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Chapter Text

A new bride sat on her throne before her reception. The seat beside her—-the throne of her king—-was empty, and naturally so, he was talking business with the men of his rank. This day had been months in the making, in fact she’d been pampered her entire life. And here she sat, bored, lounging in her pearly gown, hair braided into a crown, on her very special day and nobody paid her any attention. She’d stare daggers at anyone who did. Seemingly happier couples danced before her, the orchestra hurrying them into a swirling waltz, and more milled around the banquet tables for as long as polite society would allow. With few words and a shackle to her left finger, this woman was tied to a man whose virtues lay with the many mistresses of his future, and the demands of producing an heir, then several others, until she’s no longer in the business.

Bellatrix was convinced her future was playing out before her.

Standing on the edge of the dance floor, as far away from her family as possible, it was impossible to deny that, one day, she’ll be the one moping on that throne. Only two more years. She snapped her fingers at a passing house elf and took a flute of champagne, taking a steady sip whilst surveying the crowd. She caught Andy’s eye across the room, who was standing beside their mother, talking to the bride’s parents. Her sister could only narrow her eyes as Bellatrix pulled a face over her drink. She made a come here gesture, but Andromeda gave a slight shake of her head. Boring.

Her dress was really warm. No matter how often she wore velvet, it always made her hands clammy, even as she picked at the sleeves. It was too bright in this ballroom too, the Rowles always cut tacky corners. The whole manor—if you could grace the building with such a title—was an awful mishmash of checkerboard marble and gaudy gold fixtures. Eureka Rowle had an unfortunate fondness for florals, so to add to the blinding bleakness of it all was the god awful stench of potpourri. Bellatrix would get a whiff of it every now and again, it made her head throb and painted a scowl on her face.

She took another sip of her not underaged drink as she took in the horrible scenery, the unpleasant smell, the upbeat pacing of violins, and the rapid movement of dancers, her gaze latching onto a few different faces until one finally stuck.

A girl from her year managed to make eye contact with her, held in a similar hostage situation to her sister as her father prattled on to another man about who knows what. She looked dreadfully bored, swaying on her heels in a dress of a similar fashion to Bellatrix’s, except hers was a deep red, assumingly family colours. House of Avery. Yeah, that was it. Unfortunately she only knew the girl by nickname, and it suddenly occurred to her that Bellatrix had been staring at her while she tried to figure it out. She raised an eyebrow at Bellatrix, who mirrored her expression. It didn’t take much for the girl to excuse herself and weave her way through the dancers, before sidling up beside her, both keeping a steady eye on the dancers.

“Bellatrix,” she greeted curtly.

“Belladonna,” she replied, finishing her champagne.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, very much so.”

“I didn’t know you were seventeen yet,” Belladonna mused, eyeing the Black heir as she took another glass of alcohol.

“I’m sixteen in a month. Sixteen is practically seventeen. And besides, it’s none of your business.”

The brunette put her hands up in defence, before taking her own glass. “Hey, I’m no snitch.”

Bellatrix smirked and faced the girl properly, leaning against a hideous corinthian pillar. She hadn’t seen much of Belladonna during fifth year, apparently her family packed up and offed for the Mediterranean. Judging by the smattering of freckles and the light tan the girl had acquired, she assumed the rumours were true. Her hair was infuriatingly smooth and shiny, finishing in chocolate curls around her clavicle while Bellatrix had spent nearly an hour wrestling her mane into a presentable bun. And her prior observations were correct: their dresses were practically identical. While hers was dancing on the line between black and deep green, Belldonna’s was skirting between pitch and crimson, depending on the angle of lighting. The two of them could polish the entire ballroom floor with their hemlines by taking a turn about the room.

“I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your prefect-cy,” she eventually quipped, after scrutinising the girl’s appearance.

Belladonna smiled thinly over her glass, a delicate collection of bangles singing when she lowered it. “As I should you.”

“I’m surprised they gave the position to a student who was a no-show for half the year,” the Black heir said airily, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass. “Perhaps they were desperate.”

The Avery girl took a heavy sip of her champagne, her lips twisting into a proper smile. “Haven’t you lost us about a hundred points for your little midnight escapades?” she countered.

She shrugged. “Like I said, desperate.”

“Well, we’ll make an interesting team, certainly.” They clinked glasses.

This was probably the most Bellatrix had ever heard Belladonna say. A lie, of course, they shared a dorm for four years and chatter was inevitable. But it was the first time they’d spoken outside of that environment. An unfortunate incident in first year had left Belladonna on the unpopular side, she’d gotten into a fight with Gryffindor’s Adam Thicket in the courtyard. After a poor choice of words, Thicket was suddenly bound by a tangle of vines and purple flowers. She didn’t even draw her wand, thus earning her a charming nickname and a questionable reputation. Not that the girl didn’t have many friends, she had enough of those when it counted, but it earned her the ability to walk through crowded corridors with ease. Or to silence a noisy group with a pointed look. In many ways, Belladonna and Bellatrix were very similar. Perhaps that’s why they usually stayed out of each other’s way. But she wasn’t meant to be this…pleasant.

And if she was being honest with herself, this was the first time somebody had approached Bellatrix unprompted—not a relative, not a close friend. Whilst it was pleasantly surprising, it was also unnerving. Her fingers drummed lightly against her glass. She kept expecting the girl to ask something of her, or to excuse herself and leave. So when neither happened, and Belladonna continued to stand beside her, a certain warmth radiating from her, Bellatrix cleared her throat and decided to find the answers herself.

“You look lovely,” the other girl commented around her drink.

Bellatrix blinked. “Yes I do, don’t I?” Belladonna’s laugh coaxed her own grin, and she continued. “French velvet does wonders for the figure, I’m told.”

“You’re telling me,” she said, smoothing out her own dress. “I adore weddings. What an excuse to dress up.”

Bellatrix tutted. “Ghastly affairs. This one in particular.”

“Oh?”

She made a vague gesture to the room, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Tacky scenery, dreadful music, stale food. Although the company could be much worse, it’s all rather….unstimulating.”

Belladonna cocked her head to one side.

“On the contrary, I find it quite exciting.” Bellatrix scoffed, but she cut her off. “No, really. I get to leave the house. There’s lovely music and dancing and the adults loosen up a little.” She shook her shoulders as if to prove a point and nodded to the dancers, most of which were parents.

The dark haired girl studied her. “Music,” she parroted, a memory of third year choir wiggling to the surface. “You sing, don’t you?”

Her counterpart perked up, apparently surprised she remembered. “Yes, I do. Opera.”

“Opera? Merlin, doesn’t get more pureblood than that.”

“Much more popular in Italy than here, mind,” Belladonna said, somewhat fondly, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass.

Aha. “Italy, huh? Is that where you pranced off to so suddenly?”

Bellatrix could see the wall form behind the girl’s face. It was like the air grew colder, and, for the first time that evening, she caught a glimpse of the haughty girl everyone mutters about. “If you must know, yes. Care to dance?” The latest waltz had come to a close, leaving the dancefloor open to free dance.

“Not particularly,” she replied lightly. “Tell me about Italy.”

“Sunny, warm,” she clipped, adjectives that matched her tone in no way whatsoever. “Just enjoy the celebrations.” Bellatrix scowled at her deflection, but she knew when to quit.

“Now, now,” she chided, walking around the pillar to Belladonna’s other side. With index and middle fingers, she lifted the girl’s chin and directed her gaze to the miserable bride. “And what exactly are we celebrating, hm? A successful auction?”

The other girl swatted her hand away. “Please, she has security now, comfort—

“You cannot be serious,” Bellatrix snapped, borderline incredulous. “You really value… that over freedom?”

“Of course not," her counterpart hissed. “I’m being practical. It’s unfortunately inevitable. Not just for Mrs Flint, but for us too.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line: she couldn’t argue with that, no matter how much she wished it wasn’t true.

“Fine,” she recovered, gesturing to the sulking girl in question. “Then the end to poor Charlotte’s happiness, perhaps forever? Married to a man she can hardly stand?”

“They get along just fine. She’s only miserable because—

Belladonna closed her mouth, seemingly deciding against sharing whatever she had to say. Bellatrix suddenly grinned, swinging around to the girl’s line of sight.

“What have you heard?”

“I really shouldn’t,” she murmured, although her eagerness was palpable.

The Black heir pouted. “Oh, come now. Don’t be cruel.”

Belladonna looked around for a moment. “Let’s go get some air and I’ll tell you.”

Bellatrix smiled gleefully, latching onto the other girl's wrist as they moved through the crowd with little resistance. She watched her expectantly as they reached the terrace, Belladonna leaning on the railing before divulging.

“You know they keep unicorns here?”

“Yes. And stop stalling, Avery.”

“Apprently, there’s another woman.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “There is not.”

“The staff here are loose-lipped.”

“House elves?” The dark haired girl turned back to study the distant newly weds. “Is that it? Well, Flint’s always been a bit of a git, it was only a matter of time—

Belladonna coughed. “Not his mistress.”

Bellatrix stared at her. “Not—

She grinned. “Apparently a girl from her year. But my point is, marriage is not the end to her happiness.”

She scoffed. “I’d bet my inheritance that she’d be a much happier bride if that mistress was sitting beside her—

“Bella?”

Both girls whirled around at the same time, smiles and voices equally saccharine. “Yes?” The two glared at each other as Rodolphus chuckled, glancing between them.

“…trix. Bellatrix,” the seventh year confirmed. A smirk was plastered on his handsome face, one that made Belladonna frown in distaste. “Care to dance?” He offered the Black heir an arm, who smiled coyly at her suitor.

“I’d be delighted, Lestrange,” she purred. “Give me a minute, would you?”

Always happy to please, the boy obliged. Bellatrix turned back to the brunette, who was still grimacing at Rodolphus’ retreating figure.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Italia, mademoiselle,” she waggled a finger at her, placing her empty glass on a passing tray.

Belladonna snorted. “Pity, that’s French, signora.”

Bellatrix pulled a face that said two can play that game. “Forgive me, I don’t speak a lick of Italian.”

“How lucky for you, it’s very similar to French.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“You should speak Francaise more often. It suits you.”

“Wish I could say the same for you. Your accent is horrific.”

Rodolphus called out again as the next dance began.

“I really should go,” Bellatrix said, surprising herself at her own reluctance. “I’d say it was a pleasure talking to you, but my hair’s curled enough from all the lies I tell.”

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “Whatever, go step on his toes.”

“I’ll make sure to. Have fun with Stan—!” She snickered the last bit as she sailed back inside and over to a waiting Lestrange, and Belladonna barely processed what she said before she was tapped on the shoulder.

“Hello, Rabastan,” she ground through a smile, turning to face the other Lestrange brother. Like Rod, he wore a crisp tailored suit, entirely black, of course, with gold buttons on the cuffs and a thin chain looped at the breast pocket. He was cleanly shaven, hair neatly combed back. But, unlike his brother, his jaw was set. Like always, his face was stony.

“Claudia,” he greeted, stiffly bringing her hand to his lips. “You look divine.”

“Only for you, Stan,” she drawled, lowering her hand and resisting the urge to wipe it on her dress. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Take care not to step on my toes this time,” he quipped as they made their way to the dance floor. Belladonna glanced at him and caught his faintest of smiles, and she couldn’t help but mirror him. He wasn’t all that bad, once they both thawed a little.

The pair took their place on the dance floor as the orchestra kicked up again, and they were soon joining the tide of waltzing couples. Rabastan didn’t say a thing to Belladonna, and she preferred it that way—silence was far less awkward than small talk. She kept her gaze over his shoulder, willing for time to pass, when she caught a glimpse of Rod and Bellatrix. Lestrange had his mouth lowered to her ear, murmuring something that had the girl’s head thrown back with laughter. As though acting on a sixth sense, Bellatrix caught her eye and stuck her tongue out over her partner’s shoulder. Belladonna threw her a look of outrage before returning the gesture. A mistake, it only set the wheel in motion. For the rest of the dance, and the subsequent ones that followed, the girls pulled a variety of crude faces at each other, one looking particularly smug whilst the other tried to contain a grin. And when the night came to a close, and the guests were queuing for goodbyes to the newlyweds, the eldest daughters of Black and Avery departed with a little wave. Nothing too friendly, of course. There was a silent agreement that they’d probably never speak to each other again anyway.

_______________________________________

The train had barely pulled out of the station and already the private compartments were full. Thankfully, Belladonna’s newfound prefect privileges granted her power to empty one of second years. She sat against the window, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her, with a glossy copy of Shimmer opened on her lap. The fashion magazine was soon neglected when the door slid open.

“Oh, thank fuck you got one,” Rita groaned, hauling her trunk into the overhead rack. “I thought everywhere was full. ‘Lawney, shut the bloody door—hello, darling prefect.” The blonde pecked Belladonna on the cheek before settling in beside her, snatching up the Shimmer for herself. Celeste struggled with her own luggage before collapsing onto the opposite seat, blowing a strand of bushy caramel from her face.

“I thought they’d take our bags this time,” she frowned, flexing her fingers. Rita rolled her eyes.

“You’re a witch, love, you could’ve lifted it easy.”

“Oh, right. Claudia,” she added airily, handing her a grey plastic bag. “The goods you asked for.”

Belladonna snatched the bag eagerly. “That’s why you’re the best-Este—ha!” She triumphantly withdrew a small, seven-inch vinyl and examined the cover. “Dusty Springfield!” She flipped the cover to show Rita I Only Want To Be With You.

“Give me that.” Rita took the plastic bag with an eagerness she tried to play off. She wrinkled her nose as she read another album cover. “Who the hell is Frank Sinatra? And why is he saying something stupid?”

“Sarah likes him, I thought Claudia might want to try it,” Celeste shrugged, watching on with her hands tucked under her legs.

