Just an Average Summer for Your Hormonal Teenage Deatheater
I offer this ficlet as my first post in redhourglass and cross my fingers that you will enjoy it.
Title: Just an Average Summer for Your Hormonal Teenage Deatheater.
Characters: Bellatrix Black; Mrs. Black.
Rating: PG-13
Summary:: Teenage deatheater witches and their mothers have problems also. A 505-word scene.
Bellatrix felt the harsh slash of the spell cut deep into her cheek and savored the taste of blood in her mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, rolling the metallic tang with her tongue. When her eyes reopened, they were full of fire.
Her mother could not care less, having already told Bellatrix twice that morning that she was not to lollop about during the summer; not to spend so much time running around the grounds; not to torture the houseelves so badly that they could not do their work; and, above all, to act as the witch of breeding that she was. Why couldn’t she be more like Narcissa? And so, upon discovering Bellatrix down by the pond, filthy with mud and practicing the Cruciatus curse on a pile of frogs, Mrs. Black had had enough.
The discussion had started with patience.
“Bellatrix, I am glad to see that you are practicing your wandwork, but could you do so without wallowing in muck? Or do you behave like this merely to disgust me?” Her mother said in a voice practiced with passive-aggression.
Bellatrix hated its refinement and stricture. Without turning from her task, she spat, “Say what you mean, mother.”
Mrs. Black had wondered for years if this wild beast of a girl could really be a daughter of hers. She felt a twinge of annoyance and tightened her fingers around the smooth wood of her wand. “I do say what I mean, girl,” she said with mild distaste, as if she had discovered a fly in her soup. “The problem is that you do not do as I say.”
A frog ceased flopping on the ground, its limbs freezing in an unnaturally twisted position. Slowly, Bellatrix had faced her mother, a wry smile forming upon her face. Raising her wand, she said tauntingly, “No. The problem is that you do not leave me alone… Oppugno!”
The bleeding pile of discarded frogs had flown from the ground and toward Mrs. Black, who was quick to counter them, saying, “Impedimenta.” And, in a decisive moment of punishment, she swished her wand across Bellatrix’s cheek, crying, “Diffindo!”
Thus, Bellatrix’s cheek had been split open, and she was seething in her own blood. The girl loved feeling pain. Cherished it, even. Seeing her daughter’s eyes roll back in dulled ecstasy, Mrs. Black felt that perhaps physically harming her was having an effect adverse to its intent, so she quickly healed her, drawing close and saying, “Episkey,” and then cast the Body-Binding Curse and floated Bellatrix’s body up to the house and into the second drawing room, where she deposited it upon a chaise.
Bellatrix’s mind raced with curses, but to no avail. She was stuck facing an elaborately flowered wallpaper.
“I am leaving you here, until you are willing to behave like a proper witch,” her mother said, leaving the room and locking the door.
Bellatrix couldn’t help but think that if that were the case, she would be in this room for the rest of her life.
Title: Just an Average Summer for Your Hormonal Teenage Deatheater.
Characters: Bellatrix Black; Mrs. Black.
Rating: PG-13
Summary:: Teenage deatheater witches and their mothers have problems also. A 505-word scene.
Bellatrix felt the harsh slash of the spell cut deep into her cheek and savored the taste of blood in her mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, rolling the metallic tang with her tongue. When her eyes reopened, they were full of fire.
Her mother could not care less, having already told Bellatrix twice that morning that she was not to lollop about during the summer; not to spend so much time running around the grounds; not to torture the houseelves so badly that they could not do their work; and, above all, to act as the witch of breeding that she was. Why couldn’t she be more like Narcissa? And so, upon discovering Bellatrix down by the pond, filthy with mud and practicing the Cruciatus curse on a pile of frogs, Mrs. Black had had enough.
The discussion had started with patience.
“Bellatrix, I am glad to see that you are practicing your wandwork, but could you do so without wallowing in muck? Or do you behave like this merely to disgust me?” Her mother said in a voice practiced with passive-aggression.
Bellatrix hated its refinement and stricture. Without turning from her task, she spat, “Say what you mean, mother.”
Mrs. Black had wondered for years if this wild beast of a girl could really be a daughter of hers. She felt a twinge of annoyance and tightened her fingers around the smooth wood of her wand. “I do say what I mean, girl,” she said with mild distaste, as if she had discovered a fly in her soup. “The problem is that you do not do as I say.”
A frog ceased flopping on the ground, its limbs freezing in an unnaturally twisted position. Slowly, Bellatrix had faced her mother, a wry smile forming upon her face. Raising her wand, she said tauntingly, “No. The problem is that you do not leave me alone… Oppugno!”
The bleeding pile of discarded frogs had flown from the ground and toward Mrs. Black, who was quick to counter them, saying, “Impedimenta.” And, in a decisive moment of punishment, she swished her wand across Bellatrix’s cheek, crying, “Diffindo!”
Thus, Bellatrix’s cheek had been split open, and she was seething in her own blood. The girl loved feeling pain. Cherished it, even. Seeing her daughter’s eyes roll back in dulled ecstasy, Mrs. Black felt that perhaps physically harming her was having an effect adverse to its intent, so she quickly healed her, drawing close and saying, “Episkey,” and then cast the Body-Binding Curse and floated Bellatrix’s body up to the house and into the second drawing room, where she deposited it upon a chaise.
Bellatrix’s mind raced with curses, but to no avail. She was stuck facing an elaborately flowered wallpaper.
“I am leaving you here, until you are willing to behave like a proper witch,” her mother said, leaving the room and locking the door.
Bellatrix couldn’t help but think that if that were the case, she would be in this room for the rest of her life.