Bellatrix Lestrange

{ + } Loyal, Determined, Powerful { - } Unbalanced, Explosive, Proud

[burntandromeda]

Diagon Alley || December 13th, 1978 || Andromeda + Bellatrix

[burntandromeda]

Andromeda’s blood froze, her gaze lingering on the woman holding her daughter’s hand.

All that pain and sorrow between them and she would have still recognized Bella at first glance. Her sister’s hair was only a few shades darker than her own, her eyes glinting with the ice Andy’s had never possessed. And yet, it still felt somewhat like looking through a distorted mirror. It was no wonder that Dora would have found her in the middle of the crowd, someone so similar and yet foreign. She shone with the Black fire her daughter already gave signs of sharing.

“Dora. Come here.”

Sister. In any other occasion, the mere mention of that word in Bella’s familiar tone might have brought her close to tears. But the image of a deformed claw around her daughter’s hand was too vivid, too similar to the one before her for Andromeda to relax a single muscle.

There was something familiar in her sister’s disapproval, oddly reminiscent of the most mundane episodes of their childhood, but her tone had never been quite so mocking. She thought of that hand, that pale skin brushing against Dora’s, of all the blood they said had ran through it.

Was it true?

“Thank you, Bella. I was distracted.” It was who she would always be, the woman with her head on the clouds and both of her feet firmly dug into the ground. They’d called her odd for it, pointed out the contradictions in her nature, but it had saved her more times than she could count. “Dora, this is your aunt.” Her voice didn’t crack, not with the million questions tugging at her skin, not even as she held out her hand and hoped for the little girl to rush to her side.

[madame-lestrangex-blog]

Sister. 'Dromeda. These were words that Bellatrix hadn't uttered in years, not in reference to her traitor sister, and now they burned her tongue, but she stood fast and pretended that it didn't bother her. She would not reveal how much Andromeda's leaving hurt her, not right here. 

To hear Andromeda's voice utter the familiar nickname almost broke her all over again and her hand tightened incrementally around Dora's much smaller one, though it hadn't been purposeful. For all she talked about blood traitors and mudbloods and muggles, this child was not one that she wanted to hurt, though she sensed that maybe Andromeda thought she did. This tightening of her hand, however, seemed to be Dora's cue to pull her hand away and return to her mother and Bellatrix instantly released her hold to allow the child to leave her side. 

'Dora, this is your aunt.'

The words nearly took her breath away, but she kept the smirk in place as she looked down at the brightly colored child. She was lovely, truly, and had things been different, she likely would have spoiled her, but things weren't different. Bellatrix was no longer allowed to call Andromeda her sister and she could never be this small girl's aunt and so her lip curled.

"I wouldn't go that far, child," she directed at Dora, against everything that told her not to. Andromeda wasn't family anymore, she chided herself silently. It was best to stop the terrible lies before they began. It was more than that, though; if word got back to those that she ran with, they might go after Andromeda and Bellatrix had done her best to keep her estranged sister's family out of things. Her cold eyes fixed back on the younger sister she had once loved. "Don't lie to the girl, Andromeda."

[burntandromeda]

Diagon Alley || December 13th, 1978 || Andromeda + Bellatrix

Her daughter was standing in bright green socks in front of Florean and Fortescue’s, a splash of color in the otherwise dull street. The little girl’s hair had turned purple for the week, clashing against nearly every color Andromeda had tried to dress her in before settling for a checkered coat.

It was odd, the way the war turned Diagon Alley into a different place altogether. Dull and grey, excessive brightness turned artificial and uncomfortable. Yet, none of it mattered to Andromeda when she caught a glimpse of her daughter’s form, permanently turning to whatever new and exciting thing caught her eye.

“Don’t stray too far, Nymphadora!” It wasn’t her mother’s voice that Andy heard when she reprehended her. She could count the times she had heard anything but indifference in Druella’s tone. Her eyes landed on the pamphlet in the dirty wall, trying to decipher the worn out announcement to a book signing, and when she turned back…

Dora was gone.

There was no sign of her color, no trace of her bubbling laughter, nothing but void.

“Dora?”

She swallowed the knot in her throat, ignoring the way the damn thing kept creeping back into it, and it was just as she turned the corner to look for her daughter that Andromeda saw a now blue haired little girl at the end of the street. Her hand was being a held by a figure just a little off her line of sight, and she felt a fire of righteous indignation burn through her as she stepped towards them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

[madame-lestrangex-blog]

It was painful. Bellatrix Lestrange didn’t like to admit to her weaknesses, and often pretended that she had none, but if she did ever have a weakness, it would be her sisters - Andromeda even more so. It wasn’t at all that Bellatrix had cared more for Andromeda than she did for Narcissa, it was the fact that Andromeda had cut her so deeply with her betrayal when she had loved her so much and as she watched her estranged sister through the crowd, she felt that familiar pain in her chest. 

