcissa, shooting Andromeda a triumphant smile when her sister was forced to sit on her other side.
Andromeda pretended to take a sip of water and stuck her tongue out at Bellatrix. Sirius, who was sitting on her other side, noticed and giggled.
A hand came down on Bellatrix’s shoulder, squeezing painfully. “Your robes are filthy. You are the oldest sister; stop encouraging childish behavior.”
Her father didn’t give her the chance to respond. He was already sitting down at the head of the table, lifting his goblet to make a toast. “To our family, untainted blood, and a new age.”
Words of agreement were muttered from everyone, and Bellatrix lifted the glass to her lips. The wine was as sour as ever, but she was accustomed to the taste. She knew, being underage, that she wasn’t supposed to have wine, but the Blacks didn’t care. Bellatrix supposed that if the ministry ever gained the courage to prosecute her family, it most likely would be because of the alcohol.
Even the littles had been served wine. While her cousins Regulus Black and Evan Rosier had taken a sip during the toast, Sirius hadn’t even touched his glass. His parents ought to teach him how to make a toast. Bellatrix debated saying something, but that would only end with her parents punishing her later. Be quiet. Sit still. Don’t fidget.
The fork in her hand started to warp under her tight grip, and she forced the excess of power back inside her.
She needn’t have worried about her family’s incessant questioning because the attention had shifted to Sirius Black, only ten but already outranking her as the male pureblood heir. To him, they inquired about his talent and schooling. All because he was a bloody boy .
She couldn’t wait to be back in school. At Hogwarts, people respected her. At Hogwarts, people feared her. Their fear made her feel powerful, an addictive and intoxicating feeling. Oh, the things she would do to feel that way forever.
Notes:
That's the first chapter! If you're interested, visit me on Tumblr or Tiktok
As a side note, I will not be mentioning goblins or house elves in this fic. Ever since reading the books in third grade, the concept as "happy slaves" has always felt extremely wrong, and many have rightly pointed out the similarities between goblins and harmful Jewish stereotypes. Fuck JKR for writing this into her books, and just because I am using the same world as her does not mean I'll be perpetuating these stereotypes further. Additionally, JKR's assault on the trans community is not to be overlooked, and if you are still supporting her financially by buying merch or going to the studio, please don't read my works.
Chapter 2: Fifth Year - Acid Pops
Summary:
Train ride to Hogwarts + Sorting Ceremony
Notes:
CW: swearing, controlling parental behavior, hinted fatphobia
To clear some stuff up with the ages, I'm trying to be mostly canon-compliant, but I made a couple of adjustments so that some characters would play bigger roles. Bellatrix is a fifth-year, Andromeda a third-year, and Narcissa a 1st-year. Sirius is a year younger than Narcissa, and Regulus is a year younger than him, so we'll see more of them as the fic progresses. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Bellatrix heard the train horn from Platform 9 ¾, it was the first time she truly breathed in months. Every time she left for the summer, there was always a whispered doubt, hissing in the back of her mind: What if I never come back?
Her parents had already deemed Dumbledore a bad influence. They could send her to a different school or withdraw her altogether.
Yet, like all those years before, she had returned—this time, not just with Andromeda, but with Narcissa as well. The youngest Black sister was being shepherded around by their frantic mother. That morning, after a long lecture on proper Black conduct, Druella had triple-checked all of their bags, making sure nothing was out of place, but even that had not satiated her.
No one voiced their worries, but everyone knew the reason for the high tension this year. Narcissa had always been different from her two sisters. She was gentle and quiet, a stark comparison to Bellatrix’s rage and Andromeda’s wild curiosity. Even Andromeda had told Bellatrix that Narcissa lacked the drive Slytherin required.
Bellatrix knew better. Narcissa was as stubborn as they come when she wanted to be. Sure, she was a bit shy, but her sister belonged in green with the rest of the family.
At the sight of the train, the young girl clasped her hands in delight, timidity forgotten. “Andy, Bella, here it comes! Oh, it’s beautiful.”
Narcissa grabbed her suitcase and started toward the train, and Andromeda hastily followed. “Not too fast!”
Cygnus leveled Bellatrix with a piercing look. Shivers crawled up her spine, but she met his gaze. “You’ll sit with her on the train. You will make sure our expectations for her are clear. If she doesn’t follow through with these expectations, you will be held responsible.”
Bellatrix nodded, an odd lump in her throat forming. She turned to leave, but her father caught her arm, jerking her back.“Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You'd better hurry up,” Druella scolded. “The train is about to leave.”
Believe me, I wasn’t purposefully prolonging my time in your presence.
Bellatrix grabbed her cart of belongings and sauntered off to the train, stepping on a moment before it roared to life. She found Andromeda and Narcissa in an otherwise empty train car and sat down across from them.
Silence reigned until Narcissa spoke glumly, “Mum and Dad don’t think I’m going to get into Slytherin.”
“Of course you will; there’s no need to worry. I believe in you,” Andromeda spoke breezily, squeezing her sister’s hand. There was no sign of doubt in her voice from before. Andromeda was a terrifyingly good liar.
Bellatrix wasn’t like that. Lying coated her tongue in filthy, leaving it tainted. She much preferred to say whatever she desired, consequences be damned. Not like that was an option at home, though.
“Cissy,” Bellatrix said with utter conviction. “You are one of the most stubborn people I know. When you want something, you never let it go, even if it’s just some damn toy. Listen to me. Do you want to be a Slytherin?”
“Of course.”
“Then tell the hat that, and refuse to let it put you anywhere else. You’re impossible to sway, after all.”
They lapsed into comfortable silence after that. Narcissa was much more at ease and nodded off, head resting in Andromeda’s lap.
She took out her wand and a hex book, thankful to have free use of magic again. Since she had already memorized the incantations in the hex-book, she tore out a few pieces of paper from the old book. She tossed a paper into the air, flicking her wand. The paper folded into itself, landing back on her lap as a crumpled ball. Her sisters paid her no attention.
The train car's doors burst open, and all three sisters sat bolt upright, relaxing when they saw the culprit.
Bellatrix’s roommate, Zaira Zabini, flounced in, wheeling a cart with two overstuffed trunks. She flicked her wand, and her trunks loaded themselves into the overhead apartment. Satisfied, she plopped herself down next to Bellatrix.
“There you are! Merlin’s beard, I searched every train car looking for you three. My trunk was so heavy that I almost regretted packing a trunk solely full of skincare supplies!”
With warm brown skin, curling dark hair, and impossibly long lashes, Zaira was easily the prettiest girl in their year, and she knew it. Bellatrix would have resented her, had Zaira not been absolutely brilliant, using her beauty solely to manipulate others. To Zaira, life was chess, and her peers were either queens, pawns, or opponents. Anyone deemed an opponent met a swift downfall.
“I’m sure you can easily brew whatever magical beauty products you packed,” Bellatrix said.
She would never admit it, but she had missed her only friend over the summer. She had forbidden Zaira from writing to her; her control freak of a mother read all the letters her daughters sent and received. She refused to hand over another part of her life to her parents.
“Oh, I easily can, but it wouldn’t make sense to go to all that work twice. Anyhow, was your summer as shitty as all those years before?”
“Even worse. My insufferable family wants to marry me off to Rodulphus-fucking-Lestrange.”
“Bella!” Andromeda covered Narcissa's ears at the swearing while Zaira started cackling.
“Holy shit, what a couple made in hell! He might seem cold on the outside, but I saw his mum yelling at him on Platform 9 ¾ at the start of third year, and he broke down into tears. Proper crybaby, that one. Perfect for our Bella!”
“I would rather rot away in Azkaban than marry that pathetic man,” Bellatrix deadpanned.
“If they force you to marry him, I’ll slip them a face wash that gives people permanent warts,” Zaira offered.
“I’m flattered, but that might improve their wretched looks.”
Zaira laughed, and Bellatrix smiled. Her smile dropped, though, when she caught sight of her youngest sister’s face. Narcissa was staring at them, slack-jawed in horror.
“You shouldn’t say such things about Mummy and Daddy!”
Bellatrix shoved down the urge to snap at her sister. She and Andromeda knew how to play the roles of perfect pureblood daughters, but their loyalties had always been to each other. Sisters before daughters, always. Bellatrix and Andromeda would choose each other over anyone else.
Narcissa was different. She worshipped their parents as gods, always willing to please, no matter how their parents displayed their disappointment in her. She believed the love between parent and child was the strongest love to exist in the world.
It made Bellatrix want to scream. Narcissa just needed to realize that there was more to being a Black than being their parents’ daughter. Being a Black gave them power in their blood and more wealth than the average person could imagine. Blacks did not submit to their parents forever.
“It’s a private conversation, Cissy. As long as we remain impeccable to the outside eye, it doesn’t matter what we say in private. The key isn’t being perfect, it’s just not getting caught,” Bellatrix said.
Narcissa glared at Zaira. “Then what is she doing here?”
Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, but Bellatrix spoke over her. “Zaira is one of us.”
She didn’t blame Narcissa for being wary; Bellatrix never spoke of Zaira at home. Her roommate was the one thing Bellatrix had for herself, separate from her family drama. She wouldn’t let her parents ruin one of the only good things she had. But Andromeda came around to her when she started school, so she knew Narcissa would too. They would be sitting with each other every mealtime, after all.
The door slid open once again, and a witch emerged with a large hot pink trolley. “Sweets for sale! Come get your fizzing whizzbees and chocolate frogs!”
Andromeda enthusiastically hopped up, already pulling gold coins from her pockets. “I’ll take a bit of everything, please!”
The witch eagerly took the money, leaving an assortment of sweets on their table. Bellatrix rolled her eyes but said nothing. Andromeda got enough shit from their mother about her sweet tooth, and, besides a few stolen treats from the kitchen, they hadn’t eaten sugar all summer.
Zaira and Andromeda dug in while Narcissa eyed the treats equally wary and curious. Bellatrix tossed her a chocolate frog, knowing her sister wouldn’t reach for a treat on her own. “Don’t let it escape.”
Narcissa opened the packaging, holding tight to the squirming frog. She hesitantly popped it into her mouth. When she was done chewing, she gave Bellatrix a smile of pure, unadulterated delight and reached for more sweets. Her joy softened her entire face. Narcissa didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was wholeheartedly.
An acid pop flew at her, and she plucked it out of the air before it could nail her in the face. Andromeda was grinning from across the train car. “Better eat this before Narcissa gets her hands on it.”
Bellatris begrudgingly unwrapped the acid pop and gave it a small lick. It was sour and sweet all at once and sent a jolt through her body. She resisted the urge to shove it in her mouth—she had tried that once, as a first-year, and ended up burning a hole right through her tongue. That was when she had fallen in love with the candy, determined to find a proper way to eat the sweet without being burned.
Still holding the acid pop, she watched in amusement as Zaira started exchanging chocolate frog cards with Narcissa, explaining the different levels of rarity of the cards. An unexpected smile turned her lips upward. The last hours on the train blurred together, small-talk and laughter and plenty more sugar.
* * *
Narcissa had been ushered off on the boat with the other first years, so it was only Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Zaira on the carriage ride to Hogwarts.
