plummeting meteors, chapter 1
Title: Plummeting Meteors
Author: mercury_rose
Rating: K+
Summary: Threeshot, of Lucius Malfoy's interactions with the Black sisters. Part one: Bellatrix.
Word count: 1,730.
The first time that he truly saw her was at a Death Eater meeting, when she was inducted.
He was standing on the outer edge of the circle, watching as this girl approached the Dark Lord, her eyes blazing with a fervent kind of admiration that he had never seen before in anyone. It surpassed his own respect for the Dark Lord by leagues, and it was the first indication to him that Bellatrix was different than the rest of them.
Everyone looked different in these meetings, he had noticed: the quiet, meek boy in the corner was suddenly a force to be reckoned with, a natural with the Cruciatus Curse or the Avada Kedavra. He wondered what hidden talents Bellatrix Black would show if the Dark Lord accepted her into this circle.
She stood side by side with Rodolphus Lestrange, and now all eyes were directed toward them. The Dark Lord stepped closer to her, scrutinizing her, although his thoughts were unreadable.
“Why are you here?” he asked her coldly, and she raised her chin just a little bit higher as she answered him.
“To pledge my life to this cause,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face, unrelenting. It was the sort of answer she was expected to give, but Lucius could tell the words were the plain truth, life stripped down to the core for her. She had heard from Lestrange what the Dark Lord stood for and she wanted to be a part of it, wanted to intertwine her own self with it.
It seemed almost like a test of wills between them, Lucius noted with wonder, as she continued to stare straight at him, drinking in the sight of him as if it were her life’s blood. Lestrange spoke for her, as someone always had to for a new member. “She’s serious, my lord,” he said quickly. “She’s dedicated, I promise. I swear you won’t regret it.”
He was only stating the obvious, really, Lucius thought, and apparently the Dark Lord agreed, for he never took his eyes from Bellatrix’s face. The decision was made as soon as he saw the fervent passion bordering on madness littered casually on Bellatrix’s aristocratically lovely features. “Will you take the Mark?” he asked, the way a new member was always welcomed.
Lucius expected to see triumph flit across her face, or even relief, but there was none, as if she had always known that she would be accepted, like there was no question about any of it.
“Of course,” she declared.
“First,” the Dark Lord said, signaling Augustus Rookwood to come forward bearing the prisoner, “we will test you.”
She could hardly wait to draw her wand and speak the words, and it was only Lestrange’s quick placement of his hand on her arm that stopped her from torturing the man at that very moment, with the Dark Lord’s command or not. This was the real test, Lucius knew, and he knew just as well that Bellatrix Black would pass with flying colors.
“Torture him; you know the spell.” The tide was rising, and a choice had to be made, but for Bellatrix he knew there was no choice.
There was no hesitation, and Lucius realized, with a chill, that the girl had no conscience. She said the word as if it gave her great pleasure: “Crucio!”
As he writhed, she laughed; it was a laugh like he had never heard before, vivacity and recklessness and power and triumph. She couldn’t stop staring at her victim, and it was as if she had become drawn into the spell, become one with the torture.
There was no respite from it, and she would occasionally pull away, to let him think that it was over, and that death was coming, before resuming her task. Even for Lucius, sometimes seeing that momentary glimmer of hope was too much to bear, and he would end it then, but for Bellatrix it only made her crueler, more willing to extend the torture a few seconds longer.
It took the Dark Lord’s intervention to finally bring the man mercy: “Now kill him.” He was always looking for his members’ weaknesses, to avoid sending them on missions where they would be a hindrance, and Lucius almost hoped that this woman - he couldn’t call her a girl anymore, after what he’d seen her do - would show some trace of humanity: perhaps she couldn’t kill.
She wasn’t done yet, that was clear, but she followed the order. “Avada Kedavra!” she said, again pouring herself into the spell. She almost looked disappointed, that she hadn’t been able to finish. Lucius wondered how much longer she would have continued if the Dark Lord hadn’t intervened.
