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Biography

Name: Bellatrix Esther Lestrange (née Black)

Birthday: October 31st, 1989.

Gender/Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual, biromantic.

Occupation: Hit witch

Powers: Maybe Bellatrix’s is the Nemesis’ child who took most things out of her mother. She’s definitely loyal and she fights for what she believes in.

Past:

It was a rainy October when the eldest Black child was born.

A result of an affair between the honorable Cygnus Black and the vengeful Nemesis — a mix that could not breed good things after all. Her stepmother, Druella Black, loved the idea of having the girl inside of her marriage. It was like a gift — a prize because she and her husband were always pure. Nemesis was blessing them with that child, they were sure of it — they were putting in the world the strongest creature that had ever stepped into it.

So she got out of her mother kicking and screaming like she knew the world was hers to conquer. Her eyes carried in them a thirst for something, her little hands curved in a fist.

She always knew what she wanted. Figuring out what you believe in is not something so difficult when you have the support of those who surround you, when they so gratefully tell you who’s deserving or not of your sympathy. Bellatrix knew for what it seemed like forever that she wanted to destroy the mudbloods — they were not worthy; they were not magic enough.

Since an early age, Bella didn’t know how to cope with her bad feelings. She was taught not to cry, not to scream, not to show weakness, so, when she was hurt, she hurt other people. When her powers began to show, she tortured muggle children that passed around her house and, as time went by, she learned to actually enjoy it and feel proud of being capable to hurt other people. Her anger turned her into a masochist and her hatred turned her beautiful face into an emotionless semblance.

Bellatrix was the kid that never cried.

But she cried when Andromeda was born. Suddenly the newborn Black was Bella’s life and more. She loved her little sister, she loved especially the fact that they looked so similar that, if it wasn’t for Bella’s age, people would’ve thought they were twins. After Andromeda was born, Bella didn’t feel so alone.

They played together, they ran together, they braided each other’s hair, they learned about the noble house of Black together and Bella taught her how to fit in, how to honour the house they belonged, how to behave herself. And she did it, she told Andromeda everything that she had learned and, in exchange, she received a prize: another sister.

When Narcissa was born, so different from the other two Black sisters with their black hair, Bellatrix saw in the blonde baby a chance to finally obey the orders her parents gave her so soon: to pass on her knowledge about their bloodline.

She became possessive about her sisters, like they were hers and only hers. For that was love to Bellatrix: possession, belonging; hurting.

Whilst Andromeda was kind and Narcissa was polite, Bella was neither. She was rude, arrogant, blatantly sincere and she was vain. She was a mess of all things intertwined. A beautiful mess, indeed, but aren’t the most dangerous ones a gorgeous thing?

Hogwarts came like no surprise. She was not the daughter of one of the big three, but she felt like Nemesis was better than the rest of the Gods — her wrath and loyalty something to be looked after. It did not matter the looks a few of her fellow housemates gave her (how could she, a daughter of a mere unknown deity, feel so superior than the rest?), but inside she knew she was more than they were. She was a star; bigger than the sun. And with a name like that, chosen by her birth mother herself, she was sure she was.

Sometimes she felt as if she was a volcano ready to erupt. All of her bad feelings mixed inside her body, telling her all the things she needed to do to avenge those damned mudbloods. Hearing about The Dark Lord and his ideas of a perfect world made so much sense to her she felt her bones tingling. It was a signal — it had to be. He understood her, he felt the same way. He knew what was right. When she met him, it was clear to her that he was the personification of everything she believed. He wanted blood and that was exactly what she would so gladly give to him. He understood her, he heard her and in exchange she would do anything if he asked, for her loyalty was as blind as love — if they were not the same. At first, they both laid with the Blacks, but it was easy to switch them to the Death Eaters and everything they meant once the time came.

She graduated with the Dark Mark already on her forearm, a sign of her faith — and then came the job as a Hit Witch, a job she enjoyed for it allowed her to have power over other people. Bellatrix was more muscles and heart than brain — and that job was simply the perfect fit.