Rita grimaced at the mention of her friend’s sister in law. “Take it, Claude—oh thank Merlin.” She hugged a small handful of lipsticks to her chest. “Fire and fucking ice. How hard is it to replicate a muggle shade? Thanks, ‘Lawney. Ooh, I’m taking this too,” she chirped, holding a plastic headband up to the light.

“At least there are some perks to mudblood relatives,” the bushy haired girl sighed. “Oh, there’s that Connie girl in there too, Claudia, I didn’t know one could sing in German.”

Belladonna thanked her Ravenclaw friend once more, gleefully scanning the tracklists before Rita reminded her of how incriminating their goods looked. It didn’t take long for them to charm the record covers into more magical, moving artworks, and to remove the little Revlon stickers from the makeup tubes. The trolley witch passed by too, and soon the three of them were wolfing down pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes.

“So…how was the continent, Claudia?” Celeste asked around a mouthful of cake, somewhat cautiously. Rita threw her a warning look. Their friend had departed Hogwarts rather suddenly last year, and while she did write them, her letters were vague, detailing a sickly relative and her subsequent passing. She’d only returned late July for some pureblood wedding, and even then she was confined to her family estate.

Belladonna chewed slowly. “Fine,” she said. Rita opened her mouth to ask further of her, but the brunette cut her off. “Speaking of which, I brought gifts.”

After some rummaging in her trunk, Belladonna handed her friends a neatly wrapped parcel, Celeste receiving hand-painted tarot cards and Rita a bedazzled silver beret, which she immediately put into her hair. The Ravenclaw was halfway through giving the blonde an ominous reading (“it’s going to feel like you’re suffering, but you’re not. You’re just being dramatic”), when she stopped suddenly.

“Bellatrix Black is staring at you.”

Rita perked up. “What, the lovers?”

“No, that’s the eight of swords.” She tapped Belladonna’s knee to pull her from her thoughts, and nodded to the compartment door.

Standing in a black skirt-and-boots getup, Bellatrix blinked when she realised she had the girls’ attention. She pointed at the prefect, her nails tapping on the glass, before gesturing outside.

“Keep it in your pants, Rita,” Belladonna warned, getting up to slide the door open. “Yes?”

“Ciao, signora,” the girl announced, leaning on the doorframe. She grinned at the scowling brunette. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Don’t start—

“But I practiced just for you!”

Belladonna grimaced and muttered something that was apparently beyond Bellatrix’s Italian capabilities. Rita laughed suddenly.

“What did she say?” Bellatrix said, not glancing at the blonde once.

“She said you need more practice.”

She gasped, throwing a hand to her chest. “How could you?”

Belladonna pouted. “Forgive me, the next time you assault my ears, I’ll give you an ovation.”

“Is there something you want?” Celeste piped up. Bellatrix glared at her before turning back to her counterpart.

“Yes, actually, prefect duties—!” she sing-songed, flicking the pin on Belladonna’s sweater, who was taken aback by her cheeriness. “Quit moping around, we were supposed to start five minutes ago.” She stuck her head further into the compartment. “Trelawney,” she acknowledged curtly, “Skeeter.”

Rita craned her neck and smiled, one side of her mouth pulled upwards as if by a string. “Hi, Black. Good break?”

“Just lovely,” the girl replied lightly, “although you said you’d post me those photographs from Yule.”

“Oh, silly me. I did, didn’t I?” gasped Rita, and Celeste snorted. “I’ll come find you when we arrive, you’ll get them then.”

“Cheers,” Bellatrix nodded, turning to Belladonna. “Now hurry up, you’re holding us up.” She tugged the girl out of the compartment and down the corridor, giving Rita barely enough time to shout goodbye!

“What is it we have to do, exactly?” Belladonna asked, slowing down from a jog to let some sixth years pass.

Bellatrix hummed. “Nothing major. Uniform checks, keeping pets at bay. Any Slytherins who refuse to comply, take their names back to Josepha for future reprisals,” she recited, her impression of their head girl surprisingly accurate.

“You’re awfully cheery today,” observed the other girl, giving a stony look to some staring Hufflepuffs.

Bellatrix smiled, ducking her head in and out of compartments. “There’s talk Angus broke his legs over the break,” she said, a little too pleased at their Quidditch captain’s injury, “and apparently he’ll be out all term—Weasely, put that owl in a cage. No, I don’t care if your girlfriend gave you special privileges.” She slammed the compartment door shut with a huff, turning back to Belladonna. “So, they’ll need someone to replace him and that someone should be me, if all goes to plan.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

“Nice rest of your break?”

“Good enough. You?”

“Not bad—walk!” They both barked at some racing first years, who nearly jumped out of their skin. As they shamefully passed the prefects, Bellatrix grinned at her counterpart. “I could get used to this.”

Belladonna scoffed, watching the first years go. “You could say that again.”

The girls did a lap of the train, with Bellatrix doing most of the scolding and Belladonna doing most of the name-taking. They were crossing the viaduct by the time they were heading back with a completed list (Ivanka Bullstrode, incorrect stockings. Lydia Farley, loose cat. Rodolphus Lestrange, failing to take prefects seriously. Jemima Parkinson, being a bitch to those in her general vicinity.), when Bellatrix spoke up.

“Are you going for the Slug Club this year?”

Belladonna scoffed. “I don’t think you can go for the Slug Club.”

She rolled her eyes, brushing past some fourth years. “You know what I mean. I certainly am,” she declared.

“Please, you’ll practically breeze through the doors. Slughorn adores you.”

“Is that jealousy I hear, Avery?” she teased. “You’re lucky green suits you.”

“Shut up.”

At that moment, a gang of Gryffindors barged in from the next carriage, one of them making the unfortunate mistake of shoving past Bellatrix.

“Oi!” she snapped, whirling around. A few of the boys stopped, clearly unphased. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the perpetrator, Jonathan Cole. “You filthy mudblood, watch where you’re going.”

Well, that certainly caught their attention. Six drawn wands against two.

“Watch yourself, Black,” another boy, Adam Thicket, sneered, jutting his wand a little higher. “You too, Belladonna.”

Belladonna snorted. The self-righteousness of Gryffindors was astounding. “Don’t fret, Thicket, nobody would want to touch your boyfriend with a ten foot pole.”

The other girl laughed beside her, a single ha!, before she let out a shriek of outrage as Adam hit her in the shoulder with a stinging jinx.

“You little shit! I didn’t even say that!” Bellatrix shrieked, launching her own attack, an orange beam hitting Cole square in the chest. The boy immediately doubled over and threw up a mouthful of sand.

Guess we’re doing this, Belladonna thought, throwing up a Protego in time to dissolve a nasty-looking flash of purple. The whole thing didn’t last very long, what with snitching second years plastering their faces to their compartment glass and Bellatrix copping a hex to the face that had blood spitting from her nose. It didn’t stop her from yelling respect your superiors! when a sudden gust of wind sent the Gryffindors down the corridor and into the next carriage, the door shutting behind them. The prefects whirled around to face a very angry looking red head.

“It truly amazes me that you two ended up with those badges,” Molly said coldly, Gryffindor head girl sending her partner, Vivienne Gray, to check on the boys. Vivienne shouldered Belladonna on her way past, and the Slytherin was about to say something when Molly cut her off. “Don’t start. Get to the prefect carriage before I take points off.”

Bellatrix scoffed, pinching her gushing nose. “‘on’t be ridiculousth, tha therm ‘asn’t even stharted yeth.”

The Gryffindor eyed her with distaste. “I think she’s split a lip, too.”

“No shit,” Belladonna grimaced, guiding Bellatrix to the next carriage, who was insisting she was very much fine.

“Oh, and Bella—

“What?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Bellatrix. Enough with the slurs or there will be consequences.”

“Thaking in my thucking booths, I am,” the bleeding girl glared, before Belladonna slammed the door behind them.

The prefect carriage was, thankfully, not far ahead and was, surprisingly, empty. Bellatrix took care to keep her head tilted back while Belladonna rummaged through a small medicine cabinet, removing a phial of generic painkiller for an inevitable headache. It didn’t take long for the brunette to concur that the girl’s nose was broken, and she didn’t give much warning before setting it back in place with a wave of episkey. A string of curse words, a shrill sit still!, and a scourgify later and Bellatrix was spick and span, albeit a little cranky. Belladonna didn’t particularly want to go back to her carriage and face Rita’s interrogations (“what did she say? Did she ask about me?”) and her counterpart seemed to have no intention of leaving either. So they just sat at opposite ends of the plush booth, sharing a packet of fizzing whizzbees that were left in the complementary snack box.

“You’re quite the dueller,” Belladonna remarked, her eye twitching at the sourness of the sweets.

“Aren’t I just?”

“I believe the polite thing to say is thank you.”

“Right. Thank you, Avery, for stating the obvious. Although, and this is just me personally, I would have used the term fantastic dueller, or brilliant, even.”

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “It’s getting very hard to breathe with your ego in here.”

Bellatrix huffed a laugh. “Oh, that’s original. Also,” she added, taking another sweet, “we need to do something about your name.”

Belladonna frowned. “My name? Why not your name?”

“Because I’m older, thus I am the original and superior Bella.”

The train began to slow down and both girls got to their feet, dusting their robes of stray sugar crystals.

Belladonna rolled her eyes. “I don’t doubt it. Besides, whenever someone says Bella, they’re referring to you anyway.”

“Excellent point.” At that point, Bellatrix’s nose started bleeding again, little beads of crimson falling to her lips and making everything taste like metal. “Well, shit. I thought you said you fixed it.”

Belladonna huffed, guiding the girl’s head back. “Maybe if you stopped moving then we wouldn’t have an issue.”

“Shut up.”

Delicately pinching the bridge of Bellatrix’s nose, she tried another episkey, to no avail, she soberly informed the girl she’d just have to wait it out.

“What? No, we can’t give them the satisfaction!”

“I’m pretty sure you broke Bradley’s jaw, they’ll need Madame Pomfrey for that.”

“Still.”

“Stop talking,” she said, gingerly mopping up blood with cotton gauze.

Bellatrix closed her mouth and let the girl wipe the cloth over her mouth, staring at her down her nose.

The train stopped. So did Belladonna. Bellatrix was watching her with a funny look on her face. The tips of her ears had gone pink. She quickly dropped her hands from the girl’s nose.

Bellatrix’s brow furrowed. Belladonna was watching her with a funny look on her face. She had gone all flushed in the cheeks. She cleared her throat.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“I should probably find my sisters.”

“Yeah, that’d be—ow!”

Bellatrix flicked her forehead on the way out. “See you, Avery.”

Belladonna stuck her head out the compartment door and called “bitch!”, earning her an obscene gesture as the corridor began to flood with students.

“There you are, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Belladonna jumped as Rita appeared beside her, Celeste not far behind.

“Incident with Gryffindors,” she muttered, waiting for some nervous-looking first years to exit the train before stepping into the crisp air herself.

“Is that why your cheeks are so red?” Celeste asked, doing a little hop-and-skip to catch up to her strolling Slytherin friends.

Belladonna pressed a hand to her cheek. “Uh, yeah. What idiot casts incendio on a moving train?”

“Jonathan Cole, that’s who,” Rita snorted, hugging her cardigan closer to her as they climbed into a waiting carriage. She even took the liberty of sticking her tongue out at Molly Prewett as they pulled away, before moving on to what she really wanted to talk about. “So, I obviously, on-purposely forgot to send Black those photos, because I have the album right here and we can sit down and go through it together…”

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was full by the time the girls arrived, sitting at the back end of the Slytherin table with a few other sixth years and debriefing the events of the summer. Elizabeth and Clarise Bourbon had attended the Quidditch World Cup in late July, where Australia claimed their back to back title, and had brought back little kangaroo figurines enchanted to bounce around the table and, occasionally, sock each other in the head. Rita boasted of her holiday to New York and bumping into a writer that nobody had heard of at her hotel, and Celeste passed around pictures of her niece, until Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and sent her back to the Ravenclaw table (“I know we won the house cup last year, my dear,” he said, “but that certainly does not mean we are adopting second-placers.”) Belladonna had only just picked up conversation with Leo Wallace, one of the more tolerable boys in her year, when a waft of peppermint passed her by and she caught Bellatrix slipping into an empty spot beside Rodolphus, way down at the other end of the table. She leant across the table to speak to a glum looking brunette, her sister who could otherwise pass as her twin. Andromeda rolled her eyes and whatever she had to say, seemingly unimpressed, as was Bellatrix at her lack of response.

“And why are we batting our eyelashes down the table?” Leo teased, propping his chin on his hands. Belladonna smirked and mirrored him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling, I’m just lost in your eyes.”

He scoffed and sat back. “You managed to make my stomach curdle and trigger organ failure simultaneously, well done.”

“I must be getting better then.”

He gave her a look. “But really, stop staring, it deducts from your mysterious quality.”

“Quite right. And stop talking to me, you’ll—

—scare the ladies,” they drawled in unison, their snickers quickly shushed as the hall doors swung open.

As usual, McGonagall led the first years in, most of them mortified to be the centre of attention whilst others were gawking at the ceiling. Rita already started calling her picks for Slytherin, having no shame in openly pointing at them. From the corner of her eye, Belladonna saw Bellatrix sit up straighter as a small blonde girl entered, who remained apathetic towards her surroundings and, if anything, looked a little bored. It didn’t take long for Black, Narcissa to have the hat shriek and sort her into Slytherin immediately, and she found it quite amusing to see Bellatrix applaud furiously with a huge grin plastered to her face. The novelty wore off by the time they got to the P’s, this year’s cohort being particularly large. Belladonna and Rita had already exchanged five sickles, with most of the brunette’s candidates going to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.

“What about this one?” she asked Rita, who grimaced and shook her head.

“Oh, muggle-born for sure.”

She eyed the tiny girl as she stumbled up to the stool, huffing wisps of curls from her face. “Are you sure?”