She looked darkly beautiful, all mercilessness and cruelty and anger, and he had never seen anything like it before. He had always considered her proud, headstrong, beautiful, but he had never seen the potential she kept in her for pain. She’ll rise high in this world the Dark Lord is creating, he thought, almost more of a prophecy than a musing.
And now it was time for the Marking, to create an unbreakable bond between Dark Lord and Death Eater.
The Dark Lord drew his wand and began to draw the pattern in the air, the skull, the snake. With each movement, her skin opened, cutting the design into her arm, a permanent reminder of the commitment she had made tonight. But rather than pain, some grotesque ecstasy found its way onto her face as she breathed in deeply.
Lucius hadn’t cried out when the Mark was burned onto his skin, but he knew that he must have showed some kind of revulsion on his face - every other new Death Eater had shown it, but there was nothing remotely resembling pain on Bellatrix Black’s face. He glanced at Rodolphus Lestrange, who looked as if he had known this would happen all along.
After it was done, and she was bleeding, she did the most remarkable thing: she caressed her arm, like it had become a holy object when the Mark had been bestowed upon it. It was as if her arm was now child, mother, and lover to her. Lestrange was the only one who didn’t look somewhat disconcerted, and he only stared at each of them, as if saying I told you so.
“You’ve done well,” the Dark Lord said, tossing Bellatrix a glance, the closest thing to a compliment Lucius had ever heard him give anyone, before Disapparating away.
For several seconds, she watched the spot where he had just vanished from, like she could summon him back with just her longing. She wanted to exert torture, dominance, he thought, and the Dark Lord was her road to what she desired, and she would love him for it. Lucius thought she was even more dangerous than the Dark Lord, for he at least was in control of himself at all times. She would lose herself to her passion, and there was no reason behind her at all, only instinct. He wasn’t completely sure that she was sane even now.
“You were incredible up there,” he heard Avery said, as he leveled with her. Admiration was the prevalent emotion in his eyes.
She gave him a contemptuous glance, as if he was beneath her, and Lucius realized with some amazement that, despite having joined only today, she already had more rank than people like Avery, who had been a member for a year now. She didn’t even thank him, because she didn’t have to, as she had proven herself above that. She’ll eclipse us all, he thought, another premonition.
Once most of the others had left, she stood with Rodolphus, as if she was unwilling to let go of her moment of glory now. He had no idea why he was staying around, why he was walking up to them, but he was.
He didn’t know what to say as he approached her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as Avery, for who knew if she was above him as well? “You have excellent power, but you need to be more in control,” he said, establishing himself already as the one giving advice.
She turned her hard gray eyes on him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Why do I need control?” she asked. “I don’t intend to be showing mercy to my enemies, Malfoy. Do you?”
With three sentences, she had already defeated him, and he had no retort to save face. “I only meant…”
“If we hesitate, if we show mercy, then we will be that much weaker,” she said, cutting him off so that she wouldn’t have to hear his - admittedly pitiful - explanation that he would make up on the spot. “And I will not be weak, and I should hope you wouldn’t be either. We need to be strong, to be ruthless, if we’re to change things in this world. There’s no place for control.” She said the last word with biting contempt. It might have been his imagination, but he doubted it - he thought she was speaking of him when she talked of control.
He was too proud to admit she was right. “You have a lot of things to learn,” he began, trying to regain the upper hand, but she rolled her eyes. Lestrange almost rose, drawing his wand, but she shook her head: whatever else she might do, she would not have anyone else fight her battles.
“So do you,” she whispered, and it was only then that he realized she was rolling her wand between her fingers, an unsubtle warning. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Malfoy. What I did today, that wasn’t the full extent by any means. It would have gone on far, far longer if I’d had my way.” She almost smiled, thinking of the pain she would have inflicted. “You can leave,” she said casually, a dismissal like she was the queen and he a lowly subject.
Her wand was a threat, still resting in her fingers. He was quick, but she was already prepared, and he couldn’t compete, not now. Gritting his teeth, he admitted defeat.
“Welcome to the Dark Lord’s service.”
She smiled at him, perfectly sweet, but the darkness in her eyes was clearly present, and he couldn’t see how he hadn’t ever noticed before. “Thank you.”
