disastrouslestrange

[disastrouslestrange]

The noblest and most ancient house of Black.

Cygnus Black,

Bellatrix's relationship with her father is questionable, unexplainable almost. Whereas she experiences enormous respect towards the beast within the man and his numerous of powerful capabilities, she does not harbour the sensation of parental love for him as a person. The connection between them has never been more than a mere acknowledgement of another one's existence, which for the atrocious enchantress is more than enough. Wild and passionate, she craves for freedom, rather than to be bound and restricted, smothered with parental care. Reverberations from forgotten moments with no noticeable importance whatsoever in the past indicate that once her father too persuaded dreams of freedom, nevertheless, each one of those euphoric desires seem to have been abandoned.

Druella Black, née Rosier,

Whereas impenetrable pompousness consumes the monstrous seductress, comparable to the presumptuousness her mother wades herself in, the enchantress cannot stand to be in Druella's presence, therefore creating distance between them, both figuratively as literally. Delicate porcelain skin and timeless beauty; her mother is a woman of the etiquettes. She is everything Bellatrix should be, but isn't and is incapable of being, for which the seductress hates her.

Walburga Black, 

Queen of the traditional Purebloods and valuable member of the noblest and most ancient house of Black. The abhorrent sorceress considered the woman to be capable and a possible worthwhile associate. Numerous of wondrous opportunities can be seen and persuaded once she has succeeded in befriending the woman, which she is determined to do and, once Bellatrix has set her mind onto something, she won't stop until she has achieved it.

Andromeda Tonks, née Black, 

Desecrated sentences resounded whenever the female warrior was surrounded with nothing but the horrendous silence, echoes of cruel accusations that should never have been made, but despite her capabilities, not even she could stop time. Contractions consumed her to the severe amount that Bellatrix wanted to do nothing more than claw her own skin off, break her skull open to free the suppressed emotions and remembrances, but that would remain nothing but another foolish wish that should not have been made. The smouldering ashes of their friendship had once lain at their feet, unnoticed, neither of them smart enough to distinguish the flames with water. Not that it would have made a difference, not that it would have mattered, but if she could, she would pretend it would have changed the world, that it would have saved their friendship, that it would have saved her. Ignorance, however, was so much easier than the realisation of their abominable situation, it was so much easier than to admit that she did, indeed, still love her sister. Weak. Her mind would insist and, for once, Bellatrix would agree.

Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, 

The relationship between the sisters had become crumbled, broken, had shattered into a million of pieces as a mirror would do after making contact with the cold marble floor. Whether that was because the middle sister had left, because she had taken a part of their worthless and damned souls with her when she abandoned them, Bellatrix did not know, but something had changed, something had broken, something that could never be repaired. 

Sirius Black,

From the moment Sirius was sorted in the house of the lion, the enchantress despises him with each vibe of her existence. Each inhalation, each exhalation, each murmur and each sentences made her consider the weakened branches of the once magnificent tree. Numerous of ideas of equality spread through the population of the world as the plague would do, tainting their minds. He had made the first step, more people had followed, more sons had abandoned their families, more daughters had left for the foolish promise of love. It was his fault that her sister had left and she would hate him for it, until her last breath.

Regulus Black,

Whereas others never seemed to notice the other, more advanced and precious of the Black brothers, he himself convinced that he existed in nothing but the mere shadow of his brother, Bellatrix illuminated his path towards greatness and saw potential in him, noticed his powerful magical capabilities and his wisdom, which could make him a valuable associate; she held him close, not because of love, but because he was bound to be of use to her one day.

Evan Rosier,

He was interesting, nevertheless not to the extent that she would attempt to unravel the mysteries he waded himself in. She let him be and he in turn, seemed to let her. Appreciation towards another and pretentious formalities would often be exchanged, but other than that, neither of them seemed particularly interesting in one another. Good. She was in no need of a stone around her neck.

[disastrouslestrange]

as i live and breathe, you have killed me

[disastrouslestrange]

Harmonious seemed the sole word in existence that was correct to describe the plate before her; the chocolate brown nourishment was in wondrous contrast with the white porcelain beneath, almost in an artistic manner. Somewhere in another life the seductress would have admired the melodious and beautiful scene, but in this one of her realities she did nothing but wonder whether the food would be as good as it looked. The dish seemed rather strange, foreign, exotic, but not in a manner that she would refuse to eat it. Not that she had the strength left to resist a meal, despite the ingredients, she figured as her stomach growled involuntarily, almost as if in a demand.

''It looks delicious.'' She admitted, rather pleased that neither of them seemed particularly interested in engaging in a meaningful conversation, small talking instead. Before she could lick her lips she composed herself, remembering the etiquettes, even though she would never follow them as she should have, despite the fact that it had once been one of her responsibilities to be polite and generous.