“Bellatrix...” Andromeda started, drawing out her name. That was never a good sign.
“Spit out whatever you have to say.”
“What did Dad say to you at the station? After Cissy and I left?”
There was no point in lying. “He told me that I will pay the consequence if Narcissa doesn’t end up in Slytherin.”
Andromeda sucked in a slow breath. “Fuck.”
Bellatrix shot her a glare. “It won’t come to that. Narcissa is a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake.”
“But if she doesn’t?”
“Stop fretting when it is not going to happen,” Bellatrix snapped.
Andromeda didn’t voice her worries after that, but they were still palpable in the thick air of the carriage.
The carriage jerked to a halt, and Zaira quickly slipped out. Zaira always hated the carriage ride to school and was quick to disappear when it ended. Bellatrix had never asked, but perhaps her friend got motion sick. It would explain why she seemed so out of sorts afterward.
She didn’t see Zaira again until she sat down next to her at the feast. She was back to her normal self, animated and chatting with the older Slytherins.
Andromeda sat down on her other side, but left an empty chair in between them. Everyone had seen the youngest Black sibling in the line of first-years, so no one dared take Narcissa’s spot at the Slytherin table.
A line of ghosts streamed into the hall, signaling the start of the sorting ceremony.
“Poor Narcissa, she’s always hated ghost stories. Bet she’s scared out of her mind,” Andromeda murmured.
“She’s a witch , not a muggle. They’re harmless, so stop babying her,” Bellatrix hissed, eyes on Professor McGonagall, who was followed by the line of first years.
Bellatrix allowed her mind to wander as the hat called out students’ houses, clapping only when someone was named a Slytherin. She only took note when Rabastan Lestrange was called up, and the hat screamed out, “SLYTHERIN!”
Smirking, he made his way to their table. Bellatrix made a mental note to tell Narcissa to stay away from him—the same cruel glint shone in his eyes that Bellatrix saw every time she looked at her reflection. Lucius Malfoy was sorted next into Slytherin, and he took a seat next to Rabastan with the rest of the first years.
Finally, it was Narcissa’s turn. Her previous nerves didn’t show as she strolled up to the front, head held high. Torchlight danced in her icy eyes, fixated on the torches above them, as she lifted the hat to her head. For a moment, the room held its breath.
“SLYTHERIN!” The hat screamed, and Narcissa’s face lit up, icy mask forgotten.
Bellatrix and Andromeda were on their feet, cheering louder than all the other Slytherins. Bellatrix smiled fiercely, beyond proud. I knew you had it in you, little sister.
Lucius Malfoy waved at Narcissa. “Come sit next to me!”
Bellatrix had forgotten that they used to be friends. She said coldly, “My sister will sit with us.”
Narcissa glanced between an eager Lucius and an expecting sister. At last, she placed herself between her two sisters, where she belonged.
Beaming, Andromeda wrapped an arm around Narcissa, who stiffened before relaxing into her sister’s touch. “Welcome to your new home, Cissy.”
Narcissa’s reply was cut short as Dumbledore stood up to give his speech. That year’s oration was thankfully shorter than it had been the years before. Bellatrix wasn’t been fond of the blathering fool and only tolerated his nonsense for brief periods.
Dumbledore raised his glass, and the empty plates covering the dining tables filled with food. The hall rang with the cheers from all houses.
“Dig in,” Andromeda said cheerily to Narcissa. “Mum isn’t here to berate us for our portion sizes.”
Their conversation turned to classes and the new school year, with Zaira and Andromeda’s friend, Harvey Abbott, joining in. Harvey, obnoxiously loud and a half-blood, constantly grated on Bellatrix’s nerves. Tonight, though, Bellatrix kept her opinions in check—it would only lead to a fight with Andromeda, and she wanted to keep their spirits high.
At the far end of the table, she caught Lucius scowling at her, and she scowled right back. The Black sisters were finally somewhere beyond their parents’ reach, and she wasn’t going to let Lucius Malfoy mess it all up. They would face this year together, side by side.
Notes:
Isn't the Black-sister-loyalty so lovely to read about? I'm sure they'll continue to prioritize each other in the years to come...
Chapter 3: Fifth Year - Flying Beetles
Summary:
First meet in Transfiguration class
Notes:
CW: Swearing, allusions to past child abuse, self-harm tendencies
Enter: that one infuriating blonde bitch that Bellatrix definitely hates
I was listening to the song What Is This Feeling? by Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo over and over again while writing this chapter, so give it a listen if you'd like! (Elphaba and Glinda, along with Wednesday and Enid, are quillkiller variants. I will die on this hill.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“This is the most idiotic assignment I’ve ever heard of,” Bellatrix grumbled to Zaira, glaring at half of a beetle.
On the first day of classes, Professor McGonagall wasted no time jumping into the new year's curriculum. She had handed each student a beetle and instructed them to vanish it completely by the end of class.
Class was halfway done, and Bellatrix had killed her beetle by vanishing off only its head. Now she was stuck trying to vanish its tiny, lifeless body, but her spells seemed to hit everything except their target.
“Ridiculous. Ludicrous. Absurd,” she continued to grouch as her spell missed the beetle, leaving a hole in her desk. “How am I supposed to do this? My beetle is minuscule.”
“I thought you were good at transfiguration? You had higher marks than me last year,” Zaira replied. Her friend's beetle had taken on a translucent colour, but it was still very much a beetle.
“I am excellent at transfiguration,” Bellatrix grumbled. “But it doesn’t help that those damn twins won’t shut up .”
In front of them, the Prewett twins, recognizable from their flaming red hair, were busy levitating their beetles and dangling them over a blonde girl’s head.
The girl paid them no attention as she raised her wand. “Evanesco!”
Her beetle, previously whole, vanished. Blinked out of existence, just like that. Bellatrix gaped, then snapped her jaw shut when she caught herself in the act.
The girl turned around to face the twins, a satisfied smile twisting her cherry-red lips upward. Bellatrix instantly recognized her and stifled a groan.
Bellatrix avoided Rita Skeeter at all costs for two reasons: her fashion sense was utterly ridiculous, and, even worse, she was ridiculously pretty.
Bejeweled glasses, colourful bracelets, and a pink hair clip all added bits of colour to her standard Ravenclaw robes. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was carefully styled into ringlets, and light green manicured nails wrapped around her wand as she flicked one of the beetles away from her head.
The flicked beetle flew directly at Bellatrix, but Bellatrix, still staring in shock at Rita, failed to notice the incoming object. Something cold and hard hit her forehead and stuck.
Then, she felt the tickling sensation of spindly legs making their way down her face. Instinctively, the back of her hand came up and smashed the beetle in one blow.
Bellatrix's head rang from her own hit. Rita Skeeter looked at her and smirked, and Bellatrix's vision turned the same shade as Rita's lip gloss. Burning, blinding, and all-consumingly red.
Rita Skeeter should have paid better attention when launching bugs because that infuriating girl just made a new enemy.
Veiling her rage, Bellatrix peeled the crushed bug off her face. Her magic was churning inside her, and it took effort not to annihilate the beetle there and then.
The Prewett twins were gaping at the situation. The look she shot them threatened murder, and they both wisely turned back to their work before she could follow through with the promise.
Rita didn’t have the sensibility to look away. Bellatrix, still holding the beetle, stood up. She slowly walked until she was positioned directly in front of Rita’s desk. Cool green eyes flicked up and met hers. Delicate eyebrows raised, Rita asked, “May I help you?”
Her voice was high and melodic, each syllable pronounced with care. That unique pitch would be stuck in Bellatrix's head for the rest of her life.
She reached out, pulling Rita’s left hand toward her. Rita was surprisingly compliant as Bellatrix carefully unfolded the girl's fingers and dropped the crushed, gut-leaking beetle into her palm.
Rita, to her credit, didn’t even flinch.
Bellatrix spun on her heel, but before she could move a centimeter, the girl spoke again. Her body turned back around unwillingly. There was something about the girl that demanded to be heard.
Rita gave her a small, polite smile. “Darling, you’ve got beetle guts on your face.”
Fucking bitch.
If they weren’t at Hogwarts, Bellatrix would have wrung the maddening girl’s neck. She allowed herself the fantasy for a precious moment before returning to her seat. Gabian Prewett leaned over to Rita and whispered, “You’re crazy. She’ll hunt you down after that.”
At least he had a shred of common sense. Next to Bellatrix, Zaira was shaking with silent laughter, the traitor .
Her face refused to cool off, and Bellatrix knew even without a mirror what colour her cheeks were. She could feel the red as absolute loathing ballooned inside of her, inflating until there was room for nothing else. Between her roaring ears and pounding heart, Bellatrix wouldn’t have been able to hear a mandrake’s scream.
If Bellatrix's glare could kill, Rita Skeeter would have fallen from her desk at that very moment. Her lungs would collapse in on themselves, and she would die with a scream on her lips. Only then would she come near to understanding Bellatrix’s physical reaction to her.
“I’ve never seen anyone who can get on your nerves as easily as Rita Skeeter,” Zaira said with amusement.
“That is the understatement of the century,” Bellatrix muttered, digging her fingernails into her own arms. The pain grounded her until she could breathe properly again.
When Zaira didn’t reply, Bellatrix continued her rant. "I’ve never met anyone stupider than her! She isn’t scared of me. Why is she not scared of me?”
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and she realized that her volume had raised quite a bit. “It seems that some of us have been distracted from the task at hand, so I suppose I should up the stakes. Anyone who doesn’t vanish their beetle by the end of class will come in during a free period to finish their work.”
Gideon Prewett, who was now missing a beetle, glanced around desperately. McGonagall took pity on him and conjured him a new one.
Bellatrix examined her half-vanished beetle, sighed, and shoved Rita-fucking-Skeeter to the very back of her mind for the rest of class.
By the end of class, Bellatrix’s beetle had vanished completely. McGonagall clapped her hands together to grab the class's attention before everyone could run off.
“Listen up. This year, we are allowing students to open their own clubs with school permission. Dumbledore has put me in charge of approving your ideas. If anyone is interested, I expect a two-page essay on the importance of this club, and fifteen signatures of students who are interested by next class.”
Excited voices all started talking at once, students buzzing as they brainstormed all the clubs they wanted to create. Bellatrix’s mind whirred as it caught an idea.
Starting a club was a bad idea. She should be focusing on academics; obviously, transfiguration was going to require a bit of extra effort this year, but…
This idea, if put into action, could finally earn her respect from her parents.
In the front hall of Black Manor, a gold trophy was displayed behind protective glass. Cygnus Black, winner of The Dueling Club championship, 1949. He was the last winner before the club was shut down due to an accident the following year, and he often talked about the importance of skilled dueling during family mealtimes. He even taught Bellatrix the basics of it when she was younger. Those memories were filled with painful hexes and bruising, but they were one of her favourites. She hated her father even more during those sessions, but that was when she decided that one day, she would be the best. She would learn how to beat every wizard and witch in a duel, so she would never feel weak again.
It had been decades since that dueling club accident, so surely the school would give the club another chance. And if she started up the club and won the end-of-year championship, her parents would be forced to acknowledge that her talent went beyond academics.