“Psch. With a name like Margaret Peach, I’d bet twenty galleons. Hufflepuff.”

So colour Rita surprised when the hat screeched Slytherin! after a close hatstall.

In fact, the whole table was silent. Margaret Peach took a seat at the far end of the table to the weak applause coming from the other houses, a clear distance already established between her and the other Slytherins.

“Poor thing,” Rita murmured, sliding Belladonna gold coins. “That hasn’t happened in, what, fifty years?”

“Yes, it’s all very tragic,” muttered Leo, “but I might commit atrocities if dinner isn’t served soon.”

Thankfully, a Yaxley boy closed the sorting soon after, and he had barely sat down before the ornate serving plates before the students were filled with food, Dumbledore apparently saving his opening remarks until the end. Audible groans of relief sounded as they tucked in to helpings of roast chicken, golden potatoes, and buttered peas. Belladonna and Rita were sharing a bowl of golden syrup pudding when the headmaster swiftly welcomed them to the 1968 school year, trusted they had a charming break, and reminded everybody to keep cats and rats separate, to avoid “the tragedies” of last year. And with that, they were dismissed, Belladonna waving Rita and Leo off to play tour guides for the first years.

Bellatrix had taken to standing on the Slytherin table, calling for the newcomers and snapping at a few unruly boys. Belladonna climbed up beside her, eager to get to bed.

“Three sisters in the one house. Aren’t we lucky?”

Bellatrix preened. “Cissy is probably more of a Slytherin than you and I both. Have you seen Lucas? Or Burke, for that matter?”

“Held up by Slughorn for all I know. Do you want to do the talking or shall I?”

She gave a nasty grin, and that’s all that Belladonna had to know.

“SHUT UP AND LISTEN HERE.”

The Avery girl held the rear of the group as Bellatrix marched ahead, pointing out random artworks or suits of armour to the scurrying first years. She led them down staircase after staircase, and only an idiot would suggest that the girl hated the spotlight. Belladonna tuned a lot of it out though, turning her attention to the Peach girl, who kept tripping on her own feet as she trailed at the back of the group. Quite pathetic, really, she thought, eyeing the girl's bushy blonde updo. You’d think she’d carry herself with some feigned grace, anything to make her look part of the house she was shoved into. A haircut would be a good start. She had just realised that Rita never returned her magazine when, without warning, the swarm of students came to a halt, and she ran right into the mudblood. The common room was in sight, but towering before a fuming Bellatrix was Professor McGonagall. Beside her were Lucas Snyde and Stephen Burke, the male prefect counterparts, and behind her was—

“Cole, you prick—“

“That’s quite enough, Miss Black,” said McGonnagall sharply. “Would you and Miss Avery follow me, please? Mr Burke and Mr Snyde will show your first years to their dormitories.”

Belladonna pushed her way up to the front, pulling a face at a smug looking Thicket, and fell into place beside Bellatrix as they followed their teacher back up the stairs. The other girl didn’t say a thing the whole way, only rolling her eyes now and again and taking care to step on the back of Cole’s heels. Professor Slughorn straightened up when they entered McGonagall’s office, apparently examining the transfiguration professor’s caged lorikeets whilst waiting for them to arrive. The head of Gryffindor gestured to a plush sofa in front of her very clean desk, waving a hand to shut the door behind them. Bellatrix and Belladonna made sure to give the boys a wide berth, with the former slumped and sulking with her arms folded.

McGonagall eyed her with distaste. “Miss Black, you turned sixteen last month, I suggest you stop pouting like a teething toddler. And Thicket,” she added, cutting the boy’s chuckle short, “tuck in that shirt unless you wish to maintain the appearance of a Victorian urchin.”

The stern woman lowered her spectacles and studied the dichotomy before her, looking rather worn out and—

“Disappointed. I am not mad, nor am I surprised for that matter, I am disappointed. Duelling on the train? The term has barely begun and we’ve already had broken noses and dislocated jaws.” The four of them rushed to defend themselves but were silenced by an upheld hand. “No, thank you. I’ve heard quite the retelling from Miss Prewett.”

At mention of the Head Girl’s name, Bellatrix muttered a string of creative obscenities, and Belladonna pursed her lips, definitely not amused. McGonagall made an exasperated sort of sound.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Miss Black. Profanities are one thing, verbal abuse is another. You need to start holding your tongue before somebody else does—don’t. Start. Mr Cole.” She turned to the boys. “The both of you ought to know better by now. Gryffindors are meant to be defenders, not instigators.”

The Slytherin girls shared a look, but the professor intervened. “And you, Miss Avery. I understand these have been trying times, but you’ve barely been in the country a month and already you are picking fights—I don’t want to hear it. Fifty points from each house.”

They gaped at her.

“Professor—

“Fifty points?”

“If we apologise to each other, can we have them back?”

The professor gave them a silencing look. “As fifth years— as prefects — you should know better than to name-call and concur that duelling is the appropriate solution. Especially in front of younger students. Whilst the resentment you will face from your housemates will be punishment enough, you will all be serving detentions. Professor Slughorn will decide how you,” she pointed to the girls, “will be spending your afternoons as he sees fit. As for you two gentlemen, you will be assisting Mr Filch in rearranging the west wing portraits, we’ve had numerous complaints that the occupants desire a change of scenery.”

The woman sighed and put her glasses back on. “Merlin help you all if I hear of anything like this again. Is that understood?”

They muttered their agreement.

“Very well. Girls, Professor Slughorn will escort you back to the dungeons. Dismissed.”

The potion master started and nodded. Frankly, Belladonna had forgotten he was there. “Yes, yes, come on you two.”

Belladonna couldn’t believe it. So typical of McGonagall—if anything, she and Bellatrix were defending themselves. Fifty points? Oh, Rita would be livid. She could picture her furious face right now, in fact she could picture her housemates tying her to a stake and setting her alight. She gave the boys another look before following Bellatrix out of the room, the girl having already thrown the door open and looking rather pink in the cheeks.

“So,” Slughorn attempted, once they were in a different corridor, “how are your families, hm? Your father, Belladonna, is he well?”

“Quite, sir.”

“Oh, excellent. One of my top students, you know. Quick witted, academically inclined, not a bad chaser either. Do you play?”

“Quidditch? No, sir.”

“Oh. I see.”

He looked a little dejected, so she hastily tried again. “My mother insisted I pursue music instead of sports, sir. I’m afraid I’m hopeless on a broom.”

“You’re not that bad,” Bellatrix said pointedly.

“Music, eh? You know, I taught Celestina Warbeck not that long ago. Used to sing for the Slug Club back then, she sends me exclusive albums now.”

“Belladonna sings opera,” Bellatrix mimicked, kicking a little stone and watching it skit down the hallway. Belladonna shot her a look, but the potions master didn’t catch her tone.

“Opera! Well, that certainly is a dying art.” She tried to take that as a compliment. “Perhaps you’ll be our next Celestina?”

He turned to a sulky Bellatrix, who had her hands shoved in her pockets. “Trying out for Quidditch this year, Miss Black?”

“Of course I am. Sir,” she added, kicking the stone once they caught up to it.

Slughorn chuckled. “Thank goodness for that. Greatest beater we’ve had in decades, what!”

The dark haired girl preened at that, standing a little straighter. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

“Well,” Slughorn said, clapping his hands as they approached the common room. “Your detention will be restocking the supply cupboard for me.” Both girls groaned, and he waggled a finger at them. “Now now, I’d say that’s rather generous! You can start tomorrow morning, that way you’ll be done by dinner.”

“But sir, tomorrow’s Sunday—

“We’ll be there,” Bellatrix interjected, ignoring the other girl’s scowl.

“Excellent. Off you go now, and next time you choose to fight some Gryffindors, be a little more discreet about it.”

After bidding them goodnight, the professor left, and Belladonna jogged to catch up to Bellatrix.

“Why would you do that?” she demanded, “there’s a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow!”

The other girl scoffed, tapping her foot impatiently as the stone snake uncoiled to reveal the common room entrance.

“Please, Avery, there’ll be plenty more to come. Besides, we’ll get it over and done with.”

The common room was surprisingly empty, lamps and fireplaces bringing warmth to the otherwise stony underground space. Although the moon was a mere slither tonight, it managed to cast rays across the Lake and, although they were a few miles under, it gave the windows a distant pearly quality to them.

Belladonna sighed, snatching up a neglected copy of The Prophet. “I was going to queue for the new Droobles and everything.”

Bellatrix pulled a face, shooing some lingering first years back to their dormitories. “You were going to queue for peach gum? Please.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you only have peppermint.”

“Spearmint, actually. And speaking of dirty peaches…”

Belladonna followed the girl’s gaze up the dormitory stairs to see the muggle born first year standing before a closed door. She looked a little stunned, just staring at the handle. Bellatrix gave her counterpart a nasty grin before shoving past Margaret, who nearly fell over. She looked as though she was already on the verge of tears. Belladonna thought about it for a few seconds, before sighing and approaching the girl. Prefect duties, she reassured herself, as Margaret backed away from her.

“Did you get kicked out?” she asked bluntly.

Margaret just stood there.

“Well?”

She nodded.

Belladonna flung the door open, startling the five girls who were already tucked into bed. With the end of her newspaper, she prodded the muggle born back into the room and barked “LIGHTS OUT,” shutting the door again.

There. Job well done.

Bellatrix was already unlacing her ridiculous knee high boots by the time she made it to her own dorm, greeting the girls again before collapsing on Rita’s bed. Her blonde friend didn’t even look up from her diary, and Belladonna allowed herself a moment to soak in the smatterings of gossip and summer stories. Georgina was hogging the only vanity, and Elizabeth had picked a fight about it. Clarise was pulling different frocks from her trunk, apparently looking for her nightgown while standing in her school pants and bralette. Bellatrix was humming something surprisingly upbeat, and Rita eventually enchanted her quill to write for her so she could pester the girl about it. Belladonna inhaled the smell of mingling perfumes and fresh linens. It was nice to know nothing had changed. And when she went to bed that night, her hair brushed and pulled into curlers, her silk nightgown warm from the fireplace, she realised she was quite happy to be back…for the most part.

“Who’s coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Georgina piped up somewhere in the dark.

“Can’t,” Bellatrix mumbled, “we’ve got detention with Slughorn.”

“…you what?”

“What for?”

“Belladonna? Oh, I don’t believe it, she’s out like a light.”

Chapter Text

Bellatrix dropped her books on the table with a resounding thud, before plunking down next to Belladonna.

“Did you get one?”

Belladonna gave her a look, biting into her toast. “Hello to you too. Did I get one what?”

She held up a folded piece of parchment, an ornate green seal already broken. “Slug Club invites.”

“Circe, already?”

It had been about a week or two since the prefects fulfilled their detention duties, restocking the potion’s supply cupboard taking upwards of eight hours before Slughorn declared himself satisfied and sent them off to dinner. For most of the time, the professor had sat on an armchair to supervise them, blabbering anecdotes that false appreciations could only handle for so long. The girls had trekked back in silence, skipping dinner entirely to collapse into bed and beg for any recounts of Hogsmeade to be postponed until the following morning.

Both girls took seven classes each, and Bellatrix was surprised to find that they shared almost all of them (she loathed herbology as much as Belladonna did astronomy). She didn’t know how, of course, considering Avery wasn’t even around to sit her O.W.L’s, and she had forgotten how…academically inclined she was. Perhaps she had gotten too complacent last year, because now she was fighting Belladonna to answer every question. Not that she could approach and ask how she did it, of course, her and Skeeter were attached at the hip, and whenever she got close enough, Skeeter started to drool a little. Whatever that was about. But the blonde was off with a cold today. Perhaps they could finally talk.

“He’s hosting a Halloween party on the 31st,” Bellatrix said, reading off the little scroll. “Costumes encouraged, fantastic.”

Belladonna sorted through her little stack of letters, her barn owl having delivered them when breakfast was served. She frowned.

“Not for me, it seems.”

“Oh. Well don’t fret Avery, I’ll save you some cake,” she cooed. “He usually lets members take some back for the…less fortunate.”

Belladonna put a hand to her heart. “Aw. I’m touched.”

“It’s nothing,” she shrugged, taking a piece of toast, “I’ve always been charitable.”

They chewed in silence for a little bit. Belladonna watched the other girl pour a cup of coffee, pushing curls from her face to drink it straight black. Her lipgloss left a little red blot around the rim.

“How’s Narcissa?”

“Good.”

“Any news about Quidditch captains yet?”

“Not yet. Are those postcards from Italy?”

“Yes. You should go as Medusa for that party.”

She laughed, another one of those ha!’s. “Perhaps I will. Men are often frozen by my beauty.”

Leo slid into a seat opposite them. “I wouldn’t go that far, Black.”

Bellatrix bristled. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, halfy.”

“Oh, get off your high horse Bella,” Rodolphus drawled, taking the seat beside the unimpressed Leo and clapping him on the back. “I’m granting him immunity.”

“I think I’ll go without, thanks.”

“No-can-do, it’s already bestowed.”

The girls glanced at each other as the boys continued bickering. Once it started, it didn’t stop. Bellatrix downed the rest of her coffee.

“Yes, well, Avery and I have Divination now—

“As pleasant as…this—” she gestured between Rod and Leo, “—is, we really should be going.” And she let Bellatrix drag her out of the hall.

Bellatrix dropped her arm as soon as they entered the corridor, and they began the long walk to the North Tower.

“Wallace really isn’t that bad,” Belladonna said.

“Doooon’t care. Boys always do that. Join conversations.”

“That’s generally how new conversations start.”

“Shut up.”

Before reaching the grand staircase, the two passed Professor Slughorn, who was apparently lecturing a few Hufflepuffs about running in corridors. He cut himself off to stop Belladonna, leaving Bellatrix to trip up passing first years and snicker when they stumbled. Slughorn paid no attention to her, and eventually sent Belladonna on her way with a slip of parchment.

Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow. “Was that an invitation?”

Belladonna grimaced, handing her the paper. “Of sorts. He’s asked me to sing for the party.”

She snorted. “What, we have to sit and watch you?”

“You all get to dance while I sing the prescribed songs.”

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed as they tracked further down the page. “Warbeck, Bletchley, The Jack-o-Lanterns…I thought you were classically trained.”

“I happen to be versatile."

“I don’t know the rest of these.”

“That’s because they’re muggle.”

She handed the paper back at an arms length, as if it were soiled. “Eugh, tell me you’re joking.”

“I have a month to learn them. Springfield, Donovan, Simone, Sinatra—

“The words you’re saying right now mean nothing to me.”

“I’m surprised he’s decided to include them.”

“I don’t see why he couldn’t invite you like a normal person.”

“He thinks it’d be unprudent to give an absent student an invitation.” She gave her a serious look. “Wouldn’t want to give the impression that this was about nepotism, or anything like that.”

“Where on earth did you get that idea from, signora?”

They didn’t say much for the rest of the walk, with Bellatrix humming her perky tune and Belladonna making a show of frowning at her list. Bellatrix had a very rhythmic way of walking, she noticed, those boots of hers clacking on everything from timber to tiles. She found herself wishing Rita was here, because at least her pining and blabbering would be filling the silence. On the other hand, it was quite nice. Maybe not nice. Peaceful. Pleasant.

Somehow Leo had managed to beat the two of them to the Divination trap door, and Bellatrix took the liberty of shoving him out the way in order to let Belladonna climb up first. Her senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of tea and incense as she made her way to sit on an embroidered pouffe opposite Celeste, the Ravenclaw having already opened a window. Bellatrix emerged soon after, flouncing over to her unspokenly reserved armchair, and Leo eventually took a seat beside Belladonna, rubbing his arm.

“I’d take care, if I were you.”

The boy jumped as Celeste’s aunt appeared behind him, the Professor giving him a reproachful look. “There’s quite a haze around that arm, Mr Wallace…yes…a great shadow…”

“Maybe it’s the incense,” he said warily. Leo had always said he took divination with a grain of salt, but Belladonna thought that was to distract them from his superstitious nature. She liked to pretend she didn’t catch him reading his own tarot cards.

“Only teasing, dear, fetch some ice from Madame Pomfrey if you need. Now, I need one crystal ball to a table, thank you.”

Leo muttered something about taking precautions before leaving for the hospital wing, Celeste looking slightly relieved when she returned with the crystal ball.

“Oh, good. His aura would cloud the crystal.”

Professor Trelawney instructed a “quick review” of crystal gazing, asking for partners to take it in turns to foretell something for the other. Belladonna opted to go first to get it over and done with, lightly telling Celeste that she saw handfuls of stars and sequins, possibly hinting at riches or a great adventure. She knew that Celeste would take this a lot more seriously and made herself comfortable while her friend took her hands and stared intently at the crystal.

“To start with, you’ve got a green aura to the left of the dome—and we know your third eye is left-leaning, of course, but this is in past-present terms—so you can anticipate periods of growth and healing and love. Exciting! Or it could just be the Slytherin in you. But come the right side—the future— and it’s grey, implying depression and exhaustion…” She frowned, inching closer to the crystal. “It’s rather small, so that’s the far-future. I wouldn’t worry about that. Anyway, there’s also a body of water, it looks like the Lake…”

Belladonna only nodded, adding the occasional thoughtful hum or “oh, really?”, letting her eyes drift to the open window and the impending storm clouds. It was still warm for September, and she could think of nothing better than the feel of late-summer rain on her skin.

“Romance for you, Avery?” Bellatrix remarked, taking Leo’s empty seat. Belladonna turned to her but had to shield her eyes as the crystal suddenly flashed a blinding light. Celeste groaned and shook the ball like one of those fortune tellers muggles kept on their desks.

“Thanks a lot, now we have to start all over again.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, leaning on the velvet-draped table. “I think you got plenty from her, do me instead.”

The Ravenclaw folded her arms. “No chance.”

Belladonna never knew why the two hated each other so much, she always assumed one thought themselves better than the other. She was pretty sure she was right.

“Alright then, give it here.” Belladonna took the crystal from a scowling Celeste and placed it back on its stand. Bellatrix grinned and extended her palms for the other girl to take, which she did. “Ooh, lots of pink—Este, can you pass me the book—okay, sincerity…friendship…”

“Love,” Celeste interjected, almost angry that she couldn’t help herself.

“Yes, thank you, she’s doing fine on her own.”

“Be nice, Black. You’ve got some blue up the top, signaling loyalty and sensitivity, but it’s a bit pitchy, so I guess that’s moodiness. And there’s purple in the middle—

“The node.”

“Yes, the node. Meaning you’re pursuing something.”

Belladonna stopped there. Bellatrix stared at her expectantly. “And…?”

“Oh. Right.” She leaned closer to the crystal. “Erh, there’s a…turret-looking-thing, looks like it’s at the seaside. And—oh, it’s gone all foggy.”

“Shame,” Bellatrix sighed, withdrawing her hands. “Good to know I’m sincere and sensitive.”

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

The Slytherin girls jumped, Celeste otherwise unphased, at the Professor’s sudden appearance.

“You ought to wear a bell,” Bellatrix grumbled, leaning away as the woman leaned over her shoulder. “And I’m fine.”

“There’s a haze around your head, Miss Black…yes, indeed, stuffed in your ears like cotton wool…”

“Maybe it’s the incense,” Belladonna smirked.

“Mock you may, Miss Avery, but there is interference in your intuition…a great cloud hovers over your heart…” The Professor’s eyes glazed over and the girls shared a look.

“Perhaps your intuition foretells rain,” Bellatrix offered.

“Perhaps she’s around a bad influence,” said Celeste coldly.

The dark haired girl looked around the hazy room. “I don’t see any around here, do you Professor?”

“Hm? Oh, quite right, dear girl.”

“Do you, Avery?”

She scoffed. “There’s two right in front of me.”

The trap door shut with a loud click. “Belladonna, come and tell Pomfrey that this is obviously bruising up. She wouldn’t even bandage it for me!”

“Nevermind, there’s the third right there.”

_______________________________________

Rita still wasn’t better by the end of September, and her refusal to visit the hospital wing meant she was confined to her own bed for two weeks. Georgina and Belladonna managed to convince Madame Pomfrey to take a trip down to the dungeons to diagnose their stubborn friend with the flu. The sixth year girls took to convening on her bed every evening to relay the day’s events, taking care not to get coughed or sneezed on.

On October 5th, Belladonna was doing exactly that—lounging on the end of Rita’s bed and detailing the latest gossip. Seventh years had such messy relationships.

“Every year I hope that men can get better, I’m sorely mistaken,” Rita grumbled, blowing her nose.

“I’m surprised you even bother, you’ve been lovesick for two years.”

The blonde tossed the tissue at her, who shrieked and flinched away.

“Keep your voice down. And I have not been lovesick.”

“You don’t exactly do a good job of hiding it,” Belladonna muttered, flicking the tissue on the floor. “Everyone saw you flush when she asked you how you were feeling.”

Rita smiled dreamily and sank into her pillows. “She was so gentle about it. Spoke so quietly I had to lean in.”

“There it is.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell her friend that Bellatrix had screamed herself hoarse in advanced flying that afternoon. In fact, she didn’t have the heart to tell Rita that she barely stood a chance.

Belladonna listened intently as Rita began her gushing, in hushed tones of course, watching her friend fiddle with the ends of her blanket. The blonde had always been a romantic, for as long as the two had been friends. She couldn’t remember a time where Rita wasn’t fawning over a charming Ravenclaw boy or whoever paid her a compliment, really. But all it took was a bump to the shoulder and an oh, I’m sorry in fourth year and Rita had found her next victim.

Bellatrix Black.

Belladonna would be lying if she said she hadn’t been seeing more of the girl lately—but it was not by choice. Between prefect duties and Rita-less classes, the only time she didn’t see Bellatrix was during the overlap of Herbology and Astronomy. And all the better for it, it was nice to answer questions without fighting someone for the first answer. But she certainly did not seek her out during breakfast and she certainly did not wait back in class so they could walk together. She just had a lot of books to carry these days. They hardly spoke in class anyway, opting to sit silently in each other’s general vicinity.

Rita broke off mid sentence, perking up like a terrier at the sound of house keys.

“Is someone playing the piano?”

Belladonna tilted her head to get a better listen. Sure enough, she could hear the lull of some slow—and occasionally sour—notes. Nobody really played the common room’s baby grand except for Belladonna, and Celeste when she came to visit.

“I’ll investigate and give you a detailed report, ma’am,” she joked, but Rita shook her head.

“No, I want to see. Can you pass me my coat? Fucking freezing out there.”

So Belladonna tossed it to her and didn’t bother to wait as she breezed down the hall. She stopped right in the common room doorway, and Rita ran right into her.

The baby grand piano was sort of in the middle of the main space, cushioned by an emerald persian rug and surrounded by velvet sofas. There was a strange scattering of first and second years around, everyone else either at Hogsmeade or getting ready to leave. Quidditch trials were also on, a clever tactic to see who would skip the outing to show their dedication. Two people stood out. Narcissa Black, for one, arms stretched above her head and platinum hair cascading behind her as she arched like a willow. One hand came back to the lip of the piano and a leg extended behind her. She was wearing black satin pointe shoes, and yoga pants with a cami. The youngest Black sister only ever wore skirts, even on weekends. But the strangest sight of all was Bellatrix, sitting behind the piano. She was wearing her Quidditch uniform, minus the padding, her hair braided back like how it always was for games. The girl only managed to get through a couple of notes before she started shouting at her sister to raise her arm or straighten her shoulders. Rita made a noise very similar to a giggle. Bellatrix looked up and narrowed her eyes.

“Something funny, Skeeter?”

“Not at all,” she coughed, pulling a tissue from her pocket. “Just came to see what the beautiful noise was.”

“Ugh, you’re of no use to me. Avery, you play.”

Belladonna folded her arms. “Charming statement.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Get over here.”

She took the girl by the shoulders and sat her at the stool, then roughly grabbed Narcissa’s ankle and hoisted it behind her.

“Ow! Bella—

“Shush, you’re fine. Go again. Avery?”

Belladonna blinked, dragging her eyes from a giddy Rita to the sheet music in front of her. To appease the temperamental piano, she ran her fingers along the ivories before starting the piece. Whatever it was, it was clearly composed for an orchestra, but she didn’t think either sister was in the mood to deal with petty remarks. Bellatrix sat on the nearest sofa with a huff, leaning on her knees and watching Narcissa like a hawk.

“Higher, Cissy, watch your chin—good, that wasn’t bad…”

Rita sat beside her. “What’s all this for?”

Bellatrix kept her eye on her sister’s battement. “She’s got an audition tomorrow. Don Quixote.”

Belladonna’s eyebrows nearly breached her hairline. “What, for Kitri? At eleven?”

“Twelve and a month,” Narcissa grumbled, bending into a plié.

“Black, what’s the hold up?” Rodolphus called, emerging from the dorms with a swarm of other existing Quidditch players. Belladonna had noticed that he only called Bellatrix by her surname when they were talking Quidditch. He clapped his gloved hands together. “Oh, hell-o. Don Quixote.”

“Shut up, you’ll distract her,” Bellatrix muttered.

By that point, Belladonna was reaching a crescendo. She could only manage to flick her eyes back and forth a couple of times as Narcissa began to spin. Pirouette? Was that the proper term? Over and over again, she kept her eyes fixed on a distant tapestry and seemed to use one leg to pull her into momentum. The Quidditch boys started to clap in time and cheer her on, and even Bellatrix looked a little pleased. Rita wasn’t even paying attention, but she certainly jumped when the small crowd hollered as Narcissa finally came to a stop.

“You were two short,” said Bellatrix, bluntly. “Go again.”

Narcissa looked appalled. “That was at least sixteen.”

“Then you were four short. Go again.”

“Like you could do better, Black,” Rodolphus said, and the boys snickered.

“Watch me,” she snarked, marching over to the piano.

“Oh-ho, look out,” he jeered, as Narcissa began to unlace her shoes to hand to her sister.

Bellatrix sat on the edge of the piano stool, Belladonna shuffling over a little as the girl began to tie the ribbons around her ankles.

“You dance?” she asked, poking at some random keys to pass time.

“Used to,” Bellatrix said, completing a bow with a forceful tug. She turned to face Belladonna, rising on her toes a few times and rolling her shoulders. “Stopped at thirteen, my father wanted me to pursue Quidditch.”

Her brow furrowed. “I would’ve thought it to be the other way around.”

Bellatrix flashed a smile. “You forget I’m the son my father never had. No matter, I’m sickeningly good at both. Now play me something,” she ordered, turning back to stick her tongue out at Rod and raising her arms expectantly.

Belladonna picked back up at the crescendo, already familiar enough to keep her eyes on Bellatrix. She almost laughed, the sight of her in a bulky Quidditch uniform and moving with such grace was jarring.

She watched as her grin grew wider and wider, loose strands of hair pulling from her braid and cheeks growing pinker. Somewhere on the sofa, Rita giggled.

She looked like one of those statuettes in a music box.

The boys were starting to holler now. Bellatrix pulled her arms in and reached twenty in a nice double, sinking into a dramatic curtsy as the common room erupted into cheers.

“Fuck off!” Rita squawked, a little red in the cheeks.

“Was that to your standard, Lestrange?” Bellatrix drawled, unlacing the pointes.

“Not bad, could’ve straightened your leg a little more—

“Oh, shut up.” She twisted to face Belladonna, who shut the lip of the piano. The girl gave her an almost bemused look.