No, she decided her own actions. No stupid, unwritten law that had undoubtedly been spoken by some sexist man that sought to control women, because apparently they were weaker than men, could change that. The thought of it caused her blood to boil in her veins. She never quite agreed with those parts of their society, which she made sure to show, regardless of the disapproval of her family. No, she thought of them as bullshit, nothing more. Women are equal to men if not better, she would argue, and shouldn't be bound to a kitchen and make their piteous excuses of a husband a sandwich whenever they want one.

Suddenly, she was very glad Rowan respected her and did not appear to seek sexual contact with her, as other men often did even in their ranks, despite their relationship statuses. She could see the lust that pooled in their eyes, when they were slowly undressing her with their eyes, and the smirk upon their faces, which somehow always caused her to shudder inwardly. She wasn't sure whether that was because she was resisting the urge to murder them right there and then or because their gazes so horrible and off-putting. The first, probably.

Her crimson lips curled upwards at the word unfortunate. Oh, how unfortunate it had been, indeed, she thought sarcastically, allowing a chuckle to emerge. ''I have been rather occupied with certain business.''

Bellatrix shrugged; the missions hadn't been much in particular. She understood that her master couldn't give her missions of enormous importance after the failure of her husband, because some would be foolish enough to think that failure would not have consequences, though she also knew he didn't hold it against her. He had more or less explained that to her when he had tortured her husband, ordering her to watch in some sort of punishment - or at least, that's what it would have been had it been any other pair. For her it was just pure entertainment, watching her husband writhe and flail on the floor, his bone-chilling screams echoing off of the walls; the screams both she and her master loved to hear most from their pathetic victims. 

The enchantress took a sip from the soup, surprised by the pleasing taste and the choice of ingredients, knowing she herself would never be able to cook that - Salazar, her attempts on cooking all ended in disaster. ''What about you, yourself?'' She leaned forward, sipping the soup again, before casually commenting. ''This is delicious.''

Dinner Talks || Rowan and Bellatrix ||

[disastrouslestrange]

M!A: Write an apology letter to Andromeda and send it.

Numerous of horrendous mistakes had been made between the sisters of the noblest and most ancient house of Black. Endless amounts of spoken sentences that should never have escaped their delicate mouths, abhorrent accusations that should never have been made and silent promises that should have been kept until the end of the universe itself. Nevertheless, their trust had been broken, their bond had faltered and since their undeniable departure their friendship and sisterhood had smouldered into ashes, unrepairable and forgotten.

Whether it had been months or a mere week, Bellatrix did not know. All she knew now were the white stainless walls that surrounded her and the people in equally white and stainless uniforms that would often attempt to approach her, cautious but fascinated, as if she were some foul animal in a zoo that carried a contagious but rare disease. 

She did not know where she was, or how she could free herself from this imprisonment for that matter. She had no idea how she had even gotten here. It had happened in a blur. Before she had even realised it, she had been captured, overpowered, defeated, to which she had been brought here. Wherever that was. At first she had been dazed by confusion, had been angry beyond imaginable, but the punishment for anger was some horrible medication that tasted like shit and so, Bellatrix just didn't react to their questions anymore, didn't even acknowledge the presence of these strange men in their funny white coats.

After a month - or had it been years? - she started pondering over suppressed memories of the past, remembrances that had been lost in time, had been banned to the corner of her mind because she had labelled them as weakness. Though too much thinking was never good - or was it? She wasn't that sure anymore, couldn't even remember her own age or what she had done when she had graduated after Hogwarts. Later, she would learn that they had been erasing memories and freeing others, had moulded her into someone else entirely because what she had been, was quite frankly, a monster.

Azkaban had not happened to her, even though it had been suggested at first, because her sister - or was it sisters? - had spoken of her madness, convincing them to place her in a mental hospital instead. Not that she knew this, not that she could even remember the court or the emotions that had consumed her that day. Though after a while, she did remember a face that seemed oddly familiar, a voice that made her heart pound faster and then, a name, that had been forgotten on her tongue. Andromeda. With the remembrance of her sister, everything had come rushing back towards her, though of course she had been rewritten, therefore not remembering anything of the cause and her former master apart from how horrible it had all been, how much agony it had caused, how it had made her lose her sister.

Finally they had given her permission to write, finally, she was able to have some contact with the outside world and so, with trembling hands, she had written numerous of sentences, numerous of letters, before throwing them away and beginning again. She never had been good with words. Unfortunately.

Dear Andromeda  Andy,

She wiggled in her chair, her knuckles pale from the pale grip they had on the writing feather, ink splattered onto the paper, this moment particularly emotionally draining for her. Confessions, especially when honest, were the hardest.

I miss you.

That was honest. She did miss her sister, more than anything, though she also missed who they had been, them as children, innocent, before she had begun her downward spiral towards madness. Though it always had been there, she realised now.

I'm sorry for what I have done, for all the pain I have caused, for all the losses you have had because of me, because I was so stupid and foolish and did not realise I had gone so far into the darkness that I couldn't even remember the light. How would I, though, without you there to guide me home? I was so lost.