Distracted with plans for her new club, Bellatrix didn’t notice Rita until the girl drummed her slender fingers across Bellatrix’s empty desktop. “Wonderful, you managed to vanish your beetle. I didn’t want you to hand over your position as top student in Transfiguration class too easily.”
With one last sugary-sweet smile ( her teeth are blindingly white, how can teeth possibly be that white? ), Rita breezed out the door.
Bellatrix clenched her teeth so hard that her entire face hurt. She needed to crush that obnoxious girl’s ego before Rita Skeeter could bury any deeper under her skin.
* * *
Bellatrix gripped her quill tightly. She had already written a page detailing her duelling club, but she was now drawing a blank. It didn’t help that although Bellatrix swore she was looking down at her parchment, another image kept forming in her mind. An image with familiar honey curls, green eyes, and cherry lips.
“Grip that quill a little harder, and you’ll snap it in half,” Andromeda warned. She was writing a Potions essay while simultaneously brainstorming with Bellatrix for the duelling club.
“They’ll be reluctant after what happened in the last championship,” Harvey added from beside Andromeda. “They don’t just want to hear about how the competition aspect of it will work. They want to hear about how you’ll use protective measures to keep people safe.”
Bellatrix shot him a warning look. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
Harvey tossed his short sandy curls, unbothered. Bellatrix reluctantly followed his advice, not wanting to be turned down because of absurd safety concerns.
The Duelling Club will meet once a week on Sunday afternoons. Members will practice defensive and offensive spells to use in duelling, and only these spells will be allowed in the duels. No offensive spells with irreversible effects will be allowed, and anyone who breaks this rule will be immediately expelled from the club.
Bellatrix wasn’t the most eloquent writer, but she got to the point, which most teachers appreciated enough to give her good marks on her essays. When she had filled two full pages with her duelling club plans, Bellatrix set her quill down and turned to Andromeda.
“Finished!”
“Perfect. Now you have time to complete your stack of homework.”
“Well… there’s one more thing. I need fifteen signatures of future members for the club to get it approved.”
“Why are you looking at me?”
“Come on, Andy. You can quit after the first couple of meetings if you really hate it that much.” Bellatrix pushed a third sheet of paper labeled “signatures” toward her sister.
Andromeda reluctantly signed it. “You still need fourteen more.”
“Contrary to your opinion, I’m quite capable of doing simple subtraction.” Arithmancy was one of her favourite subjects, not that she would ever verbally admit it.
“I’d like to join,” Narcissa said quietly.
Bellatrix’s head snapped up. She hadn’t noticed her little sister enter the common room, but the surrounding couches and table were slowly filling with students coming back from their afternoon classes. Bellatrix was glad for her and Andromeda’s shared free period without the bustling of a packed common room.
“You’ve just started officially learning magic,” Andromeda cut in. “There will always be next year after you’ve had a bit more practice—”
“Nonsense!” Bellatrix cut over her sister. “It’s never too early to learn how to defend yourself.”
She slid the signature paper over to Narcissa and was rewarded with a smile as Narcissa neatly signed her name.
Then Narcissa hopped up, still holding the paper, and went over to Lucius and Rabastan, who were laughing over a game of exploding snaps. Before Bellatrix could demand that she come back, the two rambunctious boys had already stopped their game, listening attentively to Narcissa's timid voice.
After a moment, both boys eagerly scribbled their names down before handing the paper back to Narcissa.
Countenance neutral, Narcissa handed the paper back to Bellatrix. “Only eleven more to go.”
“Thank you,” Bellatrix said, ignoring the prickling under her skin. She wasn’t used to Narcissa being so… independent. Before, she had always needed someone else to speak for her.
Feeling the need to recruit someone herself, Bellatrix marched over to Rodulphus. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed her avoidance of him ever since that summer’s talk of an engagement. “Sign here.”
Confused, Rodulphus looked up from his table of seventh-years.
It seemed he needed a little more convincing. “It’s a duelling club. You’re brother has already signed up. It would be a shame for him to get hurt because his older brother was too much of a coward to join.”
“W-what??” Rudolphus managed, still slow on the update.
“ Sign it .”
He signed. Bellatrix gave his friends a sharp look.
“Would anyone else like to learn how the real world works, or would you rather sit around in your poncy robes all day?”
Three more signatures. Seven left to go.
Harvey signed it without being asked. Six more signatures needed.
“I can not find anyone else,” Bellatrix said as she returned to her sister’s table.
Andromeda looked up from her essay. “There are three other houses that might be interested, you know.”
“I don’t talk to outsiders.”
Rolling her eyes, Andromeda grabbed the paper. “I’ll be back with the rest of the signatures.”
“Where are you going?!”
“To the library!” Andromeda called cheerily as she took off. “See you in half an hour.”
“Don’t you dare!” Bellatrix quickly gathered up her stuff before starting after her, already imagining the idiots her sister would try to recruit. Andromeda was already halfway out of the common room.
Bellatrix desperately added, “No mudbloods! Or teacher’s pets! Or Hufflepuffs!”
She could have sworn Andromeda rolled her eyes.
Notes:
End notes: I can’t stop imagining Rita Skeeter as Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, and Bellatrix as a brown-eyed Katie McGrath. Also, in this fic, the Prewett twins are in Bellatrix’s year, and their sister, Molly (along with Arthur), is a seventh year at the moment.
TW SELF-HARM: Additionally, Bellatrix's habit of digging her nails into her bare skin is NOT healthy and will continue to get worse in this series before it’s eventually addressed. This detail is based on my own experience, but please message me if you have an issue with it.
Chapter 4: Fifth Year - New Recruits
Summary:
The duelling club agenda
Notes:
CW: Swearing
This chapter is a little shorter than the rest, and I apologize if the writing feels a little rough, but here it is :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bellatrix started after her sister but didn’t even make it out of the dungeons before she was disrupted. Or, rather, disrupting.
The stone exit from the Slytherin common room slid open, revealing a familiar dungeon hallway. More specifically, it revealed Zaira standing suspiciously close to Julian Avery.
For the second time that day, Bellatrix found herself gaping. They hadn’t been doing anything incriminating, but their flushed faces gave them away as guilty nevertheless.
Julian Avery stepped back from Zaira, smoothing over his already slicked-back hair. He pushed past Bellatrix into their common room, not sparing either of them a second glance.
Zaira shot her a guilty look, tucking something in her pocket. “In fairness, he’s very pretty. And very rich.”
Bellatrix could just leave Zaira to hunt down Andromeda, but the sight of Julian Avery had set her blood boiling. He was one of the worst people she knew, and Bellatrix was no saint herself.
If Rita Skeeter hadn’t humiliated her with a flying beetle, and Andromeda hadn’t disobeyed her, Bellatrix would have let it go. But her skin was itching with the need for a fight, so she zeroed in on Zaira.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Julian Avery?” Bellatrix demanded. “That’s the same guy who would torment my little sisters at parties my parents brought us to! I once had to steal his wand so he would stop cursing an eight-year-old Narcissa!”
“It’s not like I knew that!”
“You know he hates me! Shouldn’t that have been reason enough not to hook up with him?” Bellatrix couldn’t stop a bit of betrayal from leaking into her voice, but her vicious tone covered it up.
Zaira spread her arms. “There are a lot of people who hate you, Bellatrix, mostly because you act like such a bitch to them!”
“At least I’m not hooking up with an Avery—they’re all murderers!”
“You’re one to talk about crazy families!”
“Don’t pretend to know a single thing about my family.”
Zaira must have heard the venom in her voice and backed off, knowing that Bellatrix never walked away from fights. “It was a one-time. I won’t see him again.”
It was always like that with Zaira. She would make a jab at the Black family, and Bellatrix would bite back even harder, coming to her family’s defence. Then Zaira would defuse the situation before it got out of hand.
She knew that Zaira was waiting for the day when Bellatrix stopped defending them. She knew it was hypocritical of her to insult them in front of Zaira one moment, but snap at her when her friend was the first to bring it up, but she didn’t know how to change. Rebelling against submission and family loyalty were both so ingrained in Bellatrix that the conflicting values felt like they would one day tear her apart.
“Good. Because if he tried anything on you, I’ll have to kill him. Big scandal, rather inconvenient for all of us,” Bellatrix warned.
“Noted,” Zaira said, and because she was one of the few people allowed to, she threw her arm around Bellatrix’s shoulders.
Even after five years of knowing each other, Zaira’s charm was still rather disconcerting. Bellatrix lived and breathed grudges, storing them close to her heart until they rotted and swelled. But Zaira, the only person besides her sisters who never looked at her with fear or loathing, was impossible to stay mad at. Bellatrix found herself relaxing under her friend’s grip.
The reason why Bellatrix had exited the common room in the first place came rushing back to her, and she straightened.
“Shoot, I have to go!” Ducking under Zaira’s arm, she sprinted towards the library.
“Where are we going?!” Zaira shouted the question, running after her.
“Andromeda is trying to recruit other houses to my dueling club! I have to stop her before anyone I disapprove of joins in!”
“Since when do you run a dueling club?”
“I don’t yet!”
Her friend continued to shout questions, but Bellatrix didn’t slow her pace until she arrived at the library’s arched wooden doorway.
The scene that awaited her outdid all the horrific scenarios she could have imagined.
Andromeda was talking to Clara Devoe, a Ravenclaw who at first appeared quiet and studious, but really just had her head in the clouds. She was always scribbling down ideas for fictional stories in some notebook. Bellatrix couldn’t for the life of her imagine Clara in a duel.
But Clara herself wasn’t what melted Bellatrix's insides to liquid fire. Clara Devoe, who was currently holding a quill over the dueling club sign-up sheet, was Rita Skeeter’s best friend.
Standing directly behind Clara was the beetle-flicker herself. Without thinking, Bellatrix took out her wand, hissing, “Reducto.”
Clara’s quill snapped in half, and the girl jumped backwards in surprise at the minuscule explosion.
Clara Devoe was gorgeous, with deep brown skin, an afro pulled into two twin buns, and pursed lips. Bellatrix didn’t spare the girl a second glance as her eyes locked on someone else.
Rita Skeeter wiggled her fingers at Bellatrix in the smallest of waves before turning back to Andromeda. That was the worst offense. The beetle incident had been awful, the goading unbearable, but barely sparing Bellatrix a glance? It was a crime worthy of Azcaban, and Rita deserved to rot there forever.
Something was very, very wrong. Rita's petty insults would have enraged anyone, but they didn't explain the all-consuming madness that ignited each time she looked at the culprit. There was clearly some other force at work. Rita must have hexed her in Transfiguration, some sort of advanced mind-boggling charm.
Bellatrix swiftly closed the distance between her and her sister and snatched back the signature paper. Fifteen signatures. She breathed out a sigh of relief.
“It looks like we won’t be needing your two signatures after all,” she said with as much calm as she could muster.
Andromeda looked at her in horror. “More members for your future club will only help you get McGonagall’s approval.”
“Neither of them is the dueling.”
“I think the experience of dueling would help me flesh out the battle scenes in my book,” Clara piped up.
