Bellatrix Lestrange, Diary, Summer 1996
Name: Bellatrix Lestrange
Date: Summer 1996
Format: Diary
Relevance: An excerpt from the diary kept by Bellatrix Lestrange throughout both wars, relating to Draco Malfoy's training in the Dark Arts.
I am to teach Draco Occlumency. The Dark Lord told me to not half an hour ago and I submit gladly to his will, but cannot say that I approach the prospect with much enthusiasm. To teach Occlumency, one must either hate one’s student, and find delight in their humiliation, or love them dearly, and know that whatever one finds in them, or (more importantly) they find in you, that love will not be in danger. I loved Regulus with every scrap of my soul. I gave him the key to lock me out and he did so, and yet he loved me still.
I love Draco. My blood recognises his and inside me there is some fierce, instinctive love that would easily drive me to kill for him. He is made of my clay, albeit mingled with others, and my skin prickled the first time I saw him after Azkaban. I know him as being of me. But I do not know him.
He is more Narcissa’s son than Lucius’s, and I am fully aware of all that that means. Regulus was - I do not think I can explain it. He was blue light and sparkling water. He refreshed me with his presence, he made me clean and he was holy. Yes. Holy. He died because I let my mind crawl inside him and he rotted with what my thoughts left behind. But he was pure even then. It was the canker that smothered his breath, nothing wrong with him.
It is too much to expect Draco to be like him. I must be reasonable and practical and accept that truth. I must not let my hopes lead me to believe that this boy will be anything like so precious as my magpie. But oh, what if he is? What if he is? And before he has even had chance to be like his dear, sweet, missed cousin, what if I put my dirty thoughts inside him?
There are things in cages in my head, nameless things, and they rattle the bars, so loudly sometimes that I can barely hear myself think. But they mustn’t be let out. And they mustn’t be allowed to creep like maggots into the boy. They are not allowed to. I will not allow it. I won’t.
I won’t. It is settled and no more should be said on the matter. They will not get inside the boy. They won’t.
Silly, Bella. Teenage boys have their own monsters, even if they don’t live in the head or the chest but that lower part. Maybe I should be worrying for myself, what I will find in him. Mother used to tell me such horror stories about the insides of boys’ brains. I wonder that anyone can think so entirely of such a thing. Will his brain be full of those thoughts? Will he be embarrassed by them? He is Narcissa’s son and does not seem lacking in self-confidence. However, I am still a stranger to him, a grown woman and there are few men who genuinely seem at ease in my company.
I should make sure it is a private affair. My methods are my own and I will not stand for my lessons to be disturbed by hysterics, tantrums or cries for mercy. Would it be very wrong to take him into a room at one of Knockturn’s brothels? They are delightfully uninterested in whatever one chooses to do, so long as one is willing to pay an extortionate amount for a dirty room with an unacceptably stained bed. Do I care whether it sends the wrong message to people? Mother would turn in her grave if she knew. Bella Black, traipsing into a brothel, with a young man in tow. Oh she’d hate it. There, I do believe I am resolved.
I do hope, even if he is not, cannot, be Regulus, that he is not boring. I loathe reading dull people. It’s worse than the Daily Prophet on Sunday.
Date: Summer 1996
Format: Diary
Relevance: An excerpt from the diary kept by Bellatrix Lestrange throughout both wars, relating to Draco Malfoy's training in the Dark Arts.
I am to teach Draco Occlumency. The Dark Lord told me to not half an hour ago and I submit gladly to his will, but cannot say that I approach the prospect with much enthusiasm. To teach Occlumency, one must either hate one’s student, and find delight in their humiliation, or love them dearly, and know that whatever one finds in them, or (more importantly) they find in you, that love will not be in danger. I loved Regulus with every scrap of my soul. I gave him the key to lock me out and he did so, and yet he loved me still.
I love Draco. My blood recognises his and inside me there is some fierce, instinctive love that would easily drive me to kill for him. He is made of my clay, albeit mingled with others, and my skin prickled the first time I saw him after Azkaban. I know him as being of me. But I do not know him.
He is more Narcissa’s son than Lucius’s, and I am fully aware of all that that means. Regulus was - I do not think I can explain it. He was blue light and sparkling water. He refreshed me with his presence, he made me clean and he was holy. Yes. Holy. He died because I let my mind crawl inside him and he rotted with what my thoughts left behind. But he was pure even then. It was the canker that smothered his breath, nothing wrong with him.
It is too much to expect Draco to be like him. I must be reasonable and practical and accept that truth. I must not let my hopes lead me to believe that this boy will be anything like so precious as my magpie. But oh, what if he is? What if he is? And before he has even had chance to be like his dear, sweet, missed cousin, what if I put my dirty thoughts inside him?
There are things in cages in my head, nameless things, and they rattle the bars, so loudly sometimes that I can barely hear myself think. But they mustn’t be let out. And they mustn’t be allowed to creep like maggots into the boy. They are not allowed to. I will not allow it. I won’t.
I won’t. It is settled and no more should be said on the matter. They will not get inside the boy. They won’t.
Silly, Bella. Teenage boys have their own monsters, even if they don’t live in the head or the chest but that lower part. Maybe I should be worrying for myself, what I will find in him. Mother used to tell me such horror stories about the insides of boys’ brains. I wonder that anyone can think so entirely of such a thing. Will his brain be full of those thoughts? Will he be embarrassed by them? He is Narcissa’s son and does not seem lacking in self-confidence. However, I am still a stranger to him, a grown woman and there are few men who genuinely seem at ease in my company.
I should make sure it is a private affair. My methods are my own and I will not stand for my lessons to be disturbed by hysterics, tantrums or cries for mercy. Would it be very wrong to take him into a room at one of Knockturn’s brothels? They are delightfully uninterested in whatever one chooses to do, so long as one is willing to pay an extortionate amount for a dirty room with an unacceptably stained bed. Do I care whether it sends the wrong message to people? Mother would turn in her grave if she knew. Bella Black, traipsing into a brothel, with a young man in tow. Oh she’d hate it. There, I do believe I am resolved.
I do hope, even if he is not, cannot, be Regulus, that he is not boring. I loathe reading dull people. It’s worse than the Daily Prophet on Sunday.