Her bottom lip trembled and, whereas in another life time, it seemed, she would never have admitted her weakness and would never even have written such confessing, true and honest sentences, she did. Soon, it had all become too much. She felt devastated, unable to continue and so, she just ended the letter.

I love you, sister, even if it might not have seemed that way,Even when I once did not remember that.I do.

Bellatrix.

[disastrouslestrange]

The darkest hour † Edgar and Bellatrix

[disastrouslestrange]

Do you ever wish you weren't a pureblood?

”Don’t be ridiculous.” Whereas the undeniable, correct answer would have been that she indeed, sometimes, wishes that she wasn’t a Pureblood, that she wasn’t born with such a high name to uphold and such impossible people to please, this feeling especially arising when she looked at other, careless people, that could chase love and were praised for it, she answered no, as she was supposed to, as she had been taught to do from her first breath. She would never, ever admit it. Not after the betrayal of her sister, not after she had witnessed the harm such undisclosed wishes could and would bring their family, especially if acted upon. No, she’d suck those unspeakable desires up, keeping them silent instead, suppressing them to the furthest corner of her mind, never to be seen again. ”No, I have never wished not to be a Pureblood.” She lied, easily, as it always had been for her, convincingly, as she did if asked if she cared about her sister’s departure. ”Toujours pur.” Though were any of them really?

[disastrouslestrange]

Prompt: Bellatrix's first memory of Rodolphus.

Hours without valuable information had passed, numerous of wasted minutes in which sentences were muttered that the students would not even remember if threatened with their piteous lives, precious time in which nothing of importance happened - until it did.

Measured steps, pretentious smiles, faked excitement; Rodolphus held himself with a certain grace and mysteriousness. He had handsome features, but she could tell that he was more than a plausible sight to look at; a certain sense of darkness surrounded him and he, he seemed to wade himself in it. Much like herself.

He glanced at her and from that moment on, she knew she would have that man, one way or another. No, neither of them belonged to each other or would ever. No, it had not been love at first glance. But they had found each other. Two psychopaths in an impossible alliance and a silent understanding, one that would be the death of them both.

[disastrouslestrange]

Guaranteed brilliance and the achievement of success, that's what it'll bring. Nevertheless, the owner too has influence on that. I take it you are capable? [Capable of handling such beautiful weapon, she had almost said, but she knew the answer by doing nothing but looking at the woman. She was capable, more than that, and appeared rather eager to learn and handle the weapon too. Good.]

I have numerous of places where I hide them and I don't need the patterns as often because of the amount of knives I have on me. Nonetheless, yes, I do have various places where I keep them. [She glanced at the woman] What about you?

I wonder,

[Just the thought of pain as an art form, which is honestly as close to Alecto’s understanding of her ‘hobby’ gets, makes her excited. Her eyes glow and she distractedly chews her lip while trying to remain focused.]

I’m glad I look forward to seeing it then. [She has a wand pocket sewn in most of her robes. Alecto’s problems come from her more revealing attire. She glances over Bellatrix’s ensemble thoughtfully] Do you keep patterns for your dresses? It would be quite useful to have a variety of places to keep a knife. 

[disastrouslestrange]

[Quite pleased with the response, the enchantress nodded in approval and agreement. The infliction of pain was more than wondrous, more than a mere action to wound someone both visible as invisible; it's an art. Each wound a new undiscovered colour, each scream another harmonious orchestra. Pain and the infliction of it were, truly, a misunderstood kind of beautiful, one that not many would understand. She was glad that this young woman in front of her did. It gave her hope for the future.] Good. I've got exactly what you need.

Weapons are more than beautiful. It's the purest form of art to inflict pain with knives, a special kind of beautiful, intoxicating and astonishing as the moment the life leaves your victims their eyes is, causing you to be unable to look away. [Bellatrix chuckled, before composing herself.] Transport is rather easy too, indeed. I usually carry four with me, though it also depends on what clothing I am wearing. Some dresses of mine have secret pockets for both a wand and knives. It's quite handy and I definitely recommend it.

I wonder,

Pain. [The answer is easy for Alecto. Pain is more important than speed with daggers. She had magic for when she needs speed there is not dagger faster than a well practiced hex. But pain…pain is a precious thing] 

[Alecto’s eyes light up with a complete sense of understanding when Bellatrix speaks. Daggers are like an extension of ones self. Alecto has always felt that her weapons become a part of her when she uses them and vice versa. To hear the same idea so elegantly expressed by Bellatrix is exciting.] Exactly. I know exactly what you mean. So many people disregard them as weapons but really they’re wonderful! Easy to transport and keep on hand and just as deadly as any sword.