Andromeda looked at her with stars in her eyes. “You write books? That’s incredible!”
“This club is for people in the real world, not fictional ones,” Bellatrix interrupted.
“They’re both purebloods, so I don’t even see what your problem is. If you want my help, everyone is allowed to join the club,” Andromeda warned her.
"Not. Them.”
Bellatrix tried to leave, but icy cold fingers wrapped around her wrist. Chills ran up her arms, down her spine.
“Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
Rita Skeeter’s voice was that of a song, sung by an angel that had long since fallen from heaven. It was pure and illicit all at once, and there was always a moment after Rita Skeeter spoke that Bellatrix forgot her own name. Her mind locked on the captivating girl, losing any common sense she had possessed beforehand.
If even a shred of that sense remained, Bellatrix would have pulled her arm away. But, instead, she tucked the paper of signatures into her bag and let Rita lead her away from the others.
Rita released her, and Bellatrix came back to herself. “What the hell do you want with my dueling club?”
“I’m starting a school newspaper, Hogwarts’ Headlines—”
“I fail to see how a newspaper with a shitty name involves me.”
“It’s a wonderfully catchy name! Anyway, I spoke to McGonagall, and she agreed that the newspaper should cover the new clubs students are starting up. So here I am!” Rita waved down at herself with a flourish.
She looked so eager that Bellatrix almost felt bad about bursting her bubble. Then she remembered who she was talking to: an insufferable girl desperately in need of intimidation.
Bellatrix stepped into the girl’s space. With Rita’s impractically high-heeled shoes, she was only a couple of centimeters shorter than Bellatrix, but she pulled Rita’s chin upwards anyway. Those big, light green eyes met hers, springtime framed by long blonde lashes. Bellatrix loathed spring; she relied on a potion to keep her allergies at bay. Springtime made her reliant, and Bellatrix's pride didn't allow that.
Still gripping the girl's jaw, Bellatrix spoke quietly, “I will give you one chance to end whatever childish game you think you’re playing. But, I assure you, if you ever set foot into my dueling club, you will never know peace again.”
Rita blinked innocently up at Bellatrix. “Darling, you forget that I’m a writer. Peace never sells well. Conflict is what intrigues the masses.”
“My kind of conflict does not sell papers, idiot. The ‘masses’ flinch away from people like me.”
Rita suddenly leaned towards her, and Bellatrix, surprised, let go of her. “I think it’s time for Hogwarts to see a different side of their ice queen.”
Bellatrix's blood ran cold. Her image at Hogwarts was carefully curated: a cold-hearted bitch that everyone should steer clear of. Rita hadn’t gotten that memo yet, but it worked on most people because it was the truth.
“Here's a tip: when you attempt to threaten people, make sure they know what you're talking about."
Rita only smiled. “Let me make myself clear, then. If you so much as try anything with me at your dueling club meeting, I will find out everything about you, and I will publish it in Hogwarts' Headlines.”
She wouldn’t dare . Bellatrix forced her voice to remain cool. “Good luck finding anything. I don’t keep secrets.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“What the fuck—no!”
All calm slipped as Rita Skeeter got under her nerves again. The idiotic girl was treating the whole thing like a game, but Bellatrix hated nothing more than being played with.
She jabbed a finger at Rita. It was a brutish move, lacking the Black grace she possessed whenever the girl wasn’t around. “Stay away from me. If you don’t, the consequences are going to be much worse than a newspaper headline.”
Rita didn’t shoot back a response. Bellatrix thought she looked scared and was surprised to feel a stab of disappointment. She wasn’t sure why, because every time Rita Skeeter opened her mouth, Bellatrix fought the urge to wring her neck.
“I believe you,” Rita said, simply. There it was, then. The last twelve hours had been a fluke, and the only things occupying Bellatrix from now on would be family, academics, and her new club. A little dull, yes, but perfectly fine. Much better than losing her goddamn mind over another student.
Blowing Bellatrix a kiss, Rita added. “I’m sure you’ll try your best.”
Bellatrix sharply inhaled as the imaginary kiss hit her like a bullet, and the mocking encouragement dripping from Rita’s voice only deepened the wound. How could she have been disappointed in Rita submitting to her? Now all that filled her mind was making the girl scream. She was going to make Rita fear her, and when she did, Bellatrix would drink up those screams like they were honey.
Honey . That specific item seemed to be intrinsically intertwined with the idea of Rita Skeeter. She was a lot like honey, after all—beautiful and sickeningly sweet in the worst way possible.
I suppose she hasn't learned her lesson yet.
Bellatrix stepped forward, determined to have the last word. “You are a fool for not fearing me."
Rita turned away, and Bellatrix's insides roared in triumph. No matter how much rage Rita Skeeter incited, winning against the girl was heaven.
Unfortunately, Bellatrix had celebrated too soon.
With the same hand she had used to blow her a kiss, Rita swiped her fingers across a piece of paper sticking out of Bellatrix’s bag. Then she was gone, and Bellatrix was left staring at the cherry-red smudge left on her sheet of signatures.
At first, there was numbness, then heat crept down her neck, blanketing her entire body. She raged, and she plotted, and she had never felt more alive.
Alright. Rita desperately wants to be part of my club? I’ll make sure she enjoys my first lesson in hexing.
Notes:
The song "I Love Playin' With Fire" by the Runaways reminds me so much of Rita Skeeter. I don't know how she has the courage to keep baiting Bellatrix. Anyway, feel free to leave a comment with your opinion on this fic because I have no idea what I'm doing :)
Chapter 5: Fifth Year - Sweet Dreams
Summary:
Dreaming and plotting, the perfect combination
Notes:
CW: Nightmares caused by PTSD from child abuse, references to past child abuse, internalized homophobia, slightly sexual daydreams
Notes: This chapter is a bit longer than the others, so it took a bit longer to write. I hope it’s worth the wait! Also btw I’m going to stop tagging swearing, just assume all chapters have it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For as long as Bellatrix could remember, she had always woken to screaming.
Sometimes the screams were her own, sometimes her sisters’. They were always deafening, yet unheard by the rest of the world. They were the only remnants of nightmares she remembered in pieces: her father’s furious face, the cruciatus curse, and her own weakness.
After tossing and turning for hours the previous night, her mind preoccupied with all the horrific ways she could enact her revenge on Rita, the screams should have been loud enough to shatter glass.
Yet, when Bellatrix regained consciousness, all that awaited her was silence. She could have laughed at the irony of it all: falling asleep to the music of Rita’s screams had chased away the screams haunting her.
She felt warm and flushed, a stark comparison to the frigidness that usually awaited her.
Golden sunlight greeted her when she opened her eyes. There was an abundant amount of light for the early morning. Bellatrix rolled over and stared at the empty bed across from her.
She sat bolt upright. It had to be a mistake. Sleeping in was not something Bellatrix Black did.
Beside her bed lay a note from Zaira, the words far too simple for the elegant handwriting in which it was penned.
Went down to breakfast! You fell asleep late last night, so I didn’t want to wake you yet :)
Bellatrix sprang up and quickly changed into her robes. Breakfast wasn’t a requirement, but the thought of her sisters and Zaira eating without her made her insides squirm.
Grumbling, Bellatrix headed downstairs.
If Bellatrix had known what awaited her, she would have just stayed in bed.
After the countless hours Andromeda and Zaria spent laughing hysterically over her encounters with Rita, they should have grown bored with the subject. But, per usual, luck was not in Bellatrix’s favor.
“I have never seen our Bella so furious,” Zaria was saying as she recounted the story to Narcissa. “And you know how Bellatrix gets—her French accent is so much more pronounced when she’s angry.”
“It does not.” Bellatrix snapped, sitting down across from her friend. She was spooning porridge into her bowl when she realized she was facing the Ravenclaw table.
Oh no.
She caught sight of blonde curls, barely contained by a pink feathery headband.
Flashes of last night’s dream came back to her. Honey, sticky and sweet, melting on her tongue.
Her stomach flipped as if she were executing a complicated flying maneuver. She quickly tore her eyes away from Rita Skeeter and focused on the porridge in front of her. The lumpy sludge did nothing to soothe her unruly stomach.
It was a shame, because Bellatrix usually enjoyed porridge. Rita Skeeter had just managed to ruin one of the few things Bellatrix found joy in, and she hadn’t even once glanced Bellatrix’s way.
“Does too!” Andromeda added cheerfully. “I’ve never seen Bellatrix so undone by another student. Usually, she just hexes whoever annoys her and moves on.”
Zaira tilts her head. “Bella, why haven’t you cursed her yet? You had plenty of opportunities to.”
“I haven’t found the right curse yet,” Bellatix grouched.
She had pored over her extensive collection of hex books after the library encounter, but not a single spell fit her needs. Even the most painful spells she knew would let Rita off too easily.
She wanted to flay the girl alive, peel open her skin for all to see. She wanted to melt off that pretty face to reveal the blackened soul inside of Rita, twin to Bellatrix’s own. Only then would Bellatrix be rid of her mad obsession with the girl.
An airy laugh from across the hall had Bellatrix jolting in her seat. It held both delight and cruelty, and Bellatrix’s head snapped back to Rita. The blonde girl wore a smile of all teeth. It was the same smile Bellatrix saw when she looked in the mirror.
Rita Skeeter was always surrounded by peers—in fact, most of the witches and wizards at Hogwarts orbited her like planets to her sun. Always there, but never quite touching in fear of getting burned by her sharp tongue.
Bellatrix and Rita each wore crowns of their classmates’ fear, one built from violence and the other from words.
If Rita Skeeter hadn’t been the most infuriating person alive, Bellatrix might have respected her. Being royalty could be rather isolating, after all.
However, it appeared both of them had exceptions to their solitude. She watched as Clara leaned over to whisper something to Rita, and Rita laughed again, clear and loud. It seemed that Clara, too stuck in her head to care about anything of substance, remained blind to Rita’s cruel side. Bellatrix hated the idiotic girl for not being able to see what was right in front of her.
Run, she wanted to tell the doe-eyed girl. Only monsters like me are suited for the likes of a fallen angel.
Rita, with beauty masking the rot beneath her skin, certainly embodied a fallen angel. She was the kind of demon who could worm her way into heaven, only to be discovered as fake and thrown from the sky.
An idea struck Bellatrix so hard that she dropped her spoon in her porridge.
Andromeda broke away from her conversation with Zaira to squint at her sister. “Did you just have a revelation?”
“I’ve got it!” Bellatrix announced, foul mood gone. “Rita’s the queen of this school. She knows everything about everyone, and the moment someone crosses her, the whole school knows their dirtiest secrets. I just have to give her a taste of her own medicine!”
“So you're going to spill her biggest secret to the entire school?” Zaira asked, her grin mirroring Bellatrix’s.
“Bingo.” Bellatrix snapped her fingers. A spark flew from the friction, but only Andromeda noticed.
“But… how will you find out her biggest secret?” Andromeda asked.
“I am the most talented witch in our year, and Zaira is the second. We’ll figure it out.”
“Since when did I promise my help?” Zaira asked, but her hungry look said otherwise. She never backed down from a challenge.