“That was seriously impressive,” she said, debating whether or not to push the compliment further. “You’re actually really talented.”

She grinned, wide enough to reveal straight white teeth. “Don’t sound so surprised, Avery. I told you I was good.”

Bellatrix tossed the ballet slippers at her sister, who was perched beside Rita. She began to lace up her flying boots, using the piano stool as a foot rest.

“Look,” she said, lowering her voice. “People are allowed to come watch the try outs. Andy’s off at Hogsmeade and Cissy has to stay and practice, and I need someone to brag to when I snatch that captain badge from under Rod’s nose.” She looked up from her boots with a strangely intense expression, before straightening up.

“Is this an invitation, Black?” she asked, swinging her legs over the stool. The other girl smirked.

“Perhaps. And I wouldn’t mind if you left Skeeter here, either. Can’t have her infecting the team.”

Belladonna tutted, glancing at her friend who was staring holes in the back of Bellatrix’s head. That would be plain cruel. “Unfortunately we’re a package deal, in sickness and in health.”

The dark haired girl rolled her eyes. “Fine, just sit well up the back. If I hear so much of a sneeze, you and your wife are out of there.”

Before Belladonna could retort, she had already pranced off to her team. Rodolphus tussled her hair as they left the common room. Gross.

“What was that about?” asked Rita sharply, stuffing a tissue down her sleeve.

“We have been personally invited to watch the try outs.” She sighed and inspected her nails. “But you’re far too sick, the chill will only make it worse—

“Shut up and get dressed. We’re going.”

The blonde practically pushed her all the way back to their dorm, stormed immediately to the wardrobe and chucked a jumper, a pair of gloves, and a purple scarf on Belladonna’s bed before pulling on a pair of jeans. She had already buckled her boots and put her beloved Fire and Ice on before Belladonna even fished her black coat from the dresser, and then Rita took her by the hand and led her all the way out of the castle and into the chill autumn air.

Chapter Text

The trek to the Quidditch pitch was quite pleasant. Overcast sky, a crisp breeze, and orange-leaves trees as far as the eye could see. It smelled like rain and woodfire smoke. The girls could still see the team, although they were a small cluster downhill, and Rita seemed eager to catch up to them. Except she had to take a moment to blow her nose, so by the time they took their seats on the weathered wooden stands, their housemates were already assembled on the pitch. There were a few others scattered around the stands, although none of them were particularly noteworthy, or known to either of the girls.

“What do you think she’s yelling about?” Rita shivered, squinting at the dark-haired figure that could only be Bellatrix. She was making rather erratic gestures with her hands, gesturing to the posts occasionally and pointing out certain applicants. She even sent a few off the pitch and back to the change rooms.

Belladonna took her scarf off and wrapped it around Rita’s neck, attempting to quell her shivering. “Dunno. Instructions I suppose.”

Eventually, the majority of the try-out applicants kicked off, racing laps around the pitch in pairs. Some struggled to keep up, most of them obviously first years. Others couldn’t keep level and a few started bumping into each other. Notably, Bellatrix stayed grounded, alongside Rodolphus, Stephen Burke, and frail looking Angus Trout, casted legs visible from a great distance and sticking out awkwardly from his rickety wheelchair.

Both girls leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s asking them to join him in Liechtenstein for Christmas.”

Rita stared at her blankly, hair whipping across her face as the flyers rushed passed again.

“You’re hilarious.”

A shrill cackle interrupted Belladonna’s retort. Back on the pitch, Bellatrix was jumping up and down on the spot and shaking Angus’ hand. She threw her hands in the air and bellowed something that sounded a lot like UP YOURS, LESTRANGE. Rita started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit.

“I think you’re looking at our new captain, sweets,” mused Belladonna, patting her spluttering friend on the back.

She watched the gleeful girl mount her broom, a sleek new Nimbus 1001, and take off with a smoothness Belldonna didn’t think was possible. She abruptly cut off the racers, ordering a few to dismount immediately and passing out a few quaffles with a wave of her hand. Apparently they were meant to start playing a rather complex version of throw-and-catch. Anyone who didn’t understand Bellatrix’s instructions on the first instance were grounded instantly. It had gotten dark by the time the remainders got the hang of it, giving Bellatrix time to float around the pitch. Belladonna noticed she was scanning the stands, although with an air of nonchalance as if she couldn’t care less. A particularly loud sneeze from Rita and she clocked them instantly. She glided over to their side and came to a skid-like stop, tossing her hair and showing off the little bronze badge on her uniform.

“Oh captain, my captain,” Belladonna drawled, folding her arms to block out the wind.

“Oh, sorry Avery, did I blind you with my bling?” she said loudly. Somewhere on the pitch, Rodolphus groaned.

Belladonna grinned. “Please, never let him forget this.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “As if I’d even consider it.”

“Congratulations,” Rita blurted. Thank goodness she could pass off her blushing as feverish.

The other girl hummed, narrowing her eyes at the blonde. “Yes, well, there wasn’t much competition.” She hovered over a little closer, forcing the girls to crane their necks. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Belladonna didn’t trust Rita to answer appropriately, so she nodded. “Oh definitely. Cold air, stiff seats, sick friends. What’s not to love?”

“Well obviously you get to see how brilliant I am,” Bellatrix said matter-of-factly, pressing a hand to her chest. “It’s not every day I interact with my adoring fans.”

At least Rita had enough sense to roll her eyes. “I don’t see any around here.”

“Then, by all means, you’re welcome to leave,” she snarked, glancing back briefly at the players. There was a shout of protest as somebody dropped a quaffle. “For the love of—I swear, fifth years are rife with incompetence.”

“You tell them, captain.”

Bellatrix was now close enough to allow Belladonna to offer her a hand. The dark haired girl studied it for a second before she shook it.

“Don’t rush off when we’re done,” she called, already backing away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Bellatrix winked, before pulling a wide arc and back around to her team.

A strong gust of wind suddenly hit the girls, causing Rita to shriek.

“Did you see that?” she hissed, rubbing her arms to keep warm. “Oh Circe, I’m all a flutter—

“No, you’re cold and feverish,” grumbled Belladonna, handing her friend her discarded gloves. She didn’t need them anyway, her palms were suddenly clammy. “We should head back soon, you keep sneezing.”

“Absolutely not.”

Rita called it quits ten minutes later.

“Shame,” Belladonna said, guiding her sniffling friend down the narrow stairs. “They were just starting beater practice.”

Rita wailed in despair, and she laughed outright, assuring her she was only joking. It was ridiculous, watching every ounce of fierce and cynicism drain from the blonde as soon as Bellatrix was in the picture. Belladonna had told her, on more than one occasion, that she shouldn’t be dampening her spirit to fit in people’s standards, and the blonde assured her she was doing no such thing. As they clambered down the last of the stairs, Belladonna was going to tell Rita exactly the same thing, when she ran straight into a blocked doorway.

“Hey—oh.”

Bellatrix was livid.

“He took it.”

Rita wiped her nose hastily. “Who took what?”

“Rodolphus,” she spat, working her jaw. “Apparently I was being too harsh on admission. Ought to give it to a seventh year who knows what he’s doing.” Although she was ghostly white in the face, the tips of Bellatrix’s ears were deep red.

Rita made an oh sound as it finally clicked. “Captaincy,” said Belladonna blankly.

“Yes! Plucked the pin right off my fucking shirt—

She broke off with a scream of indignation, storming back outside with fistfuls of her hair.

The girls looked at each other warily.

“You go,” Rita said, fishing a tissue from her sleeve, “all I can do is cough on her.”

Belladonna nodded grimly, watching Bellatrix pace and mutter obscenities. “Right. See you.”

As Rita slinked off and Belladonna took tentative steps closer, she noticed the acrid smell of burning grass. There were scorchmarks in the ground where Bellatrix walked, some light and browning the grass, others deep and blackened. She cleared her throat. How would she go about this?

“Bellatrix?”

She whirled around, heaving like she’d run a mile. “What?”

Belladonna nodded to the other end of the pitch, where a group of wary looking team candidates stared openly at them. A lot of them were the ones that had been sent off earlier. The dark haired girl made a noise of disbelief. “The FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT? GET BACK TO WORK.”

And with that, she left the pitch in large, angry strides, snatching her broom from the grass and hauling it over her shoulders.

Belladonna jogged after her, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“What do you want, Avery?” Bellatrix yelled over her shoulder. She had put a considerable amount of distance between them in such a short time.

“Nothing,” she said, “just seeing if you’re okay.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” she snarked. “I don’t need your pity.”

Belladonna scoffed, finally matching the other girl’s pace. “I wasn’t going to give you any.”

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose. “Well, good. And don’t give me any try again next year advice. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sure.”

The landscape began to stretch out as they got farther from the stadium. They trekked up the hills in silence, Bellatrix seething at her feet and Belladonna looking towards the horizon. She could hear the other girl’s fuming breaths, and the occasional muttered curse, and she could see Rita’s figure at the top of the hill. There was a lot she could say in a situation like this, but she supposed not much of it would do any good.

“What they did was really…shitty, you know, going back on their word. It’s insecurity, all of it. We haven’t had a female captain in, what, thirty years?” She could feel Bellatrix’s scrutinising gaze on her, and for some reason, she kept her eyes ahead. “You’re a better player than half of them combined, no wonder you have standards.”

“Only half?” The girl cocked her head, a small smile dancing on her lips.

Belladonna rolled her eyes, lifting her gaze from the small pebble she had started kicking. “I take it back. A quarter.”

Bellatrix huffed a laugh. “Oh, no, you can’t do that now! Come on, tell me what you really think.”

“I think you suck.”

“Liar.”

“You’re atrocious. No wonder they gave that badge to Rod—

She broke off with a shriek of a laugh, avoiding a swipe from the other girl and took off across the viaduct bridge.

“You’ll pay for that, Avery!”

Belladonna reached the other side of the bridge and turned to face Bellatrix again, who was still making her way over.

“Go take a shower, I think Georgina said she’d save us all some dinner.”

The other girl waved her off. “Get out of my sight, traitor,” she shouted, although there was no real bite to her tone.

Belladonna gave a wave and slipped into the hallway. She pressed the back of her hand to her warm cheek, perhaps she was coming down with Rita’s flu. And speak of the devil, as she took a left, she nearly bumped right into her blonde friend who was leaning against the wall.

“Don’t do shit like that!” Belladonna yelped, “scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry,” Rita said, although she wasn’t really. She looped her arm through her friend’s as they continued their walk to the dungeons. “How is she?”

Belladonna shrugged, picking at her cuticles. “Still venomous, nearly bit my head off.”

“And that’s fucking right. Trout ought to have shoved his tongue down Lestrange’s fucking throat—

“Don’t pry when she gets back,” she warned, pointing a finger at her. “I mean it, Rita, don’t even think about it.”

Rita put her hands in the air. “Who do you think I am? But did she ask about me?”

“Oh, Circe, this has to stop!”

They eventually made it back to the common room, albeit they were bickering the whole way. The other girls had since returned from Hogsmeade, and dinner, and were sprawled on the floor of their dorm with a pile of goodies dumped in the middle. It was obvious that Clarise had restocked her candles upon her outing, an assortment of star-painted blues and purples were the only sources of light, casting warm yellow glows on the walls. Tossing their coats on their beds, Rita and Belladonna quickly joined the circle, helping themselves to bowls of steaming chicken soup that Georgina had smuggled from the kitchens. It warmed Belladonna from the inside out, she nearly melted into the floor.

After about half an hour of gossiping, Bellatrix returned. Her hair was still damp and hanging around her face, and she was already in her pyjamas—a long, white night gown, cinched at her wrists. She was humming under her breath. A good sign, Belladonna supposed, watching the girl toss a hairbrush on her bed and rifle through a few things in her trunk.

“Ridiculous,” Bellatrix said suddenly, straightening up and slipping into the empty spit between Belladonna and Clarise. “Everyone knows Weaver has a girl back home. Don’t be naïve, Georgie.”

“But he told her—

Bellatrix smirked as the chatter resumed, eyes wandering to the girl beside her.

“Here,” she said abruptly, tossing a small package in Belladonna’s lap.

She raised her eyebrow conspiratorily. “What is it?”

“Well you’ll have to fucking open it, won’t you?” she snarked, leaning back on her hands and looking a little too pleased with herself.

Belladonna peeled back the paper cautiously as Bellatrix helped herself to a bread roll, breaking the crust to pair it with a helping of butter before unwrapping a Dark Chocolate Frog and taking a generous bite. She chewed thoughtfully for a while, before smirking at a rather bemused Belladonna.

“What?”

She chewed on a smile as she held up the little peach-coloured packet of Droobles. “You shouldn’t have.”

Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively. “Andy bought it for me, she should have known better.”

“Uh-huh. Is this the charitability you were talking about?”

She flashed a smile and Belladonna considered blowing these candles out, her face was getting warm. “Exactly. Consider it a grazie for coming to try-outs.”

“Prego,” she replied, running her fingers over the smooth packaging. Then she sobered a little. “I’m sorry about today.”

The other girl exhaled through her nose, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Not like you did anything.”

“Yeah. But I’m sorry it happened.”

“I’m sorry you were there to see it,” Bellatrix joked, snatching another chocolate.

Adopting her lighter note, Belladonna said, “I didn’t think sorry was in your vocabulary.”

“I save it for special occasions.”

“Is that so? What makes this special?”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Don’t fish for compliments, Avery.”

“So I’m the special one.”

“You’re pushing it now.”

Belladonna found herself smiling. But it quickly faded when she felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of her head. She cleared her throat and turned to Rita.

“Any luck with the Slug Club yet?” she asked lightly, craning her neck to find her hairbrush.