[disastrouslestrange]

One More Maniac With A Perfect Sweetness (Flashback) || Rodolphus and Bellatrix

He caught the glance thrown his way, and didn’t care to take the time to read it. Normal humans would feel what they felt, and at times Rodolphus saw no point in trying to discern those emotions. They would happy regardless of his understanding of them, and as he already had Bellatrix’s word that he could court her, there wasn’t much else she could do to make this go badly. The look wasn’t a threat, and therefore, it was not relevant. Nonetheless, he understood her pause to be of thought, and he waited patiently, somewhat uncaringly for her answer. With their plans already made, it would happen at some point anyway, so he supposed that despite his preference, when it happened didn’t matter much.

“Of course you will.” He laughed genuinely at her words. The things this woman said; they were very intriguing. Besides, Rodolphus couldn’t picture his pathetic parents hurting much more than a fly, never mind this vixen whose eyes were of fire and whose movements were as deadly as a coral snake. “What makes you need reassurance of such a thing. Scared of an old maid and her shrunken man?” His voice teased, and his face smirked as he gazed down at her face, knowing of course that it was not a case of fear but of a strange glibness that seemed to pour from her lips only rarely.

“You will come out alive,” he promised as he continued walking, “and we will both be praised for coming up with such a favorable match.” That was after all his main goal, and once it was achieved, he could carry on with his experiments and with his hunting without interruption, at least until they began nagging about marriage. After he spoke, he again paused and turned to her. As pleased as he was with the outcome, he was growing bored of the conversation. The play it forced him to enact was becoming stale in his mind, and he quickly concocted a reason to leave; a true one, at least.

“I have to return to some of my work. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Bellatrix.” Acting as grandly as he supposed the situation dictated, Rodolphus let go of her hand and bowed before her, lowering even his eyes as was customary for a lady. He picked up her hand again and gave her a quick kiss to her knuckles before dropping it lightly. “I’ll write you dates that will work for our plans after speaking with my parents, and you may choose from them whatever day you wish.” 

With his dismissal lingering in the air, Rodolphus turned to leave, retracing their footsteps through the piles of white left upon the ground. It had gone well, he thought. The proposal was almost certain, and Bellatrix seemed pleased with meant it was unlikely she would go back on her word, and his parents would be pleased as well. It seemed he was at last in the clear: one menial stepping stone of life down. Satisfied, he smirked lightly before apparating outside of the gate.

[disastrouslestrange]

Happiness became embezzled and as consequence of the horrendous disappearance the presence of darkness and despair became more superficial, the terrible emotions sucked towards the hopeless enchantress in a sudden attraction comparable to the allurement moths experienced when it came to the disastrous flames that were bound to devastate them. Abominable claws of convalescence caused due to the anxiousness closed themselves around her stomach while unstoppable movements of pure abhorrence consumed her and piteous whimpers of weakness in the appearance of undeniable horror escaped from her, released into the impenetrable air around them.

The remembrance of suppressed memories struck her as thunder would do, burned her to the core, each molecule in her existence set aflame as she was overwhelmed with emotions. Don't hurt her, please. Bellatrix wanted to scream, wanted to tear her flesh apart to release the horrendous whispers that reverberated in her mind, each time louder than before which therefore made it impossible for her not to hear. Do you know what happens to people that get drunk, Bellatrix? Different scenes, different memories, swirled around in her mind, dazed her. They get taken advantage of. She could still feel her father's warm breath in her neck, see the scene before her from his face that was uncomfortably close to hers and remember the smashed bottle that had lain forgotten on the marble floor, the alcoholic liquid painting the stones a dark red. It had been a cruel lesson, one that she would never forget.

Expecto Patronum. Somewhere in the distance she noticed that her fellow apprentice had tried to summon their saviour, nevertheless, death itself continued to pursue her to the point that her anxiousness almost completed the transformation to acquiescence of her situation, towards the point that she awaited the moment that her soul would be taken so that she would not feel or remember.

At last, he produced a successful patronus and it hadn't been until the deteriorating, rotten flesh released her bared shoulder, her skin unfeeling as if it had been frozen where the demonic creature had touched her. She shivered, almost collapsing as consequence of her moments she had spent intertwined with the bringer of death, the thief of souls. Before she could compose herself, she had made a decision that would save her or doom her. That depended on how steady she truly was, even after this attack.

Then, without hesitation, she just raised her hand, after having grabbed her wand that had lain forgotten in the grass, pointing the tip towards her fellow student and muttering a word that would perhaps save her, though if performed incorrectly due to the pressure and shock, could also temper with his mind forever, which would mean her doom. 

''Obliviate.''

The darkest hour † Edgar and Bellatrix

[disastrouslestrange]

Bellatrix shouldn’t have lost all her humanity. It’s too soon to throw her life to the Cause without doing the tango with others.

[disastrouslestrange]

Who do you ship Bella with?

Out of Character

Bellatrix is incapable of love, but I do ship her with our dearest Voldemort though it’s rather an obsessive relationship, not one of love (which in fanfictions I am allergic to. He cannot love, don’t you understand? Gee.) and pre-Azkaban I ship her with Rodolphus.