“Why wouldn’t you? Is the magic too complicated for you?” Bellatrix teased.
“Obviously not,” Zaria scoffed.
“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”
Zaira raised her glass in concession. “Once again, I’m drawn into a revenge scheme by the one and only Bellatrix Black.”
Their conversation shifted to other topics, and Bellatrix drew back to observe her strange little circle. Andromeda and Zaira were the main contributors, jumping from topic to topic. Bellatrix was more reserved in her commentation, occasionally cutting in with a sarcastic retort that her friends took in stride.
Narcissa hadn’t spoken the entire breakfast despite Andromeda and Zaira recounting the beetle incident for her sake. She sat rigidly, picking at her eggs in thought. Narcissa was skinny for her age, never seeming to have an appetite. It was one of the reasons she was their mother’s favorite.
No stranger to her reticent sister’s silence, Bellatrix wasn’t concerned. Narcissa was most likely put off by Zaira’s loud presence. She shouldn’t be, seeing as Zaira and Bellatrix shared a sense of loyalty. Being in one’s good ranks meant an ally in the other. The opposite was true, of course: falling out of favor with one meant making two enemies, but Narcissa needn’t worry about that.
It would just take time for Narcissa to get acclimatize, similar to how it had taken time for Bellatrix and Zaira to become Bellatrix-and-Zaira.
A smile tugged at Bellatrix’s lips as she remembered her outrage at getting denied a solo room despite her family’s request. Her resentment for her new roommate only faded after Zaira began to teach her how to make all sorts of hazardous potions. In return, Bellatrix had shared her favourite curses, the two of them each using the other to build their ruthless reputation. Somewhere along that line, their allyship morphed into a friendship.
It took until the end of breakfast for Narcissa to say a word.
“Your tie is ruffled,” Narcissa said quietly from Bellatrix’s right.
If it had been anyone else commenting on her appearance, Bellatrix would have cursed their lips together. She heard enough of that shit from her parents. But it was only Narcissa, so Bellatrix straightened her dark green tie.
“I had to get ready quickly as someone didn’t wake me up this morning,” Bellatrix said pointedly to Zaira.
“Everyone needs their beauty sleep, love, even you.”
“And abandon you three? Never.”
“Breakfast wouldn’t be breakfast without your sarcastic comments,” Narcissa added.
She felt a surge of gratitude for her strange, serious sister. Even after all these years of knowing these people, she still craved validation that they cared about her.
That was an embarrassing thought, so Bellatrix pushed it to the back of her mind.
“Listen to Cissy; she appreciates my presence.”
The dining hall was nearly empty of students, so she grabbed her bag of schoolbooks and motioned at her friends to get up.
“Class time. Zaira and I have Potions in the dungeons, so, Andromeda, can you show Narcissa how to get to Charms?” Bellatrix asked.
Andromeda nodded, and Bellatrix set off with Zaira.
The second they were away from the younger two, Zaira turned to her, eyes dancing with mischief. “So about your revenge on Rita… I was thinking that if we were to use a memory projection charm—”
“We could layer it with a specific legilimency spell to find her darkest secret,” Bellatrix finished for her, lips pulling back to reveal a wolfish smile.
She was well-acquainted with legilimancy and the nauseating feeling that follows the mind-invading. It was her mother’s favourite parenting technique, and Bellatrix despised it even more than her dad’s physical punishments.
Doing the spell on someone else, however, didn’t sicken Bellatrix. It only made her feel alive.
“That would be perfect,” Zaira said, oblivious to her friend’s past with the spell.
“Meet me in the common room after today’s lessons. We start preparing tonight,” Bellatrix ordered, mentally listing the spell’s components.
“See you there, partner in crime.”
* * *
The paper in Bellatrix’s hands still smelled like cherries. Three days had passed since Rita swiped her lip gloss onto her sheet of signatures, so, by all logical means, the scent should have been long gone. But, in true Rita Skeeter fashion, it appeared the lip gloss was enchanted to last forever.
It took all of Bellatrix’s restraint not to crumple up the paper and toss it in the rubbish. She would be rid of it soon, but, first, she had to show McGonagall.
Starting up her dueling club was even more important than before because it was now critical in her plan to embarrass Hogwarts’ very own Queen Bee. She and Zaira were close to perfecting her curse, which was to be used on Rita when she crashed Bellatrix’s dueling club. A thrill shot through Bellatrix as she imagined Rita’s horror at being exposed.
It was accompanied by a prickling feeling of discomfort—she knew the violation that came with legilimency, after all—but she ignored it, focusing on the excitement running through her veins.
It will serve Rita right for sticking her nose in where she doesn’t belong, she told herself.
After being forced to sit behind her nemesis for more than an hour and watching as Rita mastered their assignment first try, Bellatrix was physically aching for revenge.
The spell still needed a few more adjustments, but her and Zaira would work out the kinks that night. Of course, Bellatrix could have created the spell without help, but she preferred Zaira’s chatter to working in silence.
In solitude, Bellatrix’s rage consumed her. Focusing was impossible when all she could think about was wrapping her hands around the girl’s pale throat.
The last students filed out of the room, and Bellatrix stepped up to McGonagall’s desk.
“Yes, Miss Black?”
Bellatrix gave her politest smile, although it felt like a lie on her lips. “I’m restarting The Hogwarts Dueling Club and the second-semester Dueling Championships. I’m well aware of the accident that ended our last dueling club, but these will be prevented by the safety precautions detailed in my paper.”
She set her essay down on the professor’s desk.
“And the signatures?”
Bellatrix held the sheet up for the woman to see. Even though the fifteen signatures were clearly visible, McGonagall still took the lip gloss-smeared paper. It took Bellatrix a second to unclench her fingers.
The professor sat back down at her desk. Bellatrix watched as the woman adjusted her spectacles and began to read.
And read.
And read.
It took a lifetime for McGonagall to finish her essay. Human life began and ended, stars died, and Bellatrix was impatient.
Although Rita had left with the other students after getting her club approved, her floral perfume lingered in the air, dancing tantalizingly under Bellatrix’s nose. The worst part was that it smelled good. Sweet and fresh, like nature’s romanticized counterpart.
It was ill-fitting for a toxic girl like Rita.
Bellatrix began to imagine Rita’s face as she experienced what Rita had done to countless others. Bellatrix didn’t particularly care for the justice aspect, but there was a certain poetry to Rita Skeeter getting exactly what she deserved.
Finally, McGonagall looked up, neatly folding her essay in half and creasing the edges.
Bellatrix couldn’t help herself. “Well?”
“I’ll consider it.”
Her teeth ground together so hard that McGonall could surely hear it. “Rita Skeeter’s school-newspaper club has already been approved.”
“Dueling is much more responsible for bodily harm than newspapers are, Miss Black.”
Knowing Rita, Bellatrix doubted the accuracy of that statement.
McGonagall continued. “After the tragic death that ended Hogwarts’ last dueling club, you are lucky I am even considering your proposition.”
A death was unfortunate. It didn’t bode well for her case of reopening the club, but Bellatrix was sure the obstinate professor would come around. If it were any other teacher, she would have offered a generous donation to the school from her parents, but she doubted McGonagall would take kindly to bribery.
“I’m honored that you’re considering my offer. Ma’am,” Bellatrix gritted out in formality.
She turned to leave, but there was one more thing. It didn’t make sense. A couple of minutes ago, she was desperate to be rid of the paper stained by her enemy. Anyone else would let the signature sheet, marked by cherry lip gloss, remain in the hands of McGonagall,
But Bellatrix was never able to let things go. She asked in her politest voice, “Would you mind giving me my signature sheet back? I would like to know the attendees for my lesson plan.”
“Of course, Miss Black.”
Her fingernails dug crescent-shaped holes into the paper as it was returned to her hand. She walked briskly to the door.
If the hallway’s air tasted wrong, untouched by a memorable floral scent, Bellatrix didn’t notice. Not at all.
Transfiguration was her last class of the day, so Bellatrix returned to the dungeons, eager to get back to constructing her revenge spell.
She surpassed Andromeda and Narcissa in the common room, not wanting to face Andromeda’s relentless teasing about Rita. Plus, needing her sister’s help with planning for the club forced Bellatrix to overlook her sister’s betrayal in recruiting Rita, but Andromeda wasn’t quite forgiven yet.
Instead, Bellatrix headed up to her dorm and was met with a cheery Zaira. “Hiya.” Her friend was sprawled on her bed, flipping through her Defense Against the Dark Arts reading.
Bellatrix relaxed onto her own bed, letting her composure drop for the first time all day. Blacks didn’t slouch in the company of others.
Zaira sat up, throwing her legs over the side of her bed to face Bellatrix. “So what did the old hag say?”
Unlike Slughorn and Flitwick, who both practically worshipped Zaira, McGonall treated Zaira exactly like everyone else. This was an unforgivable sin to Zaira, used to favoritism due to her charming exterior.
“She said she’d ‘consider’ it,” Bellatrix growled. “It apparently risks causing students ‘bodily harm.’”
“That’s bullshit. She’s approved all her Gryffindor students’ clubs.”
“Biased bitch,” Bellatrix muttered.
Her friend suddenly jumped up, slipping back into her boots. Zaira’s famous winning smile made an appearance as she called over her shoulder, “Be right back!”
Before Bellatrix could stop her, Zaira was running out of their room.
If she had a bit more energy, Bellatrix would run after her, but she had had enough of chasing frantically after others for a week. Zaira would come back to her before the night was over. That was one of the benefits of sharing a dorm.
Knowing that didn’t stop Bellatrix’s irrational stab of panic as the door swung shut behind her friend. It never did. There would always be a voice inside her whispering that every bond she managed to forge was temporary. She wished she could claw out that voice with her own sharp nails.
As a distraction, she looked down at the paper in her hands. She hadn’t set it down since she had retrieved it from McGonagall.
She could throw it out.
Cut it up.
Rip it to pieces.
Set it on fire.
Oh, that’s an appealing thought. She wanted to watch it disintegrate beneath her fingers from touch alone. Only, as she closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the smooth surface, it wasn’t paper she imagined.
It came to her in flashes.
Pale, soft skin of an exposed throat, turned towards Bellatrix in trust. Firm touches and light ones. Quickened breaths. The familiar aroma of honey and flowers.
Her back arched underneath her, and Bellatrix’s eyes flew open.
Bile formed in the back of her throat as she fought the urge to puke. Her skin itched as if she were covered in dirt, but the real filth was inside her.
What the actual fuck just happened?
It was all Rita’s fault. The girl was corrupting her, twisting her, forcing her to have disgusting thoughts.
That was it. Rita was implanting these impure thoughts in Bellatrix’s head to drive her crazy. It made sense. Bellatrix never thought that way about anyone, and certainly Rita Skeeter couldn’t change that. Not without magic involved.
Bellatrix needed to get her revenge before Rita Skeeter could bury any deeper under her skin.
The door flew open, and Bellatrix shot up, releasing the paper claimed by Rita’s lips. It fluttered under her bed.
“Slughorn loves your idea!” Zaira said excitedly, hopping onto Bellatrix’s bed.