Rita blinked, almost like she was taking a moment to process what she said. “No.” She sighed and continued. “I mean, no official invitation, but I am allowed to go as…”

“A plus one?”

“A date,” Rita sniffed loudly, loud enough to end surrounding conversations. “To the Halloween party.”

There was a beat before Elizabeth said, “You could go with Wallace.”

The other girls made noises of agreement, while Rita grumbled “I don’t want to go with Leo,” just as Bellatrix exclaimed “Wallace got an invite?”

“You couldn’t go with him anyway, he’s going with me,” Belladonna said, almost in consolation.

The Black heir scoffed. “Please, don’t tell me he sings too.”

She blinked. “Fine. I won’t tell you then.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

“Bellatrix,” said Rita suddenly, and Belladonna had to credit her for her even tone, “anyone asked you yet?”

Chapter Text

Bellatrix was starting to regret taking potions. Not because she found it difficult—Circe, that would be a laugh. No, it was dreadfully boring. She was stuck with Elizabeth who, bless her, wasn’t very bright. Bellatrix didn’t have much of a choice but to do the prepping, the stewing, the bottling all by herself, while the girl prattled on about—

“—Angus, you know, he’s just the sweetest, bought me this gorgeous bangle! Look at it, Bella, isn’t it pretty? Oh, for a seventh year, he’s such a darling…”

They hadn’t even reached the classroom yet and Bellatrix wanted to bang her head against the wall. “I don’t want to hear it, Beth.”

“I didn’t ask you to hear it, I asked you to look at it.”

She nearly wept with relief when she saw a certain someone ahead, not bothering to excuse herself as she wove through the crowded corridor to catch up.

“Avery,” she greeted, sidling up to the girls left. That Trelawney friend of hers rolled her eyes and kept walking. “You know, I’ve been thinking—

“Oh, well done! I was starting to think you didn’t know how.”

Bellatrix shoved the other girl’s arm while she grinned. “Bitch. I was going to ask about your costume for Thursday night.” The party was rapidly approaching and all anyone was talking about was their outfits. Or their dates.

“Oh, uh, it’s a surprise.”

She stares at her blankly. “You forgot.”

Belladonna threw her a look as they slipped into Slughorn's class.

“I did not.”

Bellatrix grinned. “Oh, you definitely did.” She gasped melodramatically. “You’ll be the laughingstock of our year. Don’t tell me you and Wallace will be matching.” The thought made Bellatrix frown. How ridiculous. They’d probably do some vapid couples costume that involved Belladonna latching onto his arm all evening—

“Are you and Lestrange going to be a matching ensemble?” the brunette asked lightly as she took a seat. The stools meant they were still at eye-level, and Bellatrix noticed the arches of the girl’s eyebrows.

“No,” she bristled. “He hasn’t asked yet.”

Belladonna only hummed. Bellatrix rocked on her heels as an awkward silence lapsed over them.

“Are you going to sit?” Belladonna said, nodding to the stool beside her.

She frowned. “No Trelawney?”

“Some meeting with McGonagall about changing her timetable. But then again, you can always sit with Elizab—

She broke off with a laugh as the other girl sat immediately.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

The silence became much more comfortable. Bellatrix propped her chin on her hands and took in the room, an unfortunate mix of insufferable Ravenclaws and too-proud Slytherins. From the corner of her eye, she watched the brunette pull some parchment from her bag, a pure white quill, and a bottle of shimmering ink. By the looks of it, it was a deep navy. She watched as manicured fingers straightened the objects before reaching up to the girl’s face to brush hair from her face.

She wondered how it stayed so ridiculously shiny, even in the dank of the castle dungeons.

“—and that we would. Yeah?” finished Belladonna, looking at her expectantly.

Well, shit.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I mean, whatever works, you know…” She scowled at the bemused girl. “What?”

“Never thought you’d be so eager for extra corridor duties.” She groaned as Belladonna laughed and said, “tell me about your costume.”

Alright then. Bellatrix gave a wicked sort of grin and sat a little taller. “Much better than yours, I assure you,” she drawled. “You know, you could always—

A slammed door announced Slughorn’s arrival.

“Yes, yes, gather round—Mr Snyde, I think you’ll find that chairs are much more suited to sitting on than cauldrons.”

The girls slid off their stools.

“I could always what?” smirked Belladonna, joining the crowd in front of the demonstration table.

Bellatrix tutted. “Forget it. I would say you could come and see it, but what’s to say you won’t steal my idea?”

“You take this very seriously.”

“I take everything very seriously,” she said gravely.

“Yes, thank you Miss Black,” the professor said pointedly, before placing a glass bottle on the table. The class seemed to lean towards it as one body, trying to get a better look. It had a similar, pearly quality to Belladonna’s ink, except this was a sort of mauve. Bellatrix heard the girl scoff upon realisation.

“Now, can anybody tell me what concoction I’ve got here?”

Two hands flew up in unison.

“Yes, Miss Avery?”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and lowered her hand as Belladonna replied, “A love potion, sir. Amortentia.”

“Excellent, yes, five points to Slytherin. Now, it has come to my attention that, erh, well, there’s no other way to put it. This class is rather…diluted with underperforming students. Perhaps I was too generous on admission after O.W.Ls…” Slughorn cleared his throat. “So! To, er, resolve the matter, you all will be brewing your own amortentias today. Anybody who scores below a 70, unfortunately you will be…dismissed.”

To his surprise, nobody looked particularly distraught. He cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, off you go! Two hours, page 207, yes…”

Bellatrix was already shoving Belladonna out the way when Slughorn called them both back.

“I hope you two know that you’re both exempt from competing today. Top of the class and all, what! You may work as a pair but I do not want to see any bickering. Understood?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Which one of us is higher?”

The two hours passed relatively quickly. Bellatrix would never say it aloud, but she had to admit they made a good team. They worked in smooth, companionable silence, with Belladonna doing the stirring and adding gradual amounts of pearl dust and Bellatrix halving strands of unicorn hair and grating lacewing flies. A loud gurgle from behind them signaled to Bellatrix that Elizabeth was having a horrible time, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. With half an hour to spare, the girls finished, cheeks flushed and hair pulled off necks.

Slughorn was chuffed. “Ah, you see? Not a bad effort, girls, not bad at all.” He leaned over the simmering pink and dropped in a small flower bud, which floated momentarily before blooming into an open, pink rose. “Dare I say perfection! Excellent, well done.”

Bellatrix was beaming, until he added, “two feet of parchment on my desk by tomorrow.”

Belladonna groaned. “On what, sir?”

The man shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. Sensory properties, the process, just make sure it’s relevant, what!”

Bellatrix groaned herself and rested her forehead on the table.

“Come on,” Belladonna sighed, reaching over for her stationery. “If we start now, maybe we'll get half of it done.”

“Don’t want to,” she mumbled, but she sat up all the same.

The brunette stirred the potion a few times, watching it bubble. She took a deep breath, and Bellatrix watched as her face softened and found herself smiling.

“Describe it to me,” she ordered, quill hovering over the paper. Belladonna gave a teasing smile.

“Bit personal, isn’t it? Alright.” She inhaled again. “Salt water…fresh mint…and record sleeves.”

“Uh-huh. And would that be Italian salt water?” Bellatrix asked, feigning seriousness.

She rolled her eyes. “Your turn.”

“Come si dice ‘you are awfully secretive’?” She swapped seats with the other girl and gave the cauldron a stir herself.

“Sei terribilmente riservato,” Belladonna clipped, although her lips twitched. “Come si dice ‘all in good time’?”

“A tempo debito.”

She blinked in surprise. “Va bene.”

Bellatrix grinned. “Let’s get this over with.” She breathed deeply, memories fluttering behind her eyes. “Fresh linens. Quidditch leather…” What was that last one? She frowned. “Would you stop chewing that gum of yours?”

Belladonna blew a bubble pointedly before leaving to find a bin. Bellatrix leaned back in towards the cauldron, but the smell she thought to be interfering still lingered.

Peaches.

Fucking strange.

She straightened suddenly as Belladonna returned. “Coffee,” she said bluntly. “I smell coffee.”

_______________________________________

To nobody’s surprise, Thursday the 31st arrived in no time. The common room was chaos, with people rushing between dorms and yelling things like I’ve got it! I’ve got it! and arguments building between party-goers and studying students. The sixth-year dormitory was no exception. Dresses of all colours lay discarded on beds, makeup brushes strewn across the vanity and jewellery hanging from light fixtures. All of the girls were going, snatching up last minute dates from friends in their year. Rita, in her glittering emerald gown, was helping Clarise with her corset, yanking at the strings and barking “BREATHE IN” while Clarise wailed “I’m trying.” Georgina was perched at the vanity, an assortment of combs hovering around her head as she moulded her braids into a long pair of horns. Elizabeth sulked behind her, face half-powdered white as she waited for her friend to finish.

The door swung open with a thud and startled the sixth years. Bellatrix stood in the doorway, draped in a criss-cross of deep, green fabric—just school appropriate but teetering dangerously on the line of acceptable. A slit in the dress ran midway up her right thigh, showing off a pair of wrap-around stilettos. She had ornate gold clips nestled in her unruly hair, which had been enchanted to hover above her head, twisting and coiling on its own accord.

She was Medusa.

“Where’s Avery?” she demanded, striding into the room. Everyone stared at her for a moment.

Rita made a strangled sort of noise. “Downstairs,” was all she could manage.

The girl raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you supposed to be?”

The blonde blinked. “A beetle.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “Well, it’s original, I’ll give you that.” She adjusted a swirled arm cuff absently. “…will she be long?”

“She said she’ll see us there,” said Clarise, a little breathless as she adjusted her bodice. “Been rehearsing with Leo.”

“Bella, would you help me?” Elizabeth whined, holding up her makeup brushes helplessly. “Georgie’s been hogging the mirror—“

“You’ve been getting ready for two hours,” the girl snapped, twisting around to reveal her white contact lenses.

Bellatrix studied them both. “Marie Antoinette,” she said, pointing at Beth, turning to the vanity. “Maleficent.”

Georgina smirked. “Lestrange will be mush in no time, Medusa.”

Bellatrix scoffed, crouching down to the French Queen’s level. “That’s the idea,” she muttered, brushing blue on the girl’s eyelids, ignoring the icky feeling in her throat.

The dungeons had been decorated accordingly, with jack-o-lanterns lined along the walls, floating candles lighting the way, and the occasional ghost dropping from the ceiling in an attempt to scare students. The girls had left with ten minutes to spare, Beth still pinning her wig as they walked out the door and Clarise still pulling at her Tudor bodice. They bumped into the boys as they left the common room, and Marie Antoinette quickly fell back with Merlin to find a secluded corner. Bellatrix took Rodolphus’ offered arm, who gave a grin and a low whistle.

“You polish up nice, Black.”

She smiled coyly. “Not so bad yourself, soldier,” she said, flicking the shoulder pad of his leather armour.

“Julius Caesar, thank you very much.”

“Then watch yourself tonight, or I might stab you in the back.”

Bellatrix had to admit that the walk over was rather pleasant. Everyone was in good spirits. Rita and Rebastan (some other Roman figure) had fallen into a passionate debate regarding foreign relations with America, all while Celeste skipped beside them, clutching her blonde friend’s hand. Apparently the girls were meant to be matching, Celeste a glittering blue butterfly with sheer wings attached between her wrists and soldiers. Georgina and Lucas Snyde looked quite fitting together, both with long, black capes trailing behind them and Snyde occasionally flashing his transfigured vampire fangs to make her laugh. Even Bellatrix and Rod fell into their usual banner, the weird looming feeling in Bellatrix’s chest beginning to fade. Tonight would be a good night

Following the candles, they rounded another corner where a large set of double doors waited at the end of the hall. A few other students were filtering through the doors, which opened occasionally to reveal a deep, blue light. The group flashed their invitations to a suit of armour and were let in without question.

Whatever room Slughorn had decided to use, it was enormous. Or it must have been transfigured to house more people, Bellatrix supposed. The ceilings, although high, were draped with a sheer, navy fabric that was cinched at each chandelier. Enormous windows, intricate in design, revealed nothing but the dark expanse of the Lake. The lights were dimmed and complimented by more candles, which hovered on the outskirts of the room and the dance floor. A long table of refreshments stood by the window, away from the crowd of invitees, and a small, circular stage stood in the middle of the room.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes when she spotted Wallace, apparently dressed as a court jester. She could hear the bells of his pointed hat jingle as he stepped off the stage and towards the refreshments table. She craned her neck and scanned the crowd for a certain brunette.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Rod murmured in her ear as she waved him off dismissively.

This was getting ridiculous now. How hard was it to find one person at one party? Some idiot dressed as a knight bumped into her, and Bellatrix took great pleasure in shoving him away. She was about to add insult to injury when she saw her.

The room, the crowd, the noise, it all fell away.

Belladonna was a vision. It turns out, she and Wallace had decided to match—she was a princess. It was as if she were floating through the crowd, the dusty pink of her gown pooling at her feet. It looked as though it was made of silk, no, satin, the fabric bunching at her shoulders before flowing into long, draped bell sleeves. Gold embroidery adorned the square neckline and continued across her waist and hemline. A thin crown rested against her forehead, and her hair was set in long curls down her back. She looked radiant. And she was walking right towards her. For a moment, Bellatrix forgot how to breathe.

But Belladonna was crying.

Bellatrix was rushing towards her before she realised what she was doing.

“What is it?”

The princess shook her head and quickly wiped her eyes, brushing past her.

“Avery, what happened?” She followed behind her. The snakes of her hair kept poking her in the eye, and with a frustrated click of her fingers they deflated into her usual curls.

They were back in the hallway now, twisting down another corridor. Bellatrix could hear the girl’s breathing and it pinched a little something in her chest.

“Hey—“ she tried again, “Belladonna, come on.”

“No.”

“Would you just—“

“I can’t—“

“Claudia.”

