Fire

Chapter 2: \"It is much more secure to be feared than to be loved.” — Niccolo Machiavelli

Bellatrix Black was sprawled in a chair in the Slytherin common room. She was twisting her raven dark hair around her long, thin fingers. She was scowling in the general direction of the fireplace, where two men were hunched over a game of Wizarding chess and talking in low, hushed voices. The game was mostly forgotten, although now and then one of them would idly move a piece on the chessboard as if to continue the illusion they were playing a game. Often, the chess pieces would shriek and demand to know why the players were “such stupid gits they did not know where they could move their knight” or “Why don’t you sacrifice him, Mate? The game could be over by now!” Neither of the players gave the irate pieces a second glance. Bellatrix had the urge to hex the pieces so they would cause harm to the players when they so carelessly moved them on the board. The thought made her smile, the idea of causing her fellow seventh-year and his brother pain an intriguing thought. She was restless and bored; that made her even more dangerous than usual.

As if he could read her thoughts, her classmate looked up towards where she was indolently reposing on a chair and scowled in her direction. “What are you smiling about, Black? Trip some first year down the stairs today?” His companion snickered. “I didn’t think anything made you happy except for the blood of the innocent.” His smile was predatory.

Bellatrix felt that surge of loathing she always felt when he spoke to her. The hatred she felt towards the dark-haired Slytherin always surprised her; it went above and beyond the usual irritation inspired by most everyone else in their school. “I’d only be smiling this widely if it were you I’d pushed down the stairs,” she sneered. Her dark eyes narrowed, and she met his sardonic gaze with an imperiously tilted chin. He glared back her, dislike written clearly on his aristocratic face. Slytherin house was not known for fostering close friendships, but their enmity had seemed to be growing deeper of late, and she had not thought such a thing was possible.

Despite her formidable reputation, Bellatrix was not all that evil to her housemates. Why, she hadn’t even hexed any of them in the last two weeks! The last hex she’d thrown had been at that irritating prat Snape, and that was only because he’d outscored her once again in Potions. Bellatrix wasn’t particularly interested in the subject, but she hated to lose at anything, and the smug bastard was always lording his victory in that area over her. It’s too bad Sirius and his band of annoying Gryffindors all left school and thus cannot torment him any longer. Her cousin Sirius had been utterly useless for anything except amusing her with his torment of Snape.

Bellatrix was a loyal Slytherin, and she would protect her housemates in the midst of any type of inter-house rivalry in a heartbeat; she’d hexed Sirius enough over his torment of Snape even though said torment had amused her greatly. However, it did not necessarily mean she would not hex the hell out of whomever it was who put her in that position when they returned the dungeons (which Severus Snape could well attest to). Still, there was something about the dark-eyed wizard sneering at her from across the room that made her blood boil. Something that drove her mad with anger when he arched one fine black brow and twisted those full lips of his into a sneer, and had since the day they’d met on the train to Hogwarts.

“This is my seat, you little brat, so get lost. I’m saving it for some third years.” The young boy, a first year like her, had looked down his nose at her as she’d pushed the door to the compartment open, dragging her trunk behind her as she was too proud to have asked for help.

“I’ll sit here if I want to,” Bellatrix said threateningly, the cute twin braids her mother had insisted on putting in her hair not detracting from the malicious glint in her eyes one bit. Ariana Black had thrown up her hands in defeat, wondering why Bellatrix managed to look so adorable and so frightening at the same time. “Maybe this will help you make some friends,” her mother had said while nervously twisting her hands. Her sister Andromeda had snorted and replied, “Only if she keeps her mouth shut.” At the thought of her older sister — sitting with those Ravenclaws! — Bellatrix scowled even harder.

“Oh yeah? I bet you won’t, not when Malfoy and the others get here,” he’d sneered, bringing her attention back to the insufferably arrogant boy in the carriage. “They aren’t going to let you sit here, no way. You’re not important enough to sit in this carriage. Maybe you could find room with some Hufflepuffs. That’ll probably be where you end up anyway.”

Bellatrix had pointed her wand at him and narrowed her eyes for the insult. It was bad enough Andromeda had gone and had herself sorted into Ravenclaw, but for his snot-nosed prat to insinuate she’d be put in Hufflepuff, of all places …! Stamping her foot, she had all but growled at the boy.

“What are you going to do, hex me?” he said as he took in the sight of her there staring down her newly purchased wand in abject fury. Then the young boy had made the worst the mistake of all and done the one thing guaranteed to make young Bellatrix Black infuriated past all sense.

He’d laughed at her.

As it turns out, Bellatrix had a seat to herself for the journey because she was relegated to the professor’s carriage after hexing the dark-haired boy. She had been marched up the train aisles, old Mr. Bellings muttering “I never,” under his breath, the memory of the boy’s laughter burning in her ears, her face flushed with anger.