Bellatrix blinked at her friend’s sudden entrance, still disoriented from her spiralling thoughts.
Zaira took that as a sign to continue. “I told him how the dueling club would be excellent for scouting out talented members for the Slug Club, and he approved your idea!”
She handed Bellatrix a bronze badge engraved with the letters CD. Club Director.
Bellatrix grinned fiercely, and she locked away everything that had happened in Zaira’s absence to a far corner of her mind. She was one step closer to enacting her revenge. “Zaira, you’re a genius!”
Her friend smirked. “Took you long enough to realize it.”
That night, Bellatrix slept with the badge pressed to her side. The cold sting of metal promised her revenge, and the peace that would follow it. After she and Rita were even, the gravity leading Bellatrix back to the girl would be gone.
She could feel the pull as she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts shifting from murderous to soft wonderings.
Did Rita enchant her perfume to last unnaturally long or did she enchant herself to smell like flowers? At night, did Rita think of all the awful things she could do to Bellatrix, like Bellatrix did to her? Did Rita think about Bellatrix at all?
In her drowsy state, it didn’t even occur to her to be ashamed of the direction her thoughts had taken.
Sleep claimed her eventually, but the nightmares never did. Bellatrix woke the next morning tasting a drop of gold honey on the tip of her tongue.
Notes:
The nightmares described at the beginning of this chapter are a symptom of PTSD from the abuse her and her sister’s experience at home. Yes, these dreams stopped because of Rita, but I did not include it to be a silly romantic detail. Bellatrix has lived her whole life for her parents—repressing her turbulent emotions under a mask of politeness, performing well academically to try and earn their approval, and looking after her sisters to make sure they become proper Blacks. Rita is her only exception—Orion and Druella would look down on Bellatrix’s petty revenge plots, and they definitely wouldn’t approve of the other thoughts Bellatrix has of Rita. Even the dueling club, which Bellatrix tells herself she’s doing for her parents approval, is mostly just a means to revenge. Her obsession with Rita is an unintended rebellion against her parents, and, for the moment, her mind is too occupied to return to the bad place of her past memories. FYI to anyone triggered by these themes, this is not the last we will see of these nightmares.
Although I have done some research, I have no personal experience with these topics. If anyone finds my portrayal to be offensive in any way, please message me, and I will make adjustments as we see fit.
On a lighter note, the first dueling club meeting is next chapter!!! Woohoo, we're making progress!!!
Chapter 6: Fifth Year - Duelling Partners
Summary:
First duelling club meeting
Notes:
CW: mentions of past child abuse
Sorry for the long wait! I had to break this chapter into two bc it got too long, but the next update should be pretty soon!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two weeks of planning later, Bellatrix was waiting in the courtyard with her sisters for her first duelling club.
A shiny bronze badge from Slughorn glinted on her robes, marking her status. She gripped her wand, mentally rehearsing her curse to use on Rita Skeeter as soon as she arrived.
It took a couple of planning sessions with Andromeda and Zaira, but Bellatrix knew exactly how she was going to enact her revenge.
The first members started trickling in, and then some more. And more.
Bellatrix’s eyes widened as she mentally counted over fifty students. She hadn’t realized how quickly the word had spread about her club.
She scowled as she saw three heads of flaming red. The Prewett twins were bad enough, but why had they brought their sister ? The only talent Molly Weasley was known for was making sweaters. Her winning a duel would be laughable.
Bellatrix appeased herself by reasoning that this... unique audience would just mean more people to witness Rita'sspectacle. A hungry smile pulled at Bellatrix's lips.
Speaking of the demon-spawn, she should walk in any second. Bellatrix’s heart thrummed in anticipation.
A gust of wind tore through the courtyard in a spontaneous burst, and Bellatrix was glad that she had the foresight to pull her wild hair into a bun, which she usually avoided. Her face had felt oddly exposed without her mane of jet-black waves, so she had impulsively stolen one of Zaira’s lip oils. That had been a mistake—she was reminded of cherry lip gloss every time she closed her mouth. The reminder of Rita on her lips left her feeling uneasy.
Rita really should have arrived by then. She had made her intentions clear when Bellatrix last talked to her in the library. But the vexatious girl and her doe-eyed friend were nowhere to be seen.
“Bella,” Andromeda whispered. “It’s time to start.”
“She’s not here yet,” Bellatrix hissed back.
“They’re all waiting on you,” Narcissa pointed out from her other side.
She wanted to rip her hair out in frustration. Rita was everywhere she shouldn’t be—in her mind, on her lips, and in class when Bellatrix should be focusing. Yet the one time Bellatrix needed her, the girl didn’t show.
Students started to look at Bellatrix in confusion. To save herself the embarrassment, she waved her wand in a shower of sparks to signal the start of class.
“Listen up! In this club, we will be practicing offensive and defensive spells for duelling. This is not a joke, and if you aren’t fine with getting cursed, I strongly suggest you leave. However, if you cause irreparable damage, my club will get shut down, and I will hold you personally accountable. Got it?”
Her steely gray eyes swept over the small crowd, watching as students writhed under her gaze.
No one spoke, staring wide-eyed back at her. Bellatrix scanned the crowd again, pretending to intimidate them as she searched for an absent girl. She repeated, louder, “Got it?”
This time, quick nods followed.
“For our first exercise, everyone needs to pair up.”
This was when she needed Rita. She was supposed to have demanded her as a partner, and when they demonstrated a duel, she was supposed to hit Rita with her curse.
Everyone else was pairing up, not wanting to be the one left out. Narcissa left her sisters to approach Lucius, so Andromeda paired up with Harvey.
Bellatrix watched with mixed feelings. On one hand, she disliked her sisters straying far from each other. On the other hand, she was glad Narcissa was finally overcoming her timidity. The Blacks were not shy .
Bellatrix smirked as Lucius calmly surveyed his opponent. She almost pitied him. Narcissa could be quite ferocious when she wanted to be, and she had learned from the best. Bellatrix had taught Narcissa almost everything she knew about duelling.
She spotted Julian Avery heading towards a group of second years.
No, you don’t . Bellatrix couldn’t care less who Avery chose to torment, but a Slytherin pairing up with a much younger student was pathetic.
The need to hurt someone was a physical ache, and if Rita couldn't be her next victim, Julian would have to do.
Avery’s shameful defeat would be far less sweet than Rita's, but that thought process was a dangerous path to go down. Her mind easily got lost imagining all the ways she could destroy Rita Skeeter.
“Avery,” Bellatrix said, smiling sharply. “Let’s show them an example duel.”
Avery paused and turned to look at Bellatrix. The malicious glint in his eye told Bellatrix that he hadn’t forgiven her after the last Pureblood event they had attended together. It had been their parents’ messed-up idea of a date, regretted by both parties as it ended with Avery tied up, wand lying by his feet.
How ironic, Bellatrix thought. Their whole spat had started over a snide comment about Zaira, and now he was snogging the same girl he once deemed a slag.
Avery faced her with a bloodthirsty smile. Bellatrix understood he was aching for revenge. Too bad he wouldn’t get any.
He tipped his head. “Cheers, Bella .”
That nickname was not for people like him. If it wouldn’t compromise her duelling club, she would have severed at least one of his limbs.
Turning back to her crowd, Bellatrix said, “Today, we’ll be practicing the structure of duelling with the spells we already know. To start, one of you will cast a hex, and your partner will try to deflect and then retaliate with their own spell. Sounds easy enough, right?”
The members were looking more comfortable now, and they nodded eagerly.
Bellatrix didn’t miss a beat. "Incorrect. It's the opposite of easy. If you're not prepared, you're dead meat. Each spell is cast like this .” She snapped her fingers for the effect. “You blink, and you’ve already lost. You let your guard down, and it’stoo late. Avery and I will demonstrate, then you all will give it a go.”
Everyone stepped back, forming a circle around the two duelers.
They met each other’s eyes. Despite Bellatrix’s rules, neither of them was planning to hold back. Avery wasn’t the type to tattle about an injury to a teacher, so there was no risk to her club. They would both give it all they had.
Zaira, only a spectator at their club, volunteered to count them off. “Three, two, one, go!”
“Alarte Ascendare!” Avery shouted immediately as Bellatrix simultaneously shouted “Densaugeo!”
Avery dodged as Bellatrix flicked her wand to deflect his hex. She didn't hesitate to shoot another spell right back at him.
She laughed as they circled each other. For once, her mind was entirely trained on the present. She felt so simple in battle, no conflicting thoughts or feelings. Winning was all that mattered.
She laughed as they traded hexes, calling to the crowd as Avery used a particularly nasty curse that she easily deflected.
“I wouldn’t use that spell if you don’t want to be expelled from Hogwarts for damaging another student! Avery here only used it because he knows he’s not quick enough to hit me with it,” Bellatrix shouted to the crowd.
Avery’s expression was murderous, and Bellatrix cackled. She had always thought of herself as a serious fighter, winning by brute force alone. But this, this was fun . Bellatrix felt increasingly elated as Avery's attacks were hindered by frustration.
She supposed that was why Rita gave her little taunts. There was dominance in playing with her victim, pulling the strings as he ran around in anger. Bellatrix grinned and shot a hex at Julian. This one hit its mark, and his wand arm ballooned to twice its size. He fumed, and Bellatrix wanted to get drunk on her opponent’s anger.
She could hear Rita whispering in her ear about Avery’s pride. Goading him into messing up would be the most humiliating. It was what Rita would do, attacking with words instead of spells.
Bellatrix would weaponize both words and magic on Julian Avery, but defeating him wasn’t her final goal. This duel was just a practice dance, after all. Bellatrix was still waiting for her true partner to arrive.
“Expelliarmus!”
Her spell’s easy deflection was worth Avery’s scoff at such a harmless spell.
He glared at her, and Bellatrix responded gleefully with, “Can’t have you crying to the teachers if I hit you with a painful spell.”
After that, Avery’s spells got more pernicious while Bellatrix hit her mark with light spells.
Anger clouding his judgement, Avery raised his wand way too high, leaving his body unguarded. Bellatrix spied the perfect opportunity to end the duel with a final curse.
Her lips were forming the spell when a blonde head tilted from behind Avery.
Rita should have blended in with the sea of enraptured club members. Her springtime green eyes shouldn’t be that bright from across the courtyard. Bellatrix shouldn’t have been paying enough attention to notice how she wiggled her fingers in hello as their eyes connected.
Bellatrix wasn’t an easy person to catch. She was quick and violent, lashing out at whatever tried to cage her. But a glance from Rita Skeeter was all it took for Bellatrix to be ensnared.
Rita’s smirk was almost proud, as if she could tell Bellatrix had been thinking of her. Every thought Bellatrix had had of Rita in the previous weeks came rushing back to her. The snake inside her coiled tighter around Bellatrix’s lungs, squeezing the air out of them.
“Furnunculus!” A flash of color flew at Bellatrix, and, thank Merlin , she blocked it instinctively.
Her mind snapped back to the duel. She couldn’t believe she had gotten distracted in such a crucial situation, but she also could, because Rita Skeeter had a habit of leading her thoughts to places they shouldn’t go.