Belladonna stopped dead in her tracks and turned around. Both of them seemed stunned, Bellatrix had never called her by her first name before. They stood there, taking each other in, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath.

“Please?” Bellatrix said, exasperated. “What’s the matter?”

Claudia’s face crumpled and her heart shattered into tiny little pieces.

“I have to go,” she sobbed, arms tightening around herself.

“Go where?” she asked, a little gentler, taking a tentative step closer. Then she took another.

“Home.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s happened—I have to, I have to—

They were face to face now. Bellatrix could see the tears catching in her eyelashes, framing her eyes like little diamonds. She reached out and wiped a stray one from her jaw without processing her actions and tried to convey her sincerity through her eyes. “What can I do?”

Belladonna took a deep breath and wiped mascara from under her eyes. “Could you find Rita for me? Slughorn already knows, but…”

Bellatrix tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. So she was leaving. But instead she nodded.

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually–”

Bellatrix frowned and shook her head. “Don’t be. Just stay here, alright?”

She gave Claudia a small smile and turned back down the corridor. It seemed to get colder as the distance grew between them, like a spool of thread unravelling.

“Bella?”

Bellatrix turned so quickly she heard a little pop in her neck. Claudia was smiling at her, albeit sadly. Bathed in candle light, draped in pinks and golds, she had never looked so…

“Thank you,” was all she said.

Bellatrix nodded weakly and shoved the doors open before she could make a fool of herself.

It didn’t take much to find Skeeter. Bellatrix pushed her way through the crowd, making her way over to the pillar that the beetle was leaning on. She didn’t care much about interrupting her conversation with Rabastan and tapped her on the shoulder. Rita started. Merlin, this girl was jumpy.

“Avery needs you outside.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

Medusa tossed her hands in the air. “Something about needing to go home, she’s completely distraught—“

Rita’s expression hardened and something grave flickered behind her eyes. “Thanks.” And then she was gone, leaving behind a confused Lestrange and an uneased Bellatrix.

“What—?” Rabastan began, but she cut him off.

“No idea. Don’t ask again,” she added sharply, eyes already locked on a certain jester.

Stan followed her gaze and blanched a little. “Black, don’t do anything stupid—”

But she was already storming across the room, wand in hand. Leo saw her approaching over Rodolphus’ shoulder, and the idiot had the nerve to look surprised when she shoved him against the wall and stuck her wand into his jugular.

“The fuck did you say to her?”

“What the hell?”

“Black, get off of him—“

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she spat, when Lestrange’s hand gripped the back of her dress and tugged her backwards. “Get off!”

“Bella, calm down!”

“You’ll pay for it, halfy, I swear to fucking—“

Rodolphus dragged her across the room, leaving Leo to rub his throat gingerly. It was a miracle they hadn’t caught more attention, she thought, as the boy firmly planted his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t manhandle me,” she spat, swatting his hands away.

“Bellatrix,” he said seriously. “You need to take a breath.”

If looks could kill, Rodolphus would have died twice by now.

“Apparently an owl came for her this afternoon but it took Slughorn an age to get it to her.”

Bellatrix nodded slowly, eyes simmering at the jester before meeting Rod’s apprehensive gaze.

“How do you know?”

“He just told me.”

“Does he know what—”

“No, alright? Now will you stop attacking people?”

She huffed and pushed her hair off her face. “Fine.”

He dropped his hands. “Great.” He gave her a look that she couldn’t really decipher. “I didn’t know you two were so…close.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “We’re not,” she said lightly. “But if you saw a girl cry like that, you wouldn’t just…” She made a sporadic gesture and huffed again. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“It's barely nine?”

“Don’t care.”

And she left Caesar standing by the refreshments.

As Bellatrix left the party for the second and final time that night, she bumped into Rita. The blonde still wore the same grave expression as she stopped Bellatrix.

“She’s made it back to Sommerton,” she said, not bothering to clarify where Sommerton was. “Took the Floo from McGonagall’s.”

“Do you know what’s happened?”

Rita pursed her lips. “It’s not my place to say.”

Bellatrix swallowed but made a show of lifting her chin. “And when will she be back?”

She shrugged. “Could be a week, could be a month.”

She nodded slowly, trying not to look too dejected. But Rita gave her a small smile. “Thanks. Y’know, for looking out for her.”

“Sure,” she muttered, and brushed past her.

A chill draft made its way through the corridors as Bellatrix stalked back to the common room, not helping her mood in the slightest. Flashes of tear stained cheeks and blotchy eyes played over in her mind as she tried to think of their potential instigators. She realised, rather selfishly, that she wasn’t going to hear Belladonna sing tonight. Or see her any time soon, for that matter. She’d probably miss their first match against Ravenclaw next week. And their transfiguration class on turning cupboards into cats. She’d been looking forward to that all term. A few weeks, she reminded herself. But couldn’t really put a pin on why she cared so much.

Little did Bellatrix know, she’d see Claudia that Saturday.

Chapter Text

“Get up.”

Bellatrix was torn from a rather complicated dream involving a waltz with a princess and Quidditch practice. She’d never been one to fly out of bed, or wake particularly quickly, so when her eyes shot open it took a minute to process that Andromeda was shaking her.

“Bella, come on.”

“S’time?” She blinked the sleep from her eyes, which were adjusting to the light spilling in from the corridor. Narcissa’s willowy silhouette hovered in the doorway.

“Nearly five. Get dressed and meet us outside.” Her sister left her with frustratingly little information and a quickly awaking dormitory.

“Where are you guys going?” Clarise yawned, eyemask perched haphazardly on her forehead.

Bellatrix was about to retort I don’t fucking know, when Rita answered. “Never you mind.”

Confused, the dark haired girl sat up in bed. In the dim glow of candlelight, she noticed that Skeeter was already dressed and pulling on a deep winter cloak, and Georgina was hunched over her trunk, a black formal robe pooling around her. She sat up a little straighter.

“Who died?” she said, hoping she was joking.

Georgina craned her neck, her face tired. “Just get dressed, Black.”

Oh. Alright then.

Within ten minutes, Bellatrix was in her most appropriate mourning dress—black velvet from the wrists to the ankles—though it felt foreign on her body without knowing its reasoning. She was still confused, and braiding her hair, as Rita ushered the two of them out of the room. It didn’t make much sense to her. If Georgina (a Rowle) was coming, Bellatrix could tell that they were headed towards a pureblood event. But Skeeter threw it all off balance. Sure, she was a pureblood, but of a different class.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Suddenly very awake, she turned to the girls with wide eyes, tying off her plait.

“Is—”

“Claudia’s fine,” Rita said gently, still ushering them down the hall.

“Then who—?”

“We’ll explain later.”

Bellatrix stopped in her tracks. “You better bloody well tell me now,” she snapped. “You did not just drag me out of bed to be cryptic.” Rita and Georgina shared a look. A rather impatient look.

“Just walk with us, alright? McGonagall will be livid if we’re late,” Georgina huffed, holding out a hand as if she were trying to tempt a small child. Bellatrix swatted it away.

Her sisters were waiting for them in the common room, which was illuminated by a dying fire. Both wore black winter cloaks that Bellatrix recognised as Parisian handiwork. Narcissa, ever prim and proper, sat on the piano stool with immaculate posture, while Andy leaned against a sofa, twiddling her thumbs. Georgina’s brother, Torrance, stood by the fire. He was talking to another fourth year, and Bellatrix’s nose wrinkled when she realised it was the Malfoy boy. Even with the distance, his blonde hair appeared too greasy for her liking. She was about to tell him so, when McGonagall spoke and startled her. It was strange to see the woman, not only in the Slytherin common room, but in such an informal manner. The Professor had her hair in curlers, for Circe’s sake.

“Oh, good, you’re here. For heaven’s sake—Mr Malfoy, Mr Rowle, would you check the boys dormitories? Tell them if they’re not in this room within the next five minutes…”

Bellatrix tuned out the Professor’s threats as Rita led them to a vacant sofa. The blonde sat and clasped her hands together in a rather businesslike manner. Her face was set similarly, except there was a certain gentleness to it. Georgina, as always, was the epitome of seriousness.

“Do you remember Rosalind?”

Bellatrix’s brow furrowed. A face made its way to the front of her mind: clean features, big brown eyes. A few years older than them, graduated when they were in second year. She saw the face in Slytherin robes, paired with a Head Girl pin. In a few photos hung on manor mantlepieces. In the crowd at weddings, in ballrooms—at any gathering really. Warm, polite. Awfully talented. Otherwise, she kept to herself.

Not all that different to her sister. Belladonna. A pit of dread began to open in Bellatrix’s stomach.

Rita took her silence as a yes. “She was killed last week.”

What? “Fuck.”

Oh, Avery.

“How did…”

Georgina swallowed. “Stabbed by a muggle man, in London.”

“Didn’t find her until Wednesday,” Rita added quietly. She fiddled with the corner of her cloak.

A new sort of pit was opening within Bellatrix. Something simmered in her chest. It felt a lot like rage.

“Fuck,” she said again, with a little more venom this time. The girls let her sit in it for a while. “So we’re going to…?”

“The funeral.”

“How many of us?”

Georgina shrugged, tracing the sofa stitching absently before nodding towards the doorway. “Usual suspects.”

Bellatrix craned her neck to see the Lestrange brothers, Lucas Snyde, Stephen Bourke trudge into the room, all of them clearly exhausted, the ties of their dress robes askew. The fourth year boys followed behind, and suddenly the common room was filled with members of the most prestigious pureblooded families. Clearly, this would be a big event. Even prissy Jemima Parkinson had materialised at some point.

Judging by the look on McGonagall’s face, it was a room of her worst nightmare.

“I understand this is all rather unprecedented,” she said, “but you’ve all been summoned home for the weekend.”

She detailed things like permitted leave and familial circumstances, but Bellatrix wasn’t listening. Her initial anger—of being woken up, of being kept in the dark, of the general circumstance—had since faded and was, instead, replaced by a deep sense of remorse. Of sadness. Her mind was taken back to Thursday, to a distraught Belladonna. Circe, if she were her, Bellatrix would have burned the entire castle down, and then some. But she felt entirely helpless.

Nothing she could have done that night would have been of any use to Belladonna. No amount of comforting or reassurance would ever be enough to soothe this sort of wound. But she certainly could have tried a little harder.

Without realising they’d been walking, Bellatrix found herself in Dumbledore’s office. She’d been plenty of times, of course, typically when her father wanted to speak with the Professor himself. The man in question was standing behind his desk, dressed in his usual burgundy. He offered them all the faintest of smiles, as they stood there awkwardly, waiting to be addressed. Beside Bellatrix, Rodolphus stifled a yawn.

As the minutes drew on, Dumbledore eventually procured a pocket watch. He only glanced at the face before beckoning the students to his desk, nodding to a polished wooden cane that rested atop of it. Georgina was the first to reach out and grasp it with one hand. Everybody else hesitantly followed, although it was difficult to manage with all twelve of them. They looked up to the Professor expectantly. He smiled lightly and said, “Hold tight.”

Bellatrix had Apparated a few times, back home during the summer. It was only across the lawn and, while she was rather good at it, it felt horrible. Like her whole body was being stretched and twisted and shook around simultaneously. She threw up in the hedges afterwards.

She’d never taken a Portkey before. It was so much worse.

On top of the dizziness, and the nausea, and the spinning and twisting, there was a horrible feeling that she’d been pierced through her middle. Like she’d been shot by an arrow on a string, and somebody was dragging her through the air with it. On top of that, she kept bumping into people. She didn’t know who because she refused to open her eyes. It was a small miracle they all managed to land on their feet.

When Bellatrix opened her eyes, she expected a spark of recognition as to where they were, but she was disappointed to find they were in the middle of a field. The sun had just begun to rise, although it was practically useless with the overcast skies. Fog blurred the horizon and dewed the grass. If she squinted, she could make out a line of trees in the distance, and a chorus of birdsong broke up the silence. Everyone seemed to be standing around, clueless. Cissy looked a little pale.

“Well, great,” Bellatrix snarked, hiking her skirts to avoid soiling the hems. “We’ve been abandoned.”

“You really don’t pay attention, do you?” Georgina mused, waving her brother over.

Bellatrix turned around to find two shiny black carriages, waiting for them on a dirt track. They appeared to be untethered and standing alone, but the chill that crept up her spine was enough to tell her that thestrals would be pulling them.

Lucas, in his prefect nature, investigated. After a moment, he stuck his head out a window and called, “Six to a carriage.”

Bellatrix herded her sisters to the second carriage, helping them up before climbing in herself. She slotted herself between Narcissa and the window and ended up sitting across from Rod, who still looked dead on his feet and immediately yanked his half of the curtain closed. Rita and Stan surprisingly sat in silence, the blonde choosing to look out the window and the boy staring at the ceiling.

Once they started moving, Cissy fell asleep, her head resting on Bellatrix’s shoulder. They all jostled from time to time when the carriage picked up speed, the foggy moors turning into a grey blur. Bellatrix let her mind wander. She supposed they must be heading towards Sommerton, presumably the Avery estate. Or one of them, anyway. She also tried desperately to conjure memories of Rosalind, to little avail. The best she could do was that day of Belladonna’s fight in first year, where she came rushing across the courtyard to break it up. She didn’t even look angry. Rather proud, actually. She vaguely remembered a duelling demonstration, a one-off ploy of Professor Whittaker’s to encourage more students to pick up Defence Against the Dark Arts. Vaguely, because Bellatrix wasn’t actually there to see it. She had only heard that Rosalind’s opponent went to Pompfrey for twenty-seven stitches, and class enrollments went up by 60%.

The idea of somebody so capable, especially in defence, being brought down by the lowest of the low. It was enough to make her jaw clench.