Part two. Part three.
Author: mercury_rose
Rating: K+
Summary: Threeshot, of Lucius Malfoy's interactions with the Black sisters. Part one: Bellatrix.
Word count: 1,730.
The first time that he truly saw her was at a Death Eater meeting, when she was inducted.
He was standing on the outer edge of the circle, watching as this girl approached the Dark Lord, her eyes blazing with a fervent kind of admiration that he had never seen before in anyone. It surpassed his own respect for the Dark Lord by leagues, and it was the first indication to him that Bellatrix was different than the rest of them.
Everyone looked different in these meetings, he had noticed: the quiet, meek boy in the corner was suddenly a force to be reckoned with, a natural with the Cruciatus Curse or the Avada Kedavra. He wondered what hidden talents Bellatrix Black would show if the Dark Lord accepted her into this circle.
She stood side by side with Rodolphus Lestrange, and now all eyes were directed toward them. The Dark Lord stepped closer to her, scrutinizing her, although his thoughts were unreadable.
“Why are you here?” he asked her coldly, and she raised her chin just a little bit higher as she answered him.
“To pledge my life to this cause,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face, unrelenting. It was the sort of answer she was expected to give, but Lucius could tell the words were the plain truth, life stripped down to the core for her. She had heard from Lestrange what the Dark Lord stood for and she wanted to be a part of it, wanted to intertwine her own self with it.
It seemed almost like a test of wills between them, Lucius noted with wonder, as she continued to stare straight at him, drinking in the sight of him as if it were her life’s blood. Lestrange spoke for her, as someone always had to for a new member. “She’s serious, my lord,” he said quickly. “She’s dedicated, I promise. I swear you won’t regret it.”
He was only stating the obvious, really, Lucius thought, and apparently the Dark Lord agreed, for he never took his eyes from Bellatrix’s face. The decision was made as soon as he saw the fervent passion bordering on madness littered casually on Bellatrix’s aristocratically lovely features. “Will you take the Mark?” he asked, the way a new member was always welcomed.
Lucius expected to see triumph flit across her face, or even relief, but there was none, as if she had always known that she would be accepted, like there was no question about any of it.
“Of course,” she declared.
“First,” the Dark Lord said, signaling Augustus Rookwood to come forward bearing the prisoner, “we will test you.”
She could hardly wait to draw her wand and speak the words, and it was only Lestrange’s quick placement of his hand on her arm that stopped her from torturing the man at that very moment, with the Dark Lord’s command or not. This was the real test, Lucius knew, and he knew just as well that Bellatrix Black would pass with flying colors.
“Torture him; you know the spell.” The tide was rising, and a choice had to be made, but for Bellatrix he knew there was no choice.
There was no hesitation, and Lucius realized, with a chill, that the girl had no conscience. She said the word as if it gave her great pleasure: “Crucio!”
As he writhed, she laughed; it was a laugh like he had never heard before, vivacity and recklessness and power and triumph. She couldn’t stop staring at her victim, and it was as if she had become drawn into the spell, become one with the torture.
There was no respite from it, and she would occasionally pull away, to let him think that it was over, and that death was coming, before resuming her task. Even for Lucius, sometimes seeing that momentary glimmer of hope was too much to bear, and he would end it then, but for Bellatrix it only made her crueler, more willing to extend the torture a few seconds longer.
It took the Dark Lord’s intervention to finally bring the man mercy: “Now kill him.” He was always looking for his members’ weaknesses, to avoid sending them on missions where they would be a hindrance, and Lucius almost hoped that this woman - he couldn’t call her a girl anymore, after what he’d seen her do - would show some trace of humanity: perhaps she couldn’t kill.
She wasn’t done yet, that was clear, but she followed the order. “Avada Kedavra!” she said, again pouring herself into the spell. She almost looked disappointed, that she hadn’t been able to finish. Lucius wondered how much longer she would have continued if the Dark Lord hadn’t intervened.
She looked darkly beautiful, all mercilessness and cruelty and anger, and he had never seen anything like it before. He had always considered her proud, headstrong, beautiful, but he had never seen the potential she kept in her for pain. She’ll rise high in this world the Dark Lord is creating, he thought, almost more of a prophecy than a musing.