[disastrouslestrange]

Whereas a remarkable appearance had been of enormous and questionable importance since the arrival of sorceresses and sorcerers themselves, the horrendous enchantress had never bothered with perchance the most useless of responsibilities. Pretentious delicateness, sophisticated summer romances and troubled hearts were not in her interests, nor did she want them to be. Toujours pur. 

Bellatrix was pure without intervals, as the motto of the noblest and most ancient house of Black implied. Delicate wasn't a term to subscribe the seductress that waded herself in darkness and had sold her soul to death itself without complications, love was a weakness and romance was foolish. She was not broken, nor did she have a broken heart - for that you would need to be in possession of an actual heart first.

Black heels made contact with marble, luscious lips red as blood curled up into a mischievous smirk and wondrous curls dark as night cascading downwards her back and toppling over her shoulders in a waterfall of blackness. She had chosen a plain black dress for this occasion, which could have been used for meetings to had it not embraced her present curves so perfectly. It wasn't exactly revealing for she was not necessarily trying to seduce Rowan at this point, but neither was it boring and uninteresting, though it perhaps would have been had any other woman worn it and not hell in heels herself.

She caressed the cold material of the doorknob and allowed it to slip through her fingers, crash into the door as indication that she had arrived. Soon she was greeted by a rather average house elf, though she herself knew all too well appearance could be deceiving. She had done nothing to acknowledge the creature's presence, until it said that the master would attend to her soon, to which she gave a simple nod, which was perhaps one of the politest things she had ever done towards something as simple and impure as a house elf.

When Rowan appeared Bellatrix felt herself smile as if this was the most wonderful house she had ever been invited in, not because she felt she owed that to this man, but merely in a matter of habit. So many lies, so many fake smiles had come from her in her younger years. Piteous. She silently reminded herself she didn't have to pretend before, unless she wanted to, which was perhaps the most wondrous realisation she had ever come to. Freedom.

''Monsieur Wilkes.'' She answered, her piercing eyes remaining on his form as his lips slightly caressed the back of her hand, as if a sigh of wind, quick and unapparent, but present nonetheless. ''Wondrous experience it is to be received in this manor.'' She said, ignoring his previous comment, labelling it as unneeded formality, not even bothering enough to uncover the truth behind it. ''I must admit I am quite excited for whatever you have prepared for me - I have heard your cooking is delicious.'' It'd better be.

Once he finished with the numerous of sentences he had muttered, Bellatrix nodded, following him in agreement of his proposal rather than answering his question, which had undoubtedly been a rhetorical one. The dinner room was smaller compared to the room she had been received in, but it held itself in a certain grace that some rooms in the Lestrange manor lacked - or maybe it was just Rodolphus' presence that made the beauty fade. She didn't know.

Sitting down, she considered his question. It had been rather tough to get there, but luckily she had gotten the information on the location out of Rabastan, which had been so wonderful to give it to her. Well, not willingly, but nevertheless. ''It was wonderful, thank you.'' She said, slightly dismissing the subject. ''Next time remind me to ask for a location, though.'' Bellatrix chuckled.

Dinner Talks || Rowan and Bellatrix || Part 1 of Carrow's Birthday

When it was just a few minutes before seven PM. Rowan was already dressed a little more casually, a white shirt underneath his blazer. He still looked the same, but much more comfortable not primed as he usually is when he walks outside. Waiting for the Elvion to tell him if there was a knock on the door, he continued on with decorating the meal.

Sliced lung meat on the plates, flambe’d with excellent red wine to add to the taste and adding some garnish and salad to the side, he made sure to have rice on the ready as well if ever his guest wanted some. He was sure to play the perfect hosts, it was gallant, proper and very pureblood, it came naturally of him to host parties and cook for the guests. Most of the times, guests thought that when he invites someone to dinner, it just meant them eating, but no - oh no it doesn’t mean that way. Rowan is specifically the one who creates it for them, tailored most of the time - if not always. It was one luxury in life that he didn’t mind to his hands dirty with - literally.

When the Elvion popped into the kitchen so say that the guest had arrived and he had welcomed her in, Rowan spoke to his elf. “Go and get the rum from the the cellar, as well as a nice bottle of Chateau Palmer Margeux any of the 1930’s” he said before leaving and greeting his guest. “The best wine for a worthy visitor” he said to himself. The wine already cost him a little less than 300 Gold Galleons, and that is one luxury easily afforded. 