Present:

Losing both Andromeda and Sirius made a hole inside Bellatrix that she could never fill. They were hers, they belonged to the Black family and their betrayal was something that could never be forgiven. Angry and goals set on revenge, she began to try and protect Regulus and Narcissa. She couldn’t lose anyone else. She just couldn’t. They were hers, and as hers, they could never leave like the others did — the worst part was that she lost them for that scum of mudbloods and their sympathizers. She always knew she was more than they were, but after two strikes like that her hands were too bruised to be gentle.

Now she’s married to a man she doesn’t love, but he understands her hunger almost like Voldemort himself does. Being a Lestrange is not that bad after all — her husband is as pure as her, as strong, as volatile, as hungry. It’s not difficult being married to him. Sometimes she looks at his face and even feels something inside; lust, maybe. At least that she feels for him. Her love still directed to other causes.

After all, Bellatrix wants to see the world burn — and she wants to be the match that will light up the fire.

Writing sample:

#1

It was a cold night. The long, black dress the woman was wearing swept the floor, carrying the dry leaves until the enormous dark porch came to vision. When the heavy brown door opened, she felt a shiver running down her spine. She looked around the room — and all she could see was black and green. There was a man sitting on a chair next to the fireplace, she could see nothing but his extremely thin, white hands — and rings on all his fingers. “I assume you must be Bellatrix Black”, he said. His voice was cold, but yet there was something soft about it. He did not need to turn; he did not need to show himself to her. In that moment, her soul was sold with no turning back. “Come closer, darling”, there was nothing gentle in his words. She placed herself in front of him. Even in that place, even when she was the one looking down at him, he was still a feral figure, he still had that subtle arrogance that filled both her heart and soul. “You’re quite a thing, Miss Black” he smiled, thin lips showing his sharp teeth. Extending his hand to touch her own, his grip tightened as soon as he felt the warmth of her skin. He took his wand out of his robe, turned the girl’s forearm and put his wand against her bare skin. She could feel it burn, she could feel an excruciating pain — but she enjoyed it. There was something magical about being marked like that, about having something that would remain forever with her, about being openly passionate about a cause; about a winning cause. When their eyes met — black on almost red — she could feel the ground disappearing. It was clear for her that he was the only light in between all that darkness, — even though he was darkness himself.

#2

TW: Blood, violence.

It was a long route that required strength if you had to go on foot. Weeds grew everywhere near the road, surrounding what was once a beautiful place with a dark green shade of plants that were only born in abandonment. It’s no place for a woman, her father would have said, as proud as he always was; a frown on what once was a handsome face. It’s no place for a pureblood, her stepmother would have said, arms crossed in front of her chest. It’s too dirty, Narcissa would have said, a disgusted look on her always perfect, porcelain face. Her birth mother, Nemesis, would say it was just the right place. The clacking sound of her dark boots echoed on the empty space at the same time the sound of chains being dragged down, pulled by her strong, vicious hands. People followed her footsteps, tied down to an invisible rope that kept them almost paralyzed. Their words silenced by an old spell she once learned. It all seemed too far away in that moment — like an old song you still know the words to, but the melody got lost somewhere. It was too pleasant — being the queen of everything. Still in the silence of hurt people, there was a crying that got Bellatrix’s attention — it didn’t seem like a cry for help or anything like that, it was just an awful noise. How is that person crying? She wondered. When she stopped, suddenly the crying noise was replaced by the sound of an awful quantity of bodies beating against each other. A much better sound, if somebody asked her. She swept the perimeter with devious, dark eyes, searching for the source of the noise that took her unbreakable attention. There was something feral yet so graceful about the way she moved, as if she was able to devour you just by looking inside your damned eyes. She was a force to be reckoned with and she could tear everything apart by a simple wave of her hand. It was when Bellatrix noticed a young woman sitting quietly on the sidewalk as if nothing was happening. Still, she was crying. Still, there was something overly appealing about the blonde’s tears falling from her face to the grey ground. They did not seem emotional and somehow, — in a twisted way — Bellatrix saw a bit of herself in that wretched, muggle, waste-of-breath girl. “Get up”, she demanded. Her nails as sharp and long as claws. It was an order — and if the other was too proud to obey, blood would so gratefully spill. After a few seconds, the girl got up in silence, not daring to face Bellatrix straight in her eye. The Black laughed; a high pitched laugh, almost childlike. “Look at me, disgraceful creature. Look at me and face what is going to be your last vision” Bellatrix said, her cruel smile showing more than just teeth. It was a matter of milliseconds till the warm, thick spit got to Bella’s face. The muggle’s mouth still in the shape that was required to achieve something so audacious. The sudden silence was replaced by a loud noise of skin being ripped. The other’s face as red as the drops of blood falling at the same place her tears once were; giving the scene a color scheme much different than the initial green and grey. And then again the noise was heard. And once more. Maybe some teeth got broken when the avid punches took place; wands and magic were great, sure, but there was nothing like feeling the blood on your hands, tainting the insides of your nails, filling your body with the metallic taste and smell of something so beautiful coming out of something dirty. There was nothing like being able to break someone with your never caring touch. A feral person, she was. A monster. And, maybe the worst part about a monster, is that it’s human. The girl was laying on the cold, hard floor, unable to even make the crying noises that once got to Bellatrix’s system; her face a mess of appearing flesh and blood. Bellatrix smiled. She would keep that one — for there was something appealing about taming wild animals.

