Bellatrix Lestrange, Letter, 1996
Name: Bellatrix Lestrange
Date: June 24th, 1996
Format: Letter
Relevance: This letter, clearly never sent as Sirius Black had died in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries three days earlier, was found tucked in Bellatrix Lestrange’s diary. It indicates a troubled, complicated relationship between the two Blacks and also details some of the consequences of the aforementioned conflict at the Ministry. What it does not answer is whether Bellatrix intended to kill her cousin.
Dear Sirius,
It is now three days since you died. I am both relieved and disappointed to realise that you seem intent on remaining dead. I believed you would return for at least one more curtain call, if you will excuse the rather morbid pun. But it seems not. You are gone for good, I think. Or at least until it is my turn to venture into the shadows.
As I said, it is three days. My husband, his brother, my brother-in-law and so many of the faithful, those who both escaped Azkaban the first time and those who were our cellmates, have been sent back to the fortress on the sea, or soon will be. I can at least be grateful that the Dementors are no longer present to force-feed us our darkest days.
What else would you want to know? My Lord has punished me for my failure at the Ministry. I am not a woman who is brought to pain easily. My mother used to spank me as a child with my hairbrush. She would bring it down so hard I would hear the strike rattle her bones, but I found the pain bearable. Mama would be forced to stop long before I felt suitably disciplined, simply because her arm would ache so. You will no doubt be pleased to hear that the Dark Lord has ways to hurt me that make me wish for death. The pain is even more horrible because I know it is deserved.
The only thing that I achieved that day that pleased my Lord was your death.
Smile, my pretty pretty cousin - your death perhaps kept Bella alive.
I met your godson for the first time. He is quite unmanageable. Still, what does one expect from an orphan? The sooner he is laid in the ground with your dear little Potters, the better. He is a wilful young man, determined to be difficult and entirely lacking in reason. He reminds me of you. If he did not look quite so like his father, I would have to wonder whether Mrs Potter had been a good girl. Would you have sullied yourself with someone whose blood is so thin, so tasteless? I think you would, if only to spite your family.
Is your brother with you, Sirius? Have you kissed and made up? You don’t deserve his forgiveness. You ruined him. My dear little magpie. Is he well? Is he keeping warm? I hate to think of his bare little bones. He must be so cold without his skin. Hold him tight for me, Sirius. Breathe on his pretty little face and keep him warm.
You kept me warm once. Only once. Do you remember the afternoon you spent in my bed with me? Of course you do. It spoilt everything. Can’t stand too close, can’t touch, can’t even smile. Everything must be weighed in terms of seduction. You hated me. But I can still trace the path of your hands on me. Even now, when my body is wasted and I think my heartbeat will break my bones, I can feel your touch still burn me. I have a strip of the petticoat that you shredded. We are creatures of teeth and claws, we Blacks. But creatures of sentiment too. I kept it and the fabric is thin as dead leaves.
I have never taken much pleasure in matters of the flesh. Mama made me think it a low, despicable thing, and anything Rodolphus could have done to remedy that impression was lost against my knowledge that I am an absence, I am no thing at all. I have taken few men to my bed, and fewer still have lived to tell the tale. That is a joke, by the way, Sirius, before you take me at my word. It is, however, also the truth. Odd how these things conspire against me, that I find the bizarre and ridiculous to be the facts of my life. But I invited you into my room, my bed and for a few hours, we were not cousins but shared skin and glory. I remember your face when you were lost, how beautiful you were.
We both lost our beauty in Azkaban, Sirius. But we recognised each other in the Ministry. Did you ever think that I would be the one to end you? I suspect not. You never took me seriously, did you? You never saw what the others saw, never saw me as anything but that bossy little girl who used to tattle on you to your father. I am a fearful thing. I have crawled beneath the dirt and I have eaten your dead. But obviously my crimes were not such that you could accept that I had grown up. You used to infuriate me. Had any other man taken me as lightly as you did, I would have cooked his intestines in his skull. But not you. Not you.
If you had simply accepted that it was within my power to kill you, you would not be dead. I will accept no blame for your death. You are responsible. Only you.
You stupid stupid stupid boy.
Are you determined to make me take an axe to our family tree? You left a burden on Regulus that would have crushed him had I not put him out of his misery. And now you have driven me to this. Well, my precious, tell me: which of my sisters shall I send you next? Andromeda, whom you could love without shame? Or Narcissa, whom you could not?
Oh, Sirius, you and I could have done great things.