From the east wing of the house he traveled from the hallway and towards the main staircase, seeing the lovely lady look at his home for the first time.  "Good evening Madame Lestrange." he said striding up to the woman and gave a bow slowly taking the Bellatrix’ hand and kissing it softly, not looking up - he was not that cocky, it was a sign of respect- at least for him it is. "You look lovely today" he said meaning it, looking at the woman’s eyes and holding the gaze before tearing away to speak again. This was not the same as the time they had when they were on a mission, this was much more casual - they weren’t Death Eaters at this moment.  "- - dinner is awaiting us, follow me please to the main dining room." he said smiling as he walked a few steps back towards the west wing with Bellatrix following him. The main dining room was smaller, only a few people had come in there and could seat at the most 6 people - 3 on each side and two at the head, most of the parties he held were at  the other dining table on the other wing, where the tables are longer and can seat more.

"How was your trip, Bellatrix?" he asked, more casually for a little small talk, he was sure that the woman did not apparate - given that he had not been graced by anyone but Rabastan Lestrange in his home, and was mildly curious as to the answer.

[disastrouslestrange]

The disastrous enchantress had never been naive enough to count on the false hope that was offered to the world or to take a chance with a high risk of failure, until tonight that was. It had seem unimportant to her to secure herself from the outside, to ensure that no one was following her. Within there was an inner turmoil, for she knew how severe this situation could turn out were she to fail to convince him to keep silent and even then the risk of exposure would be too high, the price of discovery to high for her to bear. 

Which left her with two options; commit her first murder or perform an enchantment that would be more than difficult, that would need her full attention for a convenient performance; one to remove his memories. It would be difficult, but up to this point, she had no other choice. 

When he reassured her that he would find out her secrets, that he would discover her and expose her, she did not feel threatened, not even the slightest bit. Men had promised her that before, but none of them had and therefore she did not believe him. She was quite unpredictable, her mood switching between ferocious anger and childish happiness in the remains of a second, which she was known for, but she found that aspect of herself interesting rather than bothering. It caused her to be rather good at keeping secrets, for none could uncover her.

Before he whispered a word that would change this situation forever, would shake her more than anything else he could have possible whispered, even that he knew about her ties with the cause, she did not notice that he did not continue speaking. Not until the coldest of shivers travelled down her spine, petrified her, caused her to freeze on the spot, suckling in a shocked breath.

''No.'' She said, almost pleaded with him, somehow wishing that word could cause the creatures of night to be gone, to disappear upon her demand, but the reality was harsh and would not grant the only wish she ever made. ''Edgar?'' Unconsciously she had moved closed towards him, forgetting that he had been the enemy before. This was much bigger than her previous problem. She could sense them near, the bringers of death, heard their rotten breaths, nausea suddenly crashing over her.

Bellatrix was not able to product a Patronus, never would be, which was the reason why she clung to Edgar, figuratively speaking. When she finally saw them, their appearance shocking her whole existence, she could not force the word she had wanted to scream past her throat. She didn't even remember it, though she knew she should run, even if she couldn't. Hysterical, that was the right term to describe the enchantress' appearance and emotions right now, though she was also petrified, paralysed, feeling as if though she couldn't breathe.

The darkest hour † Edgar and Bellatrix

[disastrouslestrange]

Whatever substance contaminated the crumbled sorcerer, he seemed to be present in another universe than hers, unattached to the world of the alive and the deceased, somewhere between the everlasting space of consciousness and unconsciousness, imprisoned in the difference between the dreamers and the awake. The temptress had addressed him, but no coherent response came, nor an apparent or sensible reaction to the reverberation that rebounded off of their surroundings, almost as in a metaphor to the emptiness both of them harboured; the one Andromeda would have filled up with her bitter sweet presence.

There was no realisation in his posture, the enchantress noticed as she measured his movements, which were the ones of a dazed and tainted man, one that had been crushed with love. Rabastan was the ultimate reason that Bellatrix thought the invisible, untouchable emotion to be dangerous, an undeniable weakness. The consequences were simply too much, the prices too high, the chances too low, the reality too harsh, the passionate flames too hot, the people too foolish to be worth it. No, she would rather be emotionless instead of experiencing the hurt of loosing someone so dear to you, that you want to rip your own skull open to free the memory of them, for it simply hurts too much.

When the demolished sentence escaped Bellatrix could not help but raise her eyebrows at the slur, which was an obvious result of the detectable substance - or perhaps a mixture of sorrow and alcohol that had consumed him. Hesitantly she approached him, the broken shell of a once proud man, a shadow of his former self without her once beloved sister there to complete him. She wondered what his reaction to her sudden appearance would be; would he be shocked; infuriated perhaps? She did not know, nor did she care. He deserved the pain, deserved the blame. This was his fault, after all.

At last, when the impenetrable silence became too painful to bear, she spoke up. ''Rabastan, it's me.'' Unsure on how to continue, she shut up, crimson lips touching each other, pressed in a thin line of displeasure at his horrendous appearance. Whereas she had always silently praised the Lestrange for his behaviour and plausible looks, his certain elegance and handsomeness that was not comparable to Rodolphus', which had more dark features, she could not help but notice that even his bones deep within seemed rotten and exhausted, which caused her to wrinkle her nose in pure disgust, rather than pity.