And now it was time for the Marking, to create an unbreakable bond between Dark Lord and Death Eater.
The Dark Lord drew his wand and began to draw the pattern in the air, the skull, the snake. With each movement, her skin opened, cutting the design into her arm, a permanent reminder of the commitment she had made tonight. But rather than pain, some grotesque ecstasy found its way onto her face as she breathed in deeply.
Lucius hadn’t cried out when the Mark was burned onto his skin, but he knew that he must have showed some kind of revulsion on his face - every other new Death Eater had shown it, but there was nothing remotely resembling pain on Bellatrix Black’s face. He glanced at Rodolphus Lestrange, who looked as if he had known this would happen all along.
After it was done, and she was bleeding, she did the most remarkable thing: she caressed her arm, like it had become a holy object when the Mark had been bestowed upon it. It was as if her arm was now child, mother, and lover to her. Lestrange was the only one who didn’t look somewhat disconcerted, and he only stared at each of them, as if saying I told you so.
“You’ve done well,” the Dark Lord said, tossing Bellatrix a glance, the closest thing to a compliment Lucius had ever heard him give anyone, before Disapparating away.
For several seconds, she watched the spot where he had just vanished from, like she could summon him back with just her longing. She wanted to exert torture, dominance, he thought, and the Dark Lord was her road to what she desired, and she would love him for it. Lucius thought she was even more dangerous than the Dark Lord, for he at least was in control of himself at all times. She would lose herself to her passion, and there was no reason behind her at all, only instinct. He wasn’t completely sure that she was sane even now.
“You were incredible up there,” he heard Avery said, as he leveled with her. Admiration was the prevalent emotion in his eyes.
She gave him a contemptuous glance, as if he was beneath her, and Lucius realized with some amazement that, despite having joined only today, she already had more rank than people like Avery, who had been a member for a year now. She didn’t even thank him, because she didn’t have to, as she had proven herself above that. She’ll eclipse us all, he thought, another premonition.
Once most of the others had left, she stood with Rodolphus, as if she was unwilling to let go of her moment of glory now. He had no idea why he was staying around, why he was walking up to them, but he was.
He didn’t know what to say as he approached her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as Avery, for who knew if she was above him as well? “You have excellent power, but you need to be more in control,” he said, establishing himself already as the one giving advice.
She turned her hard gray eyes on him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Why do I need control?” she asked. “I don’t intend to be showing mercy to my enemies, Malfoy. Do you?”
With three sentences, she had already defeated him, and he had no retort to save face. “I only meant…”
“If we hesitate, if we show mercy, then we will be that much weaker,” she said, cutting him off so that she wouldn’t have to hear his - admittedly pitiful - explanation that he would make up on the spot. “And I will not be weak, and I should hope you wouldn’t be either. We need to be strong, to be ruthless, if we’re to change things in this world. There’s no place for control.” She said the last word with biting contempt. It might have been his imagination, but he doubted it - he thought she was speaking of him when she talked of control.
He was too proud to admit she was right. “You have a lot of things to learn,” he began, trying to regain the upper hand, but she rolled her eyes. Lestrange almost rose, drawing his wand, but she shook her head: whatever else she might do, she would not have anyone else fight her battles.
“So do you,” she whispered, and it was only then that he realized she was rolling her wand between her fingers, an unsubtle warning. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Malfoy. What I did today, that wasn’t the full extent by any means. It would have gone on far, far longer if I’d had my way.” She almost smiled, thinking of the pain she would have inflicted. “You can leave,” she said casually, a dismissal like she was the queen and he a lowly subject.
Her wand was a threat, still resting in her fingers. He was quick, but she was already prepared, and he couldn’t compete, not now. Gritting his teeth, he admitted defeat.
“Welcome to the Dark Lord’s service.”
She smiled at him, perfectly sweet, but the darkness in her eyes was clearly present, and he couldn’t see how he hadn’t ever noticed before. “Thank you.”
Part two. Part three.