JADIS (knifed) wrote in raveled, @ 2016-12-23 15:12:00 |
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i. 1980 She waits until they're safely outside Malfoy Manor's gates: "Sweet Salazar. I know I shouldn't say this about a newborn, but he looks like a little wrinkled old man! If you disagree you're lying." "What you mean is that he takes after Abraxas." "That's not what I mean at all," Bella says, eyes mirthful. "But that's a nice turn of phrase—I'll borrow it sometime." Dolph takes her hand and they disappear with a faint pop. ii. 1975 "Besides, I can't just take nine months off. I'm far too busy." Her grandmother's mouth is a thin line. "Bellatrix, your obstinacy is ridiculous. The whole point of the two of you getting married was to ensure the continuation of two of this country's oldest bloodlines." You have to hand it to the Black women. "How mercenary." "I'm trying to speak a language you'll understand. You're the one always talking about how pureblood wizards will die out if we aren't careful. I hope you recognize the hypocrisy in your behavior right now." Bellatrix flounders. "I, I mean, I don't agree that—" "It's nice that you think you have a more important role in this war and that Rodolphus is on the same page, but mark my words, you're wrong on both counts. This is the most important thing. And he'll spend his life resenting you." As they pass through the long halls of Lestrange family portraits on the way to Sunday dinner, she wonders if Irma could be right, about the resentment. She studies the grim set of his jaw throughout the meal. She thinks about asking later, cheek pressed against his bare shoulder, her unfocused gaze directed at the stars outside their bedroom windows. In the end, she doesn't ask anything. There's enough resentment here already. She'll hedge her bets that it's not for her. iii. 1976 The vial of potion sits on the vanity. It's a foolproof test—three drops of blood and thirty minutes. Bellatrix paces the length of her closet and stares, hands clammy, bile rising in her throat as she counts the seconds. He knocks on the door. "Bella?" "Good lord, can't I have five minutes of Merlin-blessed peace in this house? Alone?" She can hear the knife's edge of hysteria in her own voice. "I'm fine!" The footsteps retreat; she muffles a scream of frustration in a mink coat. Dolph's life will stay the same, but what use would the Dark Lord have for her? Others will rise to his right hand. She'll watch and applaud, smile frozen, life impossibly limited. This is what fear feels like: impending uselessness. A future in greys and pastels. Children. She curls up on the floor and lies there, head spinning, tears leaking out of her eyes. Thirty minutes later, the potion is still dark navy. It's negative. Relief relaxes her shoulders and makes her laugh until she can't breathe. She washes her face and reapplies her makeup. Fear feels distant and silly; she's far too proud to tell Rodolphus and live through any of it again. But still, she finds him and apologizes for snapping, in an offhand, affectionate way. It's sunny outside. They take the dogs and walk until manicured hedges melt into woods. She is buoyant. iv. 1980 "Draco looks adorable in that outfit." "No." Rodolphus turns a page in his book and doesn't bother to look up. "Try again." She scowls at her reflection. "Draco looks adorable in that outfit!" He almost smiles. "Now you've gone from wooden to sarcastic." "Draco lo—I give up! I'll give Lucius and Cissy the present and you can try to compliment." Rook bounds over to show them a strand of tinsel, tail whipping. She leaves the mirror to bend down and tug it from his mouth. "My, someone looks very handsome in his nice new Christmas collar!" "If only Draco was a Staffordshire bull terrier," Rodolphus remarks, standing up. Caught between glaring and laughing, she takes his hand and they disappear. |