''It's me.'' Bellatrix repeated, heels causing an eerie sound as they made contact with the marble floor as she came closer, her eyes flashing over his broken figure, her facial expression crumbled with disappointment and disapproval as she explored his face, which looked tired and worn out, unlike the one of a Pureblood should be. ''Pull yourself together.'' She demanded, anger breaking through the invisible surface of her pretentious composure. How did he dare to be broken, whereas he had no right to be. He had caused this; he should have prevented her sister from abandoning them. 

It had been horrendous to receive the news that would destroy their family forever, though none of them would admit that. Andromeda had been a pain in the arse, a thorn in their side, but once upon a time Bellatrix had cared for her sister, as she knew Narcissa had. Nevertheless, the members of the ancient and noblest house of Black were raised better than on false hope; reality never truly has a happy ending. She waded herself in that knowledge.

''Rabastan?'' Pale, slender fingers made contact with his left cheek, though she was aware enough of the possibility of a sudden outburst to create a bit of sensible distance between them. In this unstable situation, there was no telling what he would and could do. He had become unpredictable, as most shattered people were, and therefore Bellatrix moved with care, as if she were approaching a scared animal.

While chewing on the bottom of her full lips, she stared at him, allowing her eyes to roam over his body once again. How had it come to this? When had they become such broken, fragile things? But the one, perhaps most interesting question, to which she would never understand the answer, was why he cared so much.

Broken Pieces || Flashback || Bellatrix & Rabastan

Rabastan couldn’t even remember what exactly he took. Whatever it was, it was exactly what he was in need of. He was left with only a little bit of energy, but what he liked best was the overwhelming numbness. He was sure that someone could punch him in the face and he wouldn’t be able to feel a damn thing. That’s what was so great about whatever it was he took. Even if it was only for a few hours, he was allowed to be at peace. To feel nothing, was better than any paradise that Rabastan could dream up of to replace the paradise that was once so close that he could have just reached out and snatched it for himself.

The daze that he had been in had blocked practically all sounds around him, he had heard not a single click or clack of a heel that was approaching the lounge that he was in. A few minutes ago, (or hours perhaps? Maybe even days for all he cared.) Rabastan had sprawled himself across one of the sofas, allowing all of his limbs to lie in whatever position was comfortable. If either one of his parents found him like this they would have no doubt gave him a long lecture about sitting and acting properly, even when no one was around. A lecture that Rabastan wouldn’t have heard a single word.

And then there was a single word, this one word, his name, yes… he heard that singular word. The voice was only slightly familiar, he knew straight away that it was not his mother (nor his father). Soon enough, that one word was repeating itself, in the same voice, almost like an echo, he wondered if it was just in his head, or if the person calling him was actually repeating his name over and over again. He hadn’t even lifted his head in response until he heard the echoes repeating his name again and again.

It was merely out of curiosity anyway. Hadn’t he already fallen off of the map? Wasn’t he supposed to spend the rest of his days in his own world, a world where no one else existed besides him? His head was resting on a pillow, turned towards the back of the sofa. He had been enjoying watching the small shadows that his eyelashes were leaving on the pillow underneath his head, until he heard someone call his name.

Slowly, in hopes that he would not suffer from an instant head rush for moving too quickly he raised his head, still looking at the back of the sofa in search of the origin of the voice that had been calling his name.

“Isomeonethere?” he asked, his words mashing together as if his words had been too quick for his tongue. Where was that voice coming from? Was someone here? Was someone here to see him? Rabastan wasn’t sure, but he knew he simply had to figure out this mystery that was presented in front of him.

Slowly, he realized that he was staring at the back of the sofa, instead of the room he was in. Rabastan let out a burst of laughter as he came to the realization that his head was facing in the wrong direction for him to solve anything. Without bothering to move the rest of his body, Rabastan turned his head in the proper direction so he could see the rest of the room and not just the back of the sofa.

What he saw, just added more to the mystery. Everything was too fuzzy for him to make out very much. He saw however, that there was someone here with him. Though, as to who it was… Rabastan had not a single clue. The voice he had heard was only slightly familiar, so identifying the source of the voice was simply impossible by hearing it alone. In order to solve this mystery, Rabastan had to see for himself who was standing there. Problem was, he couldn’t quite make out who the figure was. It was too blurry.

[disastrouslestrange]

Delicate movements were detectable as the monstrous enchantress repositioned herself as a lioness would do in preparation for the assassination she were to commit, the inhalation stuck somewhere between an exhalation and her anticipated alveolus as the emotionless seductress waded herself in the shadows, each move either of them made calculated and considered, to the confident steps the rather handsome man made to the almost unnoticeable hesitation the female appeared to experience as she entered, almost as if she was aware of the enormous exposure of the vulnerable situation the both of them had landed themselves in. This was bound to be fun.