Avery, expecting victory, was not ready as she quickly fired back a spell.
“Incarcerous!” Bellatrix roared.
The spell hit him directly in the chest. The air twisted into ropes that wrapped around his limbs, pinning his arms behind his back. His wand fell to the ground with a thud .
Bellatrix forced a confident smile as she turned to face her duelling club, but she was too unnerved to be satisfied.
What the fuck was wrong with her? Getting distracted almost cost her a duel. She knew a show of weakness wouldn’t get her the respect she needed to run the club. Because of Rita Skeeter, she could have lost her entire reputation.
Rita Fucking Skeeter. She was going to murder that girl. She would pull her apart limb by limb if she got the chance. Rita may have evaded her initial plan, but Bellatrix would just wait until her club was finished to corner the girl.
Resolved, Bellatrix shoved all other thoughts of the girl out of her mind, unwilling to let Rita ruin her duelling club any further.
Bellatrix continued, “And that, everyone, is a proper duel. In a real battle, there are no pauses. If you hesitate, you’redown in an instant. Zaira is here to reverse curses if necessary, but I expect you all to try your hardest not to get hit.”
Zaira waved a hand from where she was leaning against a nearby tree. She had refused to join the club but volunteered to heal members in need to avoid Poppy’s assistance.
“You hesitated for a second, right before you deflected his last spell,” a freckled second year pointed out.
What a brat. Bellatrix’s lip curled as she approached the boy, leaning down to his eye level. This was her club, and she did not tolerate questioning her authority.
“I seem to recall just saying that if you hesitate, you will lose. And did I lose?”
The kid glanced at Avery, who was still struggling for his wand amid the ropes. He gulped before replying. “No.”
“That’s right. If you are harboring any doubts about my duelling abilities, would you like to be part of my next example?”
“N-n-no, it’s okay.” The boy still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Merlin, she hated when people didn’t look at her. Staring was a war, and this boy was backing down before a battle had the chance to start.
“I thought not.”
She stepped back and addressed her club. “Now that no one else has any concerns, take a couple of steps back from your partner and prepare yourselves.”
It was quite amusing how each pair jumped back from each other, as if they were afraid their friend would attack them at any given moment. How fraudulent most friendships were. There was a reason Bellatrix solely interacted with Zaira and her sisters.
“On go, I want both partners to throw a curse. Be prepared to block the other’s hex immediately. Continue dueling until one of you gets hit. Zaira, will you count us off?”
Zaira nodded and started to count, projecting her voice.
On go, the members shot their curses. It was mostly silly spells for tickling and dancing legs, and Bellatrix fought the urge to roll her eyes despite ordering them not to cause bodily harm.
In seconds, half of the students were already down, but Narissa and Lucius had successfully dodged each other’s curses and were circling each other.
Narcissa’s posture was confident, flourishing like a flower under the pressure. Her nose was scrunched in concentration, but her pale eyes glinted with delight as she shot another curse.
The eldest and youngest Black sisters’ love for dueling would never be shared by Andromeda, who was currently chatting with Harvey after being disarmed. Bellatrix loved both her sisters, but bile rose in her throat as she watched Andromeda happily lose to a half-blood.
At least Narcissa was making her proud. Her youngest sister dodged Lucius’ curse and cried, “Expelliarmus!”
Malfoy’s wand shot out of his hand, and Narcissa caught it with her left hand. Narcissa immediately whirled on Bellatrix, triumphant. Her smile widened as she saw Bellatrix watching.
That’s my sister, Bellatrix thought. Everyone else in their family had been fools to underestimate her. Narcissa might appear to be as flexible as water, but she hardened to ice when need be.
Distressing sobs only a kid could make assaulted Bellatrix's eardrums, and she froze. God, she hated crying. Her sisters did it constantly when they were younger, much to their parents' disapproval, and Bellatrix had been helpless to prevent the punishment that followed. Someone make it stop, make the goddamn kid stop.
Andromeda rushed over to the younger student, muttering, "Finite."
The kid's legs sprang apart, and he got up from the ground. He quickly scrubbed his face, eyes already dry.
Bellatrix’s momentary resentment toward Andromeda washed away. Duelling might not have been Andromeda's strong point, but she had a comforting way about her. If Bellatrix was a raging fire and Narcissa was ice, Andromeda was the earth—steady and reliable.
After the primary round of duelling concluded, Bellatrix, at Zaira’s suggestion, showed everyone how to properly block a curse using “Protego.” She had been taught the simple spell right after getting chosen by her wand, so she was horrified by how many of the younger students hadn’t known it.
Bellatrix found she didn’t mind teaching, as she could snap at anyone who fell short of perfection. She corrected kids on their posture, wand motions, and pronunciation. Most of the students were terrified of her, so they complied to the best of their abilities.
She was so focused on teaching, in fact, that she definitely did not have time to even think about Rita Skeeter. Every time her eyes wandered to where the girl was practicing advanced spells with Clara Devoe, Bellatrix hastily looked for somebody to correct.
Occasionally, when Rita let out a particularly melodic laugh or tossed her hair so it glinted with sunlight, Bellatrix allowed herself to shoot the girl a murderous glare.
After a few glares, Rita caught her eye and winked .
A shiver ran down her spine, but she held the gaze, refusing to back down. Rita eventually turned to Clara in conversation, and Bellatrix threw herself back into teaching.
After the final round of dueling, Bellatrix demanded her club’s attention.
Rita turned her, and Bellatrix knew she had the chance. She could cast her spell and completely humiliate Rita, and she would finally be at peace. But…
Her club members weren’t just looking at her in fright. The terror was still there, of course, but there was also awe in their gazes. They looked up to her. By the end of class, some students had even approached her to ask questions on the complex spells they were struggling with.
Attacking a club member would ruin all of that. It would enforce her image as the brutal Black heiress, but no one would ever trust her enough to ask her a simple question.
She sighed, swallowing the spell before it could burst from her lips. Her vengeance burned as she forced it back down her throat.
Projecting her voice, Bellatrix addressed her club, “Listen up! Most of your duelling attempts were pathetic at best. However, everyone is better at duelling than they started today, so I’d consider it a success. Now scram unless you want a one-on-one lesson.”
The members took off, terrified of being near Bellatrix on their own. Bellatrix didn’t mind. The invitation wasn’t for them.
The courtyard emptied until it was just Rita, Clara, Zaira, and Bellatrix's sisters remaining. Rita had stayed, meaning she wanted something from Bellatrix, unaware of Bellatrix’s scheme.
A thrill shot through her. That girl's curiosity was going to be her downfall.
Bellatrix could have walked over to Rita and cursed her, but she reasoned that wouldn’t be much fun. Not when she could make Rita chase her, unknowingly begging for her own demise.
The acid green pen Rita was twirling stilled when Bellatrix jerked her hand towards a secluded part of the courtyard.
Bellatrix had always been an all-or-nothing person. If she could not embarrass Rita in front of everyone, only she would witness the exhibition. As she was only doing this for her own mental peace, Bellatrix didn't mind the abrupt change in plans.
She set off across the courtyard to a stone archway marking a secluded part of the courtyard. She refused to look back, concealing her eagerness.
Rita would follow. She had to.
There was no sound of footsteps behind her. If Rita had followed, she would have had to walk silently over the rustling grass.
Yet Bellatrix didn’t doubt her for a second. She was like a bug, that girl, always buzzing where it wasn’t wanted until it inevitably got squashed.
Body tense with anticipation, Bellatrix turned around.
Chapter 7: Fifth Year - Kissing Curses
Summary:
A kiss or a curse?
Notes:
CW: Internalized homophobia, self harm urges
Also there’s a tiny bit of French in this chapter, and I do not speak a word of French so I used Google Translate… I’m aware that it’s not always accurate, so if someone speaks French, please let me know if it doesn’t make sense!
I apologize for the wait, my phone, which I use to write, kept short-circuiting, so I had to get it replaced. Then I got really sick and had no time for anything other than school and sleep. On a side note, my senile grandpa is stuck in Spain with no idea how to get home, so hopefully he's safe and I won’t have to fly out on a rescue mission lol.
This is a bit of a crack chapter tbh, so my apologies beforehand.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Oh. Hello.” Rita Skeeter had the nerve to sound surprised, as if she wasn’t the one who had followed Bellatrix.
She was leaning against a tree mere feet from Bellatrix.
Bellatrix, surprised, flinched at her closeness, but played it off by squaring her shoulders. Her wand felt heavy in her hands, the spell on her lips. They had no audience to reveal Rita’s secret to, so only she would get the satisfaction of Rita’s unraveling.
It was enough. Bellatrix didn’t care for most people, anyway.
It was the perfect opportunity. Rita’s delicate arms were crossed; she wouldn’t be able to reach her wand in time. Bellatrix could curse her and walk away as the crazy bitch everyone knew she was.
But she didn’t want Rita to think she was crazy. She wanted Rita to know exactly why Bellatrix was out for vengeance.
“You almost ruined my duelling match,” Bellatrix said disdainfully.
“I didn’t make you look at me. You did that on your own accord.”
“I don’t waste time with the specifics.”
Rita smirked. “I can tell.”
Another layered remark, and Bellatrix wasn’t sure what Rita was getting at. An insult to her intelligence? Bitch.
“Why the fuck did you come here?”
“For my newspaper. I already told you that.”
Scoffing, Bellatrix said, “You didn’t take notes.”
Rita took out a pad of paper from her robes. A floating pen followed it. “Writing too much ruins my manicure. This translates directly from my thoughts.”
Bellatrix almost smiled before she caught herself. It was quintessentially Rita Skeeter—creative enough to overcome her impracticality.
These were notes all right: graphic details of her duel with Julian, Rita’s words describing Bellatrix’s victory in a way that sent heat curdling down her spine.
Maybe Bellatrix had been wrong, and Rita really had come for her newspaper. Maybe fucking with Bellatrix’s head hadn’t been Rita’s intention, only a fortuitous side effect.
She expected relief at the revelation, but instead, she just felt sick. All the time she had been obsessing over Rita Skeeter, all Rita had been thinking about was her dumb newspaper. Well, there were the tiny glances Rita shot her in Transfiguration class, and that one time Rita had flicked a folded paper arrow at her, but those didn’t mean anything. How childish of Bellatrix, blowing this all out of proportion.
Using the spell would be wrong, now. Bellatrix might have a temper, but she always considered herself a reasonable person. She retaliated, not attacked. For instance, if someone stepped on her foot in the hallway, she would curse their legs together. Reasonable and effective, as no one dared step near her after that incident.
Even worse, cursing Rita would reveal how much Bellatrix had cared, pouring time and frustration into this curse. It would be an admission of weakness, and that was unacceptable.
Bellatrix put her wand away. Rita’s eyes followed the movement, and she quirked an eyebrow at Bellatrix’s decision.
Bellatrix might have been the one with a mind-reading spell, but Rita Skeeter had the unnerving ability to track her train of thought.
Rita Skeeter took back her writing, and the pen started scribbling additional notes in the margins: Your posture was good, but you were tense the entire duel, even when laughing. Let go of that restraint, and your reflexes will quicken.
