Fanfiction HP
Regardless of her own incapability to show her emotions, Bellatrix had always been quite keen to unravel those of others. She had never liked plain and simple. Whenever she attended parties, she couldn’t wear a mere one-colored gown. No. She preferred the complexity of silk woven with lace and cotton, making it an extravagant mixture of layers and material. They reflected how she was, and how she liked the people she surrounded herself with.
Her mother used to make quilts. Some of them took years to finish. People were like those quilts; every day added another layer to the nothing there was when they were created. Whenever you made a mistake, you can’t just pull a thread and start over. That would effect the entire result of the quilt. No, you had to make a new beginning and weave over the rest. To cover up your faults. Yes, she loved that complexity.
That was why she was so easily bored with people. A well-woven quilt could take a tear of two, most people couldn’t. And even if they could, Bella would try her hardest to destroy it, until there was nothing left of the beauty there once was, but still keeping it together none the less. It would be a shame to leave nothing at all. Some people had children, for crying out loud.
Yet this was nothing compared to being able to try and trace every pattern of someone, and never be bored by it, for you’d always find another pattern underneath the upper layer. You’d see, when you looked hard enough. Whenever Bellatrix encountered someone like this, she’d be intrigued, obsessed, infatuated with them. Unable to let go, ever.
Though when she met him, she would ever so often get frustrated. He wouldn’t show her what was underneath, and underneath, and underneath, and ever so on. Behind his black eyes, there was always ever more blackness. She couldn’t see the pattern, and therefore implacable in her mental encyclopedia. And implacable meant distrusted. Yet he would never show his true side to disprove her point. And it made her insane.
Numerous times it had been that she had tried to get into his mind, that she had tried to provoke any kind of reaction from him other than snide remarks. Her mind works complex, thinking of all kinds of traps and games and mind play to lure him out. Only she was wrong. He is a mere man and things turn out to be much more simpler than she could have ever thought it would be. Bickering, alcohol and a little touching is all it takes. If it wasn’t for the pleasure she gained from it, she’d hate herself for playing that card.
True, she gave more of herself than she had ever intended to. True, she did lose herself at one point, not being able to raise her wand and speak those two final, sweet words. He would understand that she couldn’t destroy him with a mere spell. It would be like smothering the Dark Mark with a bucket of water. No, when you do intend to vanish a work of art like this, you have to burn every thread, cut it so the patterns will be gone, chop it so even the masters can’t get it back together.
Lucky for him, she wasn’t ready for that yet. There was so much more to discover.
Her mother would be proud of her. That she of all children would know the value of a rare quilt.