ZODIAC —

Scorpio – “A Scorpio woman is the sexiest and most mysterious of the twelve signs of the zodiac. She is exotic and magnetic, as deep as the sea, and, depending on her mood, as calm or as tempestuous. She is extraordinarily intuitive and will be keenly interested in the esoteric, or any occult or spiritual experience that offers some kind of deep insight. She is in tune with the fundamental forces of life and nature and is moved by the great tides and events of human experience. The Scorpio woman should never be taken lightly. They aren’t flaky, fluffy, or helpless creatures by any stretch of the imagination. Direct, and brilliantly sharp, Scorpio women only focus on the fundamental essence of any issue and disregard the superfluous. They like clear endings and beginnings, with no grey areas in between. A Scorpio woman wants her certainties to remain just so – absolutely rock steady and assured. She wants to understand everything and knows how to craft just the right question to obtain the answers she seeks. Scorpios are intuitive, controlling, and sometimes self-destructive, but in all this they have a certain deadly beauty to their personalities. They are fearless and stubborn and even when life gets a little tricky they merely take it on the chin and keep going. Self-confident, resourceful, and strong, Scorpios are driven to succeed; they work hard and are willing to sacrifice anything to get to their goals. They are also complex and secretive, choosing who they divulge their secrets to carefully".

Wand: 12 ¾" long, Walnut, dragon heartstring core.

Walnut: “Highly intelligent witches and wizards ought to be offered a walnut wand for trial first, because in nine cases out of ten, the two will find in each other their ideal mate. Walnut wands are often found in the hands of magical innovators and inventors; this is a handsome wood possessed of unusual versatility and adaptability. A note of caution, however: while some woods are difficult to dominate, and may resist the performance of spells that are foreign to their natures, the walnut wand will, once subjugated, perform any task its owner desires, provided that the user is of sufficient brilliance. This makes for a truly lethal weapon in the hands of a witch or wizard of no conscience, for the wand and the wizard may feed from each other in a particularly unhealthy manner.” Dragon heartstring core: “Dragon heartstring is a powerful wand with a lot of magical “heft”. It is not the core you want for subtlety, but for sheer power it is definitely the best. Although it is the most common core among Dark Wizards, Dark Wizards are most certainly not their most common users. Dragon heartstrings are by far the most common wand core amongst Slytherins, but their power often bonds to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws as well. However, they tend to overwhelm the archetypal Hufflepuff personality.”

Traits:

(+) Passionate, loyal, determined. (-) Impulsive, childish, ruthless.

Songs:

Blood Red - The Maine

Meds - Placebo

War Pigs - Black Sabbath

Seven Devils - Florence And The Machine

Bad Religion - Frank Ocean

Feral Love - Chelsea Wolfe

The Unforgiven - Metallica

Quotes:

“She was like the sea on a stormy day. She could only destroy.”

“If I cannot bend heaven, I’ll raise hell.”

“At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.”

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