There was a small child with her, she assumed it was her daughter, though she’d never seen her before this moment and her brows furrowed, the corners of her lips turning down in a frown. In the next moment, the child had bounded away from her mother, to the window closest to the dark witch and with everyone around, any number of them could be just as dark and twisted as she, 

Bellatrix felt a small tendril of protectiveness work through her and she approached the child. 

Andromeda had yet to turn and notice the absence of her daughter and Bella moved forward, greeting the little girl with a voice as sweet as honey and a smile she tried to keep from taking on its normal wicked twist. The little girl, who’s name she learned was ‘Dora’ took her hand easily and Bellatrix had almost shook her head disapprovingly. Her jaw clenched as the half-breed held her hand and she started working back through the crowd, reminding herself that -for now, at least - the child was half her blood, and that’s when Andromeda’s angry voice sounded and Bella grinned. 

“Why, dear sister, I’m bring you back the child you failed to keep an eye on,” she explained, as if it were normal for the pair of them to talk, but she didn’t let go of the girl’s hand just yet. “You really should be more careful, ‘Dromeda. Don’t you know there are monsters about?” Her tone was as mocking as it was disapproving. 

[rocketcandycouture]

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[madame-lestrangex-blog]

Of Fire and Ice | Rodolphus and Bellatrix | December 14, 1978

[master-lestrangex]

It took a lot to surprise Rodolphus nowadays. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been genuinely caught on the hop by… well, anything. Death Eater plans and strategies were rarely groundbreaking, and the execution of their missions tended to follow several familiar scenarios. Society had also been responding largely as he’d expected, with few unforeseen situations during the past year. Even less changed in his personal life, much to his exasperation. Bellatrix remained the same distanced and cold figure. The only development had been his parents increasing the pressure for a child, but he’d expected that all along.

All things considered, it was no wonder he was becoming more and more jaded by the day. He doubted the world had anything truly new or challenging to offer him anymore. If he had to name his raison d'être, it would be pleasure. Good food, alcohol, women; the odd satisfying read; the feeling of dominance over another’s life; the sound of a mudblood’s last rasping breath… He lived for the simple things.

On the scale from predictable to astonishing, the sight of his wife covered in blood, making her way towards him with a wicked smile on her lips, rated as unexpected. He had to admit it was a blip on the radar.

It wasn’t the blood that surprised him (it was Bellatrix, for Merlin’s sake… he’d be worried if she were clean), but the smile did register as unusual. Aimed at him, that is. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d hit her head.

“Not as much as you, it seems, mon cœur.” He paused a few feet away from her, keeping the sort of distance she had always enforced in their interactions. It had infuriated him at first (and it still often did), but he’d learnt to live with it. There was less shouting that way. “I take it you’re satisfied with our mission?” he began, examining the various stains, cuts and bruises she had acquired. At least he knew the blood wasn’t hers. It never was.

She would bleed him out before she spilt so much as a drop.

[madame-lestrangex-blog]

Wind whipped the dark witch's hair around almost violently before she shoved it back behind her ears, her smile not diminishing even for a moment in the presence of her husband; normally her lips would twist into an almost sour expression, hellbent on physically showing just how badly she didn't want to be in his presence, and her brows would furrow to show her annoyance.  

From a very young age, Bellatrix had been taught time and again to keep her voice pleasant, to be pleasant, especially to her husband - if the girl ever got one, her mother would murmur - and Bellatrix Black Lestrange now went out of her way to make sure that her voice and her words were hardly pleasant, which would make the upwards spike in her mood that much more apparent. It was true that in social settings, where it was required of her to be proper, that she could contain her foul mouth for at least the duration of that, but there was no one around now. 

While Rodolphus had stopped a few feet away, Bellatrix didn't and continued forward a couple more steps, her fingers reaching up to tweak the collar of his shirt, smudging a faint reddish brown color there before she nodded with satisfaction at the words that dripped from his lips. She'd been having the time of her life out there; it wasn't often that she was truly allowed to let loose, to let her insanity out so she could rain down punishment on those with inferior blood and those that would defend them. "Very satisfied, my love," the words spilled from her lips easily, the pet name more mocking than showing any actual affection she held for the man. "A couple were real fighters, though," she added almost thoughtfully, her eyes darting upwards to recall the memory, though there was still that faint smile on her lips. Bellatrix did love a challenge.

[lapieldelmal]

Couples that clean blood off of each other are couples that stay together.

(via master-lestrangex)

[madam-noire-deactivated20151025]

“She lifted her eyes.        Blank, lovely eyes.             Mad eyes.                      A   { M A D }  girl.”