Until next we meet, I remain,
Your loving cousin,
Bellatrix.
Date: June 24th, 1996
Format: Letter
Relevance: This letter, clearly never sent as Sirius Black had died in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries three days earlier, was found tucked in Bellatrix Lestrange’s diary. It indicates a troubled, complicated relationship between the two Blacks and also details some of the consequences of the aforementioned conflict at the Ministry. What it does not answer is whether Bellatrix intended to kill her cousin.
Dear Sirius,
It is now three days since you died. I am both relieved and disappointed to realise that you seem intent on remaining dead. I believed you would return for at least one more curtain call, if you will excuse the rather morbid pun. But it seems not. You are gone for good, I think. Or at least until it is my turn to venture into the shadows.
As I said, it is three days. My husband, his brother, my brother-in-law and so many of the faithful, those who both escaped Azkaban the first time and those who were our cellmates, have been sent back to the fortress on the sea, or soon will be. I can at least be grateful that the Dementors are no longer present to force-feed us our darkest days.
What else would you want to know? My Lord has punished me for my failure at the Ministry. I am not a woman who is brought to pain easily. My mother used to spank me as a child with my hairbrush. She would bring it down so hard I would hear the strike rattle her bones, but I found the pain bearable. Mama would be forced to stop long before I felt suitably disciplined, simply because her arm would ache so. You will no doubt be pleased to hear that the Dark Lord has ways to hurt me that make me wish for death. The pain is even more horrible because I know it is deserved.
The only thing that I achieved that day that pleased my Lord was your death.
Smile, my pretty pretty cousin - your death perhaps kept Bella alive.
I met your godson for the first time. He is quite unmanageable. Still, what does one expect from an orphan? The sooner he is laid in the ground with your dear little Potters, the better. He is a wilful young man, determined to be difficult and entirely lacking in reason. He reminds me of you. If he did not look quite so like his father, I would have to wonder whether Mrs Potter had been a good girl. Would you have sullied yourself with someone whose blood is so thin, so tasteless? I think you would, if only to spite your family.
Is your brother with you, Sirius? Have you kissed and made up? You don’t deserve his forgiveness. You ruined him. My dear little magpie. Is he well? Is he keeping warm? I hate to think of his bare little bones. He must be so cold without his skin. Hold him tight for me, Sirius. Breathe on his pretty little face and keep him warm.
You kept me warm once. Only once. Do you remember the afternoon you spent in my bed with me? Of course you do. It spoilt everything. Can’t stand too close, can’t touch, can’t even smile. Everything must be weighed in terms of seduction. You hated me. But I can still trace the path of your hands on me. Even now, when my body is wasted and I think my heartbeat will break my bones, I can feel your touch still burn me. I have a strip of the petticoat that you shredded. We are creatures of teeth and claws, we Blacks. But creatures of sentiment too. I kept it and the fabric is thin as dead leaves.
I have never taken much pleasure in matters of the flesh. Mama made me think it a low, despicable thing, and anything Rodolphus could have done to remedy that impression was lost against my knowledge that I am an absence, I am no thing at all. I have taken few men to my bed, and fewer still have lived to tell the tale. That is a joke, by the way, Sirius, before you take me at my word. It is, however, also the truth. Odd how these things conspire against me, that I find the bizarre and ridiculous to be the facts of my life. But I invited you into my room, my bed and for a few hours, we were not cousins but shared skin and glory. I remember your face when you were lost, how beautiful you were.
We both lost our beauty in Azkaban, Sirius. But we recognised each other in the Ministry. Did you ever think that I would be the one to end you? I suspect not. You never took me seriously, did you? You never saw what the others saw, never saw me as anything but that bossy little girl who used to tattle on you to your father. I am a fearful thing. I have crawled beneath the dirt and I have eaten your dead. But obviously my crimes were not such that you could accept that I had grown up. You used to infuriate me. Had any other man taken me as lightly as you did, I would have cooked his intestines in his skull. But not you. Not you.
If you had simply accepted that it was within my power to kill you, you would not be dead. I will accept no blame for your death. You are responsible. Only you.
You stupid stupid stupid boy.
Are you determined to make me take an axe to our family tree? You left a burden on Regulus that would have crushed him had I not put him out of his misery. And now you have driven me to this. Well, my precious, tell me: which of my sisters shall I send you next? Andromeda, whom you could love without shame? Or Narcissa, whom you could not?
Oh, Sirius, you and I could have done great things.
Until next we meet, I remain,
Your loving cousin,
Bellatrix.