There was an unstable moment of hesitation in her preparations to torture the both of them to the extend of madness as she considered the slightest movement the woman had made as she had revealed herself to the temptress, which remained in the position where she was devoured and surrounded with the darkness. Once more Bellatrix inhaled, reassurance found in the coolness that she swallowed down, confidence visible in her posture as consequence of the new found assurance.

Over and over she reconsidered her decision on her possible attack, until the blood lust that consumed her became too present to ignore, the experienced fingers having already proceeded to find the wand that was tucked deep in her dress, the sensation of her pale flesh intertwining with the familiar wood causing the courtesan to smile at the thought of the future, numerous of beautiful images flashing through her mind, from their delicious red blood that would pool beneath them to their screams as she performed unspeakable enchantments on them to force them to deceive their pathetic cause and answer her questions. 

Before she could even realise and debate her own insensible actions, she arose from the shadows, her posture composed and controlled, but her inner need to devastate them ever present. Her countenance was hidden behind a porcelain mask, but her crimson lips had curved upwards into a provoking, sugar sweet smile, which she had forgotten neither of them could see. Hiding her identity bothered her for she felt pride in the woman she had become and the cause she worked for, though she would defy her master's wishes on own accord. He was her sun, her moon, her stars, whereas she was nothing. Not without him.

Whereas she had planned to make conversation first to provoke them, she decided against it, calculating the measures movements of the pair instead. No, this time she would not play around, for she could not fail and besmirch her own name also. The pain would be unbearable and therefore she was driven, driven with the utter determination to not leave without the information she needed was given to her. Her hand remained around her wand, nevertheless her knuckles were not pale as other people's would have been in this situation, for she did not feel threatened, nor in immediate danger. No, the both had not expected them, had not been able to prepare. That would reassure their victory, Bellatrix was sure of it.

Information is power † Emmeline and Bellatrix

Words reached her ears but there was no sense, not anymore. It wasn’t that she was losing hope, because Emmeline believed they could win the war, yet after losing so many battles already, what chance did they have left? Six days. Almost a week. Those periods of peace between attacks were terrible, it made her anxiety to kick in, making her overanalyse every single aspect in her life. Now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters had information about the Order, the fact they weren’t safe was more real than ever. Emmeline didn’t want to think about what could happen if they decide to show up at a safehouse after an attack, all of them hurt, it would be the end of it. A loud sigh escaped her lips before she could do anything to stop it, hoping no one noticed it; she wasn’t in the mood to pretend everything was alright.

Her fingers toyed nervously with the hem of her skirt, a million of thoughts running around her head, and Emmeline looked down at the lap trying to focus on her own breathing. It wasn’t the moment or place to allow those fears to take over her mind, Emmeline knew that very well, yet she just couldn’t help it. A warm hand took hold of hers, bringing her back to earth; the meeting had been dismissed and everyone was saying their goodbyes. As her hazel eyes glance up to meet Fabian’s blue ones, Emmeline told to herself she couldn’t lose hope just like that, it wasn’t fair for those who were there for her. She gave him a small smile as followed him to the door, waving goodbye to their friends. It didn’t surprise her all of them were in a rush to go back home and make sure everything was alright, they couldn’t be careful enough.

No words were exchanged as they made their way out of the Potter residence and Apparated to Diagon Alley, just hands clasped together, giving one another the strength to keep walking after those weeks of hell. Emmeline knew it was unfair to compare her pain with his, he’d definitely had it way worse, and that worried her more than she was willing to admit out loud, upsetting him was the last thing she wanted to do.

As soon as they arrived to his place, Emmeline waited for him to open the front door and waited for him in the stairs as he locked it; it was late and Diagon Alley, they all knew, wasn’t as safe as it used to be. Emmeline couldn’t help the memories of long walks as she got everything she needed for a new year at Hogwarts, how life seemed so easy and better, not the nightmare they were living now. But what was the point in remembering better times? It only brought her sadness and made her wondered if she would live to see the end of the war. The answer? No, she wouldn’t.

Once they reached the end of the stairs, Emmeline waited for Fabian to unlock the door, looking down at her shoes to hide the tornado of emotions fighting inside of her. While no one would normally notice, Fabian would, she knew her better than anyone, and maybe he wouldn’t ask, but he would worry, and they had enough on their plates already. After a few moments of silence, curiosity had her glancing back up, the door still locked. When he told her there was something he needed to tell her, a spark of hope reached his eyes and she wondered what was so important that needed to be discussed after a depressing meeting like that one, but whatever it was, Emmeline felt something in the pit of her stomach, like pain, but it also was excitement. “Of course,” she said with a small smile playing on her lips and, as Fabian unlocked and pushed open the door, for a moment, she thought nothing could go wrong that.

Oh, how wrong she was. The young Healer stepped into the flat first and immediately noticed there was something off. There wasn’t the usual warmth she would feel there, that peace that made her want to believe not everything was lost, and the breath got caught in her throat when something moved in the darkness, slightly illuminated by the outside lights of Diagon Alley.