[madame-lestrangex-blog]

Of Fire and Ice | Rodolphus and Bellatrix | December 14, 1978

The crisp air nipped at Bellatrix's bare skin, the witch having taken off her robes and mask long ago to wander the alleys unobstructed. To the casual observer she looked as if she were a survivor of the hell that had taken place there in the streets, but a closer look and they would see that devilish grin twisting the corners of her lips up and revealing she wasn't a victim at all. There were smudges of blood on her hands and on her face, coating some of the tendrils of hair that had escaped her mask while she'd been playing and she liked it; she liked the way it felt on her skin, convinced that it almost made her skin softer somehow, but more than anything she liked the color and the implication it left. She's spent the past few hours torturing, maiming the people whose names had the unfortunate luck of being on her slip of paper and her heart was pounding from the excitement, her head whirling in a happy, heady state. It left her in a rare good mood and she hoped that her husband had been having as much fun as she had. She was well aware that the man didn't like to dirty himself the same way that she did; while she danced in the streets to celebrate the victory they had won, she imagined he would likely be having a drink somewhere indoors, until she spotted him across the public square of Place des Vosges, and her grin only widened, a rare reaction when faced with her husband, but it felt appropriate to her. This mission had been a success as far as she was concerned and she nearly skipped across the cobbled stone to him, but she approached him with her spine straight and proud and with all the grace she could muster with blood smeared onto her person. "Have you been having fun, husband?" she purred the question.

[mvlciber-blog-blog-blog]

Jardin du Luxembourg ; Dec. 8th, 1978 | Niklaus & Bellatrix

Even hell paled in comparison to the streets of Paris. Fire ripped through slain bodies and man-made verdant green, the smell of smoke and blood overpowering the senses. Niklaus had never felt quite so at home in the midst of carnage, and he only regretted The Dark Lord had ordered they wear their masks - he shivered at the thought of being the last sight a dying Mudblood would see before their faculties slipped away from them. Alas, he’d be putting the other Death Eaters at risk of being caught if he let his overindulgence get the best of him. Besides, with the mask on he might as well have had a second wand - he grinned breathlessly as people shrieked and scrambled away in droves at the sight of him. 

He’d never been to Jardin du Luxembourg before, but Niklaus fancied it just fine when it was up in flames. He only knew of it in the context of love stories and epiphanies and French revolutions, but this was a different sort of uprising. The Mudbloods were the nameless casualties - the Death Eaters that would be persecuted tonight would be the martyrs. Not that Niklaus was one to dissolve in fanatical ranting - he rather preferred his actions do the talking. 

Niklaus bent down to examine a man he’d just struck down, a man teetering on the brink through  ragged breaths. Leonard Knochen, the very boy who licked the dirt off the sole of his shoes at Hogwarts. Niklaus thought he looked familiar. “Ah, well. A nice favor for a nice friend, hm?” he whispered and, briefly, lifted up his mask. And Leonard died knowing who his killer was - at least he deserved that much for giving Niklaus’ shoes a good cleaning. The Dark Lord would hardly fault him for killing him a few extra bodies that weren’t on the list. Hell, he probably expected it of Niklaus - one didn’t employ the company of vipers without expecting a few stray strikes. 

Footsteps alerted him to another presence and he stood, slowly turning around, his lips curling. “So you turned up? Didn’t think you had it in you, sweetheart.”

[madame-lestrangex-blog]

Bellatrix was a child and Paris - her playground. The wild-haired woman danced through the streets, the fire’s glow lending her its color amongst the blood that stained her skin. She had abandoned her stuffy robes somewhere in a nearby alley, though her mask stayed perfectly in place, only a few tendrils on inky black hair escaping to drape over the garment. It felt like this chaos was meant for her and her alone, and that’s how she chose to see it, weaving through the corpses that littered the ground and sending a nasty curse towards anyone that seemed to try to get away. A tragic mistake, really. No one could escape once the Dark Lord had ordered their death. 

Not far from where they were was the summer home that Bellatrix had spent many years in, so Paris felt almost like home to her, and nothing pleased her more than to dispel her home of filth that burrowed into the baseboards. She breathed in, the aroma of blood and fire settling deep in her lungs, as she went and she knew that no one else could see, but there was a large smile stretching her lips. 

It had been too long since she’d seen another of her own, and to happen upon the sight of the form before her was a bit unexpected. Bellatrix was growing used to throwing curses at anything that moved before her and she had to quell that urge now, especially when she was called sweetheart. Each of the Death Eaters masks had something unique to that Death Eater, though she could only tell it was Niklaus Mulciber by his voice. Even if he couldn’t see it, Bellatrix sneered. How dare he question her! Of course she would be here, be apart of this attack, there was no question in her mind whether or not she would come and to have it brought into question put a damper on her mood, though that was putting it lightly. 

“I’ve been here since the beginning,” she nearly snarled. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Sweetheart?”