She didn’t. But, no, of course, Rita Skeeter had the nerve to give Bellatrix tips in her own duelling club.
She wasn’t even surprised. She tightened with indignation, but managed to keep the offense out of her voice. She was learning that anger only satisfied Rita. “Bold words coming from a girl who was too scared to duel at my club.”
“Maybe I just didn’t have a worthy enough opponent.”
The words sank in. Rita had wanted to duel her after all. Maybe she still did. Bellatrix’s heartbeat picked up.
She drawled with forced calm, “And who ever could meet such high standards?”
“I can think of a few. Hey, is your father free? I heard he won the last championship.”
A couple of days ago, Bellatrix would have been outraged at her audacity, but now she found it faintly amusing. Cygnus Black would sneer at being asked to duel by a teenage girl. “My father wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
“Then why are you?”
Bellatrix had walked right into that one, and now Rita Skeeter had her backed into a corner of her own making.
She could scoff and comment on how Rita had been the one to follow her. But that omit just how badly Bellatrix had needed Rita to follow, and Rita Skeeter would sniff out the lie in a second.
“I’m not my father.”
“Really? You seem to be following in his footsteps.”
Bellatrix’s blood ran cold at the insinuation.
Even worse, Rita was right. Bellatrix created a fucking duelling club for Cygnus Black. She had adopted his ideas of blood purity and status to fit the family name, until those prejudices became hers as well. She was becoming the person she had always hated.
It didn’t dismay her as much as it should have. She would rather be exactly like her father than stay the weak girl she had been under his care. She would make a few changes, though: she wouldn’t tear her family apart to establish her superiority.
It wasn’t fair how a simple sentence from Rita Skeeter could send Bellatrix spiraling. She pulled herself back to the moment before her the spiral escalated.
If Rita wanted to see Bellatrix come unwound, she was going to have to try harder than that. “Don’t pretend you know anything about me.”
Rita’s red lips gave a pout. “That’s unfortunate. I want to know everything about you.”
Keeping calm was getting increasingly difficult. Not with the searching way Rita was looking at her.
Breathing almost felt painful as she forced out, “Good luck with that.”
For some reason, this made Rita smile. It was all teeth, revealing something feral inside the witch, like a shark at her core with a sole purpose to consume. Merlin, Bellatrix hated how they had the same smile.
“Darling,” Rita said the nickname with a melodic tone. “I don’t rely on luck.”
The emphasis on the first word made Bellatrix’s breath catch, and she realized it wasn’t even the first time Rita had used that word.
The most alarming part was that she had barely noticed the previous times. It had felt natural as a well-known fact. The Earth was round. The sun was a star. And Rita called Bellatrix darling.
Darling, darling, darling. Bellatrix’s head was spinning, and she wasn’t sure why. She knew she was standing on an edge, in danger of falling from a realization she couldn’t seem to grasp. She leaned against the nearest tree for balance, but it only brought her closer to Rita. Bellatrix was hit with a wave of her perfume, but, against her better instincts, she didn’t move back.
“What. Do. You. Want?” Bellatrix gritted out, her old French accent turning her voice guttural. She knew that she could was losing the rational part of herself, but she refused to lose whatever test this was. She took a step closer and inhaled Rita’s sweet scent instead of fighting it.
Instead of answering her, Rita said, strangely delighted. “I’ve been waiting to hear that accent ever since you cornered me in the library.”
The abrupt subject change was somehow the jolt Bellatrix needed to clear her mind. She had repressed that accent ever since her first year at Hogwarts, when laughter had followed each sentence she spoke. She had been quick to let people know that reaction wouldn’t be tolerated.
But Rita wasn’t laughing like she had something against Bellatrix; she seemed simply pleased. It was an odd look for someone whose emotional layers usually resembled the petals of a rose.
She should shove the accent back inside her before its jaws tore down her refined British accent, but she impulsively decided to embrace her home-tongue. “J’arracherai ta peau et je révélerai la créature misérable qui se cache sous ta beauté”
For once, Rita Skeeter was not looking at Bellatrix like she was something to be played with. Her eyes were unguarded. If Bellatrix didn’t know better, she would say they were reverent. “Say something else.”
Bellatrix tilted her head down until her mouth hovered over Rita’s ear. “Je vais te détruire.”
Rita inhaled sharply, turning her head towards Bellatrix. Suddenly, Bellatrix was the one with her back to a tree, and Rita Skeeter was basically standing between her slightly parted legs.
Jewel-like green eyes dropped down, and Bellatrix felt the frigidness of their absence, then scalding heat as they landed somewhere else. Rita Skeeter pressed a pale finger to Bellatrix’s lips, and her lip gloss came away red as blood.
Rita popped her own finger into her mouth and fucking hummed. “You taste like cherries.”
Bellatrix didn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. Already incoherent thoughts fled her brain as she toppled off the cliff’s edge. Spikes awaited her at the bottom, but she didn’t know how to stop her descent.
The snake was back, slithering inside her stomach, twisting up her ribcage until her bones broke. Rita was on her tiptoes, breath hot on Bellatrix’s neck.
The wind died down suddenly, and the birdsong cut abruptly off. The entire world stilled as Rita waited for Bellatrix to make her move.
A part of Bellatrix knew what Rita wanted. A part of her knew that she wanted it too. Her stomach dropped. The shame was sharper than knives, impaling her from every angle as she slammed against the bottom.
The only person Bellatrix hated more than Rita was herself.
It was animal magnetism that held them together, and Bellatrix would be a fool to fight it by running. So she did the only thing she knew how: her hand closed around her dragon-heartstring wand, and she pressed it to Rita’s chest.
The vulnerability on Rita’s face washed away, replaced by horror as Bellatrix muttered the spell she had spent the last few weeks perfecting, “Legilijet.”
Rita jerked back, but the damage was already done. Her body froze as white wisps of a memory poured from her eyes, her nose, her mouth.
Through the mist, Rita’s face was twisted, and not from the curse. This was pure rage, swiping its claws with murderous intent. All Bellatrix had wanted was for Rita to hate her, to have the same visceral reaction as Bellatrix whenever they came in contact.
Her wish was coming true. The cloud above Rita formed an image, and although Rita’s body was entirely motionless, her glare still threatened death. Rita Skeeter was done playing.
Voices jumped out of Rita’s memories, and Bellatrix spied a blonde man she assumed to be Rita’s father.
The man was holding a younger Rita by her robes. “You don’t tell a soul, do you hear me? You’re going to be this entire family’s ruination.”
Little-Rita was not having it. She swiped at her father in an attempt to break free and screamed, “I don’t care! I want to see my mommy!”
“Your mom is right here,” he said, gesturing harshly to a woman who was trying in vain to reach out to a girl who wasn’t her daughter.
“Not her!” Little-Rita wailed. “I want my real mommy! From the other world with all the cool inventions! I want to live with her!”
“You won’t be seeing that mistake of mine if you keep up this behavior.”
Little-Rita began to shriek as tears streamed out of puffy red eyes, and her father grabbed her shoulder once again.
Bellatrix wanted to claw her ears at the hideous wailing. She would give away part of her soul to never hear that sound again.
The screaming stopped as the memory faded, and Bellatrix digested Rita Skeeter’s darkest secret: Rita was born out of wedlock to a Muggle.
Oh.
This was the origin of Rita’s hatred for secrecy. She revealed others’ secrets because she was forbidden from spilling her own. The only thing that would kill Rita more than keeping her secret was someone else knowing. The raw expression on Rita’s face was proof enough.
“You’re a half-blood,” Bellatrix said slowly. Despite that she had almost seen an impure as an equal, she didn’t feel disgusted. It was just another layer added to her complex mental picture of Rita Skeeter.
Stripped of her coyness, Rita was a completely different person. As she regained her movement, her face twisted into a snarl. “Fuck you. You’ll regret this, you rotten bitch.”
The threat would have been more convincing if her voice hadn’t cracked halfway through.
Bellatrix half thought Rita was going to curse her. Bellatrix was so stunned that she might have let her, but Rita didn’t even take out her wand. She brushed past Bellatrix, the wind picking up as she hurried away.
Bellatrix had the sinking feeling that she had stepped on something precious before it had the chance to bloom.
Rooted to the spot, she didn’t move until her sisters and Zaira rushed through the archway.
Practically bouncing with excitement, Zaira asked, “What happened? Did you curse her? She looked pretty upset. I wanted to follow, but Andy wouldn’t let me.”
“Yeah,” Bellatrix said dazidly. “It worked.”
Zaira was still looking at her. “So… what did you see?”
She should answer and take the question as the perfect opportunity to weaponize Rita’s secret. Yet her lips didn’t move, still absorbing the utter wrongness of her intrusion.
Thank Merlin that Zaira, even with her insatiable curiosity, knew when not to cross a line.
On the walk back to their rooms, Zaira distracted her with other topics as Andromeda and Narcissa trailed behind them, discussing the novel Clara was writing. She seemed to be their new idol, and Bellatrix fought the urge to throttle them every time they brought up her name. She was too closely connected with someone Bellatrix never wanted to think about again.
* * *
The following week was like all the years before, and Bellatrix felt the loss of Rita’s attention. Before, she had been plagued by winking green eyes and tantalizing fingers brushed across desks. Bellatrix hadn’t realized how accustomed she had grown to these small signals until they had been taken away, like a cloud moving to cover the sun.
After the incident, Rita Skeeter didn’t look at her once.
She had expected Rita to be out for revenge, but it seemed she was intent on ignoring her. Bellatrix wished she could maintain the same chilled indifference as the other girl, but each time she failed to catch Rita’s attention, she was one step closer to tearing out her eyes in frustration.
Their roles of cat and mouse had flipped, and somehow Bellatrix was the one chasing Rita, all while dying on the inside. Her confusion over what had happened hadn’t lessened as time passed, and Bellatrix was still left reeling from the whole ordeal.
Why had Rita followed her? What had Rita wanted? She endlessly thought about Rita’s intentions because she couldn’t analyze her own without panic taking over.
Every time her mind dived in that direction, she had the familiar urge to claw her own skin off, as if that could rid herself of the filthy thing inside her.
Even worse was the sick feeling she got whenever she remembered the curse. Bellatrix was not used to guilt, sticking to her belief that regret was for the weak-minded. But even she knew that her “revenge,” justified by nothing but simple teasing, had ruined something she couldn’t even name.
If it wasn’t strictly against her code of conduct, she might have apologized.
The thick feeling in her throat lasted until one night when she was greeted by the first edition of Hogwarts headlines on her bed.
Her mouth dropped as she read the headline. “That bitch,” she snarled.
She knew, without a doubt, who had left it there. Resourceful enough to find her way into the Slytherin dorms, Rita Skeeter wasn’t one to make others do her dirty work.
Bellatrix crumpled up the newspaper, collapsed on her bed, and screamed into her pillow.
Notes:
Ooo what did Rita publish? Guess you’ll have to find out next chapter!
Also we have almost gone up ten kudos from the last update! Thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos, they really encourage me to keep writing and make my day every time <3
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