As she ran her fingers along the red embroidery of the carriage cushions, she let herself think of Claudia. She wasn’t too fond of the strange tightness in her chest that came with it. She didn’t get very far, because then Rod spoke.

“Why couldn’t we Floo there?” he said hoarsely.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

Making an effort to take him seriously, Rita replied. “Wards. For privacy.”

There was a rustle of movement as they all moved to look out the window. Bellatrix pressed her cheek to the glass and squinted up at the grey sky. She caught a shimmer in the light, as if there was something reflecting the clouds; a barrier between the ground and the sky. Stan made an approving sort of huh.

“But it’s taking forever,” Rod groaned, dragging his hands over his eyes.

“It’s not even six yet,” Rabastan mourned.

Bellatrix pouted. “Are we there yet?”

“I’m hungry!” Andy whined.

“How much longer?”

“Rita—”

“Rita, I’m bored-uh.”

Rita gave them a look. “Oh, you’re all hilarious.”

Their snickers died down as they remembered their circumstances, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the carriage.

“Do you think she’s alright?” Bellatrix asked, after a beat.

“Probably not,” said Andy.

Right. Stupid question.

Another twenty minutes passed and they started to wonder just how much longer they would be travelling, before they finally, finally, began to slow down.

“Thank Merlin,” Rod muttered, lifting the curtain to see their destination. But his face dropped. “Shit.”

“What?” Bellatrix said, twisting in her seat to get a better look. At first, she thought the boy was stunned by the house—an enormous sandstone structure, lined with oak trees that stretched along the gravel drive they were on. Ivy curled up the walls in a rather tame fashion, the leaves having turned red this far into autumn. The front entrance was marked by four, towering pillars and a double set of stone stairs. But it was the stairs that held the problem.

“Just how many people did you say were coming?” she asked Rita, voice rising in pitch.

“I didn’t,” she replied, taking a look for herself. “Oh, fuck.”

There were probably over a hundred people scattered across the front entrance, all of them dressed in the finest black silks and furs. There were old women with spectacles on sticks, middle aged men smoking pipes, a handful of twenty-somethings who were probably in Rosalind’s year. Bellatrix and Rita shared a confused glance (a rarity in itself). This is strangely…publicised.

Perhaps publicised isn’t the right word. Open. A family that values privacy above all else is suddenly inviting the entire country to their first-born’s funeral.

“Oh, Circe, I just saw Mamma!” Andromeda wailed, sinking into her seat.

Narcissa, having since woken up, looked despairingly at Bellatrix.

“Alright, listen,” she said, drawing the curtains closed. She turned to the others. “We’re here for Avery. Try and remember that whenever your parents just—” She made a choking gesture and nobody laughed. It wasn’t meant to be a joke anyway.

“Good luck,” said Rita dryly, as the carriage came to a stop. The curtains retracted on their own accord and the doors swung open.

Rod climbed out first, offering his hand to Bellatrix. Performative, but proper.

The sun had begun to break through the heavy clouds, casting a golden glow over the expansive lawns and projected right on the front of the house. Bellatrix shielded her eyes as her feet met the gravel, acknowledging a few with a tight smile. To her left, the empty first carriage was pulling away, leaving its occupants vulnerable, in the open. She watched Georgina ascend the stairs, brother in tow and skirts in hand, to meet her mother. A rather stiff woman, the long braids of her hair brushing the ground as she ducked to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Even over the chatter, she heard a loud snap of someone’s fingers, and watched as Lucius Malfoy scampered up the stairs to his impatient-looking father. Bellatrix would have laughed, if not for the two figures in her peripherals. She tried stalling a little longer.

“Where’s your mother?” she asked Rita, as she helped the blonde from the carriage.

Her cheeks flushed and she smoothed out her cloak. “She’s not coming. I wouldn’t be here if Claudia didn’t ask for me.” There was a certain bitterness to her tone that spoke about a thousand more words. “Have fun with yours, though. They look delighted.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Bellatrix, taking Cissy’s hand. A looming sense of dread began to settle in.

Chin up. Squared shoulders. Back straight.

Bellatrix had barely looked her parents in the eye and whatever warmth the sun (or her friends) had provided, it slowly seeped out and away from her.

“Bellatrix.”

Her father always used this tone, like he was chiding her. Drawing out the last syllable of her name like some sort of warning. It was infuriatingly patronising.

“Good morning, father,” she said evenly, pressing a kiss to the silver ring on his finger. Cygnus flexed his hand dismissively, scrutinising her appearance. When he found nothing to comment on, he seemed disappointed, and said, “It is a shame about your Quidditch trials.”

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I don’t know what you mean. Sir,” she added.

He raised an eyebrow of his own. “I would have expected, with the talent you so often boast of, that you would have been made captain by now. It would seem,” he continued, “that I am mistaken.”

The highs of her cheeks flushed. “There’s always next year,” she gritted.

Cygnus almost looked amused. “Indeed.”

“Good morning, mother.”

Druella’s cheek was cold when she kissed it and her tone was set similarly.

“We may have to send you to the tailors, I never thought a dress was capable of appearing so unflattering.”

Wonderful. She said nothing.

“Narcissa, mon tresor.”

My treasure. Brilliant, even.

Bellatrix stood to the side—seething, but not surprised. She watched mourners mingling on the steps and wondered what on earth they were in for. She wondered about Belladonna.

“We’re here to pay our respects and leave,” Cygnus muttered, watching the doors to the estate open. He seemed impatient, but Bellatrix knew he was eager to show off his daughters and the fact that he had no trouble keeping them all in check. He took off up the stairs, not bothering to see if the rest were following him. A small line had begun to form and the Black family found themselves in fifth place. Right behind the Lestranges, actually. Bellatrix muttered a little jinx and smiled when Rod slapped a hand to the back of his neck.

As they crossed the house’s threshold, Bellatrix took in the entrance hall with a small sense of amazement. The checkered marble floors were one thing, but the ceilings were impressively high. And frescoed, too. Unlike the Great Hall ceiling back at Hogwarts, which appeared roofless entirely, the Avery hall was painted to depict the heavens: clear blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and cherubs draped in a variety of colours. Her neck grew sore as she watched the cherubs flit around the painting, observing the newcomers and whispering to each other. A number of portraits adorned the walls too, most of them from the last century, the occupants offering nothing but stony expressions and slow blinks. There were corridors that broke off on either side, but it was clear that nobody was to enter them.

Is this where Belladonna had grown up? Although impressive, it seemed almost…sterile. Like nothing was to be touched.

That sense of dread, from before, only grew as they ascended the grand staircase, and crescendoed as they entered the main hall. The towering windows had their curtains drawn, a heavy red velvet that blocked out all natural light and passed the responsibility to several candelabras, and an enormous chandelier. Pedestals carrying enormous floral arrangements stood at the front of the room.

Between them, a closed casket. Beside that, the Avery patriarch. Beside him, Claudia.

While her father looked bitter, she looked exhausted. The high collar of her mourning gown looked as if it were choking her. Half of her hair was braided off her face, while the rest trailed down her back. Smooth, but dull. Not shiny like it usually was. But she kept her chin up, offering tired smiles and quiet thank you-s in exchange for condolences. And suddenly it was Bellatrix’s turn to do so.

Victor Avery spotted her father first.

“Cygnus, it was good of you to come,” he said, smiling faintly as the men shook hands.

“We’re just devastated, Victor,” her father mourned. He was unnervingly convincing, as he continued, but Bellatrix tuned most of it out. Claudia was watching her, wearing the lightest of smiles. She nearly winced when the brunette’s gaze drifted from her to Andy, and then Cissy. How horrible she felt, sisters in abundance, when Belladonna now had none.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, tone steady.

“Of course,” said Bellatrix.

“Sorry you had to get up so early,” Belladonna joked, “Rita told me she had to drag you out of bed. Rosalind’s always loved the dawn, so y’know…” She swallowed thickly and smiled again, turning to Narcissa. “How was your audition?”

Bellatrix blinked, surprised that she remembered, but the blonde smiled shyly. “We’ve been rehearsing for weeks.”

“I hope you’ll let me come see it.”

“Of course.”

There was a beat when Bellatrix lingered and her family moved on.

“Avery,” she said quietly, “I’m so sorry.”

Belladonna smiled sadly and shrugged. “Yeah, well, what can you do?”

What could she do? The girl she was looking at wasn’t really a girl at all. Like a thousand pieces of porcelain, one breath away from tumbling to dust.

So Bellatrix gently—delicately—laid a hand on the girl’s arm and said, “If you need anything…” She could feel her own pulse jumping in her fingertips.

Claudia nodded, eyes falling to her hand before dragging back up to her face. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Bellatrix.” There was that warning tone again.

With great difficulty, Bellatrix dropped her hand and skittered off to the side where her father stood waiting.

“We’re staying until nine,” he said, seeming rather upset about it.

To nobody's surprise—except maybe Rod’s—the estate had a lake. Rows of chairs had been set up beside it, with a wide aisle cutting down the middle of them. An enormous willow tree blocked the morning sun from the eyes, its branches kissing the water’s surface and brushing through it with the occasional breeze.

There was no fanfare. Everybody rose to their feet when the casket appeared, the polished mahogany gleaming as it levitated down the aisle. The remaining Averys followed behind. The earth was lifted, the sister was laid to rest, the earth was replaced. Everybody bowed their heads and listened to the distant birds. Little daisies began to sprout at Claudia’s feet.

What a strange Saturday morning this was.

But when Bellatrix thought it was over, a man took to a lectern. The lectern was carved from stone, and the man looked similarly, with a sharp jaw and angled cheekbones. She recognised him as a friend of her fathers. He wore a crisp suit and his dark hair was neatly combed. She frowned in confusion, a look she shared with Rod and Rita across the aisle. And Andy, who elbowed her sharply.

“What’s he doing here?”

“Andromeda,” Cygnus warned. Bellatrix was surprised to see both him and her mother had straightened suddenly, looking attentive. Most of the adults, actually, leaving their children confused.

And then the man began to speak.

“I had the privilege of knowing Rosalind since infancy.”

His voice was sharp, almost cold, but his tone was tender. He traced the carvings of the lectern, wistfully, and it was jarring how one gesture could make someone so personable.

“She was a sweet girl,” he continued, “incredibly perceptive. Compassionate. I remember, when she was—what, four?” He looked to the girl’s father for confirmation, smiling. “She used to bring me swallows, ones that flew into the windows. Tiny little things. She’d come running over, cradling them in her hands and demanding that I help revive them.”

Lord Voldemort chuckled fondly and his audience followed suit.

“It happened often enough for her to pick the skills up herself. She didn’t need my help anymore, because she was capable. And talented. And she grew into the Rosalind we knew and cherished. The one who would strike up debates on things like foreign policy in the middle of a ballroom and still be the first on the dancefloor. The one who could speak five languages but couldn’t fly a foot on a broom. The one who could easily prevail in a friendly duel but would purposely lose to save your feelings.”

People were smiling, lost in their own memories and murmuring their agreement. But the Dark Lord’s face turned grave. A cloud eclipsed the sun, casting a deep shadow over the estate.

“But she was taken from us, too soon. Sweet, gentle Rosalind.” His knuckles whitened on the lectern. “Perhaps she was better than us, in a way. Offering mercy to the filth that destroyed her. She refused to bring harm to those who left her for dead.”

Belladonna ducked her head, her hands clasped like they were the only things keeping her together. Something similar to rage prickled behind Bellatrix’s eyes, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. Injustice echoed in her head, but it was drowned out by a rushing in her ears when she saw the girl dab at her eyes.

People had started to mutter again, faces looking more twisted with anger and bitterness by the minute.

“Death is always a strange thing,” he continued. He seemed calmer now. A little remorseful. Bellatrix was still borderline seething. “People leave for good, yet we are convinced they are still amongst us. Take comfort in knowing she will never be far, a beloved daughter, sister, and friend.”

Lord Voldemort looked out at the mourners with a gaze neither cruel nor kind. “But as we are left, it is up to us to requite. To ensure her death is not one of vanity." His gaze landed on Bellatrix and suddenly his words had a lot more weight to them. He gave her the slightest dip of his chin and a strange thrill ran up her spine.

There was a refreshments table established on the back lawns, where guests gathered after paying their respects. The children were granted free roam from their parents and spent most of their time wolfing down sandwiches and cups of tea, having eaten nothing since dinner the night before. Bellatrix, Georgina, and the Lestrange brothers sat on the grass, away from the crowd, listening to Rita give a rundown of how their friend was coping.

Bellatrix picked at strands of grass, replaying the eulogy in her mind. While Rita said it hadn’t sat right with her (“it seemed almost political.”), it certainly struck something within her. Unsettled something. She watched the Dark Lord across the lawn and the way his hands moved as he spoke with her father. Cygnus rarely bestowed his respect on anyone. It was strange to see him listening so intently.

She was torn from her thoughts when she noticed Rita walking away from them, back towards the lake.

“Where’s she going?” Stan asked, squinting into the sunlight.

Bellatrix called out after her, making a what gives? gesture when the blonde turned around.

Rita pointed to the lake and made a pinching motion with both hands, waving them a little as she mouthed “Italians.”

They all looked past her to see about half a dozen women, dressed in heavy mourning gowns and faces entirely obscured by thick, black veils, which fluttered gently as the wind blew off the lake. They stood by the willow tree, almost disturbingly still. Nobody paid them any attention, except Rita, and a certain brunette. Claudia rushed across the lawn, hitching her skirts, and practically threw herself into the arms of a veiled woman. The group averted their eyes and went back to picking grass, or eating sandwiches.

“Not to sound insensitive, but does anyone know when we’re leaving?”

“Rod.”

“I planned on finishing my transfiguration essay this morning!”

“That was due yesterday.”

“You told me you lost it.”

“Yeah, well I need to find it by noon or McGonagall’s making me weed the Quidditch pitch.”