When they’d arrived at the station, she’d shot him a dangerous look out of her eyes as they waited to board the boats. He returned her glare and was rubbing the bruise on his face where she’d hexed him. She had smiled at him and said, “It looks better than it did before.” He tried to push her out of the boat, and they’d been separated for the ride to the castle.

Ever since that first day at Hogwarts, Bellatrix had never liked Rodolphus Lestrange, and he hadn’t liked her. In the seven years they’d been at Hogwarts, their animosity had grown until each took a perverse pleasure in the failings of the other. When she’d watched him tumble off his Quidditch broom during a heated match with their arch-rival Gryffindor, she’d laughed delightedly even though her housemates had hissed at her to be quiet. Likewise, when she found herself humiliated by old Professor Binns for forgetting an essay assignment, he’d taken great pleasure in leaning over and whispering in her ear, “I knew it; you should have been in Hufflepuff all along.” She’d ended up in detention again because of that incident, for how could she not hex him in retaliation for that slur? Hufflepuff indeed.

“I see you seem to be incapable of answering simple questions,” he snapped at her now, his brother Rabastan — a sixth year — watching them quarrel with amused eyes.

“I’m not,” she returned, standing up and sauntering over to them. She grinned at her nemesis, and before he could say a word, she’d kicked out and overturned the chess table. The pieces flew to the ground and squawked in indignation. “I just don’t need to say anything to you.”

Rabastan laughed, but Rodolphus had jumped to his feet in a fury. “You pick those up,” he hissed at her, reaching out and grabbing her arm roughly.

Bellatrix felt a strange thrill rush through her at his touch, but she felt the flush on her skin and her temper rise to the surface. “I will not,” she said, her voice a snarl. “So unhand me, Lestrange, or I swear to Salazar I’ll be the last woman you ever touch.” They were staring into each other’s eyes, breathing escalated, panting harshly in their fury. She smirked at him. “Or, perhaps I’m the first?”

“You little bitch,” he hissed, and he twisted her arm violently. She was propelled to her knees and laughed wildly as she hit the floor with her free hand. “One day, Black, taunting me is going to be the last mistake you make.”

“One day, Lestrange, you’re going to wish you had the balls to deal with me with your brains rather than your brawn. Oh, wait. You’ve haven’t got either.”

He kicked her in the stomach, and she hissed through the pain but refused to cry out, biting her lip instead and tasting the warm coppery rush of her own blood. The room spun around her for a moment as she fought for her composure and stared intently at the black and green rug beneath her until the world righted itself.

“Rodolphus!” The voice belonged to Rabastan, who reached out and pulled his brother back before he could do further damage to the raven-haired witch panting on the floor. “Mate, watch it. You don’t want to be expelled when we are so close to graduation, do you? She’s not worth ruining all of our plans over,” he said, pulling at his brother intently.

Rodolphus moved away from her, and Bellatrix looked up at him through her lashes. She felt the heat of her skin, and the blood was trickling down her chin. She swiped at it with her tongue as she stared into Rodolphus’ furious dark eyes.

She was fully expecting to find him later and kill him, and then she noticed something odd flare in those ebony depths. Something that looked like lust, but it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure she saw it all. Batting her eyelashes, she leapt lithely to her feet. “Don’t do me any favors, Rabastan,” she said mockingly, dusting her hands over her robes.

“Fine, Black, if you want to get beaten up and tossed about, what do I care? Find someone else to torment you, though.” Rabastan scowled, picking the chess pieces up that both his brother and his housemate were studiously ignoring. “I grow weary of these childish antics between you.”

“I’ve had worse scratches from my sister,” she said sweetly, and when Rodolphus took a threatening stop towards her, she laughed delightedly. Rabastan grabbed him again, shaking his head.

Rodolphus scowled, threw his hands up and turned from her to glare into the flames of the fireplace. Rabastan gave her an unfriendly look, but it failed to bother her. You’ll live in his shadow for the rest of your life, she thought, an odd tingling sensation rushing through her at the thought.

Despite her cut lip and her aching, bruised arm, Bellatrix found that horrid restlessness had passed, and she felt much calmer. Baiting him is good for something, even if it does get me a kick in the ribs. She winced when she was sure he could not see her. She thought perhaps he’d kicked her so hard he’d bruised — or broken — a rib. Bellatrix would go to an early, shallow grave before she complained or went to the infirmary, however. When she had made her way to the staircases that lead up to the girl’s dormitory, she heard Rodolphus growl behind her, “One day I’m going to make that bitch hurt.”

The words brought an odd rush of heat that had nothing to do with anger as she closed the door behind her.